to survive for the information of posterity, he betrays by a score of
casual phrases that he was short, sturdy, inclined to be plump, with a
'rather blobby' face, and full, rather projecting blue eyes. He belonged
until the financial debacle of 1956 to the class of fairly prosperous
people, he was a student in London, he aeroplaned to Italy and then had
a pedestrian tour from Genoa to Rome, crossed in the air to Greece and
Egypt, and came back over the Balkans and Germany. His family fortunes,
which were largely invested in bank shares, coal mines, and house
property, were destroyed. Reduced to penury, he sought to earn a living.
He suffered great hardship, and was then caught up by the war and had a
year of soldiering, first as an officer in the English infantry and then
in the army of pacification. His book tells all these things so simply
and at the same time so explicitly, that it remains, as it were, an eye
by which future generations may have at least one man's vision of the
years of the Great Change.

And he was, he tells us, a 'Modern State' man 'by instinct' from
the beginning. He breathed in these ideas in the class rooms and
laboratories of the Carnegie Foundation school that rose, a long and
delicately beautiful facade, along the South Bank of the Thames opposite
the ancient dignity of Somerset House. Such thought was interwoven with
the very fabric of that pioneer school in the educational renascence in
England. After the customary exchange years in Heidelberg and Paris, he
went into the classical school of London University. The older so-called
'classical' education of the British pedagogues, probably the most
paralysing, ineffective, and foolish routine that ever wasted human
life, had already been swept out of this great institution in favour of
modern methods; and he learnt Greek and Latin as well as he had learnt
German, Spanish, and French, so that he wrote and spoke them freely,
and used them with an unconscious ease in his study of the foundation