Cussedness

Sir Henry Merrivale, known to all as H.M., is very quickly becoming one of my favorite fictional characters. We're reading "The Judas Window" in Crime and Punishment, and I find it to be quite excellent, not least because H.M. is a barrister who addresses the jury (and others) with "Well, my fatheads." But the following passage was the clincher and simply had to share its amazingness.

"I love to be a Corrector of Cussedness. You've heard me talk a lot in the past about the blinkin' awful cussedness of things in general, and I suppose you thought that was only my way of lettin' off steam. But I meant it. Now, ordinarily, this cussedness is supposed to be funny. You can't help bein' amused even when you kick the wastepaper basket all over the room. I mean that the one morning you've got an important engagement is the one morning you miss the train. The one time you take your best girl out to dinner is the one time you call for the bill and find you've left your wallet at home. But did it ever occur to you to think how that applies to whackingly serious matters too? Just think back over your own life, and see whether most of the important things that happened to you were prompted by anybody's effort to do malice, or anybody's effort to do good, or, burn me, by anybody's effort at all: but simply by the sinful, tearin' cussedness of things in general."

"You don't make a religion of that, do you?" I asked. "For if you think that things in general are all banded together in a conspiracy to administer a celestial kick in the pants, you might as well retire to Dorset and write novels."

"Y'see," said H.M., with ghoulish amusement, "that goes to show that the only sort of cussedness you can imagine is the kind that lands you in the soup. Like the Greek tragedies where the gods get a twist on some poor feller and he's never got a chance. You want to say, 'Hey, fair play!--take a few wallops at him if you must, but don't load the dice so far that the feller can't even go out in a London fog without comin' home with sunstroke.' No, son. Everything works both ways, especially cussedness...Call the whole process by any fancy name you like: call it destiny or Mansoul or the flexibility of the unwritten Constitution: but it's still cussedness."