Sir Richmond smiled at some secret memory.  “My first love was Britannia as depicted by Tenniel in the cartoons in Punch.  I must have been a very little chap at the time of the Britannia affair.  I just clung to her in my imagination and did devoted things for her.  Then I recall, a little later, a secret abject adoration for the white goddesses of the Crystal Palace.  Not for any particular one of them that I can remember,—­for all of them.  But I don’t remember anything very monstrous or incestuous in my childish imaginations,—­such things as Freud, I understand, lays stress upon.  If there was an Oedipus complex or anything of that sort in my case it has been very completely washed out again.  Perhaps a child which is brought up in a proper nursery of its own and sees a lot of pictures of the nude human body, and so on, gets its mind shifted off any possible concentration upon the domestic aspect of sex.  I got to definite knowledge pretty early.  By the time I was eleven or twelve.”

“Normally?”

“What is normally?  Decently, anyhow.  Here again I may be forgetting much secret and shameful curiosity.  I got my ideas into definite form out of a little straightforward physiological teaching and some dissecting of rats and mice.  My schoolmaster was a capable sane man in advance of his times and my people believed in him.  I think much of this distorted perverse stuff that grows up in people’s minds about sex and develops into evil vices and still more evil habits, is due to the mystery we make about these things.”

“Not entirely,” said the doctor.

“Largely.  What child under a modern upbringing ever goes through the stuffy horrors described in James Joyce’s portrait of the artist as A young man.”

“I’ve not read it.”

“A picture of the Catholic atmosphere; a young soul shut up in darkness and ignorance to accumulate filth.  In the name of purity and decency and under threats of hell fire.”

“Horrible!”

“Quite.  A study of intolerable tensions, the tensions that make young people write unclean words in secret places.”

“Yes, we certainly ventilate and sanitate in those matters nowadays.  Where nothing is concealed, nothing can explode.”

“On the whole I came up to adolescence pretty straight and clean,” said Sir Richmond.  “What stands out in my memory now is this idea, of a sort of woman goddess who was very lovely and kind and powerful and wonderful.  That ruled my secret imaginations as a boy, but it was very much in my mind as I grew up.”

“The mother complex,” said Dr. Martineau as a passing botanist might recognize and name a flower.

Sir Richmond stared at him for a moment.

“It had not the slightest connexion with my mother or any mother or any particular woman at all.  Far better to call it the goddess complex.”

“The connexion is not perhaps immediately visible,” said the doctor.