Читать книгу The Debate Continues - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 3

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A woman who earned her living by writing fiction—with occasional essays in that kind of history deplored by historians—decided to write of her own life.

There were many reasons against this decision, but as the matter was of little importance either way, she allowed herself to be deceived into hoping that some old ghosts would be exorcised by being pinned on paper, and deceived into ignoring the fact that a swift oblivion would overtake her book. For she had a desire to pay a tribute to some people and some things before she too would be as dead as they are now dead, everywhere save in her heart and mind.

It was not, she knew, a remarkable or exciting life; much of it was commonplace, and when she could detach herself sufficiently to regard her own figure from a distance, she saw that it was, often enough, that of a fool. However, there seemed something to be said on this subject that only she could say, and she felt impelled to say it, urged by an impulsion selfish, maybe, save in the need to chronicle something of the merits of those she had loved—so well and so long.

She often thought of herself by the name Margaret under which she was baptized, a name borne by many Scotswomen since a royal saint made it popular. Some tales it is not easy to tell in the first person, so she resolved to write of herself, here and there, at least, as Margaret Campbell.

As for the truth of her narrative, she could not claim to know what the absolute of truth was, much less to be able always to command it, but she undertook with herself to set down events and people as they appeared to her. Fear of vexatious disputes and the desire not to hurt the feelings of those adversely described moved her to use fictitious names. Even in employing this device she had to restrain her candour. Some things it is not decent to write of the dead, or prudent to write of the living.

She was well aware that her own character as depicted by herself might well be a subject for ridicule or censure, and this knowledge was not agreeable, since she had always been timid before sneers or blame. But a second's reflection convinced her that this, also, was of no importance.

M. C.

London, 1939.