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Jerome + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + 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%;} + 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 {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Second Thoughts of An Idle Fellow, by +Jerome K. Jerome + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Second Thoughts of An Idle Fellow + +Author: Jerome K. Jerome + +Release Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #1915] +Last Updated: January 15, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SECOND THOUGHTS *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE SECOND THOUGHTS<br /> OF AN IDLE FELLOW + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Jerome K. Jerome + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1899 Hurst and Blackett edition + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ON THE ART OF MAKING UP ONE'S MIND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ON THE DISADVANTAGE OF NOT GETTING WHAT + ONE WANTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ON THE EXCEPTIONAL MERIT ATTACHING TO THE + THINGS WE MEANT TO DO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ON THE PREPARATION AND EMPLOYMENT OF LOVE + PHILTRES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ON THE DELIGHTS AND BENEFITS OF SLAVERY + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ON THE CARE AND MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> ON THE MINDING OF OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> ON THE TIME WASTED IN LOOKING BEFORE ONE + LEAPS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> ON THE NOBILITY OF OURSELVES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> ON THE MOTHERLINESS OF MAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> ON THE INADVISABILITY OF FOLLOWING ADVICE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> ON THE PLAYING OF MARCHES AT THE FUNERALS + OF MARIONETTES </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ON THE ART OF MAKING UP ONE'S MIND + </h2> + <p> + "Now, which would you advise, dear? You see, with the red I shan't be able + to wear my magenta hat." + </p> + <p> + "Well then, why not have the grey?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes—yes, I think the grey will be MORE useful." + </p> + <p> + "It's a good material." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, and it's a PRETTY grey. You know what I mean, dear; not a COMMON + grey. Of course grey is always an UNINTERESTING colour." + </p> + <p> + "Its quiet." + </p> + <p> + "And then again, what I feel about the red is that it is so warm-looking. + Red makes you FEEL warm even when you're NOT warm. You know what I mean, + dear!" + </p> + <p> + "Well then, why not have the red? It suits you—red." + </p> + <p> + "No; do you really think so?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, when you've got a colour, I mean, of course!" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, that is the drawback to red. No, I think, on the whole, the grey is + SAFER." + </p> + <p> + "Then you will take the grey, madam?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I think I'd better; don't you, dear?" + </p> + <p> + "I like it myself very much." + </p> + <p> + "And it is good wearing stuff. I shall have it trimmed with—Oh! you + haven't cut it off, have you?" + </p> + <p> + "I was just about to, madam." + </p> + <p> + "Well, don't for a moment. Just let me have another look at the red. You + see, dear, it has just occurred to me—that chinchilla would look so + well on the red!" + </p> + <p> + "So it would, dear!" + </p> + <p> + "And, you see, I've got the chinchilla." + </p> + <p> + "Then have the red. Why not?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, there is the hat I'm thinking of." + </p> + <p> + "You haven't anything else you could wear with that?" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing at all, and it would go so BEAUTIFULLY with the grey.—Yes, + I think I'll have the grey. It's always a safe colour—grey." + </p> + <p> + "Fourteen yards I think you said, madam?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, fourteen yards will be enough; because I shall mix it with—One + minute. You see, dear, if I take the grey I shall have nothing to wear + with my black jacket." + </p> + <p> + "Won't it go with grey?" + </p> + <p> + "Not well—not so well as with red." + </p> + <p> + "I should have the red then. You evidently fancy it yourself." + </p> + <p> + "No, personally I prefer the grey. But then one must think of EVERYTHING, + and—Good gracious! that's surely not the right time?" + </p> + <p> + "No, madam, it's ten minutes slow. We always keep our clocks a little + slow!" + </p> + <p> + "And we were too have been at Madame Jannaway's at a quarter past twelve. + How long shopping does take I—Why, whatever time did we start?" + </p> + <p> + "About eleven, wasn't it?" + </p> + <p> + "Half-past ten. I remember now; because, you know, we said we'd start at + half-past nine. We've been two hours already!" + </p> + <p> + "And we don't seem to have done much, do we?" + </p> + <p> + "Done literally nothing, and I meant to have done so much. I must go to + Madame Jannaway's. Have you got my purse, dear? Oh, it's all right, I've + got it." + </p> + <p> + "Well, now you haven't decided whether you're going to have the grey or + the red." + </p> + <p> + "I'm sure I don't know what I do want now. I had made up my mind a minute + ago, and now it's all gone again—oh yes, I remember, the red. Yes, + I'll have the red. No, I don't mean the red, I mean the grey." + </p> + <p> + "You were talking about the red last time, if you remember, dear." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, so I was, you're quite right. That's the worst of shopping. Do you + know I get quite confused sometimes." + </p> + <p> + "Then you will decide on the red, madam?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes—yes, I shan't do any better, shall I, dear? What do you think? + You haven't got any other shades of red, have you? This is such an ugly + red." + </p> + <p> + The shopman reminds her that she has seen all the other reds, and that + this is the particular shade she selected and admired. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, very well," she replies, with the air of one from whom all earthly + cares are falling, "I must take that then, I suppose. I can't be worried + about it any longer. I've wasted half the morning already." + </p> + <p> + Outside she recollects three insuperable objections to the red, and four + unanswerable arguments why she should have selected the grey. She wonders + would they change it, if she went back and asked to see the shopwalker? + Her friend, who wants her lunch, thinks not. + </p> + <p> + "That is what I hate about shopping," she says. "One never has time to + really THINK." + </p> + <p> + She says she shan't go to that shop again. + </p> + <p> + We laugh at her, but are we so very much better? Come, my superior male + friend, have you never stood, amid your wardrobe, undecided whether, in + her eyes, you would appear more imposing, clad in the rough tweed suit + that so admirably displays your broad shoulders; or in the orthodox black + frock, that, after all, is perhaps more suitable to the figure of a man + approaching—let us say, the nine-and-twenties? Or, better still, why + not riding costume? Did we not hear her say how well Jones looked in his + top-boots and breeches, and, "hang it all," we have a better leg than + Jones. What a pity riding-breeches are made so baggy nowadays. Why is it + that male fashions tend more and more to hide the male leg? As women have + become less and less ashamed of theirs, we have become more and more + reticent of ours. Why are the silken hose, the tight-fitting pantaloons, + the neat kneebreeches of our forefathers impossible to-day? Are we grown + more modest—or has there come about a falling off, rendering + concealment advisable? + </p> + <p> + I can never understand, myself, why women love us. It must be our honest + worth, our sterling merit, that attracts them—certainly not our + appearance, in a pair of tweed "dittos," black angora coat and vest, + stand-up collar, and chimney-pot hat! No, it must be our sheer force of + character that compels their admiration. + </p> + <p> + What a good time our ancestors must have had was borne in upon me when, on + one occasion, I appeared in character at a fancy dress ball. What I + represented I am unable to say, and I don't particularly care. I only know + it was something military. I also remember that the costume was two sizes + too small for me in the chest, and thereabouts; and three sizes too large + for me in the hat. I padded the hat, and dined in the middle of the day + off a chop and half a glass of soda-water. I have gained prizes as a boy + for mathematics, also for scripture history—not often, but I have + done it. A literary critic, now dead, once praised a book of mine. I know + there have been occasions when my conduct has won the approbation of good + men; but never—never in my whole life, have I felt more proud, more + satisfied with myself than on that evening when, the last hook fastened, I + gazed at my full-length Self in the cheval glass. I was a dream. I say it + who should not; but I am not the only one who said it. I was a glittering + dream. The groundwork was red, trimmed with gold braid wherever there was + room for gold braid; and where there was no more possible room for gold + braid there hung gold cords, and tassels, and straps. Gold buttons and + buckles fastened me, gold embroidered belts and sashes caressed me, white + horse-hair plumes waved o'er me. I am not sure that everything was in its + proper place, but I managed to get everything on somehow, and I looked + well. It suited me. My success was a revelation to me of female human + nature. Girls who had hitherto been cold and distant gathered round me, + timidly solicitous of notice. Girls on whom I smiled lost their heads and + gave themselves airs. Girls who were not introduced to me sulked and were + rude to girls that had been. For one poor child, with whom I sat out two + dances (at least she sat, while I stood gracefully beside her—I had + been advised, by the costumier, NOT to sit), I was sorry. He was a worthy + young fellow, the son of a cotton broker, and he would have made her a + good husband, I feel sure. But he was foolish to come as a beer-bottle. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, after all, it is as well those old fashions have gone out. A week + in that suit might have impaired my natural modesty. + </p> + <p> + One wonders that fancy dress balls are not more popular in this grey age + of ours. The childish instinct to "dress up," to "make believe," is with + us all. We grow so tired of being always ourselves. A tea-table + discussion, at which I once assisted, fell into this:—Would any one + of us, when it came to the point, change with anybody else, the poor man + with the millionaire, the governess with the princess—change not + only outward circumstances and surroundings, but health and temperament, + heart, brain, and soul; so that not one mental or physical particle of + one's original self one would retain, save only memory? The general + opinion was that we would not, but one lady maintained the affirmative. + </p> + <p> + "Oh no, you wouldn't really, dear," argued a friend; "you THINK you + would." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I would," persisted the first lady; "I am tired of myself. I'd even + be you, for a change." + </p> + <p> + In my youth, the question chiefly important to me was—What sort of + man shall I decide to be? At nineteen one asks oneself this question; at + thirty-nine we say, "I wish Fate hadn't made me this sort of man." + </p> + <p> + In those days I was a reader of much well-meant advice to young men, and I + gathered that, whether I should become a Sir Lancelot, a Herr + Teufelsdrockh, or an Iago was a matter for my own individual choice. + Whether I should go through life gaily or gravely was a question the pros + and cons of which I carefully considered. For patterns I turned to books. + Byron was then still popular, and many of us made up our minds to be + gloomy, saturnine young men, weary with the world, and prone to soliloquy. + I determined to join them. + </p> + <p> + For a month I rarely smiled, or, when I did, it was with a weary, bitter + smile, concealing a broken heart—at least that was the intention. + Shallow-minded observers misunderstood. + </p> + <p> + "I know exactly how it feels," they would say, looking at me + sympathetically, "I often have it myself. It's the sudden change in the + weather, I think;" and they would press neat brandy upon me, and suggest + ginger. + </p> + <p> + Again, it is distressing to the young man, busy burying his secret sorrow + under a mound of silence, to be slapped on the back by commonplace people + and asked—"Well, how's 'the hump' this morning?" and to hear his + mood of dignified melancholy referred to, by those who should know better, + as "the sulks." + </p> + <p> + There are practical difficulties also in the way of him who would play the + Byronic young gentleman. He must be supernaturally wicked—or rather + must have been; only, alas! in the unliterary grammar of life, where the + future tense stands first, and the past is formed, not from the + indefinite, but from the present indicative, "to have been" is "to be"; + and to be wicked on a small income is impossible. The ruin of even the + simplest of maidens costs money. In the Courts of Love one cannot sue in + forma pauperis; nor would it be the Byronic method. + </p> + <p> + "To drown remembrance in the cup" sounds well, but then the "cup," to be + fitting, should be of some expensive brand. To drink deep of old Tokay or + Asti is poetical; but when one's purse necessitates that the draught, if + it is to be deep enough to drown anything, should be of thin beer at + five-and-nine the four and a half gallon cask, or something similar in + price, sin is robbed of its flavour. + </p> + <p> + Possibly also—let me think it—the conviction may have been + within me that Vice, even at its daintiest, is but an ugly, sordid thing, + repulsive in the sunlight; that though—as rags and dirt to art—it + may afford picturesque material to Literature, it is an evil-smelling + garment to the wearer; one that a good man, by reason of poverty of will, + may come down to, but one to be avoided with all one's effort, discarded + with returning mental prosperity. + </p> + <p> + Be this as it may, I grew weary of training for a saturnine young man; + and, in the midst of my doubt, I chanced upon a book the hero of which was + a debonnaire young buck, own cousin to Tom and Jerry. He attended fights, + both of cocks and men, flirted with actresses, wrenched off door-knockers, + extinguished street lamps, played many a merry jest upon many an + unappreciative night watch-man. For all the which he was much beloved by + the women of the book. Why should not I flirt with actresses, put out + street lamps, play pranks on policemen, and be beloved? London life was + changed since the days of my hero, but much remained, and the heart of + woman is eternal. If no longer prizefighting was to be had, at least there + were boxing competitions, so called, in dingy back parlours out + Whitechapel way. Though cockfighting was a lost sport, were there not damp + cellars near the river where for twopence a gentleman might back mongrel + terriers to kill rats against time, and feel himself indeed a sportsman? + True, the atmosphere of reckless gaiety, always surrounding my hero, I + missed myself from these scenes, finding in its place an atmosphere more + suggestive of gin, stale tobacco, and nervous apprehension of the police; + but the essentials must have been the same, and the next morning I could + exclaim in the very words of my prototype—"Odds crickets, but I feel + as though the devil himself were in my head. Peste take me for a fool." + </p> + <p> + But in this direction likewise my fatal lack of means opposed me. (It + affords much food to the philosophic mind, this influence of income upon + character.) Even fifth-rate "boxing competitions," organized by "friendly + leads," and ratting contests in Rotherhithe slums, become expensive, when + you happen to be the only gentleman present possessed of a collar, and are + expected to do the honours of your class in dog's-nose. True, climbing + lamp-posts and putting out the gas is fairly cheap, providing always you + are not caught in the act, but as a recreation it lacks variety. Nor is + the modern London lamp-post adapted to sport. Anything more difficult to + grip—anything with less "give" in it—I have rarely clasped. + The disgraceful amount of dirt allowed to accumulate upon it is another + drawback from the climber's point of view. By the time you have swarmed up + your third post a positive distaste for "gaiety" steals over you. Your + desire is towards arnica and a bath. + </p> + <p> + Nor in jokes at the expense of policemen is the fun entirely on your side. + Maybe I did not proceed with judgment. It occurs to me now, looking back, + that the neighbourhoods of Covent Garden and Great Marlborough Street were + ill-chosen for sport of this nature. To bonnet a fat policeman is + excellent fooling. While he is struggling with his helmet you can ask him + comic questions, and by the time he has got his head free you are out of + sight. But the game should be played in a district where there is not an + average of three constables to every dozen square yards. When two other + policemen, who have had their eye on you for the past ten minutes, are + watching the proceedings from just round the next corner, you have little + or no leisure for due enjoyment of the situation. By the time you have run + the whole length of Great Titchfield Street and twice round Oxford Market, + you are of opinion that a joke should never be prolonged beyond the point + at which there is danger of its becoming wearisome; and that the time has + now arrived for home and friends. The "Law," on the other hand, now raised + by reinforcements to a strength of six or seven men, is just beginning to + enjoy the chase. You picture to yourself, while doing Hanover Square, the + scene in Court the next morning. You will be accused of being drunk and + disorderly. It will be idle for you to explain to the magistrate (or to + your relations afterwards) that you were only trying to live up to a man + who did this sort of thing in a book and was admired for it. You will be + fined the usual forty shillings; and on the next occasion of your calling + at the Mayfields' the girls will be out, and Mrs. Mayfield, an excellent + lady, who has always taken a motherly interest in you, will talk seriously + to you and urge you to sign the pledge. + </p> + <p> + Thanks to your youth and constitution you shake off the pursuit at Notting + Hill; and, to avoid any chance of unpleasant contretemps on the return + journey, walk home to Bloomsbury by way of Camden Town and Islington. + </p> + <p> + I abandoned sportive tendencies as the result of a vow made by myself to + Providence, during the early hours of a certain Sunday morning, while + clinging to the waterspout of an unpretentious house situate in a side + street off Soho. I put it to Providence as man to man. "Let me only get + out of this," I think were the muttered words I used, "and no more 'sport' + for me." Providence closed on the offer, and did let me get out of it. + True, it was a complicated "get out," involving a broken skylight and + three gas globes, two hours in a coal cellar, and a sovereign to a potman + for the loan of an ulster; and when at last, secure in my chamber, I took + stock of myself—what was left of me,—I could not but reflect + that Providence might have done the job neater. Yet I experienced no + desire to escape the terms of the covenant; my inclining for the future + was towards a life of simplicity. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, I cast about for a new character, and found one to suit me. + The German professor was becoming popular as a hero about this period. He + wore his hair long and was otherwise untidy, but he had "a heart of + steel," occasionally of gold. The majority of folks in the book, judging + him from his exterior together with his conversation—in broken + English, dealing chiefly with his dead mother and his little sister Lisa,—dubbed + him uninteresting, but then they did not know about the heart. His chief + possession was a lame dog which he had rescued from a brutal mob; and when + he was not talking broken English he was nursing this dog. + </p> + <p> + But his speciality was stopping runaway horses, thereby saving the + heroine's life. This, combined with the broken English and the dog, + rendered him irresistible. + </p> + <p> + He seemed a peaceful, amiable sort of creature, and I decided to try him. + I could not of course be a German professor, but I could, and did, wear my + hair long in spite of much public advice to the contrary, voiced chiefly + by small boys. I endeavoured to obtain possession of a lame dog, but + failed. A one-eyed dealer in Seven Dials, to whom, as a last resource, I + applied, offered to lame one for me for an extra five shillings, but this + suggestion I declined. I came across an uncanny-looking mongrel late one + night. He was not lame, but he seemed pretty sick; and, feeling I was not + robbing anybody of anything very valuable, I lured him home and nursed + him. I fancy I must have over-nursed him. He got so healthy in the end, + there was no doing anything with him. He was an ill-conditioned cur, and + he was too old to be taught. He became the curse of the neighbourhood. His + idea of sport was killing chickens and sneaking rabbits from outside + poulterers' shops. For recreation he killed cats and frightened small + children by yelping round their legs. There were times when I could have + lamed him myself, if only I could have got hold of him. I made nothing by + running that dog—nothing whatever. People, instead of admiring me + for nursing him back to life, called me a fool, and said that if I didn't + drown the brute they would. He spoilt my character utterly—I mean my + character at this period. It is difficult to pose as a young man with a + heart of gold, when discovered in the middle of the road throwing stones + at your own dog. And stones were the only things that would reach and + influence him. + </p> + <p> + I was also hampered by a scarcity in runaway horses. The horse of our + suburb was not that type of horse. Once and only once did an opportunity + offer itself for practice. It was a good opportunity, inasmuch as he was + not running away very greatly. Indeed, I doubt if he knew himself that he + was running away. It transpired afterwards that it was a habit of his, + after waiting for his driver outside the Rose and Crown for what he + considered to be a reasonable period, to trot home on his own account. He + passed me going about seven miles an hour, with the reins dragging + conveniently beside him. He was the very thing for a beginner, and I + prepared myself. At the critical moment, however, a couple of officious + policemen pushed me aside and did it themselves. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing for me to regret, as the matter turned out. I should + only have rescued a bald-headed commercial traveller, very drunk, who + swore horribly, and pelted the crowd with empty collar-boxes. + </p> + <p> + From the window of a very high flat I once watched three men, resolved to + stop a runaway horse. Each man marched deliberately into the middle of the + road and took up his stand. My window was too far away for me to see their + faces, but their attitude suggested heroism unto death. The first man, as + the horse came charging towards him, faced it with his arms spread out. He + never flinched until the horse was within about twenty yards of him. Then, + as the animal was evidently determined to continue its wild career, there + was nothing left for him to do but to retire again to the kerb, where he + stood looking after it with evident sorrow, as though saying to himself—"Oh, + well, if you are going to be headstrong I have done with you." + </p> + <p> + The second man, on the catastrophe being thus left clear for him, without + a moment's hesitation, walked up a bye street and disappeared. The third + man stood his ground, and, as the horse passed him, yelled at it. I could + not hear what he said. I have not the slightest doubt it was excellent + advice, but the animal was apparently too excited even to listen. The + first and the third man met afterwards, and discussed the matter + sympathetically. I judged they were regretting the pig-headedness of + runaway horses in general, and hoping that nobody had been hurt. + </p> + <p> + I forget the other characters I assumed about this period. One, I know, + that got me into a good deal of trouble was that of a downright, honest, + hearty, outspoken young man who always said what he meant. + </p> + <p> + I never knew but one man who made a real success of speaking his mind. I + have heard him slap the table with his open hand and exclaim— + </p> + <p> + "You want me to flatter you—to stuff you up with a pack of lies. + That's not me, that's not Jim Compton. But if you care for my honest + opinion, all I can say is, that child is the most marvellous performer on + the piano I've ever heard. I don't say she is a genius, but I have heard + Liszt and Metzler and all the crack players, and I prefer HER. That's my + opinion. I speak my mind, and I can't help it if you're offended." + </p> + <p> + "How refreshing," the parents would say, "to come across a man who is not + afraid to say what he really thinks. Why are we not all outspoken?" + </p> + <p> + The last character I attempted I thought would be easy to assume. It was + that of a much admired and beloved young man, whose great charm lay in the + fact that he was always just—himself. Other people posed and acted. + He never made any effort to be anything but his own natural, simple self. + </p> + <p> + I thought I also would be my own natural, simple self. But then the + question arose—What was my own natural, simple self? + </p> + <p> + That was the preliminary problem I had to solve; I have not solved it to + this day. What am I? I am a great gentleman, walking through the world + with dauntless heart and head erect, scornful of all meanness, impatient + of all littleness. I am a mean-thinking, little-daring man—the type + of man that I of the dauntless heart and the erect head despise greatly—crawling + to a poor end by devious ways, cringing to the strong, timid of all pain. + I—but, dear reader, I will not sadden your sensitive ears with + details I could give you, showing how contemptible a creature this + wretched I happens to be. Nor would you understand me. You would only be + astonished, discovering that such disreputable specimens of humanity + contrive to exist in this age. It is best, my dear sir, or madam, you + should remain ignorant of these evil persons. Let me not trouble you with + knowledge. + </p> + <p> + I am a philosopher, greeting alike the thunder and the sunshine with + frolic welcome. Only now and then, when all things do not fall exactly as + I wish them, when foolish, wicked people will persist in doing foolish, + wicked acts, affecting my comfort and happiness, I rage and fret a goodish + deal. + </p> + <p> + As Heine said of himself, I am knight, too, of the Holy Grail, valiant for + the Truth, reverent of all women, honouring all men, eager to yield life + to the service of my great Captain. + </p> + <p> + And next moment, I find myself in the enemy's lines, fighting under the + black banner. (It must be confusing to these opposing Generals, all their + soldiers being deserters from both armies.) What are women but men's + playthings! Shall there be no more cakes and ale for me because thou art + virtuous! What are men but hungry dogs, contending each against each for a + limited supply of bones! Do others lest thou be done. What is the Truth + but an unexploded lie! + </p> + <p> + I am a lover of all living things. You, my poor sister, struggling with + your heavy burden on your lonely way, I would kiss the tears from your + worn cheeks, lighten with my love the darkness around your feet. You, my + patient brother, breathing hard as round and round you tramp the trodden + path, like some poor half-blind gin-horse, stripes your only + encouragement, scanty store of dry chaff in your manger! I would jog + beside you, taking the strain a little from your aching shoulders; and we + would walk nodding, our heads side by side, and you, remembering, should + tell me of the fields where long ago you played, of the gallant races that + you ran and won. And you, little pinched brats, with wondering eyes, + looking from dirt-encrusted faces, I would take you in my arms and tell + you fairy stories. Into the sweet land of make-believe we would wander, + leaving the sad old world behind us for a time, and you should be Princes + and Princesses, and know Love. + </p> + <p> + But again, a selfish, greedy man comes often, and sits in my clothes. A + man who frets away his life, planning how to get more money—more + food, more clothes, more pleasures for himself; a man so busy thinking of + the many things he needs he has no time to dwell upon the needs of others. + He deems himself the centre of the universe. You would imagine, hearing + him grumbling, that the world had been created and got ready against the + time when he should come to take his pleasure in it. He would push and + trample, heedless, reaching towards these many desires of his; and when, + grabbing, he misses, he curses Heaven for its injustice, and men and women + for getting in his path. He is not a nice man, in any way. I wish, as I + say, he would not come so often and sit in my clothes. He persists that he + is I, and that I am only a sentimental fool, spoiling his chances. + Sometimes, for a while, I get rid of him, but he always comes back; and + then he gets rid of me and I become him. It is very confusing. Sometimes I + wonder if I really am myself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE DISADVANTAGE OF NOT GETTING WHAT ONE WANTS + </h2> + <p> + Long, long ago, when you and I, dear Reader, were young, when the fairies + dwelt in the hearts of the roses, when the moonbeams bent each night + beneath the weight of angels' feet, there lived a good, wise man. Or + rather, I should say, there had lived, for at the time of which I speak + the poor old gentleman lay dying. Waiting each moment the dread summons, + he fell a-musing on the life that stretched far back behind him. How full + it seemed to him at that moment of follies and mistakes, bringing bitter + tears not to himself alone but to others also. How much brighter a road + might it have been, had he been wiser, had he known! + </p> + <p> + "Ah, me!" said the good old gentleman, "if only I could live my life again + in the light of experience." + </p> + <p> + Now as he spoke these words he felt the drawing near to him of a Presence, + and thinking it was the One whom he expected, raising himself a little + from his bed, he feebly cried, + </p> + <p> + "I am ready." + </p> + <p> + But a hand forced him gently back, a voice saying, "Not yet; I bring life, + not death. Your wish shall be granted. You shall live your life again, and + the knowledge of the past shall be with you to guide you. See you use it. + I will come again." + </p> + <p> + Then a sleep fell upon the good man, and when he awoke, he was again a + little child, lying in his mother's arms; but, locked within his brain was + the knowledge of the life that he had lived already. + </p> + <p> + So once more he lived and loved and laboured. So a second time he lay an + old, worn man with life behind him. And the angel stood again beside his + bed; and the voice said, + </p> + <p> + "Well, are you content now?" + </p> + <p> + "I am well content," said the old gentleman. "Let Death come." + </p> + <p> + "And have you understood?" asked the angel. + </p> + <p> + "I think so," was the answer; "that experience is but as of the memory of + the pathways he has trod to a traveller journeying ever onward into an + unknown land. I have been wise only to reap the reward of folly. Knowledge + has ofttimes kept me from my good. I have avoided my old mistakes only to + fall into others that I knew not of. I have reached the old errors by new + roads. Where I have escaped sorrow I have lost joy. Where I have grasped + happiness I have plucked pain also. Now let me go with Death that I may + learn.." + </p> + <p> + Which was so like the angel of that period, the giving of a gift, bringing + to a man only more trouble. Maybe I am overrating my coolness of judgment + under somewhat startling circumstances, but I am inclined to think that, + had I lived in those days, and had a fairy or an angel come to me, wanting + to give me something—my soul's desire, or the sum of my ambition, or + any trifle of that kind I should have been short with him. + </p> + <p> + "You pack up that precious bag of tricks of yours," I should have said to + him (it would have been rude, but that is how I should have felt), "and + get outside with it. I'm not taking anything in your line to-day. I don't + require any supernatural aid to get me into trouble. All the worry I want + I can get down here, so it's no good your calling. You take that little + joke of yours,—I don't know what it is, but I know enough not to + want to know,—and run it off on some other idiot. I'm not priggish. + I have no objection to an innocent game of 'catch-questions' in the + ordinary way, and when I get a turn myself. But if I've got to pay every + time, and the stakes are to be my earthly happiness plus my future + existence—why, I don't play. There was the case of Midas; a nice, + shabby trick you fellows played off upon him! making pretence you did not + understand him, twisting round the poor old fellow's words, just for all + the world as though you were a pack of Old Bailey lawyers, trying to trip + up a witness; I'm ashamed of the lot of you, and I tell you so—coming + down here, fooling poor unsuspecting mortals with your nonsense, as though + we had not enough to harry us as it was. Then there was that other case of + the poor old peasant couple to whom you promised three wishes, the whole + thing ending in a black pudding. And they never got even that. You thought + that funny, I suppose. That was your fairy humour! A pity, I say, you have + not, all of you, something better to do with your time. As I said before, + you take that celestial 'Joe Miller' of yours and work it off on somebody + else. I have read my fairy lore, and I have read my mythology, and I don't + want any of your blessings. And what's more, I'm not going to have them. + When I want blessings I will put up with the usual sort we are accustomed + to down here. You know the ones I mean, the disguised brand—the + blessings that no human being would think were blessings, if he were not + told; the blessings that don't look like blessings, that don't feel like + blessings; that, as a matter of fact, are not blessings, practically + speaking; the blessings that other people think are blessings for us and + that we don't. They've got their drawbacks, but they are better than + yours, at any rate, and they are sooner over. I don't want your blessings + at any price. If you leave one here I shall simply throw it out after + you." + </p> + <p> + I feel confident I should have answered in that strain, and I feel it + would have done good. Somebody ought to have spoken plainly, because with + fairies and angels of that sort fooling about, no one was ever safe for a + moment. Children could hardly have been allowed outside the door. One + never could have told what silly trick some would-be funny fairy might be + waiting to play off on them. The poor child would not know, and would + think it was getting something worth having. The wonder to me is that some + of those angels didn't get tarred and feathered. + </p> + <p> + I am doubtful whether even Cinderella's luck was quite as satisfying as we + are led to believe. After the carpetless kitchen and the black beetles, + how beautiful the palace must have seemed—for the first year, + perhaps for the first two. And the Prince! how loving, how gallant, how + tender—for the first year, perhaps for the first two. And after? You + see he was a Prince, brought up in a Court, the atmosphere of which is not + conducive to the development of the domestic virtues; and she—was + Cinderella. And then the marriage altogether was rather a hurried affair. + Oh yes, she is a good, loving little woman; but perhaps our Royal + Highness-ship did act too much on the impulse of the moment. It was her + dear, dainty feet that danced their way into our heart. How they flashed + and twinkled, eased in those fairy slippers. How like a lily among tulips + she moved that night amid the over-gorgeous Court dames. She was so sweet, + so fresh, so different to all the others whom we knew so well. How happy + she looked as she put her trembling little hand in ours. What + possibilities might lie behind those drooping lashes. And we were in + amorous mood that night, the music in our feet, the flash and glitter in + our eyes. And then, to pique us further, she disappeared as suddenly and + strangely as she had come. Who was she? Whence came she? What was the + mystery surrounding her? Was she only a delicious dream, a haunting + phantasy that we should never look upon again, never clasp again within + our longing arms? Was our heart to be for ever hungry, haunted by the + memory of—No, by heavens, she is real, and a woman. Here is her dear + slipper, made surely to be kissed. Of a size too that a man may well wear + within the breast of his doublet. Had any woman—nay, fairy, angel, + such dear feet! Search the whole kingdom through, but find her, find her. + The gods have heard our prayers, and given us this clue. "Suppose she be + not all she seemed. Suppose she be not of birth fit to mate with our noble + house!" Out upon thee, for an earth-bound, blind curmudgeon of a Lord High + Chancellor. How could a woman, whom such slipper fitted, be but of the + noblest and the best, as far above us, mere Princelet that we are, as the + stars in heaven are brighter than thy dull old eyes! Go, search the + kingdom, we tell thee, from east to west, from north to south, and see to + it that thou findest her, or it shall go hard with thee. By Venus, be she + a swineherd's daughter, she shall be our Queen—an she deign to + accept of us, and of our kingdom. + </p> + <p> + Ah well, of course, it was not a wise piece of business, that goes without + saying; but we were young, and Princes are only human. Poor child, she + could not help her education, or rather her lack of it. Dear little thing, + the wonder is that she has contrived to be no more ignorant than she is, + dragged up as she was, neglected and overworked. Nor does life in a + kitchen, amid the companionship of peasants and menials, tend to foster + the intellect. Who can blame her for being shy and somewhat dull of + thought? not we, generous-minded, kind-hearted Prince that we are. And she + is very affectionate. The family are trying, certainly; father-in-law not + a bad sort, though a little prosy when upon the subject of his domestic + troubles, and a little too fond of his glass; mamma-in-law, and those two + ugly, ill-mannered sisters, decidedly a nuisance about the palace. Yet + what can we do? they are our relations now, and they do not forget to let + us know it. Well, well, we had to expect that, and things might have been + worse. Anyhow she is not jealous—thank goodness. + </p> + <p> + So the day comes when poor little Cinderella sits alone of a night in the + beautiful palace. The courtiers have gone home in their carriages. The + Lord High Chancellor has bowed himself out backwards. The + Gold-Stick-in-Waiting and the Grooms of the Chamber have gone to their + beds. The Maids of Honour have said "Good-night," and drifted out of the + door, laughing and whispering among themselves. The clock strikes twelve—one—two, + and still no footstep creaks upon the stair. Once it followed swiftly upon + the "good-night" of the maids, who did not laugh or whisper then. + </p> + <p> + At last the door opens, and the Prince enters, none too pleased at finding + Cinderella still awake. "So sorry I'm late, my love—detained on + affairs of state. Foreign policy very complicated, dear. Have only just + this moment left the Council Chamber." + </p> + <p> + And little Cinderella, while the Prince sleeps, lies sobbing out her poor + sad heart into the beautiful royal pillow, embroidered with the royal arms + and edged with the royal monogram in lace. "Why did he ever marry me? I + should have been happier in the old kitchen. The black beetles did + frighten me a little, but there was always the dear old cat; and + sometimes, when mother and the girls were out, papa would call softly down + the kitchen stairs for me to come up, and we would have such a merry + evening together, and sup off sausages: dear old dad, I hardly ever see + him now. And then, when my work was done, how pleasant it was to sit in + front of the fire, and dream of the wonderful things that would come to me + some day. I was always going to be a Princess, even in my dreams, and live + in a palace, but it was so different to this. Oh, how I hate it, this + beastly palace where everybody sneers at me—I know they do, though + they bow and scrape, and pretend to be so polite. And I'm not clever and + smart as they are. I hate them. I hate these bold-faced women who are + always here. That is the worst of a palace, everybody can come in. Oh, I + hate everybody and everything. Oh, god-mamma, god-mamma, come and take me + away. Take me back to my old kitchen. Give me back my old poor frock. Let + me dance again with the fire-tongs for a partner, and be happy, dreaming." + </p> + <p> + Poor little Cinderella, perhaps it would have been better had god-mamma + been less ambitious for you, dear; had you married some good, honest + yeoman, who would never have known that you were not brilliant, who would + have loved you because you were just amiable and pretty; had your kingdom + been only a farmhouse, where your knowledge of domestic economy, gained so + hardly, would have been useful; where you would have shone instead of + being overshadowed; where Papa would have dropped in of an evening to + smoke his pipe and escape from his domestic wrangles; where you would have + been REAL Queen. + </p> + <p> + But then you know, dear, you would not have been content. Ah yes, with + your present experience—now you know that Queens as well as little + drudges have their troubles; but WITHOUT that experience? You would have + looked in the glass when you were alone; you would have looked at your + shapely hands and feet, and the shadows would have crossed your pretty + face. "Yes," you would have said to yourself—"John is a dear, kind + fellow, and I love him very much, and all that, but—" and the old + dreams, dreamt in the old low-ceilinged kitchen before the dying fire, + would have come back to you, and you would have been discontented then as + now, only in a different way. Oh yes, you would, Cinderella, though you + gravely shake your gold-crowned head. And let me tell you why. It is + because you are a woman, and the fate of all us, men and women alike, is + to be for ever wanting what we have not, and to be finding, when we have + it, that it is not what we wanted. That is the law of life, dear. Do you + think as you lie upon the floor with your head upon your arms, that you + are the only woman whose tears are soaking into the hearthrug at that + moment? My dear Princess, if you could creep unseen about your City, + peeping at will through the curtain-shielded windows, you would come to + think that all the world was little else than a big nursery full of crying + children with none to comfort them. The doll is broken: no longer it + sweetly squeaks in answer to our pressure, "I love you, kiss me." The drum + lies silent with the drumstick inside; no longer do we make a brave noise + in the nursery. The box of tea-things we have clumsily put our foot upon; + there will be no more merry parties around the three-legged stool. The tin + trumpet will not play the note we want to sound; the wooden bricks keep + falling down; the toy cannon has exploded and burnt our fingers. Never + mind, little man, little woman, we will try and mend things tomorrow. + </p> + <p> + And after all, Cinderella dear, you do live in a fine palace, and you have + jewels and grand dresses and—No, no, do not be indignant with ME. + Did not you dream of these things AS WELL AS of love? Come now, be honest. + It was always a prince, was it not, or, at the least, an exceedingly + well-to-do party, that handsome young gentleman who bowed to you so + gallantly from the red embers? He was never a virtuous young commercial + traveller, or cultured clerk, earning a salary of three pounds a week, was + he, Cinderella? Yet there are many charming commercial travellers, many + delightful clerks with limited incomes, quite sufficient, however, to a + sensible man and woman desiring but each other's love. Why was it always a + prince, Cinderella? Had the palace and the liveried servants, and the + carriages and horses, and the jewels and the dresses, NOTHING to do with + the dream? + </p> + <p> + No, Cinderella, you were human, that is all. The artist, shivering in his + conventional attic, dreaming of Fame!-do you think he is not hoping she + will come to his loving arms in the form Jove came to Danae? Do you think + he is not reckoning also upon the good dinners and the big cigars, the fur + coat and the diamond studs, that her visits will enable him to purchase? + </p> + <p> + There is a certain picture very popular just now. You may see it, + Cinderella, in many of the shop-windows of the town. It is called "The + Dream of Love," and it represents a beautiful young girl, sleeping in a + very beautiful but somewhat disarranged bed. Indeed, one hopes, for the + sleeper's sake, that the night is warm, and that the room is fairly free + from draughts. A ladder of light streams down from the sky into the room, + and upon this ladder crowd and jostle one another a small army of plump + Cupids, each one laden with some pledge of love. Two of the Imps are + emptying a sack of jewels upon the floor. Four others are bearing, well + displayed, a magnificent dress (a "confection," I believe, is the proper + term) cut somewhat low, but making up in train what is lacking elsewhere. + Others bear bonnet boxes from which peep stylish toques and bewitching + hoods. Some, representing evidently wholesale houses, stagger under silks + and satins in the piece. Cupids are there from the shoemakers with the + daintiest of bottines. Stockings, garters, and even less mentionable + articles, are not forgotten. Caskets, mirrors, twelve-buttoned gloves, + scent-bottles and handkerchiefs, hair-pins, and the gayest of parasols, + has the God of Love piled into the arms of his messengers. Really a most + practical, up-to-date God of Love, moving with the times! One feels that + the modern Temple of Love must be a sort of Swan and Edgar's; the god + himself a kind of celestial shop-walker; while his mother, Venus, no doubt + superintends the costume department. Quite an Olympian Whiteley, this + latter-day Eros; he has forgotten nothing, for, at the back of the + picture, I notice one Cupid carrying a rather fat heart at the end of a + string. + </p> + <p> + You, Cinderella, could give good counsel to that sleeping child. You would + say to her—"Awake from such dreams. The contents of a pawnbroker's + store-room will not bring you happiness. Dream of love if you will; that + is a wise dream, even if it remain ever a dream. But these coloured beads, + these Manchester goods! are you then—you, heiress of all the ages—still + at heart only as some poor savage maiden but little removed above the + monkeys that share the primeval forest with her? Will you sell your gold + to the first trader that brings you THIS barter? These things, child, will + only dazzle your eyes for a few days. Do you think the Burlington Arcade + is the gate of Heaven?" + </p> + <p> + Ah, yes, I too could talk like that—I, writer of books, to the young + lad, sick of his office stool, dreaming of a literary career leading to + fame and fortune. "And do you think, lad, that by that road you will reach + Happiness sooner than by another? Do you think interviews with yourself in + penny weeklies will bring you any satisfaction after the first halfdozen? + Do you think the gushing female who has read all your books, and who + wonders what it must feel like to be so clever, will be welcome to you the + tenth time you meet her? Do you think press cuttings will always consist + of wondering admiration of your genius, of paragraphs about your charming + personal appearance under the heading, 'Our Celebrities'? Have you thought + of the Uncomplimentary criticisms, of the spiteful paragraphs, of the + everlasting fear of slipping a few inches down the greasy pole called + 'popular taste,' to which you are condemned to cling for life, as some + lesser criminal to his weary tread-mill, struggling with no hope but not + to fall! Make a home, lad, for the woman who loves you; gather one or two + friends about you; work, think, and play, that will bring you happiness. + Shun this roaring gingerbread fair that calls itself, forsooth, the 'World + of art and letters.' Let its clowns and its contortionists fight among + themselves for the plaudits and the halfpence of the mob. Let it be with + its shouting and its surging, its blare and its cheap flare. Come away, + the summer's night is just the other side of the hedge, with its silence + and its stars." + </p> + <p> + You and I, Cinderella, are experienced people, and can therefore offer + good advice, but do you think we should be listened to? + </p> + <p> + "Ah, no, my Prince is not as yours. Mine will love me always, and I am + peculiarly fitted for the life of a palace. I have the instinct and the + ability for it. I am sure I was made for a princess. Thank you, + Cinderella, for your well-meant counsel, but there is much difference + between you and me." + </p> + <p> + That is the answer you would receive, Cinderella; and my young friend + would say to me, "Yes, I can understand YOUR finding disappointment in the + literary career; but then, you see, our cases are not quite similar. <i>I</i> + am not likely to find much trouble in keeping my position. <i>I</i> shall + not fear reading what the critics say of ME. No doubt there are + disadvantages, when you are among the ruck, but there is always plenty of + room at the top. So thank you, and goodbye." + </p> + <p> + Besides, Cinderella dear, we should not quite mean it—this excellent + advice. We have grown accustomed to these gew-gaws, and we should miss + them in spite of our knowledge of their trashiness: you, your palace and + your little gold crown; I, my mountebank's cap, and the answering laugh + that goes up from the crowd when I shake my bells. We want everything. All + the happiness that earth and heaven are capable of bestowing. Creature + comforts, and heart and soul comforts also; and, proud-spirited beings + that we are, we will not be put off with a part. Give us only everything, + and we will be content. And, after all, Cinderella, you have had your day. + Some little dogs never get theirs. You must not be greedy. You have KNOWN + happiness. The palace was Paradise for those few months, and the Prince's + arms were about you, Cinderella, the Prince's kisses on your lips; the + gods themselves cannot take THAT from you. + </p> + <p> + The cake cannot last for ever if we will eat of it so greedily. There must + come the day when we have picked hungrily the last crumb—when we sit + staring at the empty board, nothing left of the feast, Cinderella, but the + pain that comes of feasting. + </p> + <p> + It is a naive confession, poor Human Nature has made to itself, in + choosing, as it has, this story of Cinderella for its leading moral:—Be + good, little girl. Be meek under your many trials. Be gentle and kind, in + spite of your hard lot, and one day—you shall marry a prince and + ride in your own carriage. Be brave and true, little boy. Work hard and + wait with patience, and in the end, with God's blessing, you shall earn + riches enough to come back to London town and marry your master's + daughter. + </p> + <p> + You and I, gentle Reader, could teach these young folks a truer lesson, an + we would. We know, alas! that the road of all the virtues does not lead to + wealth, rather the contrary; else how explain our limited incomes? But + would it be well, think you, to tell them bluntly the truth—that + honesty is the most expensive luxury a man can indulge in; that virtue, if + persisted in, leads, generally speaking, to a six-roomed house in an + outlying suburb? Maybe the world is wise: the fiction has its uses. + </p> + <p> + I am acquainted with a fairly intelligent young lady. She can read and + write, knows her tables up to six times, and can argue. I regard her as + representative of average Humanity in its attitude towards Fate; and this + is a dialogue I lately overheard between her and an older lady who is good + enough to occasionally impart to her the wisdom of the world— + </p> + <p> + "I've been good this morning, haven't I?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes—oh yes, fairly good, for you." + </p> + <p> + "You think Papa WILL take me to the circus to-night?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, if you keep good. If you don't get naughty this afternoon." + </p> + <p> + A pause. + </p> + <p> + "I was good on Monday, you may remember, nurse." + </p> + <p> + "Tolerably good." + </p> + <p> + "VERY good, you said, nurse." + </p> + <p> + "Well, yes, you weren't bad." + </p> + <p> + "And I was to have gone to the pantomime, and I didn't." + </p> + <p> + "Well, that was because your aunt came up suddenly, and your Papa couldn't + get another seat. Poor auntie wouldn't have gone at all if she hadn't gone + then." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, wouldn't she?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + Another pause. + </p> + <p> + "Do you think she'll come up suddenly to-day?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh no, I don't think so." + </p> + <p> + "No, I hope she doesn't. I want to go to the circus to-night. Because, you + see, nurse, if I don't it will discourage me." + </p> + <p> + So, perhaps the world is wise in promising us the circus. We believe her + at first. But after a while, I fear, we grow discouraged. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE EXCEPTIONAL MERIT ATTACHING TO THE THINGS WE MEANT TO DO + </h2> + <p> + I can remember—but then I can remember a long time ago. You, gentle + Reader, just entering upon the prime of life, that age by thoughtless + youth called middle, I cannot, of course, expect to follow me—when + there was in great demand a certain periodical ycleped The Amateur. Its + aim was noble. It sought to teach the beautiful lesson of independence, to + inculcate the fine doctrine of self-help. One chapter explained to a man + how he might make flower-pots out of Australian meat cans; another how he + might turn butter-tubs into music-stools; a third how he might utilize old + bonnet boxes for Venetian blinds: that was the principle of the whole + scheme, you made everything from something not intended for it, and as + ill-suited to the purpose as possible. + </p> + <p> + Two pages, I distinctly recollect, were devoted to the encouragement of + the manufacture of umbrella stands out of old gaspiping. Anything less + adapted to the receipt of hats and umbrellas than gas-piping I cannot + myself conceive: had there been, I feel sure the author would have thought + of it, and would have recommended it. + </p> + <p> + Picture-frames you fashioned out of gingerbeer corks. You saved your + ginger-beer corks, you found a picture—and the thing was complete. + How much ginger-beer it would be necessary to drink, preparatory to the + making of each frame; and the effect of it upon the frame-maker's + physical, mental and moral well-being, did not concern The Amateur. I + calculate that for a fair-sized picture sixteen dozen bottles might + suffice. Whether, after sixteen dozen of ginger-beer, a man would take any + interest in framing a picture—whether he would retain any pride in + the picture itself, is doubtful. But this, of course, was not the point. + </p> + <p> + One young gentleman of my acquaintance—the son of the gardener of my + sister, as friend Ollendorff would have described him—did succeed in + getting through sufficient ginger-beer to frame his grandfather, but the + result was not encouraging. Indeed, the gardener's wife herself was but + ill satisfied. + </p> + <p> + "What's all them corks round father?" was her first question. + </p> + <p> + "Can't you see," was the somewhat indignant reply, "that's the frame." + </p> + <p> + "Oh! but why corks?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, the book said corks." + </p> + <p> + Still the old lady remained unimpressed. + </p> + <p> + "Somehow it don't look like father now," she sighed. + </p> + <p> + Her eldest born grew irritable: none of us appreciate criticism! + </p> + <p> + "What does it look like, then?" he growled. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I dunno. Seems to me to look like nothing but corks." + </p> + <p> + The old lady's view was correct. Certain schools of art possibly lend + themselves to this method of framing. I myself have seen a funeral card + improved by it; but, generally speaking, the consequence was a + predominance of frame at the expense of the thing framed. The more honest + and tasteful of the framemakers would admit as much themselves. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, it is ugly when you look at it," said one to me, as we stood + surveying it from the centre of the room. "But what one feels about it is + that one has done it oneself." + </p> + <p> + Which reflection, I have noticed, reconciles us to many other things + beside cork frames. + </p> + <p> + Another young gentleman friend of mine—for I am bound to admit it + was youth that profited most by the advice and counsel of The Amateur: I + suppose as one grows older one grows less daring, less industrious—made + a rocking-chair, according to the instructions of this book, out of a + couple of beer barrels. From every practical point of view it was a bad + rocking-chair. It rocked too much, and it rocked in too many directions at + one and the same time. I take it, a man sitting on a rocking-chair does + not want to be continually rocking. There comes a time when he says to + himself—"Now I have rocked sufficiently for the present; now I will + sit still for a while, lest a worse thing befall me." But this was one of + those headstrong rocking-chairs that are a danger to humanity, and a + nuisance to themselves. Its notion was that it was made to rock, and that + when it was not rocking, it was wasting its time. Once started nothing + could stop it—nothing ever did stop it, until it found itself topsy + turvy on its own occupant. That was the only thing that ever sobered it. + </p> + <p> + I had called, and had been shown into the empty drawing-room. The + rocking-chair nodded invitingly at me. I never guessed it was an amateur + rocking-chair. I was young in those days, with faith in human nature, and + I imagined that, whatever else a man might attempt without knowledge or + experience, no one would be fool enough to experiment upon a + rocking-chair. + </p> + <p> + I threw myself into it lightly and carelessly. I immediately noticed the + ceiling. I made an instinctive movement forward. The window and a + momentary glimpse of the wooded hills beyond shot upwards and disappeared. + The carpet flashed across my eyes, and I caught sight of my own boots + vanishing beneath me at the rate of about two hundred miles an hour. I + made a convulsive effort to recover them. I suppose I over-did it. I saw + the whole of the room at once, the four walls, the ceiling, and the floor + at the same moment. It was a sort of vision. I saw the cottage piano + upside down, and I again saw my own boots flash past me, this time over my + head, soles uppermost. Never before had I been in a position where my own + boots had seemed so all-pervading. The next moment I lost my boots, and + stopped the carpet with my head just as it was rushing past me. At the + same instant something hit me violently in the small of the back. Reason, + when recovered, suggested that my assailant must be the rocking-chair. + </p> + <p> + Investigation proved the surmise correct. Fortunately I was still alone, + and in consequence was able, a few minutes later, to meet my hostess with + calm and dignity. I said nothing about the rocking-chair. As a matter of + fact, I was hoping to have the pleasure, before I went, of seeing some + other guest arrive and sample it: I had purposely replaced it in the most + prominent and convenient position. But though I felt capable of schooling + myself to silence, I found myself unable to agree with my hostess when she + called for my admiration of the thing. My recent experiences had too + deeply embittered me. + </p> + <p> + "Willie made it himself," explained the fond mother. "Don't you think it + was very clever of him?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh yes, it was clever," I replied, "I am willing to admit that." + </p> + <p> + "He made it out of some old beer barrels," she continued; she seemed proud + of it. + </p> + <p> + My resentment, though I tried to keep it under control, was mounting + higher. + </p> + <p> + "Oh! did he?" I said; "I should have thought he might have found something + better to do with them." + </p> + <p> + "What?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + "Oh! well, many things," I retorted. "He might have filled them again with + beer." + </p> + <p> + My hostess looked at me astonished. I felt some reason for my tone was + expected. + </p> + <p> + "You see," I explained, "it is not a well-made chair. These rockers are + too short, and they are too curved, and one of them, if you notice, is + higher than the other and of a smaller radius; the back is at too obtuse + an angle. When it is occupied the centre of gravity becomes—" + </p> + <p> + My hostess interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + "You have been sitting on it," she said. + </p> + <p> + "Not for long," I assured her. + </p> + <p> + Her tone changed. She became apologetic. + </p> + <p> + "I am so sorry," she said. "It looks all right." + </p> + <p> + "It does," I agreed; "that is where the dear lad's cleverness displays + itself. Its appearance disarms suspicion. With judgment that chair might + be made to serve a really useful purpose. There are mutual acquaintances + of ours—I mention no names, you will know them—pompous, + self-satisfied, superior persons who would be improved by that chair. If I + were Willie I should disguise the mechanism with some artistic drapery, + bait the thing with a couple of exceptionally inviting cushions, and + employ it to inculcate modesty and diffidence. I defy any human being to + get out of that chair, feeling as important as when he got into it. What + the dear boy has done has been to construct an automatic exponent of the + transitory nature of human greatness. As a moral agency that chair should + prove a blessing in disguise." + </p> + <p> + My hostess smiled feebly; more, I fear, from politeness than genuine + enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + "I think you are too severe," she said. "When you remember that the boy + has never tried his hand at anything of the kind before, that he has no + knowledge and no experience, it really is not so bad." + </p> + <p> + Considering the matter from that point of view I was bound to concur. I + did not like to suggest to her that before entering upon a difficult task + it would be better for young men to ACQUIRE knowledge and experience: that + is so unpopular a theory. + </p> + <p> + But the thing that The Amateur put in the front and foremost of its + propaganda was the manufacture of household furniture out of egg-boxes. + Why egg-boxes I have never been able to understand, but egg-boxes, + according to the prescription of The Amateur, formed the foundation of + household existence. With a sufficient supply of egg-boxes, and what The + Amateur termed a "natural deftness," no young couple need hesitate to face + the furnishing problem. Three egg-boxes made a writing-table; on another + egg-box you sat to write; your books were ranged in egg-boxes around you—and + there was your study, complete. + </p> + <p> + For the dining-room two egg-boxes made an overmantel; four egg-boxes and a + piece of looking-glass a sideboard; while six egg-boxes, with some wadding + and a yard or so of cretonne, constituted a so-called "cosy corner." About + the "corner" there could be no possible doubt. You sat on a corner, you + leant against a corner; whichever way you moved you struck a fresh corner. + The "cosiness," however, I deny. Egg-boxes I admit can be made useful; I + am even prepared to imagine them ornamental; but "cosy," no. I have + sampled egg-boxes in many shapes. I speak of years ago, when the world and + we were younger, when our fortune was the Future; secure in which, we + hesitated not to set up house upon incomes folks with lesser expectations + might have deemed insufficient. Under such circumstances, the sole + alternative to the egg-box, or similar school of furniture, would have + been the strictly classical, consisting of a doorway joined to + architectural proportions. + </p> + <p> + I have from Saturday to Monday, as honoured guest, hung my clothes in + egg-boxes. + </p> + <p> + I have sat on an egg-box at an egg-box to take my dish of tea. I have made + love on egg-boxes.—Aye, and to feel again the blood running through + my veins as then it ran, I would be content to sit only on egg-boxes till + the time should come when I could be buried in an egg-box, with an egg-box + reared above me as tombstone.—I have spent many an evening on an + egg-box; I have gone to bed in egg-boxes. They have their points—I + am intending no pun—but to claim for them cosiness would be but to + deceive. + </p> + <p> + How quaint they were, those home-made rooms! They rise out of the shadows + and shape themselves again before my eyes. I see the knobbly sofa; the + easy-chairs that might have been designed by the Grand Inquisitor himself; + the dented settle that was a bed by night; the few blue plates, purchased + in the slums off Wardour Street; the enamelled stool to which one always + stuck; the mirror framed in silk; the two Japanese fans crossed beneath + each cheap engraving; the piano cloth embroidered in peacock's feathers by + Annie's sister; the tea-cloth worked by Cousin Jenny. We dreamt, sitting + on those egg-boxes—for we were young ladies and gentlemen with + artistic taste—of the days when we would eat in Chippendale + dining-rooms; sip our coffee in Louis Quatorze drawing-rooms; and be + happy. Well, we have got on, some of us, since then, as Mr. Bumpus used to + say; and I notice, when on visits, that some of us have contrived so that + we do sit on Chippendale chairs, at Sheraton dining-tables, and are warmed + from Adam's fireplaces; but, ah me, where are the dreams, the hopes, the + enthusiasms that clung like the scent of a March morning about those + gim-crack second floors? In the dustbin, I fear, with the cretonne-covered + egg-boxes and the penny fans. Fate is so terribly even-handed. As she + gives she ever takes away. She flung us a few shillings and hope, where + now she doles us out pounds and fears. Why did not we know how happy we + were, sitting crowned with sweet conceit upon our egg-box thrones? + </p> + <p> + Yes, Dick, you have climbed well. You edit a great newspaper. You spread + abroad the message—well, the message that Sir Joseph Goldbug, your + proprietor, instructs you to spread abroad. You teach mankind the lessons + that Sir Joseph Goldbug wishes them to learn. They say he is to have a + peerage next year. I am sure he has earned it; and perhaps there may be a + knighthood for you, Dick. + </p> + <p> + Tom, you are getting on now. You have abandoned those unsaleable + allegories. What rich art patron cares to be told continually by his own + walls that Midas had ass's ears; that Lazarus sits ever at the gate? You + paint portraits now, and everybody tells me you are the coming man. That + "Impression" of old Lady Jezebel was really wonderful. The woman looks + quite handsome, and yet it is her ladyship. Your touch is truly + marvellous. + </p> + <p> + But into your success, Tom—Dick, old friend, do not there creep + moments when you would that we could fish up those old egg-boxes from the + past, refurnish with them the dingy rooms in Camden Town, and find there + our youth, our loves, and our beliefs? + </p> + <p> + An incident brought back to my mind, the other day, the thought of all + these things. I called for the first time upon a man, an actor, who had + asked me to come and see him in the little home where he lives with his + old father. To my astonishment—for the craze, I believe, has long + since died out—I found the house half furnished out of packing + cases, butter tubs, and egg-boxes. My friend earns his twenty pounds a + week, but it was the old father's hobby, so he explained to me, the making + of these monstrosities; and of them he was as proud as though they were + specimen furniture out of the South Kensington Museum. + </p> + <p> + He took me into the dining-room to show me the latest outrage—a new + book-case. A greater disfigurement to the room, which was otherwise + prettily furnished, could hardly be imagined. There was no need for him to + assure me, as he did, that it had been made out of nothing but egg-boxes. + One could see at a glance that it was made out of egg-boxes, and badly + constructed egg-boxes at that—egg-boxes that were a disgrace to the + firm that had turned them out; egg-boxes not worthy the storage of "shop + 'uns" at eighteen the shilling. + </p> + <p> + We went upstairs to my friend's bedroom. He opened the door as a man might + open the door of a museum of gems. + </p> + <p> + "The old boy," he said, as he stood with his hand upon the door-knob, + "made everything you see here, everything," and we entered. He drew my + attention to the wardrobe. "Now I will hold it up," he said, "while you + pull the door open; I think the floor must be a bit uneven, it wobbles if + you are not careful." It wobbled notwithstanding, but by coaxing and + humouring we succeeded without mishap. I was surprised to notice a very + small supply of clothes within, although my friend is a dressy man. + </p> + <p> + "You see," he explained, "I dare not use it more than I can help. I am a + clumsy chap, and as likely as not, if I happened to be in a hurry, I'd + have the whole thing over:" which seemed probable. + </p> + <p> + I asked him how he contrived. "I dress in the bath-room as a rule," he + replied; "I keep most of my things there. Of course the old boy doesn't + know." + </p> + <p> + He showed me a chest of drawers. One drawer stood half open. + </p> + <p> + "I'm bound to leave that drawer open," he said; "I keep the things I use + in that. They don't shut quite easily, these drawers; or rather, they shut + all right, but then they won't open. It is the weather, I think. They will + open and shut all right in the summer, I dare say." He is of a hopeful + disposition. + </p> + <p> + But the pride of the room was the washstand. + </p> + <p> + "What do you think of this?" cried he enthusiastically, "real marble top—" + </p> + <p> + He did not expatiate further. In his excitement he had laid his hand upon + the thing, with the natural result that it collapsed. More by accident + than design I caught the jug in my arms. I also caught the water it + contained. The basin rolled on its edge and little damage was done, except + to me and the soap-box. + </p> + <p> + I could not pump up much admiration for this washstand; I was feeling too + wet. + </p> + <p> + "What do you do when you want to wash?" I asked, as together we reset the + trap. + </p> + <p> + There fell upon him the manner of a conspirator revealing secrets. He + glanced guiltily round the room; then, creeping on tip-toe, he opened a + cupboard behind the bed. Within was a tin basin and a small can. + </p> + <p> + "Don't tell the old boy," he said. "I keep these things here, and wash on + the floor." + </p> + <p> + That was the best thing I myself ever got out of egg-boxes—that + picture of a deceitful son stealthily washing himself upon the floor + behind the bed, trembling at every footstep lest it might be the "old boy" + coming to the door. + </p> + <p> + One wonders whether the Ten Commandments are so all-sufficient as we good + folk deem them—whether the eleventh is not worth the whole pack of + them: "that ye love one another" with just a common-place, human, + practical love. Could not the other ten be comfortably stowed away into a + corner of that! One is inclined, in one's anarchic moments, to agree with + Louis Stevenson, that to be amiable and cheerful is a good religion for a + work-a-day world. We are so busy NOT killing, NOT stealing, NOT coveting + our neighbour's wife, we have not time to be even just to one another for + the little while we are together here. Need we be so cocksure that our + present list of virtues and vices is the only possibly correct and + complete one? Is the kind, unselfish man necessarily a villain because he + does not always succeed in suppressing his natural instincts? Is the + narrow-hearted, sour-souled man, incapable of a generous thought or act, + necessarily a saint because he has none? Have we not—we unco guid—arrived + at a wrong method of estimating our frailer brothers and sisters? We judge + them, as critics judge books, not by the good that is in them, but by + their faults. Poor King David! What would the local Vigilance Society have + had to say to him? + </p> + <p> + Noah, according to our plan, would be denounced from every teetotal + platform in the country, and Ham would head the Local Vestry poll as a + reward for having exposed him. And St. Peter! weak, frail St. Peter, how + lucky for him that his fellow-disciples and their Master were not as + strict in their notions of virtue as are we to-day. + </p> + <p> + Have we not forgotten the meaning of the word "virtue"? Once it stood for + the good that was in a man, irrespective of the evil that might lie there + also, as tares among the wheat. We have abolished virtue, and for it + substituted virtues. Not the hero—he was too full of faults—but + the blameless valet; not the man who does any good, but the man who has + not been found out in any evil, is our modern ideal. The most virtuous + thing in nature, according to this new theory, should be the oyster. He is + always at home, and always sober. He is not noisy. He gives no trouble to + the police. I cannot think of a single one of the Ten Commandments that he + ever breaks. He never enjoys himself, and he never, so long as he lives, + gives a moment's pleasure to any other living thing. + </p> + <p> + I can imagine the oyster lecturing a lion on the subject of morality. + </p> + <p> + "You never hear me," the oyster might say, "howling round camps and + villages, making night hideous, frightening quiet folk out of their lives. + Why don't you go to bed early, as I do? I never prowl round the + oyster-bed, fighting other gentlemen oysters, making love to lady oysters + already married. I never kill antelopes or missionaries. Why can't you + live as I do on salt water and germs, or whatever it is that I do live on? + Why don't you try to be more like me?" + </p> + <p> + An oyster has no evil passions, therefore we say he is a virtuous fish. We + never ask ourselves—"Has he any good passions?" A lion's behaviour + is often such as no just man could condone. Has he not his good points + also? + </p> + <p> + Will the fat, sleek, "virtuous" man be as Welcome at the gate of heaven as + he supposes? + </p> + <p> + "Well," St. Peter may say to him, opening the door a little way and + looking him up and down, "what is it now?" + </p> + <p> + "It's me," the virtuous man will reply, with an oily, self-satisfied + smile; "I should say, I—I've come." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I see you have come; but what is your claim to admittance? What have + you done with your three score years and ten?" + </p> + <p> + "Done!" the virtuous man will answer, "I have done nothing, I assure you." + </p> + <p> + "Nothing!" + </p> + <p> + "Nothing; that is my strong point; that is why I am here. I have never + done any wrong." + </p> + <p> + "And what good have you done?" + </p> + <p> + "What good!" + </p> + <p> + "Aye, what good? Do not you even know the meaning of the word? What human + creature is the better for your having eaten and drunk and slept these + years? You have done no harm—no harm to yourself. Perhaps, if you + had you might have done some good with it; the two are generally to be + found together down below, I remember. What good have you done that you + should enter here? This is no mummy chamber; this is the place of men and + women who have lived, who have wrought good—and evil also, alas!—for + the sinners who fight for the right, not the righteous who run with their + souls from the fight." + </p> + <p> + It was not, however, to speak of these things that I remembered The + Amateur and its lessons. My intention was but to lead up to the story of a + certain small boy, who in the doing of tasks not required of him was + exceedingly clever. I wish to tell you his story, because, as do most true + tales, it possesses a moral, and stories without a moral I deem to be but + foolish literature, resembling roads that lead to nowhere, such as sick + folk tramp for exercise. + </p> + <p> + I have known this little boy to take an expensive eight-day clock to + pieces, and make of it a toy steamboat. True, it was not, when made, very + much of a steamboat; but taking into consideration all the difficulties—the + inadaptability of eight-day clock machinery to steamboat requirements, the + necessity of getting the work accomplished quickly, before + conservatively-minded people with no enthusiasm for science could + interfere—a good enough steamboat. With merely an ironing-board and + a few dozen meat-skewers, he would—provided the ironing-board was + not missed in time—turn out quite a practicable rabbit-hutch. He + could make a gun out of an umbrella and a gas-bracket, which, if not so + accurate as a Martini-Henry, was, at all events, more deadly. With half + the garden-hose, a copper scalding-pan out of the dairy, and a few Dresden + china ornaments off the drawing-room mantelpiece, he would build a + fountain for the garden. He could make bookshelves out of kitchen tables, + and crossbows out of crinolines. He could dam you a stream so that all the + water would flow over the croquet lawn. He knew how to make red paint and + oxygen gas, together with many other suchlike commodities handy to have + about a house. Among other things he learned how to make fireworks, and + after a few explosions of an unimportant character, came to make them very + well indeed. The boy who can play a good game of cricket is liked. The boy + who can fight well is respected. The boy who can cheek a master is loved. + But the boy who can make fireworks is revered above all others as a boy + belonging to a superior order of beings. The fifth of November was at + hand, and with the consent of an indulgent mother, he determined to give + to the world a proof of his powers. A large party of friends, relatives, + and school-mates was invited, and for a fortnight beforehand the scullery + was converted into a manufactory for fireworks. The female servants went + about in hourly terror of their lives, and the villa, did we judge + exclusively by smell, one might have imagined had been taken over by + Satan, his main premises being inconveniently crowded, as an annex. By the + evening of the fourth all was in readiness, and samples were tested to + make sure that no contretemps should occur the following night. All was + found to be perfect. + </p> + <p> + The rockets rushed heavenward and descended in stars, the Roman candles + tossed their fiery balls into the darkness, the Catherine wheels sparkled + and whirled, the crackers cracked, and the squibs banged. That night he + went to bed a proud and happy boy, and dreamed of fame. He stood + surrounded by blazing fireworks, and the vast crowd cheered him. His + relations, most of whom, he knew, regarded him as the coming idiot of the + family, were there to witness his triumph; so too was Dickey Bowles, who + laughed at him because he could not throw straight. The girl at the + bun-shop, she also was there, and saw that he was clever. + </p> + <p> + The night of the festival arrived, and with it the guests. They sat, + wrapped up in shawls and cloaks, outside the hall door—uncles, + cousins, aunts, little boys and big boys, little girls and big girls, + with, as the theatre posters say, villagers and retainers, some forty of + them in all, and waited. + </p> + <p> + But the fireworks did not go off. Why they did not go off I cannot + explain; nobody ever COULD explain. The laws of nature seemed to be + suspended for that night only. The rockets fell down and died where they + stood. No human agency seemed able to ignite the squibs. The crackers gave + one bang and collapsed. The Roman candles might have been English + rushlights. The Catherine wheels became mere revolving glow-worms. The + fiery serpents could not collect among them the spirit of a tortoise. The + set piece, a ship at sea, showed one mast and the captain, and then went + out. One or two items did their duty, but this only served to render the + foolishness of the whole more striking. The little girls giggled, the + little boys chaffed, the aunts and cousins said it was beautiful, the + uncles inquired if it was all over, and talked about supper and trains, + the "villagers and retainers" dispersed laughing, the indulgent mother + said "never mind," and explained how well everything had gone off + yesterday; the clever little boy crept upstairs to his room, and blubbered + his heart out in the dark. + </p> + <p> + Hours later, when the crowd had forgotten him, he stole out again into the + garden. He sat down amid the ruins of his hope, and wondered what could + have caused the fiasco. Still puzzled, he drew from his pocket a box of + matches, and, lighting one, he held it to the seared end of a rocket he + had tried in vain to light four hours ago. It smouldered for an instant, + then shot with a swish into the air and broke into a hundred points of + fire. He tried another and another with the same result. He made a fresh + attempt to fire the set piece. Point by point the whole picture—minus + the captain and one mast—came out of the night, and stood revealed + in all the majesty of flame. Its sparks fell upon the piled-up heap of + candles, wheels, and rockets that a little while before had obstinately + refused to burn, and that, one after another, had been thrown aside as + useless. Now with the night frost upon them, they leaped to light in one + grand volcanic eruption. And in front of the gorgeous spectacle he stood + with only one consolation—his mother's hand in his. + </p> + <p> + The whole thing was a mystery to him at the time, but, as he learned to + know life better, he came to understand that it was only one example of a + solid but inexplicable fact, ruling all human affairs—YOUR FIREWORKS + WON'T GO OFF WHILE THE CROWD IS AROUND. + </p> + <p> + Our brilliant repartees do not occur to us till the door is closed upon us + and we are alone in the street, or, as the French would say, are coming + down the stairs. Our after-dinner oratory, that sounded so telling as we + delivered it before the looking-glass, falls strangely flat amidst the + clinking of the glasses. The passionate torrent of words we meant to pour + into her ear becomes a halting rigmarole, at which—small blame to + her—she only laughs. + </p> + <p> + I would, gentle Reader, you could hear the stories that I meant to tell + you. You judge me, of course, by the stories of mine that you have read—by + this sort of thing, perhaps; but that is not just to me. The stories I + have not told you, that I am going to tell you one day, I would that you + judge me by those. + </p> + <p> + They are so beautiful; you will say so; over them, you will laugh and cry + with me. + </p> + <p> + They come into my brain unbidden, they clamour to be written, yet when I + take my pen in hand they are gone. It is as though they were shy of + publicity, as though they would say to me—"You alone, you shall read + us, but you must not write us; we are too real, too true. We are like the + thoughts you cannot speak. Perhaps a little later, when you know more of + life, then you shall tell us." + </p> + <p> + Next to these in merit I would place, were I writing a critical essay on + myself, the stories I have begun to write and that remain unfinished, why + I cannot explain to myself. They are good stories, most of them; better + far than the stories I have accomplished. Another time, perhaps, if you + care to listen, I will tell you the beginning of one or two and you shall + judge. Strangely enough, for I have always regarded myself as a practical, + commonsensed man, so many of these still-born children of my mind I find, + on looking through the cupboard where their thin bodies lie, are ghost + stories. I suppose the hope of ghosts is with us all. The world grows + somewhat interesting to us heirs of all the ages. Year by year, Science + with broom and duster tears down the moth-worn tapestry, forces the doors + of the locked chambers, lets light into the secret stairways, cleans out + the dungeons, explores the hidden passages—finding everywhere only + dust. This echoing old castle, the world, so full of mystery in the days + when we were children, is losing somewhat its charm for us as we grow + older. The king sleeps no longer in the hollow of the hills. We have + tunnelled through his mountain chamber. We have shivered his beard with + our pick. We have driven the gods from Olympus. No wanderer through the + moonlit groves now fears or hopes the sweet, death-giving gleam of + Aphrodite's face. Thor's hammer echoes not among the peaks—'tis but + the thunder of the excursion train. We have swept the woods of the + fairies. We have filtered the sea of its nymphs. Even the ghosts are + leaving us, chased by the Psychical Research Society. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps of all, they are the least, however, to be regretted. They were + dull old fellows, clanking their rusty chains and groaning and sighing. + Let them go. + </p> + <p> + And yet how interesting they might be, if only they would. The old + gentleman in the coat of mail, who lived in King John's reign, who was + murdered, so they say, on the outskirts of the very wood I can see from my + window as I write—stabbed in the back, poor gentleman, as he was + riding home, his body flung into the moat that to this day is called Tor's + tomb. Dry enough it is now, and the primroses love its steep banks; but a + gloomy enough place in those days, no doubt, with its twenty feet of + stagnant water. Why does he haunt the forest paths at night, as they tell + me he does, frightening the children out of their wits, blanching the + faces and stilling the laughter of the peasant lads and lasses, slouching + home from the village dance? Instead, why does he not come up here and + talk to me? He should have my easy-chair and welcome, would he only be + cheerful and companionable. + </p> + <p> + What brave tales could he not tell me. He fought in the first Crusade, + heard the clarion voice of Peter, met the great Godfrey face to face, + stood, hand on sword-hilt, at Runny-mede, perhaps. Better than a whole + library of historical novels would an evening's chat be with such a ghost. + What has he done with his eight hundred years of death? where has he been? + what has he seen? Maybe he has visited Mars; has spoken to the strange + spirits who can live in the liquid fires of Jupiter. What has he learned + of the great secret? Has he found the truth? or is he, even as I, a + wanderer still seeking the unknown? + </p> + <p> + You, poor, pale, grey nun—they tell me that of midnights one may see + your white face peering from the ruined belfry window, hear the clash of + sword and shield among the cedar-trees beneath. + </p> + <p> + It was very sad, I quite understand, my dear lady. Your lovers both were + killed, and you retired to a convent. Believe me, I am sincerely sorry for + you, but why waste every night renewing the whole painful experience? + Would it not be better forgotten? Good Heavens, madam, suppose we living + folk were to spend our lives wailing and wringing our hands because of the + wrongs done to us when we were children? It is all over now. Had he lived, + and had you married him, you might not have been happy. I do not wish to + say anything unkind, but marriages founded upon the sincerest mutual love + have sometimes turned out unfortunately, as you must surely know. + </p> + <p> + Do take my advice. Talk the matter over with the young men themselves. + Persuade them to shake hands and be friends. Come in, all of you, out of + the cold, and let us have some reasonable talk. + </p> + <p> + Why seek you to trouble us, you poor pale ghosts? Are we not your + children? Be our wise friends. Tell me, how loved the young men in your + young days? how answered the maidens? Has the world changed much, do you + think? Had you not new women even then? girls who hated the everlasting + tapestry frame and spinning-wheel? Your father's servants, were they so + much worse off than the freemen who live in our East-end slums and sew + slippers for fourteen hours a day at a wage of nine shillings a week? Do + you think Society much improved during the last thousand years? Is it + worse? is it better? or is it, on the whole, about the same, save that we + call things by other names? Tell me, what have YOU learned? + </p> + <p> + Yet might not familiarity breed contempt, even for ghosts. + </p> + <p> + One has had a tiring day's shooting. One is looking forward to one's bed. + As one opens the door, however, a ghostly laugh comes from behind the + bed-curtains, and one groans inwardly, knowing what is in store for one: a + two or three hours' talk with rowdy old Sir Lanval—he of the lance. + We know all his tales by heart, and he will shout them. Suppose our aunt, + from whom we have expectations, and who sleeps in the next room, should + wake and overhear! They were fit and proper enough stories, no doubt, for + the Round Table, but we feel sure our aunt would not appreciate them:—that + story about Sir Agravain and the cooper's wife! and he always will tell + that story. + </p> + <p> + Or imagine the maid entering after dinner to say— + </p> + <p> + "Oh, if you please, sir, here is the veiled lady." + </p> + <p> + "What, again!" says your wife, looking up from her work. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, ma'am; shall I show her up into the bedroom?" + </p> + <p> + "You had better ask your master," is the reply. The tone is suggestive of + an unpleasant five minutes so soon as the girl shall have withdrawn, but + what are you to do? + </p> + <p> + "Yes, yes, show her up," you say, and the girl goes out, closing the door. + </p> + <p> + Your wife gathers her work together, and rises. + </p> + <p> + "Where are you going?" you ask. + </p> + <p> + "To sleep with the children," is the frigid answer. + </p> + <p> + "It will look so rude," you urge. "We must be civil to the poor thing; and + you see it really is her room, as one might say. She has always haunted + it." + </p> + <p> + "It is very curious," returns the wife of your bosom, still more icily, + "that she never haunts it except when you are down here. Where she goes + when you are in town I'm sure I don't know." + </p> + <p> + This is unjust. You cannot restrain your indignation. + </p> + <p> + "What nonsense you talk, Elizabeth," you reply; "I am only barely polite + to her." + </p> + <p> + "Some men have such curious notions of politeness," returns Elizabeth. + "But pray do not let us quarrel. I am only anxious not to disturb you. Two + are company, you know. I don't choose to be the third, that's all." With + which she goes out. + </p> + <p> + And the veiled lady is still waiting for you up-stairs. You wonder how + long she will stop, also what will happen after she is gone. + </p> + <p> + I fear there is no room for you, ghosts, in this our world. You remember + how they came to Hiawatha—the ghosts of the departed loved ones. He + had prayed to them that they would come back to him to comfort him, so one + day they crept into his wigwam, sat in silence round his fireside, chilled + the air for Hiawatha, froze the smiles of Laughing Water. + </p> + <p> + There is no room for you, oh you poor pale ghosts, in this our world. Do + not trouble us. Let us forget. You, stout elderly matron, your thin locks + turning grey, your eyes grown weak, your chin more ample, your voice harsh + with much scolding and complaining, needful, alas! to household + management, I pray you leave me. I loved you while you lived. How sweet, + how beautiful you were. I see you now in your white frock among the + apple-blossom. But you are dead, and your ghost disturbs my dreams. I + would it haunted me not. + </p> + <p> + You, dull old fellow, looking out at me from the glass at which I shave, + why do you haunt me? You are the ghost of a bright lad I once knew well. + He might have done much, had he lived. I always had faith in him. Why do + you haunt me? I would rather think of him as I remember him. I never + imagined he would make such a poor ghost. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE PREPARATION AND EMPLOYMENT OF LOVE PHILTRES + </h2> + <p> + Occasionally a friend will ask me some such question as this, Do you + prefer dark women or fair? Another will say, Do you like tall women or + short? A third, Do you think light-hearted women, or serious, the more + agreeable company? I find myself in the position that, once upon a time, + overtook a certain charming young lady of taste who was asked by an + anxious parent, the years mounting, and the family expenditure not + decreasing, which of the numerous and eligible young men, then paying + court to her, she liked the best. She replied, that was her difficulty. + She could not make up her mind which she liked the best. They were all so + nice. She could not possibly select one to the exclusion of all the + others. What she would have liked would have been to marry the lot, but + that, she presumed, was impracticable. + </p> + <p> + I feel I resemble that young lady, not so much, perhaps, in charm and + beauty as indecision of mind, when questions such as the above are put to + me. It is as if one were asked one's favourite food. There are times when + one fancies an egg with one's tea. On other occasions one dreams of a + kipper. Today one clamours for lobsters. To-morrow one feels one never + wishes to see a lobster again; one determines to settle down, for a time, + to a diet of bread and milk and rice-pudding. Asked suddenly to say + whether I preferred ices to soup, or beefsteaks to caviare, I should be + nonplussed. + </p> + <p> + I like tall women and short, dark women and fair, merry women and grave. + </p> + <p> + Do not blame me, Ladies, the fault lies with you. Every right-thinking man + is an universal lover; how could it be otherwise? You are so diverse, yet + each so charming of your kind; and a man's heart is large. You have no + idea, fair Reader, how large a man's heart is: that is his trouble—sometimes + yours. + </p> + <p> + May I not admire the daring tulip, because I love also the modest lily? + May I not press a kiss upon the sweet violet, because the scent of the + queenly rose is precious to me? + </p> + <p> + "Certainly not," I hear the Rose reply. "If you can see anything in her, + you shall have nothing to do with me." + </p> + <p> + "If you care for that bold creature," says the Lily, trembling, "you are + not the man I took you for. Good-bye." + </p> + <p> + "Go to your baby-faced Violet," cries the Tulip, with a toss of her + haughty head. "You are just fitted for each other." + </p> + <p> + And when I return to the Lily, she tells me that she cannot trust me. She + has watched me with those others. She knows me for a gad-about. Her gentle + face is full of pain. + </p> + <p> + So I must live unloved merely because I love too much. + </p> + <p> + My wonder is that young men ever marry. The difficulty of selection must + be appalling. I walked the other evening in Hyde Park. The band of the + Life Guards played heart-lifting music, and the vast crowd were basking in + a sweet enjoyment such as rarely woos the English toiler. I strolled among + them, and my attention was chiefly drawn towards the women. The great + majority of them were, I suppose, shop-girls, milliners, and others + belonging to the lower middle-class. They had put on their best frocks, + their bonniest hats, their newest gloves. They sat or walked in twos and + threes, chattering and preening, as happy as young sparrows on a clothes + line. And what a handsome crowd they made! I have seen German crowds, I + have seen French crowds, I have seen Italian crowds; but nowhere do you + find such a proportion of pretty women as among the English middle-class. + Three women out of every four were worth looking at, every other woman was + pretty, while every fourth, one might say without exaggeration, was + beautiful. As I passed to and fro the idea occurred to me: suppose I were + an unprejudiced young bachelor, free from predilection, looking for a + wife; and let me suppose—it is only a fancy—that all these + girls were ready and willing to accept me. I have only to choose! I grew + bewildered. There were fair girls, to look at whom was fatal; dark girls + that set one's heart aflame; girls with red gold hair and grave grey eyes, + whom one would follow to the confines of the universe; baby-faced girls + that one longed to love and cherish; girls with noble faces, whom a man + might worship; laughing girls, with whom one could dance through life + gaily; serious girls, with whom life would be sweet and good, + domestic-looking girls—one felt such would make delightful wives; + they would cook, and sew, and make of home a pleasant, peaceful place. + Then wicked-looking girls came by, at the stab of whose bold eyes all + orthodox thoughts were put to a flight, whose laughter turned the world + into a mad carnival; girls one could mould; girls from whom one could + learn; sad girls one wanted to comfort; merry girls who would cheer one; + little girls, big girls, queenly girls, fairy-like girls. + </p> + <p> + Suppose a young man had to select his wife in this fashion from some + twenty or thirty thousand; or that a girl were suddenly confronted with + eighteen thousand eligible young bachelors, and told to take the one she + wanted and be quick about it? Neither boy nor girl would ever marry. Fate + is kinder to us. She understands, and assists us. In the hall of a Paris + hotel I once overheard one lady asking another to recommend her a + milliner's shop. + </p> + <p> + "Go to the Maison Nouvelle," advised the questioned lady, with enthusiasm. + "They have the largest selection there of any place in Paris." + </p> + <p> + "I know they have," replied the first lady, "that is just why I don't mean + to go there. It confuses me. If I see six bonnets I can tell the one I + want in five minutes. If I see six hundred I come away without any bonnet + at all. Don't you know a little shop?" + </p> + <p> + Fate takes the young man or the young woman aside. + </p> + <p> + "Come into this village, my dear," says Fate; "into this by-street of this + salubrious suburb, into this social circle, into this church, into this + chapel. Now, my dear boy, out of these seventeen young ladies, which will + you have?—out of these thirteen young men, which would you like for + your very own, my dear?" + </p> + <p> + "No, miss, I am sorry, but I am not able to show you our up-stairs + department to-day, the lift is not working. But I am sure we shall be able + to find something in this room to suit you. Just look round, my dear, + perhaps you will see something." + </p> + <p> + "No, sir, I cannot show you the stock in the next room, we never take that + out except for our very special customers. We keep our most expensive + goods in that room. (Draw that curtain, Miss Circumstance, please. I have + told you of that before.) Now, sir, wouldn't you like this one? This + colour is quite the rage this season; we are getting rid of quite a lot of + these." + </p> + <p> + "NO, sir! Well, of course, it would not do for every one's taste to be the + same. Perhaps something dark would suit you better. Bring out those two + brunettes, Miss Circumstance. Charming girls both of them, don't you think + so, sir? I should say the taller one for you, sir. Just one moment, sir, + allow me. Now, what do you think of that, sir? might have been made to fit + you, I'm sure. You prefer the shorter one. Certainly, sir, no difference + to us at all. Both are the same price. There's nothing like having one's + own fancy, I always say. NO, sir, I cannot put her aside for you, we never + do that. Indeed, there's rather a run on brunettes just at present. I had + a gentleman in only this morning, looking at this particular one, and he + is going to call again to-night. Indeed, I am not at all sure—Oh, of + course, sir, if you like to settle on this one now, that ends the matter. + (Put those others away, Miss Circumstance, please, and mark this one + sold.) I feel sure you'll like her, sir, when you get her home. Thank YOU, + sir. Good-morning!" + </p> + <p> + "Now, miss, have YOU seen anything you fancy? YES, miss, this is all we + have at anything near your price. (Shut those other cupboards, Miss + Circumstance; never show more stock than you are obliged to, it only + confuses customers. How often am I to tell you that?) YES, miss, you are + quite right, there IS a slight blemish. They all have some slight flaw. + The makers say they can't help it—it's in the material. It's not + once in a season we get a perfect specimen; and when we do ladies don't + seem to care for it. Most of our customers prefer a little faultiness. + They say it gives character. Now, look at this, miss. This sort of thing + wears very well, warm and quiet. You'd like one with more colour in it? + Certainly. Miss Circumstance, reach me down the art patterns. NO, miss, we + don't guarantee any of them over the year, so much depends on how you use + them. OH YES, miss, they'll stand a fair amount of wear. People do tell + you the quieter patterns last longer; but my experience is that one is + much the same as another. There's really no telling any of them until you + come to try them. We never recommend one more than another. There's a lot + of chance about these goods, it's in the nature of them. What I always say + to ladies is—'Please yourself, it's you who have got to wear it; and + it's no good having an article you start by not liking.' YES, miss, it IS + pretty and it looks well against you: it does indeed. Thank you, miss. Put + that one aside, Miss Circumstance, please. See that it doesn't get mixed + up with the unsold stock." + </p> + <p> + It is a useful philtre, the juice of that small western flower, that + Oberon drops upon our eyelids as we sleep. It solves all difficulties in a + trice. Why of course Helena is the fairer. Compare her with Hermia! + Compare the raven with the dove! How could we ever have doubted for a + moment? Bottom is an angel, Bottom is as wise as he is handsome. Oh, + Oberon, we thank you for that drug. Matilda Jane is a goddess; Matilda + Jane is a queen; no woman ever born of Eve was like Matilda Jane. The + little pimple on her nose—her little, sweet, tip-tilted nose—how + beautiful it is. Her bright eyes flash with temper now and then; how + piquant is a temper in a woman. William is a dear old stupid, how lovable + stupid men can be—especially when wise enough to love us. William + does not shine in conversation; how we hate a magpie of a man. William's + chin is what is called receding, just the sort of chin a beard looks well + on. Bless you, Oberon darling, for that drug; rub it on our eyelids once + again. Better let us have a bottle, Oberon, to keep by us. + </p> + <p> + Oberon, Oberon, what are you thinking of? You have given the bottle to + Puck. Take it away from him, quick. Lord help us all if that Imp has the + bottle. Lord save us from Puck while we sleep. + </p> + <p> + Or may we, fairy Oberon, regard your lotion as an eye-opener, rather than + as an eye-closer? You remember the story the storks told the children, of + the little girl who was a toad by day, only her sweet dark eyes being left + to her. But at night, when the Prince clasped her close to his breast, lo! + again she became the king's daughter, fairest and fondest of women. There + be many royal ladies in Marshland, with bad complexion and thin straight + hair, and the silly princes sneer and ride away to woo some kitchen wench + decked out in queen's apparel. Lucky the prince upon whose eyelids Oberon + has dropped the magic philtre. + </p> + <p> + In the gallery of a minor Continental town I have forgotten, hangs a + picture that lives with me. The painting I cannot recall, whether good or + bad; artists must forgive me for remembering only the subject. It shows a + man, crucified by the roadside. No martyr he. If ever a man deserved + hanging it was this one. So much the artist has made clear. The face, even + under its mask of agony, is an evil, treacherous face. A peasant girl + clings to the cross; she stands tip-toe upon a patient donkey, straining + her face upward for the half-dead man to stoop and kiss her lips. + </p> + <p> + Thief, coward, blackguard, they are stamped upon his face, but UNDER the + face, under the evil outside? Is there no remnant of manhood—nothing + tender, nothing, true? A woman has crept to the cross to kiss him: no + evidence in his favour, my Lord? Love is blind-aye, to our faults. Heaven + help us all; Love's eyes would be sore indeed if it were not so. But for + the good that is in us her eyes are keen. You, crucified blackguard, stand + forth. A hundred witnesses have given their evidence against you. Are + there none to give evidence for him? A woman, great Judge, who loved him. + Let her speak. + </p> + <p> + But I am wandering far from Hyde Park and its show of girls. + </p> + <p> + They passed and re-passed me, laughing, smiling, talking. Their eyes were + bright with merry thoughts; their voices soft and musical. They were + pleased, and they wanted to please. Some were married, some had evidently + reasonable expectations of being married; the rest hoped to be. And we, + myself, and some ten thousand other young men. I repeat it—myself + and some ten thousand other young men; for who among us ever thinks of + himself but as a young man? It is the world that ages, not we. The + children cease their playing and grow grave, the lasses' eyes are dimmer. + The hills are a little steeper, the milestones, surely, further apart. The + songs the young men sing are less merry than the songs we used to sing. + The days have grown a little colder, the wind a little keener. The wine + has lost its flavour somewhat; the new humour is not like the old. The + other boys are becoming dull and prosy; but we are not changed. It is the + world that is growing old. Therefore, I brave your thoughtless laughter, + youthful Reader, and repeat that we, myself and some ten thousand other + young men, walked among these sweet girls; and, using our boyish eyes, + were fascinated, charmed, and captivated. How delightful to spend our + lives with them, to do little services for them that would call up these + bright smiles. How pleasant to jest with them, and hear their flute-like + laughter, to console them and read their grateful eyes. Really life is a + pleasant thing, and the idea of marriage undoubtedly originated in the + brain of a kindly Providence. + </p> + <p> + We smiled back at them, and we made way for them; we rose from our chairs + with a polite, "Allow me, miss," "Don't mention it, I prefer standing." + "It is a delightful evening, is it not?" And perhaps—for what harm + was there?—we dropped into conversation with these chance + fellow-passengers upon the stream of life. There were those among us—bold + daring spirits—who even went to the length of mild flirtation. Some + of us knew some of them, and in such happy case there followed interchange + of pretty pleasantries. Your English middle-class young man and woman are + not adepts at the game of flirtation. I will confess that our methods + were, perhaps, elephantine, that we may have grown a trifle noisy as the + evening wore on. But we meant no evil; we did but our best to enjoy + ourselves, to give enjoyment, to make the too brief time, pass gaily. + </p> + <p> + And then my thoughts travelled to small homes in distant suburbs, and + these bright lads and lasses round me came to look older and more + careworn. But what of that? Are not old faces sweet when looked at by old + eyes a little dimmed by love, and are not care and toil but the parents of + peace and joy? + </p> + <p> + But as I drew nearer, I saw that many of the faces were seared with sour + and angry looks, and the voices that rose round me sounded surly and + captious. The pretty compliment and praise had changed to sneers and + scoldings. The dimpled smile had wrinkled to a frown. There seemed so + little desire to please, so great a determination not to be pleased. + </p> + <p> + And the flirtations! Ah me, they had forgotten how to flirt! Oh, the pity + of it! All the jests were bitter, all the little services were given + grudgingly. The air seemed to have grown chilly. A darkness had come over + all things. + </p> + <p> + And then I awoke to reality, and found I had been sitting in my chair + longer than I had intended. The band-stand was empty, the sun had set; I + rose and made my way home through the scattered crowd. + </p> + <p> + Nature is so callous. The Dame irritates one at times by her devotion to + her one idea, the propagation of the species. + </p> + <p> + "Multiply and be fruitful; let my world be ever more and more peopled." + </p> + <p> + For this she trains and fashions her young girls, models them with cunning + hand, paints them with her wonderful red and white, crowns them with her + glorious hair, teaches them to smile and laugh, trains their voices into + music, sends them out into the world to captivate, to enslave us. + </p> + <p> + "See how beautiful she is, my lad," says the cunning old woman. "Take her; + build your little nest with her in your pretty suburb; work for her and + live for her; enable her to keep the little ones that I will send." + </p> + <p> + And to her, old hundred-breasted Artemis whispers, "Is he not a bonny lad? + See how he loves you, how devoted he is to you! He will work for you and + make you happy; he will build your home for you. You will be the mother of + his children." + </p> + <p> + So we take each other by the hand, full of hope and love, and from that + hour Mother Nature has done with us. Let the wrinkles come; let our voices + grow harsh; let the fire she lighted in our hearts die out; let the + foolish selfishness we both thought we had put behind us for ever creep + back to us, bringing unkindness and indifference, angry thoughts and cruel + words into our lives. What cares she? She has caught us, and chained us to + her work. She is our universal mother-in-law. She has done the + match-making; for the rest, she leaves it to ourselves. We can love or we + can fight; it is all one to her, confound her. + </p> + <p> + I wonder sometimes if good temper might not be taught. In business we use + no harsh language, say no unkind things to one another. The shopkeeper, + leaning across the counter, is all smiles and affability, he might put up + his shutters were he otherwise. The commercial gent, no doubt, thinks the + ponderous shopwalker an ass, but refrains from telling him so. Hasty + tempers are banished from the City. Can we not see that it is just as much + to our interest to banish them from Tooting and Hampstead? + </p> + <p> + The young man who sat in the chair next to me, how carefully he wrapped + the cloak round the shoulders of the little milliner beside him. And when + she said she was tired of sitting still, how readily he sprang from his + chair to walk with her, though it was evident he was very comfortable + where he was. And she! She had laughed at his jokes; they were not very + clever jokes, they were not very new. She had probably read them herself + months before in her own particular weekly journal. Yet the harmless + humbug made him happy. I wonder if ten years hence she will laugh at such + old humour, if ten years hence he will take such clumsy pains to put her + cape about her. Experience shakes her head, and is amused at my question. + </p> + <p> + I would have evening classes for the teaching of temper to married + couples, only I fear the institution would languish for lack of pupils. + The husbands would recommend their wives to attend, generously offering to + pay the fee as a birthday present. The wife would be indignant at the + suggestion of good money being thus wasted. "No, John, dear," she would + unselfishly reply, "you need the lessons more than I do. It would be a + shame for me to take them away from you," and they would wrangle upon the + subject for the rest of the day. + </p> + <p> + Oh! the folly of it. We pack our hamper for life's picnic with such pains. + We spend so much, we work so hard. We make choice pies, we cook prime + joints, we prepare so carefully the mayonnaise, we mix with loving hands + the salad, we cram the basket to the lid with every delicacy we can think + of. Everything to make the picnic a success is there except the salt. Ah! + woe is me, we forget the salt. We slave at our desks, in our workshops, to + make a home for those we love; we give up our pleasures, we give up our + rest. We toil in our kitchen from morning till night, and we render the + whole feast tasteless for want of a ha'porth of salt—for want of a + soupcon of amiability, for want of a handful of kindly words, a touch of + caress, a pinch of courtesy. + </p> + <p> + Who does not know that estimable housewife, working from eight till twelve + to keep the house in what she calls order? She is so good a woman, so + untiring, so unselfish, so conscientious, so irritating. Her rooms are so + clean, her servants so well managed, her children so well dressed, her + dinners so well cooked; the whole house so uninviting. Everything about + her is in apple-pie order, and everybody wretched. + </p> + <p> + My good Madam, you polish your tables, you scour your kettles, but the + most valuable piece of furniture in the whole house you are letting to + rack and ruin for want of a little pains. You will find it in your own + room, my dear Lady, in front of your own mirror. It is getting shabby and + dingy, old-looking before its time; the polish is rubbed off it, Madam, it + is losing its brightness and charm. Do you remember when he first brought + it home, how proud he was of it? Do you think you have used it well, + knowing how he valued it? A little less care of your pots and your pans, + Madam, a little more of yourself were wiser. Polish yourself up, Madam; + you had a pretty wit once, a pleasant laugh, a conversation that was not + confined exclusively to the short-comings of servants, the wrong-doings of + tradesmen. My dear Madam, we do not live on spotless linen, and crumbless + carpets. Hunt out that bundle of old letters you keep tied up in faded + ribbon at the back of your bureau drawer—a pity you don't read them + oftener. He did not enthuse about your cuffs and collars, gush over the + neatness of your darning. It was your tangled hair he raved about, your + sunny smile (we have not seen it for some years, Madam—the fault of + the Cook and the Butcher, I presume), your little hands, your rosebud + mouth—it has lost its shape, Madam, of late. Try a little less + scolding of Mary Ann, and practise a laugh once a day: you might get back + the dainty curves. It would be worth trying. It was a pretty mouth once. + </p> + <p> + Who invented that mischievous falsehood that the way to a man's heart was + through his stomach? How many a silly woman, taking it for truth, has let + love slip out of the parlour, while she was busy in the kitchen. Of + course, if you were foolish enough to marry a pig, I suppose you must be + content to devote your life to the preparation of hog's-wash. But are you + sure that he IS a pig? If by any chance he be not?—then, Madam, you + are making a grievous mistake. My dear Lady, you are too modest. If I may + say so without making you unduly conceited, even at the dinner-table + itself, you are of much more importance than the mutton. Courage, Madam, + be not afraid to tilt a lance even with your own cook. You can be more + piquant than the sauce a la Tartare, more soothing surely than the melted + butter. There was a time when he would not have known whether he was + eating beef or pork with you the other side of the table. Whose fault is + it? Don't think so poorly of us. We are not ascetics, neither are we all + gourmets: most of us plain men, fond of our dinner, as a healthy man + should be, but fonder still of our sweethearts and wives, let us hope. Try + us. A moderately-cooked dinner—let us even say a not-too-well-cooked + dinner, with you looking your best, laughing and talking gaily and + cleverly—as you can, you know—makes a pleasanter meal for us, + after the day's work is done, than that same dinner, cooked to perfection, + with you silent, jaded, and anxious, your pretty hair untidy, your pretty + face wrinkled with care concerning the sole, with anxiety regarding the + omelette. + </p> + <p> + My poor Martha, be not troubled about so many things. YOU are the one + thing needful—if the bricks and mortar are to be a home. See to it + that YOU are well served up, that YOU are done to perfection, that YOU are + tender and satisfying, that YOU are worth sitting down to. We wanted a + wife, a comrade, a friend; not a cook and a nurse on the cheap. + </p> + <p> + But of what use is it to talk? the world will ever follow its own folly. + When I think of all the good advice that I have given it, and of the small + result achieved, I confess I grow discouraged. I was giving good advice to + a lady only the other day. I was instructing her as to the proper + treatment of aunts. She was sucking a lead-pencil, a thing I am always + telling her not to do. She took it out of her mouth to speak. + </p> + <p> + "I suppose you know how everybody ought to do everything," she said. + </p> + <p> + There are times when it is necessary to sacrifice one's modesty to one's + duty. + </p> + <p> + "Of course I do," I replied. + </p> + <p> + "And does Mama know how everybody ought to do everything?" was the second + question. + </p> + <p> + My conviction on this point was by no means so strong, but for domestic + reasons I again sacrificed myself to expediency. + </p> + <p> + "Certainly," I answered; "and take that pencil out of your mouth. I've + told you of that before. You'll swallow it one day, and then you'll get + perichondritis and die." + </p> + <p> + She appeared to be solving a problem. + </p> + <p> + "All grown-up people seem to know everything," she summarized. + </p> + <p> + There are times when I doubt if children are as simple as they look. If it + be sheer stupidity that prompts them to make remarks of this character, + one should pity them, and seek to improve them. But if it be not + stupidity? well then, one should still seek to improve them, but by a + different method. + </p> + <p> + The other morning I overheard the nurse talking to this particular + specimen. The woman is a most worthy creature, and she was imparting to + the child some really sound advice. She was in the middle of an + unexceptional exhortation concerning the virtue of silence, when Dorothea + interrupted her with— + </p> + <p> + "Oh, do be quiet, Nurse. I never get a moment's peace from your chatter." + </p> + <p> + Such an interruption discourages a woman who is trying to do her duty. + </p> + <p> + Last Tuesday evening she was unhappy. Myself, I think that rhubarb should + never be eaten before April, and then never with lemonade. Her mother read + her a homily upon the subject of pain. It was impressed upon her that we + must be patient, that we must put up with the trouble that God sends us. + Dorothea would descend to details, as children will. + </p> + <p> + "Must we put up with the cod-liver oil that God sends us?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, decidedly." + </p> + <p> + "And with the nurses that God sends us?" + </p> + <p> + "Certainly; and be thankful that you've got them, some little girls + haven't any nurse. And don't talk so much." + </p> + <p> + On Friday I found the mother in tears. + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, nothing," was the answer; "only Baby. She's such a strange child. I + can't make her out at all." + </p> + <p> + "What has she been up to now?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, she will argue, you know." + </p> + <p> + She has that failing. I don't know where she gets it from, but she's got + it. + </p> + <p> + "Well?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, she made me cross; and, to punish her, I told her she shouldn't + take her doll's perambulator out with her." + </p> + <p> + "Yes?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, she didn't say anything then, but so soon as I was outside the + door, I heard her talking to herself—you know her way?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes?" + </p> + <p> + "She said—" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, she said?" + </p> + <p> + "She said, 'I must be patient. I must put up with the mother God has sent + me.'" + </p> + <p> + She lunches down-stairs on Sundays. We have her with us once a week to + give her the opportunity of studying manners and behaviour. Milson had + dropped in, and we were discussing politics. I was interested, and, + pushing my plate aside, leant forward with my elbows on the table. + Dorothea has a habit of talking to herself in a high-pitched whisper + capable of being heard above an Adelphi love scene. I heard her say— + </p> + <p> + "I must sit up straight. I mustn't sprawl with my elbows on the table. It + is only common, vulgar people behave that way." + </p> + <p> + I looked across at her; she was sitting most correctly, and appeared to be + contemplating something a thousand miles away. We had all of us been + lounging! We sat up stiffly, and conversation flagged. + </p> + <p> + Of course we made a joke of it after the child was gone. But somehow it + didn't seem to be OUR joke. + </p> + <p> + I wish I could recollect my childhood. I should so like to know if + children are as simple as they can look. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE DELIGHTS AND BENEFITS OF SLAVERY + </h2> + <p> + My study window looks down upon Hyde Park, and often, to quote the + familiar promise of each new magazine, it amuses and instructs me to watch + from my tower the epitome of human life that passes to and fro beneath. At + the opening of the gates, creeps in the woman of the streets. Her pitiful + work for the time being is over. Shivering in the chill dawn, she passes + to her brief rest. Poor Slave! Lured to the galley's lowest deck, then + chained there. Civilization, tricked fool, they say has need of such. You + serve as the dogs of Eastern towns. But at least, it seems to me, we need + not spit on you. Home to your kennel! Perchance, if the Gods be kind, they + may send you dreams of a cleanly hearth, where you lie with a silver + collar round your neck. + </p> + <p> + Next comes the labourer—the hewer of wood, the drawer of water—slouching + wearily to his toil; sleep clinging still about his leaden eyes, his + pittance of food carried tied up in a dish-clout. The first stroke of the + hour clangs from Big Ben. Haste thee, fellow-slave, lest the overseer's + whip, "Out, we will have no lie-a-beds here," descend upon thy patient + back. + </p> + <p> + Later, the artisan, with his bag of tools across his shoulder. He, too, + listens fearfully to the chiming of the bells. For him also there hangs + ready the whip. + </p> + <p> + After him, the shop boy and the shop girl, making love as they walk, not + to waste time. And after these the slaves of the desk and of the + warehouse, employers and employed, clerks and tradesmen, office boys and + merchants. To your places, slaves of all ranks. Get you unto your burdens. + </p> + <p> + Now, laughing and shouting as they run, the children, the sons and + daughters of the slaves. Be industrious, little children, and learn your + lessons, that when the time comes you may be ready to take from our hands + the creaking oar, to slip into our seat at the roaring loom. For we shall + not be slaves for ever, little children. It is the good law of the land. + So many years in the galleys, so many years in the fields; then we can + claim our freedom. Then we shall go, little children, back to the land of + our birth. And you we must leave behind us to take up the tale of our + work. So, off to your schools, little children, and learn to be good + little slaves. + </p> + <p> + Next, pompous and sleek, come the educated slaves—journalists, + doctors, judges, and poets; the attorney, the artist, the player, the + priest. They likewise scurry across the Park, looking anxiously from time + to time at their watches, lest they be late for their appointments; + thinking of the rates and taxes to be earned, of the bonnets to be paid + for, the bills to be met. The best scourged, perhaps, of all, these + slaves. The cat reserved for them has fifty tails in place of merely two + or three. Work, you higher middle-class slave, or you shall come down to + the smoking of twopenny cigars; harder yet, or you shall drink shilling + claret; harder, or you shall lose your carriage and ride in a penny bus; + your wife's frocks shall be of last year's fashion; your trousers shall + bag at the knees; from Kensington you shall be banished to Kilburn, if the + tale of your bricks run short. Oh, a many-thonged whip is yours, my + genteel brother. + </p> + <p> + The slaves of fashion are the next to pass beneath me in review. They are + dressed and curled with infinite pains. The liveried, pampered footman + these, kept more for show than use; but their senseless tasks none the + less labour to them. Here must they come every day, merry or sad. By this + gravel path and no other must they walk; these phrases shall they use when + they speak to one another. For an hour they must go slowly up and down + upon a bicycle from Hyde Park Corner to the Magazine and back. And these + clothes must they wear; their gloves of this colour, their neck-ties of + this pattern. In the afternoon they must return again, this time in a + carriage, dressed in another livery, and for an hour they must pass slowly + to and fro in foolish procession. For dinner they must don yet another + livery, and after dinner they must stand about at dreary social functions + till with weariness and boredom their heads feel dropping from their + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + With the evening come the slaves back from their work: barristers, + thinking out their eloquent appeals; school-boys, conning their dog-eared + grammars; City men, planning their schemes; the wearers of motley, + cudgelling their poor brains for fresh wit with which to please their + master; shop boys and shop girls, silent now as, together, they plod + homeward; the artisan; the labourer. Two or three hours you shall have to + yourselves, slaves, to think and love and play, if you be not too tired to + think, or love, or play. Then to your litter, that you may be ready for + the morrow's task. + </p> + <p> + The twilight deepens into dark; there comes back the woman of the streets. + As the shadows, she rounds the City's day. Work strikes its tent. Evil + creeps from its peering place. + </p> + <p> + So we labour, driven by the whip of necessity, an army of slaves. If we do + not our work, the whip descends upon us; only the pain we feel in our + stomach instead of on our back. And because of that, we call ourselves + free men. + </p> + <p> + Some few among us bravely struggle to be really free: they are our tramps + and outcasts. We well-behaved slaves shrink from them, for the wages of + freedom in this world are vermin and starvation. We can live lives worth + living only by placing the collar round our neck. + </p> + <p> + There are times when one asks oneself: Why this endless labour? Why this + building of houses, this cooking of food, this making of clothes? Is the + ant so much more to be envied than the grasshopper, because she spends her + life in grubbing and storing, and can spare no time for singing? Why this + complex instinct, driving us to a thousand labours to satisfy a thousand + desires? We have turned the world into a workshop to provide ourselves + with toys. To purchase luxury we have sold our ease. + </p> + <p> + Oh, Children of Israel! why were ye not content in your wilderness? It + seems to have been a pattern wilderness. For you, a simple wholesome food, + ready cooked, was provided. You took no thought for rent and taxes; you + had no poor among you—no poor-rate collectors. You suffered not from + indigestion, nor the hundred ills that follow over-feeding; an omer for + every man was your portion, neither more nor less. You knew not you had a + liver. Doctors wearied you not with their theories, their physics, and + their bills. You were neither landowners nor leaseholders, neither + shareholders nor debenture holders. The weather and the market reports + troubled you not. The lawyer was unknown to you; you wanted no advice; you + had nought to quarrel about with your neighbour. No riches were yours for + the moth and rust to damage. Your yearly income and expenditure you knew + would balance to a fraction. Your wife and children were provided for. + Your old age caused you no anxiety; you knew you would always have enough + to live upon in comfort. Your funeral, a simple and tasteful affair, would + be furnished by the tribe. And yet, poor, foolish child, fresh from the + Egyptian brickfield, you could not rest satisfied. You hungered for the + fleshpots, knowing well what flesh-pots entail: the cleaning of the + flesh-pots, the forging of the flesh-pots, the hewing of wood to make the + fires for the boiling of the flesh-pots, the breeding of beasts to fill + the pots, the growing of fodder to feed the beasts to fill the pots. + </p> + <p> + All the labour of our life is centred round our flesh-pots. On the altar + of the flesh-pot we sacrifice our leisure, our peace of mind. For a mess + of pottage we sell our birthright. + </p> + <p> + Oh! Children of Israel, saw you not the long punishment you were preparing + for yourselves, when in your wilderness you set up the image of the Calf, + and fell before it, crying—"This shall be our God." + </p> + <p> + You would have veal. Thought you never of the price man pays for Veal? The + servants of the Golden Calf! I see them, stretched before my eyes, a + weary, endless throng. I see them toiling in the mines, the black sweat on + their faces. I see them in sunless cities, silent, and grimy, and bent. I + see them, ague-twisted, in the rain-soaked fields. I see them, panting by + the furnace doors. I see them, in loin-cloth and necklace, the load upon + their head. I see them in blue coats and red coats, marching to pour their + blood as an offering on the altar of the Calf. I see them in homespun and + broadcloth, I see them in smock and gaiters, I see them in cap and apron, + the servants of the Calf. They swarm on the land and they dot the sea. + They are chained to the anvil and counter; they are chained to the bench + and the desk. They make ready the soil, they till the fields where the + Golden Calf is born. They build the ship, and they sail the ship that + carries the Golden Calf. They fashion the pots, they mould the pans, they + carve the tables, they turn the chairs, they dream of the sauces, they dig + for the salt, they weave the damask, they mould the dish to serve the + Golden Calf. + </p> + <p> + The work of the world is to this end, that we eat of the Calf. War and + Commerce, Science and Law! what are they but the four pillars supporting + the Golden Calf? He is our God. It is on his back that we have journeyed + from the primeval forest, where our ancestors ate nuts and fruit. He is + our God. His temple is in every street. His blue-robed priest stands ever + at the door, calling to the people to worship. Hark! his voice rises on + the gas-tainted air—"Now's your time! Now's your time! Buy! Buy! ye + people. Bring hither the sweat of your brow, the sweat of your brain, the + ache of your heart, buy Veal with it. Bring me the best years of your + life. Bring me your thoughts, your hopes, your loves; ye shall have Veal + for them. Now's your time! Now's your time! Buy! Buy!" + </p> + <p> + Oh! Children of Israel, was Veal, even with all its trimmings, quite worth + the price? + </p> + <p> + And we! what wisdom have we learned, during the centuries? I talked with a + rich man only the other evening. He calls himself a Financier, whatever + that may mean. He leaves his beautiful house, some twenty miles out of + London, at a quarter to eight, summer and winter, after a hurried + breakfast by himself, while his guests still sleep, and he gets back just + in time to dress for an elaborate dinner he himself is too weary or too + preoccupied to more than touch. If ever he is persuaded to give himself a + holiday it is for a fortnight in Ostend, when it is most crowded and + uncomfortable. He takes his secretary with him, receives and despatches a + hundred telegrams a day, and has a private telephone, through which he can + speak direct to London, brought up into his bedroom. + </p> + <p> + I suppose the telephone is really a useful invention. Business men tell me + they wonder how they contrived to conduct their affairs without it. My own + wonder always is, how any human being with the ordinary passions of his + race can conduct his business, or even himself, creditably, within a + hundred yards of the invention. I can imagine Job, or Griselda, or + Socrates liking to have a telephone about them as exercise. Socrates, in + particular, would have made quite a reputation for himself out of a three + months' subscription to a telephone. Myself, I am, perhaps, too sensitive. + I once lived for a month in an office with a telephone, if one could call + it life. I was told that if I had stuck to the thing for two or three + months longer, I should have got used to it. I know friends of mine, men + once fearless and high-spirited, who now stand in front of their own + telephone for a quarter of an hour at a time, and never so much as answer + it back. They tell me that at first they used to swear and shout at it as + I did; but now their spirit seems crushed. That is what happens: you + either break the telephone, or the telephone breaks you. You want to see a + man two streets off. You might put on your hat, and be round at his office + in five minutes. You are on the point of starting when the telephone + catches your eye. You think you will ring him up to make sure he is in. + You commence by ringing up some half-dozen times before anybody takes any + notice of you whatever. You are burning with indignation at this neglect, + and have left the instrument to sit down and pen a stinging letter of + complaint to the Company when the ring-back re-calls you. You seize the + ear trumpets, and shout— + </p> + <p> + "How is it that I can never get an answer when I ring? Here have I been + ringing for the last half-hour. I have rung twenty times." (This is a + falsehood. You have rung only six times, and the "half-hour" is an absurd + exaggeration; but you feel the mere truth would not be adequate to the + occasion.) "I think it disgraceful," you continue, "and I shall complain + to the Company. What is the use of my having a telephone if I can't get + any answer when I ring? Here I pay a large sum for having this thing, and + I can't get any notice taken. I've been ringing all the morning. Why is + it?" + </p> + <p> + Then you wait for the answer. + </p> + <p> + "What—what do you say? I can't hear what you say." + </p> + <p> + "I say I've been ringing here for over an hour, and I can't get any + reply," you call back. "I shall complain to the Company." + </p> + <p> + "You want what? Don't stand so near the tube. I can't hear what you say. + What number?" + </p> + <p> + "Bother the number; I say why is it I don't get an answer when I ring?" + </p> + <p> + "Eight hundred and what?" + </p> + <p> + You can't argue any more, after that. The machine would give way under the + language you want to make use of. Half of what you feel would probably + cause an explosion at some point where the wire was weak. Indeed, mere + language of any kind would fall short of the requirements of the case. A + hatchet and a gun are the only intermediaries through which you could + convey your meaning by this time. So you give up all attempt to answer + back, and meekly mention that you want to be put in communication with + four-five-seven-six. + </p> + <p> + "Four-nine-seven-six?" says the girl. + </p> + <p> + "No; four-five-seven-six." + </p> + <p> + "Did you say seven-six or six-seven?" + </p> + <p> + "Six-seven—no! I mean seven-six: no—wait a minute. I don't + know what I do mean now." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I wish you'd find out," says the young lady severely. "You are + keeping me here all the morning." + </p> + <p> + So you look up the number in the book again, and at last she tells you + that you are in connection; and then, ramming the trumpet tight against + your ear, you stand waiting. + </p> + <p> + And if there is one thing more than another likely to make a man feel + ridiculous it is standing on tip-toe in a corner, holding a machine to his + head, and listening intently to nothing. Your back aches and your head + aches, your very hair aches. You hear the door open behind you and + somebody enter the room. You can't turn your head. You swear at them, and + hear the door close with a bang. It immediately occurs to you that in all + probability it was Henrietta. She promised to call for you at half-past + twelve: you were to take her to lunch. It was twelve o'clock when you were + fool enough to mix yourself up with this infernal machine, and it probably + is half-past twelve by now. Your past life rises before you, accompanied + by dim memories of your grandmother. You are wondering how much longer you + can bear the strain of this attitude, and whether after all you do really + want to see the man in the next street but two, when the girl in the + exchange-room calls up to know if you're done. + </p> + <p> + "Done!" you retort bitterly; "why, I haven't begun yet." + </p> + <p> + "Well, be quick," she says, "because you're wasting time." + </p> + <p> + Thus admonished, you attack the thing again. "ARE you there?" you cry in + tones that ought to move the heart of a Charity Commissioner; and then, oh + joy! oh rapture! you hear a faint human voice replying—"Yes, what is + it?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh! Are you four-five-seven-six?" + </p> + <p> + "What?" + </p> + <p> + "Are you four-five-seven-six, Williamson?" + </p> + <p> + "What! who are you?" + </p> + <p> + "Eight-one-nine, Jones." + </p> + <p> + "Bones?" + </p> + <p> + "No, JONES. Are you four-five-seven-six?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes; what is it?" + </p> + <p> + "Is Mr. Williamson in?" + </p> + <p> + "Will I what—who are you?" + </p> + <p> + "Jones! Is Mr. Williamson in?" + </p> + <p> + "Who?" + </p> + <p> + "Williamson. Will-i-am-son!" + </p> + <p> + "You're the son of what? I can't hear what you say." + </p> + <p> + Then you gather yourself for one final effort, and succeed, by superhuman + patience, in getting the fool to understand that you wish to know if Mr. + Williamson is in, and he says, so it sounds to you, "Be in all the + morning." + </p> + <p> + So you snatch up your hat and run round. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, I've come to see Mr. Williamson," you say. + </p> + <p> + "Very sorry, sir," is the polite reply, "but he's out." + </p> + <p> + "Out? Why, you just now told me through the telephone that he'd be in all + the morning." + </p> + <p> + "No, I said, he 'WON'T be in all the morning.'" + </p> + <p> + You go back to the office, and sit down in front of that telephone and + look at it. There it hangs, calm and imperturbable. Were it an ordinary + instrument, that would be its last hour. You would go straight + down-stairs, get the coal-hammer and the kitchen-poker, and divide it into + sufficient pieces to give a bit to every man in London. But you feel + nervous of these electrical affairs, and there is a something about that + telephone, with its black hole and curly wires, that cows you. You have a + notion that if you don't handle it properly something may come and shock + you, and then there will be an inquest, and bother of that sort, so you + only curse it. + </p> + <p> + That is what happens when you want to use the telephone from your end. But + that is not the worst that the telephone can do. A sensible man, after a + little experience, can learn to leave the thing alone. Your worst troubles + are not of your own making. You are working against time; you have given + instructions not to be disturbed. Perhaps it is after lunch, and you are + thinking with your eyes closed, so that your thoughts shall not be + distracted by the objects about the room. In either case you are anxious + not to leave your chair, when off goes that telephone bell and you spring + from your chair, uncertain, for the moment, whether you have been shot, or + blown up with dynamite. It occurs to you in your weakness that if you + persist in taking no notice, they will get tired, and leave you alone. But + that is not their method. The bell rings violently at ten-second + intervals. You have nothing to wrap your head up in. You think it will be + better to get this business over and done with. You go to your fate and + call back savagely— + </p> + <p> + "What is it? What do you want?" + </p> + <p> + No answer, only a confused murmur, prominent out of which come the voices + of two men swearing at one another. The language they are making use of is + disgraceful. The telephone seems peculiarly adapted for the conveyance of + blasphemy. Ordinary language sounds indistinct through it; but every word + those two men are saying can be heard by all the telephone subscribers in + London. + </p> + <p> + It is useless attempting to listen till they have done. When they are + exhausted, you apply to the tube again. No answer is obtainable. You get + mad, and become sarcastic; only being sarcastic when you are not sure that + anybody is at the other end to hear you is unsatisfying. + </p> + <p> + At last, after a quarter of an hour or so of saying, "Are you there?" + "Yes, I'm here," "Well?" the young lady at the Exchange asks what you + want. + </p> + <p> + "I don't want anything," you reply. + </p> + <p> + "Then why do you keep talking?" she retorts; "you mustn't play with the + thing." + </p> + <p> + This renders you speechless with indignation for a while, upon recovering + from which you explain that somebody rang you up. + </p> + <p> + "WHO rang you up?" she asks. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know." + </p> + <p> + "I wish you did," she observes. + </p> + <p> + Generally disgusted, you slam the trumpet up and return to your chair. The + instant you are seated the bell clangs again; and you fly up and demand to + know what the thunder they want, and who the thunder they are. + </p> + <p> + "Don't speak so loud, we can't hear you. What do you want?" is the answer. + </p> + <p> + "I don't want anything. What do you want? Why do you ring me up, and then + not answer me? Do leave me alone, if you can!" + </p> + <p> + "We can't get Hong Kongs at seventy-four." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I don't care if you can't." + </p> + <p> + "Would you like Zulus?" + </p> + <p> + "What are you talking about?" you reply; "I don't know what you mean." + </p> + <p> + "Would you like Zulus—Zulus at seventy-three and a half?" + </p> + <p> + "I wouldn't have 'em at six a penny. What are you talking about?" + </p> + <p> + "Hong Kongs—we can't get them at seventy-four. Oh, half-a-minute" + (the half-a-minute passes). "Are you there?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, but you are talking to the wrong man." + </p> + <p> + "We can get you Hong Kongs at seventy-four and seven-eights." + </p> + <p> + "Bother Hong Kongs, and you too. I tell you, you are talking to the wrong + man. I've told you once." + </p> + <p> + "Once what?" + </p> + <p> + "Why, that I am the wrong man—I mean that you are talking to the + wrong man." + </p> + <p> + "Who are you?" + </p> + <p> + "Eight-one-nine, Jones." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, aren't you one-nine-eight?" + </p> + <p> + "No." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, good-bye." + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye." + </p> + <p> + How can a man after that sit down and write pleasantly of the European + crisis? And, if it were needed, herein lies another indictment against the + telephone. I was engaged in an argument, which, if not in itself serious, + was at least concerned with a serious enough subject, the unsatisfactory + nature of human riches; and from that highly moral discussion have I been + lured, by the accidental sight of the word "telephone," into the writing + of matter which can have the effect only of exciting to frenzy all critics + of the New Humour into whose hands, for their sins, this book may come. + Let me forget my transgression and return to my sermon, or rather to the + sermon of my millionaire acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + It was one day after dinner, we sat together in his magnificently + furnished dining-room. We had lighted our cigars at the silver lamp. The + butler had withdrawn. + </p> + <p> + "These cigars we are smoking," my friend suddenly remarked, a propos + apparently of nothing, "they cost me five shillings apiece, taking them by + the thousand." + </p> + <p> + "I can quite believe it," I answered; "they are worth it." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, to you," he replied, almost savagely. "What do you usually pay for + your cigars?" + </p> + <p> + We had known each other years ago. When I first met him his offices + consisted of a back room up three flights of stairs in a dingy by-street + off the Strand, which has since disappeared. We occasionally dined + together, in those days, at a restaurant in Great Portland Street, for one + and nine. Our acquaintanceship was of sufficient standing to allow of such + a question. + </p> + <p> + "Threepence," I answered. "They work out at about twopence three-farthings + by the box." + </p> + <p> + "Just so," he growled; "and your twopenny-three-farthing weed gives you + precisely the same amount of satisfaction that this five shilling cigar + affords me. That means four and ninepence farthing wasted every time I + smoke. I pay my cook two hundred a year. I don't enjoy my dinner as much + as when it cost me four shillings, including a quarter flask of Chianti. + What is the difference, personally, to me whether I drive to my office in + a carriage and pair, or in an omnibus? I often do ride in a bus: it saves + trouble. It is absurd wasting time looking for one's coachman, when the + conductor of an omnibus that passes one's door is hailing one a few yards + off. Before I could afford even buses—when I used to walk every + morning to the office from Hammersmith—I was healthier. It irritates + me to think how hard I work for no earthly benefit to myself. My money + pleases a lot of people I don't care two straws about, and who are only my + friends in the hope of making something out of me. If I could eat a + hundred-guinea dinner myself every night, and enjoy it four hundred times + as much as I used to enjoy a five-shilling dinner, there would be some + sense in it. Why do I do it?" + </p> + <p> + I had never heard him talk like this before. In his excitement he rose + from the table, and commenced pacing the room. + </p> + <p> + "Why don't I invest my money in the two and a half per cents?" he + continued. "At the very worst I should be safe for five thousand a year. + What, in the name of common sense, does a man want with more? I am always + saying to myself, I'll do it; why don't I? + </p> + <p> + "Well, why not?" I echoed. + </p> + <p> + "That's what I want you to tell me," he returned. "You set up for + understanding human nature, it's a mystery to me. In my place, you would + do as I do; you know that. If somebody left you a hundred thousand pounds + to-morrow, you would start a newspaper, or build a theatre—some + damn-fool trick for getting rid of the money and giving yourself seventeen + hours' anxiety a day; you know you would." + </p> + <p> + I hung my head in shame. I felt the justice of the accusation. It has + always been my dream to run a newspaper and own a theatre. + </p> + <p> + "If we worked only for what we could spend," he went on, "the City might + put up its shutters to-morrow morning. What I want to get at the bottom of + is this instinct that drives us to work apparently for work's own sake. + What is this strange thing that gets upon our back and spurs us?" + </p> + <p> + A servant entered at that moment with a cablegram from the manager of one + of his Austrian mines, and he had to leave me for his study. But, walking + home, I fell to pondering on his words. WHY this endless work? Why each + morning do we get up and wash and dress ourselves, to undress ourselves at + night and go to bed again? Why do we work merely to earn money to buy + food; and eat food so as to gain strength that we may work? Why do we + live, merely in the end to say good-bye to one another? Why do we labour + to bring children into the world that they may die and be buried? + </p> + <p> + Of what use our mad striving, our passionate desire? Will it matter to the + ages whether, once upon a time, the Union Jack or the Tricolour floated + over the battlements of Badajoz? Yet we poured our blood into its ditches + to decide the question. Will it matter, in the days when the glacial + period shall have come again, to clothe the earth with silence, whose foot + first trod the Pole? Yet, generation after generation, we mile its roadway + with our whitening bones. So very soon the worms come to us; does it + matter whether we love, or hate? Yet the hot blood rushes through our + veins, we wear out heart and brain for shadowy hopes that ever fade as we + press forward. + </p> + <p> + The flower struggles up from seed-pod, draws the sweet sap from the + ground, folds its petals each night, and sleeps. Then love comes to it in + a strange form, and it longs to mingle its pollen with the pollen of some + other flower. So it puts forth its gay blossoms, and the wandering insect + bears the message from seed-pod to seed-pod. And the seasons pass, + bringing with them the sunshine and the rain, till the flower withers, + never having known the real purpose for which it lived, thinking the + garden was made for it, not it for the garden. The coral insect dreams in + its small soul, which is possibly its small stomach, of home and food. So + it works and strives deep down in the dark waters, never knowing of the + continents it is fashioning. + </p> + <p> + But the question still remains: for what purpose is it all? Science + explains it to us. By ages of strife and effort we improve the race; from + ether, through the monkey, man is born. So, through the labour of the + coming ages, he will free himself still further from the brute. Through + sorrow and through struggle, by the sweat of brain and brow, he will lift + himself towards the angels. He will come into his kingdom. + </p> + <p> + But why the building? Why the passing of the countless ages? Why should he + not have been born the god he is to be, imbued at birth with all the + capabilities his ancestors have died acquiring? Why the Pict and Hun that + <i>I</i> may be? Why <i>I</i>, that a descendant of my own, to whom I + shall seem a savage, shall come after me? Why, if the universe be ordered + by a Creator to whom all things are possible, the protoplasmic cell? Why + not the man that is to be? Shall all the generations be so much human + waste that he may live? Am I but another layer of the soil preparing for + him? + </p> + <p> + Or, if our future be in other spheres, then why the need of this planet? + Are we labouring at some Work too vast for us to perceive? Are our + passions and desires mere whips and traces by the help of which we are + driven? Any theory seems more hopeful than the thought that all our eager, + fretful lives are but the turning of a useless prison crank. Looking back + the little distance that our dim eyes can penetrate the past, what do we + find? Civilizations, built up with infinite care, swept aside and lost. + Beliefs for which men lived and died, proved to be mockeries. Greek Art + crushed to the dust by Gothic bludgeons. Dreams of fraternity, drowned in + blood by a Napoleon. What is left to us, but the hope that the work + itself, not the result, is the real monument? Maybe, we are as children, + asking, "Of what use are these lessons? What good will they ever be to + us?" But there comes a day when the lad understands why he learnt grammar + and geography, when even dates have a meaning for him. But this is not + until he has left school, and gone out into the wider world. So, perhaps, + when we are a little more grown up, we too may begin to understand the + reason for our living. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE CARE AND MANAGEMENT OF WOMEN + </h2> + <p> + I talked to a woman once on the subject of honeymoons. I said, "Would you + recommend a long honeymoon, or a Saturday to Monday somewhere?" A silence + fell upon her. I gathered she was looking back rather than forward to her + answer. + </p> + <p> + "I would advise a long honeymoon," she replied at length, "the + old-fashioned month." + </p> + <p> + "Why," I persisted, "I thought the tendency of the age was to cut these + things shorter and shorter." + </p> + <p> + "It is the tendency of the age," she answered, "to seek escape from many + things it would be wiser to face. I think myself that, for good or evil, + the sooner it is over—the sooner both the man and the woman know—the + better." + </p> + <p> + "The sooner what is over?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + If she had a fault, this woman, about which I am not sure, it was an + inclination towards enigma. + </p> + <p> + She crossed to the window and stood there, looking out. + </p> + <p> + "Was there not a custom," she said, still gazing down into the wet, + glistening street, "among one of the ancient peoples, I forget which, + ordaining that when a man and woman, loving one another, or thinking that + they loved, had been joined together, they should go down upon their + wedding night to the temple? And into the dark recesses of the temple, + through many winding passages, the priest led them until they came to the + great chamber where dwelt the voice of their god. There the priest left + them, clanging-to the massive door behind him, and there, alone in + silence, they made their sacrifice; and in the night the Voice spoke to + them, showing them their future life—whether they had chosen well; + whether their love would live or die. And in the morning the priest + returned and led them back into the day; and they dwelt among their + fellows. But no one was permitted to question them, nor they to answer + should any do so. Well, do you know, our nineteenth-century honeymoon at + Brighton, Switzerland, or Ramsgate, as the choice or necessity may be, + always seems to me merely another form of that night spent alone in the + temple before the altar of that forgotten god. Our young men and women + marry, and we kiss them and congratulate them; and, standing on the + doorstep, throw rice and old slippers, and shout good wishes after them; + and he waves his gloved hand to us, and she flutters her little + handkerchief from the carriage window; and we watch their smiling faces + and hear their laughter until the corner hides them from our view. Then we + go about our own business, and a short time passes by; and one day we meet + them again, and their faces have grown older and graver; and I always + wonder what the Voice has told them during that little while that they + have been absent from our sight. But of course it would not do to ask + them. Nor would they answer truly if we did." + </p> + <p> + My friend laughed, and, leaving the window, took her place beside the + tea-things, and other callers dropping in, we fell to talk of pictures, + plays, and people. + </p> + <p> + But I felt it would be unwise to act on her sole advice, much as I have + always valued her opinion. + </p> + <p> + A woman takes life too seriously. It is a serious affair to most of us, + the Lord knows. That is why it is well not to take it more seriously than + need be. + </p> + <p> + Little Jack and little Jill fall down the hill, hurting their little + knees, and their little noses, spilling the hard-earned water. We are very + philosophical. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, don't cry!" we tell them, "that is babyish. Little boys and little + girls must learn to bear pain. Up you get, fill the pail again, and try + once more." + </p> + <p> + Little Jack and little Jill rub their dirty knuckles into their little + eyes, looking ruefully at their bloody little knees, and trot back with + the pail. We laugh at them, but not ill-naturedly. + </p> + <p> + "Poor little souls," we say; "how they did hullabaloo. One might have + thought they were half-killed. And it was only a broken crown, after all. + What a fuss children make!" We bear with much stoicism the fall of little + Jack and little Jill. + </p> + <p> + But when WE—grown-up Jack with moustache turning grey; grown-up Jill + with the first faint "crow's feet" showing—when WE tumble down the + hill, and OUR pail is spilt. Ye Heavens! what a tragedy has happened. Put + out the stars, turn off the sun, suspend the laws of nature. Mr. Jack and + Mrs. Jill, coming down the hill—what they were doing on the hill we + will not inquire—have slipped over a stone, placed there surely by + the evil powers of the universe. Mr. Jack and Mrs. Jill have bumped their + silly heads. Mr. Jack and Mrs. Jill have hurt their little hearts, and + stand marvelling that the world can go about its business in the face of + such disaster. + </p> + <p> + Don't take the matter quite so seriously, Jack and Jill. You have spilled + your happiness, you must toil up the hill again and refill the pail. Carry + it more carefully next time. What were you doing? Playing some fool's + trick, I'll be bound. + </p> + <p> + A laugh and a sigh, a kiss and good-bye, is our life. Is it worth so much + fretting? It is a merry life on the whole. Courage, comrade. A campaign + cannot be all drum and fife and stirrup-cup. The marching and the fighting + must come into it somewhere. There are pleasant bivouacs among the + vineyards, merry nights around the camp fires. White hands wave a welcome + to us; bright eyes dim at our going. Would you run from the battle-music? + What have you to complain of? Forward: the medal to some, the surgeon's + knife to others; to all of us, sooner or later, six feet of mother earth. + What are you afraid of? Courage, comrade. + </p> + <p> + There is a mean between basking through life with the smiling contentment + of the alligator, and shivering through it with the aggressive sensibility + of the Lama determined to die at every cross word. To bear it as a man we + must also feel it as a man. My philosophic friend, seek not to comfort a + brother standing by the coffin of his child with the cheery suggestion + that it will be all the same a hundred years hence, because, for one + thing, the observation is not true: the man is changed for all eternity—possibly + for the better, but don't add that. A soldier with a bullet in his neck is + never quite the man he was. But he can laugh and he can talk, drink his + wine and ride his horse. Now and again, towards evening, when the weather + is trying, the sickness will come upon him. You will find him on a couch + in a dark corner. + </p> + <p> + "Hallo! old fellow, anything up?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, just a twinge, the old wound, you know. I will be better in a little + while." + </p> + <p> + Shut the door of the dark room quietly. I should not stay even to + sympathize with him if I were you. The men will be coming to screw the + coffin down soon. I think he would like to be alone with it till then. Let + us leave him. He will come back to the club later on in the season. For a + while we may have to give him another ten points or so, but he will soon + get back his old form. Now and again, when he meets the other fellows' + boys shouting on the towing-path; when Brown rushes up the drive, paper in + hand, to tell him how that young scapegrace Jim has won his Cross; when he + is congratulating Jones's eldest on having passed with honours, the old + wound may give him a nasty twinge. But the pain will pass away. He will + laugh at our stories and tell us his own; eat his dinner, play his rubber. + It is only a wound. + </p> + <p> + Tommy can never be ours, Jenny does not love us. We cannot afford claret, + so we will have to drink beer. Well, what would you have us do? Yes, let + us curse Fate by all means—some one to curse is always useful. Let + us cry and wring our hands—for how long? The dinner-bell will ring + soon, and the Smiths are coming. We shall have to talk about the opera and + the picture-galleries. Quick, where is the eau-de-Cologne? where are the + curling-tongs? Or would you we committed suicide? Is it worth while? Only + a few more years—perhaps to-morrow, by aid of a piece of orange peel + or a broken chimney-pot—and Fate will save us all that trouble. + </p> + <p> + Or shall we, as sulky children, mope day after day? We are a + broken-hearted little Jack—little Jill. We will never smile again; + we will pine away and die, and be buried in the spring. The world is sad, + and life so cruel, and heaven so cold. Oh dear! oh dear! we have hurt + ourselves. + </p> + <p> + We whimper and whine at every pain. In old strong days men faced real + dangers, real troubles every hour; they had no time to cry. Death and + disaster stood ever at the door. Men were contemptuous of them. Now in + each snug protected villa we set to work to make wounds out of scratches. + Every head-ache becomes an agony, every heart-ache a tragedy. It took a + murdered father, a drowned sweetheart, a dishonoured mother, a ghost, and + a slaughtered Prime Minister to produce the emotions in Hamlet that a + modern minor poet obtains from a chorus girl's frown, or a temporary slump + on the Stock Exchange. Like Mrs. Gummidge, we feel it more. The lighter + and easier life gets the more seriously we go out to meet it. The boatmen + of Ulysses faced the thunder and the sunshine alike with frolic welcome. + We modern sailors have grown more sensitive. The sunshine scorches us, the + rain chills us. We meet both with loud self-pity. + </p> + <p> + Thinking these thoughts, I sought a second friend—a man whose breezy + common-sense has often helped me, and him likewise I questioned on this + subject of honeymoons. + </p> + <p> + "My dear boy," he replied; "take my advice, if ever you get married, + arrange it so that the honeymoon shall only last a week, and let it be a + bustling week into the bargain. Take a Cook's circular tour. Get married + on the Saturday morning, cut the breakfast and all that foolishness, and + catch the eleven-ten from Charing Cross to Paris. Take her up the Eiffel + Tower on Sunday. Lunch at Fontainebleau. Dine at the Maison Doree, and + show her the Moulin Rouge in the evening. Take the night train for + Lucerne. Devote Monday and Tuesday to doing Switzerland, and get into Rome + by Thursday morning, taking the Italian lakes en route. On Friday cross to + Marseilles, and from there push along to Monte Carlo. Let her have a + flutter at the tables. Start early Saturday morning for Spain, cross the + Pyrenees on mules, and rest at Bordeaux on Sunday. Get back to Paris on + Monday (Monday is always a good day for the opera), and on Tuesday evening + you will be at home, and glad to get there. Don't give her time to + criticize you until she has got used to you. No man will bear unprotected + exposure to a young girl's eyes. The honeymoon is the matrimonial + microscope. Wobble it. Confuse it with many objects. Cloud it with other + interests. Don't sit still to be examined. Besides, remember that a man + always appears at his best when active, and a woman at her worst. Bustle + her, my dear boy, bustle her: I don't care who she may be. Give her plenty + of luggage to look after; make her catch trains. Let her see the average + husband sprawling comfortably over the railway cushions, while his wife + has to sit bolt upright in the corner left to her. Let her hear how other + men swear. Let her smell other men's tobacco. Hurry up, and get her + accustomed quickly to the sight of mankind. Then she will be less + surprised and shocked as she grows to know you. One of the best fellows I + ever knew spoilt his married life beyond repair by a long quiet honeymoon. + They went off for a month to a lonely cottage in some heaven-forsaken + spot, where never a soul came near them, and never a thing happened but + morning, afternoon, and night. There for thirty days she overhauled him. + When he yawned—and he yawned pretty often, I guess, during that + month—she thought of the size of his mouth, and when he put his + heels upon the fender she sat and brooded upon the shape of his feet. At + meal-time, not feeling hungry herself, having nothing to do to make her + hungry, she would occupy herself with watching him eat; and at night, not + feeling sleepy for the same reason, she would lie awake and listen to his + snoring. After the first day or two he grew tired of talking nonsense, and + she of listening to it (it sounded nonsense now they could speak it aloud; + they had fancied it poetry when they had had to whisper it); and having no + other subject, as yet, of common interest, they would sit and stare in + front of them in silence. One day some trifle irritated him and he swore. + On a busy railway platform, or in a crowded hotel, she would have said, + 'Oh!' and they would both have laughed. From that echoing desert the silly + words rose up in widening circles towards the sky, and that night she + cried herself to sleep. Bustle them, my dear boy, bustle them. We all like + each other better the less we think about one another, and the honeymoon + is an exceptionally critical time. Bustle her, my dear boy, bustle her." + </p> + <p> + My very worst honeymoon experience took place in the South of England in + eighteen hundred and—well, never mind the exact date, let us say a + few years ago. I was a shy young man at that time. Many complain of my + reserve to this day, but then some girls expect too much from a man. We + all have our shortcomings. Even then, however, I was not so shy as she. We + had to travel from Lyndhurst in the New Forest to Ventnor, an awkward bit + of cross-country work in those days. + </p> + <p> + "It's so fortunate you are going too," said her aunt to me on the Tuesday; + "Minnie is always nervous travelling alone. You will be able to look after + her, and I shan't be anxious." + </p> + <p> + I said it would be a pleasure, and at the time I honestly thought it. On + the Wednesday I went down to the coach office, and booked two places for + Lymington, from where we took the steamer. I had not a suspicion of + trouble. + </p> + <p> + The booking-clerk was an elderly man. He said— + </p> + <p> + "I've got the box seat, and the end place on the back bench." + </p> + <p> + I said— + </p> + <p> + "Oh, can't I have two together?" + </p> + <p> + He was a kindly-looking old fellow. He winked at me. I wondered all the + way home why he had winked at me. He said— + </p> + <p> + "I'll manage it somehow." + </p> + <p> + I said— + </p> + <p> + "It's very kind of you, I'm sure." + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand on my shoulder. He struck me as familiar, but + well-intentioned. He said— + </p> + <p> + "We have all of us been there." + </p> + <p> + I thought he was alluding to the Isle of Wight. I said— + </p> + <p> + "And this is the best time of the year for it, so I'm told." It was early + summer time. + </p> + <p> + He said—"It's all right in summer, and it's good enough in winter—WHILE + IT LASTS. You make the most of it, young 'un;" and he slapped me on the + back and laughed. + </p> + <p> + He would have irritated me in another minute. I paid for the seats and + left him. + </p> + <p> + At half-past eight the next morning Minnie and I started for the + coach-office. I call her Minnie, not with any wish to be impertinent, but + because I have forgotten her surname. It must be ten years since I last + saw her. She was a pretty girl, too, with those brown eyes that always + cloud before they laugh. Her aunt did not drive down with us as she had + intended, in consequence of a headache. She was good enough to say she + felt every confidence in me. + </p> + <p> + The old booking-clerk caught sight of us when we were about a quarter of a + mile away, and drew to us the attention of the coachman, who communicated + the fact of our approach to the gathered passengers. Everybody left off + talking, and waited for us. The boots seized his horn, and blew—one + could hardly call it a blast; it would be difficult to say what he blew. + He put his heart into it, but not sufficient wind. I think his intention + was to welcome us, but it suggested rather a feeble curse. We learnt + subsequently that he was a beginner on the instrument. + </p> + <p> + In some mysterious way the whole affair appeared to be our party. The + booking-clerk bustled up and helped Minnie from the cart. I feared, for a + moment, he was going to kiss her. The coachman grinned when I said + good-morning to him. The passengers grinned, the boots grinned. Two + chamber-maids and a waiter came out from the hotel, and they grinned. I + drew Minnie aside, and whispered to her. I said— + </p> + <p> + "There's something funny about us. All these people are grinning." + </p> + <p> + She walked round me, and I walked round her, but we could neither of us + discover anything amusing about the other. The booking-clerk said— + </p> + <p> + "It's all right. I've got you young people two places just behind the + box-seat. We'll have to put five of you on that seat. You won't mind + sitting a bit close, will you?" + </p> + <p> + The booking-clerk winked at the coachman, the coachman winked at the + passengers, the passengers winked at one another—those of them who + could wink—and everybody laughed. The two chamber-maids became + hysterical, and had to cling to each other for support. With the exception + of Minnie and myself, it seemed to be the merriest coach party ever + assembled at Lyndhurst. + </p> + <p> + We had taken our places, and I was still busy trying to fathom the joke, + when a stout lady appeared on the scene, and demanded to know her place. + </p> + <p> + The clerk explained to her that it was in the middle behind the driver. + </p> + <p> + "We've had to put five of you on that seat," added the clerk. + </p> + <p> + The stout lady looked at the seat. + </p> + <p> + "Five of us can't squeeze into that," she said. + </p> + <p> + Five of her certainly could not. Four ordinary sized people with her would + find it tight. + </p> + <p> + "Very well then," said the clerk, "you can have the end place on the back + seat." + </p> + <p> + "Nothing of the sort," said the stout lady. "I booked my seat on Monday, + and you told me any of the front places were vacant. + </p> + <p> + "I'LL take the back place," I said, "I don't mind it. + </p> + <p> + "You stop where you are, young 'un," said the clerk, firmly, "and don't be + a fool. I'll fix HER." + </p> + <p> + I objected to his language, but his tone was kindness itself. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, let ME have the back seat," said Minnie, rising, "I'd so like it." + </p> + <p> + For answer the coachman put both his hands on her shoulders. He was a + heavy man, and she sat down again. + </p> + <p> + "Now then, mum," said the clerk, addressing the stout lady, "are you going + up there in the middle, or are you coming up here at the back?" + </p> + <p> + "But why not let one of them take the back seat?" demanded the stout lady, + pointing her reticule at Minnie and myself; "they say they'd like it. Let + them have it." + </p> + <p> + The coachman rose, and addressed his remarks generally. + </p> + <p> + "Put her up at the back, or leave her behind," he directed. "Man and wife + have never been separated on this coach since I started running it fifteen + year ago, and they ain't going to be now." + </p> + <p> + A general cheer greeted this sentiment. The stout lady, now regarded as a + would-be blighter of love's young dream, was hustled into the back seat, + the whip cracked, and away we rolled. + </p> + <p> + So here was the explanation. We were in a honeymoon district, in June—the + most popular month in the whole year for marriage. Every two out of three + couples found wandering about the New Forest in June are honeymoon + couples; the third are going to be. When they travel anywhere it is to the + Isle of Wight. We both had on new clothes. Our bags happened to be new. By + some evil chance our very umbrellas were new. Our united ages were + thirty-seven. The wonder would have been had we NOT been mistaken for a + young married couple. + </p> + <p> + A day of greater misery I have rarely passed. To Minnie, so her aunt + informed me afterwards, the journey was the most terrible experience of + her life, but then her experience, up to that time, had been limited. She + was engaged, and devotedly attached, to a young clergyman; I was madly in + love with a somewhat plump girl named Cecilia who lived with her mother at + Hampstead. I am positive as to her living at Hampstead. I remember so + distinctly my weekly walk down the hill from Church Row to the Swiss + Cottage station. When walking down a steep hill all the weight of the body + is forced into the toe of the boot, and when the boot is two sizes too + small for you, and you have been living in it since the early afternoon, + you remember a thing like that. But all my recollections of Cecilia are + painful, and it is needless to pursue them. + </p> + <p> + Our coach-load was a homely party, and some of the jokes were broad—harmless + enough in themselves, had Minnie and I really been the married couple we + were supposed to be, but even in that case unnecessary. I can only hope + that Minnie did not understand them. Anyhow, she looked as if she didn't. + </p> + <p> + I forget where we stopped for lunch, but I remember that lamb and mint + sauce was on the table, and that the circumstance afforded the greatest + delight to all the party, with the exception of the stout lady, who was + still indignant, Minnie and myself. About my behaviour as a bridegroom + opinion appeared to be divided. "He's a bit standoffish with her," I + overheard one lady remark to her husband; "I like to see 'em a bit + kittenish myself." A young waitress, on the other hand, I am happy to say, + showed more sense of natural reserve. "Well, I respect him for it," she + was saying to the barmaid, as we passed through the hall; "I'd just hate + to be fuzzled over with everybody looking on." Nobody took the trouble to + drop their voices for our benefit. We might have been a pair of prize love + birds on exhibition, the way we were openly discussed. By the majority we + were clearly regarded as a sulky young couple who would not go through + their tricks. + </p> + <p> + I have often wondered since how a real married couple would have faced the + situation. Possibly, had we consented to give a short display of marital + affection, "by desire," we might have been left in peace for the remainder + of the journey. + </p> + <p> + Our reputation preceded us on to the steamboat. Minnie begged and prayed + me to let it be known we were not married. How I was to let it be known, + except by requesting the captain to summon the whole ship's company on + deck, and then making them a short speech, I could not think. Minnie said + she could not bear it any longer, and retired to the ladies' cabin. She + went off crying. Her trouble was attributed by crew and passengers to my + coldness. One fool planted himself opposite me with his legs apart, and + shook his head at me. + </p> + <p> + "Go down and comfort her," he began. "Take an old man's advice. Put your + arms around her." (He was one of those sentimental idiots.) "Tell her that + you love her." + </p> + <p> + I told him to go and hang himself, with so much vigour that he all but + fell overboard. He was saved by a poultry crate: I had no luck that day. + </p> + <p> + At Ryde the guard, by superhuman effort, contrived to keep us a carriage + to ourselves. I gave him a shilling, because I did not know what else to + do. I would have made it half-a-sovereign if he had put eight other + passengers in with us. At every station people came to the window to look + in at us. + </p> + <p> + I handed Minnie over to her father on Ventnor platform; and I took the + first train the next morning, to London. I felt I did not want to see her + again for a little while; and I felt convinced she could do without a + visit from me. Our next meeting took place the week before her marriage. + </p> + <p> + "Where are you going to spend your honeymoon?" I asked her; "in the New + Forest?" + </p> + <p> + "No," she replied; "nor in the Isle of Wight." + </p> + <p> + To enjoy the humour of an incident one must be at some distance from it + either in time or relationship. I remember watching an amusing scene in + Whitefield Street, just off Tottenham Court Road, one winter's Saturday + night. A woman—a rather respectable looking woman, had her hat only + been on straight—had just been shot out of a public-house. She was + very dignified, and very drunk. A policeman requested her to move on. She + called him "Fellow," and demanded to know of him if he considered that was + the proper tone in which to address a lady. She threatened to report him + to her cousin, the Lord Chancellor. + </p> + <p> + "Yes; this way to the Lord Chancellor," retorted the policeman. "You come + along with me;" and he caught hold of her by the arm. + </p> + <p> + She gave a lurch, and nearly fell. To save her the man put his arm round + her waist. She clasped him round the neck, and together they spun round + two or three times; while at the very moment a piano-organ at the opposite + corner struck up a waltz. + </p> + <p> + "Choose your partners, gentlemen, for the next dance," shouted a wag, and + the crowd roared. + </p> + <p> + I was laughing myself, for the situation was undeniably comical, the + constable's expression of disgust being quite Hogarthian, when the sight + of a child's face beneath the gas-lamp stayed me. Her look was so full of + terror that I tried to comfort her. + </p> + <p> + "It's only a drunken woman," I said; "he's not going to hurt her." + </p> + <p> + "Please, sir," was the answer, "it's my mother." + </p> + <p> + Our joke is generally another's pain. The man who sits down on the + tin-tack rarely joins in the laugh. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE MINDING OF OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS + </h2> + <p> + I walked one bright September morning in the Strand. I love London best in + the autumn. Then only can one see the gleam of its white pavements, the + bold, unbroken outline of its streets. I love the cool vistas one comes + across of mornings in the parks, the soft twilights that linger in the + empty bye-streets. In June the restaurant manager is off-hand with me; I + feel I am but in his way. In August he spreads for me the table by the + window, pours out for me my wine with his own fat hands. I cannot doubt + his regard for me: my foolish jealousies are stilled. Do I care for a + drive after dinner through the caressing night air, I can climb the + omnibus stair without a preliminary fight upon the curb, can sit with easy + conscience and unsquashed body, not feeling I have deprived some hot, + tired woman of a seat. Do I desire the play, no harsh, forbidding "House + full" board repels me from the door. During her season, London, a harassed + hostess, has no time for us, her intimates. Her rooms are overcrowded, her + servants overworked, her dinners hurriedly cooked, her tone insincere. In + the spring, to be truthful, the great lady condescends to be somewhat + vulgar—noisy and ostentatious. Not till the guests are departed is + she herself again, the London that we, her children, love. + </p> + <p> + Have you, gentle Reader, ever seen London—not the London of the + waking day, coated with crawling life, as a blossom with blight, but the + London of the morning, freed from her rags, the patient city, clad in + mists? Get you up with the dawn one Sunday in summer time. Wake none else, + but creep down stealthily into the kitchen, and make your own tea and + toast. + </p> + <p> + Be careful you stumble not over the cat. She will worm herself insidiously + between your legs. It is her way; she means it in friendship. Neither bark + your shins against the coal-box. Why the kitchen coal-box has its fixed + place in the direct line between the kitchen door and the gas-bracket I + cannot say. I merely know it as an universal law; and I would that you + escaped that coal-box, lest the frame of mind I desire for you on this + Sabbath morning be dissipated. + </p> + <p> + A spoon to stir your tea, I fear you must dispense with. Knives and forks + you will discover in plenty; blacking brushes you will put your hand upon + in every drawer; of emery paper, did one require it, there are reams; but + it is a point with every housekeeper that the spoons be hidden in a + different place each night. If anybody excepting herself can find them in + the morning, it is a slur upon her. No matter, a stick of firewood, + sharpened at one end, makes an excellent substitute. + </p> + <p> + Your breakfast done, turn out the gas, remount the stairs quietly, open + gently the front door and slip out. You will find yourself in an unknown + land. A strange city grown round you in the night. + </p> + <p> + The sweet long streets lie silent in sunlight. Not a living thing is to be + seen save some lean Tom that slinks from his gutter feast as you approach. + From some tree there will sound perhaps a fretful chirp: but the London + sparrow is no early riser; he is but talking in his sleep. The slow tramp + of unseen policeman draws near or dies away. The clatter of your own + footsteps goes with you, troubling you. You find yourself trying to walk + softly, as one does in echoing cathedrals. A voice is everywhere about you + whispering to you "Hush." Is this million-breasted City then some tender + Artemis, seeking to keep her babes asleep? "Hush, you careless wayfarer; + do not waken them. Walk lighter; they are so tired, these myriad children + of mine, sleeping in my thousand arms. They are over-worked and + over-worried; so many of them are sick, so many fretful, many of them, + alas, so full of naughtiness. But all of them so tired. Hush! they worry + me with their noise and riot when they are awake. They are so good now + they are asleep. Walk lightly, let them rest." + </p> + <p> + Where the ebbing tide flows softly through worn arches to the sea, you may + hear the stone-faced City talking to the restless waters: "Why will you + never stay with me? Why come but to go?" + </p> + <p> + "I cannot say, I do not understand. From the deep sea I come, but only as + a bird loosed from a child's hand with a cord. When she calls I must + return." + </p> + <p> + "It is so with these children of mine. They come to me, I know not whence. + I nurse them for a little while, till a hand I do not see plucks them + back. And others take their place." + </p> + <p> + Through the still air there passes a ripple of sound. The sleeping City + stirs with a faint sigh. A distant milk-cart rattling by raises a thousand + echoes; it is the vanguard of a yoked army. Soon from every street there + rises the soothing cry, "Mee'hilk—mee'hilk." + </p> + <p> + London like some Gargantuan babe, is awake, crying for its milk. These be + the white-smocked nurses hastening with its morning nourishment. The early + church bells ring. "You have had your milk, little London. Now come and + say your prayers. Another week has just begun, baby London. God knows what + will happen, say your prayers." + </p> + <p> + One by one the little creatures creep from behind the blinds into the + streets. The brooding tenderness is vanished from the City's face. The + fretful noises of the day have come again. Silence, her lover of the + night, kisses her stone lips, and steals away. And you, gentle Reader, + return home, garlanded with the self-sufficiency of the early riser. + </p> + <p> + But it was of a certain week-day morning, in the Strand that I was + thinking. I was standing outside Gatti's Restaurant, where I had just + breakfasted, listening leisurely to an argument between an indignant lady + passenger, presumably of Irish extraction, and an omnibus conductor. + </p> + <p> + "For what d'ye want thin to paint Putney on ye'r bus, if ye don't GO to + Putney?" said the lady. + </p> + <p> + "We DO go to Putney," said the conductor. + </p> + <p> + "Thin why did ye put me out here?" + </p> + <p> + "I didn't put you out, yer got out." + </p> + <p> + "Shure, didn't the gintleman in the corner tell me I was comin' further + away from Putney ivery minit?" + </p> + <p> + "Wal, and so yer was." + </p> + <p> + "Thin whoy didn't you tell me?" + </p> + <p> + "How was I to know yer wanted to go to Putney? Yer sings out Putney, and I + stops and in yer jumps." + </p> + <p> + "And for what d'ye think I called out Putney thin?" + </p> + <p> + "'Cause it's my name, or rayther the bus's name. This 'ere IS a Putney." + </p> + <p> + "How can it be a Putney whin it isn't goin' to Putney, ye gomerhawk?" + </p> + <p> + "Ain't you an Hirishwoman?" retorted the conductor. "Course yer are. But + yer aren't always goin' to Ireland. We're goin' to Putney in time, only + we're a-going to Liverpool Street fust. 'Igher up, Jim." + </p> + <p> + The bus moved on, and I was about cross the road, when a man, muttering + savagely to himself, walked into me. He would have swept past me had I + not, recognizing him, arrested him. It was my friend B——-, a + busy editor of magazines and journals. It was some seconds before he + appeared able to struggle out of his abstraction, and remember himself. + "Halloo," he then said, "who would have thought of seeing YOU here?" + </p> + <p> + "To judge by the way you were walking," I replied, "one would imagine the + Strand the last place in which you expected to see any human being. Do you + ever walk into a short-tempered, muscular man?" + </p> + <p> + "Did I walk into you?" he asked surprised. + </p> + <p> + "Well, not right in," I answered, "I if we are to be literal. You walked + on to me; if I had not stopped you, I suppose you would have walked over + me." + </p> + <p> + "It is this confounded Christmas business," he explained. "It drives me + off my head." + </p> + <p> + "I have heard Christmas advanced as an excuse for many things," I replied, + "but not early in September." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you know what I mean," he answered, "we are in the middle of our + Christmas number. I am working day and night upon it. By the bye," he + added, "that puts me in mind. I am arranging a symposium, and I want you + to join. 'Should Christmas,'"—I interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + "My dear fellow," I said, "I commenced my journalistic career when I was + eighteen, and I have continued it at intervals ever since. I have written + about Christmas from the sentimental point of view; I have analyzed it + from the philosophical point of view; and I have scarified it from the + sarcastic standpoint. I have treated Christmas humorously for the Comics, + and sympathetically for the Provincial Weeklies. I have said all that is + worth saying on the subject of Christmas—maybe a trifle more. I have + told the new-fashioned Christmas story—you know the sort of thing: + your heroine tries to understand herself, and, failing, runs off with the + man who began as the hero; your good woman turns out to be really bad when + one comes to know her; while the villain, the only decent person in the + story, dies with an enigmatic sentence on his lips that looks as if it + meant something, but which you yourself would be sorry to have to explain. + I have also written the old-fashioned Christmas story—you know that + also: you begin with a good old-fashioned snowstorm; you have a good + old-fashioned squire, and he lives in a good old-fashioned Hall; you work + in a good old-fashioned murder; and end up with a good old-fashioned + Christmas dinner. I have gathered Christmas guests together round the + crackling logs to tell ghost stories to each other on Christmas Eve, while + without the wind howled, as it always does on these occasions, at its + proper cue. I have sent children to Heaven on Christmas Eve—it must + be quite a busy time for St. Peter, Christmas morning, so many good + children die on Christmas Eve. It has always been a popular night with + them.—I have revivified dead lovers and brought them back well and + jolly, just in time to sit down to the Christmas dinner. I am not ashamed + of having done these things. At the time I thought them good. I once loved + currant wine and girls with towzley hair. One's views change as one grows + older. I have discussed Christmas as a religious festival. I have + arraigned it as a social incubus. If there be any joke connected with + Christmas that I have not already made I should be glad to hear it. I have + trotted out the indigestion jokes till the sight of one of them gives me + indigestion myself. I have ridiculed the family gathering. I have scoffed + at the Christmas present. I have made witty use of paterfamilias and his + bills. I have—" + </p> + <p> + "Did I ever show you," I broke off to ask as we were crossing the + Haymarket, "that little parody of mine on Poe's poem of 'The Bells'? It + begins—" He interrupted me in his turn— + </p> + <p> + "Bills, bills, bills," he repeated. + </p> + <p> + "You are quite right," I admitted. "I forgot I ever showed it to you." + </p> + <p> + "You never did," he replied. + </p> + <p> + "Then how do you know how it begins?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know for certain," he admitted, "but I get, on an average, + sixty-five a year submitted to me, and they all begin that way. I thought, + perhaps, yours did also." + </p> + <p> + "I don't see how else it could begin," I retorted. He had rather annoyed + me. "Besides, it doesn't matter how a poem begins, it is how it goes on + that is the important thing and anyhow, I'm not going to write you + anything about Christmas. Ask me to make you a new joke about a plumber; + suggest my inventing something original and not too shocking for a child + to say about heaven; propose my running you off a dog story that can be + believed by a man of average determination and we may come to terms. But + on the subject of Christmas I am taking a rest." + </p> + <p> + By this time we had reached Piccadilly Circus. + </p> + <p> + "I don't blame you," he said, "if you are as sick of the subject as I am. + So soon as these Christmas numbers are off my mind, and Christmas is over + till next June at the office, I shall begin it at home. The housekeeping + is gone up a pound a week already. I know what that means. The dear little + woman is saving up to give me an expensive present that I don't want. I + think the presents are the worst part of Christmas. Emma will give me a + water-colour that she has painted herself. She always does. There would be + no harm in that if she did not expect me to hang it in the drawing room. + Have you ever seen my cousin Emma's water-colours?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "I think I have," I replied. + </p> + <p> + "There's no thinking about it," he retorted angrily. "They're not the sort + of water-colours you forget." + </p> + <p> + He apostrophized the Circus generally. + </p> + <p> + "Why do people do these things?" he demanded. "Even an amateur artist must + have SOME sense. Can't they see what is happening? There's that thing of + hers hanging in the passage. I put it in the passage because there's not + much light in the passage. She's labelled it Reverie. If she had called it + Influenza I could have understood it. I asked her where she got the idea + from, and she said she saw the sky like that one evening in Norfolk. Great + Heavens! then why didn't she shut her eyes or go home and hide behind the + bed-curtains? If I had seen a sky like that in Norfolk I should have taken + the first train back to London. I suppose the poor girl can't help seeing + these things, but why paint them?" + </p> + <p> + I said, "I suppose painting is a necessity to some natures." + </p> + <p> + "But why give the things to me?" he pleaded. + </p> + <p> + I could offer him no adequate reason. + </p> + <p> + "The idiotic presents that people give you!" he continued. "I said I'd + like Tennyson's poems one year. They had worried me to know what I did + want. I didn't want anything really; that was the only thing I could think + of that I wasn't dead sure I didn't want. Well, they clubbed together, + four of them, and gave me Tennyson in twelve volumes, illustrated with + coloured photographs. They meant kindly, of course. If you suggest a + tobacco-pouch they give you a blue velvet bag capable of holding about a + pound, embroidered with flowers, life-size. The only way one could use it + would be to put a strap to it and wear it as a satchel. Would you believe + it, I have got a velvet smoking-jacket, ornamented with forget-me-nots and + butterflies in coloured silk; I'm not joking. And they ask me why I never + wear it. I'll bring it down to the Club one of these nights and wake the + place up a bit: it needs it." + </p> + <p> + We had arrived by this at the steps of the 'Devonshire.' + </p> + <p> + "And I'm just as bad," he went on, "when I give presents. I never give + them what they want. I never hit upon anything that is of any use to + anybody. If I give Jane a chinchilla tippet, you may be certain chinchilla + is the most out-of-date fur that any woman could wear. 'Oh! that is nice + of you,' she says; 'now that is just the very thing I wanted. I will keep + it by me till chinchilla comes in again.' I give the girls watch-chains + when nobody is wearing watch-chains. When watch-chains are all the rage I + give them ear-rings, and they thank me, and suggest my taking them to a + fancy-dress ball, that being their only chance to wear the confounded + things. I waste money on white gloves with black backs, to find that white + gloves with black backs stamp a woman as suburban. I believe all the + shop-keepers in London save their old stock to palm it off on me at + Christmas time. And why does it always take half-a-dozen people to serve + you with a pair of gloves, I'd like to know? Only last week Jane asked me + to get her some gloves for that last Mansion House affair. I was feeling + amiable, and I thought I would do the thing handsomely. I hate going into + a draper's shop; everybody stares at a man as if he were forcing his way + into the ladies' department of a Turkish bath. One of those marionette + sort of men came up to me and said it was a fine morning. What the devil + did I want to talk about the morning to him for? I said I wanted some + gloves. I described them to the best of my recollection. I said, 'I want + them four buttons, but they are not to be button-gloves; the buttons are + in the middle and they reach up to the elbow, if you know what I mean.' He + bowed, and said he understood exactly what I meant, which was a damned + sight more than I did. I told him I wanted three pair cream and three pair + fawn-coloured, and the fawn-coloured were to be swedes. He corrected me. + He said I meant 'Suede.' I dare say he was right, but the interruption put + me off, and I had to begin over again. He listened attentively until I had + finished. I guess I was about five minutes standing with him there close + to the door. He said, 'Is that all you require, sir, this morning?' I said + it was. + </p> + <p> + "' Thank you, sir,' he replied. 'This way, please, sir.' + </p> + <p> + "He took me into another room, and there we met a man named Jansen, to + whom he briefly introduced me as a gentleman who 'desired gloves.' 'Yes, + sir,' said Mr. Jansen; and what sort of gloves do you desire?' + </p> + <p> + "I told him I wanted six pairs altogether—three suede, + fawn-coloured, and three cream-coloured—kids. + </p> + <p> + "He said, 'Do you mean kid gloves, sir, or gloves for children?' + </p> + <p> + "He made me angry by that. I told him I was not in the habit of using + slang. Nor am I when buying gloves. He said he was sorry. I explained to + him about the buttons, so far as I could understand it myself, and about + the length. I asked him to see to it that the buttons were sewn on firmly, + and that the stitching everywhere was perfect, adding that the last gloves + my wife had had of his firm had been most unsatisfactory. Jane had + impressed upon me to add that. She said it would make them more careful. + </p> + <p> + "He listened to me in rapt ecstacy. I might have been music. + </p> + <p> + "'And what size, sir?' he asked. + </p> + <p> + "I had forgotten that. 'Oh, sixes,' I answered, 'unless they are very + stretchy indeed, in which case they had better be five and three-quarter.' + </p> + <p> + "'Oh, and the stitching on the cream is to be black,' I added. That was + another thing I had forgotten. + </p> + <p> + "'Thank you very much,' said Mr. Jansen; 'is there anything else that you + require this morning?' + </p> + <p> + "'No, thank you,' I replied, 'not this morning.' I was beginning to like + the man. + </p> + <p> + "He took me for quite a walk, and wherever we went everybody left off what + they were doing to stare at me. I was getting tired when we reached the + glove department. He marched me up to a young man who was sticking pins + into himself. He said 'Gloves,' and disappeared through a curtain. The + young man left off sticking pins into himself, and leant across the + counter. + </p> + <p> + "'Ladies' gloves or gentlemen's gloves?' he said. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I was pretty mad by this time, as you can guess. It is funny when + you come to think of it afterwards, but the wonder then was that I didn't + punch his head. + </p> + <p> + "I said, 'Are you ever busy in this shop? Does there ever come a time when + you feel you would like to get your work done, instead of lingering over + it and spinning it out for pure love of the thing?' + </p> + <p> + "He did not appear to understand me. I said, 'I met a man at your door a + quarter of an hour ago, and we talked about these gloves that I want, and + I told him all my ideas on the subject. He took me to your Mr. Jansen, and + Mr. Jansen and I went over the whole business again. Now Mr. Jansen leaves + it with you—you who do not even know whether I want ladies' or + gentlemen's gloves. Before I go over this story for the third time, I want + to know whether you are the man who is going to serve me, or whether you + are merely a listener, because personally I am tired of the subject?' + </p> + <p> + "Well, this was the right man at last, and I got my gloves from him. But + what is the explanation—what is the idea? I was in that shop from + first to last five-and-thirty minutes. And then a fool took me out the + wrong way to show me a special line in sleeping-socks. I told him I was + not requiring any. He said he didn't want me to buy, he only wanted me to + see them. No wonder the drapers have had to start luncheon and tea-rooms. + They'll fix up small furnished flats soon, where a woman can live for a + week." + </p> + <p> + I said it was very trying, shopping. I also said, as he invited me, and as + he appeared determined to go on talking, that I would have a + brandy-and-soda. We were in the smoke-room by this time. + </p> + <p> + "There ought to be an association," he continued, "a kind of + clearing-house for the collection and distribution of Christmas presents. + One would give them a list of the people from whom to collect presents, + and of the people to whom to send. Suppose they collected on my account + twenty Christmas presents, value, say, ten pounds, while on the other hand + they sent out for me thirty presents at a cost of fifteen pounds. They + would debit me with the balance of five pounds, together with a small + commission. I should pay it cheerfully, and there would be no further + trouble. Perhaps one might even make a profit. The idea might include + birthdays and weddings. A firm would do the business thoroughly. They + would see that all your friends paid up—I mean sent presents; and + they would not forget to send to your most important relative. There is + only one member of our family capable of leaving a shilling; and of course + if I forget to send to any one it is to him. When I remember him I + generally make a muddle of the business. Two years ago I gave him a bath—I + don't mean I washed him—an india-rubber thing, that he could pack in + his portmanteau. I thought he would find it useful for travelling. Would + you believe it, he took it as a personal affront, and wouldn't speak to me + for a month, the snuffy old idiot." + </p> + <p> + "I suppose the children enjoy it," I said. + </p> + <p> + "Enjoy what?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "Why, Christmas," I explained. + </p> + <p> + "I don't believe they do," he snapped; "nobody enjoys it. We excite them + for three weeks beforehand, telling them what a good time they are going + to have, over-feed them for two or three days, take them to something they + do not want to see, but which we do, and then bully them for a fortnight + to get them back into their normal condition. I was always taken to the + Crystal Palace and Madame Tussaud's when I was a child, I remember. How I + did hate that Crystal Palace! Aunt used to superintend. It was always a + bitterly cold day, and we always got into the wrong train, and travelled + half the day before we got there. We never had any dinner. It never occurs + to a woman that anybody can want their meals while away from home. She + seems to think that nature is in suspense from the time you leave the + house till the time you get back to it. A bun and a glass of milk was her + idea of lunch for a school-boy. Half her time was taken up in losing us, + and the other half in slapping us when she had found us. The only thing we + really enjoyed was the row with the cabman coming home." + </p> + <p> + I rose to go. + </p> + <p> + "Then you won't join that symposium?" said B——-. "It would be + an easy enough thing to knock off—'Why Christmas should be + abolished.'" + </p> + <p> + "It sounds simple," I answered. "But how do you propose to abolish it?" + The lady editor of an "advanced" American magazine once set the discussion—"Should + sex be abolished?" and eleven ladies and gentlemen seriously argued the + question. + </p> + <p> + "Leave it to die of inanition," said B——-; "the first step is + to arouse public opinion. Convince the public that it should be + abolished." + </p> + <p> + "But why should it be abolished?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Great Scott! man," he exclaimed; "don't you want it abolished?" + </p> + <p> + "I'm not sure that I do," I replied. + </p> + <p> + "Not sure," he retorted; "you call yourself a journalist, and admit there + is a subject under Heaven of which you are not sure!" + </p> + <p> + "It has come over me of late years," I replied. "It used not to be my + failing, as you know." + </p> + <p> + He glanced round to make sure we were out of earshot, then sunk his voice + to a whisper. + </p> + <p> + "Between ourselves," he said, "I'm not so sure of everything myself as I + used to be. Why is it?" + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps we are getting older," I suggested. + </p> + <p> + He said—"I started golf last year, and the first time I took the + club in my hand I sent the ball a furlong. 'It seems an easy game,' I said + to the man who was teaching me. 'Yes, most people find it easy at the + beginning,' he replied dryly. He was an old golfer himself; I thought he + was jealous. I stuck well to the game, and for about three weeks I was + immensely pleased with myself. Then, gradually, I began to find out the + difficulties. I feel I shall never make a good player. Have you ever gone + through that experience?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes," I replied; "I suppose that is the explanation. The game seems so + easy at the beginning." + </p> + <p> + I left him to his lunch, and strolled westward, musing on the time when I + should have answered that question of his about Christmas, or any other + question, off-hand. That good youth time when I knew everything, when life + presented no problems, dangled no doubts before me! + </p> + <p> + In those days, wishful to give the world the benefit of my wisdom, and + seeking for a candle-stick wherefrom my brilliancy might be visible and + helpful unto men, I arrived before a dingy portal in Chequers Street, St. + Luke's, behind which a conclave of young men, together with a few old + enough to have known better, met every Friday evening for the purpose of + discussing and arranging the affairs of the universe. "Speaking members" + were charged ten-and-sixpence per annum, which must have worked out at an + extremely moderate rate per word; and "gentlemen whose subscriptions were + more than three months in arrear," became, by Rule seven, powerless for + good or evil. We called ourselves "The Stormy Petrels," and, under the + sympathetic shadow of those wings, I laboured two seasons towards the + reformation of the human race; until, indeed, our treasurer, an earnest + young man, and a tireless foe of all that was conventional, departed for + the East, leaving behind him a balance sheet, showing that the club owed + forty-two pounds fifteen and fourpence, and that the subscriptions for the + current year, amounting to a little over thirty-eight pounds, had been + "carried forward," but as to where, the report afforded no indication. + Whereupon our landlord, a man utterly without ideals, seized our + furniture, offering to sell it back to us for fifteen pounds. We pointed + out to him that this was an extravagant price, and tendered him five. + </p> + <p> + The negotiations terminated with ungentlemanly language on his part, and + "The Stormy Petrels" scattered, never to be foregathered together again + above the troubled waters of humanity. Now-a-days, listening to the feeble + plans of modern reformers, I cannot help but smile, remembering what was + done in Chequers Street, St. Luke's, in an age when Mrs. Grundy still gave + the law to literature, while yet the British matron was the guide to + British art. I am informed that there is abroad the question of abolishing + the House of Lords! Why, "The Stormy Petrels" abolished the aristocracy + and the Crown in one evening, and then only adjourned for the purpose of + appointing a committee to draw up and have ready a Republican Constitution + by the following Friday evening. They talk of Empire lounges! We closed + the doors of every music-hall in London eighteen years ago by twenty-nine + votes to seventeen. They had a patient hearing, and were ably defended; + but we found that the tendency of such amusements was anti-progressive, + and against the best interests of an intellectually advancing democracy. I + met the mover of the condemnatory resolution at the old "Pav" the + following evening, and we continued the discussion over a bottle of Bass. + He strengthened his argument by persuading me to sit out the whole of the + three songs sung by the "Lion Comique"; but I subsequently retorted + successfully, by bringing under his notice the dancing of a lady in blue + tights and flaxen hair. I forget her name but never shall I cease to + remember her exquisite charm and beauty. Ah, me! how charming and how + beautiful "artistes" were in those golden days! Whence have they vanished? + Ladies in blue tights and flaxen hair dance before my eyes to-day, but + move me not, unless it be towards boredom. Where be the tripping witches + of twenty years ago, whom to see once was to dream of for a week, to touch + whose white hand would have been joy, to kiss whose red lips would have + been to foretaste Heaven. I heard only the other day that the son of an + old friend of mine had secretly married a lady from the front row of the + ballet, and involuntarily I exclaimed, "Poor devil!" There was a time when + my first thought would have been, "Lucky beggar! is he worthy of her?" For + then the ladies of the ballet were angels. How could one gaze at them—from + the shilling pit—and doubt it? They danced to keep a widowed mother + in comfort, or to send a younger brother to school. Then they were + glorious creatures a young man did well to worship; but now-a-days— + </p> + <p> + It is an old jest. The eyes of youth see through rose-tinted glasses. The + eyes of age are dim behind smoke-clouded spectacles. My flaxen friend, you + are not the angel I dreamed you, nor the exceptional sinner some would + paint you; but under your feathers, just a woman—a bundle of follies + and failings, tied up with some sweetness and strength. You keep a + brougham I am sure you cannot afford on your thirty shillings a week. + There are ladies I know, in Mayfair, who have paid an extravagant price + for theirs. You paint and you dye, I am told: it is even hinted you pad. + Don't we all of us deck ourselves out in virtues that are not our own? + When the paint and the powder, my sister, is stripped both from you and + from me, we shall know which of us is entitled to look down on the other + in scorn. + </p> + <p> + Forgive me, gentle Reader, for digressing. The lady led me astray. I was + speaking of "The Stormy Petrels," and of the reforms they accomplished, + which were many. We abolished, I remember, capital punishment and war; we + were excellent young men at heart. Christmas we reformed altogether, along + with Bank Holidays, by a majority of twelve. I never recollect any + proposal to abolish anything ever being lost when put to the vote. There + were few things that we "Stormy Petrels" did not abolish. We attacked + Christmas on grounds of expediency, and killed it by ridicule. We exposed + the hollow mockery of Christmas sentiment; we abused the indigestible + Christmas dinner, the tiresome Christmas party, the silly Christmas + pantomime. Our funny member was side-splitting on the subject of Christmas + Waits; our social reformer bitter upon Christmas drunkenness; our + economist indignant upon Christmas charities. Only one argument of any + weight with us was advanced in favour of the festival, and that was our + leading cynic's suggestion that it was worth enduring the miseries of + Christmas, to enjoy the soul-satisfying comfort of the after reflection + that it was all over, and could not occur again for another year. + </p> + <p> + But since those days when I was prepared to put this old world of ours to + rights upon all matters, I have seen many sights and heard many sounds, + and I am not quite so sure as I once was that my particular views are the + only possibly correct ones. Christmas seems to me somewhat meaningless; + but I have looked through windows in poverty-stricken streets, and have + seen dingy parlours gay with many chains of coloured paper. They stretched + from corner to corner of the smoke-grimed ceiling, they fell in clumsy + festoons from the cheap gasalier, they framed the fly-blown mirror and the + tawdry pictures; and I know tired hands and eyes worked many hours to + fashion and fix those foolish chains, saying, "It will please him—she + will like to see the room look pretty;" and as I have looked at them they + have grown, in some mysterious manner, beautiful to me. The gaudy-coloured + child and dog irritates me, I confess; but I have watched a grimy, + inartistic personage, smoothing it affectionately with toil-stained hand, + while eager faces crowded round to admire and wonder at its blatant + crudity. It hangs to this day in its cheap frame above the chimney-piece, + the one bright spot relieving those damp-stained walls; dull eyes stare + and stare again at it, catching a vista, through its flashy tints, of the + far-off land of art. Christmas Waits annoy me, and I yearn to throw open + the window and fling coal at them—as once from the window of a high + flat in Chelsea I did. I doubted their being genuine Waits. I was inclined + to the opinion they were young men seeking excuse for making a noise. One + of them appeared to know a hymn with a chorus, another played the + concertina, while a third accompanied with a step dance. Instinctively I + felt no respect for them; they disturbed me in my work, and the desire + grew upon me to injure them. It occurred to me it would be good sport if I + turned out the light, softly opened the window, and threw coal at them. It + would be impossible for them to tell from which window in the block the + coal came, and thus subsequent unpleasantness would be avoided. They were + a compact little group, and with average luck I was bound to hit one of + them. + </p> + <p> + I adopted the plan. I could not see them very clearly. I aimed rather at + the noise; and I had thrown about twenty choice lumps without effect, and + was feeling somewhat discouraged, when a yell, followed by language + singularly unappropriate to the season, told me that Providence had aided + my arm. The music ceased suddenly, and the party dispersed, apparently in + high glee—which struck me as curious. + </p> + <p> + One man I noticed remained behind. He stood under the lamp-post, and shook + his fist at the block generally. + </p> + <p> + "Who threw that lump of coal?" he demanded in stentorian tones. + </p> + <p> + To my horror, it was the voice of the man at Eighty-eight, an Irish + gentleman, a journalist like myself. I saw it all, as the unfortunate hero + always exclaims, too late, in the play. He—number Eighty-eight—also + disturbed by the noise, had evidently gone out to expostulate with the + rioters. Of course my lump of coal had hit him—him the innocent, the + peaceful (up till then), the virtuous. That is the justice Fate deals out + to us mortals here below. There were ten to fourteen young men in that + crowd, each one of whom fully deserved that lump of coal; he, the one + guiltless, got it—seemingly, so far as the dim light from the gas + lamp enabled me to judge, full in the eye. + </p> + <p> + As the block remained silent in answer to his demand, he crossed the road + and mounted the stairs. On each landing he stopped and shouted— + </p> + <p> + "Who threw that lump of coal? I want the man who threw that lump of coal. + Out you come." + </p> + <p> + Now a good man in my place would have waited till number Eighty-eight + arrived on his landing, and then, throwing open the door would have said + with manly candour— + </p> + <p> + "<i>I</i> threw that lump of coal. I was-," He would not have got further, + because at that point, I feel confident, number Eighty—eight would + have punched his head. There would have been an unseemly fracas on the + staircase, to the annoyance of all the other tenants and later, there + would have issued a summons and a cross-summons. Angry passions would have + been roused, bitter feeling engendered which might have lasted for years. + </p> + <p> + I do not pretend to be a good man. I doubt if the pretence would be of any + use were I to try: I am not a sufficiently good actor. I said to myself, + as I took off my boots in the study, preparatory to retiring to my bedroom—"Number + Eighty-eight is evidently not in a frame of mind to listen to my story. It + will be better to let him shout himself cool; after which he will return + to his own flat, bathe his eye, and obtain some refreshing sleep. In the + morning, when we shall probably meet as usual on our way to Fleet Street, + I will refer to the incident casually, and sympathize with him. I will + suggest to him the truth—that in all probability some fellow-tenant, + irritated also by the noise, had aimed coal at the Waits, hitting him + instead by a regrettable but pure accident. With tact I may even be able + to make him see the humour of the incident. Later on, in March or April, + choosing my moment with judgment, I will, perhaps, confess that I was that + fellow-tenant, and over a friendly brandy-and-soda we will laugh the whole + trouble away." + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, that is what happened. Said number Eighty-eight—he + was a big man, as good a fellow at heart as ever lived, but impulsive—"Damned + lucky for you, old man, you did not tell me at the time." + </p> + <p> + "I felt," I replied, "instinctively that it was a case for delay." + </p> + <p> + There are times when one should control one's passion for candour; and as + I was saying, Christmas waits excite no emotion in my breast save that of + irritation. But I have known "Hark, the herald angels sing," wheezily + chanted by fog-filled throats, and accompanied, hopelessly out of tune, by + a cornet and a flute, bring a great look of gladness to a work-worn face. + To her it was a message of hope and love, making the hard life taste + sweet. The mere thought of family gatherings, so customary at Christmas + time, bores us superior people; but I think of an incident told me by a + certain man, a friend of mine. One Christmas, my friend, visiting in the + country, came face to face with a woman whom in town he had often met amid + very different surroundings. The door of the little farmhouse was open; + she and an older woman were ironing at a table, and as her soft white + hands passed to and fro, folding and smoothing the rumpled heap, she + laughed and talked, concerning simple homely things. My friend's shadow + fell across her work, and she looking up, their eyes met; but her face + said plainly, "I do not know you here, and here you do not know me. Here I + am a woman loved and respected." My friend passed in and spoke to the + older woman, the wife of one of his host's tenants, and she turned + towards, and introduced the younger—"My daughter, sir. We do not see + her very often. She is in a place in London, and cannot get away. But she + always spends a few days with us at Christmas." + </p> + <p> + "It is the season for family re-unions," answered my friend with just the + suggestion of a sneer, for which he hated himself. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir," said the woman, not noticing; "she has never missed her + Christmas with us, have you, Bess?" + </p> + <p> + "No, mother," replied the girl simply, and bent her head again over her + work. + </p> + <p> + So for these few days every year this woman left her furs and jewels, her + fine clothes and dainty foods, behind her, and lived for a little space + with what was clean and wholesome. It was the one anchor holding her to + womanhood; and one likes to think that it was, perhaps, in the end strong + enough to save her from the drifting waters. All which arguments in favour + of Christmas and of Christmas customs are, I admit, purely sentimental + ones, but I have lived long enough to doubt whether sentiment has not its + legitimate place in the economy of life. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE TIME WASTED IN LOOKING BEFORE ONE LEAPS + </h2> + <h3> + Have you ever noticed the going out of a woman? + </h3> + <p> + When a man goes out, he says—"I'm going out, shan't be long." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, George," cries his wife from the other end of the house, "don't go + for a moment. I want you to—" She hears a falling of hats, followed + by the slamming of the front door. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, George, you're not gone!" she wails. It is but the voice of despair. + As a matter of fact, she knows he is gone. She reaches the hall, + breathless. + </p> + <p> + "He might have waited a minute," she mutters to herself, as she picks up + the hats, "there were so many things I wanted him to do." + </p> + <p> + She does not open the door and attempt to stop him, she knows he is + already half-way down the street. It is a mean, paltry way of going out, + she thinks; so like a man. + </p> + <p> + When a woman, on the other hand, goes out, people know about it. She does + not sneak out. She says she is going out. She says it, generally, on the + afternoon of the day before; and she repeats it, at intervals, until + tea-time. At tea, she suddenly decides that she won't, that she will leave + it till the day after to-morrow instead. An hour later she thinks she will + go to-morrow, after all, and makes arrangements to wash her hair + overnight. For the next hour or so she alternates between fits of + exaltation, during which she looks forward to going out, and moments of + despondency, when a sense of foreboding falls upon her. At dinner she + persuades some other woman to go with her; the other woman, once + persuaded, is enthusiastic about going, until she recollects that she + cannot. The first woman, however, convinces her that she can. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," replies the second woman, "but then, how about you, dear? You are + forgetting the Joneses." + </p> + <p> + "So I was," answers the first woman, completely non-plussed. "How very + awkward, and I can't go on Wednesday. I shall have to leave it till + Thursday, now." + </p> + <p> + "But <i>I</i> can't go Thursday," says the second woman. + </p> + <p> + "Well, you go without me, dear," says the first woman, in the tone of one + who is sacrificing a life's ambition. + </p> + <p> + "Oh no, dear, I should not think of it," nobly exclaims the second woman. + "We will wait and go together, Friday!" + </p> + <p> + "I'll tell you what we'll do," says the first woman. "We will start early" + (this is an inspiration), "and be back before the Joneses arrive." + </p> + <p> + They agree to sleep together; there is a lurking suspicion in both their + minds that this may be their last sleep on earth. They retire early with a + can of hot water. At intervals, during the night, one overhears them + splashing water, and talking. + </p> + <p> + They come down very late for breakfast, and both very cross. Each seems to + have argued herself into the belief that she has been lured into this + piece of nonsense, against her better judgment, by the persistent folly of + the other one. During the meal each one asks the other, every five + minutes, if she is quite ready. Each one, it appears, has only her hat to + put on. They talk about the weather, and wonder what it is going to do. + They wish it would make up its mind, one way or the other. They are very + bitter on weather that cannot make up its mind. After breakfast it still + looks cloudy, and they decide to abandon the scheme altogether. The first + woman then remembers that it is absolutely necessary for her, at all + events, to go. + </p> + <p> + "But there is no need for you to come, dear," she says. + </p> + <p> + Up to that point the second woman was evidently not sure whether she + wished to go or whether she didn't. Now she knows. + </p> + <p> + "Oh yes, I'll come," she says, "then it will be over!" + </p> + <p> + "I am sure you don't want to go," urges the first woman, "and I shall be + quicker by myself. I am ready to start now." + </p> + <p> + The second woman bridles. + </p> + <p> + "<i>I</i> shan't be a couple of minutes," she retorts. "You know, dear, + it's generally I who have to wait for you." + </p> + <p> + "But you've not got your boots on," the first woman reminds her. + </p> + <p> + "Well, they won't take ANY time," is the answer. "But of course, dear, if + you'd really rather I did not come, say so." By this time she is on the + verge of tears. + </p> + <p> + "Of course, I would like you to come, dear," explains the first in a + resigned tone. "I thought perhaps you were only coming to please me." + </p> + <p> + "Oh no, I'd LIKE to come," says the second woman. + </p> + <p> + "Well, we must hurry up," says the first; "I shan't be more than a minute + myself, I've merely got to change my skirt." + </p> + <p> + Half-an-hour later you hear them calling to each other, from different + parts of the house, to know if the other one is ready. It appears they + have both been ready for quite a long while, waiting only for the other + one. + </p> + <p> + "I'm afraid," calls out the one whose turn it is to be down-stairs, "it's + going to rain." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, don't say that," calls back the other one. + </p> + <p> + "Well, it looks very like it." + </p> + <p> + "What a nuisance," answers the up-stairs woman; "shall we put it off?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, what do YOU think, dear?" replies the down-stairs. + </p> + <p> + They decide they will go, only now they will have to change their boots, + and put on different hats. + </p> + <p> + For the next ten minutes they are still shouting and running about. Then + it seems as if they really were ready, nothing remaining but for them to + say "Good-bye," and go. + </p> + <p> + They begin by kissing the children. A woman never leaves her house without + secret misgivings that she will never return to it alive. One child cannot + be found. When it is found it wishes it hadn't been. It has to be washed, + preparatory to being kissed. After that, the dog has to be found and + kissed, and final instructions given to the cook. + </p> + <p> + Then they open the front door. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, George," calls out the first woman, turning round again. "Are you + there?" + </p> + <p> + "Hullo," answers a voice from the distance. "Do you want me?" + </p> + <p> + "No, dear, only to say good-bye. I'm going." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, good-bye." + </p> + <p> + "Good-bye, dear. Do you think it's going to rain?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh no, I should not say so." + </p> + <p> + "George." + </p> + <p> + "Yes." + </p> + <p> + "Have you got any money?" + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later they come running back; the one has forgotten her + parasol, the other her purse. + </p> + <p> + And speaking of purses, reminds one of another essential difference + between the male and female human animal. A man carries his money in his + pocket. When he wants to use it, he takes it out and lays it down. This is + a crude way of doing things, a woman displays more subtlety. Say she is + standing in the street, and wants fourpence to pay for a bunch of violets + she has purchased from a flower-girl. She has two parcels in one hand, and + a parasol in the other. With the remaining two fingers of the left hand + she secures the violets. The question then arises, how to pay the girl? + She flutters for a few minutes, evidently not quite understanding why it + is she cannot do it. The reason then occurs to her: she has only two hands + and both these are occupied. First she thinks she will put the parcels and + the flowers into her right hand, then she thinks she will put the parasol + into her left. Then she looks round for a table or even a chair, but there + is not such a thing in the whole street. Her difficulty is solved by her + dropping the parcels and the flowers. The girl picks them up for her and + holds them. This enables her to feel for her pocket with her right hand, + while waving her open parasol about with her left. She knocks an old + gentleman's hat off into the gutter, and nearly blinds the flower-girl + before it occurs to her to close it. This done, she leans it up against + the flower-girl's basket, and sets to work in earnest with both hands. She + seizes herself firmly by the back, and turns the upper part of her body + round till her hair is in front and her eyes behind. Still holding herself + firmly with her left hand—did she let herself go, goodness knows + where she would spin to;—with her right she prospects herself. The + purse is there, she can feel it, the problem is how to get at it. The + quickest way would, of course, be to take off the skirt, sit down on the + kerb, turn it inside out, and work from the bottom of the pocket upwards. + But this simple idea never seems to occur to her. There are some thirty + folds at the back of the dress, between two of these folds commences the + secret passage. At last, purely by chance, she suddenly discovers it, + nearly upsetting herself in the process, and the purse is brought up to + the surface. The difficulty of opening it still remains. She knows it + opens with a spring, but the secret of that spring she has never mastered, + and she never will. Her plan is to worry it generally until it does open. + Five minutes will always do it, provided she is not flustered. + </p> + <p> + At last it does open. It would be incorrect to say that she opens it. It + opens because it is sick of being mauled about; and, as likely as not, it + opens at the moment when she is holding it upside down. If you happen to + be near enough to look over her shoulder, you will notice that the gold + and silver lies loose within it. In an inner sanctuary, carefully secured + with a second secret spring, she keeps her coppers, together with a + postage-stamp and a draper's receipt, nine months old, for elevenpence + three-farthings. + </p> + <p> + I remember the indignation of an old Bus-conductor, once. Inside we were + nine women and two men. I sat next the door, and his remarks therefore he + addressed to me. It was certainly taking him some time to collect the + fares, but I think he would have got on better had he been less bustling; + he worried them, and made them nervous. + </p> + <p> + "Look at that," he said, drawing my attention to a poor lady opposite, who + was diving in the customary manner for her purse, "they sit on their + money, women do. Blest if you wouldn't think they was trying to 'atch it." + </p> + <p> + At length the lady drew from underneath herself an exceedingly fat purse. + </p> + <p> + "Fancy riding in a bumpby bus, perched up on that thing," he continued. + "Think what a stamina they must have." He grew confidential. "I've seen + one woman," he said, "pull out from underneath 'er a street doorkey, a tin + box of lozengers, a pencil-case, a whopping big purse, a packet of + hair-pins, and a smelling-bottle. Why, you or me would be wretched, + sitting on a plain door-knob, and them women goes about like that all day. + I suppose they gets used to it. Drop 'em on an eider-down pillow, and + they'd scream. The time it takes me to get tuppence out of them, why, it's + 'eart-breaking. First they tries one side, then they tries the other. Then + they gets up and shakes theirselves till the bus jerks them back again, + and there they are, a more 'opeless 'eap than ever. If I 'ad my way I'd + make every bus carry a female searcher as could over'aul 'em one at a + time, and take the money from 'em. Talk about the poor pickpocket. What I + say is, that a man as finds his way into a woman's pocket—well, he + deserves what he gets." + </p> + <p> + But it was the thought of more serious matters that lured me into + reflections concerning the over-carefulness of women. It is a theory of + mine—wrong possibly; indeed I have so been informed—that we + pick our way through life with too much care. We are for ever looking down + upon the ground. Maybe, we do avoid a stumble or two over a stone or a + brier, but also we miss the blue of the sky, the glory of the hills. These + books that good men write, telling us that what they call "success" in + life depends on our flinging aside our youth and wasting our manhood in + order that we may have the means when we are eighty of spending a + rollicking old age, annoy me. We save all our lives to invest in a South + Sea Bubble; and in skimping and scheming, we have grown mean, and narrow, + and hard. We will put off the gathering of the roses till tomorrow, to-day + it shall be all work, all bargain-driving, all plotting. Lo, when + to-morrow comes, the roses are blown; nor do we care for roses, idle + things of small marketable value; cabbages are more to our fancy by the + time to-morrow comes. + </p> + <p> + Life is a thing to be lived, not spent, to be faced, not ordered. Life is + not a game of chess, the victory to the most knowing; it is a game of + cards, one's hand by skill to be made the best of. Is it the wisest who is + always the most successful? I think not. The luckiest whist-player I ever + came across was a man who was never QUITE certain what were trumps, and + whose most frequent observation during the game was "I really beg your + pardon," addressed to his partner; a remark which generally elicited the + reply, "Oh, don't apologize. All's well that ends well." The man I knew + who made the most rapid fortune was a builder in the outskirts of + Birmingham, who could not write his name, and who, for thirty years of his + life, never went to bed sober. I do not say that forgetfulness of trumps + should be cultivated by whist-players. I think my builder friend might + have been even more successful had he learned to write his name, and had + he occasionally—not overdoing it—enjoyed a sober evening. All + I wish to impress is, that virtue is not the road to success—of the + kind we are dealing with. We must find other reasons for being virtuous; + maybe, there are some. The truth is, life is a gamble pure and simple, and + the rules we lay down for success are akin to the infallible systems with + which a certain class of idiot goes armed each season to Monte Carlo. We + can play the game with coolness and judgment, decide when to plunge and + when to stake small; but to think that wisdom will decide it, is to + imagine that we have discovered the law of chance. Let us play the game of + life as sportsmen, pocketing our winnings with a smile, leaving our + losings with a shrug. Perhaps that is why we have been summoned to the + board and the cards dealt round: that we may learn some of the virtues of + the good gambler; his self-control, his courage under misfortune, his + modesty under the strain of success, his firmness, his alertness, his + general indifference to fate. Good lessons these, all of them. If by the + game we learn some of them our time on the green earth has not been + wasted. If we rise from the table having learned only fretfulness and + self-pity I fear it has been. + </p> + <p> + The grim Hall Porter taps at the door: "Number Five hundred billion and + twenty-eight, your boatman is waiting, sir." + </p> + <p> + So! is it time already? We pick up our counters. Of what use are they? In + the country the other side of the river they are no tender. The blood-red + for gold, and the pale-green for love, to whom shall we fling them? Here + is some poor beggar longing to play, let us give them to him as we pass + out. Poor devil! the game will amuse him—for a while. + </p> + <p> + Keep your powder dry, and trust in Providence, is the motto of the wise. + Wet powder could never be of any possible use to you. Dry, it may be, WITH + the help of Providence. We will call it Providence, it is a prettier name + than Chance—perhaps also a truer. + </p> + <p> + Another mistake we make when we reason out our lives is this: we reason as + though we were planning for reasonable creatures. It is a big mistake. + Well-meaning ladies and gentlemen make it when they picture their ideal + worlds. When marriage is reformed, and the social problem solved, when + poverty and war have been abolished by acclamation, and sin and sorrow + rescinded by an overwhelming parliamentary majority! Ah, then the world + will be worthy of our living in it. You need not wait, ladies and + gentlemen, so long as you think for that time. No social revolution is + needed, no slow education of the people is necessary. It would all come + about to-morrow, IF ONLY WE WERE REASONABLE CREATURES. + </p> + <p> + Imagine a world of reasonable beings! The Ten Commandments would be + unnecessary: no reasoning being sins, no reasoning creature makes + mistakes. There would be no rich men, for what reasonable man cares for + luxury and ostentation? There would be no poor: that I should eat enough + for two while my brother in the next street, as good a man as I, starves, + is not reasonable. There would be no difference of opinion on any two + points: there is only one reason. You, dear Reader, would find, that on + all subjects you were of the same opinion as I. No novels would be + written, no plays performed; the lives of reasonable creatures do not + afford drama. No mad loves, no mad laughter, no scalding tears, no fierce + unreasoning, brief-lived joys, no sorrows, no wild dreams—only + reason, reason everywhere. + </p> + <p> + But for the present we remain unreasonable. If I eat this mayonnaise, + drink this champagne, I shall suffer in my liver. Then, why do I eat it? + Julia is a charming girl, amiable, wise, and witty; also she has a share + in a brewery. Then, why does John marry Ann? who is short-tempered, to say + the least of it, who, he feels, will not make him so good a house-wife, + who has extravagant notions, who has no little fortune. There is something + about Ann's chin that fascinates him—he could not explain to you + what. On the whole, Julia is the better-looking of the two. But the more + he thinks of Julia, the more he is drawn towards Ann. So Tom marries Julia + and the brewery fails, and Julia, on a holiday, contracts rheumatic fever, + and is a helpless invalid for life; while Ann comes in for ten thousand + pounds left to her by an Australian uncle no one had ever heard of. + </p> + <p> + I have been told of a young man, who chose his wife with excellent care. + Said he to himself, very wisely, "In the selection of a wife a man cannot + be too circumspect." He convinced himself that the girl was everything a + helpmate should be. She had every virtue that could be expected in a + woman, no faults, but such as are inseparable from a woman. Speaking + practically, she was perfection. He married her, and found she was all he + had thought her. Only one thing could he urge against her—that he + did not like her. And that, of course, was not her fault. + </p> + <p> + How easy life would be did we know ourselves. Could we always be sure that + tomorrow we should think as we do today. We fall in love during a summer + holiday; she is fresh, delightful, altogether charming; the blood rushes + to our head every time we think of her. Our ideal career is one of + perpetual service at her feet. It seems impossible that Fate could bestow + upon us any greater happiness than the privilege of cleaning her boots, + and kissing the hem of her garment—if the hem be a little muddy that + will please us the more. We tell her our ambition, and at that moment + every word we utter is sincere. But the summer holiday passes, and with it + the holiday mood, and winter finds us wondering how we are going to get + out of the difficulty into which we have landed ourselves. Or worse still, + perhaps, the mood lasts longer than is usual. We become formally engaged. + We marry—I wonder how many marriages are the result of a passion + that is burnt out before the altar-rails are reached?—and three + months afterwards the little lass is broken-hearted to find that we + consider the lacing of her boots a bore. Her feet seem to have grown + bigger. There is no excuse for us, save that we are silly children, never + sure of what we are crying for, hurting one another in our play, crying + very loudly when hurt ourselves. + </p> + <p> + I knew an American lady once who used to bore me with long accounts of the + brutalities exercised upon her by her husband. She had instituted divorce + proceedings against him. The trial came on, and she was highly successful. + We all congratulated her, and then for some months she dropped out of my + life. But there came a day when we again found ourselves together. One of + the problems of social life is to know what to say to one another when we + meet; every man and woman's desire is to appear sympathetic and clever, + and this makes conversation difficult, because, taking us all round, we + are neither sympathetic nor clever—but this by the way. + </p> + <p> + Of course, I began to talk to her about her former husband. I asked her + how he was getting on. She replied that she thought he was very + comfortable. + </p> + <p> + "Married again?" I suggested. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," she answered. + </p> + <p> + "Serve him right," I exclaimed, "and his wife too." She was a pretty, + bright-eyed little woman, my American friend, and I wished to ingratiate + myself. "A woman who would marry such a man, knowing what she must have + known of him, is sure to make him wretched, and we may trust him to be a + curse to her." + </p> + <p> + My friend seemed inclined to defend him. + </p> + <p> + "I think he is greatly improved," she argued. + </p> + <p> + "Nonsense!" I returned, "a man never improves. Once a villain, always a + villain." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, hush!" she pleaded, "you mustn't call him that." + </p> + <p> + "Why not?" I answered. "I have heard you call him a villain yourself." + </p> + <p> + "It was wrong of me," she said, flushing. "I'm afraid he was not the only + one to be blamed; we were both foolish in those days, but I think we have + both learned a lesson." + </p> + <p> + I remained silent, waiting for the necessary explanation. + </p> + <p> + "You had better come and see him for yourself," she added, with a little + laugh; "to tell the truth, I am the woman who has married him. Tuesday is + my day, Number 2, K—— Mansions," and she ran off, leaving me + staring after her. + </p> + <p> + I believe an enterprising clergyman who would set up a little church in + the Strand, just outside the Law Courts, might do quite a trade, + re-marrying couples who had just been divorced. A friend of mine, a + respondent, told me he had never loved his wife more than on two occasions—the + first when she refused him, the second when she came into the witness-box + to give evidence against him. + </p> + <p> + "You are curious creatures, you men," remarked a lady once to another man + in my presence. "You never seem to know your own mind." + </p> + <p> + She was feeling annoyed with men generally. I do not blame her, I feel + annoyed with them myself sometimes. There is one man in particular I am + always feeling intensely irritated against. He says one thing, and acts + another. He will talk like a saint and behave like a fool, knows what is + right and does what is wrong. But we will not speak further of him. He + will be all he should be one day, and then we will pack him into a nice, + comfortably-lined box, and screw the lid down tight upon him, and put him + away in a quiet little spot near a church I know of, lest he should get up + and misbehave himself again. + </p> + <p> + The other man, who is a wise man as men go, looked at his fair critic with + a smile. + </p> + <p> + "My dear madam," he replied, "you are blaming the wrong person. I confess + I do not know my mind, and what little I do know of it I do not like. I + did not make it, I did not select it. I am more dissatisfied with it than + you can possibly be. It is a greater mystery to me than it is to you, and + I have to live with it. You should pity not blame me." + </p> + <p> + There are moods in which I fall to envying those old hermits who frankly, + and with courageous cowardice, shirked the problem of life. There are days + when I dream of an existence unfettered by the thousand petty strings with + which our souls lie bound to Lilliputia land. I picture myself living in + some Norwegian sater, high above the black waters of a rockbound fiord. No + other human creature disputes with me my kingdom. I am alone with the + whispering fir forests and the stars. How I live I am not quite sure. Once + a month I could journey down into the villages and return laden. I should + not need much. For the rest, my gun and fishing-rod would supply me. I + would have with me a couple of big dogs, who would talk to me with their + eyes, so full of dumb thought, and together we would wander over the + uplands, seeking our dinner, after the old primitive fashion of the men + who dreamt not of ten-course dinners and Savoy suppers. I would cook the + food myself, and sit down to the meal with a bottle of good wine, such as + starts a man's thoughts (for I am inconsistent, as I acknowledge, and that + gift of civilization I would bear with me into my hermitage). Then in the + evening, with pipe in mouth, beside my log-wood fire, I would sit and + think, until new knowledge came to me. Strengthened by those silent voices + that are drowned in the roar of Streetland, I might, perhaps, grow into + something nearer to what it was intended that a man should be—might + catch a glimpse, perhaps, of the meaning of life. + </p> + <p> + No, no, my dear lady, into this life of renunciation I would not take a + companion, certainly not of the sex you are thinking of, even would she + care to come, which I doubt. There are times when a man is better without + the woman, when a woman is better without the man. Love drags us from the + depths, makes men and women of us, but if we would climb a little nearer + to the stars we must say good-bye to it. We men and women do not show + ourselves to each other at our best; too often, I fear, at our worst. The + woman's highest ideal of man is the lover; to a man the woman is always + the possible beloved. We see each other's hearts, but not each other's + souls. In each other's presence we never shake ourselves free from the + earth. Match-making mother Nature is always at hand to prompt us. A woman + lifts us up into manhood, but there she would have us stay. "Climb up to + me," she cries to the lad, walking with soiled feet in muddy ways; "be a + true man that you may be worthy to walk by my side; be brave to protect + me, kind and tender, and true; but climb no higher, stay here by my side." + The martyr, the prophet, the leader of the world's forlorn hopes, she + would wake from his dream. Her arms she would fling about his neck holding + him down. + </p> + <p> + To the woman the man says, "You are my wife. Here is your America, within + these walls, here is your work, your duty." True, in nine hundred and + ninety-nine cases out of every thousand, but men and women are not made in + moulds, and the world's work is various. Sometimes to her sorrow, a + woman's work lies beyond the home. The duty of Mary was not to Joseph. + </p> + <p> + The hero in the popular novel is the young man who says, "I love you + better than my soul." Our favourite heroine in fiction is the woman who + cries to her lover, "I would go down into Hell to be with you." There are + men and women who cannot answer thus—the men who dream dreams, the + women who see visions—impracticable people from the Bayswater point + of view. But Bayswater would not be the abode of peace it is had it not + been for such. + </p> + <p> + Have we not placed sexual love on a pedestal higher than it deserves? It + is a noble passion, but it is not the noblest. There is a wider love by + the side of which it is but as the lamp illumining the cottage, to the + moonlight bathing the hills and valleys. There were two women once. This + is a play I saw acted in the daylight. They had been friends from + girlhood, till there came between them the usual trouble—a man. A + weak, pretty creature not worth a thought from either of them; but women + love the unworthy; there would be no over-population problem did they not; + and this poor specimen, ill-luck had ordained they should contend for. + </p> + <p> + Their rivalry brought out all that was worst in both of them. It is a + mistake to suppose love only elevates; it can debase. It was a mean + struggle for what to an onlooker must have appeared a remarkably + unsatisfying prize. The loser might well have left the conqueror to her + poor triumph, even granting it had been gained unfairly. But the old, + ugly, primeval passions had been stirred in these women, and the + wedding-bells closed only the first act. + </p> + <p> + The second is not difficult to guess. It would have ended in the Divorce + Court had not the deserted wife felt that a finer revenge would be secured + to her by silence. + </p> + <p> + In the third, after an interval of only eighteen months, the man died—the + first piece of good fortune that seems to have occurred to him personally + throughout the play. His position must have been an exceedingly anxious + one from the beginning. Notwithstanding his flabbiness, one cannot but + regard him with a certain amount of pity—not unmixed with amusement. + Most of life's dramas can be viewed as either farce or tragedy according + to the whim of the spectator. The actors invariably play them as tragedy; + but then that is the essence of good farce acting. + </p> + <p> + Thus was secured the triumph of legal virtue and the punishment of + irregularity, and the play might be dismissed as uninterestingly orthodox + were it not for the fourth act, showing how the wronged wife came to the + woman she had once wronged to ask and grant forgiveness. Strangely as it + may sound, they found their love for one another unchanged. They had been + long parted: it was sweet to hold each other's hands again. Two lonely + women, they agreed to live together. Those who knew them well in this + later time say that their life was very beautiful, filled with + graciousness and nobility. + </p> + <p> + I do not say that such a story could ever be common, but it is more + probable than the world might credit. Sometimes the man is better without + the woman, the woman without the man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE NOBILITY OF OURSELVES + </h2> + <p> + AN old Anglicized Frenchman, I used to meet often in my earlier + journalistic days, held a theory, concerning man's future state, that has + since come to afford me more food for reflection than, at the time, I + should have deemed possible. He was a bright-eyed, eager little man. One + felt no Lotus land could be Paradise to him. We build our heaven of the + stones of our desires: to the old, red-bearded Norseman, a foe to fight + and a cup to drain; to the artistic Greek, a grove of animated statuary; + to the Red Indian, his happy hunting ground; to the Turk, his harem; to + the Jew, his New Jerusalem, paved with gold; to others, according to their + taste, limited by the range of their imagination. + </p> + <p> + Few things had more terrors for me, when a child, than Heaven—as + pictured for me by certain of the good folks round about me. I was told + that if I were a good lad, kept my hair tidy, and did not tease the cat, I + would probably, when I died, go to a place where all day long I would sit + still and sing hymns. (Think of it! as reward to a healthy boy for being + good.) There would be no breakfast and no dinner, no tea and no supper. + One old lady cheered me a little with a hint that the monotony might be + broken by a little manna; but the idea of everlasting manna palled upon + me, and my suggestions, concerning the possibilities of sherbet or + jumbles, were scouted as irreverent. There would be no school, but also + there would be no cricket and no rounders. I should feel no desire, so I + was assured, to do another angel's "dags" by sliding down the heavenly + banisters. My only joy would be to sing. + </p> + <p> + "Shall we start singing the moment we get up in the morning?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "There won't be any morning," was the answer. "There will be no day and no + night. It will all be one long day without end." + </p> + <p> + "And shall we always be singing?" I persisted. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, you will be so happy, you will always want to sing." + </p> + <p> + "Shan't I ever get tired?" + </p> + <p> + "No, you will never get tired, and you will never get sleepy or hungry or + thirsty." + </p> + <p> + "And does it go on like that for ever?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, for ever and ever." + </p> + <p> + "Will it go on for a million years?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, a million years, and then another million years, and then another + million years after that. There will never be any end to it." + </p> + <p> + I can remember to this day the agony of those nights, when I would lie + awake, thinking of this endless heaven, from which there seemed to be no + possible escape. For the other place was equally eternal, or I might have + been tempted to seek refuge there. + </p> + <p> + We grown-up folk, our brains dulled by the slowly acquired habit of not + thinking, do wrong to torture children with these awful themes. Eternity, + Heaven, Hell are meaningless words to us. We repeat them, as we gabble our + prayers, telling our smug, self-satisfied selves that we are miserable + sinners. But to the child, the "intelligent stranger" in the land, seeking + to know, they are fearful realities. If you doubt me, Reader, stand by + yourself, beneath the stars, one night, and SOLVE this thought, Eternity. + Your next address shall be the County Lunatic Asylum. + </p> + <p> + My actively inclined French friend held cheerier views than are common of + man's life beyond the grave. His belief was that we were destined to + constant change, to everlasting work. We were to pass through the older + planets, to labour in the greater suns. + </p> + <p> + But for such advanced career a more capable being was needed. No one of us + was sufficient, he argued, to be granted a future existence all to + himself. His idea was that two or three or four of us, according to our + intrinsic value, would be combined to make a new and more important + individuality, fitted for a higher existence. Man, he pointed out, was + already a collection of the beasts. "You and I," he would say, tapping + first my chest and then his own, "we have them all here—the ape, the + tiger, the pig, the motherly hen, the gamecock, the good ant; we are all, + rolled into one. So the man of the future, he will be made up of many men—the + courage of one, the wisdom of another, the kindliness of a third." + </p> + <p> + "Take a City man," he would continue, "say the Lord Mayor; add to him a + poet, say Swinburne; mix them with a religious enthusiast, say General + Booth. There you will have the man fit for the higher life." + </p> + <p> + Garibaldi and Bismarck, he held, should make a very fine mixture, + correcting one another; if needful, extract of Ibsen might be added, as + seasoning. He thought that Irish politicians would mix admirably with + Scotch divines; that Oxford Dons would go well with lady novelists. He was + convinced that Count Tolstoi, a few Gaiety Johnnies (we called them + "mashers" in those days), together with a humourist—he was kind + enough to suggest myself—would produce something very choice. Queen + Elizabeth, he fancied, was probably being reserved to go—let us hope + in the long distant future—with Ouida. It sounds a whimsical theory, + set down here in my words, not his; but the old fellow was so much in + earnest that few of us ever thought to laugh as he talked. Indeed, there + were moments on starry nights, as walking home from the office, we would + pause on Waterloo Bridge to enjoy the witchery of the long line of the + Embankment lights, when I could almost believe, as I listened to him, in + the not impossibility of his dreams. + </p> + <p> + Even as regards this world, it would often be a gain, one thinks, and no + loss, if some half-dozen of us were rolled together, or boiled down, or + whatever the process necessary might be, and something made out of us in + that way. + </p> + <p> + Have not you, my fair Reader, sometimes thought to yourself what a + delightful husband Tom this, plus Harry that, plus Dick the other, would + make? Tom is always so cheerful and good-tempered, yet you feel that in + the serious moments of life he would be lacking. A delightful hubby when + you felt merry, yes; but you would not go to him for comfort and strength + in your troubles, now would you? No, in your hour of sorrow, how good it + would be to have near you grave, earnest Harry. He is a "good sort," + Harry. Perhaps, after all, he is the best of the three—solid, + staunch, and true. What a pity he is just a trifle commonplace and + unambitious. Your friends, not knowing his sterling hidden qualities, + would hardly envy you; and a husband that no other girl envies you—well, + that would hardly be satisfactory, would it? Dick, on the other hand, is + clever and brilliant. He will make his way; there will come a day, you are + convinced, when a woman will be proud to bear his name. If only he were + not so self-centred, if only he were more sympathetic. + </p> + <p> + But a combination of the three, or rather of the best qualities of the + three—Tom's good temper, Harry's tender strength, Dick's brilliant + masterfulness: that is the man who would be worthy of you. + </p> + <p> + The woman David Copperfield wanted was Agnes and Dora rolled into one. He + had to take them one after the other, which was not so nice. And did he + really love Agnes, Mr. Dickens; or merely feel he ought to? Forgive me, + but I am doubtful concerning that second marriage of Copperfield's. Come, + strictly between ourselves, Mr. Dickens, was not David, good human soul! + now and again a wee bit bored by the immaculate Agnes? She made him an + excellent wife, I am sure. SHE never ordered oysters by the barrel, + unopened. It would, on any day, have been safe to ask Traddles home to + dinner; in fact, Sophie and the whole rose-garden might have accompanied + him, Agnes would have been equal to the occasion. The dinner would have + been perfectly cooked and served, and Agnes' sweet smile would have + pervaded the meal. But AFTER the dinner, when David and Traddles sat + smoking alone, while from the drawing-room drifted down the notes of + high-class, elevating music, played by the saintly Agnes, did they never, + glancing covertly towards the empty chair between them, see the laughing, + curl-framed face of a very foolish little woman—one of those foolish + little women that a wise man thanks God for making—and wish, in + spite of all, that it were flesh and blood, not shadow? + </p> + <p> + Oh, you foolish wise folk, who would remodel human nature! Cannot you see + how great is the work given unto childish hands? Think you that in + well-ordered housekeeping and high-class conversation lies the whole + making of a man? Foolish Dora, fashioned by clever old magician Nature, + who knows that weakness and helplessness are as a talisman calling forth + strength and tenderness in man, trouble yourself not unduly about those + oysters nor the underdone mutton, little woman. Good plain cooks at twenty + pounds a year will see to these things for us; and, now and then, when a + windfall comes our way, we will dine together at a moderate-priced + restaurant where these things are managed even better. Your work, Dear, is + to teach us gentleness and kindliness. Lay your curls here, child. It is + from such as you that we learn wisdom. Foolish wise folk sneer at you; + foolish wise folk would pull up the useless lilies, the needless roses, + from the garden, would plant in their places only serviceable wholesome + cabbage. But the Gardener knowing better, plants the silly short-lived + flowers; foolish wise folk, asking for what purpose. + </p> + <p> + As for Agnes, Mr. Dickens, do you know what she always makes me think of? + You will not mind my saying?—the woman one reads about. Frankly, I + don't believe in her. I do not refer to Agnes in particular, but the woman + of whom she is a type, the faultless woman we read of. Women have many + faults, but, thank God, they have one redeeming virtue—they are none + of them faultless. + </p> + <p> + But the heroine of fiction! oh, a terrible dragon of virtue is she. May + heaven preserve us poor men, undeserving though we be, from a life with + the heroine of fiction. She is all soul, and heart, and intellect, with + never a bit of human nature to catch hold of her by. Her beauty, it appals + one, it is so painfully indescribable. Whence comes she, whither goes she, + why do we never meet her like? Of women I know a goodish few, and I look + among them for her prototype; but I find it not. They are charming, they + are beautiful, all these women that I know. It would not be right for me + to tell you, Ladies, the esteem and veneration with which I regard you + all. You yourselves, blushing, would be the first to cheek my ardour. But + yet, dear Ladies, seen even through my eyes, you come not near the ladies + that I read about. You are not—if I may be permitted an expressive + vulgarism—in the same street with them. Your beauty I can look upon, + and retain my reason—for whatever value that may be to me. Your + conversation, I admit, is clever and brilliant in the extreme; your + knowledge vast and various; your culture quite Bostonian; yet you do not—I + hardly know how to express it—you do not shine with the sixteen + full-moon-power of the heroine of fiction. You do not—and I thank + you for it—impress me with the idea that you are the only women on + earth. You, even you, possess tempers of your own. I am inclined to think + you take an interest in your clothes. I would not be sure, even, that you + do not mingle a little of "your own hair" (you know what I mean) with the + hair of your head. There is in your temperament a vein of vanity, a + suggestion of selfishness, a spice of laziness. I have known you a trifle + unreasonable, a little inconsiderate, slightly exacting. Unlike the + heroine of fiction, you have a certain number of human appetites and + instincts; a few human follies, perhaps, a human fault, or shall we say + two? In short, dear Ladies, you also, even as we men, are the children of + Adam and Eve. Tell me, if you know, where I may meet with this + supernatural sister of yours, this woman that one reads about. She never + keeps any one waiting while she does her back hair, she is never indignant + with everybody else in the house because she cannot find her own boots, + she never scolds the servants, she is never cross with the children, she + never slams the door, she is never jealous of her younger sister, she + never lingers at the gate with any cousin but the right one. + </p> + <p> + Dear me, where DO they keep them, these women that one reads about? I + suppose where they keep the pretty girl of Art. You have seen her, have + you not, Reader, the pretty girl in the picture? She leaps the six-barred + gate with a yard and a half to spare, turning round in her saddle the + while to make some smiling remark to the comic man behind, who, of course, + is standing on his head in the ditch. She floats gracefully off Dieppe on + stormy mornings. Her baigneuse—generally of chiffon and old point + lace—has not lost a curve. The older ladies, bathing round her, look + wet. Their dress clings damply to their limbs. But the pretty girl of Art + dives, and never a curl of her hair is disarranged. The pretty girl of Art + stands lightly on tip-toe and volleys a tennis-ball six feet above her + head. The pretty girl of Art keeps the head of the punt straight against a + stiff current and a strong wind. SHE never gets the water up her sleeve, + and down her back, and all over the cushions. HER pole never sticks in the + mud, with the steam launch ten yards off and the man looking the other + way. The pretty girl of Art skates in high-heeled French shoes at an angle + of forty-five to the surface of the ice, both hands in her muff. SHE never + sits down plump, with her feet a yard apart, and says "Ough." The pretty + girl of Art drives tandem down Piccadilly, during the height of the + season, at eighteen miles an hour. It never occurs to HER leader that the + time has now arrived for him to turn round and get into the cart. The + pretty girl of Art rides her bicycle through the town on market day, + carrying a basket of eggs, and smiling right and left. SHE never throws + away both her handles and runs into a cow. The pretty girl of Art goes + trout fishing in open-work stockings, under a blazing sun, with a bunch of + dew-bespangled primroses in her hair; and every time she gracefully flicks + her rod she hauls out a salmon. SHE never ties herself up to a tree, or + hooks the dog. SHE never comes home, soaked and disagreeable, to tell you + that she caught six, but put them all back again, because they were merely + two or three-pounders, and not worth the trouble of carrying. The pretty + girl of Art plays croquet with one hand, and looks as if she enjoyed the + game. SHE never tries to accidentally kick her ball into position when + nobody is noticing, or stands it out that she is through a hoop that she + knows she isn't. + </p> + <p> + She is a good, all-round sportswoman, is the pretty girl in the picture. + The only thing I have to say against her is that she makes one + dissatisfied with the girl out of the picture—the girl who mistakes + a punt for a teetotum, so that you land feeling as if you had had a day in + the Bay of Biscay; and who, every now and again, stuns you with the thick + end of the pole: the girl who does not skate with her hands in her muff; + but who, throwing them up to heaven, says, "I'm going," and who goes, + taking care that you go with her: the girl who, as you brush her down, and + try to comfort her, explains to you indignantly that the horse took the + corner too sharply and never noticed the mile-stone; the girl whose hair + sea water does NOT improve. + </p> + <p> + There can be no doubt about it: that is where they keep the good woman of + Fiction, where they keep the pretty girl of Art. + </p> + <p> + Does it not occur to you, Messieurs les Auteurs, that you are sadly + disturbing us? These women that are a combination of Venus, St. Cecilia, + and Elizabeth Fry! you paint them for us in your glowing pages: it is not + kind of you, knowing, as you must, the women we have to put up with. + </p> + <p> + Would we not be happier, we men and women, were we to idealize one another + less? My dear young lady, you have nothing whatever to complain to Fate + about, I assure you. Unclasp those pretty hands of yours, and come away + from the darkening window. Jack is as good a fellow as you deserve; don't + yearn so much. Sir Galahad, my dear—Sir Galahad rides and fights in + the land that lies beyond the sunset, far enough away from this noisy + little earth where you and I spend much of our time tittle-tattling, + flirting, wearing fine clothes, and going to shows. And besides, you must + remember, Sir Galahad was a bachelor: as an idealist he was wise. Your + Jack is by no means a bad sort of knight, as knights go nowadays in this + un-idyllic world. There is much solid honesty about him, and he does not + pose. He is not exceptional, I grant you; but, my dear, have you ever + tried the exceptional man? Yes, he is very nice in a drawing-room, and it + is interesting to read about him in the Society papers: you will find most + of his good qualities there: take my advice, don't look into him too + closely. You be content with Jack, and thank heaven he is no worse. We are + not saints, we men—none of us, and our beautiful thoughts, I fear, + we write in poetry not action. The White Knight, my dear young lady, with + his pure soul, his heroic heart, his life's devotion to a noble endeavour, + does not live down here to any great extent. They have tried it, one or + two of them, and the world—you and I: the world is made up of you + and I—has generally starved, and hooted them. There are not many of + them left now: do you think you would care to be the wife of one, + supposing one were to be found for you? Would you care to live with him in + two furnished rooms in Clerkenwell, die with him on a chair bedstead? A + century hence they will put up a statue to him, and you may be honoured as + the wife who shared with him his sufferings. Do you think you are woman + enough for that? If not, thank your stars you have secured, for your own + exclusive use, one of us UNexceptional men, who knows no better than to + admire you. YOU are not exceptional. + </p> + <p> + And in us ordinary men there is some good. It wants finding, that is all. + We are not so commonplace as you think us. Even your Jack, fond of his + dinner, his conversation four-cornered by the Sporting Press—yes, I + agree he is not interesting, as he sits snoring in the easy-chair; but, + believe it or not, there are the makings of a great hero in Jack, if Fate + would but be kinder to him, and shake him out of his ease. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Jekyll contained beneath his ample waist-coat not two egos, but three—not + only Hyde but another, a greater than Jekyll—a man as near to the + angels as Hyde was to the demons. These well-fed City men, these Gaiety + Johnnies, these plough-boys, apothecaries, thieves! within each one lies + hidden the hero, did Fate, the sculptor, choose to use his chisel. That + little drab we have noticed now and then, our way taking us often past the + end of the court, there was nothing by which to distinguish her. She was + not over-clean, could use coarse language on occasion—just the spawn + of the streets: take care lest the cloak of our child should brush her. + </p> + <p> + One morning the district Coroner, not, generally speaking, a poet himself, + but an adept at discovering poetry buried under unlikely rubbish-heaps, + tells us more about her. She earned six shillings a week, and upon it + supported a bed-ridden mother and three younger children. She was + housewife, nurse, mother, breadwinner, rolled into one. Yes, there are + heroines OUT of fiction. + </p> + <p> + So loutish Tom has won the Victoria Cross—dashed out under a storm + of bullets and rescued the riddled flag. Who would have thought it of + loutish Tom? The village alehouse one always deemed the goal of his + endeavours. Chance comes to Tom and we find him out. To Harry the Fates + were less kind. A ne'er-do-well was Harry—drank, knocked his wife + about, they say. Bury him, we are well rid of him, he was good for + nothing. Are we sure? + </p> + <p> + Let us acknowledge we are sinners. We know, those of us who dare to + examine ourselves, that we are capable of every meanness, of every wrong + under the sun. It is by the accident of circumstance, aided by the helpful + watchfulness of the policeman, that our possibilities of crime are known + only to ourselves. But having acknowledged our evil, let us also + acknowledge that we are capable of greatness. The martyrs who faced death + and torture unflinchingly for conscience' sake, were men and women like + ourselves. They had their wrong side. Before the small trials of daily + life they no doubt fell as we fall. By no means were they the pick of + humanity. Thieves many of them had been, and murderers, evil-livers, and + evil-doers. But the nobility was there also, lying dormant, and their day + came. Among them must have been men who had cheated their neighbours over + the counter; men who had been cruel to their wives and children; selfish, + scandal-mongering women. In easier times their virtue might never have + been known to any but their Maker. + </p> + <p> + In every age and in every period, when and where Fate has called upon men + and women to play the man, human nature has not been found wanting. They + were a poor lot, those French aristocrats that the Terror seized: + cowardly, selfish, greedy had been their lives. Yet there must have been + good, even in them. When the little things that in their little lives they + had thought so great were swept away from them, when they found themselves + face to face with the realities; then even they played the man. Poor + shuffling Charles the First, crusted over with weakness and folly, deep + down in him at last we find the great gentleman. + </p> + <p> + I like to hear stories of the littleness of great men. I like to think + that Shakespeare was fond of his glass. I even cling to the tale of that + disgraceful final orgie with friend Ben Jonson. Possibly the story may not + be true, but I hope it was. I like to think of him as poacher, as village + ne'er-do-well, denounced by the local grammar-school master, preached at + by the local J. P. of the period. I like to reflect that Cromwell had a + wart on his nose; the thought makes me more contented with my own + features. I like to think that he put sweets upon the chairs, to see + finely-dressed ladies spoil their frocks; to tell myself that he roared + with laughter at the silly jest, like any East End 'Arry with his Bank + Holiday squirt of dirty water. I like to read that Carlyle threw bacon at + his wife and occasionally made himself highly ridiculous over small + annoyances, that would have been smiled at by a man of well-balanced mind. + I think of the fifty foolish things a week <i>I</i> do, and say to myself, + "I, too, am a literary man." + </p> + <p> + I like to think that even Judas had his moments of nobility, his good + hours when he would willingly have laid down his life for his Master. + Perhaps even to him there came, before the journey's end, the memory of a + voice saying—"Thy sins be forgiven thee." There must have been good, + even in Judas. + </p> + <p> + Virtue lies like the gold in quartz, there is not very much of it, and + much pains has to be spent on the extracting of it. But Nature seems to + think it worth her while to fashion these huge useless stones, if in them + she may hide away her precious metals. Perhaps, also, in human nature, she + cares little for the mass of dross, provided that by crushing and + cleansing she can extract from it a little gold, sufficient to repay her + for the labour of the world. We wonder why she troubles to make the stone. + Why cannot the gold lie in nuggets on the surface? But her methods are + secrets to us. Perchance there is a reason for the quartz. Perchance there + is a reason for the evil and folly, through which run, unseen to the + careless eye, the tiny veins of virtue. + </p> + <p> + Aye, the stone predominates, but the gold is there. We claim to have it + valued. The evil that there is in man no tongue can tell. We are vile + among the vile, a little evil people. But we are great. Pile up the bricks + of our sins till the tower knocks at Heaven's gate, calling for vengeance, + yet we are great—with a greatness and a virtue that the untempted + angels may not reach to. The written history of the human race, it is one + long record of cruelty, of falsehood, of oppression. Think you the world + would be spinning round the sun unto this day, if that written record were + all? Sodom, God would have spared had there been found ten righteous men + within its walls. The world is saved by its just men. History sees them + not; she is but the newspaper, a report of accidents. Judge you life by + that? Then you shall believe that the true Temple of Hymen is the Divorce + Court; that men are of two classes only, the thief and the policeman; that + all noble thought is but a politician's catchword. History sees only the + destroying conflagrations, she takes no thought of the sweet fire-sides. + History notes the wrong; but the patient suffering, the heroic endeavour, + that, slowly and silently, as the soft processes of Nature re-clothing + with verdure the passion-wasted land, obliterate that wrong, she has no + eyes for. In the days of cruelty and oppression—not altogether yet + of the past, one fears—must have lived gentle-hearted men and women, + healing with their help and sympathy the wounds that else the world had + died of. After the thief, riding with jingle of sword and spur, comes, + mounted on his ass, the good Samaritan. The pyramid of the world's evil—God + help us! it rises high, shutting out almost the sun. But the record of + man's good deeds, it lies written in the laughter of the children, in the + light of lovers' eyes, in the dreams of the young men; it shall not be + forgotten. The fires of persecution served as torches to show Heaven the + heroism that was in man. From the soil of tyranny sprang self-sacrifice, + and daring for the Right. Cruelty! what is it but the vile manure, making + the ground ready for the flowers of tenderness and pity? Hate and Anger + shriek to one another across the ages, but the voices of Love and Comfort + are none the less existent that they speak in whispers, lips to ear. + </p> + <p> + We have done wrong, oh, ye witnessing Heavens, but we have done good. We + claim justice. We have laid down our lives for our friends: greater love + hath no man than this. We have fought for the Right. We have died for the + Truth—as the Truth seemed to us. We have done noble deeds; we have + lived noble lives; we have comforted the sorrowful; we have succoured the + weak. Failing, falling, making in our blindness many a false step, yet we + have striven. For the sake of the army of just men and true, for the sake + of the myriads of patient, loving women, for the sake of the pitiful and + helpful, for the sake of the good that lies hidden within us,—spare + us, O Lord. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE MOTHERLINESS OF MAN + </h2> + <p> + It was only a piece of broken glass. From its shape and colour, I should + say it had, in its happier days, formed portion of a cheap scent-bottle. + Lying isolated on the grass, shone upon by the early morning sun, it + certainly appeared at its best. It attracted him. + </p> + <p> + He cocked his head, and looked at it with his right eye. Then he hopped + round to the other side, and looked at it with his left eye. With either + optic it seemed equally desirable. + </p> + <p> + That he was an inexperienced young rook goes without saying. An older bird + would not have given a second glance to the thing. Indeed, one would have + thought his own instinct might have told him that broken glass would be a + mistake in a bird's nest. But its glitter drew him too strongly for + resistance. I am inclined to suspect that at some time, during the growth + of his family tree, there must have occurred a mesalliance, perhaps worse. + Possibly a strain of magpie blood?—one knows the character of + magpies, or rather their lack of character—and such things have + happened. But I will not pursue further so painful a train: I throw out + the suggestion as a possible explanation, that is all. + </p> + <p> + He hopped nearer. Was it a sweet illusion, this flashing fragment of + rainbow; a beautiful vision to fade upon approach, typical of so much that + is un-understandable in rook life? He made a dart forward and tapped it + with his beak. No, it was real—as fine a lump of jagged green glass + as any newly-married rook could desire, and to be had for the taking. SHE + would be pleased with it. He was a well-meaning bird; the mere upward + inclination of his tail suggested earnest though possibly ill-directed + endeavour. + </p> + <p> + He turned it over. It was an awkward thing to carry; it had so very many + corners. But he succeeded at last in getting it firmly between his beak, + and in haste, lest some other bird should seek to dispute with him its + possession, at once flew off with it. + </p> + <p> + A second rook who had been watching the proceedings from the lime tree, + called to a third who was passing. Even with my limited knowledge of the + language I found it easy to follow the conversation: it was so obvious. + </p> + <p> + "Issachar!" + </p> + <p> + "Hallo!" + </p> + <p> + "What do you think? Zebulan's found a piece of broken bottle. He's going + to line his nest with it." + </p> + <p> + "No!" + </p> + <p> + "God's truth. Look at him. There he goes, he's got it in his beak." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I'm ——!" + </p> + <p> + And they both burst into a laugh. + </p> + <p> + But Zebulan heeded them not. If he overheard, he probably put down the + whole dialogue to jealousy. He made straight for his tree. By standing + with my left cheek pressed close against the window-pane, I was able to + follow him. He is building in what we call the Paddock elms—a suburb + commenced only last season, but rapidly growing. I wanted to see what his + wife would say. + </p> + <p> + At first she said nothing. He laid it carefully down on the branch near + the half-finished nest, and she stretched up her head and looked at it. + </p> + <p> + Then she looked at him. For about a minute neither spoke. I could see that + the situation was becoming strained. When she did open her beak, it was + with a subdued tone, that had a vein of weariness running through it. + </p> + <p> + "What is it?" she asked. + </p> + <p> + He was evidently chilled by her manner. As I have explained, he is an + inexperienced young rook. This is clearly his first wife, and he stands + somewhat in awe of her. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I don't exactly know what it's CALLED," he answered. + </p> + <p> + "Oh." + </p> + <p> + "No. But it's pretty, isn't it?" he added. He moved it, trying to get it + where the sun might reach it. It was evident he was admitting to himself + that, seen in the shade, it lost much of its charm. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, yes; very pretty," was the rejoinder; "perhaps you'll tell me what + you're going to do with it." + </p> + <p> + The question further discomforted him. It was growing upon him that this + thing was not going to be the success he had anticipated. It would be + necessary to proceed warily. + </p> + <p> + "Of course, it's not a twig," he began. + </p> + <p> + "I see it isn't." + </p> + <p> + "No. You see, the nest is nearly all twigs as it is, and I thought—" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, you did think." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, my dear. I thought—unless you are of opinion that it's too + showy—I thought we might work it in somewhere." + </p> + <p> + Then she flared out. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, did you? You thought that a good idea. An A1 prize idiot I seem to + have married, I do. You've been gone twenty minutes, and you bring me back + an eight-cornered piece of broken glass, which you think we might 'work + into' the nest. You'd like to see me sitting on it for a month, you would. + You think it would make a nice bed for the children to lie on. You don't + think you could manage to find a packet of mixed pins if you went down + again, I suppose. They'd look pretty 'worked in' somewhere, don't you + think?—Here, get out of my way. I'll finish this nest by myself." + She always had been short with him. + </p> + <p> + She caught up the offending object—it was a fairly heavy lump of + glass—and flung it out of the tree with all her force. I heard it + crash through the cucumber frame. That makes the seventh pane of glass + broken in that cucumber frame this week. The couple in the branch above + are the worst. Their plan of building is the most extravagant, the most + absurd I ever heard of. They hoist up ten times as much material as they + can possibly use; you might think they were going to build a block, and + let it out in flats to the other rooks. Then what they don't want they + fling down again. Suppose we built on such a principle? Suppose a human + husband and wife were to start erecting their house in Piccadilly Circus, + let us say; and suppose the man spent all the day steadily carrying bricks + up the ladder while his wife laid them, never asking her how many she + wanted, whether she didn't think he had brought up sufficient, but just + accumulating bricks in a senseless fashion, bringing up every brick he + could find. And then suppose, when evening came, and looking round, they + found they had some twenty cart-loads of bricks lying unused upon the + scaffold, they were to commence flinging them down into Waterloo Place. + They would get themselves into trouble; somebody would be sure to speak to + them about it. Yet that is precisely what those birds do, and nobody says + a word to them. They are supposed to have a President. He lives by himself + in the yew tree outside the morning-room window. What I want to know is + what he is supposed to be good for. This is the sort of thing I want him + to look into. I would like him to be worming underneath one evening when + those two birds are tidying up: perhaps he would do something then. I have + done all I can. I have thrown stones at them, that, in the course of + nature, have returned to earth again, breaking more glass. I have blazed + at them with a revolver; but they have come to regard this proceeding as a + mere expression of light-heartedness on my part, possibly confusing me + with the Arab of the Desert, who, I am given to understand, expresses + himself thus in moments of deep emotion. They merely retire to a safe + distance to watch me; no doubt regarding me as a poor performer, inasmuch + as I do not also dance and shout between each shot. I have no objection to + their building there, if they only would build sensibly. I want somebody + to speak to them to whom they will pay attention. + </p> + <p> + You can hear them in the evening, discussing the matter of this surplus + stock. + </p> + <p> + "Don't you work any more," he says, as he comes up with the last load, + "you'll tire yourself." + </p> + <p> + "Well, I am feeling a bit done up," she answers, as she hops out of the + nest and straightens her back. + </p> + <p> + "You're a bit peckish, too, I expect," he adds sympathetically. "I know I + am. We will have a scratch down, and be off." + </p> + <p> + "What about all this stuff?" she asks, while titivating herself; "we'd + better not leave it about, it looks so untidy." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, we'll soon get rid of that," he answers. "I'll have that down in a + jiffy." + </p> + <p> + To help him, she seizes a stick and is about to drop it. He darts forward + and snatches it from her. + </p> + <p> + "Don't you waste that one," he cries, "that's a rare one, that is. You see + me hit the old man with it." + </p> + <p> + And he does. What the gardener says, I will leave you to imagine. + </p> + <p> + Judged from its structure, the rook family is supposed to come next in + intelligence to man himself. Judging from the intelligence displayed by + members of certain human families with whom I have come in contact, I can + quite believe it. That rooks talk I am positive. No one can spend + half-an-hour watching a rookery without being convinced of this. Whether + the talk be always wise and witty, I am not prepared to maintain; but that + there is a good deal of it is certain. A young French gentleman of my + acquaintance, who visited England to study the language, told me that the + impression made upon him by his first social evening in London was that of + a parrot-house. Later on, when he came to comprehend, he, of course, + recognized the brilliancy and depth of the average London drawing-room + talk; but that is how, not comprehending, it impressed him at first. + Listening to the riot of a rookery is much the same experience. The + conversation to us sounds meaningless; the rooks themselves would probably + describe it as sparkling. + </p> + <p> + There is a Misanthrope I know who hardly ever goes into Society. I argued + the question with him one day. "Why should I?" he replied; "I know, say, a + dozen men and women with whom intercourse is a pleasure; they have ideas + of their own which they are not afraid to voice. To rub brains with such + is a rare and goodly thing, and I thank Heaven for their friendship; but + they are sufficient for my leisure. What more do I require? What is this + 'Society' of which you all make so much ado? I have sampled it, and I find + it unsatisfying. Analyze it into its elements, what is it? Some person I + know very slightly, who knows me very slightly, asks me to what you call + an 'At Home.' The evening comes, I have done my day's work and I have + dined. I have been to a theatre or concert, or I have spent a pleasant + hour or so with a friend. I am more inclined for bed than anything else, + but I pull myself together, dress, and drive to the house. While I am + taking off my hat and coat in the hall, a man enters I met a few hours ago + at the Club. He is a man I have very little opinion of, and he, probably, + takes a similar view of me. Our minds have no thought in common, but as it + is necessary to talk, I tell him it is a warm evening. Perhaps it is a + warm evening, perhaps it isn't; in either case he agrees with me. I ask + him if he is going to Ascot. I do not care a straw whether he is going to + Ascot or not. He says he is not quite sure, but asks me what chance + Passion Flower has for the Thousand Guineas. I know he doesn't value my + opinion on the subject at a brass farthing—he would be a fool if he + did, but I cudgel my brains to reply to him, as though he were going to + stake his shirt on my advice. We reach the first floor, and are mutually + glad to get rid of one another. I catch my hostess' eye. She looks tired + and worried; she would be happier in bed, only she doesn't know it. She + smiles sweetly, but it is clear she has not the slightest idea who I am, + and is waiting to catch my name from the butler. I whisper it to him. + Perhaps he will get it right, perhaps he won't; it is quite immaterial. + They have asked two hundred and forty guests, some seventy-five of whom + they know by sight, for the rest, any chance passer-by, able, as the + theatrical advertisements say, 'to dress and behave as a gentleman,' would + do every bit as well. Indeed, I sometimes wonder why people go to the + trouble and expense of invitation cards at all. A sandwich-man outside the + door would answer the purpose. 'Lady Tompkins, At Home, this afternoon + from three to seven; Tea and Music. Ladies and Gentlemen admitted on + presentation of visiting card. Afternoon dress indispensable.' The crowd + is the thing wanted; as for the items, well, tell me, what is the + difference, from the Society point of view, between one man in a black + frock-coat and another? + </p> + <p> + "I remember being once invited to a party at a house in Lancaster Gate. I + had met the woman at a picnic. In the same green frock and parasol I might + have recognized her the next time I saw her. In any other clothes I did + not expect to. My cabman took me to the house opposite, where they were + also giving a party. It made no difference to any of us. The hostess—I + never learnt her name—said it was very good of me to come, and then + shunted me off on to a Colonial Premier (I did not catch his name, and he + did not catch mine, which was not extraordinary, seeing that my hostess + did not know it) who, she whispered to me, had come over, from wherever it + was (she did not seem to be very sure) principally to make my + acquaintance. Half through the evening, and by accident, I discovered my + mistake, but judged it too late to say anything then. I met a couple of + people I knew, had a little supper with them, and came away. The next + afternoon I met my right hostess—the lady who should have been my + hostess. She thanked me effusively for having sacrificed the previous + evening to her and her friends; she said she knew how seldom I went out: + that made her feel my kindness all the more. She told me that the + Brazilian Minister's wife had told her that I was the cleverest man she + had ever met. I often think I should like to meet that man, whoever he may + be, and thank him. + </p> + <p> + "But perhaps the butler does pronounce my name rightly, and perhaps my + hostess actually does recognize me. She smiles, and says she was so afraid + I was not coming. She implies that all the other guests are but as a + feather in her scales of joy compared with myself. I smile in return, + wondering to myself how I look when I do smile. I have never had the + courage to face my own smile in the looking-glass. I notice the Society + smile of other men, and it is not reassuring. I murmur something about my + not having been likely to forget this evening; in my turn, seeking to + imply that I have been looking forward to it for weeks. A few men shine at + this sort of thing, but they are a small percentage, and without conceit I + regard myself as no bigger a fool than the average male. Not knowing what + else to say, I tell her also that it is a warm evening. She smiles archly + as though there were some hidden witticism in the remark, and I drift + away, feeling ashamed of myself. To talk as an idiot when you ARE an idiot + brings no discomfort; to behave as an idiot when you have sufficient sense + to know it, is painful. I hide myself in the crowd, and perhaps I'll meet + a woman I was introduced to three weeks ago at a picture gallery. We don't + know each other's names, but, both of us feeling lonesome, we converse, as + it is called. If she be the ordinary type of woman, she asks me if I am + going on to the Johnsons'. I tell her no. We stand silent for a moment, + both thinking what next to say. She asks me if I was at the Thompsons' the + day before yesterday. I again tell her no. I begin to feel dissatisfied + with myself that I was not at the Thompsons'. Trying to get even with her, + I ask her if she is going to the Browns' next Monday. (There are no + Browns, she will have to say, No.) She is not, and her tone suggests that + a social stigma rests upon the Browns. I ask her if she has been to + Barnum's Circus; she hasn't, but is going. I give her my impressions of + Barnum's Circus, which are precisely the impressions of everybody else who + has seen the show. + </p> + <p> + "Or if luck be against me, she is possibly a smart woman, that is to say, + her conversation is a running fire of spiteful remarks at the expense of + every one she knows, and of sneers at the expense of every one she + doesn't. I always feel I could make a better woman myself, out of a bottle + of vinegar and a penn'orth of mixed pins. Yet it usually takes one about + ten minutes to get away from her. + </p> + <p> + "Even when, by chance, one meets a flesh-and-blood man or woman at such + gatherings, it is not the time or place for real conversation; and as for + the shadows, what person in their senses would exhaust a single brain cell + upon such? I remember a discussion once concerning Tennyson, considered as + a social item. The dullest and most densely-stupid bore I ever came across + was telling how he had sat next to Tennyson at dinner. 'I found him a most + uninteresting man,' so he confided to us; 'he had nothing to say for + himself—absolutely nothing.' I should like to resuscitate Dr. Samuel + Johnson for an evening, and throw him into one of these 'At Homes' of + yours." + </p> + <p> + My friend is an admitted misanthrope, as I have explained; but one cannot + dismiss him as altogether unjust. That there is a certain mystery about + Society's craving for Society must be admitted. I stood one evening trying + to force my way into the supper room of a house in Berkeley Square. A + lady, hot and weary, a few yards in front of me was struggling to the same + goal. + </p> + <p> + "Why," remarked she to her companion, "why do we come to these places, and + fight like a Bank Holiday crowd for eighteenpenny-worth of food?" + </p> + <p> + "We come here," replied the man, whom I judged to be a philosopher, "to + say we've been here." + </p> + <p> + I met A——- the other evening, and asked him to dine with me on + Monday. I don't know why I ask A——- to dine with me, but about + once a month I do. He is an uninteresting man. + </p> + <p> + "I can't," he said, "I've got to go to the B——-s'; confounded + nuisance, it will be infernally dull." + </p> + <p> + "Why go?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "I really don't know," he replied. + </p> + <p> + A little later B——- met me, and asked me to dine with him on + Monday. + </p> + <p> + "I can't," I answered, "some friends are coming to us that evening. It's a + duty dinner, you know the sort of thing." + </p> + <p> + "I wish you could have managed it," he said, "I shall have no one to talk + to. The A——-s are coming, and they bore me to death." + </p> + <p> + "Why do you ask him?" I suggested. + </p> + <p> + "Upon my word, I really don't know," he replied. + </p> + <p> + But to return to our rooks. We were speaking of their social instincts. + Some dozen of them—the "scallywags" and bachelors of the community, + I judge them to be—have started a Club. For a month past I have been + trying to understand what the affair was. Now I know: it is a Club. + </p> + <p> + And for their Club House they have chosen, of course, the tree nearest my + bedroom window. I can guess how that came about; it was my own fault, I + never thought of it. About two months ago, a single rook—suffering + from indigestion or an unhappy marriage, I know not—chose this tree + one night for purposes of reflection. He woke me up: I felt angry. I + opened the window, and threw an empty soda-water bottle at him. Of course + it did not hit him, and finding nothing else to throw, I shouted at him, + thinking to frighten him away. He took no notice, but went on talking to + himself. I shouted louder, and woke up my own dog. The dog barked + furiously, and woke up most things within a quarter of a mile. I had to go + down with a boot-jack—the only thing I could find handy—to + soothe the dog. Two hours later I fell asleep from exhaustion. I left the + rook still cawing. + </p> + <p> + The next night he came again. I should say he was a bird with a sense of + humour. Thinking this might happen, I had, however, taken the precaution + to have a few stones ready. I opened the window wide, and fired them one + after another into the tree. After I had closed the window, he hopped down + nearer, and cawed louder than ever. I think he wanted me to throw more + stones at him: he appeared to regard the whole proceeding as a game. On + the third night, as I heard nothing of him, I flattered myself that, in + spite of his bravado, I had discouraged him. I might have known rooks + better. + </p> + <p> + What happened when the Club was being formed, I take it, was this: + </p> + <p> + "Where shall we fix upon for our Club House?" said the secretary, all + other points having been disposed of. One suggested this tree, another + suggested that. Then up spoke this particular rook: + </p> + <p> + "I'll tell you where," said he, "in the yew tree opposite the porch. And + I'll tell you for why. Just about an hour before dawn a man comes to the + window over the porch, dressed in the most comical costume you ever set + eyes upon. I'll tell you what he reminds me of—those little statues + that men use for decorating fields. He opens the window, and throws a lot + of things out upon the lawn, and then he dances and sings. It's awfully + interesting, and you can see it all from the yew tree." + </p> + <p> + That, I am convinced, is how the Club came to fix upon the tree next my + window. I have had the satisfaction of denying them the exhibition they + anticipated, and I cheer myself with the hope that they have visited their + disappointment upon their misleader. + </p> + <p> + There is a difference between Rook Clubs and ours. In our clubs the + respectable members arrive early, and leave at a reasonable hour; in Rook + Clubs, it would appear, this principle is reversed. The Mad Hatter would + have liked this Club—it would have been a club after his own heart. + It opens at half-past two in the morning, and the first to arrive are the + most disreputable members. In Rook-land the rowdy-dowdy, randy-dandy, + rollicky-ranky boys get up very early in the morning and go to bed in the + afternoon. Towards dawn, the older, more orderly members drop in for + reasonable talk, and the Club becomes more respectable. The tree closes + about six. For the first two hours, however, the goings-on are + disgraceful. The proceedings, as often as not, open with a fight. If no + two gentlemen can be found to oblige with a fight, the next noisiest thing + to fall back upon is held to be a song. It is no satisfaction to me to be + told that rooks cannot sing. <i>I</i> know that, without the trouble of + referring to the natural history book. It is the rook who does not know + it; HE thinks he can; and as a matter of fact, he does. You can criticize + his singing, you can call it what you like, but you can't stop it—at + least, that is my experience. The song selected is sure to be one with a + chorus. Towards the end it becomes mainly chorus, unless the soloist be an + extra powerful bird, determined to insist upon his rights. + </p> + <p> + The President knows nothing of this Club. He gets up himself about seven—three + hours after all the others have finished breakfast—and then fusses + round under the impression that he is waking up the colony, the fat-headed + old fool. He is the poorest thing in Presidents I have ever heard of. A + South American Republic would supply a better article. The rooks + themselves, the married majority, fathers of families, respectable + nestholders, are as indignant as I am. I hear complaints from all + quarters. + </p> + <p> + Reflection comes to one as, towards the close of these chill afternoons in + early spring, one leans upon the paddock gate watching the noisy bustling + in the bare elms. + </p> + <p> + So the earth is growing green again, and love is come again unto the + hearts of us old sober-coated fellows. Oh, Madam, your feathers gleam + wondrous black, and your bonnie bright eye stabs deep. Come, sit by our + side, and we'll tell you a tale such as rook never told before. It's the + tale of a nest in a topmost bough, that sways in the good west wind. It's + strong without, but it's soft within, where the little green eggs lie + safe. And there sits in that nest a lady sweet, and she caws with joy, + for, afar, she sees the rook she loves the best. Oh, he has been east, and + he has been west, and his crop it is full of worms and slugs, and they are + all for her. + </p> + <p> + We are old, old rooks, so many of us. The white is mingling with the + purple black upon our breasts. We have seen these tall elms grow from + saplings; we have seen the old trees fall and die. Yet each season come to + us again the young thoughts. So we mate and build and gather that again + our old, old hearts may quiver to the thin cry of our newborn. + </p> + <p> + Mother Nature has but one care, the children. We talk of Love as the Lord + of Life: it is but the Minister. Our novels end where Nature's tale + begins. The drama that our curtain falls upon, is but the prologue to her + play. How the ancient Dame must laugh as she listens to the prattle of her + children. "Is Marriage a Failure?" "Is Life worth Living?" "The New Woman + versus the Old." So, perhaps, the waves of the Atlantic discuss vehemently + whether they shall flow east or west. + </p> + <p> + Motherhood is the law of the Universe. The whole duty of man is to be a + mother. We labour: to what end? the children—the woman in the home, + the man in the community. The nation takes thought for its future: why? In + a few years its statesmen, its soldiers, its merchants, its toilers, will + be gathered unto their fathers. Why trouble we ourselves about the future? + The country pours its blood and treasure into the earth that the children + may reap. Foolish Jacques Bonhomie, his addled brain full of dreams, + rushes with bloody hands to give his blood for Liberty, Equality, + Fraternity. He will not live to see, except in vision, the new world he + gives his bones to build—even his spinning word-whipped head knows + that. But the children! they shall live sweeter lives. The peasant leaves + his fireside to die upon the battle-field. What is it to him, a grain in + the human sand, that Russia should conquer the East, that Germany should + be united, that the English flag should wave above new lands? the heritage + his fathers left him shall be greater for his sons. Patriotism! what is it + but the mother instinct of a people? + </p> + <p> + Take it that the decree has gone forth from Heaven: There shall be no more + generations, with this life the world shall die. Think you we should move + another hand? The ships would rot in the harbours, the grain would rot in + the ground. Should we paint pictures, write books, make music? hemmed in + by that onward creeping sea of silence. Think you with what eyes husband + and wife would look on one another. Think you of the wooing—the + spring of Love dried up; love only a pool of stagnant water. + </p> + <p> + How little we seem to realize this foundation of our life. Herein, if + nowhere else, lies our eternity. This Ego shall never die—unless the + human race from beginning to end be but a passing jest of the Gods, to be + swept aside when wearied of, leaving room for new experiments. These + features of mine—we will not discuss their aesthetic value—shall + never disappear; modified, varied, but in essential the same, they shall + continue in ever increasing circles to the end of Time. This temperament + of mine—this good and evil that is in me, it shall grow with every + age, spreading ever wider, combining, amalgamating. I go into my children + and my children's children, I am eternal. I am they, they are I. The tree + withers and you clear the ground, thankful if out of its dead limbs you + can make good firewood; but its spirit, its life, is in fifty saplings. + The tree dies not, it changes. + </p> + <p> + These men and women that pass me in the street, this one hurrying to his + office, this one to his club, another to his love, they are the mothers of + the world to come. + </p> + <p> + This greedy trickster in stocks and shares, he cheats, he lies, he wrongs + all men—for what? Follow him to his luxurious home in the suburbs: + what do you find? A man with children on his knee, telling them stories, + promising them toys. His anxious, sordid life, for what object is it + lived? That these children may possess the things that he thinks good for + them. Our very vices, side by side with our virtues, spring from this one + root, Motherhood. It is the one seed of the Universe. The planets are but + children of the sun, the moon but an offspring of the earth, stone of her + stone, iron of her iron. What is the Great Centre of us all, life animate + and inanimate—if any life be inanimate? Is the eternal universe one + dim figure, Motherhood, filling all space? + </p> + <p> + This scheming Mother of Mayfair, angling for a rich son-in-law! Not a + pleasing portrait to look upon, from one point of view. Let us look at it, + for a moment, from another. How weary she must be! This is her third + "function" to-night; the paint is running off her poor face. She has been + snubbed a dozen times by her social superiors, openly insulted by a + Duchess; yet she bears it with a patient smile. It is a pitiful ambition, + hers: it is that her child shall marry money, shall have carriages and + many servants, live in Park Lane, wear diamonds, see her name in the + Society Papers. At whatever cost to herself, her daughter shall, if + possible, enjoy these things. She could so much more comfortably go to + bed, and leave the child to marry some well-to-do commercial traveller. + Justice, Reader, even for such. Her sordid scheming is but the deformed + child of Motherhood. + </p> + <p> + Motherhood! it is the gamut of God's orchestra, savageness and cruelty at + the one end, tenderness and self-sacrifice at the other. + </p> + <p> + The sparrow-hawk fights the hen: he seeking food for his brood, she + defending hers with her life. The spider sucks the fly to feed its myriad + young; the cat tortures the mouse to give its still throbbing carcase to + her kittens, and man wrongs man for children's sake. Perhaps when the riot + of the world reaches us whole, not broken, we shall learn it is a harmony, + each jangling discord fallen into its place around the central theme, + Motherhood. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE INADVISABILITY OF FOLLOWING ADVICE + </h2> + <p> + I was pacing the Euston platform late one winter's night, waiting for the + last train to Watford, when I noticed a man cursing an automatic machine. + Twice he shook his fist at it. I expected every moment to see him strike + it. Naturally curious, I drew near softly. I wanted to catch what he was + saying. However, he heard my approaching footsteps, and turned on me. "Are + you the man," said he, "who was here just now?" + </p> + <p> + "Just where?" I replied. I had been pacing up and down the platform for + about five minutes. + </p> + <p> + "Why here, where we are standing," he snapped out. "Where do you think + 'here' is—over there?" He seemed irritable. + </p> + <p> + "I may have passed this spot in the course of my peregrinations, if that + is what you mean," I replied. I spoke with studied politeness; my idea was + to rebuke his rudeness. + </p> + <p> + "I mean," he answered, "are you the man that spoke to me, just a minute + ago?" + </p> + <p> + "I am not that man," I said; "good-night." + </p> + <p> + "Are you sure?" he persisted. + </p> + <p> + "One is not likely to forget talking to you," I retorted. + </p> + <p> + His tone had been most offensive. "I beg your pardon," he replied + grudgingly. "I thought you looked like the man who spoke to me a minute or + so ago." + </p> + <p> + I felt mollified; he was the only other man on the platform, and I had a + quarter of an hour to wait. "No, it certainly wasn't me," I returned + genially, but ungrammatically. "Why, did you want him?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, I did," he answered. "I put a penny in the slot here," he continued, + feeling apparently the need of unburdening himself: "wanted a box of + matches. I couldn't get anything put, and I was shaking the machine, and + swearing at it, as one does, when there came along a man, about your size, + and—you're SURE it wasn't you?" + </p> + <p> + "Positive," I again ungrammatically replied; "I would tell you if it had + been. What did he do?" + </p> + <p> + "Well, he saw what had happened, or guessed it. He said, 'They are + troublesome things, those machines; they want understanding.' I said, + 'They want taking up and flinging into the sea, that's what they want!' I + was feeling mad because I hadn't a match about me, and I use a lot. He + said, 'They stick sometimes; the thing to do is to put another penny in; + the weight of the first penny is not always sufficient. The second penny + loosens the drawer and tumbles out itself; so that you get your purchase + together with your first penny back again. I have often succeeded that + way.' Well, it seemed a silly explanation, but he talked as if he had been + weaned by an automatic machine, and I was sawney enough to listen to him. + I dropped in what I thought was another penny. I have just discovered it + was a two-shilling piece. The fool was right to a certain extent; I have + got something out. I have got this." + </p> + <p> + He held it towards me; I looked at it. It was a packet of Everton toffee. + </p> + <p> + "Two and a penny," he remarked, bitterly. "I'll sell it for a third of + what it cost me." + </p> + <p> + "You have put your money into the wrong machine," I suggested. + </p> + <p> + "Well, I know that!" he answered, a little crossly, as it seemed to me—he + was not a nice man: had there been any one else to talk to I should have + left him. "It isn't losing the money I mind so much; it's getting this + damn thing, that annoys me. If I could find that idiot Id ram it down his + throat." + </p> + <p> + We walked to the end of the platform, side by side, in silence. + </p> + <p> + "There are people like that," he broke out, as we turned, "people who will + go about, giving advice. I'll be getting six months over one of them, I'm + always afraid. I remember a pony I had once." (I judged the man to be a + small farmer; he talked in a wurzelly tone. I don't know if you understand + what I mean, but an atmosphere of wurzels was the thing that somehow he + suggested.) "It was a thoroughbred Welsh pony, as sound a little beast as + ever stepped. I'd had him out to grass all the winter, and one day in the + early spring I thought I'd take him for a run. I had to go to Amersham on + business. I put him into the cart, and drove him across; it is just ten + miles from my place. He was a bit uppish, and had lathered himself pretty + freely by the time we reached the town. + </p> + <p> + "A man was at the door of the hotel. He says, 'That's a good pony of + yours.' + </p> + <p> + "'Pretty middling,' I says. + </p> + <p> + "'It doesn't do to over-drive 'em, when they're young,' he says. + </p> + <p> + "I says, 'He's done ten miles, and I've done most of the pulling. I reckon + I'm a jolly sight more exhausted than he is. + </p> + <p> + "I went inside and did my business, and when I came out the man was still + there. 'Going back up the hill?' he says to me. + </p> + <p> + "Somehow, I didn't cotton to him from the beginning. 'Well, I've got to + get the other side of it,' I says, 'and unless you know any patent way of + getting over a hill without going up it, I reckon I am.' + </p> + <p> + "He says, 'You take my advice: give him a pint of old ale before you + start.' + </p> + <p> + "'Old ale,' I says; 'why he's a teetotaler.' + </p> + <p> + "'Never you mind that,' he answers; 'you give him a pint of old ale. I + know these ponies; he's a good 'un, but he ain't set. A pint of old ale, + and he'll take you up that hill like a cable tramway, and not hurt + himself.' + </p> + <p> + "I don't know what it is about this class of man. One asks oneself + afterwards why one didn't knock his hat over his eyes and run his head + into the nearest horse-trough. But at the time one listens to them. I got + a pint of old ale in a hand-bowl, and brought it out. About half-a-dozen + chaps were standing round, and of course there was a good deal of chaff. + </p> + <p> + "'You're starting him on the downward course, Jim,' says one of them. + 'He'll take to gambling, rob a bank, and murder his mother. That's always + the result of a glass of ale, 'cording to the tracts.' + </p> + <p> + "'He won't drink it like that,' says another; 'it's as flat as ditch + water. Put a head on it for him.' + </p> + <p> + "'Ain't you got a cigar for him?' says a third. + </p> + <p> + "'A cup of coffee and a round of buttered toast would do him a sight more + good, a cold day like this,' says a fourth. + </p> + <p> + "I'd half a mind then to throw the stuff away, or drink it myself; it + seemed a piece of bally nonsense, giving good ale to a four-year-old pony; + but the moment the beggar smelt the bowl he reached out his head, and + lapped it up as though he'd been a Christian; and I jumped into the cart + and started off, amid cheers. We got up the hill pretty steady. Then the + liquor began to work into his head. I've taken home a drunken man more + than once and there's pleasanter jobs than that. I've seen a drunken + woman, and they're worse. But a drunken Welsh pony I never want to have + anything more to do with so long as I live. Having four legs he managed to + hold himself up; but as to guiding himself, he couldn't; and as for + letting me do it, he wouldn't. First we were one side of the road, and + then we were the other. When we were not either side, we were crossways in + the middle. I heard a bicycle bell behind me, but I dared not turn my + head. All I could do was to shout to the fellow to keep where he was. + </p> + <p> + "'I want to pass you,' he sang out, so soon as he was near enough. + </p> + <p> + "'Well, you can't do it,' I called back. + </p> + <p> + "'Why can't I?' he answered. 'How much of the road do YOU want?' + </p> + <p> + "'All of it and a bit over,' I answered him, 'for this job, and nothing in + the way.' + </p> + <p> + "He followed me for half-a-mile, abusing me; and every time he thought he + saw a chance he tried to pass me. But the pony was always a bit too smart + for him. You might have thought the brute was doing it on purpose. + </p> + <p> + "'You're not fit to be driving,' he shouted. He was quite right; I wasn't. + I was feeling just about dead beat. + </p> + <p> + "'What do you think you are?' he continued, 'the charge of the Light + Brigade?' (He was a common sort of fellow.) 'Who sent YOU home with the + washing?' + </p> + <p> + "Well, he was making me wild by this time. 'What's the good of talking to + me?' I shouted back. 'Come and blackguard the pony if you want to + blackguard anybody. I've got all I can do without the help of that alarm + clock of yours. Go away, you're only making him worse.' + </p> + <p> + "'What's the matter with the pony?' he called out. + </p> + <p> + "'Can't you see?' I answered. 'He's drunk.' + </p> + <p> + "Well, of course it sounded foolish; the truth often does. + </p> + <p> + "'One of you's drunk,' he retorted; 'for two pins I'd come and haul you + out of the cart.' + </p> + <p> + "I wish to goodness he had; I'd have given something to be out of that + cart. But he didn't have the chance. At that moment the pony gave a sudden + swerve; and I take it he must have been a bit too close. I heard a yell + and a curse, and at the same instant I was splashed from head to foot with + ditch water. Then the brute bolted. A man was coming along, asleep on the + top of a cart-load of windsor chairs. It's disgraceful the way those + wagoners go to sleep; I wonder there are not more accidents. I don't think + he ever knew what had happened to him. I couldn't look round to see what + became of him; I only saw him start. Half-way down the hill a policeman + holla'd to me to stop. I heard him shouting out something about furious + driving. Half-a-mile this side of Chesham we came upon a girls' school + walking two and two—a 'crocodile' they call it, I think. I bet you + those girls are still talking about it. It must have taken the old woman a + good hour to collect them together again. + </p> + <p> + "It was market-day in Chesham; and I guess there has not been a busier + market-day in Chesham before or since. We went through the town at about + thirty miles an hour. I've never seen Chesham so lively—it's a + sleepy hole as a rule. A mile outside the town I sighted the High Wycombe + coach. I didn't feel I minded much; I had got to that pass when it didn't + seem to matter to me what happened; I only felt curious. A dozen yards off + the coach the pony stopped dead; that jerked me off the seat to the bottom + of the cart. I couldn't get up, because the seat was on top of me. I could + see nothing but the sky, and occasionally the head of the pony, when he + stood upon his hind legs. But I could hear what the driver of the coach + said, and I judged he was having trouble also. + </p> + <p> + "'Take that damn circus out of the road,' he shouted. If he'd had any + sense he'd have seen how helpless I was. I could hear his cattle plunging + about; they are like that, horses—if they see one fool, then they + all want to be fools. + </p> + <p> + "'Take it home, and tie it up to its organ,' shouted the guard. + </p> + <p> + "Then an old woman went into hysterics, and began laughing like an hyena. + That started the pony off again, and, as far as I could calculate by + watching the clouds, we did about another four miles at the gallop. Then + he thought he'd try to jump a gate, and finding, I suppose, that the cart + hampered him, he started kicking it to pieces. I'd never have thought a + cart could have been separated into so many pieces, if I hadn't seen it + done. When he had got rid of everything but half a wheel and the + splashboard he bolted again. I remained behind with the other ruins, and + glad I was to get a little rest. He came back later in the afternoon, and + I was pleased to sell him the next week for a five-pound-note: it cost me + about another ten to repair myself. + </p> + <p> + "To this day I am chaffed about that pony, and the local temperance + society made a lecture out of me. That's what comes of following advice." + </p> + <p> + I sympathized with him. I have suffered from advice myself. I have a + friend, a City man, whom I meet occasionally. One of his most ardent + passions in life is to make my fortune. He button-holes me in Threadneedle + Street. "The very man I wanted to see," he says; "I'm going to let you in + for a good thing. We are getting up a little syndicate." He is for ever + "getting up" a little syndicate, and for every hundred pounds you put into + it you take a thousand out. Had I gone into all his little syndicates, I + could have been worth at the present moment, I reckon, two million five + hundred thousand pounds. But I have not gone into all his little + syndicates. I went into one, years ago, when I was younger. I am still in + it; my friend is confident that my holding, later on, will yield me + thousands. Being, however, hard-up for ready money, I am willing to part + with my share to any deserving person at a genuine reduction, upon a cash + basis. Another friend of mine knows another man who is "in the know" as + regards racing matters. I suppose most people possess a friend of this + type. He is generally very popular just before a race, and extremely + unpopular immediately afterwards. A third benefactor of mine is an + enthusiast upon the subject of diet. One day he brought me something in a + packet, and pressed it into my hand with the air of a man who is relieving + you of all your troubles. + </p> + <p> + "What is it?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Open it and see," he answered, in the tone of a pantomime fairy. + </p> + <p> + I opened it and looked, but I was no wiser. + </p> + <p> + "It's tea," he explained. + </p> + <p> + "Oh!" I replied; "I was wondering if it could be snuff." + </p> + <p> + "Well, it's not exactly tea," he continued, "it's a sort of tea. You take + one cup of that—one cup, and you will never care for any other kind + of tea again." + </p> + <p> + He was quite right, I took one cup. After drinking it I felt I didn't care + for any other tea. I felt I didn't care for anything, except to die + quietly and inoffensively. He called on me a week later. + </p> + <p> + "You remember that tea I gave you?" he said. + </p> + <p> + "Distinctly," I answered; "I've got the taste of it in my mouth now." + </p> + <p> + "Did it upset you?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "It annoyed me at the time," I answered; "but that's all over now." + </p> + <p> + He seemed thoughtful. "You were quite correct," he answered; "it WAS + snuff, a very special snuff, sent me all the way from India." + </p> + <p> + "I can't say I liked it," I replied. + </p> + <p> + "A stupid mistake of mine," he went on—"I must have mixed up the + packets!" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, accidents will happen," I said, "and you won't make another mistake, + I feel sure; so far as I am concerned." + </p> + <p> + We can all give advice. I had the honour once of serving an old gentleman + whose profession it was to give legal advice, and excellent legal advice + he always gave. In common with most men who know the law, he had little + respect for it. I have heard him say to a would-be litigant— + </p> + <p> + "My dear sir, if a villain stopped me in the street and demanded of me my + watch and chain, I should refuse to give it to him. If he thereupon said, + 'Then I shall take it from you by brute force,' I should, old as I am, I + feel convinced, reply to him, 'Come on.' But if, on the other hand, he + were to say to me, 'Very well, then I shall take proceedings against you + in the Court of Queen's Bench to compel you to give it up to me,' I should + at once take it from my pocket, press it into his hand, and beg of him to + say no more about the matter. And I should consider I was getting off + cheaply." + </p> + <p> + Yet that same old gentleman went to law himself with his next-door + neighbour over a dead poll parrot that wasn't worth sixpence to anybody, + and spent from first to last a hundred pounds, if he spent a penny. + </p> + <p> + "I know I'm a fool," he confessed. "I have no positive proof that it WAS + his cat; but I'll make him pay for calling me an Old Bailey Attorney, + hanged if I don't!" + </p> + <p> + We all know how the pudding OUGHT to be made. We do not profess to be able + to make it: that is not our business. Our business is to criticize the + cook. It seems our business to criticize so many things that it is not our + business to do. We are all critics nowadays. I have my opinion of you, + Reader, and you possibly have your own opinion of me. I do not seek to + know it; personally, I prefer the man who says what he has to say of me + behind my back. I remember, when on a lecturing tour, the ground-plan of + the hall often necessitated my mingling with the audience as they streamed + out. This never happened but I would overhear somebody in front of me + whisper to his or her companion—"Take care, he's just behind you." I + always felt so grateful to that whisperer. + </p> + <p> + At a Bohemian Club, I was once drinking coffee with a Novelist, who + happened to be a broad-shouldered, athletic man. A fellow-member, joining + us, said to the Novelist, "I have just finished that last book of yours; + I'll tell you my candid opinion of it." Promptly replied the Novelist, "I + give you fair warning—if you do, I shall punch your head." We never + heard that candid opinion. + </p> + <p> + Most of our leisure time we spend sneering at one another. It is a wonder, + going about as we do with our noses so high in the air, we do not walk off + this little round world into space, all of us. The Masses sneer at the + Classes. The morals of the Classes are shocking. If only the Classes would + consent as a body to be taught behaviour by a Committee of the Masses, how + very much better it would be for them. If only the Classes would neglect + their own interests and devote themselves to the welfare of the Masses, + the Masses would be more pleased with them. + </p> + <p> + The Classes sneer at the Masses. If only the Masses would follow the + advice given them by the Classes; if only they would be thrifty on their + ten shillings a week; if only they would all be teetotalers, or drink old + claret, which is not intoxicating; if only all the girls would be domestic + servants on five pounds a year, and not waste their money on feathers; if + only the men would be content to work for fourteen hours a day, and to + sing in tune, "God bless the Squire and his relations," and would consent + to be kept in their proper stations, all things would go swimmingly—for + the Classes. + </p> + <p> + The New Woman pooh-poohs the Old; the Old Woman is indignant with the New. + The Chapel denounces the Stage; the Stage ridicules Little Bethel; the + Minor Poet sneers at the world; the world laughs at the Minor Poet. + </p> + <p> + Man criticizes Woman. We are not altogether pleased with woman. We discuss + her shortcomings, we advise her for her good. If only English wives would + dress as French wives, talk as American wives, cook as German wives! if + only women would be precisely what we want them to be—patient and + hard-working, brilliantly witty and exhaustively domestic, bewitching, + amenable, and less suspicious; how very much better it would be for them—also + for us. We work so hard to teach them, but they will not listen. Instead + of paying attention to our wise counsel, the tiresome creatures are + wasting their time criticizing us. It is a popular game, this game of + school. All that is needful is a doorstep, a cane, and six other children. + The difficulty is the six other children. Every child wants to be the + schoolmaster; they will keep jumping up, saying it is their turn. + </p> + <p> + Woman wants to take the stick now, and put man on the doorstep. There are + one or two things she has got to say to him. He is not at all the man she + approves of. He must begin by getting rid of all his natural desires and + propensities; that done, she will take him in hand and make of him—not + a man, but something very much superior. + </p> + <p> + It would be the best of all possible worlds if everybody would only follow + our advice. I wonder, would Jerusalem have been the cleanly city it is + reported, if, instead of troubling himself concerning his own + twopenny-halfpenny doorstep, each citizen had gone out into the road and + given eloquent lectures to all the other inhabitants on the subject of + sanitation? + </p> + <p> + We have taken to criticizing the Creator Himself of late. The world is + wrong, we are wrong. If only He had taken our advice, during those first + six days! + </p> + <p> + Why do I seem to have been scooped out and filled up with lead? Why do I + hate the smell of bacon, and feel that nobody cares for me? It is because + champagne and lobsters have been made wrong. + </p> + <p> + Why do Edwin and Angelina quarrel? It is because Edwin has been given a + fine, high-spirited nature that will not brook contradiction; while + Angelina, poor girl, has been cursed with contradictory instincts. + </p> + <p> + Why is excellent Mr. Jones brought down next door to beggary? Mr. Jones + had an income of a thousand a year, secured by the Funds. But there came + along a wicked Company promoter (why are wicked Company promoters + permitted?) with a prospectus, telling good Mr. Jones how to obtain a + hundred per cent. for his money by investing it in some scheme for the + swindling of Mr. Jones's fellow-citizens. + </p> + <p> + The scheme does not succeed; the people swindled turn out, contrary to the + promise of the prospectus, to be Mr. Jones and his fellow-investors. Why + does Heaven allow these wrongs? + </p> + <p> + Why does Mrs. Brown leave her husband and children, to run off with the + New Doctor? It is because an ill-advised Creator has given Mrs. Brown and + the New Doctor unduly strong emotions. Neither Mrs. Brown nor the New + Doctor are to be blamed. If any human being be answerable it is, probably, + Mrs. Brown's grandfather, or some early ancestor of the New Doctor's. + </p> + <p> + We shall criticize Heaven when we get there. I doubt if any of us will be + pleased with the arrangements; we have grown so exceedingly critical. + </p> + <p> + It was once said of a very superior young man that he seemed to be under + the impression that God Almighty had made the universe chiefly to hear + what he would say about it. Consciously or unconsciously, most of us are + of this way of thinking. It is an age of mutual improvement societies—a + delightful idea, everybody's business being to improve everybody else; of + amateur parliaments, of literary councils, of playgoers' clubs. + </p> + <p> + First Night criticism seems to have died out of late, the Student of the + Drama having come to the conclusion, possibly, that plays are not worth + criticizing. But in my young days we were very earnest at this work. We + went to the play, less with the selfish desire of enjoying our evening, + than with the noble aim of elevating the Stage. Maybe we did good, maybe + we were needed—let us think so. Certain it is, many of the old + absurdities have disappeared from the Theatre, and our rough-and-ready + criticism may have helped the happy dispatch. A folly is often served by + an unwise remedy. + </p> + <p> + The dramatist in those days had to reckon with his audience. Gallery and + Pit took an interest in his work such as Galleries and Pits no longer + take. I recollect witnessing the production of a very blood-curdling + melodrama at, I think, the old Queen's Theatre. The heroine had been given + by the author a quite unnecessary amount of conversation, so we + considered. The woman, whenever she appeared on the stage, talked by the + yard; she could not do a simple little thing like cursing the Villain + under about twenty lines. When the hero asked her if she loved him she + stood up and made a speech about it that lasted three minutes by the + watch. One dreaded to see her open her mouth. In the Third Act, somebody + got hold of her and shut her up in a dungeon. He was not a nice man, + speaking generally, but we felt he was the man for the situation, and the + house cheered him to the echo. We flattered ourselves we had got rid of + her for the rest of the evening. Then some fool of a turnkey came along, + and she appealed to him, through the grating, to let her out for a few + minutes. The turnkey, a good but soft-hearted man, hesitated. + </p> + <p> + "Don't you do it," shouted one earnest Student of the Drama, from the + Gallery; "she's all right. Keep her there!" + </p> + <p> + The old idiot paid no attention to our advice; he argued the matter to + himself. "'Tis but a trifling request," he remarked; "and it will make her + happy." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, but what about us?" replied the same voice from the Gallery. "You + don't know her. You've only just come on; we've been listening to her all + the evening. She's quiet now, you let her be." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, let me out, if only for one moment!" shrieked the poor woman. "I have + something that I must say to my child." + </p> + <p> + "Write it on a bit of paper, and pass it out," suggested a voice from the + Pit. "We'll see that he gets it." + </p> + <p> + "Shall I keep a mother from her dying child?" mused the turnkey. "No, it + would be inhuman." + </p> + <p> + "No, it wouldn't," persisted the voice of the Pit; "not in this instance. + It's too much talk that has made the poor child ill." + </p> + <p> + The turnkey would not be guided by us. He opened the cell door amidst the + execrations of the whole house. She talked to her child for about five + minutes, at the end of which time it died. + </p> + <p> + "Ah, he is dead!" shrieked the distressed parent. + </p> + <p> + "Lucky beggar!" was the unsympathetic rejoinder of the house. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes the criticism of the audience would take the form of remarks, + addressed by one gentleman to another. We had been listening one night to + a play in which action seemed to be unnecessarily subordinated to + dialogue, and somewhat poor dialogue at that. Suddenly, across the + wearying talk from the stage, came the stentorian whisper— + </p> + <p> + "Jim!" + </p> + <p> + "Hallo!" + </p> + <p> + "Wake me up when the play begins." + </p> + <p> + This was followed by an ostentatious sound as of snoring. Then the voice + of the second speaker was heard— + </p> + <p> + "Sammy!" + </p> + <p> + His friend appeared to awake. + </p> + <p> + "Eh? Yes? What's up? Has anything happened?" + </p> + <p> + "Wake you up at half-past eleven in any event, I suppose?" + </p> + <p> + "Thanks, do, sonny." And the critic slept again. + </p> + <p> + Yes, we took an interest in our plays then. I wonder shall I ever enjoy + the British Drama again as I enjoyed it in those days? Shall I ever enjoy + a supper again as I enjoyed the tripe and onions washed down with bitter + beer at the bar of the old Albion? I have tried many suppers after the + theatre since then, and some, when friends have been in generous mood, + have been expensive and elaborate. The cook may have come from Paris, his + portrait may be in the illustrated papers, his salary may be reckoned by + hundreds; but there is something wrong with his art, for all that, I miss + a flavour in his meats. There is a sauce lacking. + </p> + <p> + Nature has her coinage, and demands payment in her own currency. At + Nature's shop it is you yourself must pay. Your unearned increment, your + inherited fortune, your luck, are not legal tenders across her counter. + </p> + <p> + You want a good appetite. Nature is quite willing to supply you. + "Certainly, sir," she replies, "I can do you a very excellent article + indeed. I have here a real genuine hunger and thirst that will make your + meal a delight to you. You shall eat heartily and with zest, and you shall + rise from the table refreshed, invigorated, and cheerful." + </p> + <p> + "Just the very thing I want," exclaims the gourmet delightedly. "Tell me + the price." + </p> + <p> + "The price," answers Mrs. Nature, "is one long day's hard work." + </p> + <p> + The customer's face falls; he handles nervously his heavy purse. + </p> + <p> + "Cannot I pay for it in money?" he asks. "I don't like work, but I am a + rich man, I can afford to keep French cooks, to purchase old wines." + </p> + <p> + Nature shakes her head. + </p> + <p> + "I cannot take your cheques, tissue and nerve are my charges. For these I + can give you an appetite that will make a rump-steak and a tankard of ale + more delicious to you than any dinner that the greatest chef in Europe + could put before you. I can even promise you that a hunk of bread and + cheese shall be a banquet to you; but you must pay my price in my money; I + do not deal in yours." + </p> + <p> + And next the Dilettante enters, demanding a taste for Art and Literature, + and this also Nature is quite prepared to supply. + </p> + <p> + "I can give you true delight in all these things," she answers. "Music + shall be as wings to you, lifting you above the turmoil of the world. + Through Art you shall catch a glimpse of Truth. Along the pleasant paths + of Literature you shall walk as beside still waters." + </p> + <p> + "And your charge?" cries the delighted customer. + </p> + <p> + "These things are somewhat expensive," replies Nature. "I want from you a + life lived simply, free from all desire of worldly success, a life from + which passion has been lived out; a life to which appetite has been + subdued." + </p> + <p> + "But you mistake, my dear lady," replies the Dilettante; "I have many + friends, possessed of taste, and they are men who do not pay this price + for it. Their houses are full of beautiful pictures, they rave about + 'nocturnes' and 'symphonies,' their shelves are packed with first + editions. Yet they are men of luxury and wealth and fashion. They trouble + much concerning the making of money, and Society is their heaven. Cannot I + be as one of these?" + </p> + <p> + "I do not deal in the tricks of apes," answers Nature coldly; "the culture + of these friends of yours is a mere pose, a fashion of the hour, their + talk mere parrot chatter. Yes, you can purchase such culture as this, and + pretty cheaply, but a passion for skittles would be of more service to + you, and bring you more genuine enjoyment. My goods are of a different + class. I fear we waste each other's time." + </p> + <p> + And next comes the boy, asking with a blush for love, and Nature's + motherly old heart goes out to him, for it is an article she loves to + sell, and she loves those who come to purchase it of her. So she leans + across the counter, smiling, and tells him that she has the very thing he + wants, and he, trembling with excitement, likewise asks the figure. + </p> + <p> + "It costs a good deal," explains Nature, but in no discouraging tone; "it + is the most expensive thing in all my shop." + </p> + <p> + "I am rich," replies the lad. "My father worked hard and saved, and he has + left me all his wealth. I have stocks and shares, and lands and factories; + and will pay any price in reason for this thing." + </p> + <p> + But Nature, looking graver, lays her hand upon his arm. + </p> + <p> + "Put by your purse, boy," she says, "my price is not a price in reason, + nor is gold the metal that I deal in. There are many shops in various + streets where your bank-notes will be accepted. But if you will take an + old woman's advice, you will not go to them. The thing they will sell you + will bring sorrow and do evil to you. It is cheap enough, but, like all + things cheap, it is not worth the buying. No man purchases it, only the + fool." + </p> + <p> + "And what is the cost of the thing YOU sell then?" asks the lad. + </p> + <p> + "Self-forgetfulness, tenderness, strength," answers the old Dame; "the + love of all things that are of good repute, the hate of all things evil—courage, + sympathy, self-respect, these things purchase love. Put by your purse, + lad, it will serve you in other ways, but it will not buy for you the + goods upon my shelves." + </p> + <p> + "Then am I no better off than the poor man?" demands the lad. + </p> + <p> + "I know not wealth or poverty as you understand it," answers Nature. "Here + I exchange realities only for realities. You ask for my treasures, I ask + for your brain and heart in exchange—yours, boy, not your father's, + not another's." + </p> + <p> + "And this price," he argues, "how shall I obtain it?" + </p> + <p> + "Go about the world," replies the great Lady. "Labour, suffer, help. Come + back to me when you have earned your wages, and according to how much you + bring me so we will do business." + </p> + <p> + Is real wealth so unevenly distributed as we think? Is not Fate the true + Socialist? Who is the rich man, who the poor? Do we know? Does even the + man himself know? Are we not striving for the shadow, missing the + substance? Take life at its highest; which was the happier man, rich + Solomon or poor Socrates? Solomon seems to have had most things that most + men most desire—maybe too much of some for his own comfort. Socrates + had little beyond what he carried about with him, but that was a good + deal. According to our scales, Solomon should have been one of the + happiest men that ever lived, Socrates one of the most wretched. But was + it so? + </p> + <p> + Or taking life at its lowest, with pleasure its only goal. Is my lord Tom + Noddy, in the stalls, so very much jollier than 'Arry in the gallery? Were + beer ten shillings the bottle, and champagne fourpence a quart, which, + think you, we should clamour for? If every West End Club had its skittle + alley, and billiards could only be played in East End pubs, which game, my + lord, would you select? Is the air of Berkeley Square so much more + joy-giving than the atmosphere of Seven Dials? I find myself a piquancy in + the air of Seven Dials, missing from Berkeley Square. Is there so vast a + difference between horse-hair and straw, when you are tired? Is happiness + multiplied by the number of rooms in one's house? Are Lady Ermintrude's + lips so very much sweeter than Sally's of the Alley? What IS success in + life? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON THE PLAYING OF MARCHES AT THE FUNERALS OF MARIONETTES + </h2> + <p> + He began the day badly. He took me out and lost me. It would be so much + better, would he consent to the usual arrangement, and allow me to take + him out. I am far the abler leader: I say it without conceit. I am older + than he is, and I am less excitable. I do not stop and talk with every + person I meet, and then forget where I am. I do less to distract myself: I + rarely fight, I never feel I want to run after cats, I take but little + pleasure in frightening children. I have nothing to think about but the + walk, and the getting home again. If, as I say, he would give up taking me + out, and let me take him out, there would be less trouble all round. But + into this I have never been able to persuade him. + </p> + <p> + He had mislaid me once or twice, but in Sloane Square he lost me entirely. + When he loses me, he stands and barks for me. If only he would remain + where he first barked, I might find my way to him; but, before I can cross + the road, he is barking half-way down the next street. I am not so young + as I was and I sometimes think he exercises me more than is good for me. I + could see him from where I was standing in the King's Road. Evidently he + was most indignant. I was too far off to distinguish the barks, but I + could guess what he was saying— + </p> + <p> + "Damn that man, he's off again." + </p> + <p> + He made inquiries of a passing dog— + </p> + <p> + "You haven't smelt my man about anywhere, have you?" + </p> + <p> + (A dog, of course, would never speak of SEEING anybody or anything, smell + being his leading sense. Reaching the top of a hill, he would say to his + companion—"Lovely smell from here, I always think; I could sit and + sniff here all the afternoon." Or, proposing a walk, he would say—"I + like the road by the canal, don't you? There's something interesting to + catch your nose at every turn.") + </p> + <p> + "No, I haven't smelt any man in particular," answered the other dog. "What + sort of a smelling man is yours?" + </p> + <p> + "Oh, an egg-and-bacony sort of a man, with a dash of soap about him." + </p> + <p> + "That's nothing to go by," retorted the other; "most men would answer to + that description, this time of the morning. Where were you when you last + noticed him?" + </p> + <p> + At this moment he caught sight of me, and came up, pleased to find me, but + vexed with me for having got lost. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, here you are," he barked; "didn't you see me go round the corner? Do + keep closer. Bothered if half my time isn't taken up, finding you and + losing you again." + </p> + <p> + The incident appeared to have made him bad-tempered; he was just in the + humour for a row of any sort. At the top of Sloane Street a stout + military-looking gentleman started running after the Chelsea bus. With a + "Hooroo" William Smith was after him. Had the old gentleman taken no + notice, all would have been well. A butcher boy, driving just behind, + would—I could read it in his eye—have caught Smith a flick as + he darted into the road, which would have served him right; the old + gentleman would have captured his bus; and the affair would have been + ended. Unfortunately, he was that type of retired military man all gout + and curry and no sense. He stopped to swear at the dog. That, of course, + was what Smith wanted. It is not often he gets a scrimmage with a + full-grown man. "They're a poor-spirited lot, most of them," he thinks; + "they won't even answer you back. I like a man who shows a bit of pluck." + He was frenzied with delight at his success. He flew round his victim, + weaving whooping circles and curves that paralyzed the old gentleman as + though they had been the mystic figures of a Merlin. The colonel clubbed + his umbrella, and attempted to defend himself. I called to the dog, I gave + good advice to the colonel (I judged him to be a colonel; the louder he + spoke, the less one could understand him), but both were too excited to + listen to me. A sympathetic bus driver leaned over, and whispered hoarse + counsel. + </p> + <p> + "Ketch 'im by the tail, sir," he advised the old gentleman; "don't you be + afraid of him; you ketch 'im firmly by the tail." + </p> + <p> + A milkman, on the other hand, sought rather to encourage Smith, shouting + as he passed— + </p> + <p> + "Good dog, kill him!" + </p> + <p> + A child, brained within an inch by the old gentleman's umbrella, began to + cry. The nurse told the old gentleman he was a fool—a remark which + struck me as singularly apt The old gentleman gasped back that + perambulators were illegal on the pavement; and, between his exercises, + inquired after myself. A crowd began to collect; and a policeman strolled + up. + </p> + <p> + It was not the right thing: I do not defend myself; but, at this point, + the temptation came to me to desert William Smith. He likes a street row, + I don't. These things are matters of temperament. I have also noticed that + he has the happy instinct of knowing when to disappear from a crisis, and + the ability to do so; mysteriously turning up, quarter of a mile off, clad + in a peaceful and pre-occupied air, and to all appearances another and a + better dog. + </p> + <p> + Consoling myself with the reflection that I could be of no practical + assistance to him and remembering with some satisfaction that, by a + fortunate accident, he was without his collar, which bears my name and + address, I slipped round the off side of a Vauxhall bus, making no attempt + at ostentation, and worked my way home through Lowndes Square and the + Park. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes after I had sat down to lunch, he flung open the dining-room + door, and marched in. It is his customary "entrance." In a previous state + of existence, his soul was probably that of an Actor-Manager. + </p> + <p> + From his exuberant self-satisfaction, I was inclined to think he must have + succeeded in following the milkman's advice; at all events, I have not + seen the colonel since. His bad temper had disappeared, but his + "uppishness" had, if possible, increased. Previous to his return, I had + given The O'Shannon a biscuit. The O'Shannon had been insulted; he did not + want a dog biscuit; if he could not have a grilled kidney he did not want + anything. He had thrown the biscuit on the floor. Smith saw it and made + for it. Now Smith never eats biscuits. I give him one occasionally, and he + at once proceeds to hide it. He is a thrifty dog; he thinks of the future. + "You never know what may happen," he says; "suppose the Guv'nor dies, or + goes mad, or bankrupt, I may be glad even of this biscuit; I'll put it + under the door-mat—no, I won't, somebody will find it there. I'll + scratch a hole in the tennis lawn, and bury it there. That's a good idea; + perhaps it'll grow!" Once I caught him hiding it in my study, behind the + shelf devoted to my own books. It offended me, his doing that; the + argument was so palpable. Generally, wherever he hides it somebody finds + it. We find it under our pillows—inside our boots; no place seems + safe. This time he had said to himself—"By Jove! a whole row of the + Guv'nor's books. Nobody will ever want to take these out; I'll hide it + here." One feels a thing like that from one's own dog. + </p> + <p> + But The O'Shannon's biscuit was another matter. Honesty is the best + policy; but dishonesty is the better fun. He made a dash for it, and + commenced to devour it greedily; you might have thought he had not tasted + food for a week. + </p> + <p> + The indignation of The O'Shannon was a sight for the gods. He has the + good-nature of his race: had Smith asked him for the biscuit he would + probably have given it to him; it was the insult—the immorality of + the proceeding, that maddened The O'Shannon. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he was paralyzed. + </p> + <p> + "Well, of all the—Did ye see that now?" he said to me with his eyes. + Then he made a rush and snatched the biscuit out of Smith's very jaws. "Ye + onprincipled black Saxon thief," growled The O'Shannon; "how dare ye take + my biscuit?" + </p> + <p> + "You miserable Irish cur," growled Smith; "how was I to know it was your + biscuit? Does everything on the floor belong to you? Perhaps you think I + belong to you, I'm on the floor. I don't believe it is your biscuit, you + long-eared, snubbed-nosed bog-trotter; give it me back." + </p> + <p> + "I don't require any of your argument, you flop-eared son of a tramp with + half a tail," replied The O'Shannon. "You come and take it, if you think + you are dog enough." + </p> + <p> + He did think he was dog enough. He is half the size of The O'Shannon, but + such considerations weigh not with him. His argument is, if a dog is too + big for you to fight the whole of him, take a bit of him and fight that. + He generally gets licked, but what is left of him invariably swaggers + about afterwards under the impression it is the victor. When he is dead, + he will say to himself, as he settles himself in his grave—"Well, I + flatter myself I've laid out that old world at last. It won't trouble ME + any more, I'm thinking." + </p> + <p> + On this occasion, <i>I</i> took a hand in the fight. It becomes necessary + at intervals to remind Master Smith that the man, as the useful and + faithful friend of dog, has his rights. I deemed such interval had + arrived. He flung himself on to the sofa, muttering. It sounded like—"Wish + I'd never got up this morning. Nobody understands me." + </p> + <p> + Nothing, however, sobers him for long. Half-an-hour later, he was killing + the next-door cat. He will never learn sense; he has been killing that cat + for the last three months. Why the next morning his nose is invariably + twice its natural size, while for the next week he can see objects on one + side of his head only, he never seems to grasp; I suppose he attributes it + to change in the weather. + </p> + <p> + He ended up the afternoon with what he no doubt regarded as a complete and + satisfying success. Dorothea had invited a lady to take tea with her that + day. I heard the sound of laughter, and, being near the nursery, I looked + in to see what was the joke. Smith was worrying a doll. I have rarely seen + a more worried-looking doll. Its head was off, and its sawdust strewed the + floor. Both the children were crowing with delight; Dorothea, in + particular, was in an ecstasy of amusement. + </p> + <p> + "Whose doll is it?" I asked. + </p> + <p> + "Eva's," answered Dorothea, between her peals of laughter. + </p> + <p> + "Oh no, it isn't," explained Eva, in a tone of sweet content; "here's my + doll." She had been sitting on it, and now drew it forth, warm but whole. + "That's Dorry's doll." + </p> + <p> + The change from joy to grief on the part of Dorothea was distinctly + dramatic. Even Smith, accustomed to storm, was nonplussed at the + suddenness of the attack upon him. + </p> + <p> + Dorothea's sorrow lasted longer than I had expected. I promised her + another doll. But it seemed she did not want another; that was the only + doll she would ever care for so long as life lasted; no other doll could + ever take its place; no other doll would be to her what that doll had + been. These little people are so absurd: as if it could matter whether you + loved one doll or another, when all are so much alike! They have curly + hair, and pink-and-white complexions, big eyes that open and shut, a + little red mouth, two little hands. Yet these foolish little people! they + will love one, while another they will not look upon. I find the best plan + is not to reason with them, but to sympathize. Later on—but not too + soon—introduce to them another doll. They will not care for it at + first, but in time they will come to take an interest in it. Of course, it + cannot make them forget the first doll; no doll ever born in Lowther + Arcadia could be as that, but still—— It is many weeks before + they forget entirely the first love. + </p> + <p> + We buried Dolly in the country under the yew tree. A friend of mine who + plays the fiddle came down on purpose to assist. We buried her in the hot + spring sunshine, while the birds from shady nooks sang joyously of life + and love. And our chief mourner cried real tears, just for all the world + as though it were not the fate of dolls, sooner or later, to get broken—the + little fragile things, made for an hour, to be dressed and kissed; then, + paintless and stript, to be thrown aside on the nursery floor. Poor little + dolls! I wonder do they take themselves seriously, not knowing the springs + that stir their sawdust bosoms are but clockwork, not seeing the wires to + which they dance? Poor little marionettes! do they talk together, I + wonder, when the lights of the booth are out? + </p> + <p> + You, little sister doll, were the heroine. You lived in the white-washed + cottage, all honeysuckle and clematis without—earwiggy and damp + within, maybe. How pretty you always looked in your simple, neatly-fitting + print dress. How good you were! How nobly you bore your poverty. How + patient you were under your many wrongs. You never harboured an evil + thought, a revengeful wish—never, little doll? Were there never + moments when you longed to play the wicked woman's part, live in a room + with many doors, be-clad in furs and jewels, with lovers galore at your + feet? In those long winter evenings? the household work is done—the + greasy dishes washed, the floor scrubbed; the excellent child is asleep in + the corner; the one-and-elevenpenny lamp sheds its dismal light on the + darned table-cloth; you sit, busy at your coarse sewing, waiting for Hero + Dick, knowing—guessing, at least, where he is—! Yes, dear, I + remember your fine speeches, when you told her, in stirring language the + gallery cheered to the echo, what you thought of her and of such women as + she; when, lifting your hand to heaven, you declared you were happier in + your attic, working your fingers to the bone, than she in her gilded salon—I + think "gilded salon" was the term, was it not?—furnished by sin. But + speaking of yourself, weak little sister doll, not of your fine speeches, + the gallery listening, did you not, in your secret heart, envy her? Did + you never, before blowing out the one candle, stand for a minute in front + of the cracked glass, and think to yourself that you, too, would look well + in low-cut dresses from Paris, the diamonds flashing on your white smooth + skin? Did you never, toiling home through the mud, bearing your bundle of + needlework, feel bitter with the wages of virtue, as she splashed you, + passing by in her carriage? Alone, over your cup of weak tea, did you + never feel tempted to pay the price for champagne suppers, and gaiety, and + admiration? Ah, yes, it is easy for folks who have had their good time, to + prepare copybooks for weary little inkstained fingers, longing for play. + The fine maxims sound such cant when we are in that mood, do they not? + You, too, were young and handsome: did the author of the play think you + were never hungry for the good things of life? Did he think that reading + tracts to crotchety old women was joy to a full-blooded girl in her + twenties? Why should SHE have all the love, and all the laughter? How + fortunate that the villain, the Wicked Baronet, never opened the cottage + door at that moment, eh, dear! He always came when you were strong, when + you felt that you could denounce him, and scorn his temptations. Would + that the villain came to all of us at such time; then we would all, + perhaps, be heroes and heroines. + </p> + <p> + Ah well, it was only a play: it is over now. You and I, little tired + dolls, lying here side by side, waiting to know our next part, we can look + back and laugh. Where is she, this wicked dolly, that made such a stir on + our tiny stage? Ah, here you are, Madam; I thought you could not be far; + they have thrown us all into this corner together. But how changed you + are, Dolly: your paint rubbed off, your golden hair worn to a wisp. No + wonder; it was a trying part you had to play. How tired you must have + grown of the glare and the glitter! And even hope was denied you. The + peace you so longed for you knew you had lost the power to enjoy. Like the + girl bewitched in the fairy tale, you knew you must dance ever faster and + faster, with limbs growing palsied, with face growing ashen, and hair + growing grey, till Death should come to release you; and your only prayer + was he might come ere your dancing grew comic. + </p> + <p> + Like the smell of the roses to Nancy, hawking them through the hot + streets, must the stifling atmosphere of love have been to you. The song + of passion, how monotonous in your ears, sung now by the young and now by + the old; now shouted, now whined, now shrieked; but ever the one strident + tune. Do you remember when first you heard it? You dreamt it the morning + hymn of Heaven. You came to think it the dance music of Hell, ground from + a cracked hurdy-gurdy, lent out by the Devil on hire. + </p> + <p> + An evil race we must have seemed to you, Dolly Faustine, as to some Old + Bailey lawyer. You saw but one side of us. You lived in a world upside + down, where the leaves and the blossoms were hidden, and only the roots + saw your day. You imagined the worm-beslimed fibres the plant, and all + things beautiful you deemed cant. Chivalry, love, honour! how you laughed + at the lying words. You knew the truth—as you thought: aye, half the + truth. We were swine while your spell was upon us, Daughter of Circe, and + you, not knowing your island secret, deemed it our natural shape. + </p> + <p> + No wonder, Dolly, your battered waxen face is stamped with an angry sneer. + The Hero, who eventually came into his estates amid the plaudits of the + Pit, while you were left to die in the streets! you remembered, but the + house had forgotten those earlier scenes in always wicked Paris. The good + friend of the family, the breezy man of the world, the Deus ex Machina of + the play, who was so good to everybody, whom everybody loved! aye, YOU + loved him once—but that was in the Prologue. In the Play proper, he + was respectable. (How you loathed that word, that meant to you all you + vainly longed for!) To him the Prologue was a period past and dead; a + memory, giving flavour to his life. To you, it was the First Act of the + Play, shaping all the others. His sins the house had forgotten: at yours, + they held up their hands in horror. No wonder the sneer lies on your waxen + lips. + </p> + <p> + Never mind, Dolly; it was a stupid house. Next time, perhaps, you will + play a better part; and then they will cheer, instead of hissing you. You + were wasted, I am inclined to think, on modern comedy. You should have + been cast for the heroine of some old-world tragedy. The strength of + character, the courage, the power of self-forgetfulness, the enthusiasm + were yours: it was the part that was lacking. You might have worn the + mantle of a Judith, a Boadicea, or a Jeanne d'Arc, had such plays been + popular in your time. Perhaps they, had they played in your day, might + have had to be content with such a part as yours. They could not have + played the meek heroine, and what else would there have been for them in + modern drama? Catherine of Russia! had she been a waiter's daughter in the + days of the Second Empire, should we have called her Great? The Magdalene! + had her lodging in those days been in some bye-street of Rome instead of + in Jerusalem, should we mention her name in our churches? + </p> + <p> + You were necessary, you see, Dolly, to the piece. We cannot all play + heroes and heroines. There must be wicked people in the play, or it would + not interest. Think of it, Dolly, a play where all the women were + virtuous, all the men honest! We might close the booth; the world would be + as dull as an oyster-bed. Without you wicked folk there would be no good. + How should we have known and honoured the heroine's worth, but by contrast + with your worthlessness? Where would have been her fine speeches, but for + you to listen to them? Where lay the hero's strength, but in resisting + temptation of you? Had not you and the Wicked Baronet between you robbed + him of his estates, falsely accused him of crime, he would have lived to + the end of the play an idle, unheroic, incomplete existence. You brought + him down to poverty; you made him earn his own bread—a most + excellent thing for him; gave him the opportunity to play the man. But for + your conduct in the Prologue, of what value would have been that fine + scene at the end of the Third Act, that stirred the house to tears and + laughter? You and your accomplice, the Wicked Baronet, made the play + possible. How would Pit and Gallery have known they were virtuous, but for + the indignation that came to them, watching your misdeeds? Pity, sympathy, + excitement, all that goes to the making of a play, you were necessary for. + It was ungrateful of the house to hiss you. + </p> + <p> + And you, Mr. Merryman, the painted grin worn from your pale lips, you too + were dissatisfied, if I remember rightly, with your part. You wanted to + make the people cry, not laugh. Was it a higher ambition? The poor tired + people! so much happens in their life to make them weep, is it not good + sport to make them merry for awhile? Do you remember that old soul in the + front row of the Pit? How she laughed when you sat down on the pie! I + thought she would have to be carried out. I heard her talking to her + companion as they passed the stage-door on their way home. "I have not + laughed, my dear, till to-night," she was saying, the good, gay tears + still in her eyes, "since the day poor Sally died." Was not that alone + worth the old stale tricks you so hated? Aye, they were commonplace and + conventional, those antics of yours that made us laugh; are not the antics + that make us weep commonplace and conventional also? Are not all the + plays, played since the booth was opened, but of one pattern, the plot + old-fashioned now, the scenes now commonplace? Hero, villain, cynic—are + their parts so much the fresher? The love duets, are they so very new? The + death-bed scenes, would you call them UNcommonplace? Hate, and Evil, and + Wrong—are THEIR voices new to the booth? What are you waiting for, + people? a play with a plot that is novel, with characters that have never + strutted before? It will be ready for you, perhaps, when you are ready for + it, with new tears and new laughter. + </p> + <p> + You, Mr. Merryman, were the true philosopher. You saved us from forgetting + the reality when the fiction grew somewhat strenuous. How we all applauded + your gag in answer to the hero, when, bewailing his sad fate, he demanded + of Heaven how much longer he was to suffer evil fortune. "Well, there + cannot be much more of it in store for you," you answered him; "it's + nearly nine o'clock already, and the show closes at ten." And true to your + prophecy the curtain fell at the time appointed, and his troubles were of + the past. You showed us the truth behind the mask. When pompous Lord + Shallow, in ermine and wig, went to take his seat amid the fawning crowd, + you pulled the chair from under him, and down he sat plump on the floor. + His robe flew open, his wig flew off. No longer he awed us. His aped + dignity fell from him; we saw him a stupid-eyed, bald little man; he + imposed no longer upon us. It is your fool who is the only true wise man. + </p> + <p> + Yours was the best part in the play, Brother Merryman, had you and the + audience but known it. But you dreamt of a showier part, where you loved + and fought. I have heard you now and again, when you did not know I was + near, shouting with sword in hand before your looking-glass. You had + thrown your motley aside to don a dingy red coat; you were the hero of the + play, you performed the gallant deeds, you made the noble speeches. I + wonder what the play would be like, were we all to write our own parts. + There would be no clowns, no singing chambermaids. We would all be playing + lead in the centre of the stage, with the lime-light exclusively devoted + to ourselves. Would it not be so? + </p> + <p> + What grand acting parts they are, these characters we write for ourselves + alone in our dressing-rooms. We are always brave and noble—wicked + sometimes, but if so, in a great, high-minded way; never in a mean or + little way. What wondrous deeds we do, while the house looks on and + marvels. Now we are soldiers, leading armies to victory. What if we die: + it is in the hour of triumph, and a nation is left to mourn. Not in some + forgotten skirmish do we ever fall; not for some "affair of outposts" do + we give our blood, our very name unmentioned in the dispatches home. Now + we are passionate lovers, well losing a world for love—a very + different thing to being a laughter-provoking co-respondent in a sordid + divorce case. + </p> + <p> + And the house is always crowded when we play. Our fine speeches always + fall on sympathetic ears, our brave deeds are noted and applauded. It is + so different in the real performance. So often we play our parts to empty + benches, or if a thin house be present, they misunderstand, and laugh at + the pathetic passages. And when our finest opportunity comes, the royal + box, in which HE or SHE should be present to watch us, is vacant. + </p> + <p> + Poor little dolls, how seriously we take ourselves, not knowing the + springs that stir our bosoms are but clockwork, not seeing the wires to + which we dance. Poor little marionettes, shall we talk together, I wonder, + when the lights of the booth are out? + </p> + <p> + We are little wax dollies with hearts. We are little tin soldiers with + souls. Oh, King of many toys, are you merely playing with us? IS it only + clockwork within us, this thing that throbs and aches? Have you wound us + up but to let us run down? Will you wind us again to-morrow, or leave us + here to rust? IS it only clockwork to which we respond and quiver? Now we + laugh, now we cry, now we dance; our little arms go out to clasp one + another, our little lips kiss, then say good-bye. We strive, and we + strain, and we struggle. We reach now for gold, now for laurel. We call it + desire and ambition: are they only wires that you play? Will you throw the + clockwork aside, or use it again, O Master? + </p> + <p> + The lights of the booth grow dim. The springs are broken that kept our + eyes awake. The wire that held us erect is snapped, and helpless we fall + in a heap on the stage. Oh, brother and sister dollies we played beside, + where are you? Why is it so dark and silent? Why are we being put into + this black box? And hark! the little doll orchestra—how far away the + music sounds! what is it they are playing:— + </p> + <p> + [Start of Gounod's Funeral March of a Marionette] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Second Thoughts of An Idle Fellow, by +Jerome K. 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