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diff --git a/12491-h/12491-h.htm b/12491-h/12491-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..34f50c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/12491-h/12491-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2735 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta name="generator" content="HTML Tidy, see www.w3.org"> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Twelve Types, by G.K. +Chesterton.</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + + .textcenter {text-align: center;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12491 ***</div> + +<h1>TWELVE TYPES</h1> + +<h2>BY G.K. CHESTERTON</h2> + +<div class="textcenter">LONDON<br> +ARTHUR L. HUMPHREYS<br> +1902</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<p>NOTE</p> + +<p>These papers, with certain alterations and additions, are +reprinted with the kind permission of the Editors of <i>The Daily +News</i> and <i>The Speaker</i>.</p> + +<p>G.K.C.<br> +KENSINGTON.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<a href="#CHARLOTTE_BRONTE"><b>CHARLOTTE BRONTË</b></a><br> + <a href="#WILLIAM_MORRIS_AND_HIS_SCHOOL"><b>WILLIAM MORRIS AND HIS +SCHOOL</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_OPTIMISM_OF_BYRON"><b>THE OPTIMISM OF +BYRON</b></a><br> + <a href="#POPE_AND_THE_ART_OF_SATIRE"><b>POPE AND THE ART OF +SATIRE</b></a><br> + <a href="#FRANCIS"><b>FRANCIS</b></a><br> + <a href="#ROSTAND"><b>ROSTAND</b></a><br> + <a href="#CHARLES_II"><b>CHARLES II</b></a><br> + <a href="#STEVENSON"><b>STEVENSON</b></a><br> + <a href="#THOMAS_CARLYLE"><b>THOMAS CARLYLE</b></a><br> + <a href="#TOLSTOY_AND_THE_CULT_OF_SIMPLICITY"><b>TOLSTOY AND THE +CULT OF SIMPLICITY</b></a><br> + <a href="#SAVONAROLA"><b>SAVONAROLA</b></a><br> + <a href="#THE_POSITION_OF_SIR_WALTER_SCOTT"><b>THE POSITION OF SIR +WALTER SCOTT</b></a><br> + <!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHARLOTTE_BRONTE"></a> +<h2>CHARLOTTE BRONTË</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>Objection is often raised against realistic biography because it +reveals so much that is important and even sacred about a man's +life. The real objection to it will rather be found in the fact +that it reveals about a man the precise points which are +unimportant. It reveals and asserts and insists on exactly those +things in a man's life of which the man himself is wholly +unconscious; his exact class in society, the circumstances of his +ancestry, the place of his present location. These are things which +do not, properly speaking, ever arise before the human vision. They +do not occur to a man's mind; it may be said, with almost equal +truth, that they do not occur in a man's life. A man no more thinks +about himself as the inhabitant of the third house in a row of +Brixton villas than he thinks about himself as a strange animal +with two legs. What a man's name was, what his income was, whom he +married, where he lived, these are not sanctities; they are +irrelevancies.</p> + +<p>A very strong case of this is the case of the Brontës. The +Brontë is in the position of the mad lady in a country +village; her eccentricities form an endless source of innocent +conversation to that exceedingly mild and bucolic circle, the +literary world. The truly glorious gossips of literature, like Mr +Augustine Birrell and Mr Andrew Lang, never tire of collecting all +the glimpses and anecdotes and sermons and side-lights and sticks +and straws which will go to make a Brontë museum. They are the +most personally discussed of all Victorian authors, and the +limelight of biography has left few darkened corners in the dark +old Yorkshire house. And yet the whole of this biographical +investigation, though natural and picturesque, is not wholly +suitable to the Brontës. For the Brontë genius was above +all things deputed to assert the supreme unimportance of externals. +Up to that point truth had always been conceived as existing more +or less in the novel of manners. Charlotte Brontë electrified +the world by showing that an infinitely older and more elemental +truth could be conveyed by a novel in which no person, good or bad, +had any manners at all. Her work represents the first great +assertion that the humdrum life of modern civilisation is a +disguise as tawdry and deceptive as the costume of a 'bal +masqué.' She showed that abysses may exist inside a +governess and eternities inside a manufacturer; her heroine is the +commonplace spinster, with the dress of merino and the soul of +flame. It is significant to notice that Charlotte Brontë, +following consciously or unconsciously the great trend of her +genius, was the first to take away from the heroine not only the +artificial gold and diamonds of wealth and fashion, but even the +natural gold and diamonds of physical beauty and grace. +Instinctively she felt that the whole of the exterior must be made +ugly that the whole of the interior might be made sublime. She +chose the ugliest of women in the ugliest of centuries, and +revealed within them all the hells and heavens of Dante.</p> + +<p>It may, therefore, I think, be legitimately said that the +externals of the Brontës' life, though singularly picturesque +in themselves, matter less than the externals of almost any other +writers. It is interesting to know whether Jane Austen had any +knowledge of the lives of the officers and women of fashion whom +she introduced into her masterpieces. It is interesting to know +whether Dickens had ever seen a shipwreck or been inside a +workhouse. For in these authors much of the conviction is conveyed, +not always by adherence to facts, but always by grasp of them. But +the whole aim and purport and meaning of the work of the +Brontës is that the most futile thing in the whole universe is +fact. Such a story as 'Jane Eyre' is in itself so monstrous a fable +that it ought to be excluded from a book of fairy tales. The +characters do not do what they ought to do, nor what they would do, +nor, it might be said, such is the insanity of the atmosphere, not +even what they intend to do. The conduct of Rochester is so +primevally and superhumanly caddish that Bret Harte in his +admirable travesty scarcely exaggerated it. 'Then, resuming his +usual manner, he threw his boots at my head and withdrew,' does +perhaps reach to something resembling caricature. The scene in +which Rochester dresses up as an old gipsy has something in it +which is really not to be found in any other branch of art, except +in the end of the pantomime, where the Emperor turns into a +pantaloon. Yet, despite this vast nightmare of illusion and +morbidity and ignorance of the world, 'Jane Eyre' is perhaps the +truest book that was ever written. Its essential truth to life +sometimes makes one catch one's breath. For it is not true to +manners, which are constantly false, or to facts, which are almost +always false; it is true to the only existing thing which is true, +emotion, the irreducible minimum, the indestructible germ. It would +not matter a single straw if a Brontë story were a hundred +times more moonstruck and improbable than 'Jane Eyre,' or a hundred +times more moonstruck and improbable than 'Wuthering Heights.' It +would not matter if George Read stood on his head, and Mrs Read +rode on a dragon, if Fairfax Rochester had four eyes and St John +Rivers three legs, the story would still remain the truest story in +the world. The typical Brontë character is, indeed, a kind of +monster. Everything in him except the essential is dislocated. His +hands are on his legs and his feet on his arms, his nose is above +his eyes, but his heart is in the right place.</p> + +<p>The great and abiding truth for which the Brontë cycle of +fiction stands is a certain most important truth about the enduring +spirit of youth, the truth of the near kinship between terror and +joy. The Brontë heroine, dingily dressed, badly educated, +hampered by a humiliating inexperience, a kind of ugly innocence, +is yet, by the very fact of her solitude and her gaucherie, full of +the greatest delight that is possible to a human being, the delight +of expectation, the delight of an ardent and flamboyant ignorance. +She serves to show how futile it is of humanity to suppose that +pleasure can be attained chiefly by putting on evening dress every +evening, and having a box at the theatre every first night. It is +not the man of pleasure who has pleasure; it is not the man of the +world who appreciates the world. The man who has learnt to do all +conventional things perfectly has at the same time learnt to do +them prosaically. It is the awkward man, whose evening dress does +not fit him, whose gloves will not go on, whose compliments will +not come off, who is really full of the ancient ecstasies of youth. +He is frightened enough of society actually to enjoy his triumphs. +He has that element of fear which is one of the eternal ingredients +of joy. This spirit is the central spirit of the Brontë novel. +It is the epic of the exhilaration of the shy man. As such it is of +incalculable value in our time, of which the curse is that it does +not take joy reverently because it does not take it fearfully. The +shabby and inconspicuous governess of Charlotte Brontë, with +the small outlook and the small creed, had more commerce with the +awful and elemental forces which drive the world than a legion of +lawless minor poets. She approached the universe with real +simplicity, and, consequently, with real fear and delight. She was, +so to speak, shy before the multitude of the stars, and in this she +had possessed herself of the only force which can prevent enjoyment +being as black and barren as routine. The faculty of being shy is +the first and the most delicate of the powers of enjoyment. The +fear of the Lord is the beginning of pleasure.</p> + +<p>Upon the whole, therefore, I think it may justifiably be said +that the dark wild youth of the Brontës in their dark wild +Yorkshire home has been somewhat exaggerated as a necessary factor +in their work and their conception. The emotions with which they +dealt were universal emotions, emotions of the morning of +existence, the springtide joy and the springtide terror. Every one +of us as a boy or girl has had some midnight dream of nameless +obstacle and unutterable menace, in which there was, under whatever +imbecile forms, all the deadly stress and panic of 'Wuthering +Heights.' Every one of us has had a day-dream of our own potential +destiny not one atom more reasonable than 'Jane Eyre.' And the +truth which the Brontës came to tell us is the truth that many +waters cannot quench love, and that suburban respectability cannot +touch or damp a secret enthusiasm. Clapham, like every other +earthly city, is built upon a volcano. Thousands of people go to +and fro in the wilderness of bricks and mortar, earning mean wages, +professing a mean religion, wearing a mean attire, thousands of +women who have never found any expression for their exaltation or +their tragedy but to go on working harder and yet harder at dull +and automatic employments, at scolding children or stitching +shirts. But out of all these silent ones one suddenly became +articulate, and spoke a resonant testimony, and her name was +Charlotte Brontë. Spreading around us upon every side to-day +like a huge and radiating geometrical figure are the endless +branches of the great city. There are times when we are almost +stricken crazy, as well we may be, by the multiplicity of those +appalling perspectives, the frantic arithmetic of that unthinkable +population. But this thought of ours is in truth nothing but a +fancy. There are no chains of houses; there are no crowds of men. +The colossal diagram of streets and houses is an illusion, the +opium dream of a speculative builder. Each of these men is +supremely solitary and supremely important to himself. Each of +these houses stands in the centre of the world. There is no single +house of all those millions which has not seemed to some one at +some time the heart of all things and the end of travel.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="WILLIAM_MORRIS_AND_HIS_SCHOOL"></a> +<h2>WILLIAM MORRIS AND HIS SCHOOL</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>It is proper enough that the unveiling of the bust of William +Morris should approximate to a public festival, for while there +have been many men of genius in the Victorian era more despotic +than he, there have been none so representative. He represents not +only that rapacious hunger for beauty which has now for the first +time become a serious problem in the healthy life of humanity, but +he represents also that honourable instinct for finding beauty in +common necessities of workmanship which gives it a stronger and +more bony structure. The time has passed when William Morris was +conceived to be irrelevant to be described as a designer of +wall-papers. If Morris had been a hatter instead of a decorator, we +should have become gradually and painfully conscious of an +improvement in our hats. If he had been a tailor, we should have +suddenly found our frock-coats trailing on the ground with the +grandeur of mediæval raiment. If he had been a shoemaker, we +should have found, with no little consternation, our shoes +gradually approximating to the antique sandal. As a hairdresser, he +would have invented some massing of the hair worthy to be the crown +of Venus; as an ironmonger, his nails would have had some noble +pattern, fit to be the nails of the Cross. The limitations of +William Morris, whatever they were, were not the limitations of +common decoration. It is true that all his work, even his literary +work, was in some sense decorative, had in some degree the +qualities of a splendid wall-paper. His characters, his stories, +his religious and political views, had, in the most emphatic sense, +length and breadth without thickness. He seemed really to believe +that men could enjoy a perfectly flat felicity. He made no account +of the unexplored and explosive possibilities of human nature, of +the unnameable terrors, and the yet more unnameable hopes. So long +as a man was graceful in every circumstance, so long as he had the +inspiring consciousness that the chestnut colour of his hair was +relieved against the blue forest a mile behind, he would be +serenely happy. So he would be, no doubt, if he were really fitted +for a decorative existence; if he were a piece of exquisitely +coloured cardboard.</p> + +<p>But although Morris took little account of the terrible solidity +of human nature—took little account, so to speak, of human +figures in the round, it is altogether unfair to represent him as a +mere æsthete. He perceived a great public necessity and +fulfilled it heroically. The difficulty with which he grappled was +one so immense that we shall have to be separated from it by many +centuries before we can really judge of it. It was the problem of +the elaborate and deliberate ugliness of the most self-conscious of +centuries. Morris at least saw the absurdity of the thing. He felt +that it was monstrous that the modern man, who was pre-eminently +capable of realising the strangest and most contradictory beauties, +who could feel at once the fiery aureole of the ascetic, and the +colossal calm of the Hellenic god, should himself, by a farcical +bathos, be buried in a black coat, and hidden under a chimney-pot +hat. He could not see why the harmless man who desired to be an +artist in raiment should be condemned to be, at best, a black and +white artist. It is indeed difficult to account for the clinging +curse of ugliness which blights everything brought forth by the +most prosperous of centuries. In all created nature there is not, +perhaps, anything so completely ugly as a pillar-box. Its shape is +the most unmeaning of shapes, its height and thickness just +neutralising each other; its colour is the most repulsive of +colours—a fat and soulless red, a red without a touch of +blood or fire, like the scarlet of dead men's sins. Yet there is no +reason whatever why such hideousness should possess an object full +of civic dignity, the treasure-house of a thousand secrets, the +fortress of a thousand souls. If the old Greeks had had such an +institution, we may be sure that it would have been surmounted by +the severe, but graceful, figure of the god of letter-writing. If +the mediæval Christians had possessed it, it would have had a +niche filled with the golden aureole of St Rowland of the Postage +Stamps. As it is, there it stands at all our street-corners, +disguising one of the most beautiful of ideas under one of the most +preposterous of forms. It is useless to deny that the miracles of +science have not been such an incentive to art and imagination as +were the miracles of religion. If men in the twelfth century had +been told that the lightning had been driven for leagues +underground, and had dragged at its destroying tail loads of +laughing human beings, and if they had then been told that the +people alluded to this pulverising portent chirpily as 'The +Twopenny Tube,' they would have called down the fire of Heaven on +us as a race of half-witted atheists. Probably they would have been +quite right.</p> + +<p>This clear and fine perception of what may be called the +anæsthetic element in the Victorian era was, undoubtedly, the +work of a great reformer: it requires a fine effort of the +imagination to see an evil that surrounds us on every side. The +manner in which Morris carried out his crusade may, considering the +circumstances, be called triumphant. Our carpets began to bloom +under our feet like the meadows in spring, and our hitherto prosaic +stools and sofas seemed growing legs and arms at their own wild +will. An element of freedom and rugged dignity came in with plain +and strong ornaments of copper and iron. So delicate and universal +has been the revolution in domestic art that almost every family in +England has had its taste cunningly and treacherously improved, and +if we look back at the early Victorian drawing-rooms it is only to +realise the strange but essential truth that art, or human +decoration, has, nine times out of ten in history, made things +uglier than they were before, from the 'coiffure' of a Papuan +savage to the wall-paper of a British merchant in 1830.</p> + +<p>But great and beneficent as was the æsthetic revolution of +Morris, there was a very definite limit to it. It did not lie only +in the fact that his revolution was in truth a reaction, though +this was a partial explanation of his partial failure. When he was +denouncing the dresses of modern ladies, 'upholstered like +arm-chairs instead of being draped like women,' as he forcibly +expressed it, he would hold up for practical imitation the costumes +and handicrafts of the Middle Ages. Further than this retrogressive +and imitative movement he never seemed to go. Now, the men of the +time of Chaucer had many evil qualities, but there was at least one +exhibition of moral weakness they did not give. They would have +laughed at the idea of dressing themselves in the manner of the +bowmen at the battle of Senlac, or painting themselves an +æsthetic blue, after the custom of the ancient Britons. They +would not have called that a movement at all. Whatever was +beautiful in their dress or manners sprang honestly and naturally +out of the life they led and preferred to lead. And it may surely +be maintained that any real advance in the beauty of modern dress +must spring honestly and naturally out of the life we lead and +prefer to lead. We are not altogether without hints and hopes of +such a change, in the growing orthodoxy of rough and athletic +costumes. But if this cannot be, it will be no substitute or +satisfaction to turn life into an interminable historical +fancy-dress ball. But the limitation of Morris's work lay deeper +than this. We may best suggest it by a method after his own heart. +Of all the various works he performed, none, perhaps, was so +splendidly and solidly valuable as his great protest for the fables +and superstitions of mankind. He has the supreme credit of showing +that the fairy-tales contain the deepest truth of the earth, the +real record of men's feeling for things. Trifling details may be +inaccurate, Jack may not have climbed up so tall a beanstalk, or +killed so tall a giant; but it is not such things that make a story +false; it is a far different class of things that makes every +modern book of history as false as the father of lies; ingenuity, +self-consciousness, hypocritical impartiality. It appears to us +that of all the fairy-tales none contains so vital a moral truth as +the old story, existing in many forms, of Beauty and the Beast. +There is written, with all the authority of a human scripture, the +eternal and essential truth that until we love a thing in all its +ugliness we cannot make it beautiful. This was the weak point in +William Morris as a reformer: that he sought to reform modern life, +and that he hated modern life instead of loving it. Modern London +is indeed a beast, big enough and black enough to be the beast in +Apocalypse, blazing with a million eyes, and roaring with a million +voices. But unless the poet can love this fabulous monster as he +is, can feel with some generous excitement his massive and +mysterious 'joie-de-vivre,' the vast scale of his iron anatomy and +the beating of his thunderous heart, he cannot and will not change +the beast into the fairy prince. Morris's disadvantage was that he +was not honestly a child of the nineteenth century: he could not +understand its fascination, and consequently he could not really +develop it. An abiding testimony to his tremendous personal +influence in the æsthetic world is the vitality and +recurrence of the Arts and Crafts Exhibitions, which are steeped in +his personality like a chapel in that of a saint. If we look round +at the exhibits in one of these æsthetic shows, we shall be +struck by the large mass of modern objects that the decorative +school leaves untouched. There is a noble instinct for giving the +right touch of beauty to common and necessary things, but the +things that are so touched are the ancient things, the things that +always to some extent commended themselves to the lover of beauty. +There are beautiful gates, beautiful fountains, beautiful cups, +beautiful chairs, beautiful reading-desks. But there are no modern +things made beautiful. There are no beautiful lamp-posts, beautiful +letter-boxes, beautiful engines, beautiful bicycles. The spirit of +William Morris has not seized hold of the century and made its +humblest necessities beautiful. And this was because, with all his +healthiness and energy, he had not the supreme courage to face the +ugliness of things; Beauty shrank from the Beast and the fairy-tale +had a different ending.</p> + +<p>But herein, indeed, lay Morris's deepest claim to the name of a +great reformer: that he left his work incomplete. There is, +perhaps, no better proof that a man is a mere meteor, merely barren +and brilliant, than that his work is done perfectly. A man like +Morris draws attention to needs he cannot supply. In after-years we +may have perhaps a newer and more daring Arts and Crafts +Exhibition. In it we shall not decorate the armour of the twelfth +century but the machinery of the twentieth. A lamp-post shall be +wrought nobly in twisted iron, fit to hold the sanctity of fire. A +pillar-box shall be carved with figures emblematical of the secrets +of comradeship and the silence and honour of the State. Railway +signals, of all earthly things the most poetical, the coloured +stars of life and death, shall be lamps of green and crimson worthy +of their terrible and faithful service. But if ever this gradual +and genuine movement of our time towards beauty—not +backwards, but forwards—does truly come about, Morris will be +the first prophet of it. Poet of the childhood of nations, +craftsman in the new honesties of art, prophet of a merrier and +wiser life, his full-blooded enthusiasm will be remembered when +human life has once more assumed flamboyant colours and proved that +this painful greenish grey of the æsthetic twilight in which +we now live is, in spite of all the pessimists, not of the greyness +of death, but the greyness of dawn.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_OPTIMISM_OF_BYRON"></a> +<h2>THE OPTIMISM OF BYRON</h2> + +<p>Everything is against our appreciating the spirit and the age of +Byron. The age that has just passed from us is always like a dream +when we wake in the morning, a thing incredible and centuries away. +And the world of Byron seems a sad and faded world, a weird and +inhuman world, where men were romantic in whiskers, ladies lived, +apparently, in bowers, and the very word has the sound of a piece +of stage scenery. Roses and nightingales recur in their poetry with +the monotonous elegance of a wall-paper pattern. The whole is like +a revel of dead men, a revel with splendid vesture and half-witted +faces.</p> + +<p>But the more shrewdly and earnestly we study the histories of +men, the less ready shall we be to make use of the word +"artificial." Nothing in the world has ever been artificial. Many +customs, many dresses, many works of art are branded with +artificiality because they exhibit vanity and self-consciousness: +as if vanity were not a deep and elemental thing, like love and +hate and the fear of death. Vanity may be found in darkling +deserts, in the hermit and in the wild beasts that crawl around +him. It may be good or evil, but assuredly it is not artificial: +vanity is a voice out of the abyss.</p> + +<p>The remarkable fact is, however, and it bears strongly on the +present position of Byron, that when a thing is unfamiliar to us, +when it is remote and the product of some other age or spirit, we +think it not savage or terrible, but merely artificial. There are +many instances of this: a fair one is the case of tropical plants +and birds. When we see some of the monstrous and flamboyant +blossoms that enrich the equatorial woods, we do not feel that they +are conflagrations of nature; silent explosions of her frightful +energy. We simply find it hard to believe that they are not wax +flowers grown under a glass case. When we see some of the tropic +birds, with their tiny bodies attached to gigantic beaks, we do not +feel that they are freaks of the fierce humour of Creation. We +almost believe that they are toys out of a child's play-box, +artificially carved and artificially coloured. So it is with the +great convulsion of Nature which was known as Byronism. The volcano +is not an extinct volcano now; it is the dead stick of a rocket. It +is the remains not of a natural but of an artificial fire.</p> + +<p>But Byron and Byronism were something immeasurably greater than +anything that is represented by such a view as this: their real +value and meaning are indeed little understood. The first of the +mistakes about Byron lies in the fact that he is treated as a +pessimist. True, he treated himself as such, but a critic can +hardly have even a slight knowledge of Byron without knowing that +he had the smallest amount of knowledge of himself that ever fell +to the lot of an intelligent man. The real character of what is +known as Byron's pessimism is better worth study than any real +pessimism could ever be.</p> + +<p>It is the standing peculiarity of this curious world of ours +that almost everything in it has been extolled enthusiastically and +invariably extolled to the disadvantage of everything else.</p> + +<p>One after another almost every one of the phenomena of the +universe has been declared to be alone capable of making life worth +living. Books, love, business, religion, alcohol, abstract truth, +private emotion, money, simplicity, mysticism, hard work, a life +close to nature, a life close to Belgrave Square are every one of +them passionately maintained by somebody to be so good that they +redeem the evil of an otherwise indefensible world. Thus while the +world is almost always condemned in summary, it is always +justified, and indeed extolled, in detail after detail.</p> + +<p>Existence has been praised and absolved by a chorus of +pessimists. The work of giving thanks to Heaven is, as it were, +divided ingeniously among them. Schopenhauer is told off as a kind +of librarian in the House of God, to sing the praises of the +austere pleasures of the mind. Carlyle, as steward, undertakes the +working department and eulogises a life of labour in the fields. +Omar Khayyam is established in the cellar and swears that it is the +only room in the house. Even the blackest of pessimistic artists +enjoys his art. At the precise moment that he has written some +shameless and terrible indictment of Creation, his one pang of joy +in the achievement joins the universal chorus of gratitude, with +the scent of the wild flower and the song of the bird.</p> + +<p>Now Byron had a sensational popularity, and that popularity was, +as far as words and explanations go, founded upon his pessimism. He +was adored by an overwhelming majority, almost every individual of +which despised the majority of mankind. But when we come to regard +the matter a little more deeply we tend in some degree to cease to +believe in this popularity of the pessimist. The popularity of pure +and unadulterated pessimism is an oddity; it is almost a +contradiction in terms. Men would no more receive the news of the +failure of existence or of the harmonious hostility of the stars +with ardour or popular rejoicing than they would light bonfires for +the arrival of cholera or dance a breakdown when they were +condemned to be hanged. When the pessimist is popular it must +always be not because he shows all things to be bad, but because he +shows some things to be good. Men can only join in a chorus of +praise even if it is the praise of denunciation. The man who is +popular must be optimistic about something even if he is only +optimistic about pessimism. And this was emphatically the case with +Byron and the Byronists. Their real popularity was founded not upon +the fact that they blamed everything, but upon the fact that they +praised something. They heaped curses upon man, but they used man +merely as a foil. The things they wished to praise by comparison +were the energies of Nature. Man was to them what talk and fashion +were to Carlyle, what philosophical and religious quarrels were to +Omar, what the whole race after practical happiness was to +Schopenhauer, the thing which must be censured in order that +somebody else may be exalted. It was merely a recognition of the +fact that one cannot write in white chalk except on a +blackboard.</p> + +<p>Surely it is ridiculous to maintain seriously that Byron's love +of the desolate and inhuman in nature was the mark of vital +scepticism and depression. When a young man can elect deliberately +to walk alone in winter by the side of the shattering sea, when he +takes pleasure in storms and stricken peaks, and the lawless +melancholy of the older earth, we may deduce with the certainty of +logic that he is very young and very happy. There is a certain +darkness which we see in wine when seen in shadow; we see it again +in the night that has just buried a gorgeous sunset. The wine seems +black, and yet at the same time powerfully and almost impossibly +red; the sky seems black, and yet at the same time to be only too +dense a blend of purple and green. Such was the darkness which lay +around the Byronic school. Darkness with them was only too dense a +purple. They would prefer the sullen hostility of the earth because +amid all the cold and darkness their own hearts were flaming like +their own firesides.</p> + +<p>Matters are very different with the more modern school of doubt +and lamentation. The last movement of pessimism is perhaps +expressed in Mr Aubrey Beardsley's allegorical designs. Here we +have to deal with a pessimism which tends naturally not towards the +oldest elements of the cosmos, but towards the last and most +fantastic fripperies of artificial life. Byronism tended towards +the desert; the new pessimism towards the restaurant. Byronism was +a revolt against artificiality; the new pessimism is a revolt in +its favour. The Byronic young man had an affectation of sincerity; +the decadent, going a step deeper into the avenues of the unreal, +has positively an affectation of affectation. And it is by their +fopperies and their frivolities that we know that their sinister +philosophy is sincere; in their lights and garlands and ribbons we +read their indwelling despair. It was so, indeed, with Byron +himself; his really bitter moments were his frivolous moments. He +went on year after year calling down fire upon mankind, summoning +the deluge and the destructive sea and all the ultimate energies of +nature to sweep away the cities of the spawn of man. But through +all this his sub-conscious mind was not that of a despairer; on the +contrary, there is something of a kind of lawless faith in thus +parleying with such immense and immemorial brutalities. It was not +until the time in which he wrote 'Don Juan' that he really lost +this inward warmth and geniality, and a sudden shout of hilarious +laughter announced to the world that Lord Byron had really become a +pessimist.</p> + +<p>One of the best tests in the world of what a poet really means +is his metre. He may be a hypocrite in his metaphysics, but he +cannot be a hypocrite in his prosody. And all the time that Byron's +language is of horror and emptiness, his metre is a bounding 'pas +de quatre.' He may arraign existence on the most deadly charges, he +may condemn it with the most desolating verdict, but he cannot +alter the fact that on some walk in a spring morning when all the +limbs are swinging and all the blood alive in the body, the lips +may be caught repeating:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'Oh, there's not a joy the world can give +like that it takes away,<br> +</span> <span>When the glow of early youth declines in beauty's +dull decay;<br> +</span> <span>'Tis not upon the cheek of youth the blush that fades +so fast,<br> +</span> <span>But the tender bloom of heart is gone ere youth +itself be past.'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>That automatic recitation is the answer to the whole pessimism +of Byron.</p> + +<p>The truth is that Byron was one of a class who may be called the +unconscious optimists, who are very often, indeed, the most +uncompromising conscious pessimists, because the exuberance of +their nature demands for an adversary a dragon as big as the world. +But the whole of his essential and unconscious being was spirited +and confident, and that unconscious being, long disguised and +buried under emotional artifices, suddenly sprang into prominence +in the face of a cold, hard, political necessity. In Greece he +heard the cry of reality, and at the time that he was dying, he +began to live. He heard suddenly the call of that buried and +sub-conscious happiness which is in all of us, and which may emerge +suddenly at the sight of the grass of a meadow or the spears of the +enemy.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="POPE_AND_THE_ART_OF_SATIRE"></a> +<h2>POPE AND THE ART OF SATIRE</h2> + +<p>The general critical theory common in this and the last century +is that it was very easy for the imitators of Pope to write English +poetry. The classical couplet was a thing that anyone could do. So +far as that goes, one may justifiably answer by asking any one to +try. It may be easier really to have wit, than really, in the +boldest and most enduring sense, to have imagination. But it is +immeasurably easier to pretend to have imagination than to pretend +to have wit. A man may indulge in a sham rhapsody, because it may +be the triumph of a rhapsody to be unintelligible. But a man cannot +indulge in a sham joke, because it is the ruin of a joke to be +unintelligible. A man may pretend to be a poet: he can no more +pretend to be a wit than he can pretend to bring rabbits out of a +hat without having learnt to be a conjuror. Therefore, it may be +submitted, there was a certain discipline in the old antithetical +couplet of Pope and his followers. If it did not permit of the +great liberty of wisdom used by the minority of great geniuses, +neither did it permit of the great liberty of folly which is used +by the majority of small writers. A prophet could not be a poet in +those days, perhaps, but at least a fool could not be a poet. If we +take, for the sake of example, such a line as Pope's</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'Damn with faint praise, assent with +civil leer,'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>the test is comparatively simple. A great poet would not have +written such a line, perhaps. But a minor poet could not.</p> + +<p>Supposing that a lyric poet of the new school really had to deal +with such an idea as that expressed in Pope's line about Man:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'A being darkly wise and rudely +great.'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>Is it really so certain that he would go deeper into the matter +than that old antithetical jingle goes? I venture to doubt whether +he would really be any wiser or weirder or more imaginative or more +profound. The one thing that he would really be, would be longer. +Instead of writing</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'A being darkly wise and rudely +great,'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>the contemporary poet, in his elaborately ornamented book of +verses, would produce something like the following:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'A creature<br> +</span> <span>Of feature<br> +</span> <span>More dark, more dark, more dark than skies,<br> +</span> <span>Yea, darkly wise, yea, darkly wise:<br> +</span> <span>Darkly wise as a formless fate<br> +</span> <span>And if he be great<br> +</span> <span>If he be great, then rudely great,<br> +</span> <span>Rudely great as a plough that plies,<br> +</span> <span>And darkly wise, and darkly wise.'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>Have we really learnt to think more broadly? Or have we only +learnt to spread our thoughts thinner? I have a dark suspicion that +a modern poet might manufacture an admirable lyric out of almost +every line of Pope.</p> + +<p>There is, of course, an idea in our time that the very +antithesis of the typical line of Pope is a mark of artificiality. +I shall have occasion more than once to point out that nothing in +the world has ever been artificial. But certainly antithesis is not +artificial. An element of paradox runs through the whole of +existence itself. It begins in the realm of ultimate physics and +metaphysics, in the two facts that we cannot imagine a space that +is infinite, and that we cannot imagine a space that is finite. It +runs through the inmost complications of divinity, in that we +cannot conceive that Christ in the wilderness was truly pure, +unless we also conceive that he desired to sin. It runs, in the +same manner, through all the minor matters of morals, so that we +cannot imagine courage existing except in conjunction with fear, or +magnanimity existing except in conjunction with some temptation to +meanness. If Pope and his followers caught this echo of natural +irrationality, they were not any the more artificial. Their +antitheses were fully in harmony with existence, which is itself a +contradiction in terms.</p> + +<p>Pope was really a great poet; he was the last great poet of +civilisation. Immediately after the fall of him and his school come +Burns and Byron, and the reaction towards the savage and the +elemental. But to Pope civilisation was still an exciting +experiment. Its perruques and ruffles were to him what feathers and +bangles are to a South Sea Islander—the real romance of +civilisation. And in all the forms of art which peculiarly belong +to civilisation, he was supreme. In one especially he was +supreme—the great and civilised art of satire. And in this we +have fallen away utterly.</p> + +<p>We have had a great revival in our time of the cult of violence +and hostility. Mr Henley and his young men have an infinite number +of furious epithets with which to overwhelm any one who differs +from them. It is not a placid or untroubled position to be Mr +Henley's enemy, though we know that it is certainly safer than to +be his friend. And yet, despite all this, these people produce no +satire. Political and social satire is a lost art, like pottery and +stained glass. It may be worth while to make some attempt to point +out a reason for this.</p> + +<p>It may seem a singular observation to say that we are not +generous enough to write great satire. This, however, is +approximately a very accurate way of describing the case. To write +great satire, to attack a man so that he feels the attack and half +acknowledges its justice, it is necessary to have a certain +intellectual magnanimity which realises the merits of the opponent +as well as his defects. This is, indeed, only another way of +putting the simple truth that in order to attack an army we must +know not only its weak points, but also its strong points. England +in the present season and spirit fails in satire for the same +simple reason that it fails in war: it despises the enemy. In +matters of battle and conquest we have got firmly rooted in our +minds the idea (an idea fit for the philosophers of Bedlam) that we +can best trample on a people by ignoring all the particular merits +which give them a chance of trampling upon us. It has become a +breach of etiquette to praise the enemy; whereas when the enemy is +strong every honest scout ought to praise the enemy. It is +impossible to vanquish an army without having a full account of its +strength. It is impossible to satirise a man without having a full +account of his virtues. It is too much the custom in politics to +describe a political opponent as utterly inhumane, as utterly +careless of his country, as utterly cynical, which no man ever was +since the beginning of the world. This kind of invective may often +have a great superficial success: it may hit the mood of the +moment; it may raise excitement and applause; it may impress +millions. But there is one man among all those millions whom it +does not impress, whom it hardly even touches; that is the man +against whom it is directed. The one person for whom the whole +satire has been written in vain is the man whom it is the whole +object of the institution of satire to reach. He knows that such a +description of him is not true. He knows that he is not utterly +unpatriotic, or utterly self-seeking, or utterly barbarous and +revengeful. He knows that he is an ordinary man, and that he can +count as many kindly memories, as many humane instincts, as many +hours of decent work and responsibility as any other ordinary man. +But behind all this he has his real weaknesses, the real ironies of +his soul: behind all these ordinary merits lie the mean +compromises, the craven silences, the sullen vanities, the secret +brutalities, the unmanly visions of revenge. It is to these that +satire should reach if it is to touch the man at whom it is aimed. +And to reach these it must pass and salute a whole army of +virtues.</p> + +<p>If we turn to the great English satirists of the seventeenth and +eighteenth centuries, for example, we find that they had this rough +but firm grasp of the size and strength, the value and the best +points of their adversary. Dryden, before hewing Ahitophel in +pieces, gives a splendid and spirited account of the insane valour +and inspired cunning of the</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'daring pilot in extremity,'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>who was more untrustworthy in calm than in storm, and</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'Steered too near the rocks to boast his +wit.'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>The whole is, so far as it goes, a sound and picturesque version +of the great Shaftesbury. It would, in many ways, serve as a very +sound and picturesque account of Lord Randolph Churchill. But here +comes in very pointedly the difference between our modern attempts +at satire and the ancient achievement of it. The opponents of Lord +Randolph Churchill, both Liberal and Conservative, did not satirise +him nobly and honestly, as one of those great wits to madness near +allied. They represented him as a mere puppy, a silly and +irreverent upstart whose impudence supplied the lack of policy and +character. Churchill had grave and even gross faults, a certain +coarseness, a certain hard boyish assertiveness, a certain lack of +magnanimity, a certain peculiar patrician vulgarity. But he was a +much larger man than satire depicted him, and therefore the satire +could not and did not overwhelm him. And here we have the cause of +the failure of contemporary satire, that it has no magnanimity, +that is to say, no patience. It cannot endure to be told that its +opponent has his strong points, just as Mr Chamberlain could not +endure to be told that the Boers had a regular army. It can be +content with nothing except persuading itself that its opponent is +utterly bad or utterly stupid—that is, that he is what he is +not and what nobody else is. If we take any prominent politician of +the day—such, for example, as Sir William Harcourt—we +shall find that this is the point in which all party invective +fails. The Tory satire at the expense of Sir William Harcourt is +always desperately endeavouring to represent that he is inept, that +he makes a fool of himself, that he is disagreeable and disgraceful +and untrustworthy. The defect of all this is that we all know that +it is untrue. Everyone knows that Sir William Harcourt is not +inept, but is almost the ablest Parliamentarian now alive. Everyone +knows that he is not disagreeable or disgraceful, but a gentleman +of the old school who is on excellent social terms with his +antagonists. Everyone knows that he is not untrustworthy, but a man +of unimpeachable honour who is much trusted. Above all, he knows it +himself, and is therefore affected by the satire exactly as any one +of us would be if we were accused of being black or of keeping a +shop for the receiving of stolen goods. We might be angry at the +libel, but not at the satire; for a man is angry at a libel because +it is false, but at a satire because it is true.</p> + +<p>Mr Henley and his young men are very fond of invective and +satire: if they wish to know the reason of their failure in these +things, they need only turn to the opening of Pope's superb attack +upon Addison. The Henleyite's idea of satirising a man is to +express a violent contempt for him, and by the heat of this to +persuade others and himself that the man is contemptible. I +remember reading a satiric attack on Mr Gladstone by one of the +young anarchic Tories, which began by asserting that Mr Gladstone +was a bad public speaker. If these people would, as I have said, go +quietly and read Pope's 'Atticus,' they would see how a great +satirist approaches a great enemy:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'Peace to all such! But were there one +whose fires<br> +</span> <span>True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires,<br> +</span> <span>Blest with each talent, and each art to please,<br> +</span> <span>And born to write, converse, and live with ease.<br> +</span> <span>Should such a man—'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>And then follows the torrent of that terrible criticism. Pope +was not such a fool as to try to make out that Addison was a fool. +He knew that Addison was not a fool, and he knew that Addison knew +it. But hatred, in Pope's case, had become so great and, I was +almost going to say, so pure, that it illuminated all things, as +love illuminates all things. He said what was really wrong with +Addison; and in calm and clear and everlasting colours he painted +the picture of the evil of the literary temperament:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'Bear like the Turk, no brother near the +throne,<br> +</span> <span>View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,<br> +</span> <span>And hate for arts that caused himself to rise.<br> +</span> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> +<br> +<span>Like Cato give his little Senate laws,<br> +</span> <span>And sit attentive to his own applause.<br> +</span> <span>While wits and templars every sentence raise,<br> +</span> <span>And wonder with a foolish face of praise.'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>This is the kind of thing which really goes to the mark at which +it aims. It is penetrated with sorrow and a kind of reverence, and +it is addressed directly to a man. This is no mock-tournament to +gain the applause of the crowd. It is a deadly duel by the lonely +seashore.</p> + +<p>In current political materialism there is everywhere the +assumption that, without understanding anything of his case or his +merits, we can benefit a man practically. Without understanding his +case and his merits, we cannot even hurt him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="FRANCIS"></a> +<h2>FRANCIS</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>Asceticism is a thing which in its very nature, we tend in these +days to misunderstand. Asceticism, in the religious sense, is the +repudiation of the great mass of human joys because of the supreme +joyfulness of the one joy, the religious joy. But asceticism is not +in the least confined to religious asceticism: there is scientific +asceticism which asserts that truth is alone satisfying: there is +æsthetic asceticism which asserts that art is alone +satisfying: there is amatory asceticism which asserts that love is +alone satisfying. There is even epicurean asceticism, which asserts +that beer and skittles are alone satisfying. Wherever the manner of +praising anything involves the statement that the speaker could +live with that thing alone, there lies the germ and essence of +asceticism. When William Morris, for example, says that 'love is +enough,' it is obvious that he asserts in those words that art, +science, politics, ambition, money, houses, carriages, concerts, +gloves, walking-sticks, door-knockers, railway-stations, cathedrals +and any other things one may choose to tabulate are unnecessary. +When Omar Khayyam says:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'A book of verse beneath the bough<br> +</span> <span>A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou<br> +</span> <span>Sitting beside me in the wilderness<br> +</span> <span>O wilderness were Paradise enow.'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>It is clear that he speaks fully as much ascetically as he does +æsthetically. He makes a list of things and says that he +wants no more. The same thing was done by a mediæval monk. +Examples might, of course, be multiplied a hundred-fold. One of the +most genuinely poetical of our younger poets says, as the one thing +certain, that</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'From quiet home and first beginning<br> +</span> <span class="i2">Out to the undiscovered ends—<br> +</span> <span>There's nothing worth the wear of winning<br> +</span> <span class="i2">But laughter and the love of friends.'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>Here we have a perfect example of the main important fact, that +all true joy expresses itself in terms of asceticism.</p> + +<p>But if in any case it should happen that a class or a generation +lose the sense of the peculiar kind of joy which is being +celebrated, they immediately begin to call the enjoyers of that joy +gloomy and self-destroying. The most formidable liberal +philosophers have called the monks melancholy because they denied +themselves the pleasures of liberty and marriage. They might as +well call the trippers on a Bank Holiday melancholy because they +deny themselves, as a rule, the pleasures of silence and +meditation. A simpler and stronger example is, however, to hand. If +ever it should happen that the system of English athletics should +vanish from the public schools and the universities, if science +should supply some new and non-competitive manner of perfecting the +physique, if public ethics swung round to an attitude of absolute +contempt and indifference towards the feeling called sport, then it +is easy to see what would happen. Future historians would simply +state that in the dark days of Queen Victoria young men at Oxford +and Cambridge were subjected to a horrible sort of religious +torture. They were forbidden, by fantastic monastic rules, to +indulge in wine or tobacco during certain arbitrarily fixed periods +of time, before certain brutal fights and festivals. Bigots +insisted on their rising at unearthly hours and running violently +around fields for no object. Many men ruined their health in these +dens of superstition, many died there. All this is perfectly true +and irrefutable. Athleticism in England is an asceticism, as much +as the monastic rules. Men have over-strained themselves and killed +themselves through English athleticism. There is one difference and +one only: we do feel the love of sport; we do not feel the love of +religious offices. We see only the price in the one case and only +the purchase in the other.</p> + +<p>The only question that remains is what was the joy of the old +Christian ascetics of which their ascetism was merely the +purchasing price. The mere possibility of the query is an +extraordinary example of the way in which we miss the main points +of human history. We are looking at humanity too close, and see +only the details and not the vast and dominant features. We look at +the rise of Christianity, and conceive it as a rise of +self-abnegation and almost of pessimism. It does not occur to us +that the mere assertion that this raging and confounding universe +is governed by justice and mercy is a piece of staggering optimism +fit to set all men capering. The detail over which these monks went +mad with joy was the universe itself; the only thing really worthy +of enjoyment. The white daylight shone over all the world, the +endless forests stood up in their order. The lightning awoke and +the tree fell and the sea gathered into mountains and the ship went +down, and all these disconnected and meaningless and terrible +objects were all part of one dark and fearful conspiracy of +goodness, one merciless scheme of mercy. That this scheme of Nature +was not accurate or well founded is perfectly tenable, but surely +it is not tenable that it was not optimistic. We insist, however, +upon treating this matter tail foremost. We insist that the +ascetics were pessimists because they gave up threescore years and +ten for an eternity of happiness. We forget that the bare +proposition of an eternity of happiness is by its very nature ten +thousand times more optimistic than ten thousand pagan +saturnalias.</p> + +<p>Mr Adderley's life of Francis of Assisi does not, of course, +bring this out; nor does it fully bring out the character of +Francis. It has rather the tone of a devotional book. A devotional +book is an excellent thing, but we do not look in it for the +portrait of a man, for the same reason that we do not look in a +love-sonnet for the portrait of a woman, because men in such +conditions of mind not only apply all virtues to their idol, but +all virtues in equal quantities. There is no outline, because the +artist cannot bear to put in a black line. This blaze of +benediction, this conflict between lights, has its place in poetry, +not in biography. The successful examples of it may be found, for +instance, in the more idealistic odes of Spenser. The design is +sometimes almost indecipherable, for the poet draws in silver upon +white.</p> + +<p>It is natural, of course, that Mr Adderley should see Francis +primarily as the founder of the Franciscan Order. We suspect this +was only one, perhaps a minor one, of the things that he was; we +suspect that one of the minor things that Christ did was to found +Christianity. But the vast practical work of Francis is assuredly +not to be ignored, for this amazingly unworldly and almost +maddeningly simple—minded infant was one of the most +consistently successful men that ever fought with this bitter +world. It is the custom to say that the secret of such men is their +profound belief in themselves, and this is true, but not all the +truth. Workhouses and lunatic asylums are thronged with men who +believe in themselves. Of Francis it is far truer to say that the +secret of his success was his profound belief in other people, and +it is the lack of this that has commonly been the curse of these +obscure Napoleons. Francis always assumed that everyone must be +just as anxious about their common relative, the water-rat, as he +was. He planned a visit to the Emperor to draw his attention to the +needs of 'his little sisters the larks.' He used to talk to any +thieves and robbers he met about their misfortune in being unable +to give rein to their desire for holiness. It was an innocent +habit, and doubtless the robbers often 'got round him,' as the +phrase goes. Quite as often, however, they discovered that he had +'got round' them, and discovered the other side, the side of secret +nobility.</p> + +<p>Conceiving of St Francis as primarily the founder of the +Franciscan Order, Mr Adderley opens his narrative with an admirable +sketch of the history of Monasticism in Europe, which is certainly +the best thing in the book. He distinguishes clearly and fairly +between the Manichæan ideal that underlies so much of Eastern +Monasticism and the ideal of self-discipline which never wholly +vanished from the Christian form. But he does not throw any light +on what must be for the outsider the absorbing problem of this +Catholic asceticism, for the excellent reason that not being an +outsider he does not find it a problem at all.</p> + +<p>To most people, however, there is a fascinating inconsistency in +the position of St Francis. He expressed in loftier and bolder +language than any earthly thinker the conception that laughter is +as divine as tears. He called his monks the mountebanks of God. He +never forgot to take pleasure in a bird as it flashed past him, or +a drop of water as it fell from his finger: he was, perhaps, the +happiest of the sons of men. Yet this man undoubtedly founded his +whole polity on the negation of what we think the most imperious +necessities; in his three vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, +he denied to himself and those he loved most, property, love, and +liberty. Why was it that the most large-hearted and poetic spirits +in that age found their most congenial atmosphere in these awful +renunciations? Why did he who loved where all men were blind, seek +to blind himself where all men loved? Why was he a monk, and not a +troubadour? These questions are far too large to be answered fully +here, but in any life of Francis they ought at least to have been +asked; we have a suspicion that if they were answered we should +suddenly find that much of the enigma of this sullen time of ours +was answered also. So it was with the monks. The two great parties +in human affairs are only the party which sees life black against +white, and the party which sees it white against black, the party +which macerates and blackens itself with sacrifice because the +background is full of the blaze of an universal mercy, and the +party which crowns itself with flowers and lights itself with +bridal torches because it stands against a black curtain of +incalculable night. The revellers are old, and the monks are young. +It was the monks who were the spendthrifts of happiness, and we who +are its misers.</p> + +<p>Doubtless, as is apparent from Mr Adderley's book, the clear and +tranquil life of the Three Vows had a fine and delicate effect on +the genius of Francis. He was primarily a poet. The perfection of +his literary instinct is shown in his naming the fire 'brother,' +and the water 'sister,' in the quaint demagogic dexterity of the +appeal in the sermon to the fishes 'that they alone were saved in +the Flood.' In the amazingly minute and graphic dramatisation of +the life, disappointments and excuses of any shrub or beast that he +happened to be addressing, his genius has a curious resemblance to +that of Burns. But if he avoided the weakness of Burns' verses to +animals, the occasional morbidity, bombast and moralisation on +himself, the credit is surely due to a cleaner and more transparent +life.</p> + +<p>The general attitude of St Francis, like that of his Master, +embodied a kind of terrible common-sense. The famous remark of the +Caterpillar in 'Alice in Wonderland'—'Why not?' impresses us +as his general motto. He could not see why he should not be on good +terms with all things. The pomp of war and ambition, the great +empire of the Middle Ages and all its fellows begin to look tawdry +and top-heavy, under the rationality of that innocent stare. His +questions were blasting and devastating, like the questions of a +child. He would not have been afraid even of the nightmares of +cosmogony, for he had no fear in him. To him the world was small, +not because he had any views as to its size, but for the reason +that gossiping ladies find it small, because so many relatives were +to be found in it. If you had taken him to the loneliest star that +the madness of an astronomer can conceive, he would have only +beheld in it the features of a new friend.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="ROSTAND"></a> +<h2>ROSTAND</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>When 'Cyrano de Bergerac' was published, it bore the subordinate +title of a heroic comedy. We have no tradition in English +literature which would justify us in calling a comedy heroic, +though there was once a poet who called a comedy divine. By the +current modern conception, the hero has his place in a tragedy, and +the one kind of strength which is systematically denied to him is +the strength to succeed. That the power of a man's spirit might +possibly go to the length of turning a tragedy into a comedy is not +admitted; nevertheless, almost all the primitive legends of the +world are comedies, not only in the sense that they have a happy +ending, but in the sense that they are based upon a certain +optimistic assumption that the hero is destined to be the destroyer +of the monster. Singularly enough, this modern idea of the +essential disastrous character of life, when seriously considered, +connects itself with a hyper-æsthetic view of tragedy and +comedy which is largely due to the influence of modern France, from +which the great heroic comedies of Monsieur Rostand have come. The +French genius has an instinct for remedying its own evil work, and +France gives always the best cure for 'Frenchiness.' The idea of +comedy which is held in England by the school which pays most +attention to the technical niceties of art is a view which renders +such an idea as that of heroic comedy quite impossible. The +fundamental conception in the minds of the majority of our younger +writers is that comedy is, 'par excellence,' a fragile thing. It is +conceived to be a conventional world of the most absolutely +delicate and gimcrack description. Such stories as Mr Max +Beerbohm's 'Happy Hypocrite' are conceptions which would vanish or +fall into utter nonsense if viewed by one single degree too +seriously. But great comedy, the comedy of Shakespeare or Sterne, +not only can be, but must be, taken seriously. There is nothing to +which a man must give himself up with more faith and +self-abandonment than to genuine laughter. In such comedies one +laughs with the heroes and not at them. The humour which steeps the +stories of Falstaff and Uncle Toby is a cosmic and philosophic +humour, a geniality which goes down to the depths. It is not +superficial reading, it is not even, strictly speaking, light +reading. Our sympathies are as much committed to the characters as +if they were the predestined victims in a Greek tragedy. The modern +writer of comedies may be said to boast of the brittleness of his +characters. He seems always on the eve of knocking his puppets to +pieces. When John Oliver Hobbes wrote for the first time a comedy +of serious emotions, she named it, with a thinly-disguised contempt +for her own work, 'A Sentimental Comedy.' The ground of this +conception of the artificiality of comedy is a profound pessimism. +Life in the eyes of these mournful buffoons is itself an utterly +tragic thing; comedy must be as hollow as a grinning mask. It is a +refuge from the world, and not even, properly speaking, a part of +it. Their wit is a thin sheet of shining ice over the eternal +waters of bitterness.</p> + +<p>'Cyrano de Bergerac' came to us as the new decoration of an old +truth, that merriment was one of the world's natural flowers, and +not one of its exotics. The gigantesque levity, the flamboyant +eloquence, the Rabelaisian puns and digressions were seen to be +once more what they had been in Rabelais, the mere outbursts of a +human sympathy and bravado as old and solid as the stars. The human +spirit demanded wit as headlong and haughty as its will. All was +expressed in the words of Cyrano at his highest moment of +happiness. 'Il me faut des géants.' An essential aspect of +this question of heroic comedy is the question of drama in rhyme. +There is nothing that affords so easy a point of attack for the +dramatic realist as the conduct of a play in verse. According to +his canons, it is indeed absurd to represent a number of characters +facing some terrible crisis in their lives by capping rhymes like a +party playing 'bouts rimés.' In his eyes it must appear +somewhat ridiculous that two enemies taunting each other with +insupportable insults should obligingly provide each other with +metrical spacing and neat and convenient rhymes. But the whole of +this view rests finally upon the fact that few persons, if any, +to-day understand what is meant by a poetical play. It is a +singular thing that those poetical plays which are now written in +England by the most advanced students of the drama follow +exclusively the lines of Maeterlinck, and use verse and rhyme for +the adornment of a profoundly tragic theme. But rhyme has a supreme +appropriateness for the treatment of the higher comedy. The land of +heroic comedy is, as it were, a paradise of lovers, in which it is +not difficult to imagine that men could talk poetry all day long. +It is far more conceivable that men's speech should flower +naturally into these harmonious forms, when they are filled with +the essential spirit of youth, than when they are sitting gloomily +in the presence of immemorial destiny. The great error consists in +supposing that poetry is an unnatural form of language. We should +all like to speak poetry at the moment when we truly live, and if +we do not speak it, it is because we have an impediment in our +speech. It is not song that is the narrow or artificial thing, it +is conversation that is a broken and stammering attempt at song. +When we see men in a spiritual extravaganza, like Cyrano de +Bergerac, speaking in rhyme, it is not our language disguised or +distorted, but our language rounded and made whole. Rhymes answer +each other as the sexes in flowers and in humanity answer each +other. Men do not speak so, it is true. Even when they are inspired +or in love they talk inanities. But the poetic comedy does not +misrepresent the speech one half so much, as the speech +misrepresents the soul. Monsieur Rostand showed even more than his +usual insight when he called 'Cyrano de Bergerac' a comedy, despite +the fact that, strictly speaking, it ends with disappointment and +death. The essence of tragedy is a spiritual breakdown or decline, +and in the great French play the spiritual sentiment mounts +unceasingly until the last line. It is not the facts themselves, +but our feeling about them, that makes tragedy and comedy, and +death is more joyful in Rostand than life in Maeterlinck. The same +apparent contradiction holds good in the case of the drama of +'L'Aiglon,' now being performed with so much success. Although the +hero is a weakling, the subject a fiasco, the end a premature death +and a personal disillusionment, yet, in spite of this theme, which +might have been chosen for its depressing qualities, the +unconquerable pæan of the praise of things, the ungovernable +gaiety of the poet's song swells so high that at the end it seems +to drown all the weak voices of the characters in one crashing +chorus of great things and great men. A multitude of mottoes might +be taken from the play to indicate and illustrate, not only its own +spirit, but much of the spirit of modern life. When in the vision +of the field of Wagram the horrible voices of the wounded cry out, +'Les corbeaux, les corbeaux,' the Duke, overwhelmed with a +nightmare of hideous trivialities, cries out, 'Où, où +sont les aigles?' That antithesis might stand alone as an +invocation at the beginning of the twentieth century to the spirit +of heroic comedy. When an ex-General of Napoleon is asked his +reason for having betrayed the Emperor, he replies, 'La fatigue,' +and at that a veteran private of the Great Army rushes forward, and +crying passionately, 'Et nous?' pours out a terrible description of +the life lived by the common soldier. To-day when pessimism is +almost as much a symbol of wealth and fashion as jewels or cigars, +when the pampered heirs of the ages can sum up life in few other +words but 'la fatigue,' there might surely come a cry from the vast +mass of common humanity from the beginning 'et nous?' It is this +potentiality for enthusiasm among the mass of men that makes the +function of comedy at once common and sublime. Shakespeare's 'Much +Ado about Nothing' is a great comedy, because behind it is the +whole pressure of that love of love which is the youth of the +world, which is common to all the young, especially to those who +swear they will die bachelors and old maids. 'Love's Labour Lost' +is filled with the same energy, and there it falls even more +definitely into the scope of our subject since it is a comedy in +rhyme in which all men speak lyrically as naturally as the birds +sing in pairing time. What the love of love is to the Shakespearian +comedies, that other and more mysterious human passion, the love of +death, is to 'L'Aiglon.' Whether we shall ever have in England a +new tradition of poetic comedy it is difficult at present to say, +but we shall assuredly never have it until we realise that comedy +is built upon everlasting foundations in the nature of things, that +it is not a thing too light to capture, but too deep to plumb. +Monsieur Rostand, in his description of the Battle of Wagram, does +not shrink from bringing about the Duke's ears the frightful voices +of actual battle, of men torn by crows, and suffocated with blood, +but when the Duke, terrified at these dreadful appeals, asks them +for their final word, they all cry together 'Vive l'Empereur!' +Monsieur Rostand, perhaps, did not know that he was writing an +allegory. To me that field of Wagram is the field of the modern war +of literature. We hear nothing but the voices of pain; the whole is +one phonograph of horror. It is right that we should hear these +things, it is right that not one of them should be silenced; but +these cries of distress are not in life as they are in modern art +the only voices, they are the voices of men, but not the voice of +man. When questioned finally and seriously as to their conception +of their destiny, men have from the beginning of time answered in a +thousand philosophies and religions with a single voice and in a +sense most sacred and tremendous, 'Vive l'Empereur.'</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="CHARLES_II"></a> +<h2>CHARLES II</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>There are a great many bonds which still connect us with Charles +II., one of the idlest men of one of the idlest epochs. Among other +things Charles II. represented one thing which is very rare and +very satisfying; he was a real and consistent sceptic. Scepticism +both in its advantages and disadvantages is greatly misunderstood +in our time. There is a curious idea abroad that scepticism has +some connection with such theories as materialism and atheism and +secularism. This is of course a mistake; the true sceptic has +nothing to do with these theories simply because they are theories. +The true sceptic is as much a spiritualist as he is a materialist. +He thinks that the savage dancing round an African idol stands +quite as good a chance of being right as Darwin. He thinks that +mysticism is every bit as rational as rationalism. He has indeed +the most profound doubts as to whether St Matthew wrote his own +gospel. But he has quite equally profound doubts as to whether the +tree he is looking at is a tree and not a rhinoceros.</p> + +<p>This is the real meaning of that mystery which appears so +prominently in the lives of great sceptics, which appears with +especial prominence in the life of Charles II. I mean their +constant oscillation between atheism and Roman Catholicism. Roman +Catholicism is indeed a great and fixed and formidable system, but +so is atheism. Atheism is indeed the most daring of all dogmas, +more daring than the vision of a palpable day of judgment. For it +is the assertion of a universal negative; for a man to say that +there is no God in the universe is like saying that there are no +insects in any of the stars.</p> + +<p>Thus it was with that wholesome and systematic sceptic, Charles +II. When he took the Sacrament according to the forms of the Roman +Church in his last hour he was acting consistently as a +philosopher. The wafer might not be God; similarly it might not be +a wafer. To the genuine and poetical sceptic the whole world is +incredible, with its bulbous mountains and its fantastic trees. The +whole order of things is as outrageous as any miracle which could +presume to violate it. Transubstantiation might be a dream, but if +it was, it was assuredly a dream within a dream. Charles II. sought +to guard himself against hell fire because he could not think hell +itself more fantastic than the world as it was revealed by science. +The priest crept up the staircase, the doors were closed, the few +of the faithful who were present hushed themselves respectfully, +and so, with every circumstance of secrecy and sanctity, with the +cross uplifted and the prayers poured out, was consummated the last +great act of logical unbelief.</p> + +<p>The problem of Charles II. consists in this, that he has +scarcely a moral virtue to his name, and yet he attracts us +morally. We feel that some of the virtues have been dropped out in +the lists made by all the saints and sages, and that Charles II. +was pre-eminently successful in these wild and unmentionable +virtues. The real truth of this matter and the real relation of +Charles II. to the moral ideal is worth somewhat more exhaustive +study.</p> + +<p>It is a commonplace that the Restoration movement can only be +understood when considered as a reaction against Puritanism. But it +is insufficiently realised that the tyranny which half frustrated +all the good work of Puritanism was of a very peculiar kind. It was +not the fire of Puritanism, the exultation in sobriety, the frenzy +of a restraint, which passed away; that still burns in the heart of +England, only to be quenched by the final overwhelming sea. But it +is seldom remembered that the Puritans were in their day +emphatically intellectual bullies, that they relied swaggeringly on +the logical necessity of Calvinism, that they bound omnipotence +itself in the chains of syllogism. The Puritans fell, through the +damning fact that they had a complete theory of life, through the +eternal paradox that a satisfactory explanation can never satisfy. +Like Brutus and the logical Romans, like the logical French +Jacobins, like the logical English utilitarians, they taught the +lesson that men's wants have always been right and their arguments +always wrong. Reason is always a kind of brute force; those who +appeal to the head rather than the heart, however pallid and +polite, are necessarily men of violence. We speak of 'touching' a +man's heart, but we can do nothing to his head but hit it. The +tyranny of the Puritans over the bodies of men was comparatively a +trifle; pikes, bullets, and conflagrations are comparatively a +trifle. Their real tyranny was the tyranny of aggressive reason +over the cowed and demoralised human spirit. Their brooding and +raving can be forgiven, can in truth be loved and reverenced, for +it is humanity on fire; hatred can be genial, madness can be +homely. The Puritans fell, not because they were fanatics, but +because they were rationalists.</p> + +<p>When we consider these things, when we remember that Puritanism, +which means in our day a moral and almost temperamental attitude, +meant in that day a singularly arrogant logical attitude, we shall +comprehend a little more the grain of good that lay in the +vulgarity and triviality of the Restoration. The Restoration, of +which Charles II. was a pre-eminent type, was in part a revolt of +all the chaotic and unclassed parts of human nature, the parts that +are left over, and will always be left over, by every rationalistic +system of life. This does not merely account for the revolt of the +vices and of that empty recklessness and horseplay which is +sometimes more irritating than any vice. It accounts also for the +return of the virtue of politeness, for that also is a nameless +thing ignored by logical codes. Politeness has indeed about it +something mystical; like religion, it is everywhere understood and +nowhere defined. Charles is not entirely to be despised because, as +the type of this movement, he let himself float upon this new tide +of politeness. There was some moral and social value in his +perfection in little things. He could not keep the Ten +Commandments, but he kept the ten thousand commandments. His name +is unconnected with any great acts of duty or sacrifice, but it is +connected with a great many of those acts of magnanimous +politeness, of a kind of dramatic delicacy, which lie on the dim +borderland between morality and art. 'Charles II.,' said Thackeray, +with unerring brevity, 'was a rascal but not a snob.' Unlike George +IV. he was a gentleman, and a gentleman is a man who obeys strange +statutes, not to be found in any moral text-book, and practises +strange virtues nameless from the beginning of the world.</p> + +<p>So much may be said and should be said for the Restoration, that +it was the revolt of something human, if only the débris of +human nature. But more cannot be said. It was emphatically a fall +and not an ascent, a recoil and not an advance, a sudden weakness +and not a sudden strength. That the bow of human nature was by +Puritanism bent immeasurably too far, that it overstrained the soul +by stretching it to the height of an almost horrible idealism, +makes the collapse of the Restoration infinitely more excusable, +but it does not make it any the less a collapse. Nothing can efface +the essential distinction that Puritanism was one of the world's +great efforts after the discovery of the true order, whereas it was +the essence of the Restoration that it involved no effort at all. +It is true that the Restoration was not, as has been widely +assumed, the most immoral epoch of our history. Its vices cannot +compare for a moment in this respect with the monstrous tragedies +and almost suffocating secrecies and villainies of the Court of +James I. But the dram-drinking and nose-slitting of the saturnalia +of Charles II. seem at once more human and more detestable than the +passions and poisons of the Renaissance, much in the same way that +a monkey appears inevitably more human and more detestable than a +tiger. Compared with the Renaissance, there is something Cockney +about the Restoration. Not only was it too indolent for great +morality, it was too indolent even for great art. It lacked that +seriousness which is needed even for the pursuit of pleasure, that +discipline which is essential even to a game of lawn tennis. It +would have appeared to Charles II.'s poets quite as arduous to +write 'Paradise Lost' as to regain Paradise.</p> + +<p>All old and vigorous languages abound in images and metaphors, +which, though lightly and casually used, are in truth poems in +themselves, and poems of a high and striking order. Perhaps no +phrase is so terribly significant as the phrase 'killing time.' It +is a tremendous and poetical image, the image of a kind of cosmic +parricide. There is on the earth a race of revellers who do, under +all their exuberance, fundamentally regard time as an enemy. Of +these were Charles II. and the men of the Restoration. Whatever may +have been their merits, and as we have said we think that they had +merits, they can never have a place among the great representatives +of the joy of life, for they belonged to those lower epicureans who +kill time, as opposed to those higher epicureans who make time +live.</p> + +<p>Of a people in this temper Charles II. was the natural and +rightful head. He may have been a pantomime King, but he was a +King, and with all his geniality he let nobody forget it. He was +not, indeed, the aimless flaneur that he has been represented. He +was a patient and cunning politician, who disguised his wisdom +under so perfect a mask of folly that he not only deceived his +allies and opponents, but has deceived almost all the historians +that have come after him. But if Charles was, as he emphatically +was, the only Stuart who really achieved despotism, it was greatly +due to the temper of the nation and the age. Despotism is the +easiest of all governments, at any rate for the governed.</p> + +<p>It is indeed a form of slavery, and it is the despot who is the +slave. Men in a state of decadence employ professionals to fight +for them, professionals to dance for them, and a professional to +rule them.</p> + +<p>Almost all the faces in the portraits of that time look, as it +were, like masks put on artificially with the perruque. A strange +unreality broods over the period. Distracted as we are with civic +mysteries and problems, we can afford to rejoice. Our tears are +less desolate than their laughter, our restraints are larger than +their liberty.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="STEVENSON"></a> +<h2>STEVENSON<a name="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href= +"#Footnote_A_1"><sup>[A]</sup></a></h2> + +<br> + + +<p>A recent incident has finally convinced us that Stevenson was, +as we suspected, a great man. We knew from recent books that we +have noticed, from the scorn of 'Ephemera Critica' and Mr George +Moore, that Stevenson had the first essential qualification of a +great man: that of being misunderstood by his opponents. But from +the book which Messrs Chatto & Windus have issued, in the same +binding as Stevenson's works, 'Robert Louis Stevenson,' by Mr H. +Bellyse Baildon, we learn that he has the other essential +qualification, that of being misunderstood by his admirers. Mr +Baildon has many interesting things to tell us about Stevenson +himself, whom he knew at college. Nor are his criticisms by any +means valueless. That upon the plays, especially 'Beau Austin,' is +remarkably thoughtful and true. But it is a very singular fact, and +goes far, as we say, to prove that Stevenson had that unfathomable +quality which belongs to the great, that this admiring student of +Stevenson can number and marshal all the master's work and +distribute praise and blame with decision and even severity, +without ever thinking for a moment of the principles of art and +ethics which would have struck us as the very things that Stevenson +nearly killed himself to express.</p> + +<p>Mr Baildon, for example, is perpetually lecturing Stevenson for +his 'pessimism'; surely a strange charge against the man who has +done more than any modern artist to make men ashamed of their shame +of life. But he complains that, in 'The Master of Ballantrae' and +'Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,' Stevenson gives evil a final victory over +good. Now if there was one point that Stevenson more constantly and +passionately emphasised than any other it was that we must worship +good for its own value and beauty, without any reference whatever +to victory or failure in space and time. 'Whatever we are intended +to do,' he said, 'we are not intended to succeed.' That the stars +in their courses fight against virtue, that humanity is in its +nature a forlorn hope, this was the very spirit that through the +whole of Stevenson's work sounded a trumpet to all the brave. The +story of Henry Durie is dark enough, but could anyone stand beside +the grave of that sodden monomaniac and not respect him? It is +strange that men should see sublime inspiration in the ruins of an +old church and see none in the ruins of a man.</p> + +<p>The author has most extraordinary ideas about Stevenson's tales +of blood and spoil; he appears to think that they prove Stevenson +to have had (we use Mr Baildon's own phrase) a kind of 'homicidal +mania.' 'He (Stevenson) arrives pretty much at the paradox that one +can hardly be better employed than in taking life.' Mr Baildon +might as well say that Dr Conan Doyle delights in committing +inexplicable crimes, that Mr Clark Russell is a notorious pirate, +and that Mr Wilkie Collins thought that one could hardly be better +employed than in stealing moonstones and falsifying marriage +registers. But Mr Baildon is scarcely alone in this error: few +people have understood properly the goriness of Stevenson. +Stevenson was essentially the robust schoolboy who draws skeletons +and gibbets in his Latin grammar. It was not that he took pleasure +in death, but that he took pleasure in life, in every muscular and +emphatic action of life, even if it were an action that took the +life of another.</p> + +<p>Let us suppose that one gentleman throws a knife at another +gentleman and pins him to the wall. It is scarcely necessary to +remark that there are in this transaction two somewhat varying +personal points of view. The point of view of the man pinned is the +tragic and moral point of view, and this Stevenson showed clearly +that he understood in such stories as 'The Master of Ballantrae' +and 'Weir of Hermiston.' But there is another view of the +matter—that in which the whole act is an abrupt and brilliant +explosion of bodily vitality, like breaking a rock with a blow of a +hammer, or just clearing a five-barred gate. This is the standpoint +of romance, and it is the soul of 'Treasure Island' and 'The +Wrecker.' It was not, indeed, that Stevenson loved men less, but +that he loved clubs and pistols more. He had, in truth, in the +devouring universalism of his soul, a positive love for inanimate +objects such as has not been known since St Francis called the sun +brother and the well sister. We feel that he was actually in love +with the wooden crutch that Silver sent hurtling in the sunlight, +with the box that Billy Bones left at the 'Admiral Benbow,' with +the knife that Wicks drove through his own hand and the table. +There is always in his work a certain clean-cut angularity which +makes us remember that he was fond of cutting wood with an axe.</p> + +<p>Stevenson's new biographer, however, cannot make any allowance +for this deep-rooted poetry of mere sight and touch. He is always +imputing something to Stevenson as a crime which Stevenson really +professed as an object. He says of that glorious riot of horror, +'The Destroying Angel,' in 'The Dynamiter,' that it is 'highly +fantastic and putting a strain on our credulity.' This is rather +like describing the travels of Baron Munchausen as 'unconvincing.' +The whole story of 'The Dynamiter' is a kind of humorous nightmare, +and even in that story 'The Destroying Angel' is supposed to be an +extravagant lie made up on the spur of the moment. It is a dream +within a dream, and to accuse it of improbability is like accusing +the sky of being blue. But Mr Baildon, whether from hasty reading +or natural difference of taste, cannot in the least comprehend the +rich and romantic irony of Stevenson's London stories. He actually +says of that portentous monument of humour, Prince Florizel of +Bohemia, that, 'though evidently admired by his creator, he is to +me on the whole rather an irritating presence.' From this we are +almost driven to believe (though desperately and against our will) +that Mr Baildon thinks that Prince Florizel is to be taken +seriously, as if he were a man in real life. For ourselves, Prince +Florizel is almost our favourite character in fiction; but we +willingly add the proviso that if we met him in real life we should +kill him.</p> + +<p>The fact is, that the whole mass of Stevenson's spiritual and +intellectual virtues have been partly frustrated by one additional +virtue—that of artistic dexterity. If he had chalked up his +great message on a wall, like Walt Whitman, in large and straggling +letters, it would have startled men like a blasphemy. But he wrote +his light-headed paradoxes in so flowing a copy-book hand that +everyone supposed they must be copy-book sentiments. He suffered +from his versatility, not, as is loosely said, by not doing every +department well enough, but by doing every department too well. As +child, cockney, pirate, or Puritan, his disguises were so good that +most people could not see the same man under all. It is an unjust +fact that if a man can play the fiddle, give legal opinions, and +black boots just tolerably, he is called an Admirable Crichton, but +if he does all three thoroughly well, he is apt to be regarded, in +the several departments, as a common fiddler, a common lawyer, and +a common boot-black. This is what has happened in the case of +Stevenson. If 'Dr Jekyll,' 'The Master of Ballantrae,' 'The Child's +Garden of Verses,' and 'Across the Plains' had been each of them +one shade less perfectly done than they were, everyone would have +seen that they were all parts of the same message; but by +succeeding in the proverbial miracle of being in five places at +once, he has naturally convinced others that he was five different +people. But the real message of Stevenson was as simple as that of +Mahomet, as moral as that of Dante, as confident as that of +Whitman, and as practical as that of James Watt.</p> + +<p>The conception which unites the whole varied work of Stevenson +was that romance, or the vision of the possibilities of things, was +far more important than mere occurrences: that one was the soul of +our life, the other the body, and that the soul was the precious +thing. The germ of all his stories lies in the idea that every +landscape or scrap of scenery has a soul: and that soul is a story. +Standing before a stunted orchard with a broken stone wall, we may +know as a mere fact that no one has been through it but an elderly +female cook. But everything exists in the human soul: that orchard +grows in our own brain, and there it is the shrine and theatre of +some strange chance between a girl and a ragged poet and a mad +farmer. Stevenson stands for the conception that ideas are the real +incidents: that our fancies are our adventures. To think of a cow +with wings is essentially to have met one. And this is the reason +for his wide diversities of narrative: he had to make one story as +rich as a ruby sunset, another as grey as a hoary monolith: for the +story was the soul, or rather the meaning, of the bodily vision. It +is quite inappropriate to judge 'The Teller of Tales' (as the +Samoans called him) by the particular novels he wrote, as one would +judge Mr George Moore by 'Esther Waters.' These novels were only +the two or three of his soul's adventures that he happened to tell. +But he died with a thousand stories in his heart.</p> + +<a name="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1">[A]</a> +<div class="note"> +<p>'Robert Louis Stevenson: A Life Study in Criticism.' By H. +Bellyse Baildon. Chatto & Windus.</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THOMAS_CARLYLE"></a> +<h2>THOMAS CARLYLE</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>There are two main moral necessities for the work of a great +man: the first is that he should believe in the truth of his +message; the second is that he should believe in the acceptability +of his message. It was the whole tragedy of Carlyle that he had the +first and not the second.</p> + +<p>The ordinary capital, however, which is made out of Carlyle's +alleged gloom is a very paltry matter. Carlyle had his faults, both +as a man and as a writer, but the attempt to explain his gospel in +terms of his 'liver' is merely pitiful. If indigestion invariably +resulted in a 'Sartor Resartus,' it would be a vastly more +tolerable thing than it is. Diseases do not turn into poems; even +the decadent really writes with the healthy part of his organism. +If Carlyle's private faults and literary virtues ran somewhat in +the same line, he is only in the situation of every man; for every +one of us it is surely very difficult to say precisely where our +honest opinions end and our personal predilections begin. But to +attempt to denounce Carlyle as a mere savage egotist cannot arise +from anything but a pure inability to grasp Carlyle's gospel. +'Ruskin,' says a critic, 'did, all the same, verily believe in God; +Carlyle believed only in himself.' This is certainly a distinction +between the author he has understood and the author he has not +understood. Carlyle believed in himself, but he could not have +believed in himself more than Ruskin did; they both believed in +God, because they felt that if everything else fell into wrack and +ruin, themselves were permanent witnesses to God. Where they both +failed was not in belief in God or in belief in themselves; they +failed in belief in other people. It is not enough for a prophet to +believe in his message; he must believe in its acceptability. +Christ, St Francis, Bunyan, Wesley, Mr Gladstone, Walt Whitman, men +of indescribable variety, were all alike in a certain faculty of +treating the average man as their equal, of trusting to his reason +and good feeling without fear and without condescension. It was +this simplicity of confidence, not only in God, but in the image of +God, that was lacking in Carlyle.</p> + +<p>But the attempts to discredit Carlyle's religious sentiment must +absolutely fall to the ground. The profound security of Carlyle's +sense of the unity of the Cosmos is like that of a Hebrew prophet; +and it has the same expression that it had in the Hebrew +prophets—humour. A man must be very full of faith to jest +about his divinity. No Neo-Pagan delicately suggesting a revival of +Dionysius, no vague, half-converted Theosophist groping towards a +recognition of Buddha, would ever think of cracking jokes on the +matter. But to the Hebrew prophets their religion was so solid a +thing, like a mountain or a mammoth, that the irony of its contact +with trivial and fleeting matters struck them like a blow. So it +was with Carlyle. His supreme contribution, both to philosophy and +literature, was his sense of the sarcasm of eternity. Other writers +had seen the hope or the terror of the heavens, he alone saw the +humour of them. Other writers had seen that there could be +something elemental and eternal in a song or statute, he alone saw +that there could be something elemental and eternal in a joke. No +one who ever read it will forget the passage, full of dark and +agnostic gratification, in which he narrates that some Court +chronicler described Louis XV. as 'falling asleep in the Lord.' +'Enough for us that he did fall asleep; that, curtained in thick +night, under what keeping we ask not, he at least will never, +through unending ages, insult the face of the sun any more ... and +we go on, if not to better forms of beastliness, at least to +fresher ones.'</p> + +<p>The supreme value of Carlyle to English literature was that he +was the founder of modern irrationalism; a movement fully as +important as modern rationalism. A great deal is said in these days +about the value or valuelessness of logic. In the main, indeed, +logic is not a productive tool so much as a weapon of defence. A +man building up an intellectual system has to build like Nehemiah, +with the sword in one hand and the trowel in the other. The +imagination, the constructive quality, is the trowel, and argument +is the sword. A wide experience of actual intellectual affairs will +lead most people to the conclusion that logic is mainly valuable as +a weapon wherewith to exterminate logicians.</p> + +<p>But though this may be true enough in practice, it scarcely +clears up the position of logic in human affairs. Logic is a +machine of the mind, and if it is used honestly it ought to bring +out an honest conclusion. When people say that you can prove +anything by logic, they are not using words in a fair sense. What +they mean is that you can prove anything by bad logic. Deep in the +mystic ingratitude of the soul of man there is an extraordinary +tendency to use the name for an organ, when what is meant is the +abuse or decay of that organ. Thus we speak of a man suffering from +'nerves,' which is about as sensible as talking about a man +suffering from ten fingers. We speak of 'liver' and 'digestion' +when we mean the failure of liver and the absence of digestion. And +in the same manner we speak of the dangers of logic, when what we +really mean is the danger of fallacy.</p> + +<p>But the real point about the limitation of logic and the partial +overthrow of logic by writers like Carlyle is deeper and somewhat +different. The fault of the great mass of logicians is not that +they bring out a false result, or, in other words, are not +logicians at all. Their fault is that by an inevitable +psychological habit they tend to forget that there are two parts of +a logical process—the first the choosing of an assumption, +and the second the arguing upon it; and humanity, if it devotes +itself too persistently to the study of sound reasoning, has a +certain tendency to lose the faculty of sound assumption. It is +astonishing how constantly one may hear from rational and even +rationalistic persons such a phrase as 'He did not prove the very +thing with which he started,' or 'The whole of his case rested upon +a pure assumption,' two peculiarities which may be found by the +curious in the works of Euclid. It is astonishing, again, how +constantly one hears rationalists arguing upon some deep topic, +apparently without troubling about the deep assumptions involved, +having lost their sense, as it were, of the real colour and +character of a man's assumption. For instance, two men will argue +about whether patriotism is a good thing and never discover until +the end, if at all, that the cosmopolitan is basing his whole case +upon the idea that man should, if he can, become as God, with equal +sympathies and no prejudices, while the nationalist denies any such +duty at the very start, and regards man as an animal who has +preferences, as a bird has feathers.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;"> +<p>Thus it was with Carlyle: he startled men by attacking not +arguments but assumptions. He simply brushed aside all the matters +which the men of the nineteenth century held to be +incontrovertible, and appealed directly to the very different class +of matters which they knew to be true. He induced men to study less +the truth of their reasoning, and more the truth of the assumptions +upon which they reasoned. Even where his view was not the highest +truth, it was always a refreshing and beneficent heresy. He denied +every one of the postulates upon which the age of reason based +itself. He denied the theory of progress which assumed that we must +be better off than the people of the twelfth century. Whether we +were better than the people of the twelfth century according to him +depended entirely upon whether we chose or deserved to be.</p> + +<p>He denied every type and species of prop or association or +support which threw the responsibility upon civilisation or +society, or anything but the individual conscience. He has often +been called a prophet. The real ground of the truth of this phrase +is often neglected. Since the last era of purely religious +literature, the era of English Puritanism, there has been no writer +in whose eyes the soul stood so much alone.</p> + +<p>Carlyle was, as we have suggested, a mystic, and mysticism was +with him, as with all its genuine professors, only a transcendent +form of common-sense. Mysticism and common-sense alike consist in a +sense of the dominance of certain truths and tendencies which +cannot be formally demonstrated or even formally named. Mysticism +and common-sense are alike appeals to realities that we all know to +be real, but which have no place in argument except as postulates. +Carlyle's work did consist in breaking through formulas, old and +new, to these old and silent and ironical sanities. Philosophers +might abolish kings a hundred times over, he maintained, they could +not alter the fact that every man and woman does choose a king and +repudiate all the pride of citizenship for the exultation of +humility. If inequality of this kind was a weakness, it was a +weakness bound up with the very strength of the universe. About +hero worship, indeed, few critics have done the smallest justice to +Carlyle. Misled by those hasty and choleric passages in which he +sometimes expressed a preference for mere violence, passages which +were a great deal more connected with his temperament than with his +philosophy, they have finally imbibed the notion that Carlyle's +theory of hero worship was a theory of terrified submission to +stern and arrogant men. As a matter of fact, Carlyle is really +inhumane about some questions, but he is never inhumane about hero +worship. His view is not that human nature is so vulgar and silly a +thing that it must be guided and driven; it is, on the contrary, +that human nature is so chivalrous and fundamentally magnanimous a +thing that even the meanest have it in them to love a leader more +than themselves, and to prefer loyalty to rebellion. When he speaks +of this trait in human nature Carlyle's tone invariably softens. We +feel that for the moment he is kindled with admiration of mankind, +and almost reaches the verge of Christianity. Whatever else was +acid and captious about Carlyle's utterances, his hero worship was +not only humane, it was almost optimistic. He admired great men +primarily, and perhaps correctly, because he thought that they were +more human than other men. The evil side of the influence of +Carlyle and his religion of hero worship did not consist in the +emotional worship of valour and success; that was a part of him, +as, indeed, it is a part of all healthy children. Where Carlyle +really did harm was in the fact that he, more than any modern man, +is responsible for the increase of that modern habit of what is +vulgarly called 'Going the whole hog.' Often in matters of passion +and conquest it is a singularly hoggish hog. This remarkable modern +craze for making one's philosophy, religion, politics, and temper +all of a piece, of seeking in all incidents for opportunities to +assert and reassert some favourite mental attitude, is a thing +which existed comparatively little in other centuries. Solomon and +Horace, Petrarch and Shakespeare were pessimists when they were +melancholy, and optimists when they were happy. But the optimist of +to-day seems obliged to prove that gout and unrequited love make +him dance with joy, and the pessimist of to-day to prove that +sunshine and a good supper convulse him with inconsolable anguish. +Carlyle was strongly possessed with this mania for spiritual +consistency. He wished to take the same view of the wars of the +angels and of the paltriest riot at Donnybrook Fair. It was this +species of insane logic which led him into his chief errors, never +his natural enthusiasms. Let us take an example. Carlyle's defence +of slavery is a thoroughly ridiculous thing, weak alike in argument +and in moral instinct. The truth is, that he only took it up from +the passion for applying everywhere his paradoxical defence of +aristocracy. He blundered, of course, because he did not see that +slavery has nothing in the world to do with aristocracy, that it +is, indeed, almost its opposite. The defence which Carlyle and all +its thoughtful defenders have made for aristocracy was that a few +persons could more rapidly and firmly decide public affairs in the +interests of the people. But slavery is not even supposed to be a +government for the good of the governed. It is a possession of the +governed avowedly for the good of the governors. Aristocracy uses +the strong for the service of the weak; slavery uses the weak for +the service of the strong. It is no derogation to man as a +spiritual being, as Carlyle firmly believed he was, that he should +be ruled and guided for his own good like a child—for a child +who is always ruled and guided we regard as the very type of +spiritual existence. But it is a derogation and an absolute +contradiction to that human spirituality in which Carlyle believed +that a man should be owned like a tool for someone else's good, as +if he had no personal destiny in the Cosmos. We draw attention to +this particular error of Carlyle's because we think that it is a +curious example of the waste and unclean places into which that +remarkable animal, 'the whole hog,' more than once led him.</p> + +<p>In this respect Carlyle has had unquestionably long and an +unquestionably bad influence. The whole of that recent political +ethic which conceives that if we only go far enough we may finish a +thing for once and all, that being strong consists chiefly in being +deliberately deaf and blind, owes a great deal of its complete sway +to his example. Out of him flows most of the philosophy of +Nietzsche, who is in modern times the supreme maniac of this +moonstruck consistency. Though Nietzsche and Carlyle were in +reality profoundly different, Carlyle being a stiff-necked peasant +and Nietzsche a very fragile aristocrat, they were alike in this +one quality of which we speak, the strange and pitiful audacity +with which they applied their single ethical test to everything in +heaven and earth. The disciple of Nietzsche, indeed, embraces +immorality like an austere and difficult faith. He urges himself to +lust and cruelty with the same tremulous enthusiasm with which a +Christian urges himself to purity and patience; he struggles as a +monk struggles with bestial visions and temptations with the +ancient necessities of honour and justice and compassion. To this +madhouse, it can hardly be denied, has Carlyle's intellectual +courage brought many at last.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="TOLSTOY_AND_THE_CULT_OF_SIMPLICITY"></a> +<h2>TOLSTOY AND THE CULT OF SIMPLICITY</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>The whole world is certainly heading for a great simplicity, not +deliberately, but rather inevitably. It is not a mere fashion of +false innocence, like that of the French aristocrats before the +Revolution, who built an altar to Pan, and who taxed the peasantry +for the enormous expenditure which is needed in order to live the +simple life of peasants. The simplicity towards which the world is +driving is the necessary outcome of all our systems and +speculations and of our deep and continuous contemplation of +things. For the universe is like everything in it; we have to look +at it repeatedly and habitually before we see it. It is only when +we have seen it for the hundredth time that we see it for the first +time. The more consistently things are contemplated, the more they +tend to unify themselves and therefore to simplify themselves. The +simplification of anything is always sensational. Thus monotheism +is the most sensational of things: it is as if we gazed long at a +design full of disconnected objects, and, suddenly, with a stunning +thrill, they came together into a huge and staring face.</p> + +<p>Few people will dispute that all the typical movements of our +time are upon this road towards simplification. Each system seeks +to be more fundamental than the other; each seeks, in the literal +sense, to undermine the other. In art, for example, the old +conception of man, classic as the Apollo Belvedere, has first been +attacked by the realist, who asserts that man, as a fact of natural +history, is a creature with colourless hair and a freckled face. +Then comes the Impressionist, going yet deeper, who asserts that to +his physical eye, which alone is certain, man is a creature with +purple hair and a grey face. Then comes the Symbolist, and says +that to his soul, which alone is certain, man is a creature with +green hair and a blue face. And all the great writers of our time +represent in one form or another this attempt to re-establish +communication with the elemental, or, as it is sometimes more +roughly and fallaciously expressed, to return to nature. Some think +that the return to nature consists in drinking no wine; some think +that it consists in drinking a great deal more than is good for +them. Some think that the return to nature is achieved by beating +swords into ploughshares; some think it is achieved by turning +ploughshares into very ineffectual British War Office bayonets. It +is natural, according to the Jingo, for a man to kill other people +with gunpowder and himself with gin. It is natural, according to +the humanitarian revolutionist, to kill other people with dynamite +and himself with vegetarianism. It would be too obviously +Philistine a sentiment, perhaps, to suggest that the claim of +either of these persons to be obeying the voice of nature is +interesting when we consider that they require huge volumes of +paradoxical argument to persuade themselves or anyone else of the +truth of their conclusions. But the giants of our time are +undoubtedly alike in that they approach by very different roads +this conception of the return to simplicity. Ibsen returns to +nature by the angular exterior of fact, Maeterlinck by the eternal +tendencies of fable. Whitman returns to nature by seeing how much +he can accept, Tolstoy by seeing how much he can reject.</p> + +<p>Now, this heroic desire to return to nature is, of course, in +some respects, rather like the heroic desire of a kitten to return +to its own tail. A tail is a simple and beautiful object, rhythmic +in curve and soothing in texture; but it is certainly one of the +minor but characteristic qualities of a tail that it should hang +behind. It is impossible to deny that it would in some degree lose +its character if attached to any other part of the anatomy. Now, +nature is like a tail in the sense that it is vitally important if +it is to discharge its real duty that it should be always behind. +To imagine that we can see nature, especially our own nature, face +to face is a folly; it is even a blasphemy. It is like the conduct +of a cat in some mad fairy-tale, who should set out on his travels +with the firm conviction that he would find his tail growing like a +tree in the meadows at the end of the world. And the actual effect +of the travels of the philosopher in search of nature when seen +from the outside looks very like the gyrations of the tail-pursuing +kitten, exhibiting much enthusiasm but little dignity, much cry and +very little tail. The grandeur of nature is that she is omnipotent +and unseen, that she is perhaps ruling us most when we think that +she is heeding us least. 'Thou art a God that hidest Thyself,' said +the Hebrew poet. It may be said with all reverence that it is +behind a man's back that the spirit of nature hides.</p> + +<p>It is this consideration that lends a certain air of futility +even to all the inspired simplicities and thunderous veracities of +Tolstoy. We feel that a man cannot make himself simple merely by +warring on complexity; we feel, indeed, in our saner moments that a +man cannot make himself simple at all. A self-conscious simplicity +may well be far more intrinsically ornate than luxury itself. +Indeed, a great deal of the pomp and sumptuousness of the world's +history was simple in the truest sense. It was born of an almost +babyish receptiveness; it was the work of men who had eyes to +wonder and men who had ears to hear.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'King Solomon brought merchant men<br> +</span> <span class="i2">Because of his desire<br> +</span> <span>With peacocks, apes and ivory,<br> +</span> <span class="i2">From Tarshish unto Tyre.'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>But this proceeding was not a part of the wisdom of Solomon; it +was a part of his folly—I had almost said of his innocence. +Tolstoy, we feel, would not be content with hurling satire and +denunciation at 'Solomon in all his glory.' With fierce and +unimpeachable logic he would go a step further. He would spend days +and nights in the meadows stripping the shameless crimson coronals +off the lilies of the field.</p> + +<p>The new collection of 'Tales from Tolstoy,' translated and +edited by Mr R. Nisbet Bain, is calculated to draw particular +attention to this ethical and ascetic side of Tolstoy's work. In +one sense, and that the deepest sense, the work of Tolstoy is, of +course, a genuine and noble appeal to simplicity. The narrow notion +that an artist may not teach is pretty well exploded by now. But +the truth of the matter is, that an artist teaches far more by his +mere background and properties, his landscape, his costume, his +idiom and technique—all the part of his work, in short, of +which he is probably entirely unconscious, than by the elaborate +and pompous moral dicta which he fondly imagines to be his +opinions. The real distinction between the ethics of high art and +the ethics of manufactured and didactic art lies in the simple fact +that the bad fable has a moral, while the good fable is a moral. +And the real moral of Tolstoy comes out constantly in these +stories, the great moral which lies at the heart of all his work, +of which he is probably unconscious, and of which it is quite +likely that he would vehemently disapprove. The curious cold white +light of morning that shines over all the tales, the folklore +simplicity with which 'a man or a woman' are spoken of without +further identification, the love—one might almost say the +lust—for the qualities of brute materials, the hardness of +wood, and the softness of mud, the ingrained belief in a certain +ancient kindliness sitting beside the very cradle of the race of +man—these influences are truly moral. When we put beside them +the trumpeting and tearing nonsense of the didactic Tolstoy, +screaming for an obscene purity, shouting for an inhuman peace, +hacking up human life into small sins with a chopper, sneering at +men, women, and children out of respect to humanity, combining in +one chaos of contradictions an unmanly Puritan and an uncivilised +prig, then, indeed, we scarcely know whither Tolstoy has vanished. +We know not what to do with this small and noisy moralist who is +inhabiting one corner of a great and good man.</p> + +<p>It is difficult in every case to reconcile Tolstoy the great +artist with Tolstoy the almost venomous reformer. It is difficult +to believe that a man who draws in such noble outlines the dignity +of the daily life of humanity regards as evil that divine act of +procreation by which that dignity is renewed from age to age. It is +difficult to believe that a man who has painted with so frightful +an honesty the heartrending emptiness of the life of the poor can +really grudge them every one of their pitiful pleasures, from +courtship to tobacco. It is difficult to believe that a poet in +prose who has so powerfully exhibited the earth-born air of man, +the essential kinship of a human being, with the landscape in which +he lives, can deny so elemental a virtue as that which attaches a +man to his own ancestors and his own land. It is difficult to +believe that the man who feels so poignantly the detestable +insolence of oppression would not actually, if he had the chance, +lay the oppressor flat with his fist. All, however, arises from the +search after a false simplicity, the aim of being, if I may so +express it, more natural than it is natural to be. It would not +only be more human, it would be more humble of us to be content to +be complex. The truest kinship with humanity would lie in doing as +humanity has always done, accepting with a sportsmanlike relish the +estate to which we are called, the star of our happiness, and the +fortunes of the land of our birth.</p> + +<p>The work of Tolstoy has another and more special significance. +It represents the re-assertion of a certain awful common-sense +which characterised the most extreme utterances of Christ. It is +true that we cannot turn the cheek to the smiter; it is true that +we cannot give our cloak to the robber; civilisation is too +complicated, too vainglorious, too emotional. The robber would +brag, and we should blush; in other words, the robber and we are +alike sentimentalists. The command of Christ is impossible, but it +is not insane; it is rather sanity preached to a planet of +lunatics. If the whole world was suddenly stricken with a sense of +humour it would find itself mechanically fulfilling the Sermon on +the Mount. It is not the plain facts of the world which stand in +the way of that consummation, but its passions of vanity and +self-advertisement and morbid sensibility. It is true that we +cannot turn the cheek to the smiter, and the sole and sufficient +reason is that we have not the pluck. Tolstoy and his followers +have shown that they have the pluck, and even if we think they are +mistaken, by this sign they conquer. Their theory has the strength +of an utterly consistent thing. It represents that doctrine of +mildness and non-resistance which is the last and most audacious of +all the forms of resistance to every existing authority. It is the +great strike of the Quakers which is more formidable than many +sanguinary revolutions. If human beings could only succeed in +achieving a real passive resistance they would be strong with the +appalling strength of inanimate things, they would be calm with the +maddening calm of oak or iron, which conquer without vengeance and +are conquered without humiliation. The theory of Christian duty +enunciated by them is that we should never conquer by force, but +always, if we can, conquer by persuasion. In their mythology St +George did not conquer the dragon: he tied a pink ribbon round its +neck and gave it a saucer of milk. According to them, a course of +consistent kindness to Nero would have turned him into something +only faintly represented by Alfred the Great. In fact, the policy +recommended by this school for dealing with the bovine stupidity +and bovine fury of this world is accurately summed up in the +celebrated verse of Mr Edward Lear:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"><span>'There was an old man who said, "How<br> +</span> <span>Shall I flee from this terrible cow?<br> +</span> <span>I will sit on a stile and continue to smile,<br> +</span> <span>Till I soften the heart of this cow."'<br> +</span></div> +</div> + +<p>Their confidence in human nature is really honourable and +magnificent; it takes the form of refusing to believe the +overwhelming majority of mankind, even when they set out to explain +their own motives. But although most of us would in all probability +tend at first sight to consider this new sect of Christians as +little less outrageous than some brawling and absurd sect in the +Reformation, yet we should fall into a singular error in doing so. +The Christianity of Tolstoy is, when we come to consider it, one of +the most thrilling and dramatic incidents in our modern +civilisation. It represents a tribute to the Christian religion +more sensational than the breaking of seals or the falling of +stars.</p> + +<p>From the point of view of a rationalist, the whole world is +rendered almost irrational by the single phenomenon of Christian +Socialism. It turns the scientific universe topsy-turvy, and makes +it essentially possible that the key of all social evolution may be +found in the dusty casket of some discredited creed. It cannot be +amiss to consider this phenomenon as it really is.</p> + +<p>The religion of Christ has, like many true things, been +disproved an extraordinary number of times. It was disproved by the +Neo-Platonist philosophers at the very moment when it was first +starting forth upon its startling and universal career. It was +disproved again by many of the sceptics of the Renaissance only a +few years before its second and supremely striking embodiment, the +religion of Puritanism, was about to triumph over many kings, and +civilise many continents. We all agree that these schools of +negation were only interludes in its history; but we all believe +naturally and inevitably that the negation of our own day is really +a breaking up of the theological cosmos, an Armageddon, a Ragnorak, +a twilight of the gods. The man of the nineteenth century, like a +schoolboy of sixteen, believes that his doubt and depression are +symbols of the end of the world. In our day the great +irreligionists who did nothing but dethrone God and drive angels +before them have been outstripped, distanced, and made to look +orthodox and humdrum. A newer race of sceptics has found something +infinitely more exciting to do than nailing down the lids upon a +million coffins, and the body upon a single cross. They have +disputed not only the elementary creeds, but the elementary laws of +mankind, property, patriotism, civil obedience. They have arraigned +civilisation as openly as the materialists have arraigned theology; +they have damned all the philosophers even lower than they have +damned the saints. Thousands of modern men move quietly and +conventionally among their fellows while holding views of national +limitation or landed property that would have made Voltaire shudder +like a nun listening to blasphemies. And the last and wildest phase +of this saturnalia of scepticism, the school that goes furthest +among thousands who go so far, the school that denies the moral +validity of those ideals of courage or obedience which are +recognised even among pirates, this school bases itself upon the +literal words of Christ, like Dr Watts or Messrs Moody and Sankey. +Never in the whole history of the world was such a tremendous +tribute paid to the vitality of an ancient creed. Compared with +this, it would be a small thing if the Red Sea were cloven asunder, +or the sun did stand still at mid-day. We are faced with the +phenomenon that a set of revolutionists whose contempt for all the +ideals of family and nation would evoke horror in a thieves' +kitchen, who can rid themselves of those elementary instincts of +the man and the gentleman which cling to the very bones of our +civilisation, cannot rid themselves of the influence of two or +three remote Oriental anecdotes written in corrupt Greek. The fact, +when realised, has about it something stunning and hypnotic. The +most convinced rationalist is in its presence suddenly stricken +with a strange and ancient vision, sees the immense sceptical +cosmogonies of this age as dreams going the way of a thousand +forgotten heresies, and believes for a moment that the dark sayings +handed down through eighteen centuries may, indeed, contain in +themselves the revolutions of which we have only begun to +dream.</p> + +<p>This value which we have above suggested, unquestionably belongs +to the Tolstoians, who may roughly be described as the new Quakers. +With their strange optimism, and their almost appalling logical +courage, they offer a tribute to Christianity which no orthodoxies +could offer. It cannot but be remarkable to watch a revolution in +which both the rulers and the rebels march under the same symbol. +But the actual theory of non-resistance itself, with all its +kindred theories, is not, I think, characterised by that +intellectual obviousness and necessity which its supporters claim +for it. A pamphlet before us shows us an extraordinary number of +statements about the New Testament, of which the accuracy is by no +means so striking as the confidence. To begin with, we must protest +against a habit of quoting and paraphrasing at the same time. When +a man is discussing what Jesus meant, let him state first of all +what He said, not what the man thinks He would have said if he had +expressed Himself more clearly. Here is an instance of question and +answer:</p> + +<p>Q. 'How did our Master Himself sum up the law in a few +words?'</p> + +<p>A. 'Be ye merciful, be ye perfect even as your Father; your +Father in the spirit world is merciful, is perfect.'</p> + +<p>There is nothing in this, perhaps, which Christ might not have +said except the abominable metaphysical modernism of 'the spirit +world'; but to say that it is recorded that He did say it, is like +saying it is recorded that He preferred palm trees to sycamores. It +is a simple and unadulterated untruth. The author should know that +these words have meant a thousand things to a thousand people, and +that if more ancient sects had paraphrased them as cheerfully as +he, he would never have had the text upon which he founds his +theory. In a pamphlet in which plain printed words cannot be left +alone, it is not surprising if there are mis-statements upon larger +matters. Here is a statement clearly and philosophically laid down +which we can only content ourselves with flatly denying: 'The fifth +rule of our Lord is that we should take special pains to cultivate +the same kind of regard for people of foreign countries, and for +those generally who do not belong to us, or even have an antipathy +to us, which we already entertain towards our own people, and those +who are in sympathy with us.' I should very much like to know where +in the whole of the New Testament the author finds this violent, +unnatural, and immoral proposition. Christ did not have the same +kind of regard for one person as for another. We are specifically +told that there were certain persons whom He specially loved. It is +most improbable that He thought of other nations as He thought of +His own. The sight of His national city moved Him to tears, and the +highest compliment He paid was, 'Behold an Israelite indeed.' The +author has simply confused two entirely distinct things. Christ +commanded us to have love for all men, but even if we had equal +love for all men, to speak of having the same love for all men is +merely bewildering nonsense. If we love a man at all, the +impression he produces on us must be vitally different to the +impression produced by another man whom we love. To speak of having +the same kind of regard for both is about as sensible as asking a +man whether he prefers chrysanthemums or billiards. Christ did not +love humanity; He never said He loved humanity: He loved men. +Neither He nor anyone else can love humanity; it is like loving a +gigantic centipede. And the reason that the Tolstoians can even +endure to think of an equally distributed affection is that their +love of humanity is a logical love, a love into which they are +coerced by their own theories, a love which would be an insult to a +tom-cat.</p> + +<p>But the greatest error of all lies in the mere act of cutting up +the teaching of the New Testament into five rules. It precisely and +ingeniously misses the most dominant characteristic of the +teaching—its absolute spontaneity. The abyss between Christ +and all His modern interpreters is that we have no record that He +ever wrote a word, except with His finger in the sand. The whole is +the history of one continuous and sublime conversation. Thousands +of rules have been deduced from it before these Tolstoian rules +were made, and thousands will be deduced afterwards. It was not for +any pompous proclamation, it was not for any elaborate output of +printed volumes; it was for a few splendid and idle words that the +cross was set up on Calvary, and the earth gaped, and the sun was +darkened at noonday.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="SAVONAROLA"></a> +<h2>SAVONAROLA</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>Savonarola is a man whom we shall probably never understand +until we know what horror may lie at the heart of civilisation. +This we shall not know until we are civilised. It may be hoped, in +one sense, that we may never understand Savonarola.</p> + +<p>The great deliverers of men have, for the most part, saved them +from calamities which we all recognise as evil, from calamities +which are the ancient enemies of humanity. The great law-givers +saved us from anarchy: the great physicians saved us from +pestilence: the great reformers saved us from starvation. But there +is a huge and bottomless evil compared with which all these are +flea-bites, the most desolating curse that can fall upon men or +nations, and it has no name, except we call it satisfaction. +Savonarola did not save men from anarchy, but from order; not from +pestilence, but from paralysis; not from starvation, but from +luxury. Men like Savonarola are the witnesses to the tremendous +psychological fact at the back of all our brains, but for which no +name has ever been found, that ease is the worst enemy of +happiness, and civilisation potentially the end of man.</p> + +<p>For I fancy that Savonarola's thrilling challenge to the luxury +of his day went far deeper than the mere question of sin. The +modern rationalistic admirers of Savonarola, from George Eliot +downwards, dwell, truly enough, upon the sound ethical +justification of Savonarola's anger, upon the hideous and +extravagant character of the crimes which polluted the palaces of +the Renaissance. But they need not be so anxious to show that +Savonarola was no ascetic, that he merely picked out the black +specks of wickedness with the priggish enlightenment of a member of +an Ethical Society. Probably he did hate the civilisation of his +time, and not merely its sins; and that is precisely where he was +infinitely more profound than a modern moralist. He saw that the +actual crimes were not the only evils: that stolen jewels and +poisoned wine and obscene pictures were merely the symptoms; that +the disease was the complete dependence upon jewels and wine and +pictures. This is a thing constantly forgotten in judging of +ascetics and Puritans in old times. A denunciation of harmless +sports did not always mean an ignorant hatred of what no one but a +narrow moralist would call harmful. Sometimes it meant an +exceedingly enlightened hatred of what no one but a narrow moralist +would call harmless. Ascetics are sometimes more advanced than the +average man, as well as less.</p> + +<p>Such, at least, was the hatred in the heart of Savonarola. He +was making war against no trivial human sins, but against godless +and thankless quiescence, against getting used to happiness, the +mystic sin by which all creation fell. He was preaching that +severity which is the sign-manual of youth and hope. He was +preaching that alertness, that clean agility and vigilance, which +is as necessary to gain pleasure as to gain holiness, as +indispensable in a lover as in a monk. A critic has truly pointed +out that Savonarola could not have been fundamentally +anti-æsthetic, since he had such friends as Michael Angelo, +Botticelli, and Luca della Robbia. The fact is that this +purification and austerity are even more necessary for the +appreciation of life and laughter than for anything else. To let no +bird fly past unnoticed, to spell patiently the stones and weeds, +to have the mind a storehouse of sunset, requires a discipline in +pleasure, and an education in gratitude.</p> + +<p>The civilisation which surrounded Savonarola on every side was a +civilisation which had already taken the wrong turn, the turn that +leads to endless inventions and no discoveries, in which new things +grow old with confounding rapidity, but in which no old things ever +grow new. The monstrosity of the crimes of the Renaissance was not +a mark of imagination; it was a mark, as all monstrosity is, of the +loss of imagination. It is only when a man has really ceased to see +a horse as it is, that he invents a centaur, only when he can no +longer be surprised at an ox, that he worships the devil. Diablerie +is the stimulant of the jaded fancy; it is the dram-drinking of the +artist. Savonarola addressed himself to the hardest of all earthly +tasks, that of making men turn back and wonder at the simplicities +they had learnt to ignore. It is strange that the most unpopular of +all doctrines is the doctrine which declares the common life +divine. Democracy, of which Savonarola was so fiery an exponent, is +the hardest of gospels; there is nothing that so terrifies men as +the decree that they are all kings. Christianity, in Savonarola's +mind, identical with democracy, is the hardest of gospels; there is +nothing that so strikes men with fear as the saying that they are +all the sons of God.</p> + +<p>Savonarola and his republic fell. The drug of despotism was +administered to the people, and they forgot what they had been. +There are some at the present day who have so strange a respect for +art and letters, and for mere men of genius, that they conceive the +reign of the Medici to be an improvement on that of the great +Florentine republican. It is such men as these and their +civilisation that we have at the present day to fear. We are +surrounded on many sides by the same symptoms as those which awoke +the unquenchable wrath of Savonarola—a hedonism that is more +sick of happiness than an invalid is sick of pain, an art sense +that seeks the assistance of crime since it has exhausted nature. +In many modern works we find veiled and horrible hints of a truly +Renaissance sense of the beauty of blood, the poetry of murder. The +bankrupt and depraved imagination does not see that a living man is +far more dramatic than a dead one. Along with this, as in the time +of the Medici, goes the falling back into the arms of despotism, +the hunger for the strong man which is unknown among strong men. +The masterful hero is worshipped as he is worshipped by the readers +of the 'Bow Bells Novelettes,' and for the same reason—a +profound sense of personal weakness. That tendency to devolve our +duties descends on us, which is the soul of slavery, alike whether +for its menial tasks it employs serfs or emperors. Against all this +the great clerical republican stands in everlasting protest, +preferring his failure to his rival's success. The issue is still +between him and Lorenzo, between the responsibilities of liberty +and the licence of slavery, between the perils of truth and the +security of silence, between the pleasure of toil and the toil of +pleasure. The supporters of Lorenzo the Magnificent are assuredly +among us, men for whom even nations and empires only exist to +satisfy the moment, men to whom the last hot hour of summer is +better than a sharp and wintry spring. They have an art, a +literature, a political philosophy, which are all alike valued for +their immediate effect upon the taste, not for what they promise of +the destiny of the spirit. Their statuettes and sonnets are rounded +and perfect, while 'Macbeth' is in comparison a fragment, and the +Moses of Michael Angelo a hint. Their campaigns and battles are +always called triumphant, while Cæsar and Cromwell wept for +many humiliations. And the end of it all is the hell of no +resistance, the hell of an unfathomable softness, until the whole +nature recoils into madness and the chamber of civilisation is no +longer merely a cushioned apartment, but a padded cell.</p> + +<p>This last and worst of human miseries Savonarola saw afar off, +and bent his whole gigantic energies to turning the chariot into +another course. Few men understood his object; some called him a +madman, some a charlatan, some an enemy of human joy. They would +not even have understood if he had told them, if he had said that +he was saving them from a calamity of contentment which should be +the end of joys and sorrows alike. But there are those to-day who +feel the same silent danger, and who bend themselves to the same +silent resistance. They also are supposed to be contending for some +trivial political scruple.</p> + +<p>Mr M'Hardy says, in defending Savonarola, that the number of +fine works of art destroyed in the Burning of the Vanities has been +much exaggerated. I confess that I hope the pile contained stacks +of incomparable masterpieces if the sacrifice made that one real +moment more real. Of one thing I am sure, that Savonarola's friend +Michael Angelo would have piled all his own statues one on top of +the other, and burnt them to ashes, if only he had been certain +that the glow transfiguring the sky was the dawn of a younger and +wiser world.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;"> +<a name="THE_POSITION_OF_SIR_WALTER_SCOTT"></a> +<h2>THE POSITION OF SIR WALTER SCOTT</h2> + +<br> + + +<p>Walter Scott is a writer who should just now be re-emerging into +his own high place in letters, for unquestionably the recent, +though now dwindling, schools of severely technical and +æsthetic criticism have been unfavourable to him. He was a +chaotic and unequal writer, and if there is one thing in which +artists have improved since his time, it is in consistency and +equality. It would perhaps be unkind to inquire whether the level +of the modern man of letters, as compared with Scott, is due to the +absence of valleys or the absence of mountains. But in any case, we +have learnt in our day to arrange our literary effects carefully, +and the only point in which we fall short of Scott is in the +incidental misfortune that we have nothing particular to +arrange.</p> + +<p>It is said that Scott is neglected by modern readers; if so, the +matter could be more appropriately described by saying that modern +readers are neglected by Providence. The ground of this neglect, in +so far as it exists, must be found, I suppose, in the general +sentiment that, like the beard of Polonius, he is too long. Yet it +is surely a peculiar thing that in literature alone a house should +be despised because it is too large, or a host impugned because he +is too generous. If romance be really a pleasure, it is difficult +to understand the modern reader's consuming desire to get it over, +and if it be not a pleasure, it is difficult to understand his +desire to have it at all. Mere size, it seems to me, cannot be a +fault. The fault must lie in some disproportion. If some of Scott's +stories are dull and dilatory, it is not because they are giants +but because they are hunchbacks or cripples. Scott was very far +indeed from being a perfect writer, but I do not think that it can +be shown that the large and elaborate plan on which his stories are +built was by any means an imperfection. He arranged his endless +prefaces and his colossal introductions just as an architect plans +great gates and long approaches to a really large house. He did not +share the latter-day desire to get quickly through a story. He +enjoyed narrative as a sensation; he did not wish to swallow a +story like a pill that it should do him good afterwards. He desired +to taste it like a glass of port, that it might do him good at the +time. The reader sits late at his banquets. His characters have +that air of immortality which belongs to those of Dumas and +Dickens. We should not be surprised to meet them in any number of +sequels. Scott, in his heart of hearts, probably would have liked +to write an endless story without either beginning or close.</p> + +<p>Walter Scott is a great, and, therefore, mysterious man. He will +never be understood until Romance is understood, and that will be +only when Time, Man, and Eternity are understood. To say that Scott +had more than any other man that ever lived a sense of the romantic +seems, in these days, a slight and superficial tribute. The whole +modern theory arises from one fundamental mistake—the idea +that romance is in some way a plaything with life, a figment, a +conventionality, a thing upon the outside. No genuine criticism of +romance will ever arise until we have grasped the fact that romance +lies not upon the outside of life but absolutely in the centre of +it. The centre of every man's existence is a dream. Death, disease, +insanity, are merely material accidents, like toothache or a +twisted ankle. That these brutal forces always besiege and often +capture the citadel does not prove that they are the citadel. The +boast of the realist (applying what the reviewers call his scalpel) +is that he cuts into the heart of life; but he makes a very shallow +incision if he only reaches as deep as habits and calamities and +sins. Deeper than all these lies a man's vision of himself, as +swaggering and sentimental as a penny novelette. The literature of +candour unearths innumerable weaknesses and elements of lawlessness +which is called romance. It perceives superficial habits like +murder and dipsomania, but it does not perceive the deepest of +sins—the sin of vanity—vanity which is the mother of +all day-dreams and adventures, the one sin that is not shared with +any boon companion, or whispered to any priest.</p> + +<p>In estimating, therefore, the ground of Scott's pre-eminence in +romance we must absolutely rid ourselves of the notion that romance +or adventure are merely materialistic things involved in the tangle +of a plot or the multiplicity of drawn swords. We must remember +that it is, like tragedy or farce, a state of the soul, and that, +for some dark and elemental reason which we can never understand, +this state of the soul is evoked in us by the sight of certain +places or the contemplation of certain human crises, by a stream +rushing under a heavy and covered wooden bridge, or by a man +plunging a knife or sword into tough timber. In the selection of +these situations which catch the spirit of romance as in a net, +Scott has never been equalled or even approached. His finest scenes +affect us like fragments of a hilarious dream. They have the same +quality which is often possessed by those nocturnal +comedies—that of seeming more human than our waking +life—even while they are less possible. Sir Arthur Wardour, +with his daughter and the old beggar crouching in a cranny of the +cliff as night falls and the tide closes around them, are actually +in the coldest and bitterest of practical situations. Yet the whole +incident has a quality that can only be called boyish. It is warmed +with all the colours of an incredible sunset. Rob Roy trapped in +the Tolbooth, and confronted with Bailie Nicol Jarvie, draws no +sword, leaps from no window, affects none of the dazzling external +acts upon which contemporary romance depends, yet that plain and +humorous dialogue is full of the essential philosophy of romance +which is an almost equal betting upon man and destiny. Perhaps the +most profoundly thrilling of all Scott's situations is that in +which the family of Colonel Mannering are waiting for the carriage +which may or may not arrive by night to bring an unknown man into a +princely possession. Yet almost the whole of that thrilling scene +consists of a ridiculous conversation about food, and flirtation +between a frivolous old lawyer and a fashionable girl. We can say +nothing about what makes these scenes, except that the wind bloweth +where it listeth, and that here the wind blows strong.</p> + +<p>It is in this quality of what may be called spiritual +adventurousness that Scott stands at so different an elevation to +the whole of the contemporary crop of romancers who have followed +the leadership of Dumas. There has, indeed, been a great and +inspiriting revival of romance in our time, but it is partly +frustrated in almost every case by this rooted conception that +romance consists in the vast multiplication of incidents and the +violent acceleration of narrative. The heroes of Mr Stanley Weyman +scarcely ever have their swords out of their hands; the deeper +presence of romance is far better felt when the sword is at the hip +ready for innumerable adventures too terrible to be pictured. The +Stanley Weyman hero has scarcely time to eat his supper except in +the act of leaping from a window or whilst his other hand is +employed in lunging with a rapier. In Scott's heroes, on the other +hand, there is no characteristic so typical or so worthy of honour +as their disposition to linger over their meals. The conviviality +of the Clerk of Copmanhurst or of Mr Pleydell, and the thoroughly +solid things they are described as eating, is one of the most +perfect of Scott's poetic touches. In short, Mr Stanley Weyman is +filled with the conviction that the sole essence of romance is to +move with insatiable rapidity from incident to incident. In the +truer romance of Scott there is more of the sentiment of 'Oh! still +delay, thou art so fair'; more of a certain patriarchal enjoyment +of things as they are—of the sword by the side and the +wine-cup in the hand. Romance, indeed, does not consist by any +means so much in experiencing adventures as in being ready for +them. How little the actual boy cares for incidents in comparison +to tools and weapons may be tested by the fact that the most +popular story of adventure is concerned with a man who lived for +years on a desert island with two guns and a sword, which he never +had to use on an enemy.</p> + +<p>Closely connected with this is one of the charges most commonly +brought against Scott, particularly in his own day—the charge +of a fanciful and monotonous insistence upon the details of armour +and costume. The critic in the 'Edinburgh Review' said indignantly +that he could tolerate a somewhat detailed description of the +apparel of Marmion, but when it came to an equally detailed account +of the apparel of his pages and yeomen the mind could bear it no +longer. The only thing to be said about that critic is that he had +never been a little boy. He foolishly imagined that Scott valued +the plume and dagger of Marmion for Marmion's sake. Not being +himself romantic, he could not understand that Scott valued the +plume because it was a plume, and the dagger because it was a +dagger. Like a child, he loved weapons with a manual materialistic +love, as one loves the softness of fur or the coolness of marble. +One of the profound philosophical truths which are almost confined +to infants is this love of things, not for their use or origin, but +for their own inherent characteristics, the child's love of the +toughness of wood, the wetness of water, the magnificent soapiness +of soap. So it was with Scott, who had so much of the child in him. +Human beings were perhaps the principal characters in his stories, +but they were certainly not the only characters. A battle-axe was a +person of importance, a castle had a character and ways of its own. +A church bell had a word to say in the matter. Like a true child, +he almost ignored the distinction between the animate and +inanimate. A two-handed sword might be carried only by a menial in +a procession, but it was something important and immeasurably +fascinating—it was a two-handed sword.</p> + +<p>There is one quality which is supreme and continuous in Scott +which is little appreciated at present. One of the values we have +really lost in recent fiction is the value of eloquence. The modern +literary artist is compounded of almost every man except the +orator. Yet Shakespeare and Scott are certainly alike in this, that +they could both, if literature had failed, have earned a living as +professional demagogues. The feudal heroes in the 'Waverley Novels' +retort upon each other with a passionate dignity, haughty and yet +singularly human, which can hardly be paralleled in political +eloquence except in 'Julius Cæsar.' With a certain fiery +impartiality which stirs the blood, Scott distributes his noble +orations equally among saints and villains. He may deny a villain +every virtue or triumph, but he cannot endure to deny him a telling +word; he will ruin a man, but he will not silence him. In truth, +one of Scott's most splendid traits is his difficulty, or rather +incapacity, for despising any of his characters. He did not scorn +the most revolting miscreant as the realist of to-day commonly +scorns his own hero. Though his soul may be in rags, every man of +Scott can speak like a king.</p> + +<p>This quality, as I have said, is sadly to seek in the fiction of +the passing hour. The realist would, of course, repudiate the bare +idea of putting a bold and brilliant tongue in every man's head, +but even where the moment of the story naturally demands eloquence +the eloquence seems frozen in the tap. Take any contemporary work +of fiction and turn to the scene where the young Socialist +denounces the millionaire, and then compare the stilted +sociological lecture given by that self-sacrificing bore with the +surging joy of words in Rob Roy's declaration of himself, or +Athelstane's defiance of De Bracy. That ancient sea of human +passion upon which high words and great phrases are the resplendent +foam is just now at a low ebb. We have even gone the length of +congratulating ourselves because we can see the mud and the +monsters at the bottom. In politics there is not a single man whose +position is due to eloquence in the first degree; its place is +taken by repartees and rejoinders purely intellectual, like those +of an omnibus conductor. In discussing questions like the +farm-burning in South Africa no critic of the war uses his material +as Burke or Grattan (perhaps exaggeratively) would have used +it—the speaker is content with facts and expositions of +facts. In another age he might have risen and hurled that great +song in prose, perfect as prose and yet rising into a chant, which +Meg Merrilees hurled at Ellangowan, at the rulers of Britain: 'Ride +your ways, Laird of Ellangowan; ride your ways, Godfrey +Bertram—this day have ye quenched seven smoking hearths. See +if the fire in your ain parlour burns the blyther for that. Ye have +riven the thack of seven cottar houses. Look if your ain roof-tree +stands the faster for that. Ye may stable your stirks in the +sheilings of Dern-cleugh. See that the hare does not couch on the +hearthstane of Ellangowan. Ride your ways, Godfrey Bertram.'</p> + +<p>The reason is, of course, that these men are afraid of bombast +and Scott was not. A man will not reach eloquence if he is afraid +of bombast, just as a man will not jump a hedge if he is afraid of +a ditch. As the object of all eloquence is to find the least common +denominator of men's souls, to fall just within the natural +comprehension, it cannot obviously have any chance with a literary +ambition which aims at falling just outside it. It is quite right +to invent subtle analyses and detached criticisms, but it is +unreasonable to expect them to be punctuated with roars of popular +applause. It is possible to conceive of a mob shouting any central +and simple sentiment, good or bad, but it is impossible to think of +a mob shouting a distinction in terms. In the matter of eloquence, +the whole question is one of the immediate effect of greatness, +such as is produced even by fine bombast. It is absurd to call it +merely superficial; here there is no question of superficiality; we +might as well call a stone that strikes us between the eyes merely +superficial. The very word 'superficial' is founded on a +fundamental mistake about life, the idea that second thoughts are +best. The superficial impression of the world is by far the +deepest. What we really feel, naturally and casually, about the +look of skies and trees and the face of friends, that and that +alone will almost certainly remain our vital philosophy to our +dying day.</p> + +<p>Scott's bombast, therefore, will always be stirring to anyone +who approaches it, as he should approach all literature, as a +little child. We could easily excuse the contemporary critic for +not admiring melodramas and adventure stories, and Punch and Judy, +if he would admit that it was a slight deficiency in his artistic +sensibilities. Beyond all question, it marks a lack of literary +instinct to be unable to simplify one's mind at the first signal of +the advance of romance. 'You do me wrong,' said Brian de +Bois-Guilbert to Rebecca. 'Many a law, many a commandment have I +broken, but my word, never.' 'Die,' cries Balfour of Burley to the +villain in 'Old Mortality.' 'Die, hoping nothing, believing +nothing—' 'And fearing nothing,' replies the other. This is +the old and honourable fine art of bragging, as it was practised by +the great worthies of antiquity. The man who cannot appreciate it +goes along with the man who cannot appreciate beef or claret or a +game with children or a brass band. They are afraid of making fools +of themselves, and are unaware that that transformation has already +been triumphantly effected.</p> + +<p>Scott is separated, then, from much of the later conception of +fiction by this quality of eloquence. The whole of the best and +finest work of the modern novelist (such as the work of Mr Henry +James) is primarily concerned with that delicate and fascinating +speech which burrows deeper and deeper like a mole; but we have +wholly forgotten that speech which mounts higher and higher like a +wave and falls in a crashing peroration. Perhaps the most +thoroughly brilliant and typical man of this decade is Mr Bernard +Shaw. In his admirable play of 'Candida' it is clearly a part of +the character of the Socialist clergyman that he should be +eloquent, but he is not eloquent, because the whole 'G.B.S.' +condition of mind renders impossible that poetic simplicity which +eloquence requires. Scott takes his heroes and villains seriously, +which is, after all, the way that heroes and villains take +themselves—especially villains. It is the custom to call +these old romantic poses artificial; but the word artificial is the +last and silliest evasion of criticism. There was never anything in +the world that was really artificial. It had some motive or ideal +behind it, and generally a much better one than we think.</p> + +<p>Of the faults of Scott as an artist it is not very necessary to +speak, for faults are generally and easily pointed out, while there +is yet no adequate valuation of the varieties and contrasts of +virtue. We have compiled a complete botanical classification of the +weeds in the poetical garden, but the flowers still flourish +neglected and nameless. It is true, for example, that Scott had an +incomparably stiff and pedantic way of dealing with his heroines: +he made a lively girl of eighteen refuse an offer in the language +of Dr Johnson. To him, as to most men of his time, woman was not an +individual, but an institution—a toast that was drunk some +time after that of Church and King. But it is far better to +consider the difference rather as a special merit, in that he stood +for all those clean and bracing shocks of incident which are +untouched by passion or weakness, for a certain breezy +bachelorhood, which is almost essential to the literature of +adventure. With all his faults, and all his triumphs, he stands for +the great mass of natural manliness which must be absorbed into art +unless art is to be a mere luxury and freak. An appreciation of +Scott might be made almost a test of decadence. If ever we lose +touch with this one most reckless and defective writer, it will be +a proof to us that we have erected round ourselves a false cosmos, +a world of lying and horrible perfection, leaving outside of it +Walter Scott and that strange old world which is as confused and as +indefensible and as inspiring and as healthy as he.</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12491 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + + |