diff options
Diffstat (limited to '13449-h/13449-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | 13449-h/13449-h.htm | 2338 |
1 files changed, 2338 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/13449-h/13449-h.htm b/13449-h/13449-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e23830d --- /dev/null +++ b/13449-h/13449-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2338 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Plain Man and his Wife, by Arnold Bennett + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13449 ***</div> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE PLAIN MAN AND HIS WIFE + </h1> + <h2> + By Arnold Bennett + </h2> + <h4> + Author Of “The Old Adam,” “The Old Wives’ Tale,” + “Buried Alive,” Etc. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE PLAIN MAN AND HIS WIFE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I - ALL MEANS AND NO END </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II - THE TASTE FOR PLEASURE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III - THE RISKS OF LIFE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV - IN HER PLACE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE PLAIN MAN AND HIS WIFE + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I - ALL MEANS AND NO END + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + The plain man on a plain day wakes up, slowly or quickly according to his + temperament, and greets the day in a mental posture which might be thus + expressed in words: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord! Another day! What a grind!” + </p> + <p> + If you ask me whom I mean by the plain man, my reply is that I mean almost + every man. I mean you. I certainly mean me. I mean the rich and the poor, + the successful and the unsuccessful, the idle and the diligent, the + luxurious and the austere. For, what with the limits of digestion, the + practical impossibility of wearing two neckties at once, the insecurity of + investments, the responsibilities of wealth and of success, the + exhaustingness of the search for pleasure, and the cheapness of travel—the + real differences between one sort of plain man and another are slight in + these times. (And indeed they always were slight.) + </p> + <p> + The plain man has a lot to do before he may have his breakfast—and + he must do it. The tyrannic routine begins instantly he is out of bed. To + lave limbs, to shave the jaw, to select clothes and assume them—these + things are naught. He must exercise his muscles—all his muscles + equally and scientifically—with the aid of a text-book and of + diagrams on a large card; which card he often hides if he is expecting + visitors in his chamber, for he will not always confess to these + exercises; he would have you believe that he alone, in a world of + simpletons, is above the faddism of the hour; he is as ashamed of these + exercises as of a good resolution, and when his wife happens to burst in + on them he will pretend to be doing some common act, such as walking + across the room or examining a mole in the small of his back. And yet he + will not abandon them. They have an empire over him. To drop them would be + to be craven, inefficient. The text-book asserts that they will form one + of the pleasantest parts of the day, and that he will learn to look + forward to them. He soon learns to look forward to them, but not with + glee. He is relieved and proud when they are over for the day. + </p> + <p> + He would enjoy his breakfast, thanks to the strenuous imitation of + diagrams, were it not that, in addition to being generally in a hurry, he + is preoccupied. He is preoccupied by the sense of doom, by the sense that + he has set out on the appointed path and dare not stray from it. The train + or the tram-car or the automobile (same thing) is waiting for him, + irrevocable, undeniable, inevitable. He wrenches himself away. He goes + forth to his fate, as to the dentist. And just as he would enjoy his + breakfast in the home, so he would enjoy his newspaper and cigarette in + the vehicle, were it not for that ever-present sense of doom. The idea of + business grips him. It matters not what the business is. Business is + everything, and everything is business. He reaches his office—whatever + his office is. He is in his office. He must plunge—he plunges. The + day has genuinely begun now. The appointed path stretches straight in + front of him, for five, six, seven, eight hours. + </p> + <p> + Oh! but he chose his vocation. He likes it. It satisfies his instincts. It + is his life. (So you say.) Well, does he like it? Does it satisfy his + instincts? Is it his life? If truly the answer is affirmative, he is at + any rate not conscious of the fact. He is aware of no ecstasy. What is the + use of being happy unless he knows he is happy? Some men know that they + are happy in the hours of business, but they are few. The majority are + not, and the bulk of the majority do not even pretend to be. The whole + attitude of the average plain man to business implies that business is a + nuisance, scarcely mitigated. With what secret satisfaction he anticipates + that visit to the barber’s in the middle of the morning! With what + gusto he hails the arrival of an unexpected interrupting friend! With what + easement he decides that he may lawfully put off some task till the + morrow! Let him hear a band or a fire-engine in the street, and he will go + to the window with the eagerness of a child or of a girl-clerk. If he were + working at golf the bands of all the regiments of Hohenzollern would not + make him turn his head, nor the multitudinous blazing of fireproof + skyscrapers. No! Let us be honest. Business constitutes the steepest, + roughest league of the appointed path. Were it otherwise, business would + not be universally regarded as a means to an end. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, when the plain man gets home again, does his wife’s face + say to him: “I know that your real life is now over for the day, and + I regret for your sake that you have to return here. I know that the + powerful interest of your life is gone. But I am glad that you have had + five, six, seven, or eight hours of passionate pleasure”? Not a bit! + His wife’s face says to him: “I commiserate with you on all + that you have been through. It is a great shame that you should be + compelled to toil thus painfully. But I will try to make it up to you. I + will soothe you. I will humour you. Forget anxiety and fatigue in my + smiles.” She does not fetch his comfortable slippers for him, partly + because, in this century, wives do not do such things, and partly because + comfortable slippers are no longer worn. But she does the equivalent—whatever + the equivalent may happen to be in that particular household. And he + expects the commiseration and the solace in her face. He would be very + hurt did he not find it there. + </p> + <p> + And even yet he is not relaxed. Even yet the appointed path stretches + inexorably in front, and he cannot wander. For now he feels the cogs and + cranks of the highly complex domestic machine. At breakfast he declined to + hear them; they were shut off from him; he was too busy to be bothered + with them. At evening he must be bothered with them. Was it not he who + created the machine? He discovers, often to his astonishment, that his + wife has an existence of her own, full of factors foreign to him, and he + has to project himself, not only into his wife’s existence, but into + the existences of other minor personages. His daughter, for example, will + persist in growing up. Not for a single day will she pause. He arrives one + night and perceives that she is a woman and that he must treat her as a + woman. He had not bargained for this. Peace, ease, relaxation in a home + vibrating to the whir of such astounding phenomena? Impossible dream! + These phenomena were originally meant by him to be the ornamentation of + his career, but they are threatening to be the sole reason of his career. + If his wife lives for him, it is certain that he lives just as much for + his wife; and as for his daughter, while she emphatically does not live + for him, he is bound to admit that he has just got to live for her—and + she knows it! + </p> + <p> + To gain money was exhausting; to spend it is precisely as exhausting. He + cannot quit the appointed path nor lift the doom. Dinner is finished ere + he has begun to recover from the varied shock of home. Then his daughter + may negligently throw him a few moments of charming cajolery. He may + gossip in simple idleness with his wife. He may gambol like any infant + with the dog. A yawn. The shadow of the next day is upon him. He must not + stay up too late, lest the vigour demanded by the next day should be + impaired. Besides, he does not want to stay up. Naught is quite + interesting enough to keep him up. And bed, too, is part of the appointed, + unescapable path. To bed he goes, carrying ten million preoccupations. And + of his state of mind the kindest that can be said is that he is + philosophic enough to hope for the best. + </p> + <p> + And after the night he wakes up, slowly or quickly according to his + temperament, and greets the day with: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord! Another day! What a grind!” + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + The interesting point about the whole situation is that the plain man + seldom or never asks himself a really fundamental question about that + appointed path of his—that path from which he dare not and could not + wander. + </p> + <p> + Once, perhaps in a parable, the plain man travelling met another + traveller. And the plain man demanded of the traveller: + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to?” + </p> + <p> + The traveller replied: + </p> + <p> + “Now I come to think of it, I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + The plain man was ruffled by this insensate answer. He said: + </p> + <p> + “But you are travelling?” + </p> + <p> + The traveller replied: + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The plain man, beginning to be annoyed, said: + </p> + <p> + “Have you never asked yourself where you are going to?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you mean to tell me,” protested the plain man, now + irritated, “that you are putting yourself to all this trouble, + peril, and expense of trains and steamers, without having asked yourself + where you are going to?” + </p> + <p> + “It never occurred to me,” the traveller admitted. “I + just had to start and I started.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the plain man was, as too often with us plain men, staggered and + deeply affronted by the illogical absurdity of human nature. “Was it + conceivable,” he thought, “that this traveller, presumably in + his senses—” etc. (You are familiar with the tone and the + style, being a plain man yourself.) And he gave way to moral indignation. + </p> + <p> + Now I must here, in parenthesis, firmly state that I happen to be a member + of the Society for the Suppression of Moral Indignation. As such, I object + to the plain man’s moral indignation against the traveller; and I + think that a liability to moral indignation is one of the plain man’s + most serious defects. As such, my endeavour is to avoid being staggered + and deeply affronted, or even surprised, by human vagaries. There are too + many plain people who are always rediscovering human nature—its + turpitudes, fatuities, unreason. They live amid human nature as in a + chamber of horrors. And yet, after all these years, we surely ought to + have grown used to human nature! It may be extremely vile—that is + not the point. The point is that it constitutes our environment, from + which we cannot escape alive. The man who is capable of being deeply + affronted by his inevitable environment ought to have the pluck of his + convictions and shoot himself. The Society would with pleasure pay his + funeral expenses and contribute to the support of his wife and children. + Such a man is, without knowing it, a dire enemy of true progress, which + can only be planned and executed in an atmosphere from which heated moral + superiority is absent. + </p> + <p> + I offer these parenthetical remarks as a guarantee that I shall not + over-righteously sneer at the plain man for his share in the sequel to the + conversation with the traveller. For there was a sequel to the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “As questions are being asked, where are you going to?” said + the traveller. + </p> + <p> + The plain man answered with assurance: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know exactly where I’m going to. I’m going to + Timbuctoo.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said the traveller. “And why are you going to + Timbuctoo?” + </p> + <p> + Said the plain man: “I’m going because it’s the proper + place to go to. Every self-respecting person goes to Timbuctoo.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + Said the plain man: + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s supposed to be just about unique. You’re + contented there. You get what you’ve always wanted. The climate’s + wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said the traveller again. “Have you met + anybody who’s been there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ve met several. I’ve met a lot. And I’ve + heard from people who are there.” + </p> + <p> + “And are their reports enthusiastic?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” The plain man hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Answer me. Are their reports enthusiastic?” the traveller + insisted, rather bullyingly. + </p> + <p> + “Not very,” the plain man admitted. “Some say it’s + very disappointing. And some say it’s much like other towns. Every + one says the climate has grave drawbacks.” + </p> + <p> + The traveller demanded: + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you going there?” + </p> + <p> + Said the plain man: + </p> + <p> + “It never occurred to me to ask why. As I say, Timbuctoo’s + supposed to be—” + </p> + <p> + “Supposed by whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—generally supposed,” said the plain man, limply. + </p> + <p> + “Not by the people who’ve been there?” the traveller + persevered, with obstinacy. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not,” breathed the plain man. “But it’s + generally supposed—” He faltered. There was a silence, which + was broken by the traveller, who inquired: + </p> + <p> + “Any interesting places en route?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I never troubled about that,” said the + plain man. + </p> + <p> + “But do you mean to tell me,” the traveller exclaimed, “that + you are putting yourself to all this trouble, peril, and expense of trains + and steamers and camel-back without having asked yourself why, and without + having satisfied yourself that the thing was worth while, and without + having even ascertained the most agreeable route?” + </p> + <p> + Said the plain man, weakly: + </p> + <p> + “I just had to start for somewhere, so I started for Timbuctoo.” + </p> + <p> + Said the traveller: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m of a forgiving disposition. Shake hands.” + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + The two individuals in the foregoing parable were worrying each other with + fundamental questions. And what makes the parable unrealistic is the + improbability of real individuals ever doing any such thing. If the plain + man, for instance, has almost ceased to deal in fundamental questions in + these days, the reason is not difficult to find. The reason lies in the + modern perception that fundamental questions are getting very hard to + answer. In a former time a dogmatic answer was ready waiting for every + fundamental question. You asked the question, but before you asked it you + knew the answer, and so there was no argument and nearly no anxiety. In + that former time a mere child could glance at your conduct and tell you + with certainty exactly what you would be doing and how you would be + feeling ten thousand years hence, if you persisted in the said conduct. + But knowledge has advanced since then, and the inconvenience of increased + knowledge is that it intensifies the sense of ignorance, with the result + that, though we know immensely more than our grandfathers knew, we feel + immensely more ignorant than they ever felt. They were, indeed, too + ignorant to be aware of ignorance—which is perhaps a comfortable + state. Thus the plain man nowadays shirks fundamental questions. And + assuredly no member of the Society for the Suppression of Moral + Indignation shall blame him. + </p> + <p> + All fundamental questions resolve themselves finally into the following + assertion and inquiry about life: “I am now engaged in something + rather tiresome. What do I stand to gain by it later on?” That is + the basic query. It has forms of varying importance. In its supreme form + the word “eternity” has to be employed. And the plain man is, + to-day, so sensitive about this supreme form of the question that, far + from asking and trying to answer it, he can scarcely bear to hear it even + discussed—I mean discussed with candour. In practise a frank + discussion of it usually tempts him to exhibitions of extraordinary heat + and bitterness, and wisdom is thereby but obscured. Therefore he prefers + the disadvantage of leaving it alone to the dissatisfaction of attempting + to deal with it. The disadvantage of leaving it alone is obvious. + Existence is, and must be, a compromise between the claims of the moment + and the claims of the future—and how can that compromise be wisely + established if one has not somehow made up one’s mind about the + future? It cannot. But—I repeat—I would not blame the plain + man. I would only just hint to him, while respecting his sensitiveness, + that the present hour is just as much a part of eternity as another hour + ten thousand years off. + </p> + <p> + The second—the most important—form of the fundamental question + embraces the problem of old age. All plain men will admit, when faithfully + cross-examined, a sort of belief that they are on their way to some + Timbuctoo situate in the region of old age. It may be the Timbuctoo of a + special ambition realized, or the Timbuctoo of luxury, or the Timbuctoo of + material security, or the Timbuctoo of hale health, or the Timbuctoo of + knowledge, or the Timbuctoo of power, or even the Timbuctoo of a good + conscience. It is anyhow a recognizable and definable Timbuctoo. And the + path leading to it is a straight, wide thoroughfare, clearly visible for a + long distance ahead. + </p> + <p> + The theory of the mortal journey is simple and seldom challenged. It is a + twofold theory—first that the delight of achievement will compensate + for the rigours and self-denials of the route, and second that the misery + of non-achievement would outweigh the immediate pleasures of dallying. If + this theory were not indestructible, for reasons connected with the secret + nature of humanity, it would probably have been destroyed long ago by the + mere cumulative battering of experience. For the earth’s surface is + everywhere thickly dotted with old men who have achieved ambition, old men + drenched in luxury, old men as safe as Mont Blanc from overthrow, old men + with the health of camels, old men who know more than anybody ever knew + before, old men whose nod can ruin a thousand miles of railroad, and old + men with consciences of pure snow; but who are not happy and cannot enjoy + life. + </p> + <p> + The theory, however, does happen to be indestructible, partly because old + age is such a terrible long way off, partly because the young honestly + believe themselves to have a monopoly of wisdom, partly because every + plain man is convinced that his case will be different from all the other + cases, and chiefly because endeavour—not any particular endeavour, + but rather any endeavour!—is a habit that corresponds to a very + profound instinct in the plain man. So the reputation of Timbuctoo as a + pleasure resort remains entirely unimpaired, and the pilgrimages continue + with unabated earnestness. + </p> + <p> + And there is another and a paramount reason why the pilgrimages should + continue. The two men in the parable both said that they just had to start—and + they were right. We have to start, and, once started, we have to keep + going. We must go somewhere. And at the moment of starting we have neither + the sagacity nor the leisure to invent fresh places to start for, or to + cut new paths. Everybody is going to Timbuctoo; the roads are well marked. + And the plain man, with his honour of being peculiar, sets out for + Timbuctoo also, following the signposts. The fear of not arriving keeps + him on the trot, the fear of the unknown keeps him in the middle of the + road and out of the forest on either side of it, and hope keeps up his + courage. + </p> + <p> + Will any member of the Society for the Suppression of Moral Indignation + step forward and heatedly charge the plain man with culpable foolishness, + ignorance, or gullibility; or even with cowardice in neglecting to find a + convincing answer to the fundamental question about the other end of his + life? + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + There is, however, a third form of the fundamental question which is less + unanswerable than the two forms already mentioned. The plain man may be + excused for his remarkable indifference as to what his labour and his + tedium will gain for him “later on,” when “later on” + means beyond the grave or thirty years hence. But we live also in the + present, and if proper existence is a compromise between the claims of the + present and the claims of the future the present must be considered, and + the plain man ought surely to ask himself the fundamental question in such + a form as the following: “I am now—this morning—engaged + in something rather tiresome. What do I stand to gain by it this evening, + to-morrow, this week—next week?” In this form the fundamental + question, once put, can be immediately answered by experience and by + experiment. + </p> + <p> + But does the plain man put it? I mean—does he put it seriously and + effectively? I think that very often, if not as a general rule, he does + not. He may—in fact he does—gloomily and savagely mutter: + “What pleasure do I get out of life?” But he fails to insist + on a clear answer from himself, and even if he obtains a clear answer—even + if he makes the candid admission, “No pleasure,” or “Not + enough pleasure”—even then he usually does not insist on + modifying his life in accordance with the answer. He goes on ignoring all + the interesting towns and oases on the way to his Timbuctoo. Excessively + uncertain about future joy, and too breathlessly preoccupied to think + about joy in the present, he just drives obstinately ahead, rather like a + person in a trance. Singular conduct for a plain man priding himself on + common sense! + </p> + <p> + For the case of the plain man, conscientious and able, can only too + frequently be summed up thus: Faced with the problem of existence, which + is the problem of combining the largest possible amount of present + satisfaction with the largest possible amount of security in the future, + he has educated himself generally, and he has educated himself specially + for a particular profession or trade; he has adopted the profession or + trade, with all its risks and responsibilities—risks and + responsibilities which often involve the felicity of others; he has bound + himself to it for life, almost irrevocably; he labours for it so many + hours a day, and it occupies his thoughts for so many hours more. Further, + in the quest of satisfaction, he has taken a woman to wife and has had + children. And here it is well to note frankly that his prime object in + marrying was not the woman’s happiness, but his own, and that the + children came, not in order that they might be jolly little creatures, but + as extensions of the father’s individuality. The home, the + environment gradually constructed for these secondary beings, constitutes + another complex organization, which he superimposes on the complex + organization of his profession or trade, and his brain has to carry and + vitalize the two of them. All his energies are absorbed, and they are + absorbed so utterly that once a year he is obliged to take a holiday lest + he should break down, and even the organization of the holiday is complex + and exhausting. + </p> + <p> + Now assuming—a tremendous assumption!—that by all this he + really is providing security for the future, what conscious direct, + personal satisfaction in the present does the onerous programme actually + yield? I admit that it yields the primitive satisfaction of keeping body + and soul together. But a Hottentot in a kraal gets the same satisfaction + at less expense. I admit also that it ought theoretically to yield the + conscious satisfaction which accompanies any sustained effort of the + faculties. I deny that in fact it does yield this satisfaction, for the + reason that the man is too busy ever to examine the treasures of his soul. + And what else does it yield? For what other immediate end is the colossal + travail being accomplished? + </p> + <p> + Well, it may, and does, occur that the plain man is practising physical + and intellectual calisthenics, and running a vast business and sending + ships and men to the horizons of the earth, and keeping a home in a park, + and oscillating like a rapid shuttle daily between office and home, and + lying awake at nights, and losing his eyesight and his digestion, and + staking his health, and risking misery for the beings whom he cherishes, + and enriching insurance companies, and providing joy-rides for nice young + women whom he has never seen—and all his present profit therefrom is + a game of golf with a free mind once a fortnight, or half an hour’s + intimacy with his wife and a free mind once a week or so, or a ten minutes’ + duel with that daughter of his and a free mind on an occasional evening! + Nay, it may occur that after forty years of incessant labour, in answer to + an inquiry as to where the genuine conscious fun comes in, he has the + right only to answer: “Well, when I have time, I take the dog out + for a walk. I enjoy larking with the dog.” + </p> + <p> + The estimable plain man, with his horror of self-examination, is apt to + forget the immediate end of existence in the means. And so much so, that + when the first distant end—that of a secure old age—approaches + achievement, he is incapable of admitting it to be achieved, and goes on + worrying and worrying about the means—from simple habit! And when he + does admit the achievement of the desired end, and abandons the means, he + has so badly prepared himself to relish the desired end that the mere + change kills him! His epitaph ought to read: “Here lies the plain + man of common sense, whose life was all means and no end.” + </p> + <p> + A remedy will be worth finding. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II - THE TASTE FOR PLEASURE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + One evening—it is bound to happen in the evening when it does happen—the + plain man whose case I endeavoured to analyse in the previous chapter will + suddenly explode. The smouldering volcano within that placid and wise + exterior will burst forth, and the surrounding country will be covered + with the hot lava of his immense hidden grievance. The business day has + perhaps been marked by an unusual succession of annoyances, exasperations, + disappointments—but he has met them with fine philosophic calm; + fatigue has overtaken him—but it has not overcome him; throughout + the long ordeal at the office he has remained master of himself, a + wondrous example to the young and the foolish. And then some entirely + unimportant occurrence—say, an invitation to a golf foursome which + his duties forbid him to accept—a trifle, a nothing, comes along and + brings about the explosion, in a fashion excessively disconcerting to the + onlooker, and he exclaims, acidly, savagely, with a profound pessimism: + </p> + <p> + “What pleasure do I get out of life?” And in that single + abrupt question (to which there is only one answer) he lays bare the + central flaw of his existence. + </p> + <p> + The onlooker will probably be his wife, and the tone employed will + probably imply that she is somehow mysteriously to blame for the fact that + his earthly days are not one unbroken series of joyous diversions. He has + no pose to keep up with his wife. And, moreover, if he really loves her he + will find a certain curious satisfaction in hurting her now and then, in + being wilfully unjust to her, as he would never hurt or be unjust to a + mere friend. (Herein is one of the mysterious differences between love and + affection!) She is alarmed and secretly aghast, as well she may be. He + also is secretly aghast. For he has confessed a fact which is an + inconvenient fact; and Anglo-Saxons have such a horror of inconvenient + facts that they prefer to ignore them even to themselves. To pretend that + things are not what they are is regarded by Anglo-Saxons as a proof of + strength of mind and wholesomeness of disposition; while to admit that + things are indeed what they are is deemed to be either weakness or + cynicism. The plain man is incapable of being a cynic; he feels, + therefore, that he has been guilty of weakness, and this, of course, makes + him very cross. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t something be done?” says his wife, meaning, + “Can’t something be done to ameliorate your hard lot?” + </p> + <p> + (Misguided creature! It was the wrong phrase to use. And any phrase would + have been the wrong phrase. She ought to have caressed him, for to a + caress there is no answer.) + </p> + <p> + “You know perfectly well that nothing can be done!” he snaps + her up, like a tiger snapping at the fawn. And his eyes, challenging hers, + seem to say: “Can I neglect my business? Can I shirk my + responsibilities? Where would you be if I shirked them? Where would the + children be? What about old age, sickness, death, quarter-day, rates, + taxes, and your new hat? I have to provide for the rainy day and for the + future. I am succeeding, moderately; but let there be no mistake—success + means that I must sacrifice present pleasure. Pleasure is all very well + for you others, but I—” And then he will finish aloud, with + the air of an offended and sarcastic martyr: “Something be done, + indeed!” + </p> + <p> + She sighs. The domestic scene is over. + </p> + <p> + Now, he may be honestly convinced that nothing can be done. Let us grant + as much. But obviously it suits his pride to assume that nothing can be + done. To admit the contrary would be to admit that he was leaving + something undone, that he had organized his existence clumsily, even that + he had made a fundamental miscalculation in the arrangement of his career. + He has confessed to grave dissatisfaction. It behoves him, for the sake of + his own dignity and reputation, to be quite sure that the grave + dissatisfaction is unavoidable, inevitable, and that the blame for it + rests with the scheme of the universe, and not with his particular private + scheme. His rôle is that of the brave, strong, patient victim of an + alleged natural law, by reason of which the present must ever be + sacrificed to the future, and he discovers a peculiar miserable delight in + the rôle. “Miserable” is the right adjective. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + Nevertheless, in his quality of a wise plain man, he would never agree + that any problem of human conduct, however hard and apparently hopeless, + could not be solved by dint of sagacity and ingenuity—provided it + was the problem of another person! He is quite fearfully good at solving + the problems of his friends. Indeed, his friends, recognizing this, + constantly go to him for advice. If a friend consulted him and said: + </p> + <p> + “Look here, I’m engaged in an enterprise which will absorb all + my energies for three years. It will enable me in the meantime to live and + to keep my family, but I shall have scarcely a moment’s freedom of + mind. I may have a little leisure, but of what use is leisure without + freedom of mind? As for pleasure, I shall simply forget what it is. My + life will be one long struggle. The ultimate profit is extremely + uncertain. It may be fairly good; on the other hand, it may be nothing at + all.” + </p> + <p> + The plain man, being also blunt, would assuredly interrupt: + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, what a fool you’ve been!” + </p> + <p> + Yet this case is in essence the case of the wise plain man. The chief + difference between the two cases is that the wise plain man has enslaved + himself for about thirty years instead of three, with naught but a sheer + gambling chance of final reward! Not being one of the rare individuals + with whom business is a passion, but just an average plain man, he is + labouring daily against the grain, stultifying daily one part of his + nature, on the supposition that later he will be recompensed. In other + words, he is preparing to live, so that at a distant date he may be in a + condition to live. He has not effected a compromise between the present + and the future. His own complaint—“What pleasure do I get out + of life?”—proves that he is completely sacrificing the present + to the future. And how elusive is the future! Like the horizon, it always + recedes. If, when he was thirty, some one had foretold that at forty-five, + with a sympathetic wife and family and an increasing income, he would be + as far off happiness as ever, he would have smiled at the prophecy. + </p> + <p> + The consulting friend, somewhat nettled by the plain man’s + bluntness, might retort: + </p> + <p> + “I may or may not have been a fool. That’s not the point. The + point is that I am definitely in the enterprise, and can’t get out + of it. And there’s nothing to be done.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon the plain man, in an encouraging, enheartening, reasonable tone, + would respond: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say that, my dear chap. Of course, if you’re in + it, you’re in it. But give me all the details. Let’s examine + the thing. And allow me to tell you that no case that looks bad is as bad + as it looks.” + </p> + <p> + It is precisely in this spirit that the plain man should approach his own + case. He should say to himself in that reasonable tone which he employs to + his friend, and which is so impressive: “Let me examine the thing.” + </p> + <p> + And now the plain man who is reading this and unwillingly fitting the cap + will irately protest: “Do you suppose I haven’t examined my + own case? Do you suppose I don’t understand it? I understand it + thoroughly. Who should understand it if I don’t? I beg to inform you + that I know absolutely all about it.” + </p> + <p> + Still the strong probability is that he has not examined it. The strong + probability is that he has just lain awake of a night and felt extremely + sorry for himself, and at the same time rather proud of his fortitude. + Which process does not amount to an examination; it amounts merely to an + indulgence. As for knowing absolutely all about it, he has not even + noticed that the habit of feeling sorry for himself and proud of his + fortitude is slowly growing on him, and tending to become his sole form of + joy—a morbid habit and a sickly joy! He is sublimely unaware of that + increasing irritability which others discuss behind his back. He has no + suspicion that he is balefully affecting the general atmosphere of his + home. + </p> + <p> + Above all, he does not know that he is losing the capacity for pleasure. + Indeed, if it were suggested that such a change was going on in him he + would be vexed and distressed. He would cry out: “Don’t you + make any mistake! I could amuse myself as well as any man, if only I got + the chance!” And yet, how many tens of thousands of plain and (as it + is called) successful men have been staggered to discover, when ambition + was achieved and the daily yoke thrown off and the direct search for + immediate happiness commenced, that the relish for pleasure had faded + unnoticed away—proof enough that they had neither examined nor + understood themselves! There is no more ingenuous soul, in affairs of + supreme personal importance than your wise plain man, whom all his friends + consult for his sagacity. + </p> + <p> + Mind, I am not hereby accusing the plain man of total spiritual blindness—any + more than I would accuse him of total physical blindness because he cannot + see how he looks to others when he walks into a room. For nobody can see + all round himself, nor know absolutely all about his own case; and he who + boasts that he can is no better than a fool, despite his wisdom; he is not + even at the beginning of any really useful wisdom. But I do accuse my + plain man of deliberately shutting his eyes, from pride and from sloth. I + do say that he might know a great deal more about his case than he + actually does know, if only he would cease from pitying and praising + himself in the middle of the night, and tackle the business of + self-examination in a rational, vigorous, and honest fashion—not in + the dark, but in the sane sunlight. And I do further say that a + self-examination thus properly conducted might have results which would + stultify those outrageous remarks of his to his wife. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + Few people—in fact, very few people indeed—ever realize the + priceless value of the ancient counsel: “Know thyself.” It + seems so trite, so ordinary. It seems so easy to acquire, this knowledge. + Does not every one possess it? Can it not be got by simply sitting down in + a chair and yielding to a mood? And yet this knowledge is just about as + difficult to acquire as a knowledge of Chinese. Certainly nine hundred and + ninety-nine people out of a thousand reach the age of sixty before getting + the rudiments of it. The majority of us die in almost complete ignorance + of it. And none may be said to master it in all its exciting branches. + Why, you can choose any of your friends—the wisest of them—and + instantly tell him something glaringly obvious about his own character and + actions—and be rewarded for your trouble by an indignantly sincere + denial! You had noticed it; all his friends had noticed it. But he had not + noticed it. Far from having noticed it, he is convinced that it exists + only in your malicious imagination. For example, go to a friend whose + sense of humour is notoriously imperfect, and say gently to him: “Your + sense of humour is imperfect, my friend,” and see how he will + receive the information! So much for the rarity of self-knowledge. + </p> + <p> + Self-knowledge is difficult because it demands intellectual honesty. It + demands that one shall not blink the facts, that one shall not hide one’s + head in the sand, and that one shall not be afraid of anything that one + may happen to see in looking round. It is rare because it demands that one + shall always be able to distinguish between the man one thinks one ought + to be and the man one actually is. And it is rare because it demands + impartial detachment and a certain quality of fine shamelessness—the + shamelessness which confesses openly to oneself and finds a legitimate + pleasure in confessing. By way of compensation for its difficulty, the + pursuit of self-knowledge happens to be one of the most entrancing of all + pursuits, as those who have seriously practised it are well aware. Its + interest is inexhaustible and grows steadily. Unhappily, the Anglo-Saxon + racial temperament is inimical to it. The Latins like it better. To feel + its charm one should listen to a highly-cultivated Frenchman analysing + himself for the benefit of an intimate companion. Still, even Anglo-Saxons + may try it with advantage. + </p> + <p> + The branch of self-knowledge which is particularly required for the + solution of the immediate case of the plain man now under consideration is + not a very hard one. It does not involve the recognition of crimes or even + of grave faults. It is simply the knowledge of what interests him and what + bores him. + </p> + <p> + Let him enter upon the first section of it with candour. Let him be + himself. And let him be himself without shame. Let him ever remember that + it is not a sin to be bored by what interests others, or to be interested + in what bores others. Let him in this private inquiry give his natural + instincts free play, for it is precisely the gradual suppression of his + natural instincts which has brought him to his present pass. At first he + will probably murmur in a fatigued voice that he cannot think of anything + at all that interests him. Then let him dig down among his buried + instincts. Let him recall his bright past of dreams, before he had become + a victim imprisoned in the eternal groove. Everybody has, or has had, a + secret desire, a hidden leaning. Let him discover what his is, or was—gardening, + philosophy, reading, travel, billiards, raising animals, training animals, + killing animals, yachting, collecting pictures or postage-stamps or + autographs or snuff-boxes or scalps, astronomy, kite-flying, + house-furnishing, foreign languages, cards, swimming, diary-keeping, the + stage, politics, carpentry, riding or driving, music, staying up late, + getting up early, tree-planting, tree-felling, town-planning, amateur + soldiering, statics, entomology, botany, elocution, children-fancying, + cigar-fancying, wife-fancying, placid domestic evenings, conjuring, + bacteriology, thought-reading, mechanics, geology, sketching, + bell-ringing, theosophy, his own soul, even golf.... + </p> + <p> + I mention a few of the ten million directions in which his secret desire + may point or have pointed. I have probably not mentioned the right + direction. But he can find it. He can perhaps find several right + directions without too much trouble. + </p> + <p> + And now he says: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you mean me to ‘take up’ one of these things?” + </p> + <p> + I do, seeing that he has hitherto neglected so clear a duty. If he had + attended to it earlier, and with perseverance he would not be in the + humiliating situation of exclaiming bitterly that he has no pleasure in + life. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he resists, “you know perfectly well that I have + no time!” + </p> + <p> + To which I am obliged to make reply: + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, it is not your wife you are talking to. Kindly be + honest with me.” + </p> + <p> + I admit that his business is very exhausting and exigent. For the sake of + argument I will grant that he cannot safely give it an instant’s + less time than he is now giving it. But even so his business does not + absorb at the outside more than seventy hours of the hundred and ten hours + during which he is wide awake each week. The rest of the time he spends + either in performing necessary acts in a tedious way or in performing acts + which are not only tedious to him, but utterly unnecessary (for his own + hypothesis is that he gets no pleasure out of life)—visiting, + dinner-giving, cards, newspaper-reading, placid domestic evenings, + evenings out, bar-lounging, sitting aimlessly around, dandifying himself, + week-ending, theatres, classical concerts, literature, suburban + train-travelling, staying up late, being in the swim, even golf. In + whatever manner he is whittling away his leisure, it is the wrong manner, + for the sole reason that it bores him. Moreover, all whittling of leisure + is a mistake. Leisure, like work, should be organized, and it should be + organized in large pieces. + </p> + <p> + The proper course clearly is to substitute acts which promise to be + interesting for acts which have proved themselves to produce nothing but + tedium, and to carry out the change with brains, in a business spirit. And + the first essential is to recognize that something has definitely to go by + the board. + </p> + <p> + He protests: + </p> + <p> + “But I do only the usual things—what everybody else does! And + then it’s time to go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + The case, however, is his case, not everybody else’s case. Why + should he submit to everlasting boredom for the mere sake of acting like + everybody else? + </p> + <p> + He continues in the same strain: + </p> + <p> + “But you are asking me to change my whole life—at my age!” + </p> + <p> + Nothing of the sort! I am only suggesting that he should begin to live. + </p> + <p> + And then finally he cries: + </p> + <p> + “It’s too drastic. I haven’t the pluck!” + </p> + <p> + Now we are coming to the real point. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + The machinery of his volition, in all directions save one, has been + clogged, through persistent neglect, due to over-specialization. His mind + needs to be cleared, and it can be cleared—it will clear itself—if + regular periods of repose are enforced upon it. As things are, it + practically never gets a holiday from business. I do not mean that the + plain man is always thinking about his business; but I mean that he is + always liable to think about his business, that his business is always + present in his mind, even if dormant there, and that at every opportunity, + if the mind happens to be inactive, it sits up querulously and insists on + attention. The man’s mind is indeed rather like an unfortunate + domestic servant who, though not always at work, is never off duty, never + night or day free from the menace of a damnable electric bell; and it is + as stale as that servant. His business is capable of ringing the bell when + the man is eating his soup, when he is sitting alone with his wife on a + warm summer evening, and especially when he wakes just before dawn to pity + and praise himself. + </p> + <p> + But he defends the position: + </p> + <p> + “My business demands much reflection—constant watchfulness.” + </p> + <p> + Well, in the first place, an enterprise which demands watchfulness day and + night from the same individual is badly organized, and should be + reorganized. It runs contrary to the common sense of Nature. And, in the + second place, his defence is insincere. He does not submit to the eternal + preoccupation because he thinks he ought, but simply because he cannot + help it. How often, especially just before the dawn, has he not longed to + be delivered from the perfectly futile preoccupation, so that he might go + to sleep again—and failed to get free! How often, in the midst of + some jolly gathering, has he not felt secretly desolate because the one + tyrannic topic would run round and round in his mind, just like a + clockwork mouse, accomplishing no useful end, and making impossible any + genuine participation in the gaiety that environs him! + </p> + <p> + Instead of being necessary to the success of his business, this morbid + preoccupation is positively detrimental to his business. He would think + much more usefully, more powerfully, more creatively, about his business + if during at least thirteen consecutive hours each day he never thought of + it at all. + </p> + <p> + And there is still a further point in this connection. Let him imagine how + delightful it must be for the people in the home which he has made, the + loving people whom he loves and to whom in theory he is devoting his + career, to feel continually that he only sees them obscurely through the + haze emanating from his business! Why—worse!—even when he is + sitting with his wife, he and she might as well be communicating with each + other across a grille against which a turnkey is standing and listening to + every word said! Let him imagine how flattering for her! She might be more + flattered, at any rate more thrilled, if she knew that instead of thinking + about his business he was thinking about another woman. Could he shut the + front door every afternoon on his business, the effect would not only be + beneficial upon it and upon him, but his wife would smile the warm smile + of wisdom justified. Like most women, she has a firmer grasp of the + essence of life than the man upon whom she is dependent. She knows with + her heart (what he only knows with his brain) that business, politics, and + “all that sort of thing” are secondary to real existence, the + mere preliminaries of it. She would rejoice, in the blush of the + compliment he was paying her, that he had at last begun to comprehend the + ultimate values! + </p> + <p> + So far as I am aware, there is no patent device for suddenly gaining that + control of the mind which will enable one to free it from an obsession + such as the obsession of the plain man. The desirable end can, however, be + achieved by slow degrees, and by an obvious method which contains naught + of the miraculous. If the victim of the obsession will deliberately try to + think of something else, or to think of nothing at all—every time he + catches himself in the act of thinking about his business out of hours, he + certainly will, sooner or later—probably in about a fortnight—cure + the obsession, or at least get the upper hand of it. The treatment demands + perseverance, but it emphatically does not demand an impossibly powerful + effort. It is an affair of trifling pertinacious touches. + </p> + <p> + It is a treatment easier to practise during daylight, in company, when + distractions are plentiful, than in the solitude of the night. + Triumphantly to battle with an obsession at night, when the vitality is + low and the egoism intensified, is extremely difficult. But the small + persistent successes of the day will gradually have their indirect + influence on the night. A great deal can also be done by simple resolute + suggestion. Few persons seem to know—what is, nevertheless, a fact—that + the most effective moment for making resolves is in the comatose calm + which precedes going to sleep. The entire organism is then in a passive + state, and more permanently receptive of the imprint of volition than at + any other period of the twenty-four hours. If regularly at that moment the + man says clearly and imperiously to himself, “I will not allow my + business to preoccupy me at home; I will not allow my business to + preoccupy me at home; I will not allow my business to preoccupy me at + home,” he will be astonished at the results; which results, by the + way, are reached by subconscious and therefore unperceived channels whose + workings we can only guess at. + </p> + <p> + And when the obsession is beaten, destroyed, he will find himself not + merely fortified with the necessary pluck and initiative for importing a + new interest into his existence. His instincts of their own accord will be + asking for that interest, for they will have been set free. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + In choosing a distraction—that is to say, in choosing a rival to his + business—he should select some pursuit whose nature differs as much + as possible from the nature of his business, and which will bring into + activity another side of his character. If his business is monotonous, + demanding care and solicitude rather than irregular intense efforts of the + brain, then let his distraction be such as will make a powerful call upon + his brain. But if, on the other hand, the course of his business runs in + crises that string up the brain to its tightest strain, then let his + distraction be a foolish and merry one. Many men fall into the error of + assuming that their hobbies must be as dignified and serious as their + vocations, though surely the example of the greatest philosophers ought to + have taught them better! They seem to imagine that they should continually + be improving themselves, in either body or mind. If they take up a sport, + it is because the sport may improve their health. And if the hobby is + intellectual it must needs be employed to improve their brain. The fact is + that their conception of self-improvement is too narrow. In their + restricted sense of the phrase, they possibly don’t need improving; + they possibly are already improved to the point of being a nuisance to + their fellow-creatures; possibly what they need is worsening. In the broad + and full sense of the phrase self-improvement, a course of self-worsening + might improve them. I have known men—and everybody has known them—who + would approach nearer to perfection if they could only acquire a little + carelessness, a little absent-mindedness, a little illogicalness, a little + irrational and infantile gaiety, a little unscrupulousness in the matter + of the time of day. These considerations should be weighed before certain + hobbies are dismissed as being unworthy of a plain man’s notice. + </p> + <p> + Then comes the hour of decision, in which the wise plain man should exert + all that force of will for which he is famous in his house. For this hour + may be of supreme importance—may be the close of one epoch in his + life and the beginning of another. The more volitional energy he can + concentrate in it, the more likely is he to succeed in the fine enterprise + of his own renaissance. He must resolve with as much intensity of will as + he once put into the resolution which sent him to propose marriage to his + wife. And, indeed, he must be ready to treat his hobby somewhat as though + it were a woman desired—with splendid and uncalculating generosity. + He must shower money on it, and, what is more, he must shower time on it. + He must do the thing properly. A hobby is not a hobby until it is + glorified, until some real sacrifice has been made for it. If he has + chosen a hobby that is costly, both in money and in time, if it is a hobby + difficult for a busy and prudent man to follow, all the better. If it + demands that his business shall suffer a little, and that his life-long + habits of industry shall seem to be jeopardized, again all the better. + For, you know, despite his timid fears, his business will not suffer, and + lifelong habits, even good ones, are not easily jeopardized. One of the + most precious jewels of advice ever offered to the plain man was that he + should acquire industrious habits, and then try to lose them! He will soon + find that he cannot lose them, but the transient struggles against them + will tend always to restore the sane balance of his nature. + </p> + <p> + He must deliberately arrange pleasures for himself in connection with his + hobby, and as often as possible. Once a week at least his programme should + comprise some item of relaxation to which he can look forward with + impatience because he has planned it, and because he has compelled + seemingly more urgent matters to give way to it; and look forward to it he + must, tasting it in advance, enjoying it twice over! Thus may the appetite + for pleasure, the ability really to savour it, be restored—and + incidentally kept in good trim for full use when old age arrives and he + enters the lotus-land. And with it all, when the hour of enjoyment comes, + he must insist on his mind being free; expelling every preoccupation, + nonchalantly accepting risks like a youth, he must abandon himself to the + hour. Let him practise lightheartedness as though it were charity. Indeed, + it is charity—to his household, for instance. Ask his household. + </p> + <p> + He says: + </p> + <p> + “All this is very dangerous. My friends won’t recognize me. I + may go too far. I may become an idler and a spendthrift.” + </p> + <p> + Have no fear. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III - THE RISKS OF LIFE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + By one of those coincidences for which destiny is sometimes responsible, + the two very opposite plain men whom I am going to write about were most + happily named Mr. Alpha and Mr. Omega; for, owing to a difference of + temperament, they stood far apart, at the extreme ends of the scale. + </p> + <p> + In youth, of course, the differences between them was not fully apparent; + such differences seldom are fully apparent in youth. It first made itself + felt in a dramatic way, on the evening when Mr. Alpha wanted to go to the + theatre and Mr. Omega didn’t. At this period they were both young + and both married, and the two couples shared a flat together. Also, they + were both getting on very well in their careers, by which is meant that + they both had spare cash to rattle in the pockets of their + admirably-creased trousers. + </p> + <p> + “Come to the theatre with us to-night, Omega?” said Mr. Alpha. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think we will,” said Mr. Omega. + </p> + <p> + “But we particularly want you to,” insisted Mr. Alpha. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it can’t be done,” said Mr. Omega. + </p> + <p> + “Got another engagement?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why won’t you come? You don’t mean to tell me you’re + hard up?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Mr. Omega. + </p> + <p> + “Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself. What have you been doing + with your money lately?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve taken out a biggish life assurance policy, and the + premiums will be a strain. I paid the first yesterday. I’m bled + white.” + </p> + <p> + “Holy Moses!” exclaimed Mr. Alpha, shrugging his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + The flat was shortly afterwards to let. The exclamation “Holy Moses!” + may be in itself quite harmless, and innocuous to friendship, if it is + pronounced in the right, friendly tone. Unfortunately Mr. Alpha used it + with a sarcastic inflection, implying that he regarded Mr. Omega as a + prig, a fussy old person, a miser, a spoilsport, and, indeed, something + less than a man. + </p> + <p> + “You can only live your life once,” said Mr. Alpha. + </p> + <p> + And they curved gradually apart. This was in 1893. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + Nearly twenty years later—that is to say, not long since—I had + a glimpse of Mr. Alpha at a Saturday lunch. Do not imagine that Mr. Alpha’s + Saturday lunch took place in a miserable garret, amid every circumstance + of failure and shame. Success in life has very little to do with prudence. + It has a great deal to do with courage, initiative, and individual force, + and also it is not unconnected with sheer luck. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Alpha had succeeded in life, and the lunch at which I assisted took + place in a remarkably spacious and comfortable house surrounded by + gardens, greenhouses, garages, stables, and all the minions necessary to + the upkeep thereof. Mr. Alpha was a jolly, a kind-hearted, an immensely + clever, and a prolific man. I call him prolific because he had five + children. There he was, with his wife and the five children; and they were + all enjoying the lunch and themselves to an extraordinary degree. It was a + delight to be with them. + </p> + <p> + It is necessarily a delight to be with people who are intelligent, + sympathetic and lively, and who have ample money to satisfy their desires. + Somehow you can hear the gold chinking, and the sound is good to the human + ear. Even the youngest girl had money in her nice new purse, to do with it + as she liked. For Mr. Alpha never stinted. He was generous by instinct, + and he wanted everybody to be happy. In fact, he had turned out quite an + unusual father. At the same time he fell short of being an absolute angel + of acquiescence and compliance. For instance, his youngest child, a girl, + broached the subject of music at that very lunch. She was fourteen, and + had shown some of her father’s cleverness at a school musical + examination. She was rather uplifted about her music. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t I take it up seriously, dad?” she said, with the + extreme gravity of her years. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said he. “The better you play, the more we + shall all be pleased. Don’t you think we deserve some reward for all + we’ve suffered under your piano-practising?” + </p> + <p> + She blushed. + </p> + <p> + “But I mean seriously,” she insisted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my pet,” said he, “you don’t reckon you + could be a star pianist, do you? Fifteen hundred dollars a concert, and so + on?” And, as she was sitting next to him, he affectionately pinched + her delicious ear. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she admitted. “But I could teach. I should like to + teach.” + </p> + <p> + “Teach!” He repeated the word in a changed tone. “Teach! + What in Heaven’s name should you want to teach for? I don’t + quite see a daughter of mine teaching.” + </p> + <p> + No more was said on the subject. + </p> + <p> + The young woman and I are on rather confidential terms. + </p> + <p> + “It is a shame, isn’t it?” she said to me afterwards, + with feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to be done?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said she. “I knew there wasn’t before I + started. The dad would never hear of me earning my own living.” + </p> + <p> + The two elder girls—twins—had no leaning towards music, and no + leaning towards anything save family affection and social engagements. + They had a grand time, and the grander the time they had the keener was + the delight of Mr. Alpha in their paradisaical existence. Truly he was a + pearl among fathers. The children themselves admitted it, and children can + judge. The second son wished to be a painter. Many a father would have + said, “I shall stand none of this nonsense about painting. The + business is there, and into the business you’ll go.” But not + Mr. Alpha. What Mr. Alpha said to his second son amounted to this: “I + shall be charmed for a son of mine to be a painter. Go ahead. Don’t + worry. Don’t hurry. I will give you an ample allowance to keep you + afloat through the years of struggle. You shall not be like other + beginners. You shall have nothing to think of but your profession. You + shall be in a position to wait. Instead of you running after the dealers, + you shall comfortably bide your time until the dealers run after you.” + </p> + <p> + This young man of eighteen was precocious and extravagant. + </p> + <p> + “I say, mater,” he said, over the cheese, “can you lend + me fifty dollars?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Alpha broke in sharply: + </p> + <p> + “What are you worrying your mother about money for? You know I won’t + have it. And I won’t have you getting into debt either.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, dad, will you buy a picture from me?” + </p> + <p> + “Do me a good sketch of your mother, and I’ll give you fifty + dollars for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Cash in advance?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—on your promise. But understand, no debts.” + </p> + <p> + The eldest son, fitly enough, was in the business. Not, however, too much + in the business. He put in time at the office regularly. He was going to + be a partner, and the business would ultimately descend to him. But the + business wrinkled not his brow. Mr. Alpha was quite ready to assume every + responsibility and care. He had brains and energy enough, and something + considerable over. Enough over, indeed, to run the house and grounds. Mrs. + Alpha could always sleep soundly at night secure in the thought that her + husband would smooth away every difficulty for her. He could do all things + so much more efficiently than she could, were it tackling a cook or a + tradesman, or deciding about the pattern of flowers in a garden-bed. + </p> + <p> + At the finish of the luncheon the painter, who had been meditative, + suddenly raised his glass. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, with solemnity, “I + beg to move that father be and hereby is a brick.” + </p> + <p> + “Carried nem. con.,” said the eldest son. + </p> + <p> + “Loud cheers!” said the more pert of the twins. + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Alpha was enchanted with his home and his home-life. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + That luncheon was the latest and the most profound of a long series of + impressions which had been influencing my mental attitude towards the + excellent, the successful, the entirely agreeable Mr. Alpha. I walked + home, a distance of some three miles, and then I walked another three + miles or so on the worn carpet of my study, and at last the cup of my + feelings began to run over, and I sat down and wrote a letter to my friend + Alpha. The letter was thus couched: + </p> + <p> + “My Dear Alpha, + </p> + <p> + “I have long wanted to tell you something, and now I have decided to + give vent to my desire. There are two ways of telling you. I might take + the circuitous route by roundabout and gentle phrases, through hints and + delicately undulating suggestions, and beneath the soft shadow of + flattering cajoleries. Or I might dash straight ahead. The latter is the + best, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “You are a scoundrel, my dear Alpha. I say it in the friendliest and + most brutal manner. And you are not merely a scoundrel—you are the + most dangerous sort of scoundrel—the smiling, benevolent scoundrel. + </p> + <p> + “You know quite well that your house, with all that therein is, + stands on the edge of a precipice, and that at any moment a landslip might + topple it over into everlasting ruin. And yet you behave as though your + house was planted in the midst of a vast and secure plain, sheltered from + every imaginable havoc. I speak metaphorically, of course. It is not a + material precipice that your house stands on the edge of; it is a + metaphorical precipice. But the perils symbolized by that precipice are + real enough. + </p> + <p> + “It is, for example, a real chauffeur whose real wrist may by a + single false movement transform you from the incomparable Alpha into an + item in the books of the registrar of deaths. It is a real microbe who may + at this very instant be industriously planning your swift destruction. And + it is another real microbe who may have already made up his or her mind + that you shall finish your days helpless and incapable on the flat of your + back. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose you to be dead—what would happen? You would leave + debts, for, although you are solvent, you are only solvent because you + have the knack of always putting your hand on money, and death would + automatically make you insolvent. You are one of those brave, jolly + fellows who live up to their income. It is true that, in deference to + fashion, you are now insured, but for a trifling and inadequate sum which + would not yield the hundredth part of your present income. It is true that + there is your business. But your business would be naught without you. You + are your business. Remove yourself from it, and the residue is negligible. + Your son, left alone with it, would wreck it in a year through simple + ignorance and clumsiness; for you have kept him in his inexperience like a + maiden in her maidenhood. You say that you desired to spare him. Nothing + of the kind. You were merely jealous, of your authority, and your + indispensability. You desired fervently that all and everybody should + depend on yourself.... + </p> + <p> + “Conceive that three years have passed and that you are in fact + dead. You are buried; you are lying away over there in the cold dark. The + funeral is done. The friends are gone. But your family is just as alive as + ever. Disaster has not killed it, nor even diminished its vitality. It + wants just as much to eat and drink as it did before sorrow passed over + it. Look through the sod. Do you see that child there playing with a + razor? It is your eldest son at grips with your business. Do you see that + other youngster striving against a wolf with a lead pencil for weapon? It + is your second son. Well, they are males, these two, and must manfully + expect what they get. But do you see these four creatures with their hands + cut off, thrust out into the infested desert? They are your wife and your + daughters. You cut their hands off. You did it so kindly and persuasively. + And that chiefly is why you are a scoundrel. ... + </p> + <p> + “You educated all these women in a false and abominable doctrine. + You made them believe, and you forced them to act up to the belief, that + money was a magic thing, and that they had a magic power over it. All they + had to do was to press a certain button, or to employ a certain pretty + tone, and money would flow forth like water from the rock of Moses. And so + far as they were concerned money actually did behave in this convenient + fashion. + </p> + <p> + “But all the time you were deceiving them by a conjuring-trick, just + as priests of strange cults deceive their votaries.... And further, you + taught them that money had but one use—to be spent. You may—though + by a fluke—have left a quantity of money to your widow, but her sole + skill is to spend it. She has heard that there is such a thing as + investing money. She tries to invest it. But, bless you, you never said a + word to her about that, and the money vanishes now as magically as it once + magically appeared in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you compelled all these four women to live so that money and + luxury and servants and idleness were absolutely essential to them if + their existence was to be tolerable. And what is worse, you compelled them + to live so that, deprived of magic money, they were incapable of existing + at all, tolerably or intolerably. Either they must expire in misery—after + their splendid career with you!—or they must earn existence by + smiles and acquiescences and caresses. (For you cut their hands off.) They + must beg for their food and raiment. There are different ways of begging. + </p> + <p> + “But you protest that you did it out of kindness, and because you + wanted them to have a real good time. My good Alpha, it is absurd for a + man to argue that he cut off a woman’s hands out of kindness. Human + beings are so incredulous, so apt to think evil, that such arguments + somehow fail to carry conviction. I am fairly credulous myself, but even I + decline to accept the plea. And I say that if your conduct was meant + kindly, it is a pity that you weren’t born cruel. Cruelty would have + been better. Was it out of kindness that you refused to allow your + youngest to acquire the skill to earn her own living? Was it out of + kindness that you thwarted her instinct and filled her soul with regret + that may be eternal? It was not. I have already indicated, in speaking of + your son, one of the real reasons. Another was that you took pride in + having these purely ornamental and loving creatures about you, and you + would not suffer them to have an interest stronger than their interest in + you, or a function other than the function of completing your career and + illustrating your success in the world. If the girl was to play the piano, + she was to play it in order to perfect your home and minister to your + pleasure and your vanity, and for naught else. You got what you wanted, + and you infamously shut your eyes to the risks. + </p> + <p> + “I hear you expostulate that you didn’t shut your eyes to the + risks, and that there will always be risks, and that it is impossible to + provide fully against all of them. + </p> + <p> + “Which is true, or half true, and the truth or half-truth of the + statement only renders your case the blacker, O Alpha! Risks are an + inevitable part of life. They are part of the fine savour and burden of + life, and without the sense of them life is flat and tasteless. And yet + you feigned to your women that risk was eliminated from the magic world in + which you had put them. You deliberately deprived them of the most + valuable factor in existence—genuine responsibility. You made them + ridiculous in the esteem of all persons with a just perception of values. + You slowly bled them of their self-respect. Had you been less egotistic, + they might have been happier, even during your lifetime. Your wife would + have been happier had she been permitted or compelled to feel the weight + of the estate and to share understandingly the anxieties of your wonderful + business. Your girls would have been happier had they been cast forcibly + out of the magic world into the real world for a few hours every day + during a few years in order to learn its geography, and its customs, and + the terms on which food and raiment and respect can be obtained in it, and + the ability to obtain them. And so would you have been happier, fool! You + sent your girls on the grand tour, but you didn’t send them into the + real world. + </p> + <p> + “Alpha, the man who cuts off another man’s hands is a ruffian. + The man who cuts off a woman’s hands is a scoundrel. There is no + excuse for him—none whatever. And the kinder he is the worse he is. + I repeat that you are the worst sort of scoundrel. Your family mourns you, + and every member of it says what an angel of a father you were. But you + were a scoundrel all the same. And at heart every member of the family + knows it and admits it. Which is rather distressing. And there are + thousands just like you, Alpha. Yes, even in England there are tens of + thousands just like you.... + </p> + <p> + “But you aren’t dead yet. I was only asking you to conceive + that you were. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, my dear Alpha, + </p> + <p> + “Yours affectionately.” + </p> + <p> + A long and violent epistle perhaps. You inquire in what spirit Alpha + received it. The truth is, he never did receive it. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + You naturally assume that before the letter could reach him Alpha had been + mortally struck down by apoplexy, double pneumonia, bullet, automobile, or + some such enemy of joy, and that all the dreadful things which I had + foreseen might happen did in fact happen, thus proving once more what a + very wise friend I was, and filling me with justifiable pride in my grief. + But it was not so. Alpha was not struck down, nor did his agreeable house + topple over the metaphorical precipice. According to poetical justice he + ought to have been struck down, just to serve him right, and as a warning + to others—only he was not. Not merely the wicked, but the + improvident and the negligent, often flourish like the green bay tree, and + they keep on flourishing, and setting wisdom and righteousness at defiance + in the most successful manner. Which, indeed, makes the life of a + philosopher and sagacious adviser extremely difficult and ungrateful. + </p> + <p> + Alpha never received my letter because I never sent it. There are letters + which one writes, not to send, but to ease one’s mind. This letter + was one of them. It would not have been proper to dispatch such a letter. + Moreover, in the duties of friendship, as distinguished from the pleasures + of friendship, speech is better, bolder, surer than writing. When two + friends within hailing distance of each other get to exchanging epistles + in order to settle a serious difference of opinion, the peril to their + friendship is indeed grave; and the peril is intensified when one of them + has adopted a superior moral attitude—as I had. The letters grow + longer and longer, ruder and ruder, and the probability of the friendship + surviving grows ever rapidly less and less. It is—usually, though + not always—a mean act to write what you have not the pluck to say. + </p> + <p> + So I just kept the letter as a specimen of what I could do—if I + chose—in the high role of candid friend. + </p> + <p> + I said to myself that I would take the first favourable occasion to hint + to Mr. Alpha how profoundly, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + The occasion arrived sooner than I had feared. Alpha had an illness. It + was not alarming, and yet it was sufficiently formidable. It began with + colitis, and ended with appendicitis and an operation. Soon after Alpha + had risen from his bed and was cheerfully but somewhat feebly about again + I met him at a club. He was sitting in an arm-chair in one of the huge + bay-windows of the club, and gazing with bright interest upon the varied + spectacle of the street. The occasion was almost ideal. I took the other + arm-chair in the semicircle of the window. I saw at once by his careless + demeanour that his illness had taught him nothing, and I determined with + all my notorious tact and persuasiveness to point a moral for him. + </p> + <p> + And just as I was clearing my throat to begin he exclaimed, with a jerk of + the elbow and a benevolently satiric smile: + </p> + <p> + “See that girl?” + </p> + <p> + A plainly-dressed young woman carrying a violin-case crossed the street in + front of our window. + </p> + <p> + “I see her,” said I. “What about her?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s Omega’s second daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Omega,” I murmured. “Haven’t seen him for + ages. What’s he doing with himself? Do you ever meet him nowadays?” + </p> + <p> + Said Mr. Alpha: + </p> + <p> + “I happened to dine with him—it was chiefly on business—a + couple of days before I fell ill. Remarkably strange cove, Omega—remarkably + strange.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? How? And what’s the matter with the cove’s second + daughter, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Alpha, “it’s all of a piece—him + and his second daughter and the rest of the family. Funny case. It ought + to interest you. Omega’s got a mania.” + </p> + <p> + “What mania?” + </p> + <p> + “Not too easy to describe. Call it the precaution mania.” + </p> + <p> + “The precaution mania? What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you.” + </p> + <p> + And he told me. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + “Odd thing,” said Alpha, “that I should have been at + Omega’s just as I was sickening for appendicitis. He’s great + on appendicitis, is Omega.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he had it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not he! He’s never had anything. But he informed me that + before he went to Mexico last year he took the precaution of having his + appendix removed, lest he might have acute appendicitis in some wild part + of the country where there might be no doctor just handy for an operation. + He’s like that, you know. I believe if he had his way there wouldn’t + be an appendix left in the entire family. He’s inoculated against + everything. They’re all inoculated against everything. And he keeps + an elaborate medicine-chest in his house, together with elaborate + typewritten instructions which he forced his doctor to give him—in + case anything awful should happen suddenly. Omega has only to read those + instructions, and he could stitch a horrible wound, tie up a severed + artery, or make an injection of morphia or salt water. He has a + thermometer in every room and one in each bath. Also burglar-alarms at all + doors and windows, and fire extinguishers on every floor. But that’s + nothing. You should hear about his insurance. Of course, he’s + insured his life and the lives of the whole family of them. He’s + insured against railway accidents and all other accidents, and against + illness. The fidelity of all his clerks is insured. He’s insured + against burglary, naturally. Against fire, too. And against loss of rent + through fire. His plate-glass is insured. His bunch of keys is insured. He’s + insured against employers’ liability. He’s insured against + war. He’s insured against loss of business profits. The interest on + his mortgage securities is insured. His wretched little automobile is + insured. I do believe he was once insured against the eventuality of + twins.” + </p> + <p> + “He must feel safe,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Not the least bit in the world,” replied Alpha. “Life + is a perfect burden to him. That wouldn’t matter so much if he didn’t + make it a perfect burden to all his family as well. They’ve all got + to be prepared against the worst happening. If he fell down dead his wife + would know just what to do. She knows all the details of his financial + position exactly. She has to; he sees to that. He keeps her up to date in + them every day. And she has to show him detailed accounts of the house as + though it was a business undertaking, because he’s so afraid of her + being left helpless and incapable. She just has to understand that ‘life + is real, life is earnest,’ and death more so. + </p> + <p> + “Then the children. They’re all insured, of course. Each of + the girls has to take charge of the house in turn. And they must all earn + their own living—in case papa fell down dead. Take that second + daughter. She hates music, but she has a certain mechanical facility with + the fiddle, and so she must turn it into coin, in order to be on the safe + side. Her instincts are for fine clothes, idleness, and responsibility. + She’d take the risks cheerfully enough if he’d let her. But he + won’t. So she’s miserable. I think they all are more or less.” + </p> + <p> + “But still,” I put in, “to feel the burden of life is + not a bad thing for people’s characters.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not,” said Alpha. “But to be crushed under a + cartload of bricks isn’t likely to do one much good, is it? Why, + Omega’s a wealthy man, and d’you know, he must live on about a + third of his income. The argument is, as usual, that he’s liable to + fall down dead—and insurance companies are only human—and + anyhow, old age must be amply provided for. And then all his securities + might fall simultaneously. And lastly, as he says, you never know what may + happen. Ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “Has anything happened up to now?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. An appalling disaster. His drawing-room hearthrug caught + fire six years ago and was utterly ruined. He got eleven dollars out of + the insurance company for that, and was ecstatically delighted about it + for three weeks. Nothing worse ever will happen to Omega. His business is + one of the safest in the country. His constitution is that of a crocodile + or a parrot. And he’s as cute as they make ‘em.” + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you don’t envy him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t,” said Alpha. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I ventured, “let me offer you a piece of advice. + Never travel in the same train with Mr. Omega.” + </p> + <p> + “Never travel in the same train with him? Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because if there were a railway accident, and you were both killed + on the spot, the world might draw comparisons between the effect on your + family and the effect on his, and your family wouldn’t like it.” + </p> + <p> + We remained silent for a space, and the silence was dramatic. Nervously, I + looked out of the window. + </p> + <p> + At length Alpha said: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose there is such a thing as the happy medium.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Alpha.” I rose abruptly. “Sorry, but I’ve + got to go at once.” + </p> + <p> + And I judiciously departed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV - IN HER PLACE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + The plain man is not always mature and successful, as I have hitherto + regarded him. He may be unsuccessful in a worldly sense; but from my + present point of view I do not much care whether he is unsuccessful in + that sense. I know that plain men are seldom failures; their very + plainness saves them from the alarming picturesqueness of the abject + failure. On the other hand, I care greatly whether the plain man is mature + or immature, old or young. I should prefer to catch him young. But he is + difficult to catch young. The fact is that, just as he is seldom a + failure, so he is seldom young. He becomes plain only with years. In + youth, even in the thirties, he has fanciful capricious qualities which + prevent him from being classed with the average sagacious plain man. He + slowly loses these inconvenient qualities, and develops into part of the + backbone of the nation. And then it is too late to tell him that he is not + perfect, simply because he has forgotten to cultivate the master quality + of all qualities—namely, imagination. For imagination must be + cultivated early, and it is just the quality that these admirable plain + men lack. + </p> + <p> + By imagination I mean the power to conceive oneself in a situation which + one is not actually in; for instance, in another person’s place. It + is among the sardonic humours of destiny that imagination, while + positively dangerous in an ill-balanced mind and of the highest value in a + well-balanced mind, is to be found rather in the former than in the + latter. And anyhow, the quality is rare in Anglo-Saxon races, which are + indeed both afraid and ashamed of it. + </p> + <p> + And yet could the plain, the well-balanced Anglo-Saxon male acquire it, + what a grand world we should live in! The most important thing in the + world would be transformed. The most important thing in the world is, + ultimately, married life, and the chief practical use of the quality of + imagination is to ameliorate married life. But who in England or America + (or elsewhere) thinks of it in that connection? The plain man considers + that imagination is all very well for poets and novelists. Blockhead! Yes, + despite my high esteem for him, I will apply to him the Johnsonian term of + abuse. Blockhead! Imagination is super-eminently for himself, and was + beyond doubt invented by Providence in order that the plain man might + chiefly exercise it in the plain, drudging dailiness of married life. The + day cometh, if tardily, when he will do so. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + These reflections have surged up in my brain as I contemplate the recent + case of my acquaintance, Mr. Omicron, and they are preliminary to a study + of that interesting case. Scarce a week ago Omicron was sitting in the + Omicron drawing-room alone with Mrs. Omicron. It was an average Omicron + evening. Omicron is aged thirty-two. He is neither successful nor + unsuccessful, and no human perspicacity can say whether twenty years hence + he will be successful or unsuccessful. But anybody can see that he is + already on the way to be a plain, well-balanced man. Somewhat earlier than + usual he is losing the fanciful capricious qualities and settling down + into the stiff backbone of the nation. + </p> + <p> + Conversation was not abundant. + </p> + <p> + Said Mrs. Omicron suddenly, with an ingratiating accent: + </p> + <p> + “What about that ring that I was to have?” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, in which every muscle of the man’s body, and + especially the facial muscles, and every secret fibre of his soul, + perceptibly stiffened. And then Omicron answered, curtly, rebuttingly, + reprovingly, snappishly, finishingly: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + And took up his newspaper, whose fragile crackling wall defended him from + attack every bit as well as a screen of twelve-inch armour-plating. + </p> + <p> + The subject was dropped. + </p> + <p> + It had endured about ten seconds. But those ten seconds marked an epoch in + Omicron’s career as a husband—and he knew it not. He knew it + not, but the whole of his conjugal future had hung evenly in the balance + during those ten seconds, and then slid slightly but definitely—to + the wrong side. + </p> + <p> + Of course, there was more in the affair than appeared on the surface. At + dinner the otherwise excellent leg of mutton had proved on cutting to be + most noticeably underdone. Now, it is a monstrous shame that first-class + mutton should be wasted through inefficient cookery; with third-class + mutton the crime might have been deemed less awful. Moreover, four days + previously another excellent dish had been rendered unfit for masculine + consumption by precisely the same inefficiency or gross negligence, or + whatever one likes to call it. Nor was that all. The coffee had been thin, + feeble, uninteresting. The feminine excuse for this last diabolic iniquity + had been that the kitchen at the last moment had discovered itself to be + short of coffee. An entirely commonplace episode! Yes, but it is out of + commonplace episodes that martyrs are made, and Omicron had been made a + martyr. He, if none else, was fully aware that evening that he was a + martyr. And the woman had selected just that evening to raise the question + of rings, gauds, futile ornamentations! He had said little. But he had + stood for the universal husband, and in Mrs. Omicron he saw the universal + wife. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + His reflections ran somewhat thus: + </p> + <p> + “Surely a simple matter to keep enough coffee in the house! A + schoolgirl could do it! And yet they let themselves run short of coffee! I + ask for nothing out of the way. I make no inordinate demands on the + household. But I do like good coffee. And I can’t have it! Strange! + As for that mutton—one would think there was no clock in the + kitchen. One would think that nobody had ever cooked a leg of mutton + before. How many legs of mutton have they cooked between them in their + lives? Scores; hundreds; I dare say thousands. And yet it hasn’t yet + dawned on them that a leg of mutton of a certain weight requires a certain + time for cooking, and that if it is put down late one of two things must + occur—either it will be undercooked or the dinner will be late! + Simple enough! Logical enough! Four women in the house (three servants and + the wicked, negligent Mrs. Omicron), and yet they must needs waste a leg + of mutton through nothing but gross carelessness! It isn’t as if it + hadn’t happened before! It isn’t as if I hadn’t pointed + it out! But women are amateurs. All women are alike. All housekeeping is + amateurish. She (Mrs. Omicron, the criminal) has nothing in this world to + do but run the house—and see how she runs it! No order! No method! + Has she ever studied housekeeping scientifically? Not she! Does she care? + Not she! If she had any real sense of responsibility, if she had the + slightest glimmering of her own short-comings, she wouldn’t have + started on the ring question. But there you are! She only thinks of + spending, and titivating herself. I wish she had to do a little earning. + She’d find out a thing or two then. She’d find out that life + isn’t all moonstones and motor-cars. Ring, indeed! It’s the + lack of tact that annoys me. I am an ill-used man. All husbands are + ill-used men. The whole system wants altering. However, I must keep my end + up. And I will keep my end up. Ring, indeed! No tact!” + </p> + <p> + He fostered a secret fury. And he enjoyed fostering it. There was + exaggeration in these thoughts, which, he would admit next day, were + possibly too sweeping in their scope. But he would maintain the essential + truth of them. He was not really and effectively furious against Mrs. + Omicron; he did not, as a fact, class her with forgers and drunken + chauffeurs; indeed, the fellow loved her in his fashion. But he did pass a + mature judgment against her. He did wrap up his grudge in cotton-wool and + put it in a drawer and examine it with perverse pleasure now and then. He + did increase that secretion of poison which weakens the social health of + nine hundred and ninety-nine in a thousand married lives—however + delightful they may be. He did render more permanent a noxious habit of + mind. He did appreciably and doubly and finally impair the conjugal + happiness—for it must not be forgotten that in creating a grievance + for himself he also gave his wife a grievance. He did, in fine, contribute + to the general mass of misunderstanding between sex and sex. + </p> + <p> + If he is reading this, as he assuredly is, Mr. Omicron will up and + exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “My wife a grievance! Absurd! The facts are incontrovertible. What + grievance can she have?” + </p> + <p> + The grievance that Mr. Omicron, becoming every day more and more the plain + man, is not exercising imagination in the very field where it is most + needed. + </p> + <p> + What is a home, Mr. Omicron? You reply that a home is a home. You have + always had a home. You were born in one. With luck you will die in one. + And you have never regarded a home as anything but a home. Your leading + idea has ever been that a home is emphatically not an office nor a + manufactory. But suppose you were to unscale your eyes—that is to + say, use your imagination—try to see that a home, in addition to + being a home, is an office and manufactory for the supply of light, + warmth, cleanliness, ease, and food to a given number of people? Suppose + you were to allow it to occur to you that a home emphatically is an + organization similar to an office and manufactory—and an extremely + complicated and delicate one, with many diverse departments, functioning + under extremely difficult conditions? For thus it in truth is. Could you + once accomplish this feat of imaginative faculty, you would never again + say, with that disdainful accent of yours: “Mrs. Omicron has nothing + in the world to do but run the house.” For really it would be just + as clever for her to say: “Mr. Omicron has nothing in the world to + do but run the office.” + </p> + <p> + I admit heartily that Mrs. Omicron is not perfect. She ought to be, of + course; but she, alas! falls short of the ideal. Yet in some details she + can and does show the way to that archangel, her husband. When her office + and manufactory goes wrong, you, Mr. Omicron, are righteously indignant + and superior. You majestically wonder that with four women in the house, + etc., etc. But when you come home and complain that things are askew in + your masculine establishment, and that a period of economy must set in, + does she say to you with scorn: “Don’t dare to mention coffee + to-night. I really wonder that with fourteen (or a hundred and forty) + grown men in your establishment you cannot produce an ample and regular + income?” No; she makes the best of it. She is sympathetic. And you, + Mr. Omicron, would be excessively startled and wounded if she were not + sympathetic. Put your imagination to work and you will see how interesting + are these comparisons. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + She is an amateur at her business, you say. Well, perhaps she is. But who + brought her up to be an amateur? Are you not content to carry on the + ancient tradition? As you meditate, and you often do meditate, upon that + infant daughter of yours now sleeping in her cot, do you dream of giving + her a scientific education in housekeeping, or do you dream of endowing + her with the charms that music and foreign languages and physical grace + can offer? Do you in your mind’s eye see her cannily choosing beef + at the butcher’s, or shining for your pleasure in the drawing-room? + </p> + <p> + And then Mrs. Omicron is, perhaps, not so much of an amateur as you + assume. People learn by practice. Is there any reason in human nature why + a complex machine such as a house may be worked with fewer breakdowns than + an office or manufactory? Harness your imagination once more and transfer + to your house the multitudinous minor catastrophes that happen in your + office. Be sincere, and admit that the efficiency of the average office is + naught but a pretty legend. A mistake or negligence or forgetfulness in an + office is remedied and forgotten. Mrs. Omicron—my dear Mr. Omicron—never + hears of it. Not so with Mrs. Omicron’s office, as your aroused + imagination will tell you. Mrs. Omicron’s parlourmaid’s duster + fails to make contact with one small portion of the hall-table. Mr. + Omicron walks in, and his godlike glance drops instantly on the dusty + place, and Mr. Omicron ejaculates sardonically: “H’m! Four + women in the house, and they can’t even keep the hall-table + respectable!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Omicron forgets a letter at the bottom of his unanswered-letter + basket, and a week later an excited cable arrives from overseas, and that + cable demands another cable. No real harm has been done. Ten dollars spent + on cables have cured the ill. Mrs. Omicron, preoccupied with a rash on the + back of the neck of Miss Omicron before-mentioned, actually comes back + from town without having ordered the mutton. In the afternoon she realizes + her horrid sin and rushes to the telephone. The butcher reassures her. He + swears the desired leg shall arrive. But do you see that boy dallying at + the street corner with his mate? He carries the leg of mutton, and he + carries also, though he knows it not nor cares, the reputation and + happiness of Mrs. Omicron. He is late. As you yourself remarked, Mr. + Omicron, if a leg of mutton is put down late to roast, one of two things + must occur—either it will be under-cooked or the dinner will be + late. + </p> + <p> + Now, if housekeeping was as simple as office-keeping, Mrs. Omicron would + smile in tranquillity at the <i>contretemps</i>, and say to herself: + “Never mind, I shall pay the late-posting fee—that will give + me an extra forty minutes.” <i>You</i> say that, Mr. Omicron, about + your letters, when you happen to have taken three hours for lunch and your + dictation of correspondence is thereby postponed. Only there is no + late-posting fee in Mrs. Omicron’s world. If Mrs. Omicron flung four + cents at you when you came home, and informed you that dinner would be + forty minutes late and that she was paying the fee, what, Mr. Omicron, + would be your state of mind? + </p> + <p> + And your imagination, now very alert, will carry you even farther than + this, Mr. Omicron, and disclose to you still more fearful difficulties + which Mrs. Omicron has to face in the management of her office or + manufactory. Her staff is uneducated, less educated even than yours. And + her staff is universally characterized by certain peculiarities of + mentality. For example, her staff will never, never, never, come and say + to her: “Please, ma’am, there is only enough coffee left for + two days.” No! Her staff will placidly wait forty-eight hours, and + then come at 7 p.m. and say: “Please, ma’am, there isn’t + enough coffee——” And worse! You, Mr. Omicron, can say + roundly to a clerk: “Look here, if this occurs again I shall fling + you into the street.” You are aware, and he is aware, that a hundred + clerks are waiting to take his place. On the other hand, a hundred + mistresses are waiting to take the place of Mrs. Omicron with regard to + her cook. Mrs. Omicron has to do as best she can. She has to speak softly + and to temper discipline, because the supply of domestic servants is + unequal to the demand. And there is still worse. The worst of all, the + supreme disadvantage under which Mrs. Omicron suffers, is that most of her + errors, lapses, crimes, directly affect a man in the stomach, and the man + is a hungry man. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Omicron, your imagination, now feverishly active, will thus + demonstrate to you that your wife’s earthly lot is not the velvet + couch that you had unimaginatively assumed it to be, and that, indeed, you + would not change places with her for a hundred thousand a year. Your + attitude towards her human limitations will be modified, and the general + mass of misunderstanding between sex and sex will tend to diminish. + </p> + <p> + (And if even yet your attitude is not modified, let your imagination dwell + for a few instants on the extraordinary number of bad and expensive hotels + with which you are acquainted—managed, not by amateurish women, but + by professional men. And on the obstinate mismanagement of the + commissariat of your own club—of which you are continually + complaining to members of the house-committee.) + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + I pass to another aspect of Mr. Omicron’s private reflections + consequent upon Mrs. Omicron’s dreadful failure of tact in asking + him about the ring after the mutton had proved to be underdone and the + coffee to be inadequate. “She only thinks of spending,” + reflected Mr. Omicron, resentfully. A more or less true reflection, no + doubt, but there would have been a different colour to it if Mr. Omicron + had exercised the greatest of his faculties. Suppose you were to unscale + your eyes, Mr. Omicron—that is to say, use your imagination—and + try to see that so far as finance is concerned your wife’s chief and + proper occupation in life is to spend. Conceive what you would say if she + announced one morning: “Henry, I am sick of spending. I am going out + into the world to earn.” Can you not hear yourself employing a + classic phrase about “the woman’s sphere”? In brief, + there would occur an altercation and a shindy. + </p> + <p> + Your imagination, once set in motion, will show you that your conjugal + existence is divided into two great departments—the getting and the + spending departments. Wordsworth chanted that in getting and spending we + lay waste our powers. We could not lay waste our powers in a more + satisfying manner. The two departments, mutually indispensable, balance + each other. You organized them. You made yourself the head of one and your + wife the head of the other. You might, of course, have organized them + otherwise. It was open to you in the Hottentot style to decree that your + wife should do the earning while you did the spending. But for some + mysterious reason this arrangement did not appeal to you, and you + accordingly go forth daily to the office and return therefrom with money. + The theory of your daily excursion is firmly based in the inherent nature + of things. The theory is the fundamental cosmic one that money is made in + order that money may be spent—either at once or later. Even the + miser conforms to this theory, for he only saves in obedience to the + argument that the need of spending in the future may be more imperious + than is the need of spending at the moment. + </p> + <p> + The whole of your own personal activity is a mere preliminary to the + activity of Mrs. Omicron. Without hers, yours would be absurd, ridiculous, + futile, supremely silly. By spending she completes and justifies your + labour; she crowns your life by spending. You married her so that she + might spend. You wanted some one to spend, and it was understood that she + should fill the situation. She was brought up to spend, and you knew that + she was brought up to spend. Spending is her vocation. And yet you turn + round on her and complain, “She only thinks of spending.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” you say, “but there is such a thing as + moderation.” There is; I admit it. The word “extravagance” + is no idle word in the English language. It describes a quality which + exists. Let it be an axiom that Mrs. Omicron is human. Just as the + tendency to get may grow on you, until you become a rapacious and stingy + money-grubber, so the tendency to spend may grow on her. One has known + instances. A check-action must be occasionally employed. Agreed! But, Mr. + Omicron, you should choose a time and a tone for employing it other than + you chose on this evening that I have described. A man who mixes up + jewelled rings with undertone mutton and feeble coffee is a clumsy man. + </p> + <p> + Exercise your imagination to put yourself in the place of Mrs. Omicron, + and you will perceive that she is constantly in the highly delicate + difficulty of having to ask for money, or at any rate of having to suggest + or insinuate that money should be given to her. It is her right and even + her duty to ask for money, but the foolish, illogical creature—like + most women, even those with generous and polite husbands—regards the + process as a little humiliating for herself. You, Mr. Omicron, have + perhaps never asked for money. But your imagination will probably be able + to make you feel how it feels to ask for money. A woman whose business in + life it is to spend money which she does not and cannot earn may sometimes + have to face a refusal when she asks for money. But there is one thing + from which she ought to be absolutely and eternally safe—and that is + a snub. + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + And finally, in his reflections as an ill-used man tied for life to a + woman who knows not tact, Mr. Omicron asserted further that Mrs. Omicron + only thought of spending and titivating herself. To assert that she only + thought of spending did not satisfy his spleen; he must add “titivating + herself.” He would admit, of course, that she did as a fact + sometimes think of other matters, but still he would uphold the gravamen + of his charge. And yet—excellent Omicron!—you have but to look + the truth in the face—as a plain common-sense man will—and to + use your imagination, in order to perceive that there really is no + gravamen in the charge. + </p> + <p> + Why did you insist on marrying Mrs. Omicron? She had the reputation of + being a good housekeeper (as girls go); she was a serious girl, + kind-hearted, of irreproachable family, having agreeable financial + expectations, clever, well-educated, good-tempered, pretty. But the truth + is that you married her for none of these attributes. You married her + because you were attracted to her; and what attracted you was a + mysterious, never-to-be-defined quality about her—an effluence, an + emanation, a lurking radiance, an entirely enigmatic charm. In the end + “charm” is the one word that even roughly indicates that + element in her personality which caused you to lose your head about her. A + similar phenomenon is to be observed in all marriages of inclination. A + similar phenomenon is at the bottom of most social movements. Why, the Men’s + League for Women’s Suffrage itself certainly came into being through + the strange workings of that same phenomenon! You married Mrs. Omicron + doubtless because she was “suitable,” but her “suitability,” + for you, consisted in the way she breathed, the way she crossed a room, a + transient gesture, a vibration in her voice, a blush, a glance, the curve + of an arm—nothing, nothing—and yet everything! + </p> + <p> + You may condescend towards this quality of hers, Mr. Omicron—you may + try to dismiss it as “feminine charm,” and have done with it. + But you cannot have done with it. And the fact will ever remain that you + are incapable of supplying it yourself, with all your talents and your + divine common sense. You are an extremely wise and good man, but you + cannot ravish the senses of a roomful of people by merely walking + downstairs, by merely throwing a shawl over your shoulders, by a curious + depression in the corner of one cheek. This gift of grace is not yours. + Wise as you are, you will be still wiser if you do not treat it + disdainfully. It is among the supreme things in the world. It has made a + mighty lot of history, and not improbably will make some more—even + yours. + </p> + <p> + You were not the only person aware of the formidable power (for formidable + it was) which she possessed over you. She, too, was aware of it, and is + still. She knows that when she exists in a particular way, she will + produce in your existence a sensation which, though fleeting, you prefer + to all other sensations—a sensation unique. And this quality by + which she disturbs and enchants you is her main resource in the adventure + of life. Shall she not cherish this quality, adorn it, intensify it? On + the contrary, you well know that you would be very upset and amazed if + Mrs. Omicron were to show signs of neglecting this quality of hers which + yearns for rings. And, if you have ever entered a necktie-shop and been + dazzled by the spectacle of a fine necktie into “hanging expense”—if + you have been through this wondrous experience, your imagination, duly + prodded, will enable you to put yourself into Mrs. Omicron’s place + when she mentions the subject of rings. “Titivating herself?” + Good heavens, she is helping the very earth to revolve! And you smote the + defenceless creature with a lethal word—because the butcher’s + boy dallied at a street-corner! + </p> + <p> + You insinuate that one frail hand may carry too many rings. You reproduce + your favourite word “moderation.” Mr. Omicron, I take you. I + agree as to the danger. But if Mrs. Omicron is human, let us also bear in + mind the profound truth that not one of us is more human than another. + </p> + <h3> + THE END. + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13449 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |