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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/7354-8.txt b/7354-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff14f36 --- /dev/null +++ b/7354-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6374 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of On Something, by H. Belloc + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + +Title: On Something + +Author: H. Belloc + +Posting Date: February 2, 2015 [EBook #7354] +Release Date: January, 2005 +First Posted: April 20, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON SOMETHING *** + + + + +Produced by William Flis, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + + + + ON SOMETHING + + BY + + H. BELLOC + + + + DEDICATION + + _To + Somebody_ + + + + CONTENTS + +A PLEA FOR THE SIMPLER DRAMA + +ON A NOTEBOOK + +ON UNKNOWN PEOPLE + +ON A VAN TROMP + +HIS CHARACTER + +ON THRUPPENNY BITS + +ON THE HOTEL AT PALMA AND A PROPOSED GUIDE-BOOK + +THE DEATH OF WANDERING PETER + +THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE + +A NORFOLK MAN + +THE ODD PEOPLE + +LETTER OF ADVICE AND APOLOGY TO A YOUNG BURGLAR + +THE MONKEY QUESTION: AN APPEAL TO COMMON SENSE + +THE EMPIRE BUILDER + +CAEDWALLA + +A UNIT OF ENGLAND + +THE RELIC + +THE IRONMONGER + +A FORCE IN GAUL + +ON BRIDGES + +A BLUE BOOK + +PERIGEUX OF THE PERIGORD + +THE POSITION + +HOME + +THE WAY TO FAIRYLAND + +THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD + +ON EXPERIENCE + +ON IMMORTALITY + +ON SACRAMENTAL THINGS + +IN PATRIA + + + + + +Of the various sketches in this book some appear for the first time, +others are reprinted by courtesy of the Proprietors and Editors of _The +Westminster Gazette_, _The Clarion_, _The English Review_, _The Morning +Post_ and _The Manchester Guardian_, in which papers they appeared. + + + + + +A PLEA FOR THE SIMPLER DRAMA + + +It is with the drama as with plastic art and many other things: the plain +man feels that he has a right to put in his word, but he is rather afraid +that the art is beyond him, and he is frightened by technicalities. + +After all, these things are made for the plain man; his applause, in the +long run and duly tested by time, is the main reward of the dramatist as +of the painter or the sculptor. But if he is sensible he knows that his +immediate judgment will be crude. However, here goes. + +The plain man sees that the drama of his time has gradually passed from +one phase to another of complexity in thought coupled with simplicity of +incident, and it occurs to him that just one further step is needed to +make something final in British art. We seem to be just on the threshold +of something which would give Englishmen in the twentieth century +something of the fullness that characterized the Elizabethans: but somehow +or other our dramatists hesitate to cross that threshold. It cannot be +that their powers are lacking: it can only be some timidity or self-torture +which it is the business of the plain man to exorcise. + +If I may make a suggestion in this essay to the masters of the craft it is +that the goal of the completely modern thing can best be reached by taking +the very simplest themes of daily life--things within the experience of +the ordinary citizen--and presenting them in the majestic traditional +cadence of that peculiarly English medium, blank verse. + +As to the themes taken from the everyday life of middle-class men and +women like ourselves, it is true that the lives of the wealthy afford +more incident, and that there is a sort of glamour about them which it is +difficult to resist. But with a sufficient subtlety the whole poignancy +of the lives led by those who suffer neither the tragedies of the poor +nor the exaltation of the rich can be exactly etched. The life of +the professional middle-class, of the business man, the dentist, the +money-lender, the publisher, the spiritual pastor, nay of the playwright +himself, might be put upon the stage--and what a vital change would be +here! Here would be a kind of literary drama of which the interest would +lie in the struggle, the pain, the danger, and the triumph which we all so +intimately know, and next in the satisfaction (which we now do not have) +of the mimetic sense--the satisfaction of seeing a mirror held up to a +whole audience composed of the very class represented upon the stage. + +I have seen men of wealth and position absorbed in plays concerning +gambling, cruelty, cheating, drunkenness, and other sports, and so +absorbed chiefly because they saw _themselves_ depicted upon the +stage; and I ask, Would not my fellows and myself largely remunerate a +similar opportunity? For though the rich go repeatedly to the play, yet +the middle-class are so much more numerous that the difference is amply +compensated. + +I think we may take it, then, that an experiment in the depicting of +professional life would, even from the financial standpoint, be workable; +and I would even go so far as to suggest that a play could be written in +which there did not appear one single lord, general, Member of Parliament, +baronet, professional beauty, usurer (upon a large scale at least) or +Cabinet Minister. + +The thing is possible: and I can modestly say that in the little effort +appended as an example to these lines it has been done successfully; but +here must be mentioned the second point in my thesis--I could never have +achieved what I have here achieved in dramatic art had I not harked back +to the great tradition of the English heroic decasyllable such as our +Shakespeare has handled with so felicitous an effect. + +The play--which I have called "The Crisis," and which I design to be +the model of the school founded by these present advices--is specially +designed for acting with the sumptuous accessories at the disposal of +a great manager, such as Mr. (now Sir Henry) Beerbohm Tree, or for the +narrower circumstances of the suburban drawing-room. + +There is perhaps but one character which needs any long rehearsal, that +of the dog Fido, and luckily this is one which can easily be supplied by +mechanical means, as by the use of a toy dog of sufficient size which +barks upon the pressure of a pneumatic attachment. + +In connexion with this character I would have the student note that I +have introduced into the dog's part just before the curtain a whole line +of _dactyls_. I hope the hint will not be wasted. Such exceptions +relieve the monotony of our English _trochees_. But, saving in this +instance, I have confined myself throughout to the example of William +Shakespeare, surely the best master for those who, as I fondly hope, will +follow me in the regeneration of the British Stage. + + + + +THE CRISIS + +PLACE: _The Study at the Vicarage_. TIME 9.15 _p.m._ + + +DRAMATIS PERSONÆ + +THE REV. ARCHIBALD HAVERTON: The Vicar. + +MRS. HAVERTON: His Wife. + +MISS GROSVENOR: A Governess. + +MATILDA: A Maid. + +FIDO: A Dog. + +HERMIONE COBLEY: Daughter of a cottager who takes in washing. + +MISS HARVEY: A guest, cousin to Mrs. Haverton, a Unitarian. + +(_The_ REV. ARCHIBALD HAVERTON _is reading the "Standard" by a lamp + with a green shade_. MRS. HAVERTON _is hemming a towel_. FIDO + _is asleep on the rug. On the walls are three engravings from Landseer, + a portrait of Her late Majesty Queen Victoria, a bookcase with books in + it, and a looking-glass_.) + + MRS. HAVERTON: My dear--I hope I do not interrupt you-- +Helen has given notice. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_looking up suddenly_). + Given notice? +Who? Helen? Given notice? Bless my soul! + (_A pause_.) +I never thought that she would give us notice. + (_Ponders and frowns._) + + MRS. HAVERTON: Well, but she has, and now the question is, +What shall we do to find another cook? +Servants are very difficult to get. (_Sighs._) +Especially to come into the country +To such a place as this. (_Sighs._) No wonder, either! +Oh! Mercy! When one comes to think of it, +One cannot blame them. (_Sighs._) Heaven only knows +I try to do my duty! (_Sighs profoundly._) + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_uneasily_): Well, my dear, +I cannot _make_ preferment. + +(_Front door-bell rings._) + + FIDO: Bow! wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_patting him to soothe him_): + There, Fido, there! + + FIDO: Wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON: Good dog, there! + + FIDO: Wow, + Wow, wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_very nervous_): There! + + FIDO: Wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_in an agony_): Good dog! + + FIDO: Bow! wow! wow! + Wow, wow! Wow!! WOW!!! + + MRS. HAVERTON (_very excited_): Oh, Lord, he'll + wake the children! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_exploding_): How often have + I told you, Dorothy, +Not to exclaim "Good Lord!"... Apart from manners-- +Which have their own importance--blasphemy +(And I regard the phrase as blasphemous) +Cannot-- + + MRS. HAVERTON (_uneasily_): Oh, very well!... + Oh, very well! + (_Exploding in her turn_.) +Upon my soul, you are intolerable! + (_She jumps up and makes for the door. Before she gets to + it there is a knock and_ MATILDA _enters_.) + + MATILDA: Please, m'm, it's only Mrs. Cobley's daughter +To say the washing shall be sent to-morrow, +And would you check the list again and see, +Because she thinks she never had two collars +Of what you sent, but only five, because +You marked it seven; and Mrs. Cobley says +There must be some mistake. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_pompously_): I will attend to it. + + MRS. HAVERTON (_whispering angrily_): How can + you, Archibald! You haven't got +The ghost of an idea about the washing! +Sit down. (_He does so_.) (_To Matilda_) Send the + Girl in here. + + MRS. HAVERTON _sits down in a fume_. + + REV. A. HAVERTON: I think.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_snapping_): I don't care what you think! + (_Groans_.) Oh, dear! +I'm nearly off my head! + + _Enter_ MISS COBLEY. (_She bobs_.) + + Good evening, m'm. + + MRS. HAVERTON (_by way of reply_): +Now, then! What's all this fuss about the washing? + + MISS COBLEY: Please, m'm, the seven collars, what you sent-- +I mean the seven what was marked--was wrong, +And mother says as you'd have had the washing +Only there weren't but five, and would you mind.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_sharply_): I cannot understand a word you say. +Go back and tell your mother there were _seven_. +And if she sends home _five_ she pays for _two_. +So there! (_Snorts_.) + + MISS COBLEY (_sobbing_): I'm sure I.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_savagely_): Don't stand snuffling there! +Go back and tell your mother what I say.... +Impudent hussy!... + + (_Exit_ MISS COBLEY _sobbing. A pause._) + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_with assumed authority_): To return to Helen. +Tell me concisely and without complaints, +Why did she give you notice? + + (_A hand-bell rings in the passage_.) + + FIDO: Bow-wow-wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_giving him a smart kick_): Shurrup! + + FIDO (_howling_). Pen-an'-ink! Pen-an'-ink + Pen-an'-ink! Pen-an'-ink! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_controlling himself, as well as he can, goes to + the door and calls into the passage_): Miss Grosvenor! +(_Louder_) ... Miss Grosvenor!... Was that the bell for prayers? +Was that the bell for prayers?... (_Louder_) Miss Grosvenor. +(_Louder_) Miss Gros-ve-nor! (_Tapping with his foot_.) + Oh!... + + MISS GROSVENOR (_sweetly and, far off_): Is that Mr. Haverton? + + REV. A. HAVERTON: Yes! yes! yes! yes!... +Was that the bell for prayers? + + MISS GROSVENOR (_again_): Yes? Is that Mr. Haverton? Oh! Yes! +I think it is.... I'll see--I'll ask Matilda. + + (_A pause, during which the_ REV. A. HAVERTON + _is in a qualm_.) + + MISS GROSVENOR (_rustling back_): Matilda says it + _is_ the bell for prayers. + + (_They all come filing into the study and arranging the chairs. + As they enter_ MISS HARVEY, _the guest, treads heavily on + MATILDA'S foot._) + + MISS HARVEY: Matilda? Was that you? I _beg_ your pardon. + + MATILDA (_limping_): Granted, I'm sure, miss! + + MRS. HAVERTON (_whispering to the_ REV. A. HAVERTON): Do not read + the Creed! +Miss Harvey is a Unitarian. +I should suggest some simple form of prayer, +Some heartfelt word of charity and peace +Common to every Christian. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_in a deep voice_): Let us pray. + + _Curtain._ + + + + +ON A NOTEBOOK + + +A dear friend of mine (John Abdullah Capricorn, to give him his full +name) was commandeered by a publisher last year to write a book for £10. +The work was far advanced when an editor offered him £15 and his expenses +to visit the more desperate parts of the Sahara Desert, to which spots he +at once proceeded upon a roving commission. Whether he will return or no +is now doubtful, though in March we had the best hopes. With the month of +May life becomes hard for Europeans south of the Atlas, and when my poor +dear friend was last heard of he was chancing his popularity with a tribe +of Touaregs about two hundred miles south of Touggourt. + +Under these circumstances I was asked to look through his notebook and see +what could be done; and I confess to a pleased surprise.... It would have +been a very entertaining book had it been published. It will be a very +entertaining book if it is published. + +Capricorn seems to have prepared a hotchpotch of information of human +follies, of contrasts, and of blunt stupidities of which he intended +to make a very entertaining series of pages. I have not his talent for +bringing such things together, but it may amuse the reader if I merely +put in their order one or two of the notes which most struck me. + +I find first, cut out of a newspaper and pasted into the book (many of +his notes are in this form), the following really jovial paragraph: + +"Archdeacon Blunderbuss (Blunderbuss is not the real name; I suppress +that lest Capricorn's widow should lose her two or three pounds, in case +the poor fellow has really been eaten). Archdeacon Blunderbuss was more +distinguished as a scholar than as a Divine. He was a very poor preacher +and never managed to identify himself with any party. Nevertheless, in +1895 the Prime Minister appointed him to a stall in Shoreham Cathedral as +a recognition of his great learning and good work at Durham. Two years +later the rectory of St. Vacuums becoming vacant and it being within the +gift of Archdeacon Blunderbuss, he excited general amazement and much +scandal by presenting himself to the living." + +There the paragraph ends. It came in an ordinary society paper. It bore +no marks of ill-will. It came in the midst of a column of the usual +silly adulation of everybody and everything; how it got there is of no +importance. There it stood and the keen eye of Capricorn noted it and +treasured it for years. + +I will make no comment upon this paragraph. It may be read slowly or +quickly, according to the taste of the reader; it is equally delicious +either way. + +The next excerpt I find in the notebook is as follows: + +"More than 15,000,000 visits are paid annually to London pawnbrokers. + +"Jupiter is 1387 times as big as the earth, but only 300 times as heavy. + +"The world's coal mines yield 400,000,000 tons of coal a year. + +"The value of the pictures in the National Gallery is about £1,250,000." + +This tickled Capricorn--I don't know why. Perhaps he thought the style +disjointed or perhaps he had got it into his head that when this +information had been absorbed by the vulgar they would stand much where +they stood before, and be no nearer the end of man nor the accomplishment +of any Divine purpose in their creation. Anyhow he kept it, and I think +he was wise to keep it. One cannot keep everything of that kind that +is printed, so it is well to keep a specimen. Capricorn had, moreover, +intended to perpetuate that specimen for ever in his immortal prose--pray +Heaven he may return to do so! + +I next find the following excerpt from an evening paper: + +"No more gallant gentleman lives on the broad acres of his native England +than Brigadier-General Sir Hammerthrust Honeybubble, who is one of the +few survivors of the great charge at Tamulpuco, a feat of arms now +half forgotten, but with which England rang during the Brazilian War. +Brigadier-General, or, as he then was, plain Captain Hammerthrust +Honeybubble, passed through five Brazilian batteries unharmed, and came +back so terribly hacked that his head was almost severed from his body. +Hardly able to keep his seat and continually wiping the blood from his +left eye, he rode back to his troop at a walk, and, in spite of pursuit, +finally completed his escape. Sir Hammerthrust, we are glad to learn, is +still hale and hearty in his ninety-third year, and we hope he may see +many more returns of the day upon his patrimonial estate in the Orkneys." + +To this excerpt I find only one marginal note in Capricorn's delicate +and beautiful handwriting: "What day?" But whether this referred to some +appointment of his own I was unable to discover. + +I next find a certain number of cuttings which I think cannot have been +intended for the book at all, but must have been designed for poor +Capricorn's "Oxford Anthology of Bad Verse," which, just before he +left England, he was in process of preparing for the University Press. +Capricorn had a very fine sense of bad taste in verse, and the authorities +could have chosen no one better suited for the duty of editing such a +volume. I must not give the reader too much of these lines, but the +following quatrain deserves recognition and a permanent memory: + +Napoleon hoped that all the world would fall beneath his sway. He failed +in this ambition; and where is he to-day? Neither the nations of the East +nor the nations of the West Have thought the thing Napoleon thought was to +their interest. + +This is enormous. As philosophy, as history, as rhetoric, as metre, as +rhythm, as politics, it is positively enormous. The whole poem is a +wonderful poem, and I wish I had space for it here. It is patriotic and it +is written about as badly as a poem could conceivably be written. It is a +mournful pleasure to think that my dear friend had his last days in the +Old Country illuminated by such a treasure. It is but one of many, but I +think it is the best. + +Another extract which catches my eye is drawn from the works of one in a +distant and foreign land. Yet it was worth preserving. This personage, +Tindersturm by name, issued a pamphlet which fell under the regulations, +the very strict regulations, of the Prussian Government, by which any +one of its subjects who says or prints anything calculated to stir +up religious or racial strife within the State is subject to severe +penalties. Now those severe penalties had fallen upon Tindersturm and +he had been imprisoned for some years according to the paragraph that +followed the extract I am about to give. That the aforesaid Tindersturm +did indeed tend to "stir up religious and racial strife," nay, went +somewhat out of his way to do it, will be clear enough when you read the +following lines from his little broadsheet: + +"It is time for us to go for this caddish alien sect. If on your way home +from the theatre you meet the blue-eyed, tow-haired, lolloping gang, +whether they be youths or ladies, go right up to them and give them a +smart smack, left and right, a blow in the eye; and lift your foot and +give the tow-headed ones a kick. In this way must we begin the business. +My Fatherland, wake up!" + +To this extract poor Capricorn has added the word "Excellent," and the +same comment he makes upon the following conclusion to a letter written +to a religious paper and dealing with some politician or other who had +done something which the correspondent did not like: + +"That his eyes may be opened _while he lives_ is the prayer of + +"Yours truly, + +"AN EARNEST MEMBER OF THE FOLD" + +From such a series it is a recreation to turn to the little social +paragraphs which gave Capricorn such acute and such continual joy; as, for +instance, this: + +"Mrs. Harry Bacon wishes it to be known that she has ceased to have any +connection whatsoever with the Boudoir for Lost Dogs. Her address is still +Hermione House, Bourton-on-the-Water Fenton Marsh, Worcester." + +There is much more in the notebook with which I could while away the +reader's time did space permit of it. I find among the very last entries, +for instance, this: + +"It was a strenuous and thrilling contest. Some terrible blows were +exchanged. In the last round, however, Schmidt landed his opponent a very +nasty one under the chin, stretching him out lifeless and breaking his +elbow; whereupon the prize was awarded him." + +To this joyous gem Capricorn has added a whole foison of annotations. He +asks at the end: "Which was 'him'? Important." And he underlines in red +ink the word "however," perhaps as mysterious a copulative as has ever +appeared in British prose. I should add that Capricorn himself was an +ardent sportsman and very rarely missed any of the first-class events of +the ring, though personally he did not box, and on the few occasions when +I have seen the exercise forced upon him in the public streets he showed +the greatest distaste to this form of athletics. + +Lastly, I find this note with which I must close: it is taken from the +verbatim report of a great case in the courts, now half forgotten, but ten +years ago the talk of London: + +"The witness then said that he had been promised an independence for life +if he could discover the defendant in the act of enclosing any part of +the land, or any document or order of his involving such an enclosure. He +therefore watched the defendant regularly from June, 1896, to the middle +of July, 1900. He also watched the defendant's father and mother, three +boys, married daughter, grandmother and grandfather, his two married +sisters, his brother, his agent, and his agent's wife--but he had +discovered nothing." + +That such a sentence should have been printed in the English language and +delivered by an English mouth in an English witness-box was enough for +Capricorn. Give him that alone for intellectual food in his desert lodge +and he was happy. + +Shall I tempt Providence by any further extracts? ... It is difficult to +tear oneself away from such a feast. So let me put in this very last, +really the last, by way of savoury. There it is in black and white and no +one can undo it: not all her piety, nor all her wit. It dates from the +year 1904, when, Heaven knows, the internal combustion engine and its +possibilities were not exactly new, and I give it word for word: + +"The Duchess is, moreover, a pioneer in the use of the motor-car. She +finds it an agreeable and speedy means of conveyance from her country seat +to her town house, and also a very practical way of getting to see her +friends at week-ends. She has been heard to complain, however, that a +substitute for the pneumatic tyre less liable to puncture than it is would +be a priceless boon." + +There! There! May they all rest in peace! They have added to the gaiety of +mankind. + + + + +ON UNKNOWN PEOPLE + + +You will often hear it said that it is astonishing such and such work +should be present and enduring in the world, and yet the name of its +author not known; but when one considers the variety of good work and the +circumstances under which it is achieved, and the variety of taste also +between different times and places, one begins to understand what is at +first so astonishing. + +There are writers who have ascribed this frequent ignorance of ours to all +sorts of heroic moods, to the self-sacrifice or the humility of a whole +epoch or of particular artists: that is the least satisfactory of the +reasons one could find. All men desire, if not fame, at least the one poor +inalienable right of authorship, and unless one can find very good reasons +indeed why a painter or a writer or a sculptor should deliberately have +hidden himself one must look for some other cause. + +Among such causes the first two, I think, are the multiplicity of good +work, and its chance character. Not that any one ever does very good work +for once and then never again--at least, such an accident is extremely +rare--but that many a man who has achieved some skill by long labour does +now and then strike out a sort of spark quite individual and separate from +the rest. Often you will find that a man who is remembered for but one +picture or one poem is worth research. You will find that he did much +more. It is to be remembered that for a long time Ronsard himself was +thought to be a man of one poem. + +The multiplicity of good work also and the way in which accident helps it +is a cause. There are bits of architecture (and architecture is the most +anonymous of all the arts) which depend for their effect to-day very +largely upon situation and the process of time, and there are a thousand +corners in Europe intended merely for some utility which happen almost +without deliberate design to have proved perfect: this is especially true +of bridges. + +Then there is this element in the anonymity of good work, that a man very +often has no idea how good the work is which he has done. The anecdotes +(such as that famous one of Keats) which tell us of poets desiring to +destroy their work, or, at any rate, casting it aside as of little value, +are not all false. We still have the letter in which Burns enclosed "Scots +wha' hae," and it is curious to note his misjudgment of the verse; and +side by side with that kind of misjudgment we have men picking out for +singular affection and with a full expectation of glory some piece of +work of theirs to which posterity will have nothing to say. This is +especially true of work recast by men in mature age. Writers and painters +(sculptors luckily are restrained by the nature of their art--unless they +deliberately go and break up their work with a hammer) retouch and change, +in the years when they have become more critical and less creative, what +they think to be the insufficient achievements of their youth: yet it is +the vigour and the simplicity of their youthful work which other men often +prefer to remember. On this account any number of good things remain +anonymous, because the good writer or the good painter or the good +sculptor was ashamed of them. + +Then there is this reason for anonymity, that at times--for quite a short +few years--a sort of universality of good work in one or more departments +of art seems to fall upon the world or upon some district. Nowhere do +you see this more strikingly than in the carvings of the first third of +the sixteenth century in Northern and Central France and on the Flemish +border. + +Men seemed at that moment incapable of doing work that was not marvellous +when they once began to express the human figure. Sometimes their mere +name remains, more often it is doubtful, sometimes it is entirely lost. +More curious still, you often have for this period a mixture of names. You +come across some astonishing series of reliefs in a forgotten church of a +small provincial town. You know at once that it is work of the moment when +the flood of the Renaissance had at last reached the old country of the +Gothic. You can swear that if it were not made in the time of Francis I or +Henry II it was at least made by men who could remember or had seen those +times. But when you turn to the names the names are nobodies. + +By far the most famous of these famous things, or at any rate the most +deserving of fame, is the miracle of Brou. It is a whole world. You would +say that either one transcendent genius had modelled every face and figure +of those thousands (so individual are they), or that a company of inspired +men differing in their traditions and upbringing from all the commonalty +of mankind had done such things. When you go to the names all you find is +that Coulombe out of Touraine began the job, that there was some sort of +quarrel between his head-man and the paymasters, that he was replaced in +the most everyday manner conceivable by a Fleming, Van Boghem, and that +this Fleming had to help him a better-known Swiss, one Meyt. It is the +same story with nearly all this kind of work and its wonderful period. The +wealth of detail at Louviers or Gisors is almost anonymous; that of the +first named perhaps quite anonymous. + +Who carved the wood in St. James's Church at Antwerp? I think the name +is known for part of it, but no one did the whole or anything like the +whole, and yet it is all one thing. Who carved the wood in St. Bertrand +de Coraminges? We know who paid for it, and that is all we know. And as +for the wood of Rouen, we must content ourselves with the vague phrase, +"Probably Flemish artists." + +Of the Gothic statues where they were conventional, however grand the +work, one can understand that they should be anonymous, but it is curious +to note the same silence where the work is strikingly and particularly +individual. Among the kings at Rheims are two heads, one of St. Louis, +one of his grandson. Had some one famous sculptor done these things and +others, were his work known and sought after, these two heads would be as +renowned as anything in Europe. As it is they are two among hundreds that +the latter thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries scattered broadcast; +each probably was the work of a different workman, and the author or +authors of each remain equally unknown. + +I know not whether there is more pathos or more humour or more consolation +in considering this ignorance of ours with regard to the makers of good +things. + +It is full of parable. There is something of it in Nature. There are men +who will walk all day through a June wood and come out atheists at the end +of it, finding no signature thereupon; and there are others who, sailing +over the sea, come back home after seeing so many things still puzzled as +to their authorship. That is one parable. + +Then there is this: the corrective of ambition. Since so much remains, the +very names of whose authors have perished, what does it matter to you or +to the world whether your name, so long as your work, survives? Who was +it that carefully and cunningly fixed the sights on Gumber Corner so as +to get upon a clear day his exact alignment with Pulborough and then the +shoulder of Leith Hill, just to miss the two rivers and just to obtain the +best going for a military road? He was some engineer or other among the +thousands in the Imperial Service. He was at Chichester for some weeks +and drew his pay, and then perhaps went on to London, and he was born in +Africa or in Lombardy, or he was a Breton, or he was from Lusitania or +from the Euphrates. He did that bit of work most certainly without any +consideration of fame, for engineers (especially when they are soldiers) +are singular among artists in this matter. But he did a very wonderful +thing, and the Roman Road has run there for fifteen hundred years--his +creation. Some one must have hit upon that precise line and the reason for +it. It is exactly right, and the thing done was as great and is to-day as +satisfying as that sculpture of Brou or the two boys Murillo painted, whom +you may see in the Gallery at Dulwich. But he never thought of any one +knowing his name, and no one knows it. + +Then there is this last thing about anonymous work, which is also a +parable and a sad one. It shows how there is no bridge between two human +minds. + +How often have I not come upon a corbel of stone carved into the shape +of a face, and that face had upon it either horror or laughter or great +sweetness or vision, and I have looked at it as I might have looked upon +a living face, save that it was more wonderful than most living faces. It +carried in it the soul and the mind of the man who made it. But he has +been dead these hundreds of years. That corbel cannot be in communion with +me, for it is of stone; it is dumb and will not speak to me, though it +compels me continually to ask it questions. Its author also is dumb, for +he has been dead so long, and I can know nothing about him whatsoever. + +Now so it is with any two human minds, not only when they are separated by +centuries and by silence, but when they have their being side by side +under one roof and are companions all their years. + + + + +ON A VAN TROMP + + +Once there was a man who, having nothing else to do and being fond of +that kind of thing, copied with a good deal of care on to a bit of wood +the corner of a Dutch picture in one of the public galleries. + +This man was not a good artist; indeed he was nothing but a humpbacked +and very sensitive little squire with about £3000 a year of his own and +great liking for intricate amusements. He was a pretty good mathematician +and a tolerable fisherman. He knew an enormous amount about the Mohammedan +conquest of Spain, and he is, I believe, writing a book upon that subject. +I hope he will, for nearly all history wants to be rewritten. Anyhow, he, +as I have just said, did copy a corner of one of the Dutch pictures in one +of the galleries. It was a Dutch picture of the seventeenth century; and +since the laws of this country are very complicated and the sanctions +attached to them very terrible, I will not give the name of the original +artist, but I will call him Van Tromp. + +Van Tromps have always been recognized, and there was a moment about fifty +years after the artist's death when they had a considerable vogue in the +French Court. Monsieur, who was quite ignorant of such things, bought +a couple, and there is a whole row of them in the little pavilion at +Louveciennes. Van Tromp has something about him at once positive and +elusive; he is full of planes and values, and he interprets and renders, +and the rest of it. Nay, he transfers! + +About thirty years ago Mr. Mayor (of Hildesheim and London) thought it his +duty to impress upon the public how great Van Tromp was. This he did after +taking thirteen Van Tromps in payment of a bad debt, and he succeeded. But +the man I am writing about cared nothing for all this: he simply wanted to +see how well he could imitate this corner of the picture, and he did it +pretty well. He begrimed it and he rubbed at it, and then he tickled it up +again with a knife, and then he smoked it, and then he put in some dirty +whites which were vivid, and he played the fool with white of egg, and so +forth, until he had the very tone and manner of the original; and as he +had done it on an old bit of wood it was exactly right, and he was very +proud of the result. He got an old frame from near Long Acre and stuck it +in, and then he took the thing home. He had done several things of this +kind, imitating miniatures, and even enamels. It amused him. When he got +home he sat looking at it with great pleasure for an hour or two; he left +the little thing on the table of his study and went to bed. + +Here begins the story, and here, therefore, I must tell you what the +subject of this corner of the picture was. + +The subject of this corner of the picture which he had copied was a woman +in a brown jacket and a red petticoat with big feet showing underneath, +sitting on a tub and cutting up some vegetables. She had her hair bunched +up like an onion, a fashion which, as we all know, appealed to the Dutch +in the seventeenth century, or at any rate to the plebeian Dutch. I must +also tell you the name of this squire before I go any further: his name +was Hammer--Paul Hammer. He was unmarried. + +He went to bed at eleven o'clock, and when he came down at eight o'clock +he had his breakfast. He went into his study at nine o'clock, and was very +much annoyed to find that some burglars had come in during the night and +had taken away a number of small objects which were not without value; and +among-them, what he most regretted, his little pastiche of the corner of +the Van Tromp. + +For some moments he stood filled with an acute anger and wishing that he +knew who the burglars were and how to get at them; but the days passed, +and though he asked everybody, and even gave some money to the police, he +could not discover this. He put an advertisement into several newspapers, +both London newspapers and local ones, saying that money would be given if +the thing were restored, and pretty well hinting that no questions would +be asked, but nothing came. + +Meanwhile the burglars, whose names were Charles and Lothair Femeral, +foreigners but English-speaking, had found some of their ill-acquired +goods saleable, others unsaleable. They wanted a pound for the little +picture in the frame, and this they could not get, and it was a bother +haggling it about. Lothair Femeral thought of a good plan: he stopped at +an inn on the third day of their peregrinations, had a good dinner with +his brother, told the innkeeper that he could not pay the bill, and +offered to leave the Old Master in exchange. When people do this it very +often comes off, for the alternative is only the pleasure of seeing +the man in gaol, whereas a picture is always a picture, and there is a +gambler's chance of its turning up trumps. So the man grumbled and took +the little thing. He hung it up in the best room of the inn, where he gave +his richer customers food. + +Thus it was that a young gentleman who had come down to ride in that +neighbourhood, although he did not know any of the rich people round +about, saw it one day, and on seeing it exclaimed loudly in an unknown +tongue; but he very rapidly repressed his emotion and simply told the +innkeeper that he had taken a fancy to the daub and would give him thirty +shillings for it. + +The innkeeper, who had read in the newspapers of how pictures of the +utmost value are sold by fools for a few pence, said boldly that his price +was twenty pounds; whereupon the young gentleman went out gloomily, and +the innkeeper thought that he must have made a mistake, and was for three +hours depressed. But in the fourth hour again he was elated, for the young +gentleman came back with twenty pounds, not even in notes but in gold, +paid it down, and took away the picture. Then again, in the fifth hour was +the innkeeper a little depressed, but not as much as before, for it struck +him that the young gentleman must have been very eager to act in such a +fashion, and that perhaps he could have got as much as twenty-one pounds +by holding out and calling it guineas. + +The young gentleman telegraphed to his father (who lived in Wimbledon but +who did business in Bond Street) saying that he had got hold of a Van +Tromp which looked like a study for the big "Eversley" Van Tromp in the +Gallery, and he wanted to know what his father would give for it. His +father telegraphed back inviting him to spend one whole night under the +family roof. This the young man did, and, though it wrung the old father's +heart to have to do it, by the time he had seen the young gentleman's find +(or _trouvaille_ as he called it) he had given his offspring a cheque +for five hundred pounds. Whereupon the young gentleman left and went back +to do some more riding, an exercise of which he was passionately fond, and +to which he had trained several quiet horses. + +The father wrote to a certain lord of his acquaintance who was very +fond of Van Tromps, and offered him this replica or study, in some ways +finer than the original, but he said it must be a matter for private +negotiation; so he asked for an appointment, and the lord, who was a tall, +red-faced man with a bluff manner, made an appointment for nine o'clock +next morning, which was rather early for Bond Street. But money talks, and +they met. The lord was very well dressed, and when he talked he folded his +hands (which had gloves on them) over the knob of his stick and pressed +his stick firmly upon the ground. It was a way he had. But it did not +frighten the old gentleman who did business in Bond Street, and the +long and short of it was that the lord did not get the picture until he +had paid three thousand guineas--not pounds, mind you. For this sum the +picture was to be sent round to the lord's house, and so it was, and there +it would have stayed but for a very curious accident. The lord had put +the greater part of his money into a company which was developing the +resources of the South Shetland Islands, and by some miscalculation or +other the expense of this experiment proved larger than the revenues +obtainable from it. His policy, as I need hardly tell you, was to hang on, +and so he did, because in the long run the property must pay. And so it +would if they could have gone on shelling out for ever, but they could +not, and so the whole affair was wound up and the lord lost a great deal +of money. + +Under these circumstances he bethought him of the toiling millions who +never see a good picture and who have no more vivid appetite than the +hunger for good pictures. He therefore lent his collection of Van Tromps +with the least possible delay to a public gallery, and for many years they +hung there, while the lord lived in great anxiety, but with a sufficient +income for his needs in the delightful scenery of the Pennines at some +distance from a railway station, surrounded by his tenants. At last even +these--the tenants, I mean--were not sufficient, and a gentleman in the +Government who knew the value of Van Tromps proposed that these Van Tromps +should be bought for the nation; but a lot of cranks made a frightful row, +both in Parliament and out of it, so that the scheme would have fallen +through had not one of the Van Tromps--to wit, that little copy of a +corner which was obviously a replica of or a study for the best-known of +the Van Tromps--been proclaimed false quite suddenly by a gentleman who +doubted its authenticity; whereupon everybody said that it was not genuine +except three people who really counted, and these included the gentleman +who had recommended the purchase of the Van Tromps by the nation. So +enormous was the row upon the matter that the picture reached the very +pinnacle of fame, and an Australian then travelling in England was +determined to get that Van Tromp for himself, and did. + +This Australian was a very simple man, good and kind and childlike, and +frightfully rich. When he had got the Van Tromp he carried it about with +him, and at the country houses where he stopped he used to pull it out and +show it to people. It happened that among other country houses he stopped +once at the hunchback squire's, whose name, as you will remember, was Mr. +Hammer, and he showed him the Van Tromp one day after dinner. + +Now Mr. Hammer was by this time an old man, and he had ceased to care much +for the things of this world. He had suffered greatly, and he had begun to +think about religion; also he had made a good deal of money in Egyptians +(for all this was before the slump). And he was pretty well ashamed of +his pastiches; so, one way and another, the seeing of that picture did +not have the effect upon him which you might have expected; for you, the +reader, have read this story in five minutes (if you have had the patience +to get so far), but he, Mr. Hammer, had been changing and changing for +years, and I tell you he did not care a dump what happened to the wretched +thing. Only when the Australian, who was good and simple and kind and +hearty, showed him the picture and asked him proudly to guess what he had +given for it, then Mr. Hammer looked at him with a look in his eyes full +of that not mortal sadness which accompanies irremediable despair. + +"I do not know," he answered gently and with a sob in his voice. + +"I paid for that picture," said the Australian, in the accent and language +of his native clime, "no less a sum than £7500 ... and I'd pay it again +to-morrow!" Saying this, the Australian hit the table with the palm, of +his hand in a manner so manly that an aged retainer who was putting coals +upon the fire allowed the coal-scuttle to drop. + +But Mr. Hammer, ruminating in his mind all the accidents and changes and +adventures of human life, its complexity, its unfulfilled desires, its +fading but not quite perishable ideals, well knowing how men are made +happy and how unhappy, ventured on no reply. Two great tears gathered in +his eyes, and he would have shed them, perhaps to be profusely followed by +more--he was nearly breaking down--when he looked up and saw on the wall +opposite him seven pastiches which he had made in the years gone by. There +was a Titian and a George Morland, a Chardin, two cows after Cooper, and +an impressionist picture after some Frenchman whose name he had forgotten. + +"You like pictures?" he said to the Australian, the tears still standing +in his eyes. + +"I do!" said the Australian with conviction. + +"Will you let me give you these?" said Mr. Hammer. + +The Australian protested that such things could not be allowed, but he was +a simple man, and at last he consented, for he was immensely pleased. + +"It is an ungracious thing to make conditions," said Mr. Hammer, "and I +won't make any, only I should be pleased if, in your island home...." + +"I don't live on an island," said the Australian. Mr. Hammer remembered +the map of Australia, with the water all round it, but he was too polite +to argue. + +"No, of course not," he said; "you live on the mainland; I forgot. But +anyhow, I _should_ be so pleased if you would promise me to hang them +all together, these pictures with your Van Tromp, all in a line! I really +should be so pleased!" + +"Why, certainly," said the Australian, a little bewildered; "I will do so, +Mr. Hammer, if it can give you any pleasure." + +"The fact is," said Mr. Hammer, in a breaking voice, "I had that picture +once, and I intended it to hang side by side with these." + +It was in vain that the Australian, on hearing this, poured out +self-reproaches, offered with an expansion of soul to restore it, and then +more prudently attempted a negotiation. Mr. Hammer resolutely shook his +head. + +"I am an old man," he said, "and I have no heirs; it is not for me to +take, but to give, and if you will do what an old man begs of you, and +accept what I offer; if you will do more and of your courtesy keep all +these things together which were once familiar to me, it will be enough +reward." + +The next day, therefore, the Australian sailed off to his distant +continental home, carrying with him not only the Chardin, the Titian, the +Cooper, the impressionist picture, and the rest, but also the Van Tromp. +And three months after they all hung in a row in the great new copper room +at Warra-Mugga. What happened to them later on, and how they were all sold +together as "the Warra-Mugga Collection," I will tell you when I have the +time and you the patience. Farewell. + + + + +HIS CHARACTER + + +A certain merchant in the City of London, having retired from business, +purchased for himself a private house upon the heights of Hampstead and +proposed to devote his remaining years to the education and the +establishment in life of his only son. + +When this youth (whose name was George) had arrived at the age of nineteen +his father spoke to him after dinner upon his birthday with regard to the +necessity of choosing a profession. He pointed out to him the advantages +of a commercial career, and notably of that form of useful industry which +is known as banking, showing how in that trade a profit was to be made by +lending the money of one man to another, and often of a man's own money to +himself, without engaging one's own savings or fortune. + +George, to whom such matters were unfamiliar, listened attentively, and it +seemed to him with every word that dropped from his father that a wider +and wider horizon of material comfort and worldly grandeur was spreading +out before him. He had hitherto had no idea that such great rewards were +attached to services so slight in themselves, and certainly so valueless +to the community. The career sketched out for him by his father appealed +to him most strongly, and when that gentleman had completed his advice he +assured him that he would follow it in every particular. + +George's father was overjoyed to find his son so reasonable. He sat down +at once to write the note which he had planned, to an old friend and +connection by marriage, Mr. Repton, of Repton and Greening; he posted it +that night and bade the lad prepare for the solemnity of a private +interview with the head of the firm upon the morrow. + +Before George left the house next morning his father laid before him, with +the pomp which so great an occasion demanded, certain rules of conduct +which should guide not only his entry into life but his whole conduct +throughout its course. He emphasized the value of self-respect, of a +decent carriage, of discretion, of continuous and tenacious habits of +industry, of promptitude, and so forth; when, urged by I know not what +demon whose pleasure it is ever to disturb the best plans of men, the old +gentleman had the folly to add the following words as he rose to his feet +and laid his hand heavily upon his son's shoulder: + +"Above all things, George, tell the truth. I was young and now am old. I +have seen many men fail, some few succeed; and the best advice I can give +to my dear only son is that on all occasions he should fearlessly and +manfully tell the truth without regard of consequence. Believe me, it is +not only the whole root of character, but the best basis for a successful +business career even today." + +Having so spoken, the old man, more moved than he cared to show, went +upstairs to read his newspaper, and George, beautifully dressed, went out +by the front door towards the Tube, pondering very deeply the words his +father had just used. + +I cannot deny that the impression they produced upon him was +extraordinary--far more vivid than men of mature years can easily +conceive. It is often so in early youth when we listen to the voice of +authority; some particular chance phrase will have an unmeasured effect +upon one. A worn tag and platitude solemnly spoken, and at a critical +moment, may change the whole of a career. And so it was with George, +as you will shortly perceive. For as he rumbled along in the Tube his +father's words became a veritable obsession within him: he saw their value +ramifying in a multitude of directions, he perceived the strength and +accuracy of them in a hundred aspects. He knew well that the interview he +was approaching was one in which this virtue of truth might be severely +tested, but he gloried in the opportunity, and he came out of the Tube +into the fresh air within a step of Mr. Repton's office with set lips and +his young temper braced for the ordeal. + +When he got to the office there was Mr. Repton, a kindly old gentleman, +wearing large spectacles, and in general appearance one of those genial +types from which our caricaturists have constructed the national figure of +John Bull. It was a pleasure to be in the presence of so honest a man, and +in spite of George's extreme nervousness he felt a certain security in +such company. Moreover, Mr. Repton smiled paternally at him before putting +to him the few questions which the occasion demanded. He held George's +father's letter between two fingers of his right hand, moving it gently in +the air as he addressed the lad: + +"I am very glad to see you, George," he said, "in this old office. I've +seen you here before, Chrm! as you know, but not on such important +business, Chrm!" He laughed genially. "So you want to come and learn your +trade with us, do you? You're punctual I hope, Chrm?" he added, his honest +eyes full of good nature and jest. + +George looked at him in a rather gloomy manner, hesitated a moment, and +then, under the influence of an obvious effort, said in a choking voice, +"No, Mr. Repton, I'm not." + +"Hey, what?" said Mr. Repton, puzzled and a little annoyed at the young +man's manner. + +"I was saying, Mr. Repton, that I am not punctual. I have dreamy fits +which sometimes make me completely forget an appointment. And I have a +silly habit of cutting things too fine, which makes me miss trains and +things, I think I ought to tell you while I am about it, but I simply +cannot get up early in the morning. There are days when I manage to do +so under the excitement of a coming journey or for some other form of +pleasure, but as a rule I postpone my rising until the very latest +possible moment." + +George having thus delivered himself closed his lips and was silent. + +"Humph!" said Mr. Repton. It was not what the boy had said so much as the +impression of oddness which affected that worthy man. He did not like it, +and he was not quite sure of his ground. He was about to put another +question, when George volunteered a further statement: + +"I don't drink," he said, "and at my age it is not easy to understand +what the vice of continual drunkenness may be, but I shouldn't wonder +if that would be my temptation later on, and it is only fair to tell +you that, young as I am, I have twice grossly exceeded in wine; on one +occasion, not a year ago, the servants at a house where I was stopping +carried me to bed." + +"They did?" said Mr. Repton drily. + +"Yes," said George, "they did." Then there was a silence for a space of +at least three minutes. + +"My dear young man," said Mr. Repton, rising, "do you feel any aptitude +for a City career?" + +"None," said George decisively. + +"Pray," said Mr. Repton (who had grown-up children of his own and could +not help speaking with a touch of sarcasm--he thought it good for boys +in the lunatic stage), "pray," said he, looking quizzically down at the +unhappy but firm-minded George as he sat there in his chair, "is there +any form of work for which you do feel an aptitude?" + +"Yes, certainly," said George confidently. + +"And what is that?" said Mr. Repton, his smile beginning again. + +"The drama," said George without hesitation, "the poetic drama. I ought to +tell you that I have received no encouragement from those who are the best +critics of this art, though I have submitted my work to many since I left +school. Some have said that my work was commonplace, others that it was +imitative; all have agreed that it was dull, and they have unanimously +urged me to abandon every thought of such composition. Nevertheless I +am convinced that I have the highest possible talents not only in this +department of letters but in all." + +"You believe yourself," said Mr. Repton, with a touch of severity, "to be +an exceptional young man?" + +George nodded. "I do," he said, "quite exceptional. I should have used a +stronger term had I been speaking of the matter myself. I think I have +genius, or, rather, I am sure I have; and, what is more, genius of a very +high order." + +"Well," said Mr. Repton, sighing, "I don't think we shall get any +forrader. Have you been working much lately?" he asked +anxiously--"examinations or anything?" + +"No," said George quietly. "I always feel like this." + +"Indeed!" said Mr. Repton, who was now convinced that the poor boy had +intended no discourtesy. "Well, I wonder whether you would mind taking +back a note to your father?" + +"Not at all," said George courteously. + +Mr. Repton in his turn wrote a short letter, in which he begged George's +father not to take offence at an old friend's advice, recalled to his +memory the long and faithful friendship between them, pointed out that +outsiders could often see things which members of a family could not, and +wound up by begging George's father to give George a good holiday. "Not +alone," he concluded; "I don't think that would be quite safe, but in +company with some really trustworthy man a little older than himself, who +won't get on his nerves and yet will know how to look after him. He must +get right away for some weeks," added the kind old man, "and after that +I should advise you to keep him at home and let him have some gentle +occupation. Don't encourage him in writing. I think he would take kindly +to _gardening_. But I won't write any more: I will come and see you +about it." + +Bearing that missive back did George reach his home.... All this passed in +the year 1895, and that is why George is to-day one of the best electrical +engineers in the country, instead of being a banker; and that shows how +good always comes, one way or another, of telling the truth. + + + + +ON THRUPPENNY BITS + + +Philip, King of Macedon, destroyer of the liberties of Greece, and father +to Alexander who tamed the horse Bucephalus, called for the tutor of that +lad, one Aristotle (surnamed the Teacher of the Human Race), to propound +to him a question that had greatly troubled him; for in counting out his +money (which was his habit upon a washing day, when the Queen's appetite +for afternoon tea and honey had rid him of her presence) he discovered +mixed with his treasure such an intolerable number of thruppenny bits as +very nearly drove him to despair. + +On this account King Philip of Macedon, destroyer of the liberties of +Greece, sent for Aristotle, his hanger-on, as one capable of answering any +question whatsoever, and said to him (when he had entered with a profound +obeisance): + +"Come, Aristotle, answer me straight; what is the use of a thruppenny bit?" + +"Dread sire," said Aristotle, standing in his presence with respect, "the +thruppenny bit is not to be despised. Men famous in no way for their +style, nor even for their learning, have maintained life by inscribing +within its narrow boundaries the Lord's Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten +Commandments, while others have used it as a comparison in the classes +of astronomy to illustrate the angle subtended by certain of the orbs of +heaven. The moon, whose waxing and waning is doubtless familiar to Your +Majesty, is indeed but just hidden by a thruppenny bit held between the +finger and the thumb of the observer extended at the full length of any +normal human arm." + +"Go on," said King Philip, with some irritation; "go on; go on!" + +"The thruppenny bit, Your Majesty, illustrates, as does no other coin, the +wisdom and the aptness of the duodecimal system to which the Macedonians +have so wisely clung (in common with the people of Scythia and of Thrace, +and the dumb animals) while the too brilliant Hellenes ran wild in the +false simplicity of the decimal system. The number twelve, Your +Majesty...." + +"Yes, yes, I know," said King Philip impatiently, "I have heard it a +thousand times! It has already persuaded me to abandon the duodecimal +method and to consign to the severest tortures any one who mentions it in +my presence again. My ten fingers are good enough for me. Go on, go on!" + +"Sovran Lord!" continued Aristotle, "the thruppenny bit has further been +proved in a thousand ways an adjuvator and prime helper of the Gods. For +many a man too niggardly to give sixpence, and too proud to give a copper, +has dropped this coin among the offerings at the Temple, and it is related +of a clergyman in Armagh (a town of which Your Majesty has perhaps never +heard) that he would frequently address his congregation from the rails +of the altar, pointing out the excessive number of thruppenny bits which +had been offered for the sustenance of the hierarchy, threatening to +summon before him known culprits, and to return to them the insufficient +oblation. Again, the thruppenny bit most powerfully disciplines the soul +of man, for it tries the temper as does no other coin, being small, thin, +wayward, given to hiding, and very often useless when it is discovered. +Learn also, King of Macedon, that the thruppenny bit is of value in ritual +phrases, and particularly so in objurgations and the calling down of +curses, and in the settlement of evil upon enemies, and in the final +expression of contempt. For to compare some worthless thing to a farthing, +to a penny, or to tuppence, has no vigour left in it, and it has long +been thought ridiculous even among provincials; a threadbare, worn, and +worthless sort of sneer; but the thruppenny bit has a sound about it +very valuable to one who would insist upon his superiority. Thus were +some rebel or some demagogue of Athens (for example) to venture upon the +criticism of Your Majesty's excursions into philosophy, in order to bring +those august theses into contempt, his argument would never find emphasis +or value unless he were to terminate its last phrase by a snap of the +fingers and the mention of a thruppenny bit. + +"King Philip of Macedon, most prudent of men, learn further that a +thruppenny bit, which to the foolish will often seem a mere expenditure of +threepence, to the wise may represent a saving of that sum. For how many +occasions are there not in which the inconsequent and lavish fool, the +spendthrift, the young heir, the commander of cavalry, the empty, gilded +boy, will give a sixpence to a messenger where a thruppenny bit would have +done as well? For silver is the craving of the poor, not in its amount, +but in its nature, for nature and number are indeed two things, the one on +the one hand...." + +"Oh, I know all about that," said King Philip; "I did not send for you +to get you off upon those rails, which have nothing whatever to do with +thruppenny bits. Be concrete, I pray you, good Aristotle," he continued, +and yawned. "Stick to things as they are, and do not make me remind you +how once you said that men had thirty-six, women only thirty-four, teeth. +Do not wander in the void." + +"Arbiter of Hellas," said Aristotle gravely, when the King had finished +his tirade, "the thruppenny bit has not only all that character of +usefulness which I have argued in it from the end it is designed to serve, +but one may also perceive this virtue in it in another way, which is by +observation. For you will remember how when we were all boys the fourpenny +bit of accursed memory still lingered, and how as against it the +thruppenny bit has conquered. Which is, indeed, a parable taken from +nature, showing that whatever survives is destined to survive, for that +is indeed in a way, as you may say, the end of survival." + +"Precisely," said King Philip, frowning intellectually; "I follow you. +I have heard many talk in this manner, but none talk as well as you do. +Continue, good Aristotle, continue." + +"Your Majesty, the matter needs but little exposition, though it contains +the very marrow of truth," said the philosopher, holding up in a menacing +way the five fingers of his left hand and ticking them off with the +forefinger of his right. "For it is first useful, second beautiful, third +valuable, fourth magnificent, and, fifthly, consonant to its nature." + +"Quite true," said King Philip, following carefully every word that fell +from the wise man's lips, for he could now easily understand. + +"Very well then, sire," said Aristotle in a livelier tone, charmed to +have captivated the attention of his Sovereign. "I was saying that which +survives is proved worthy of survival, as of a man and a shark, or of +Athens and Macedonia, or in many other ways. Now the thruppenny bit, +having survived to our own time, has so proved itself in that test, and +upon this all men of science are agreed. + +"Then, also, King Philip, consider how the thruppenny bit in another and +actual way, not of pure reason but, if I may say so, in a material manner, +commends itself: for is it not true that whereas all other nations +whatsoever, being by nature servile, will use a nickel piece or some other +denomination for whatever is small but is not of bronze, the Macedonians, +being designed by the Gods for the command of all the human race, have +very tenaciously clung to the thruppenny bit through good and through +evil repute, and have even under the sternest penalties enforced it upon +their conquered subjects? For when Your Majesty discovered (if you will +remember) that the people of Euboea, in manifest contempt of your Crown, +paid back into Your Majesty's treasury all their taxes in the shape of +thruppenny bits...." + +At this moment King Philip gave a loud shout, uttering in Greek the word +"Eureka," which signifies (to those who drop their aitches) "I've got it." + +"Got what?" said the philosopher, startled into common diction by the +unexpected interjection of the despot. + +"Get out!" said King Philip. "Do you suppose that any rambling Don is +going to take up my time when by a sheer accident his verbosity has +started me on a true scent? Out, Aristotle, out! Or, stay, take this note +with you to the Captain of the Guard"--and King Philip hastily scribbled +upon a parchment an order for the immediate execution of the whole of the +inhabitants of Euboea, saving such as could redeem themselves at the price +of ten drachmae, the said sum upon no account whatsoever to be paid in +coin containing so much as one thruppenny bit. + +But the offended philosopher had departed, and being well wound up could +not, any more than any other member of the academies, cease from spouting; +so that King Philip was intolerably aggravated to hear him as he waddled +down the Palace stairs still declaiming in a loud tone: + +"And, sixteenthly, the thruppenny bit has about it this noble quality, +that it represents an aliquot part of that sum which is paid to me daily +from the Royal Treasury in silver, a metal upon which we have always +insisted. And, seventeenthly...." + +But King Philip banged the door. + + + + +ON THE HOTEL AT PALMA AND A PROPOSED GUIDE-BOOK + + +The hotel at Palma is like the Savoy, but the cooking is a great deal +better. It is large and new; its decorations are in the modern style with +twiddly lines. Its luxury is greater than that of its London competitor. +It has an eager, willing porter and a delightful landlord. You do what you +like in it and there are books to read. One of these books was an English +guide-book. I read it. It was full of lies, so gross and palpable that I +told my host how abominably it traduced his country, and advised him first +to beat the book well and then to burn it over a slow fire. It said that +the people were superstitious--it is false. They have no taboo about days; +they play about on Sundays. They have no taboo about drinks; they drink +what they feel inclined (which is wine) when they feel inclined (which is +when they are thirsty). They have no taboo book, Bible or Koran, no damned +psychical rubbish, no damned "folk-lore," no triply damned mumbo-jumbo of +social ranks; kind, really good, simple-minded dukes would have a devil of +a time in Palma. Avoid it, my dears, keep away. If anything, the people of +Palma have not quite enough superstition. They play there for love, money, +and amusement. No taboo (talking of love) about love. + +The book said they were poor. Their populace is three or four times as +rich as ours. They own their own excellent houses and their own land; no +one but has all the meat and fruit and vegetables and wine he wants, and +usually draught animals and musical instruments as well. + +In fact, the book told the most frightful lies and was a worthy companion +to other guidebooks. It moved me to plan a guide-book of my own in which +the truth should be told about all the places I know. It should be called +"Guide to Northumberland, Sussex, Chelsea, the French frontier, South +Holland, the Solent, Lombardy, the North Sea, and Rome, with a chapter on +part of Cheshire and some remarks on the United States of America." + +In this book the fault would lie in its too great scrappiness, but the +merit in its exactitude. Thus I would inform the reader that the best time +to sleep in Siena is from nine in the morning till three in the afternoon, +and that the best place to sleep is the north side of St. Domenic's ugly +brick church there. + +Again, I would tell him that the man who keeps the "Turk's Head" at +Valogne, in Normandy, was only outwardly and professedly an Atheist, but +really and inwardly a Papist. + +I would tell him that it sometimes snowed in Lombardy in June, for I have +seen it--and that any fool can cross the Alps blindfold, and that the +sea is usually calm, not rough, and that the people of Dax are the most +horrible in all France, and that Lourdes, contrary to the general opinion, +does work miracles, for I have seen them. + +I would also tell him of the place at Toulouse where the harper plays +to you during dinner, and of the grubby little inn at Terneuzen on the +Scheldt where they charge you just anything they please for anything; +five shillings for a bit of bread, or half a crown for a napkin. + +All these things, and hundreds of others of the same kind, would I put +in my book, and at the end should be a list of all the hotels in Europe +where, at the date of publication, the landlord was nice, for it is the +character of the landlords which makes all the difference--and that +changes as do all human things. + +There you could see first, like a sort of Primate of Hotels, the Railway +Hotel at York. Then the inn at La Bruyère in the Landes, then the "Swan" +at Petworth with its mild ale, then the "White Hart" of Storrington, +then the rest of them, all the six or seven hundred of them, from the +"Elephant" of Chateau Thierry to the "Feathers" of Ludlow--a truly noble +remainder of what once was England; the "Feathers" of Ludlow, where the +beds are of honest wood with curtains to them, and where a man may drink +half the night with the citizens to the success of their engines and the +putting out of all fires. For there are in West England three little inns +in three little towns, all in a line, and all beginning with an +L--Ledbury, Ludlow, and Leominster, all with "Feathers," all with orchards +round, and I cannot tell which is the best. + +Then my guide-book will go on to talk about harbours; it will prove how +almost every harbour was impossible to make in a little boat; but it would +describe the difficulties of each so that a man in a little boat might +possibly make them. It would describe the rush of the tide outside Margate +and the still more dangerous rush outside Shoreham, and the absurd bar +at Littlehampton that strikes out of the sea, and the place to lie at in +Newhaven, and how not to stick upon the Platters outside Harwich; and the +very tortuous entry to Poole, and the long channel into Christchurch past +Hengistbury Head; and the enormous tides of South Wales; and why you often +have to beach at Britonferry, and the terrible difficulty of mooring in +Great Yarmouth; and the sad changes of Little Yarmouth, and the single +black buoy at Calais which is much too far out to be of any use; and how +to wait for the tide in the Swin. And also what no book has ever yet +given, an exact direction of the way in which one may roll into Orford +Haven, on the top of a spring tide if one has luck, and how if one has no +luck one sticks on the gravel and is pounded to pieces. + +Then my guide-book would go on to tell of the way in which to make men +pleasant to you according to their climate and country; of how you must +not hurry the people of Aragon, and how it is your duty to bargain with +the people of Catalonia; and how it is impossible to eat at Daroca; and +how careful one must be with gloomy men who keep inns at the very top of +glens, especially if they are silent, under Cheviot. And how one must not +talk religion when one has got over the Scotch border, with some remarks +about Jedburgh, and the terrible things that happened to a man there who +would talk religion though he had been plainly warned. + +Then my guide-book would go on to tell how one should climb ordinary +mountains, and why one should avoid feats; and how to lose a guide which +is a very valuable art, for when you have lost your guide you need not pay +him. My book will also have a note (for it is hardly worth a chapter) on +the proper method of frightening sheep dogs when they attempt to kill you +with their teeth upon the everlasting hills. + +This my good and new guide-book (oh, how it blossoms in my head as I +write!) would further describe what trains go to what places, and in what +way the boredom of them can best be overcome, and which expresses really +go fast; and I should have a footnote describing those lines of steamers +on which one can travel for nothing if one puts a sufficiently bold face +upon the matter. + +My guide-book would have directions for the pacifying of Arabs, a trick +which I learnt from a past master, a little way east of Batna in the year +1905--I will also explain how one can tell time by the stars and by the +shadow of the sun; upon what sort of food one can last longest and how +best to carry it, and what rites propitiate, if they are solemnized in a +due order, the half-malicious fairies which haunt men when they are lost +in lonely valleys, right up under the high peaks of the world. And my book +should have a whole chapter devoted to Ulysses. + +For you must know that one day I came into Narbonne where I had never been +before, and I saw written up in large letters upon a big, ugly house: + +ULYSSES, + +Lodging for Man and Beast. + +So I went in and saw the master, who had a round bullet head and cropped +hair, and I said to him: "What! Are you landed, then, after all your +journeys? And do I find you at last, you of whom I have read so much and +seen so little?" But with an oath he refused me lodging. + +This tale is true, as would be every other tale in my book. + +What a fine book it will be! + + + + +THE DEATH OF WANDERING PETER + + +"I will confess and I will not deny," said Wandering Peter (of whom you +have heard little but of whom in God's good time you shall hear more). "I +will confess and I will not deny that the chief pleasure I know is the +contemplation of my fellow beings." + +He spoke thus in his bed in the inn of a village upon the River Yonne +beyond Auxerre, in which bed he lay a-dying; but though he was dying he +was full of words. + +"What energy! What cunning! What desire! I have often been upon the edge +of a steep place, such as a chalk pit or a cliff above a plain, and +watched them down below, hurrying around, turning about, laying down, +putting up, leading, making, organizing, driving, considering, directing, +exceeding, and restraining; upon my soul I was proud to be one of them! I +have said to myself," said Wandering Peter, "lift up your heart; you also +are one of these! For though I am," he continued, "a wandering man and +lonely, given to the hills and to empty places, yet I glory in the workers +on the plain, as might a poor man in his noble lineage. From these I came; +to these in my old age I would have returned." + +At these words the people about his bed fell to sobbing when they thought +how he would never wander more, but Peter Wanderwide continued with a high +heart: + +"How pleasant it is to see them plough! First they cunningly contrive an +arrangement that throws the earth aside and tosses it to the air, and +then, since they are too weak to pull the same, they use great beasts, +oxen or horses or even elephants, and impose them with their will, so that +they patiently haul this contrivance through the thick clods; they tear +up and they put into furrows, and they transform the earth. Nothing can +withstand them. Birds you will think could escape them by flying up into +the air. It is an error. Upon birds also my people impose their view. They +spread nets, food, bait, trap, and lime. They hail stones and shot and +arrows at them. They cause some by a perpetual discipline to live near +them, to lay eggs and to be killed at will; of this sort are hens, geese, +turkeys, ducks, and guinea-fowls. Nothing eludes the careful planning of +man. + +"Moreover, they can build. They do not build this way or that, as a dull +necessity forces them, not they! They build as they feel inclined. They +hew down, they saw through (and how marvellous is a saw!), they trim +timber, they mix lime and sand, they excavate the recesses of the hills. +Oh! the fine fellows! They can at whim make your chambers or the Tower +prison, or my aunt's new villa at Wimbledon (which is a joke of theirs), +or St. Pancras Station, or the Crystal Palace, or Westminster Abbey, or +St. Paul's, or Bon Secours. They are agreeable to every change in the wind +that blows about the world. It blows Gothic, and they say 'By all +means'--and there is your Gothic--a thing dreamt of and done! It suddenly +veers south again and blows from the Mediterranean. The jolly little +fellows are equal to the strain, and up goes Amboise, and Anet, and the +Louvre, and all the Renaissance. It blows everyhow and at random as though +in anger at seeing them so ready. They care not at all! They build the +Eiffel Tower, the Queen Anne house, the Mary Jane house, the Modern-Style +house, the Carlton, the Ritz, the Grand Palais, the Trocadero, Olympia, +Euston, the Midhurst Sanatorium, and old Beit's Palace in Park Lane. They +are not to be defeated, they have immortal certitudes. + +"Have you considered their lines and their drawings and their cunning +plans?" said Wandering Peter. "They are astonishing there! Put a bit of +charcoal into my dog's mouth or my pet monkey's paw--would he copy the +world? Not he! But men--my brothers--_they_ take it in hand and make +war against the unspeaking forces; the trees and the hills are of their +own showing, and the places in which they dwell, by their own power, +become full of their own spirit. Nature is made more by being their model, +for in all they draw, paint, or chisel they are in touch with heaven and +with hell.... They write (Lord! the intelligence of their men, and Lord! +the beauty of their women). They write unimaginable things! + +"They write epics, they write lyrics, they write riddles and marching +songs and drinking songs and rhetoric, and chronicles, and elegies, and +pathetic memories; and in everything that they write they reveal things +greater than they know. They are capable," said Peter Wanderwide, in +his dying enthusiasm, "of so writing that the thought enlarges upon the +writing and becomes far more than what they have written. They write that +sort of verse called 'Stop-Short,' which when it is written makes one +think more violently than ever, as though it were an introduction to the +realms of the soul. And then again they write things which gently mock +themselves and are a consolation for themselves against the doom of +death." + +But when Peter Wanderwide said that word "death," the howling and the +boo-hooing of the company assembled about his bed grew so loud that he +could hardly hear himself think. For there was present the Mayor of +the village, and the Priest of the village, and the Mayor's wife, and +the Adjutant Mayor or Deputy Mayor, and the village Councillor, and +the Road-mender, and the Schoolmaster, and the Cobbler, and all the +notabilities, as many as could crush into the room, and none but the +Doctor was missing. + +And outside the house was a great crowd of the village folk, weeping +bitterly and begging for news of him, and mourning that so great and so +good a man should find his death in so small a place. + +Peter Wanderwide was sinking very fast, and his life was going out with +his breath, but his heart was still so high that he continued although his +voice was failing: + +"Look you, good people all, in your little passage through the daylight, +get to see as many hills and buildings and rivers, fields, books, men, +horses, ships, and precious stones as you can possibly manage to do. Or +else stay in one village and marry in it and die there. For one of these +two fates is the best fate for every man. Either to be what I have been, a +wanderer with all the bitterness of it, or to stay at home and hear in +one's garden the voice of God. + +"For my part I have followed out my fate. And I propose in spite of my +numerous iniquities, by the recollection of my many joys in the glories of +this earth, as by corks, to float myself in the sea of nothingness until I +reach the regions of the Blessed and the pure in heart. + +"For I think when I am dead Almighty God will single me out on account +of my accoutrement, my stirrup leathers, and the things that I shall be +talking of concerning Ireland and the Perigord, and my boat upon the +narrow seas; and I think He will ask St. Michael, who is the Clerk and +Registrar of battling men, who it is that stands thus ready to speak +(unless his eyes betray him) of so many things? Then St. Michael will +forget my name although he will know my face; he will forget my name +because I never stayed long enough in one place for him to remember it. + +"But St. Peter, because he is my Patron Saint and because I have always +had a special devotion to him, will answer for me and will have no +argument, for he holds the keys. And he will open the door and I will come +in. And when I am inside the door of Heaven I shall freely grow those +wings, the pushing and nascence of which have bothered my shoulder blades +with birth pains all my life long, and more especially since my thirtieth +year. I say, friends and companions all, that I shall grow a very +satisfying and supporting pair of wings, and once I am so furnished I +shall be received among the Blessed, and I shall at once begin to tell +them, as I told you on earth, all sorts of things, both false and true, +with regard to the countries through which I carried forward my homeless +feet, and in which I have been given such fulfilment for my eyes." + +When Peter Wanderwide had delivered himself of these remarks, which he did +with great dignity and fire for one in such extremity, he gasped a little, +coughed, and died. + +I need not tell you what solemnities attended his burial, nor with what +fervour the people flocked to pray at his tomb; but it is worth knowing +that the poet of that place, who was rival to the chief poet in Auxerre +itself, gathered up the story of his death into a rhyme, written in the +dialect of that valley, of which rhyme this is an English translation: + + When Peter Wanderwide was young + He wandered everywhere he would; + And all that he approved was sung, + And most of what he saw was good. + + When Peter Wanderwide was thrown + By Death himself beyond Auxerre, + He chanted in heroic tone + To Priest and people gathered there: + + "If all that I have loved and seen + Be with me on the Judgment Day, + I shall be saved the crowd between + From Satan and his foul array. + + "Almighty God will surely cry + 'St. Michael! Who is this that stands + With Ireland in his dubious eye, + And Perigord between his hands, + + "'And on his arm the stirrup thongs, + And in his gait the narrow seas, + And in his mouth Burgundian songs, + But in his heart the Pyrenees?' + + "St. Michael then will answer right + (But not without angelic shame): + 'I seem to know his face by sight; + I cannot recollect his name....' + + "St. Peter will befriend me then, + Because my name is Peter too; + 'I know him for the best of men + That ever wallopped barley brew. + + "'And though I did not know him well, + And though his soul were clogged with sin, + _I_ hold the keys of Heaven and Hell. + Be welcome, noble Peterkin.' + + "Then shall I spread my native wings + And tread secure the heavenly floor, + And tell the Blessed doubtful things + Of Val d'Aran and Perigord." + + * * * * * + + This was the last and solemn jest + Of weary Peter Wanderwide, + He spoke it with a failing zest, + And having spoken it, he died. + + + + +THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE + + +The nation known to history as the Nephalo Ceclumenazenoi, or, more +shortly, the Nepioi, inhabited a fruitful and prosperous district +consisting in a portion of the mainland and certain islands situated in +the Picrocholian Sea; and had there for countless centuries enjoyed a +particular form of government which it is not difficult to describe, for +it was religious and arranged upon the principle that no ancient custom +might be changed. + +Lest such changes should come about through the lapse of time or the +evil passions of men, the citizens of the aforesaid nation had them very +clearly engraved in a dead language and upon bronze tablets, which they +fixed upon the doors of their principal temple, where it stood upon a +hill outside the city, and it was their laudable custom to entrust the +interpretation of them not to aged judges, but to little children, for +they argued that we increase in wickedness with years, and that no one +is safe from the aged, but that children are, alone of the articulately +speaking race, truth-tellers. Therefore, upon the first day of the year +(which falls in that country at the time of sowing) they would take one +hundred boys of ten years of age chosen by lot, they would make these +hundred, who had previously for one year received instruction in their +sacred language, write each a translation of the simple code engraved +upon the bronze tablets. It was invariably discovered that these artless +compositions varied only according to the ability of the lads to construe, +and that some considerable proportion of them did accurately show forth +in the vernacular of the time the meaning of those ancestral laws. They +had further a magistrate known as the Archon. whose business it was to +administrate these customs and to punish those who broke them. And this +Archon, when or if he proposed something contrary to custom in the opinion +of not less than a hundred petitioners, was judged by a court of children. + +In this fashion for thousands of years did the Nepioi proceed with their +calm and ordinary lives, enjoying themselves like so many grigs, and +utterly untroubled by those broils and imaginations of State which +disturbed their neighbours. + +There was a legend among them (upon which the whole of this Constitution +was based) that a certain Hero, one Melek, being in stature twelve foot +high and no less than 93 inches round the chest, had landed in their +country 150,000 years previously, and finding them very barbarous, slaying +one another and unacquainted with the use of letters, the precious metals, +or the art of usury, had instructed them in civilization, endowed them +with letters, a coinage, police, lawyers, instruments of torture, and all +the other requisites of a great State, and had finally drawn up for them +this code of law or custom, which they carefully preserved engraved upon +the tablets of bronze, which were set upon the walls of their chief temple +on the hill outside the city. + +Within the temple itself its great shrine and, so to speak, its very cause +of being was the Hero's tomb. He lay therein covered with plates of gold, +and it was confidently asserted and strictly and unquestionably believed +that at some unknown time in the future he would come out to rule them for +ever in a millennial fashion--though heaven knows they were happy enough +as it was. + +Among their customs was this: that certain appointed officers +would at every change in the moon proclaim the former existence and virtue +of Melek, his residence in the tomb, and his claims to authority. To enter +the tomb, indeed, was death, but there was proof of the whole story in +documents which were carefully preserved in the temple, and which were +from time to time consulted and verified. The whole structure of Nepioian +society reposed upon the sanctity of this story, upon the presence of the +Hero in his tomb, and of his continued authority, for with this was +intertwined, or rather upon this was based, the further sanctity of their +customs. + +Things so proceeded without hurt or cloud until upon one most unfortunate +day a certain man, bearing the vulgar name of Megalocrates, which +signifies a person whose health requires the use of a wide head-gear, +discovered that a certain herb which grew in great abundance in their +territory and had hitherto been thought useless would serve almost every +purpose of the table, sufficing, according to its preparation, for meat, +bread, vegetables, and salt, and, if properly distilled, for a liquor that +would make the Nepioi even more drunk than did their native spirits. + +From this discovery ensued a great plenty throughout the land, the +population very rapidly increased, the fortunes of the wealthy grew to +double, treble, and four times those which had formerly been known, the +middle classes adopted a novel accent in speech and a gait hitherto +unusual, while great numbers of the poor acquired the power of living upon +so small a proportion of foul air, dull light, stagnant water, and mangy +crusts as would have astonished their nicer forefathers. Meanwhile this +great period of progress could not but lead to further discoveries, and +the Nepioi had soon produced whole colleges in which were studied the arts +useful to mankind and constantly discovered a larger and a larger number +of surprising and useful things. At last the Nepioi (though this, perhaps, +will hardly be credited) were capable of travelling underground, flying +through the air, conversing with men a thousand miles away in a moment of +time, and committing suicide painlessly whenever there arose occasion for +that exercise. + +It may be imagined with what reverence the authors of all these boons, the +members of the learned colleges, were regarded; and how their opinions had +in the eyes and ears of the Nepioi an unanswerable character. + +Now it so happened that in one of these colleges a professor of more than +ordinary position emitted one day the opinion that Melek had lived only +half as long ago as was commonly supposed. In proof of this he put forward +the undoubted truth that if Melek had lived at the time he was supposed +to have lived, then he would have lived twice as long ago as he, the +professor, said that he had lived. The more old-fashioned and stupid +of the Nepioi murmured against such opinions, and though they humbly +confessed themselves unable to discover any flaw in the professor's logic, +they were sure he was wrong somewhere and they were greatly disturbed. +But the opinion gained ground, and, what is more, this fruitful and +intelligent surmise upon the part of the professor bred a whole series of +further theories upon Melek, each of which contradicted the last but one, +and the latest of which was always of so limpid and so self-evident a +truth as to be accepted by whatever was intelligent and energetic in the +population, and especially by the young unmarried women of the wealthier +classes. In this manner the epoch of Melek was reduced to five, to three, +to two, to one thousand years. Then to five hundred, and at last to one +hundred and fifty. But here was a trouble. The records of the State, which +had been carefully kept for many centuries, showed no trace of Melek's +coming during any part of the time, but always referred to him as a +long-distant forerunner. There was not even any mention of a man twelve +foot high, nor even of one a little over 93 inches round the chest. At last +it was proposed by an individual of great courage that he might be allowed +to open the tomb of Melek and afterwards, if they so pleased, suffer death. +This privilege was readily granted to him by the Archon. The worthy +reformer, therefore, prised open the sacred shrine and found within it +absolutely nothing whatsoever. + +Upon this there arose among the Nepioi all manner of schools and +discussions, some saying this and some that, but none with the certitude +of old. Their customs fell into disrepute, and even the very professors +themselves were occasionally doubted when they laid down the law upon +matters in which they alone were competent--as, for instance, when they +asserted that the moon was made of a peculiarly delicious edible substance +which increased in savour when it was preserved in the store-rooms of the +housewives; or when they affirmed with every appearance of truth that no +man did evil, and that wilful murder, arson, cruelty to the innocent and +the weak, and deliberate fraud were of no more disadvantage to the general +state, or to men single, than the drinking of a cup of cold water. + +So things proceeded until one day, when all custom and authority had +fallen into this really lamentable deliquescence, fleets were observed +upon the sea, manned by men-at-arms, the admiral of which sent a short +message to the Archon proposing that the people of the country should send +to him and his one-half of their yearly wealth for ever, "or," so the +message proceeded, "take the consequences." Upon the Archon communicating +this to the people there arose at once an infinity of babble, some saying +one thing and some another, some proposing to pay neighbouring savages +to come in and fight the invaders, others saying it would be cheaper to +compromise with a large sum, but the most part agreeing that the wisest +thing would be for the Archon and his great-aunt to go out to the fleet +in a little boat and persuade the enemy's admiral (as they could surely +easily do) that while most human acts were of doubtful responsibility and +not really wicked, yet the invasion, and, above all, the impoverishment +of the Nepioi was so foul a wrong as would certainly call down upon its +fiendish perpetrator the fires of heaven. + +While the Archon and his great-aunt were rowing out in the little boat +a few doddering old men and superstitious females slunk off to consult +the bronze tablets, and there found under Schedule XII these words: "If +an enemy threaten the State, you shall arm and repel him." In their +superstition the poor old chaps, with their half-daft female devotees +accompanying them, tottered back to the crowds to persuade them to some +ridiculous fanaticism or other, based on no better authority than the +non-existent Melek and his absurd and exploded authority. + +Judge of their horror when, as they neared the city, they saw from the +height whereon the temple stood that the invaders had landed, and, having +put to the sword all the inhabitants without exception, were proceeding to +make an inventory of the goods and to settle the place as conquerors. The +admiral summoned this remnant of the nation, and hearing what they had to +say treated them with the greatest courtesy and kindness and pensioned +them off for their remaining years, during which period they so instructed +him and his fighting men in the mysteries of their religion as quite to +convert them, and in a sense to found the Nepioian State over again; but +it should be mentioned that the admiral, by way of precaution, changed +that part of the religion which related to the tomb of Melek and situated +the shrine in the very centre of the crater of an active volcano in the +neighbourhood, which by night and day, at every season of the year, +belched forth molten rock so that none could approach it within fifteen +miles. + + + + +A NORFOLK MAN + + +Among the delights of historical study which makes it so curiously +similar to travel, and therefore so fatally attractive to men who cannot +afford it, is the element of discovery and surprise: notably in little +details. + +When in travel one goes along a way one has never been before one often +comes upon something odd, which one could not dream was there: for +instance, once I was in a room in a little house in the south and thought +there must be machinery somewhere from the noise I heard, until a man in +the house quietly lifted up a trapdoor in the floor, and there, running +under and through the house a long way below, was a river: the River +Garonne. + +It is the same way in historical study. You come upon the most +extraordinary things: little things, but things whose unexpectedness is +enormous. I had an example of this the other day, as I was looking up some +last details to make certain of the affair of Valmy. + +Most people have heard of the French Revolution, and many people have +heard of the battle of Valmy, which decided the first fate of that +movement, when it was first threatened by war. But very few people have +read about Valmy, so it is necessary to give some idea of the action to +understand the astonishing little thing attaching to it which I am about +to describe. + +The cannonade of Valmy was exchanged between a French Army with its back +to a range of hills and a Prussian Army about a mile away over against +them. It was as though the French Army had stretched from Leatherhead +to Epsom and had engaged in a cannonade with a Prussian Army lying over +against them in a position astraddle of the road to Kingston. + +Through this range of hills at the back of the French Army lay a gap, just +as there is a gap through the hills behind Leatherhead. Not only was that +gap easily passable by an army--easily, at least, compared with the hill +country on either side--but it had running through it the great road from +Metz to Paris, so that advance along it was rapid and practicable. + +It so happened that another force of the enemy besides that which was +cannonading the French in front was advancing through this gap from +behind, and it is evident that if this second force of the enemy had been +able to get through the gap it would have been all up with the French. +Dumouriez, who commanded the French, saw this well enough; he had ordered +the gap to be strongly fortified and well gunned and a camp to be formed +there, largely made up of Volunteers and Irregulars. On the proper conduct +of that post depended everything: and here comes the fun. The commander +of the post was not what you might expect, a Frenchman of any one of the +French types with which the Revolution has made us familiar: contrariwise, +he was an elderly private gentleman from the county of Norfolk. + +His name was Money. The little that is known about him is entertaining to +a degree. His own words prove him to be like the person in the song, "a +very honest man," and luckily for us he has left in a book a record of the +day (and subsequent actions) stamped vividly with his own character. John +Money: called by his neighbours General John Money, not, as you might +expect. General Money: a man devoted to the noble profession of arms and +also eaten up with a passion for ballooning. + +I find it difficult to believe that he was first in action at the age of +nine years or that he held King George's commission as a Cornet at the +age of ten. He does not tell us so himself nor do any of his friends. The +surmise is that of our Universities, and it is worthy of them. Clap on ten +years and you are nearer the mark. At any rate he was under fire in 1761, +and he was a Cornet in 1762; a Cornet in the Inniskilling Dragoons with a +commission dated on the 11th of March of that year. Then he transformed +himself into a Linesman, got his company in the 9th Foot eight years +later, and eight years later again, at the outbreak of the American War, +he was a major. He was quarter-master-general under Burgoyne, he was taken +prisoner--I think at Saratoga, but anyhow during that disastrous advance +upon the Hudson Valley. He got his lieutenant-colonelcy towards the end of +the war. He retired from the Army and never saw active service again. When +the Low Countries revolted against Austria he offered his services to the +insurgents and was accepted, but the truly entertaining chapter of his +adventures begins when he suggested himself to the French Government as +a very proper and likely man to command a brigade on the outbreak of the +great war with the Empire and with Prussia. + +Very beautifully does he tell us in his preface what moved him to that act. +"Colonel Money," he says, in the quiet third person of a self-respecting +Norfolk gentleman, "does not mean to assign any other reason for serving +the armies of France than that he loves his profession and went there +merely to improve himself in it." Spoken like Othello! + +He dedicates the book, by the way, to the Marquis Townshend, and carefully +adds that he has not got permission to dedicate it to that exalted +nobleman, nay, that he fears that he would not get permission if he asked +for it. But Lord Townshend is such a rattling good soldier that Colonel +Money is quite sure he will want to hear all about the war. On which +account he has this book so dedicated and printed by E. Harlow, bookseller +to Her Majesty, in Pall Mall. + +Before beginning his narrative the excellent fellow pathetically says, +that as there was no war a little time before, nor apparently any +likelihood of one, "Colonel Money once intended to serve the Turks"; from +this horrid fate a Christian Providence delivered him, and sent him to the +defence of Gaul. + +His commission was dated on the 19th of July, 1792; Marshal of the Camps, +that is, virtually, brigadier-general. He is very proud of it, and he +gives it in full. It ends up "Given in the year of Grace 1792 of our Reign +the 19th and Liberty the 4th. Louis." The phrase, in accompaniment with +the signature and the date, is not without irony. + +Colonel Money could never stomach certain traits in the French people. + +Before he left Paris for his command on the frontier he was witness to +the fighting when the Palace was stormed by the populace, and he is +our authority for the fact that the 5th Battalion of Paris Volunteers +stationed in the Champs Elysées helped to massacre the Swiss Guard. + +"The lieutenant-colonel of this battalion," writes honest John Money, +"who was under my command during part of the campaign, related to me the +circumstances of this murder, and apparently with pleasure. He said: 'That +the unhappy men implored mercy, but,' added he, 'we did not regard this. +We put them all to death, and our men cut off most of their heads and +fixed them on their bayonets.'" + +Colonel or, as he then was, General Money disapproves of this. + +He also disapproves of the officer in command of the Marseillese, and says +he was a "Tyger." It seems that the "Tyger" was dining with Théroigne de +Méricourt and three English gentlemen in the very hotel where Money was +stopping, and it occurs to him that they might have broken in from their +drunken revels next door and treated him unfriendly. + +Then he goes to the frontier, and after a good deal of complaint that he +has not been given his proper command he finds himself at the head of that +very important post which was the saving of the Army of Valmy. + +Dumouriez, who always talked to him in English (for English was more +widely known abroad then than it is now, at least among gentlemen), had +a very great opinion of Money; but he deplores the fact that Money's +address to his soldiery was couched "in a jargon which they could not even +begin to understand." Money does not tell us that in his account of the +fighting, but he does tell us some very interesting things, which reveal +him as a man at once energetic and exceedingly simple. He left the guns +to Galbaud, remarking that no one but a gunner could attend to that sort +of thing, which was sound sense; but the Volunteers, the Line, and the +Cavalry he looked after himself, and when the first attack was made he +gave the order to fire from the batteries. Just as they were blazing away +Dillon, who was far off but his superior, sent word to the batteries to +cease firing. Why, nobody knows. At any rate the orderly galloped up and +told Money that those were Dillon's orders. On which Money very charmingly +writes: + +"I told him to go back and tell General Dillon that I commanded there, and +that whilst the enemy fired shot and shell on me _I_ should continue +to fire back on them." A sentence that warms the heart. Having thus +delivered himself to the orderly, he began pacing up and down the parapet +"to let my men see that there was not much to be apprehended from a +cannonade." + +You may if you will make a little picture of this to yourselves. A great +herd of volunteers, some of whom had never been under fire, the rest +of whom had bolted miserably at Verdun a few days before, men not yet +soldiers and almost without discipline: the batteries banging away in the +wood behind them, in front of them a long earthwork at which the enemy +were lobbing great round lumps of iron and exploding shells, and along +the edge of this earthwork an elderly gentleman from Norfolk, in England, +walking up and down undisturbed, occasionally giving orders to his army, +and teaching his command a proper contempt for fire. + +He adds as another reason why he did not cease fire when he was ordered +that "without doubt the troops would have thought there was treason in it, +and I had probably been cut in pieces." + +He did not understand what had happened at Valmy, though he was so useful +in securing the success of that day. All he noted was that after the +cannonade Kellermann had fallen back. He rode into St. Ménehould, where +Dumouriez's head-quarters were, ran up to the top of the steeple and +surveyed the country around the enemy's camp with an enormous telescope, +laid a bet at dinner of five to one that the enemy would attack again +(they did not do so, and so he lost his bet, but he says nothing about +paying it), and then heard that France had been decreed a Republic. +His comment on this piece of news is strong but cryptical. "It was +surprising," he says, "to see what an effect this news had on the Army." + +Every sentence betrays the personality: the keen, eccentric character +which took to balloons just after the Montgolfiers, and fell with his +balloon into the North Sea, wrote his Treatise on the use of such +instruments in War, and was never happy unless he was seeing or doing +something--preferably under arms. And in every sentence also there is that +curious directness of statement which is of such advantage to vivacity +in any memoir. Thus of Gobert, who served under him, he has a little +footnote: "This unfortunate young man lost his head at the same time +General Dillon suffered, and a very amiable young man he was, and an +excellent officer." + +He ends his book in a phrase from which I think not a word could be taken +nor to which a word could be added without spoiling it. I will quote it in +full. + +"The reader, I trust, will excuse my having so often departed from the +line of my profession in giving my opinion on subjects that are not +military" (for instance, his objections to the head-cutting business), +"but having had occasion to know the people of France I freely venture to +submit my judgments to the public and have the satisfaction to find that +they coincide with the opinion of those who know that extraordinary nation +_still better than myself_." + + + + +THE ODD PEOPLE + + +The people of Monomotapa, of whom I have written more than once, I have +recently revisited; and I confess to an astonishment at the success with +which they deal with the various difficulties and problems arising in +their social life. + +Thus, in most countries the laws of property are complex in the extreme; +punishable acts in connexion with them are numerous and often difficult to +define. + +In Monomotapa the whole thing is settled in a very simple manner: in the +first place, instead of strict laws binding men down by written words, +they appoint a number of citizens who shall have it in their discretion to +decide whether a man's actions are worthy of punishment or no; and these +appointed citizens have also the power to assign the punishment, which may +vary from a single day's imprisonment to a lifetime. So crimeless is the +country, however, that in a population of over thirty millions less than +twenty such nominations are necessary; I must, however, admit that these +score are aided by several thousand minor judges who are appointed in a +different manner. + +Their method of appointment is this: it is discovered as accurately as may +be by a man's manner of dress and the hours of his labour and the size of +the house he inhabits, whether he have more than a certain yearly revenue; +any man discovered to have more than this revenue is immediately appointed +to the office of which I speak. + +The power of these assessors is limited, however, for though it is left to +their discretion whether their fellow-citizens are worthy of punishment +or not, yet the total punishment they can inflict is limited to a certain +number of years of imprisonment. In old times this sort of minor judge +was not appointed in Monomotapa unless he could prove that he kept dogs +in great numbers for the purposes of hunting, and at least three horses. +But this foolish prejudice has broken down in the progress of modern +enlightenment, and, as I have said, the test is now extended to a general +consideration of clothes, the size of the house inhabited, and the amount +of leisure enjoyed, the type of tobacco smoked, and other equally +reasonable indications of judicial capacity. + +The men thus chosen to consider the actions of their fellow-citizens in +courts of law are rewarded in two ways: the first small body who are the +more powerful magistrates are given a hundred times the income of an +ordinary citizen, for it is claimed that in this way not only are the best +men for the purpose obtained, but, further, so large a salary makes all +temptation to bribery impossible and secures a strict impartiality between +rich and poor. + +The lesser judges, on the other hand, are paid nothing, for it is wisely +pointed out that a man who is paid nothing and who volunteers his services +to the State will not be the kind of a man who would take a bribe or who +would consider social differences in his judgments. + +It is further pointed out by the Monomotapans (I think very reasonably) +that the kind of man who will give his services for nothing, even in the +arduous work of imprisoning his fellow-citizens, will probably be the best +man for the job, and does not need to be allured to it by the promise of +a great salary. In this way they obtain both kinds of judges, and, oddly +enough, each kind speaks, acts, and lives much as does the other. + +I must next describe the methods by which this interesting and sensible +people secure the ends of their criminal system. + +When one of their magistrates has come to the conclusion that on the whole +he will have a fellow-citizen imprisoned, that person is handed over to +the guardianship of certain officials, whose business it is to see that +the man does not die during the period for which he is entrusted to them. +When some one of the numerous forms of torture which they are permitted +to use has the effect of causing death, the official responsible is +reprimanded and may even be dismissed. The object indeed of the whole +system is to reform and amend the criminal. He is therefore forbidden to +speak or to communicate in any way with human beings, and is segregated in +a very small room devoid of all ornament, with the exception of one hour a +day, during which he is compelled to walk round and round a deep, walled +courtyard designed for the purpose of such an exercise. If (as is often +the case) after some years of this treatment the criminal shows no signs +of mental or moral improvement, he is released; and if he is a man of +property, lives unmolested on what he has, and that usually in a quiet +and retired way. But if he is devoid of property, the problem is indeed a +difficult one, for it is the business of the police to forbid him to work, +and they are rewarded if he is found committing any act which the judges +or the magistrates are likely to disapprove. In this way even those who +have failed to effect reform in their characters during their first term +of imprisonment are commonly--if they are poor--re-incarcerated within +a short time, so that the system works precisely as it was intended to, +giving the maximum amount of reformation to the worst and the hardest +characters. I should add that the Monomotapan character is such that in +proportion to wealth a man's virtues increase, and it is remarkable that +nearly all those who suffer the species of imprisonment I have described +are of the poorer classes of society. + +Though they are so reasonable, and indeed afford so excellent a model to +ourselves in most of their social relations, the people of Monomotapa +have, I confess, certain customs which I have never clearly understood, +and which my increasing study of them fails to explain to me. + +Thus, in matters which, with us, are thought susceptible of positive +proof (such as the taste and quality of cooking, or the mental abilities +of a fellow-citizen) the Monomotapans establish their judgment in a +transcendental or super-rational manner. The cooking in a restaurant or +hotel is with them excellent in proportion, not to the taste of the viands +subjected to it, but to the rental of the premises. And when a man desires +the most delicious food he does not consider where he has tasted such food +in the past, but rather the situation and probable rateable value of the +eating-house which will provide him with it. Nay, he is willing--if he +understands that that rateable value is high--to pay far more for the same +article than he would in a humbler hostelry. + +The same super-rational method, as I have called it, applies to the +Monomotapan judgment of political ability; for here it is not what a +man has said or written, nor whether he has proved himself capable +of foreseeing certain events of moment to the State, it is not these +characters that determine his political career, but a mixture of other +indices, one of which is that his brothers shall be younger than himself, +another that when he speaks he shall strike the palm of his open left hand +with his clenched right hand in a particular manner by no means commonly +or easily acquired; another that he shall not wear at one and the same +time a coat which is bifurcated and a hat of hemispherical outline; +another that he shall keep silence upon certain types of foreigners who +frequent the markets of Monomotapa, and shall even pretend that they are +not foreigners but Monomotapans; and this index of statesmanship he must +preserve under all circumstances, even when the foreigners in question +cannot speak the Monomotapan language. + +Some years ago it was required of every statesman that he should, for at +least so many times in any one year, extravagantly praise the virtues +of these foreign merchants, and particularly allude to their intensely +unforeign character; but this custom has recently fallen into abeyance, +and silence upon the subject is the most that is demanded. + +A further social habit of this people which we should find very strange +and which I for my part think unaccountable is their habit of judging the +excellence of a literary production, not by the sense or even the sound of +it, but by the ink in which it is printed and the paper upon which it is +impressed. And this applies not only to their letters but also to their +foreign information, and on this account they should (one would imagine) +obtain but a very distorted view of the world. For if a good printer +prints with excellent ink at five shillings a pound, and with beautiful +clear type upon the best linen paper, the statement that the British +Islands are uninhabited, while another in bad ink and upon flimsy paper +and with worn type affirms that they contain over forty million souls, the +first impression and not the second would be conveyed to the Monomotapan, +mind. As a fact, however, they are not misinformed, for this singular +frailty of theirs (as I conceive it to be) is moderated by one very wise +countervailing mental habit of theirs, which is to believe whatever they +hear asserted more than twenty-six times, so that even if the assertion be +conveyed to them in bad print and upon poor paper, they will believe it if +they read it over and over again to the required limits of reiterations. + +No people in the world are fonder of animals than this genial race, but +here again curious limits to their affection are to be discovered, for +while they will tear to pieces some abandoned wretch who beats a llama +with a hazel twig for its correction, they will see nothing remarkable in +the tearing to pieces of an alpaca goat by dogs specially trained in that +exercise. + +Generally speaking, the larger an animal is, the warmer is the affection +borne it by these people. Fleas and lice are crushed without pity, +blackbeetles with more hesitation, small birds are spared entirely, and +so on upwards until for calves they have a special legislation to protect +and cherish them. At the other end of the scale, microbes are pitilessly +exterminated. + +Divorce is not common in Monomotapa. But such divorces as take place are +very rightly treated differently, according to the wealth of the persons +involved. Above a certain scale of wealth divorce is only granted after a +lengthy trial in a court of justice; but with the poor it is established +by the decree of a magistrate who usually, shortly after pronouncing his +sentence, finds an occasion to imprison the innocent party. Moreover, the +poor can be divorced in this manner, if any magistrate feels inclined to +exercise his power, while for the divorce of the rich set conditions are +laid down. + +I should add that the Monomotapans have no religion; but the tolerance of +their Constitution is nowhere better shown than in this particular, for +though they themselves regard religion as ridiculous, they will permit +its exercise within the State, and even occasionally give high office and +emoluments to those who practise it. + +We have, indeed, much to learn in this matter of religion from the race +whose habits I have discovered and here describe. Nothing, perhaps, has +done more to warp our own story than the hide-bound prejudice that a +doctrine could not be both false and true at the same time, and the +unreasoning certitude, inherited from the bad old days of clerical +tyranny, that a thing either was or was not. + +No such narrowness troubles the Monomotapan. He will prefer--and very +wisely prefer--an opinion that renders him comfortable to one that in any +way interferes with his appetites; and if two such opinions contradict +each other, he will not fall into a silly casuistry which would attempt to +reconcile them: he will quietly accept both, and serve the Higher Purpose +with a contented mind. + +It is on this account that I have said that the Monomotapans regard +religion as ridiculous. For true religion, indeed (as they phrase it), +they have the highest reverence; and true religion consists in following +the inclinations of an honest man, that is, oneself; but "religion in the +sense of fixed doctrine," as one of their priests explained to me, "is +abhorrent to our free commonwealth." Thus such hair-splitting questions as +whether God really exists or no, whether it be wrong to kill or to steal, +whether we owe any duties to the State, and, if so, what duties, are +treated by the honest Monomotapans with the contempt they deserve: they +abandon such speculation for the worthy task of enjoying, each man, what +his fortune permits him to enjoy. + +But, as I have said above, they do not persecute the small minority living +in their midst who cling with the tenacity of all starved minds to their +fixed ideas; and if a man who professes certitude upon doctrinal matters +is useful in other ways, they are very far from refusing his services to +the State. I have known more than one, for instance, of this old-fashioned +and bigoted lot who, when he offered a sum of money in order to be +admitted to the Senate of Monomotapa, found it accepted as readily and +cheerfully as though it had been offered by one of the broadest principles +and most liberal mind. + +Let no one be surprised that I have spoken of their priests, for though +the Monomotapans regard religion with due contempt, it does not follow +that they will take away the livelihood of a very honest class of people +who in an older and barbaric state of affairs were employed to maintain +the structure of what was then a public worship. The priesthood, +therefore, is very justly and properly retained by the Monomotapans, +subject only to a few simple duties and to a sacred intonation of voice +very distressing to those not accustomed to it. If I am asked in what +occupation they are employed, I answer, the wealthier of them in such +sports and futilities as attract the wealthy, and the less wealthy in such +futilities and sports as the less wealthy customarily enjoy. Nor is it a +rigid law among them that the sons of priests should be priests, but only +the custom--so far, at least, as I have been able to discover. + + + + +LETTER OF ADVICE AND APOLOGY TO A YOUNG BURGLAR + + +My dear Ormond, + +Nothing was further from my thoughts. I had imagined you knew me well +enough--and, for the matter of that, all your mother's family--to judge +me better. Believe me, no conception of blaming your profession entered +my mind for a moment. Whether there be such a thing as "property" in the +abstract I should leave it to metaphysicians to decide: in practical +affairs everything must be judged in its own surroundings. + +It was not upon any musty theological whimsy that I wrote; the definition +of stealing or "theft"--I care not by what name you call it--is not for +practical men to discuss. Nor was I concerned with the ethical discussion +of burglary (to give the matter its old legal and technical title); it was +lack of judgment, sudden actions due to nothing but impulse, and what I +think I may call "the speculative side" of a burglar's life. + +You have not, as yet, any great responsibilities. No one is dependent upon +you--you have but yourself to provide for; but you must remember that such +responsibilities will arrive in their natural course, and that if you form +habits of rashness or obstinacy now they will cling to you through life. +We are all looking forward to a certain event when Anne is free again; in +plain English, my boy, we know your loyal heart, and we shall bless the +union; but I should feel easier in my mind if I saw you settled into one +definite branch of the profession before you undertook the nurture of a +family. + +Adventure tempts you because you are brave, and something of a poet in +you leads you to unusual scenes of action. Well, Youth has a right to its +dreams, but beware of letting a dangerous Quixotism spoil your splendid +chances. + +Take, for example, your breaking into Mr. Cowl's house. You may say Mr. +Cowl was not a journalist, but only a reviewer; the distinction is very +thin, but let it pass. You know and I know that the houses of _none_ +in any way connected with the daily Press should ever be approached. It is +plain common sense. The journalist comes home at all hours of the night. +His servant (if he keeps one) is often up before he is abed. Do you think +to enter such houses unobserved? + +Again, in one capacity or another, the journalist is dealing with our +profession all day long. Some he serves and knows as masters; others he is +employed in denouncing at about forty-two shillings the 1600 words; others +again it is his business to interview and to pacify or cajole in the +lobbies of the House--do you think he would not know what you were if he +found you in the kitchen with a dark lantern? + +There is another peril--I mean that of alienating friends. Mr. Cowl is an +Imperialist--of a very unemphatic type: he wears (as you will say) gold +spectacles, and has a nervous cough, but he _is_ an Imperialist. I +never said that it was _wrong_ or even _foolish_ to alienate +such a man. I said that a great and powerful section of opinion thought it +a breach of honour in one of Ours to do it. Do not run away with the first +impression my words convey. Believe me, I weigh them all. + +There has been so much misunderstanding that I hardly know what to choose. +Take those watches. I did not say that watches were "a mere distraction." +You have put the words into my mouth. What I said was that watches, +especially watches at a Tariff Reform meeting, were not worth the risk. +Of course a hatful of watches, such as your Uncle Robert would bring home +from fires, or better still, such a load as your poor cousin Charles +obtained upon Empire Day last year, has value. But how many gold watches +are there, off the platform, at a Tariff Reform meeting? And what possible +chance have you of getting _on_ the platform? Now church and purses, +that is another thing, but your mid-Devon adventure was simple folly. + +Who is Lord Darrell? I never heard of him! For Heaven's sake don't get +caught by a title. Do you know any of the servants? His butler or his +secretary? The fellow who catalogues the library is useful. Do recollect +that lots of the ornaments in those Mayfair houses are fastened to the +wall. That is where your dear father failed over the large Chinese jar in +Park Street.... Your mother would never forgive me if you were to get into +another of your boyish scrapes. + +There is another little matter, my dear Ormond, which I wish you to lay +to heart very seriously. Now do take an old man's advice and do not get +up upon your Quixotic hobby-horse the moment you sniff what it is--for I +suppose you have guessed it already. Yes, it is what you feared: I want to +urge you to follow your mother's ardent wish and add commission business +to your other work. I know very well that young men must dream their +dreams, but the world is what it is, and after all there is nothing so +very dreadful in the commission side of our profession. You do not come +into direct relation with the collectors of curios and church ornaments: +there is always an agent to break the crudeness of the connexion. And +it is a certain and profitable source of income with none of the risks +attached to it that the older branches of the profession unfortunately +show. Moreover, it affords excellent opportunities for foreign travel, +and gives one a special position very difficult to define, but easily +appreciable among one's colleagues. + +George Burton made to my knowledge three thousand pounds last year in a +short season; he got this very large commission without the necessity of +breaking into a single public-house; he earned it entirely upon objects +taken out of churches upon the Continent, and in only three cases had he +to pick a pocket. It would have hurt him very much with his knowledge and +tastes to have had to break a stained-glass window. + +Do consider this, my dear Ormond, for your mother's sake. Don't think for +a moment that I am advising you to take up any of those forms of work +which we both agree in despising, and which are quite unworthy of your +traditions, as for instance stealing pictures on commission out of the +houses of dealers and then turning detective to recover them again. It is +much too easy work for a man of your talents, much too ill-paid, and much +too dangerous. It is all very well for the picture dealer to leave the +door open, but what if the policeman is not in the know? No, you will +always find me on your side in your steady refusal to have anything to do +with this kind of business. + +Ormond, my dear lad, bear me no ill-will. It is true of every profession, +of the Bar and of the City, of homicide, medicine, the Services, even +Politics--everything, that success only comes slowly, and that the +experience of older men is the key to it. + +Tomorrow is Ascension Day, and I am at leisure. Come and dine with me at +the Colonial Club at eight for eight-fifteen. I will show you a +magnificent littla tanagra I picked up yesterday, and we will talk about +the new prospectus. + +God bless you! (Dress.) + +Your affectionate Uncle + + + + +THE MONKEY QUESTION: AN APPEAL TO COMMON SENSE + + +A privileged body slips so easily into regarding its privileges as common +rights that I fear the plea which the SIMIAN LEAGUE repeats in this +pamphlet will still sound strange in the ears of many, though the work of +the League has been increasingly successful and has reached yearly a wider +circle of the educated public since its foundation by Lady Wayne in 1902. +We desire to place before our fellow-citizens the claims of Monkeys, and +we hope once more that nothing we say may seem extreme or violent, for we +know full well what poor weapons violence and passion are in the debate of +a practical political matter. + +Perhaps it is best to begin by pointing out how rarely even the best of us +pause in our fevered race for wealth to consider the disabilities of any +of our fellow-creatures: when that truth is grasped it will be easier to +plead the special cause of the Simian. + +Were English men and women to realize the wrongs of the Race, or at any +rate the illogical and therefore unjust position in which we have placed +them; were the just and thoughtful men, the refined and golden-hearted +ladies who are ready in this country to support every good cause when it +is properly presented; were _they_ to realize the disabilities of the +Monkey, I do not say as vividly they realize the tragedies and misfortunes +of London life, they could not, I think, avoid an ill-ease, a pricking of +conscience, which would lead at last to some hearty and English effort for +the relief of the cousin and forerunner of man. + +The attitude adopted towards Monkeys by the mass of those who, after all, +live in the same world, and have much the same appetites and necessities +and sufferings as they, is an attitude I am persuaded, not of +heartlessness, but of ignorance. To disturb that ignorance, and in some to +awake a consciousness which, perhaps, they fear, is not a grateful task, +but it is our duty, and we will pursue it. + +Let the reader consider for one moment the aspect not only of formal law +but of the whole community, and of what is called "public opinion" towards +this section of sentient beings. + +As things now are--aye! and have been for centuries in this green England +of ours--a Monkey may not marry; he may not own land; he may not fill any +salaried post under the Crown. The Papists themselves are debarred from +no honour (outside Ireland) save the Lord Chancellorship. Monkeys, who +are responsible for no persecutions in the past, whose religion presents +no insult or outrage to our common reason, and who differ little from +ourselves in their general practice of life and thought, _are debarred +from all_! + +A Monkey may not be a Member of Parliament, a Civil Servant, an officer +in either Service, no, not even in the Territorial Army. It is doubtful +whether he may hold a commission for the peace. True, there is no statute +upon the subject, and the rural magistracy is perhaps the freest and most +open of all our offices, and the least restricted by artificial barriers +of examination or test; nevertheless, it is the considered opinion of the +best legal authorities that no Monkey could sit upon the Bench, and in any +case the discussion is purely academic, for it is difficult to believe +that any Lord-Lieutenant, under the ridiculous anachronism of our present +Constitution, would nominate a Monkey to such a position--unless (which is +by law impossible) he should be heir to an owner of an estate in land. + +Nor is this all. The mention of unpaid posts recalls the damning truth +that all honorary positions in the Diplomatic Service, including even the +purely formal stage in the Foreign Office, are closed to the Monkey; the +very Court sinecures, which admittedly require no talents, are denied to +our Simian fellow-creatures, if not by law at least by custom and in +practice. + +There have been employed by the League in the British Museum the services +of two ladies who feel most keenly upon this subject. They are (to the +honour of their sex) as amply qualified as any person in this kingdom for +the task which they have undertaken, and they report to the Executive +Commission after two months of minute research that (with one doubtful +exception occurring during the reign of Her late Majesty) no Monkey has +held any position whatever at Court. + +All judicial positions are equally inaccessible to them; for though, +perhaps, in theory a Monkey could be promoted to the Bench if he had +served his party sufficiently long and faithfully in the House of Commons +(to which body he is admissible--at least I can find no rule or custom, +let alone a statute, against it), yet he is cut off from such an ambition +at the very outset by his inadmissibility to a legal career. The Inns of +Court are monopolist, and, like all monopolists, hopelessly conservative. +They have admitted first one class and then another--though reluctantly--to +their privileges, but it will be twenty or thirty years at least +before they will give way in the matter of Monkeys. To be a physician, +a solicitor, an engineer, or a Commissioner for Oaths is denied them as +effectually as though they did not exist. Indeed, no occupation is left +them save that of manual labour, and on this I would say a word. It is +fashionable to jeer at the Monkey's disinclination to sustained physical +effort and to concentrated toil; but it is remarkable that those who +affect such a contempt for the Monkey's powers are the first to deny him +access to the liberal professions in which they know (though they dare not +confess it) he would be a serious rival to the European. As it is, in the +few places open to Monkeys--the somewhat parasitical domestic occupation +of "companions" and the more manly, but still humiliating, task of acting +as assistants to organ-grinders, the Monkey has won universal if grudging +praise. + +Latterly, since progress cannot be indefinitely delayed, the Monkey has +indeed advanced by one poor step towards the civic equality which is his +right, and has appeared as an actor upon the boards of our music-halls. It +should surely be a sufficient rebuke for those who continue to sneer at +the Simian League and such devoted pioneers as Miss Greeley and Lady Wayne +that the Monkey has been honourably admitted and has done first-rate work +in a profession which His late Gracious Majesty and His late Majesty's +late revered mother, Queen Victoria, have seen fit to honour by the +bestowal of knighthoods, and in one case (where the recipient was +childless) of a baronetcy. + +The disabilities I have enumerated are by no means exhaustive. A Monkey +may not sign or deliver a deed; he may not serve on a jury; he may be +ill-treated, forsooth, and even killed by some cruel master, and the +law will refuse to protect him or to punish his oppressor. He may be +subjected to all the by-laws of a tyrannical or fanatical administration, +but in preventing such abuses he has no voice. He may not enter our +older Universities, at least as the member of a college; that is, he can +only take a degree at Oxford or Cambridge under the implied and wholly +unmerited stigma applying to the non-collegiate student. And these +iniquities apply not only to the great anthropoids whose strength and +grossness we might legitimately fear, but to the most delicately organized +types--to the Barbary Ape, the Lemur, and the Ring-tailed Baboon. +Finally--and this is the worst feature in the whole matter--a Monkey, by +a legal fiction at least as old as the fourteenth century, is not a person +in the eye of the law. + +We call England a free country, yet at the present day and as you read +these lines, _any Monkey found at large may be summarily arrested_. +He has no remedy; no action for assault will lie. He is not even allowed +to call witnesses in his own defence, or to establish an alibi. + +It may be pleaded that these disabilities attach also to the Irish, but we +must remember that the Irish are allowed a certain though modified freedom +of the Press, and have extended to them the incalculable advantage of +sending representatives to Westminster. The Monkey has no such remedies. +He may be incarcerated, nay _chained_, yet he cannot sue out a writ +for habeas corpus any more than can a British subject in time of war, and +worst of all, through the connivance or impotence of the police, cases +have been brought forward _and approved_ in which Monkeys have been +openly bought and sold! + +We boast our sense of delicacy, and perhaps rightly, in view of our +superiority over other nations in this particular; yet we permit the +Monkey to exhibit revolting nakedness, and we hardly heed the omission! +It is true that some Monkeys are covered from time to time with little +blue coats. A cap is occasionally disdainfully permitted them, and not +infrequently they are permitted a pair of leather breeches, through a hole +in which the tail is permitted to protrude; but no reasonable man will +deny that these garments are regarded in the light of mere ornaments, and +rarely fulfil those functions which every decent Englishman requires of +clothing. + +And now we come to the most important section of our appeal. _What can +be done_? + +We are a kindly people and we are a just people, but we are also a very +conservative people. The fate of all pioneers besets those who attempt to +move in this matter. They are jeered at, or, what is worse, neglected. One +of the most prominent of the League's workers has been certified a lunatic +by an authority whose bitter prejudice is well known, and against whom we +have as yet had no grant of a _mandamus_, and we have all noticed the +quiet contempt, the sort of organized boycott or conspiracy of silence +with which a company at dinner will receive the subject when it is brought +forward. + +There are also to be met the violent prejudices with which the mass of +the population is still filled in this regard. These prejudices are, of +course, more common among the uneducated poor than in the upper classes, +who in various relations come more often in contact with Monkeys, and who +also have a wider and more tolerant, because a better cultivated, spirit. +But the prejudice is discernible in every class of society, even in the +very highest. We have also arrayed against us in our crusade for right and +justice the dying but still formidable power of clericalism. Society is +but half emancipated from its medieval trammels, and the priest, that +Eternal Enemy of Liberty, can still put in his evil word against the +rights of the Simian. + +Let us not despair! We can hope for nothing, it is true, until we have +effected a profound change in public opinion, and that change cannot +be effected by laws. It can only be brought about by a slow and almost +imperceptible effort, unsleeping, tireless, and convinced: something of +the same sort as has destroyed the power of militarism upon the Continent +of Europe; something of the same sort as has scotched landlordism at home; +something of the same sort as has freed the unhappy natives of the Congo +from the misrule of depraved foreigners; something of the same sort as has +produced the great wave in favour of temperance through the length and +breadth of this land. + +We must not attempt extremes or demand full justice to the exclusion of +excellent half-measures. No one condemns more strongly than do we the +militant pro-Simians who have twice assaulted and once blinded for life a +keeper in the Zoological Gardens. We do not even approve of those ardent +but in our opinion misguided spirits of the Simian Freedom Society who +publish side by side the photographs of Pongo the learned Ape from the +Gaboons and that of a certain Cabinet Minister, accompanied by the legend +"Which is Which?" It is not by actions of this kind that we shall win the +good fight; but rather by a perseverance in reason combined with courtesy +shall we attain our end, until at long last our Brother shall be free! As +for the excellent but somewhat provincial reactionaries who still object +to us that the Monkey differs fundamentally from the human race; that he +is not possessed of human speech, and so forth, we can afford to smile at +their waning authority. Modern science has sufficiently dealt with them; +and if any one bring out against the Monkey the obscurantist insult that +His Hide is Covered with Hair, we can at once point to innumerable human +beings, fully recognized and endowed with civic rights, who, were they +carefully examined, would prove in no better case. As to speech, the +Monkey communicates in his own way as well or better than do we, and for +that matter, if speech is to be the criterion, are we to deny civic rights +to the Dumb? + +We have it upon the authority of all our greatest scientific men, that +there is no substantial difference between the Ape and Man. One of the +greatest has said that between himself and his poorer fellow-citizens +there was a wider difference than that which separated them from the +Monkey. Hackel has testified that while there is a _boundary_, there +is no _gulf_ between the corps of professors to which he belongs and +the Chimpanzee. The Gorilla is universally accepted, and if we have won +the battle for the Gorilla, the rest will follow. + +Tolstoy is with us, Webb is with us, Gorky is with us, Zola and Ferrer +were with us and fight for us from their graves. The whole current of +modern thought is with us. WE CANNOT FAIL! + +_Questions submitted at the last Election by the Simian League_ + +1. Are you in favour of removing the present disabilities of Monkeys? + +2. Are you in favour of a short Statute which should put adult Monkeys +upon the same footing as other subjects of His Majesty as from the 1st of +January, 1912? And _would you, if necessary, vote against your party in +favour of such a measure?_ + +3. Are you in favour of the inclusion of Monkeys under the Wild Birds Act? + +(A plain reply "Yes" or "No" was to be written by the candidate under each +of these questions and forwarded to the Secretary, Mr. Consul, 73 Purbeck +Street, W.. before the 14th January, 1910. No replies received after +that date were admitted. The Simian League, which has agents in every +constituency, acted according to the replies received, and treated +the lack of reply as a negative. Of 1375 circulars sent, 309 remained +unanswered, 264 were answered in the negative, 201 gave a qualified +affirmative, _all the rest (no less than 799) a clear and, in some +cases, an enthusiastic adherence to our principles_. It is a sufficient +proof of the power of the League and the growth of the cause of justice +that in these 799 no less than 515 are members of the present House of +Commons.) + + + + +THE EMPIRE BUILDER + + +We possess in this country a breed of men in whom we feel a pride so +loyal, so strong, and so frank that were I to give further expression to +it here I should justly be accused of insisting upon a hackneyed theme. +These are the Empire Builders, the Men Efficient, the agents whom we +cannot but feel--however reluctantly we admit it--to be less strictly +bound by the common laws of life than are we lesser ones. + +But there is something about these men not hackneyed as a theme, which is +their youth. By what process is the great mind developed? Of what sort is +the Empire Builder when he is young? + +The fellow commonly rises from below: What was his experience there below? +In what school was he trained? What accident of fortune, how met, or how +surmounted, or how used, produced at last the Man who Can? In _that_ +inquiry there is food for very deep reflection. It is here that our +Masters, whose general motives are so open and so plain, touch upon +mystery. That secret power of determining nourishment which is at the base +of all organic life has in its own silent way built up the boyhood and the +adolescence which we only know in their maturity. + +I will not pretend to a full knowledge of that strange education of the +mind which has produced so many similar men for the advancement of the +race, but I can point to one example which lately came straight across my +vision--an accident, an illumination, a revealing flash of how our time +breeds the Great Type. I was acquainted for some hours with the actions of +a youth of whose very name I am ignorant, but whose face I am very certain +will reappear twenty years hence in a setting of glory, recognized as yet +one other of those superb spirits who will do all for England. + +The occasion was a pageant--no matter what pageant--a great public pageant +which passed through the Strand, and was to be witnessed by hundreds of +thousands. Let us call it "The Function." + +Well, I was walking down the Strand three days before this Function was +to take place, when I saw in an empty shop window about twenty-five +wooden chairs, arranged in tiers one above the other upon a sloping +platform, and lettered from A to Y. In the window was a large notice, +very clearly printed, and it was to this effect: + +WHY PAY FANCY PRICES WHICH MUST INEVITABLY FALL BEFORE THE FUNCTION? +SEATS IN THIS WINDOW, COMMANDING A FULL VIEW OF THE PROCESSION, 5S. + +At a little desk in the gangway by which the chairs were approached sat +a dark, pale child--I can call him by no other name, so frail and young +did he seem--and the delicacy of his complexion led me to wonder perhaps +whether he was not one of those whom the climate of England strikes with +consumption, and who, in the mysterious providence of our race, wander +abroad in search of health and find a Realm. His alertness, however, and +the brilliance of his eye; his winning, almost obsequious address, and the +hooked clutch of his gestures betrayed an energy that no physical weakness +could conquer. He invited me to enter, and begged me to purchase a seat. + +I had no need of one, for I had made arrangements to spend the Great +Day itself and the next at a small hotel in the extreme north of +Sutherlandshire, but I was arrested by the evident mental power of my new +acquaintance, and I wasted five shillings in buying the chair marked D. + +It was with some difficulty that I could purchase it, so eager was he that +I should have the best place; "seeing," said he, "that they are all one +price, and that you may as well benefit by being an early bird." I noted +the strict rectitude which, for all that men ignorant of modern commerce +may say, is at the basis of commercial success. + +Something so attracted me +in the whole business that I was weak enough to take a chair in a tea-shop +opposite and watch all day the actions of the Child of Fate. + +In less than an hour twenty different people, mainly gentlefolk, had come +in and bought places at the sensible price at which he offered them. To +each of them he gave a ticket corresponding to the number of the chair. He +was courteous to all, and even expansive. He explained the advantage of +each particular seat. + +So far so good; but, what was more astonishing, in the second hour another +twenty came and appeared to purchase; in the third (which was the busiest +time of the day) some forty, first and last, must have done business with +the Favourite of Fortune. I pondered upon these things very deeply, and +went home. + +Next morning the attraction which the place had for me drew me as with +a magnet, and I went, somewhat stealthily I fear, to the same tea-shop +and noticed with the greatest astonishment that the chairs were now not +lettered, but numbered, and that the boy was sitting at his little desk +with a series of white cards bearing the figures from one to twenty-five. +It was very early--not ten o'clock--but the Child was as spruce and neat +as he had been in the afternoon of the day before. He bore already that +mark of energy combined with neatness which is the stamp of success. + +I crossed the road and entered. He recognized me at once (their memory for +faces is wonderful), and said cheerfully: + +"Your D corresponds to the number 4." + +I thanked him very much, and asked him why he had changed his system of +notation. He told me it was because several people had explained to him +that they remembered figures more easily than letters. We then talked to +each other, agreeing upon the maxims of simplicity and directness which +are at the root of all mercantile stability. He told me he required +cash from all who bought his chairs; that there was no agreement, no +insurance--no "frills," as he wittily called them. + +"It is as simple," he said, "as buying a pound of tea. I am satisfied, and +they are satisfied. As for the risk, it is covered by the low price, and +if you ask me how I can let them at so low a price, I will tell you. It is +because I have found exactly what was needed and have added nothing more. +Moreover, I did not buy the chairs, but hired them." + +I went back to my tea-shop with head bent, murmuring to myself those +memorable lines: + + We founded many a mighty State, + Pray God that we may never fail + From craven fears of being great + +(or words to that effect). + +That day no less than 153 people did business with the Youth. + +Next day I found among my morning letters a note from a politician of my +acquaintance, telling me that the Function was postponed--indefinitely. +I wasted not a moment. I went at once to my post of observation, my +tea-shop, and I proceeded to watch the Leader. + +There was as yet no knowledge of the calamity in London. + +My friend seemed to have noticed me; at any rate a new and somewhat +anxious look was apparent on his face. With a firm and decided step I +crossed the road to greet him, and when he saw me he was all at his ease. +He told me that my seat had been especially asked for, and that a higher +price had been offered; but a bargain, he said, was a bargain, and so we +fell to chatting. When I mentioned, among other subjects, the very great +success of his enterprise, he gave a slight start, which did honour to his +heart; but he was of too stern a mould to give way. He was of the temper +of the Pioneers. + +I assured him at once that it was very far from my intention to reproach +him for the talents which he had used with so much ability and energy. I +pointed out to him that even if I desired to injure him, which I did not, +it would be impossible for me, or for any one, to trace more than half a +dozen, at the most, of his numerous clients. + +It is frequently the case that men of small business capacity will +perceive some important element in a commercial problem which escapes the +eyes of Genius; and I could see that this simple observation of mine had +relieved him almost to tears. + +Before he could thank me, a newsboy appeared with a very large placard, +upon which was written + +"POSTPONED." + +In a moment his mind grasped the whole meaning of that word; but he went +out with a steady step, and paid the sixpence which the newsboy demanded. +Even in that uncomplaining action, the uncomplaining forfeiture of the +comparatively large sum which necessity demanded, one could detect the +financial grip which is the true arbiter of the fates of nations. He +needed the paper: he did not haggle about the price. He first mastered the +exact words of the announcement, and then, looking up at me with a face of +paper, he said: + +"It is not only postponed, but all this preparation is thrown away." + +I have said that I have no commercial aptitude; I admit that I was +puzzled. + +"Surely," said I, "this is exactly what you needed?" + +He shook his head, still restraining, by a powerful effort, the natural +expression of his grief, and showed me, for all his answer, a rail way +ticket to Boulogne which he had purchased, and which was available for the +night boat on the eve of the Function. I then understood what he meant +when he said that all his preparations had been thrown away. + +I do not know whether I did right or wrong--I felt myself to be nothing +more than a blind instrument in the hands of the superior power which +governs the destinies of a people. + +"How much did the ticket cost?" said I. + +"Thirty shillings," said he. + +I pulled out a sovereign and a half-sovereign from my pocket, and said: + +"Here is the money. I have leisure, and I would as soon go to Boulogne as +to Sutherlandshire." + +He did not thank me effusively, as might one of the more excitable and +less efficient races; but he grasped my hand and blessed me silently. I +then left him. + + * * * * * + +In the steamer to Boulogne, as I was musing over this strange adventure, a +sturdy Anglo-Saxon man, a true son of Drake or Raleigh, came up and asked +me for my ticket. As I gave it him my eye fell idly upon the price of the +ticket. It was twenty-five shillings--but I had saved a directing and +creative mind. + +If he should come across these lines he will remember me. He is probably +in the House of Commons by now. Perhaps he has bought his peerage. +Wherever he is I hope he will remember me. + + + + +CAEDWALLA + + +Caedwalla, a prince out of Wales (though some deny it), wandered in the +Andredsweald. He was nineteen years of age and his heart was full of anger +for wrong that had been done him by men of his own blood. For he was +rightfully heir to the throne of the kingdom of Sussex, but he was kept +from it by the injustice of men. + +A retinue went with him of that sort which will always follow adventure +and exile. These, the rich of the seacoast and of the Gwent called broken +men; but they loved their Lord. So he went hunting, feeding upon what he +slew, and proceeding from steading to steading in the sparse woods of +Andred where is sometimes an open heath, and sometimes a mile of oak, and +often a clay swamp, and, seen from little lifted knolls of sand where the +broom grows and the gorse, the Downs to the south like a wall. + +As he so wandered upon one day, he came upon another man of a very +different fashion, for Caedwalla would have nothing to do with the Cross +of Christ, nor with the customs of the towns, nor with the talk of foreign +men. But this man was a bishop wandering, and his name was Wilfrid. He +also had his little retinue, and, by an accident of his office or of his +exile, he had proceeded to a steading in the heaths and woods of the +Weald where also was Caedwalla: so they met. The pride and the bearing of +Wilfrid, seeing that he was of a Roman town and an officer of the State, +and a bishop to boot, nay, a bishop above bishops, was not the pride +Caedwalla loved, and the young man bore himself with another sort of +pride, which was that of the mountains and of pagan men. Nevertheless +Wilfrid put before him, with Roman rhetoric and with uplifted hands, the +story of our Lord, and Caedwalla, keeping his face set during all that +recital, could not forbid this story to sink into the depths of his heart, +where for many years it remained, and did no more than remain. + +The kingdom of Sussex, cultivated by men of various kinds, received +Wilfrid the Bishop wherever he went. He did many things that do not here +concern me, and his chief work was to make the rich towns of the sea plain +and of Chichester and of Lewes and of Arundel, and of the steadings of +the Weald, and of the wealden markets also, Christian men; for he showed +them that it was a mean thing to go about in a hairy way like pagans, +unacquainted with letters, and of imperfect ability in the making of +raiment or the getting of victuals. Indeed, as I have written in another +place, it was St. Wilfrid who taught the King of Sussex and his men how to +catch fish in nets. They revered him everywhere, and when they had given +up their shameful barbarism and decently accepted the rules of life and +the religion of it, they pressed upon St. Wilfrid that he should found a +bishopric, and that it should have a cathedral and a see (all of which +things he had explained to them), and he did this on Selsey Bill: but +to-day the sea has swallowed all. + +Time passed, and the young man Caedwalla, still a very young man in the +twenties, came to his own, and he sat on the throne that was rightfully +his in Chichester and he ruled all Sussex to its utmost boundaries. And +he was king of much more, as history shows, but all the while he proudly +refused in his young man's heart the raiment and the manner of the thing +which he had hated in his exile, nor would he accept the Latin prayers, +nor bow to the name of the Christian God. + +Caedwalla, still so young but now a king, thought it shameful that he +should rule no more than the empire God had given him, and he was filled +with a longing to cross the sea and to conquer new land. Wherefore, +whether well or ill advised, he set out to cross the sea and to conquer +the Isle of Wight, of which story said that Wight the hero had established +his kingdom there in the old time before writing was, and when there were +only songs. So Caedwalla and his fighting men, they landed in that island +and they fought against the many inhabitants of it, and they subdued it, +but in these battles Caedwalla was wounded. + +It happened that the King of that island, whose name was Atwald, had two +heirs, youths, whom it was pitifully hoped this conqueror would spare, for +they fled up the Water to Stoneham; but a monk who served God by the ford +of reeds which is near Hampton at the head of the Water, hearing that King +Caedwalla (who was recovering of wounds he had had in the war with the men +of Wight) had heard of the youths' hiding-place and had determined to kill +them, sought the King and begged that at least they might be instructed +in the Faith before they died, saying to him: "King, though you are not +of the Faith, that is no reason that you should deprive others of such +a gift. Let me therefore see that these young men are instructed and +baptized, after which you may exercise your cruel will." And Caedwalla +assented. These lads, therefore, were taken to a holy place up on Itchen, +where they were instructed in the truths and the mysteries of religion. +And while this so went forward Caedwalla would ask from time to time +whether they were yet Christians. + +At last they had received all the knowledge the holy men could give them +and they were baptized. When they were so received into the fold Caedwalla +would wait no longer but had them slain. And it is said that they went to +death joyfully, thinking it to be no more than the gate of immortality. + +After such deeds Caedwalla still reigned over the kingdom of Sussex and +his other kingdoms, nor did he by speech or manner give the rich or poor +about him to understand whether anything was passing in his heart. But +while they sang Mass in the cathedral of Selsey and while still the +new-comers came (now more rarely, for nearly all were enrolled): while +the new-comers came, I say, in their last numbers from the remotest parts +of the forest ridge, and from the loneliest combes of the Downs to hear +of Christ and his cross and his resurrection and the salvation of men, +Caedwalla sat in Chichester and consulted his own heart only and was a +pagan King. No one else you may say in all the land so kept himself apart. + +His youth had been thus spent and he thus ruled, when as his thirtieth +year approached he gave forth a decision to his nobles and to his earls +and to the Welsh-speaking men and to the seafaring men and to the priests +and to all his people. He said: "I will take ship and I will go over the +sea to Rome, where I may worship at the tombs of the blessed Apostles, and +there I will be baptized. But since I am a king no one but the Pope shall +baptize me. I will do penance for my sins. I will lift my eyes to things +worthy of a man. I will put behind me what was dear to me, and I will +accept that which is to come." And as they could not alter Caedwalla +in any of his previous decisions, so they could not alter him in this. +But his people gave gladly for the furnishing of his journey, and all +the sheep of the Downs and their fleece, and all the wheat in the clay +steadings of the Weald, and the little vineyards in the priests' gardens +that looked towards the sea, and the fishermen, and every sort in Sussex +that sail or plough or clip or tend sheep or reap or forge iron at the +hammer ponds, gave of what they had to King Caedwalla, so that he went +forth with a good retinue and many provisions upon his journey to the +tombs of the Apostles. + +When King Caedwalla came to Rome the Pope received him and said: "I hear +that you would be instructed in the Faith." To which King Caedwalla +answered that such was his desire, and that he would crave baptism at the +hands of the said Pope. And meanwhile Caedwalla took up good lodgings in +Rome, gave money to the poor, and showed himself abroad as one who had +come from the ends of the earth, that is, from the kingdom of Sussex, +which in those days was not yet famous. Caedwalla, now being thirty years +old and having learnt what one should learn in order to receive baptism, +was baptized, and they put a white robe on him which he was to wear for +certain days. + +King Caedwalla, when he was thus made one with the unity of Christian men, +was very glad. But he also said that before he had lost that white robe so +given him, death would come and take him (though he was a young man and a +warrior), and that not in battle. He was certain it was so. + +And so indeed it came about. For within the limit of days during which +ritual demanded that the King should wear his white garment, nay, within +that same week, he died. + +So those boys who had found death at his hands had died after baptism, +up on Itchen in the Gwent, when Caedwalla the King had journeyed out of +Sussex to conquer and to hold the Wight with his spear and his sword and +his shield, and his captains and his armoured men. + +Now that you have done reading this story you may think that I have made +it up or that it is a legend or that it comes out of some storyteller's +book. Learn, therefore, that it is plain history, like the battle of +Waterloo or the Licensing Bill (differing from the chronicle only in this, +that I have put living words into the mouths of men), and be assured that +the history of England is a very wonderful thing. + + + + +A UNIT OF ENGLAND + + +England has been lucky in its type of subdivision. All over Western +Europe the type of subdivision following in the fall of the Empire has +been of capital importance in the development of the great nations, +but while these have elsewhere been exaggerated to petty kingdoms or +diminished to mere townships in Britain, for centuries the counties have +formed true and lasting local units, and they have survived with more +vigour than the corresponding divisions of the other provinces of Roman +Europe. + +That accident of the county moulded and sustained local feeling during +the generations when local government and local initiative were dying +elsewhere; it has preserved a sort of aristocratic independence, the +survival of custom, and the differentiation of the State. + +It is not necessarily (as many historians unacquainted with Europe as a +whole have taken for granted) a supreme advantage for any people to escape +from institution of a strong central executive. Such a power is the normal +fruit of all high civilizations. It protects the weak against the strong. +It is necessary for rapid action in war, it makes for clarity and method +during peace, it secures a minimum for all, and it forbids the illusions +and vices of the rich to taint the whole commonwealth. + +But though such an escape from strong central government and the +substitution for it of a ruling class is not a supreme advantage, it +has advantages of its own which every foreign historian of England has +recognized, and it is the divisions into counties which, after the change +of religion in the sixteenth century, was mainly responsible for the +slow substitution of local and oligarchic for general, central, and +bureaucratic government in England. + +Not all the counties by any means are true to type. All the Welsh +divisions, for instance, are more or less artificial and late, with the +exception of Anglesey. And as for the non-Roman parts, Ireland and the +Highlands of Scotland, it goes without saying that the county never was, +and is not to this day, a true unit. The central and much of the west of +England is the same. That is, the shires are cut as their name implies, +somewhat arbitrarily, from the general mass of territory. + +When one says "arbitrarily" one does not mean that no local sentiment +bound them, or that they had not some natural basis, for they had. They +were the territory of central towns: Shrewsbury, Warwick, Derby, Chester, +Oxford, Buckingham, Bedford, Nottingham. But their life was not and has +not since been strongly individual. They have not continuous boundaries +nor an early national root. But all round these, in a sort of ring, run +the counties which have had true local life from the beginning. Cornwall +is utterly different from Devon, and with a clear historic reason for the +difference. Devon, again, is a perfectly separate unit, resulting from a +definite political act of the early ninth century. Of Dorset and Hampshire +one can say less, but with Sussex you get a unit which has been one +kingdom and one diocese, set in true natural limits and lying within +these same boundaries for much more than a thousand years. Kent, probably +an original Roman division, has been one unit for longer still. Norfolk, +Suffolk, and Essex are equally old, though not upon their land boundaries +equally denned; but perhaps the most sharply defined of all--after Sussex, +at least--was Southern and Central Lancashire. + +Its topography was like one of those ideal examples which military +instructors take for their models when they wish to simplify a lesson +upon terrain. Upon one side ran the long, high, and difficult range which +is the backbone of England; upon the other the sea, and the sea and the +mountains leant one towards the other, making two sides of a triangle +that met above Morecambe Bay. + +How formidable the natural barriers of this triangle were it is not easy +for the student of our time to recognize. It needs a general survey of the +past, and a knowledge of many unfamiliar conditions in the present, to +appreciate it. + +The difficulty of those Eastern moors and hills, for instance, the +resistance they offer to human passage, meets you continually throughout +English history. The engineers of the modern railways could give one a +whole romance of it; the story of every army that has had to cross them, +and of which we have record, bears the same witness. The illusion which +the modern traveller may be under that the barrier is negligible is very +soon dispelled when for his recreation he crosses it by any other methods +than the railway; and perhaps in such an experience of travel nothing more +impresses one in the character of that barrier than the _loneliness_. + +There is no other corresponding contrast of men and emptiness that I know +of in Europe. + +The great towns lie, enormous, pullulating, millioned in the plains on +either side; they push their limbs up far into the valleys. Between them, +utterly deserted, you have these miles and miles of bare upland, like the +roof of a house between two crowded streets. + +Merely to cross the Pennines, driving or on foot, is sufficient to teach +one this. To go the length of the hills along the watershed from the +Peak to Crossfell (few people have done it!) is to get an impression of +desertion and separation which you will match nowhere else in travel, +nowhere else, at least, within touch and almost hearing of great towns. + +The sea also was here more of a barrier than a bond. Ireland--not Roman, +and later an enemy--lay over against that shore. Its ports (save one) +silted. Its slope from the shore was shallow: the approach and the +beaching of a fleet not easy. Its river mouths were few and dangerous. + +This triangle of Lancashire, so cut off from the west and from the east, +had for its base a barrier that completed its isolation. That barrier +was the marshy valley of the Mersey. It could be outflanked only at +its extreme eastern point, where the valley rises to the hundred-foot +contour line. From that point the valley rises so rapidly within half a +dozen miles into the eastern hills that it was dry even under primitive +conditions, and the opportunity here afforded for a passage is marked +by the topographical point of Stockport. + +By that gate the main avenues of approach still enter the county. Through +this gap passed the London Road, and passes to-day the London and +North-Western Railway. It was this gate which gave its early strategic +importance to Manchester, lying just north of it and holding the whole of +this corner. + +Historians have noted that to hold Manchester was ultimately to hold +Lancashire itself. It was not the industrial importance of the town, for +that was hardly existent until quite modern times: it was its strategic +position which gave it such a character. The Roman fort at the junction +of the two rivers near Knott Mill represented the first good defensible +position commanding this gate upon the south-east. + +To enter the county anywhere west of the hundred-foot contour and the +Mersey Valley was, for an army deprived of modern methods, impossible: +a little organized destruction would make it impossible again. + +Two artificial causeways negotiated the valley. Each bears to this day (at +Stretford and at Stretton) the proof of its old character, for both words +indicate the passage of a "street," that is, of a hard-made way, over the +soft and drowned land. Stretford was but the approach to Manchester from +Chester--and Manchester thus commanded (by the way) the two south-eastern +approaches to the county, the one natural, the other artificial. The +approach by Stretton gave Warrington its strategic importance in the early +history of the county; Warrington, the central point upon the Mersey, +standing at a clear day's march from Liverpool, the port on the one +hand, and a clear day's march from Manchester on the other. It was from +Warrington that Lord Strange marched upon Manchester at the very beginning +of the Civil War, and if by some accident this stretch of territory should +again be a scene of warfare, Warrington, in spite of the close network of +modern communications, would be the strategic centre of the county +boundary. + +So one might take the units out of which modern England has been built +up one by one, showing that their boundaries were fixed by nature, and +that their local separation was not the product of the pirate raids, but +is something infinitely older, older than the Empire, and very probably +(did we know what the Roman divisions of Britain were) accepted under +the Empire. So one might prove or at least suggest that the strategical +character of the English county and of its chief stronghold and barriers +lay in an origin far beyond the limits of recorded history. To produce +such a study would be to add to the truth and reality of our history, for +England was not made nor even moulded by the Danish and the Saxon raids. +The framework is far, far older and so strong that it still survives. + + + + +THE RELIC + + +It was upon an evening in Spain, but with nothing which that word evokes +for us in the North--for it was merely a lessening of the light without +dews, without mists, and without skies--that I came up a stony valley +and saw against the random line of the plateau at its head the dome of a +church. The road I travelled was but faintly marked, and was often lost +and mingled with the rough boulders and the sand, and in the shallow +depression of the valley there were but a few stagnant pools. + +The shape of the dome was Italian, and it should have stood in an Italian +landscape, drier indeed than that to which Northerners are accustomed, +but still surrounded by trees, and with a distance that could render +things lightly blue. Instead of that this large building stood in the +complete waste which I have already described at such length, which is so +appalling and so new to an European from any other province of Europe. As +I approached the building I saw that there gathered round it a village, or +rather a group of dependent houses; for the church was so much larger than +anything in the place, and the material of which the church itself and the +habitations were built was so similar, the flat old tiled roofs all mixed +under the advance of darkness into so united a body, that one would have +said, as was perhaps historically the truth, that the church was not built +for the needs of the place, but that the borough had grown round the +shrine, and had served for little save to house its servants. + +When the long ascent was ended and the crest reached, where the head of +the valley merged into the upper plain, I passed into the narrow first +lanes. It was now quite dark. The darkness had come suddenly, and, to +make all things consonant, there was no moon and there were not any +stars; clouds had risen of an even and menacing sort, and one could see no +heaven. Here and there lights began to show in the houses, but most people +were in the street, talking loudly from their doorsteps to each other. +They watched me as I came along because I was a foreigner, and I went down +till I reached the central market-place, wondering how I should tell the +best place for sleep. But long before my choice could be made my thoughts +were turned in another direction by finding myself at a turn of the +irregular paving, right in front of a vast façade, and behind it, somewhat +belittled by the great length of the church itself, the dome just showed. +I had come to the very steps of the church which had accompanied my +thoughts and had been a goal before me during all the last hours of the +day. + +In the presence of so wonderful a thing I forgot the object of my journey +and the immediate care of the moment, and I went through the great doors +that opened on the Place. These were carved, and by the little that +lingered of the light and the glimmer of the electric light on the +neighbouring wall (for there is electric light everywhere in Spain, but it +is often of a red heat) I could perceive that these doors were wonderfully +carved. Already at Saragossa, and several times during my walking south +from thence, I had noted that what the Spaniards did had a strange +affinity to the work of Flanders. The two districts differ altogether save +in the human character of those who inhabit them: the one is pastoral, +full of deep meadows and perpetual woods, of minerals and of coal for +modern energy, of harbours and good tidal rivers for the industry of the +Middle Ages; the other is a desert land, far up in the sky, with an air +like a knife, and a complete absence of the creative sense in nature about +one. Yet in both the creation of man runs riot; in both there is a sort +of endlessness of imagination; in both every detail that man achieves +in art is carefully completed and different from its neighbour; and in +both there is an exuberance of the human soul: but with this difference, +that something in the Spanish temper has killed the grotesque. Both +districts have been mingled in history, yet it is not the Spaniard who has +invigorated the Delta of the Rhine and the high country to the south of +it, nor the Walloons and the Flemings who have taught the Spaniards; but +each of these highly separated peoples resembles the other when it comes +to the outward expression of the soul: why, I cannot tell. + +Within, there is not a complete darkness, but a series of lights showing +against the silence of the blackness of the nave; and in the middle of +the nave, like a great funeral thing, was the choir which these Spanish +churches have preserved, an intact tradition, from the origins of the +Christian Faith. Go to the earliest of the basilicas in Rome, and you +will see that sacred enclosure standing in the middle of the edifice and +taking up a certain proportion of the whole. We in the North, where the +Faith lived uninterruptedly and, after the ninth century, with no great +struggle, dwindled this feature and extended the open and popular space, +keeping only the rood-screen as a hint of what had once been the Secret +Mysteries and the Initiations of our origins. But here in Spain the +earliest forms of Christian externals crystallized, as it were; they +were thrust, like an insult or a challenge, against the Asiatic as the +reconquest of the desolated province proceeded; and therefore in every +Spanish church you have, side by side with the Christian riot of art, this +original hierarchic and secret thing, almost shocking to a Northerner, the +choir, the Coro, with high solemn walls shutting out the people from the +priests and from the Mysteries as they had been shut out when the whole +system was organized for defence against an inimical society around. + +The silence of the place was not complete nor, as I have said, was the +darkness. At the far end of the choir, behind the high altar, was the +light of many candles, and there were people murmuring or whispering, +though not at prayers. There was a young priest passing me at that moment, +and I said to him in Latin of the common sort that I could speak no +Spanish. I asked him if he could speak to me slowly in Latin, as I was +speaking to him. He answered me with this word, "_Paucissime_," which +I easily understood. I then asked him very carefully, and speaking slowly, +whether Benediction were about to be held--an evening rite; but as I did +not know the Latin for Benediction, I called it alternately "Benedictio," +which is English, and "Salus," which is French. He said twice, "Si, si," +which, whether it were Italian or French or local, I understood by the +nodding of his head; but at any rate he had not caught my meaning, for +when I came behind the high altar where the candles were, and knelt there, +I clearly saw that no preparations for Benediction were toward. There was +not even an altar. All there was was a pair of cupboard doors, as it were, +of very thickly carved wood, very heavily gilded and very old; indeed, the +pattern of the carving was barbaric, and I think it must have dated from +that turn of the Dark into the Middle Ages when so much of our Christian +work resembled the work of savages: spirals and hideous heads, and +serpents and other things. + +By this I was already enormously impressed, and by a little group of +people around of whom perhaps half were children, when the young priest to +whom I had spoken approached and, calling a well-dressed man of the middle +class who stood by and who had, I suppose, some local prominence, went up +the steps with him towards these wooden doors; he fitted a key into the +lock and opened them wide. The candles shone at once through thick clear +glass upon a frame of jewels which flashed wonderfully, and in their +midst was the head of a dead man, cut off from the body, leaning somewhat +sideways, and changed in a terrible manner from the expression of living +men. It was so changed, not only by incalculable age, but also, as I +presume, by the violence of his death. + +To those inexperienced in the practice of such worship there might be more +excuse for the novel impression which this sight suddenly produced upon +me. Our race from its very beginning, nay, all the races of men, have +preserved the fleshly memorials of those to whom sanctity attached, and I +have seen such relics in many parts of Europe almost as commonplaces; but +for some reason my emotions upon that evening were of a different kind. +The length of the way (for I was miles and miles southwards over this +desert waste), the ignorance of the language which surrounded me, the +inhuman outline hour after hour under the glare of the sun, or in the +inhospitable darkness of this hard Iberian land, the sternness of the +faces, the violent richness and the magnitude of the architecture about +me, and my knowledge of the trials through which the province had passed, +put me in this Presence into a mood very different, I think, from that +which pilgrimage is calculated to arouse; there was in it much more of +awe, and even of terror; there seemed to re-arise in the presence of +that distorted face the memories of active pain and of the unconquerable +struggle by which this ruined land was recovered. I wondered as I looked +at that face whether he had fallen in protest against the Mohammedans, or, +as have so many, in a Spanish endurance of torture, martyred by Pagans in +the Pacific Seas. But no history of him was given to me, nor do I now know +as I write what occasion it was that made this head so great. + +They said but a few prayers, all familiar to me, in the Latin tongue; then +the "Our Father" and some few others which have always been recited in the +vernacular. They next intoned the Salve Regina. But what an intonation! + +Had I not heard that chant often enough in my life to catch its meaning? +I had never heard it set to such a tune! It was harsh, it was full of +battle, and the supplication in it throbbed with present and physical +agony. Had I cared less for the human beings about me, so much suffering, +so much national tradition of suffering would have revolted, as it did +indeed appal, me. The chant came to an end, and the three gracious +epithets in which it closes were full of wailing, and the children's +voices were very high. + +Then the priest shut the doors and locked them, and a boy came and blew +the candles out one by one, and I went out into the market-place, fuller +than ever of Spain. + + + + +THE IRONMONGER + + +When I was in the French army we came one day with the guns in July along +a straight and dusty road and clattered into the village called Bar-le-Duc. +Of the details of such marches I have often written. I wish now to speak of +another thing, which, in long accounts of mere rumbling of guns, one might +never have time to tell, but which is really the most important of all +experiences under arms in France--I mean the older civilians, the fathers. + +Who made the French army? Who determined to recover from the defeats and +to play once more that determined game which makes up half French history, +the "Thesaurization," the gradual reaccumulation of power? The general +answer to such questions is to say: "The nation being beaten had to set +to and recover its old position." That answer is insufficient. It deals +in abstractions and it tells you nothing. Plenty of political societies +throughout history have sat down under disaster and consented to sink +slowly. Many have done worse--they have maintained after sharp warnings +the pride of their blind years; they have maintained that pride on into +the great disasters, and when these came they have sullenly died. France +neither consented to sink nor died by being overweening. Some men must +have been at work to force their sons into the conscription, to consent +to heavy taxation, to be vigilant, accumulative, tenacious, and, as it +were, constantly eager. There must have been classes in which, unknown to +themselves, the stirp of the nation survived; individuals who, aiming at +twenty different things, managed, as a resultant, to carry up the army +to the pitch in which I had known it and to lay a slow foundation for +recovered vigour. Who were these men? + +I had read of them in Birmingham when I was at school; I had read of them +in books when I read of the Hundred Years' War and of the Revolution. +I was to read of them again in books at Oxford. But on that Saturday +at Bar-le-Duc I _saw_ one of them, and by as much as the physical +impression is worth more than the secondary effect of history, my sight +of them is worth writing down. + +A man in my battery, one Matthieu, told me he had leave to go out for the +evening, and told me also to go and get leave. He said his uncle had asked +him to dine and bring a friend. It seemed his uncle lived in a villa on +the heights above the town; he was an ironmonger who had retired. I went +to my Sergeant and asked him for leave. + +My Sergeant was a noble who was working his way up through the ranks, and +when I found him he was checking off forage at a barn where some of our +men were working. He looked me hard in the eyes, and said in a drawling +lackadaisical voice: + +"You are the Englishman?" + +"Yes, Sergeant," said I a little anxiously (for I was very keen to get a +good dinner in town after all that marching). + +"Well," said he, "as you are the Englishman you can go." Such is the logic +of the service. + +The army is no place to argue, and I went. I suppose what he meant was, +"As we are both more or less in exile, take my blessing and be off," but +he may merely have meant to be inconsequent, for inconsequence is the wit +of schoolboys and soldiers. I went up the hill with my friend. + +The long twilight was still broad over the hill and the old houses of +Bar-le-Duc, as we climbed. It was night by the clock, but one could have +seen to read. We were tired, and talked of nothing in particular, but such +things as we said were full of the old refrain of conscripts: "Dog of a +trade," "When shall we be out of it?" Even as we spoke there was pride in +our breasts at the noise of trumpets in the mist below along the river and +the Eighth making its presence known, and our uniforms and our swords. + +We stopped at last before a little square house with "The Lilacs" painted +on its gate; there was a parched little lawn, a little fountain, a tripod +supporting a globular mirror, and we went in. + +Matthieu's uncle met us; he was in a cotton suit walking about among his +flowers and enjoying the evening. He was a man of about fifty, short, +strong, brown, and abrupt. Though it was already evening and one could see +little, we knew well enough that his eyes were steady and dark. For he +had the attitude and carriage of those men who invigorate France. His +self-confidence was evident in his sturdy legs and his arms akimbo, his +vulgarity in his gesture, his narrowness in his forward and peering look, +his indomitable energy in every movement of his body. It did not surprise +me to learn in his later conversation that he was a Republican. He spoke +at once to us both, saying in a kind of grumbling shout: + +"Well, gunners!" + +Then he spoke roughly to his nephew, telling him we were late: to me +a little too politely saying he put no blame on me, but only on his +scapegrace of a nephew. I said that our lateness was due to having to +find the Sergeant. He answered: + +"One must always put the blame on some one else," which was rank bad +manners. + +He led the way into the house. The dining-room gave on to a veranda, +and beyond this was another little lawn with trees. In the dark a few +insects chirped, and, as the evening was warmish, one smelt the flowers. +The windows had been left open. Everything was clean, neat, and bare. On +the walls were two excellent old prints, a badly drawn certificate of +membership in some society or other, a still worse portrait of a local +worthy, and a water-colour painted, I suppose, by his daughter. + +He introduced me to his wife, a hard-featured woman, with thin hair, full +of duty, busy and precise--fresh from the kitchen. We unhooked our swords +with the conventional clatter, and sat down to the meal. + +I will confess that as we ate those excellent dishes (they were all +excellent) and drank that ordinary wine, I seemed to be living in a book +rather than among living men. Here was I, a young English boy, thrust +by accident into the French army. Fairly acquainted with its language, +though I spoke it with an accent; taken (of course) by my host for a pure +Englishman, though half my blood was French. Here was I sitting at his +side and watching things, and learning--as for him, men like him, of whom +England has some few left in forgotten villages, and who are, when they +can be found, the strength of a State, _they_ never bother about +learning anything far removed from their realities. + +I noticed the one servant going in and out rapidly, bullied a good deal by +her master, deft but nervous. I noticed how everything was solid and good: +the chairs, table, clock, clothes--and especially the cooking. I saw his +local newspaper neatly folded on the mantelpiece. I saw the pet dog of his +retirement crouching at his side, and I heard the chance sayings he threw +to his nephew, the maxims granted to youth long ago. I wondered how much +that nephew would inherit. I guessed about ten thousand pounds at the +least, and twenty at the most. I was almost inclined to cross myself at +the thought of such a lot of money. + +My host grew more genial: he asked me questions on England. His wife also +was interested in that country. They both knew more about it than their +class in England knows about France: and this astonished me, for, in the +gentry, English gentlemen know more about France than French gentlemen +know about England. + +He asked me if agriculture were still in a bad way; why we had not more +of the people at the Universities; why we allowed only lords into our +Parliament, and whether there were more French commercial travellers in +England than English commercial travellers in France. In all these points +I admitted, supplemented, and corrected, and probably distorted his +impressions. + +He asked me if English gunners were good. I said I did not know, but I +thought so. He replied that the English drivers had a high reputation in +his country--his brother (the brother of an ironmonger) was a Captain of +the Horse Artillery, and had told him so. And this he said to me, who wore +a French uniform, but whose heart was away up in Arun Valley, in my own +woods, and at rest and alone. + +In the last hour when we had to be getting back a certain tenderness came +into his somewhat mercenary look. He devoted himself more to his nephew; +he took him aside, and, with some ceremony, gave him money. He offered us +cigars. We took one each. His round French face became all wrinkles, like +a cracked plate. He said: + +"Bah! Take them by the pocketful! We know what life is in the regiment," +and he crammed half a dozen each into the pocket of our tunics. But when +he said "We know what the life is," he lied. For he had only been a +"mobile" in '70. He had voted, but never suffered, the conscription. + +So we said good night to this man, our host, who had so regaled us. I may +be wrong, but I fancy he was an anti-clerical. He was a hard man, just, +eager, and attentive, narrow, as I have said, and unconsciously (as I have +also said) building up the nation. + +There was the Ironmonger of Bar-le-Duc; and there are hundreds of +thousands of the same kind. + + + + +A FORCE IN GAUL + + +There is a force in Gaul which is of prime consequence to all Europe. It +has canalized European religion, fixed European law, and latterly launched +a renewed political ideal. It is very vigorous to-day. + +It was this force which made the massacres of September, which overthrew +Robespierre, which elected Napoleon. In a more concentrated form, it was +this force which combined into so puissant a whole the separate men--not +men of genius--who formed the Committee of Public Safety. It is this +force which made the Commune, so that to this day no individual can quite +tell you what the Commune was driving at. And it is this force which at +the present moment so grievously misunderstands and overestimates the +strength of the armies which are the rivals of the French; indeed, in that +connexion it might truly be said that the peace of Europe is preserved +much more by the German knowledge of what the French army is, even than +by French ignorance of what the German army is. + +I say the disadvantages of this force or quality in a commonwealth are +apparent, for the weakness and disadvantages of something extraneous to +ourselves are never difficult to grasp. What is of more moment for us +is to understand, with whatever difficulty, the strength which such a +quality conveys. Not to have understood that strength, nay, not to have +appreciated the existence of the force of which I speak, has made nearly +all the English histories of France worthless. French turbulence is +represented in them as anarchy, and the whole of the great story which has +been the central pivot of Western Europe appears as an incongruous series +of misfortunes. Even Carlyle, with his astonishing grasp of men and his +power of rapid integration from a few details (for he read hardly anything +of his subject), never comprehended this force. He could understand a +master ordering about a lot of servants; indeed, he would have liked +to have been a servant himself, and _was_ one to the best of his +ability; but he could not understand self-organization from below. Yet +upon the existence of that power depends the whole business of the +Revolution. Its strength, then, (and principal advantage), lies in the +fact that it makes democracy possible at critical moments, even in a large +community. + +There is no one, or hardly any one, so wicked or so stupid as to deny the +democratic ideal. There is no one, or hardly any one, so perverted that, +were he the member of a small and simple community, he would be content to +forgo his natural right to be a full member thereof. There is no one, or +hardly any one, who would not feel his exclusion from such rights, among +men of his own blood, to be intolerable. But while every one admits the +democratic ideal, most men who think and nearly all the wiser of those +who think, perceive its one great obstacle to lie in the contrast between +the idea and the action where the obstacle of complexity--whether due +to varied interests, to separate origins, or even to mere numbers--is +present. + +The psychology of the multitude is not the psychology of the individual. +Ask every man in West Sussex separately whether he would have bread made +artificially dearer by Act of Parliament, and you will get an overwhelming +majority against such economic action on the part of the State. Treat them +collectively, and they will elect--I bargain they will elect for years +to come--men pledged to such an action. Or again, look at a crowd when +it roars down a street in anger--the sight is unfortunately only too +rare to-day--you have the impression of a beast majestic in its courage, +terrible in its ferocity, but with something evil about its cruelty and +determination. Yet if you stop and consider the face of one of its members +straggling on one of its outer edges, you will probably see the bewildered +face of a poor, uncertain, weak-mouthed man whose eyes are roving from +one object to another, and who appears all the weaker because he is under +the influence of this collective domination. Or again, consider the jokes +which make a great public assembly honestly shake with laughter, and +imagine those jokes attempted in a private room! Our tricky politicians +know well this difference between the psychologies of the individual +and of the multitude. The cleverest of them often suffer in reputation +precisely because they know what hopeless arguments and what still more +hopeless jests will move collectivities, the individual units of which +would never have listened to such humour or to such reasoning. + +The larger the community with which one is dealing, the truer this is; so +that, when it comes to many millions spread upon a large territory, one +may well despair of any machinery which shall give expression to that very +real thing which Rousseau called the General Will. + +In the presence of such a difficulty most men who are concerned both for +the good of their country and for the general order of society incline, +especially as they grow older, to one, or other of the old traditional +organic methods by which a State may be expressed and controlled. They +incline to an oligarchy such as is here in England where a small group of +families, intermarried one with the other, dining together perpetually +and perpetually guests in each other's houses, are by a tacit agreement +with the populace permitted to direct a nation. Or they incline to the +old-fashioned and very stable device of a despotic bureaucracy such as +manages to keep Prussia upright, and did until recently support the +expansion of Russia. + +The evils of such a compromise with a political idea are evident enough. +The oligarchy will be luxurious and corporately corrupt, and individually +somewhat despicable, with a sort of softness about it in morals and in +military affairs. The despot or the bureaucracy will be individually +corrupt, especially in the lower branches of the system, and hatefully +unfeeling. + +"But," (says your thinker, especially as he advances in age) "man is so +made that he _cannot_ otherwise be collectively governed. He cannot +collectively be the master, or at any rate permanently the master of his +collective destiny, whatever power his reason and free will give him over +his individual fate. The nation" (says he), "especially the large nation, +certainly has a Will, but it cannot directly express that Will. And if it +attempts to do so, whatever machinery it chooses--even the referendum--will +but create a gross mechanical parody of that subtle organic thing, the +National soul. The oligarchy or the bureaucracy" (he will maintain, and +usually maintain justly) "inherit, convey, and maintain the national +spirit more truly than would an attempted democratic system." + +General history, even the general history of Western Europe, is upon the +whole on the side of such a criticism. Andorra is a perfect democracy, and +has been a perfect democracy for at least a thousand years, perhaps since +first men inhabited that isolated valley. But there is no great State +which has maintained even for three generations a democratic system +undisturbed. + +Now it is peculiar to the French among the great and independent nations, +that they are capable, by some freak in their development, of rapid +_communal_ self-expression. It is, I repeat, only in crises that +this power appears. But such as it is, it plays a part much more real and +much more expressive of the collective will than does the more ordinary +organization of other peoples. + +Those who attacked the Tuileries upon the 10th of August acted in a manner +entirely spontaneous, and succeeded. The arrest of the Royal Family at +Varennes was not the action of one individual or of two; it was not Drouet +nor was it the Saulce family. It was a great number of individuals (the +King had been recognized all along the journey), each thinking the same +thing under the tension of a particular episode, each vaguely tending to +one kind of action and tending with increasing energy towards that action, +and all combining, as it were, upon that culminating point in the long +journey which was reached at the archway of the little town in Argonne. + +To have expressed and portrayed this common national power has been the +saving of the principal French historians, notably of Michelet. It has +furnished them with the key by which alone the history of their country +could be made plain. Nothing is easier than to ridicule or deny so +mystical a thing. Taine, by temperament intensely anti-national, ridiculed +it as he ridiculed the mysteries of the Faith; but with this consequence, +that his denial made it impossible for him to write the history of his +country, and compelled him throughout his work, but especially in his +history of the Revolution, to perpetual, and at last to somewhat crude, +forms of falsehood. + +Not to recognize this National force has, again, led men into another +error: they will have it that the great common actions of Frenchmen are +due to some occult force or to a master. They will explain the Crusades +by the cunning organization of the Papacy; the French Revolution by the +cunning organization of the Masonic lodges; the Napoleonic episode by the +individual cunning and plan of Bonaparte. Such explanations are puerile. + +The blow of 1870 was perhaps the most severe which any modern nation has +endured. By some accident it did not terminate the activity of the French +nation. The Southern States of America remain under the effect of the +Civil War. All that is not Prussian in Germany remains +prostrate--especially in ideas--under the effect of the Prussian victory +over it. The French but barely escaped a similarly permanent dissolution +of national character: but they did escape it; and the national mark, the +power of spontaneous and collective action, after a few years' check, +began to emerge. + +Upon two occasions an attempt was made towards such action. The first was +in the time of Boulanger, the second during the Dreyfus business. In both +cases the nation instinctively saw, or rather felt, its enemy. In both +there was a moment when the cosmopolitan financier stood in physical peril +of his life. Neither, however, matured; in neither did the people finally +move. + +Latterly several partial risings have marked French life. Why none of them +should have culminated I will consider in a moment. Meanwhile, the foreign +observer will do well to note the character of these movements, abortive +though they were. It is like standing upon the edge of a crater and +watching the heave and swell of the vast energies below. There may have +been no actual eruption for some time, but the activities of the volcano +and its nature are certain to you as you gaze. The few days that passed +two years ago in Herault are an example. + +No one who is concerned for the immediate future of Europe should neglect +the omen: half a million men, with leaders chosen rapidly by themselves, +converging without disaster, with ample commissariat, with precision and +rapidity upon one spot: a common action decided upon, and that action most +calculated to defeat the enemy; decided upon by men of no exceptional +power, mere mouthpieces of this vast concourse: similar and exactly +parallel decisions over the whole countryside from the great towns to the +tiny mountain villages. It is the spirit of a swarm of bees. One incident +in the affair was the most characteristic of it all: fearing they would +be ordered to fire on men of their own district the private soldiers and +corporals of the 17th of the Line mutinied. So far so good: mutinies are +common in all actively military states--the exceptional thing was what +followed. The men organized themselves without a single officer or +non-commissioned officer, equipped themselves for a full day's march to +the capital of the province, achieved it in good order, and took quarters +in the town. All that exact movement was spontaneous. It explains the +Marshals of the Empire. These were sent off as a punishment to the edge +of the African desert; the mutiny seemed to the moneydealers a proof of +military defeat. They erred: these young men, some of them of but six +months' training, none of them of much more than two years, not one of +them over twenty-five years of age, were a precise symbol of the power +which made the Revolution and its victims. The reappearance of that power +in our tranquil modern affairs seems to me of capital importance. + +One should end by asking one's self, "Will these unfinished movements +breed a finished movement at last? Will Gaul move to some final purpose +in our time, and if so, against what, with what an object and in what a +manner?" + +Prophecy is vain, but it is entertaining, and I will prophesy that Gaul +will move in our time, and that the movement will be directed against the +pestilent humbug of the parliamentary system. + +For forty years this force in the nation of which I speak, though so +frequently stirred, has not achieved its purpose. But in nearly every +case, directly or indirectly, the thing against which it moved was the +Parliament. It would be too lengthy a matter to discuss here why the +representative system has sunk to be what it is in modern Europe. It +was the glory of the Middle Ages, it was a great vital institution of +Christendom, sprung from the monastic institution that preceded it, a true +and living power first in Spain, where Christendom was at its most acute +activity in the struggle against Asia, then in the north-west, in England +and in France. And indeed, in one form or another, throughout all the old +limits of the Empire. It died, its fossil was preserved in one or two +small and obscure communities, its ancient rules and form were captured by +the English squires and merchants, and it was maintained, a curious but +vigorous survival, in this country. When the Revolution in 1789 began the +revival of democracy in the great nations the old representative scheme of +the French, a very perfect one, was artificially resurrected, based upon +the old doctrine of universal suffrage and upon a direct mandate. It was +logical, it ought to have worked, but in barely a hundred years it has +failed. + +There is an instructive little anecdote upon the occupation of Rome in +1870. + +When the French garrison was withdrawn and the Northern Italians had +occupied the city, representative machinery was set to work, nominally +to discover whether the change in Government were popular or no. A tiny +handful of votes was recorded in the negative, let us say forty-three. + +Later, in the early winter of that same year, a great festival of the +Church was celebrated in the Basilica of St. Peter and at the tombs of the +Apostles. The huge church was crowded, many were even pressed outside the +doors. When the ceremony was over the dense mass that streamed out into +the darkness took up the cry, the irony of which filled the night air of +the Trastevere and its slums of sovereign citizens. The cry was this: + +"We are the Forty-three!" + +It is an anecdote that applies continually to the modern representative +system in every country which has the misfortune to support it. No one +needs to be reminded of such a truth. We know in England how the one +strong feeling in the elections of 1906 was the desire to get at the South +African Jews and sweep away their Chinese labour from under them. + +The politicians and the party hacks put into power by that popular +determination went straight to the South African Jews, hat in hand, asked +them what was their good pleasure in the matter, and framed a scheme in +connivance with them, by which no vengeance should be taken and not a +penny of theirs should be imperilled. + +In modern France the chances of escape from the parliamentary game, tawdry +at its best, at its worst a social peril, are much greater than in this +country. The names and forms of the thing are not of ancient institution. +There is therefore no opportunity for bamboozling people with a sham +continuity, or of mixing up the interests of the party hacks with the +instinct of patriotism. Moreover, in modern France the parliamentary +system happened to come up vitally against the domestic habits of +the people earlier and more violently than it has yet done in this +country. The little gang which had captured the machine was violently +anti-Christian; it proceeded step by step to the destruction of the +Church, until at the end of 1905 the crisis had taken this form. The +Church was disestablished, its endowments were cancelled, the housing of +its hierarchy, its churches and its cathedrals and their furniture were, +further, to be taken from it unless it adopted a Presbyterian form of +government which could not but have cankered it and which was the very +negative of its spirit. So far nothing that the Parliament had done really +touched the lives of the people. Even the proposal to put the remaining +goods of the Church under Presbyterian management was a matter for the +theologians and not for them. Not one man in a hundred knew or cared +about the business. The critical date approached (the 11th of December, +if I remember rightly). Rome was to accept the anti-Catholic scheme of +government or all the churches were to be shut. Rome refused the scheme, +and Parliament, faced for once with a reality and brought under the +necessity of really interfering with the popular life or of capitulating, +capitulated. + +What has that example to do, you may ask, with that movement in the south +of France, which is the text of these pages? The answer is as follows: + +In the south of France the one main thing actually touching the lives +of the people, after their religion (which the complete breakdown of +the anti-clerical threat had secured), was the sale of their principal +manufacture. This sale was rendered difficult from a number of reasons, +one of which, perhaps not the chief, but the most apparent and the most +easily remediable, was the adulteration and fraud existing in the trade. +Such adulteration and fraud are common to all the trade of our own time. +It was winked at by the gang in power in France, just as similar dirty +work is winked at by the gang in power in every other parliamentary +country. When the peasants who had suffered so severely by this +commercial corruption of our time asked that it should be put a stop to, +the old reply, which has done duty half a million times in every case of +corruption in France, England, or America for a generation, was given to +them: "If you desire a policy to be effected, elect men who will effect +it." As a fact, these four departments had elected a group of men, of whom +Laferre, the Grand Master of the Freemasons, is a good type, with his +absorbing interest in the destruction of Christianity, and his ignorance +and ineptitude in any other field than that of theology. + +The peasants replied to this sophistry, which had done duty so often and +had been successful so often in their case as in others, by calling upon +their Deputies to resign. Laferre neglected to do so. He was too greatly +occupied with his opportunity. He went down to "address his constituents." +They chased him for miles. And in that exhilarating episode it was +apparent that the peasants of the Aude had discovered in their simple +fashion both where the representative system was at fault and by what +methods it may be remedied. + + + + +ON BRIDGES + + +Stand on the side of a stream and consider two things: the imbecility of +your private nature and the genius of your common kind. + +For you cannot cross the stream, you--Individual you; but Man (from whence +you come) has found out an art for crossing it. This art is the building +of bridges. And hence man in the general may properly be called Pontifex, +or "The Bridge Builder"; and his symbolic summits of office will carry +some such title. + +Here I will confess (Individual) that I am tempted to leave you by the +side of the stream, to swim it if you can, to drown if you can't, or to +go back home and be eaten out with your desire for the ulterior shore, +while I digress upon that word Pontifex, which, note you, is not only a +name over a shop as "Henry Pontifex, Italian Warehouseman," or "Pontifex +Brothers, Barbers," but a true key-word breeding ideas and making one +consider the greatness of man, or rather the greatness of what made him. + +For man builds bridges over streams, and he has built bridges more or less +stable between mind and mind (a difficult art!), having designed letters +for that purpose, which are his instrument; and man builds by prayer a +bridge between himself and God; man also builds bridges which unite him +with Beauty all about. + +Thus he paints and draws and makes statues, and builds for beauty as well +as for shelter from the weather. And man builds bridges between knowledge +and knowledge, co-ordinating one thing that he knows with another thing +that he knows, and putting a bridge from each to each. And man is for ever +building--but he has never yet completed, nor ever will--that bridge they +call philosophy, which is to explain himself in relation to that whence +he came. I say, when his skeleton is put in the Museum properly labelled, +it shall be labelled not _Homo Sapiens_, but _Homo Pontifex_; +hence also the anthem, or rather the choral response, "_Pontificem +habemus_," which is sung so nobly by pontifical great choirs, when +pontifications are pontificated, as behooves the court of a Pontiff. + +Nevertheless (Individual) I will not leave you there, for I have pity +on you, and I will explain to you the nature of bridges. By a bridge +was man's first worry overcome. For note you, there is no worry so +considerable as to wail by impassable streams (as Swinburne has it). +It is the proper occupation of the less fortunate dead. + + + + +ON BRIDGES + + +Believe me, without bridges the world would be very different to you. You +take them for granted, you lollop along the road, you cross a bridge. You +may be so ungrateful as to forget all about it, but it is an awful thing! + +A bridge is a violation of the will of nature and a challenge. "You +desired me not to cross," says man to the River God, "but I will." And +he does so: not easily. The god had never objected to him that he should +swim and wet himself. Nay, when he was swimming the god could drown him at +will, but to bridge the stream, nay, to insult it, to leap over it, that +was man all over; in a way he knows that the earthy gods are less than +himself and that all that he dreads is his inferior, for only that which +he reveres and loves can properly claim his allegiance. Nor does he in the +long run pay that allegiance save to holiness, or in a lesser way to +valour and to worth. + +Man cannot build bridges everywhere. They are not multitudinous as are his +roads, nor universal as are his pastures and his tillage. He builds from +time to time in one rare place and another, and the bridge always remains +a sacred thing. Moreover, the bridge is always in peril. The little +bridge at Paris which carried the Roman road to the island was swept away +continually; and the bridge of Staines that carried the Roman road from +the great port to London was utterly destroyed. + +Bridges have always lived with fear in their hearts; and if you think +this is only true of old bridges (Individual), have you forgotten the Tay +Bridge with the train upon it? Or the bridge that they were building over +the St. Lawrence some little time ago, or the bridge across the Loire +where those peasants went to their death on a Sunday only a few months +since? Carefully consider these things and remember that the building and +the sustaining of a bridge is always a wonderful and therefore a perilous +thing. + +No bridges more testify to the soul of man than the bridges that leap +in one arch from height to height over the gorge of a torrent. Many of +these are called the Devil's Bridges with good reason, for they suggest +art beyond man's power, and there are two to be crossed and wondered at, +one in Wales in the mountains, and another in Switzerland, also in the +mountains. There is a third in the mountains at the gate of the Sahara, of +the same sort, jumping from rock to rock. But it is not called the Devil's +Bridge. It is called with Semitic simplicity "El Kantara," and that is +the name the Arabs gave to the old bridges, to the lordly bridges of the +Romans, wherever they came across them, for the Arabs were as incapable +of making bridges as they were of doing anything else except singing love +songs and riding about on horses. "Alcantara" is a name all over Spain, +and it is in the heart of the capital of Portugal, and it is fixed in the +wilds of Estremadura. You get it outside Constantine also where the bridge +spans the gulf. Never did an Arab see bridges but he wondered. + +Our people also, though they were not of the sort to stand with their +mouths open in front of bridges or anything else, felt the mystery of +these things. And they put chapels in the middle of them, as you may see +at Bale, and at Bradford-upon-Avon, and especially was there one upon old +London Bridge, which was dedicated to St. Thomas a Becket, and was very +large. And speaking of old London Bridge, every one in London should +revere bridges, for a great number of reasons. + +In the first place London never would have been London but for London +Bridge. + +In the second place, bridges enable the people of London to visit the +south of the river, which is full of pleasing and extraordinary sights, +and in which may be seen, visibly present to the eye, Democracy. If any +one doubts this let him take the voyage. + +Then again, but for bridges Londoners could not see the river except +from the Embankment, which is an empty sort of place, or from the windows +of hotels. Bridges also permit railways from the south to enter London. +If this seems to you a commonplace, visit New York or for ever after hold +your peace. + +All things have been degraded in our time and have also been multiplied, +which is perhaps a condition of degradation; and your simple thing, your +bridge, has suffered with the rest. Men have invented all manner of +bridges: tubular bridges, suspension bridges, cantilever bridges, swing +bridges, pontoon bridges, and the bridge called the Russian Bridge, which +is intolerable; but they have not been able to do with the bridge what +they have done with some other things: they have not been able to destroy +it; it is still a bridge, still perilous, and still a triumph. The bridge +still remains the thing which may go at any moment and yet the thing +which, when it remains, remains our oldest monument. There is a bridge +over the Euphrates--I forget whether it goes all the way across--which the +Romans built. And the oldest thing in the way of bridges in the town of +Paris, a thing three hundred years old, was the bridge that stood the late +floods best. The bridge will remain a symbol in spite of the engineers. + +Look how differently men have treated bridges according to the passing +mood of civilization. Once they thought it reasonable to tax people who +crossed bridges. Now they think it unreasonable. Yet the one course was +as reasonable as the other. Once they built houses on bridges, clearly +perceiving that there was lack of room for houses, and that there was +a housing problem, and that the bridges gave a splendid chance. Now no +one dares to build a house upon a bridge, and the one proceeding is as +reasonable as the other. + +The time has come to talk at random about bridges. + +The ugliest bridge in the world runs from Lambeth to the Horseferry Road, +and takes the place of the old British trackway which here crossed the +Thames. About the middle of it, if you will grope in the mud, you may or +may not find the great Seal of England which James II there cast into +the flood. If it was fished up again, why then it is not there. The most +beautiful bridge in London is Waterloo Bridge; the most historic is London +Bridge; and far the most useful Westminster Bridge. The most famous bridge +in Italy to tourists is the old bridge at Florence, and the best known +from pictures the Bridge of Sighs in Venice. That with the best chance +of an eternal fame is the bridge which carries the road from Tizzano to +Serchia over the gully of the muddy Apennines, for upon the 18th of June, +1901, it was broken down in the middle of the night, and very nearly cost +the life of a man who could ill afford it. The place where a bridge is +most needed, and is not present, is the Ford of Fornovo. The place where +there is most bridge and where it is least needed is the railway bridge +at Venice. The bridge that trembles most is the Bridge of Piacenza. The +bridge that frightens you most is the Brooklyn Bridge, and the bridge that +frightens you least is the bridge in St. James's Park; for even if you +are terrified by water in every form, as are too many boastful men, you +must know, or can be told, that there is but a dampness of some inches in +the sheet below. The longest bridge for boring one is the railway bridge +across the Somme to St. Valery, whence Duke William started with a +horseshoe mouth and very glum upon his doubtful adventure to invade these +shores--but there was no bridge in his time. The shortest bridge is made +of a plank, in the village of Loudwater in the county of Bucks, not far +from those Chiltern Hundreds which men take in Parliament for the good of +their health as a man might take the waters. The most entertaining bridge +is the Tower Bridge, which lifts up and splits into two just as you are +beginning to cross it, as can be testified by a cloud of witnesses. The +broadest bridge is the Alexandre III Bridge in Paris, at least it looks +the broadest, while the narrowest bridge, without a shadow of doubt, is +the bridge that was built by ants in the moon; if the phrase startles you +remember it is only in a novel by Wells. + +The first elliptical bridge was designed by a monk of Cortona, and the +first round one by Adam.... + +But one might go on indefinitely about bridges and I am heartily tired of +them. Let them cross and recross the streams of the world. I for my part +will stay upon my own side. + + + + +A BLUE BOOK + + +I have thought it of some value to contemporary history to preserve the +following document, which concerns the discovery and survey of an island +in the North Atlantic, which upon its discovery was annexed by the United +States in the first moments of their imperial expansion, and was given the +name of "Atlantis." + +The island, which appears to have been formed by some convulsion of +nature, disappeared the year after its discovery, and the report drawn up +by the Commissioners is therefore very little known, and has of course +no importance in the field of practical finance and administration. But +it is a document of the highest and most curious interest as an example +of the ideas that guided the policy of the Great Republic at the moment +when the survey was undertaken; and English readers in particular will +be pleased to note the development and expansion of English methods and +of characteristic English points of view and institutions throughout the +whole document. + +Any one who desires to consult the maps, etc., which I have been unable +to reproduce in this little volume, must refer to the Record Office at +Washington. My only purpose in reprinting these really fascinating pages +in such a volume as this is the hope that they may give pleasure to many +who would not have had the opportunity to consult them in the public +archives where they have hitherto been buried. + + A. 2. E. 331 ff. + +REPORT OF THE THREE COMMISSIONERS APPOINTED BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE +REPUBLIC TO REPORT UPON THE POTENTIAL RESOURCES, SITUATION, ETC., OF THE +NEW ISLAND KNOWN AS "ATLANTIS," RECENTLY DISCOVERED IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC +AND ANNEXED TO THE REPUBLIC, TOGETHER WITH A RECOMMENDATION ON FUTURE +TREATMENT OF SAME. + +TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE REPUBLIC. + +YOUR HONOUR, + +[Sidenote: Preamble.] + +Your Honour's three Commissioners, Joshua Hogg, Abraham Bush and Jack +Bimber, being of sound mind, solvent, and in good corporeal health, all +citizens of more than five years' standing, and domiciled within the +boundaries, frontiers or terms of the Republic, do make oath and say, So +Help Them God:-- + +[Sidenote: _Arrival off Atlantis_.] + +I. That on the 20th of the month of July, being at that time in or about +Latitude 45 N. and betwixt and between Longitude 51 W. and 51.10° W., so +near as could be made out, the captain of the steamboat "Glory of the +Morning Star" (chartered _for this occasion only_ by the Government +of the Republic, without any damage, precedent or future lien whatsoever), +by name James Murphy, of Cork, Ireland, and domiciled within the aforesaid +terms, boundaries, etc., did in a loud voice at about 4.33 a.m., when it +was already light, cry out "That's Hur," or words to that effect. Your +three Commissioners being at that moment in the cabin, state-room or cuddy +in the forward part of the ship (see annexed plan), came up on deck and +were ordered or enjoined to go below by those having authority on the +"Glory of the Morning Star." Your three Commissioners desire individually +and collectively to call attention to the fact that this order was +obeyed, being given under the Maritime Acts of 1853, and desire also to +protest against the indignity offered in their persons to the majesty of +the Republic. (See Attorney-General's Plea, Folio 56, M.) At or about +_6.30_ a.m. of the same day, July 20th, your Commissioners were +called upon deck, and there was put at their disposal a beat manned by +four sailors, who did thereupon and with all due dispatch row them towards +the island, at that moment some two miles off the weather bow, that is +S.S.W. by S. of the "Glory of the Morning Star." They did then each +individually and all collectively land, disembark and set foot upon the +Island of Atlantis and take possession thereof in the name of Your Honour +and the Republic, displaying at the same time a small flag 19" x 6" in +token of the same, which flag was distinctly noted, seen, recorded and +witnessed by the undersigned, to which they put their hand and seal, +trusting in the guidance of Divine Providence. + +JOSHUA HOGG + +ABRAHAM BUSH + +JACK BIMBER. + +[Sidenote: _Shape and Dimensions of the Island_] + +II. Your Commissioners proceeded at once to a measurement of the aforesaid +island of Atlantis, which they discovered to be of a triangular or +three-cornered shape, in dimensions as follows: On the northern face from +Cape Providence (q.v.) to Cape Mercy (q.v.), one mile one furlong and a +bit. On the south-western face from Cape Mercy (q.v.) to Point Liberty +(q.v.), seven furlongs, two roods and a foot. On the south-eastern face, +which is the shortest face, from Point Liberty (q.v.) round again to Cape +Providence (q.v.), from which we started, something like half a mile, and +not worth measuring. These dimensions, lines, figures, measurements and +plans they do submit to the public office of Record as accurate and done +to the best of their ability by the undersigned: So Help Them God. (SEAL.) + +[Sidenote: _Appearance and Structure of the Island_.] + +III. It will be seen from the above that the island is in shape an +Isosceles triangle, as it were, pointing in a north-westerly direction +and having a short base turned to the south-east, contains some 170 acres +or half a square mile, and is situate in a temperate latitude suited to +the Anglo-Saxon Race. As to material or structure, it is composed of sand +(_see its specimens in glass phial_), the said sand being of a yellow +colour when dry and inclining to a brown colour where it may be wet by the +sea or by rain. + +[Sidenote: _Springs and Rivers_.] + +IV. There are no springs or rivers in the Island. + +[Sidenote: _Hills and Mountains_.] + +V. There are no mountains on the Island, but there is in the North a +slight hummock some fifteen feet in height. To this hummock we have +given (saving your Honour's Reverence) the name of "Mount Providence" +in commemoration of the manifold and evident graces of Providence in +permitting us to occupy and develop this new land in the furtherance of +true civilization and good government. The hill is at present too small +to make a feature in the landscape, but we have great hopes that it will +grow. (See _Younger_ on "The Sand Dunes of Picardy," Vol. II, pp. +199-200.) + +[Sidenote: Harbours.] + +VI. The Island is difficult of approach as it slopes up gradually from the +sea bottom and the tides are slight. At high water there is no sounding +of more than three fathoms for about a mile and a half from shore; but at +a distance of two miles soundings of five and six fathoms are common, and +it would be feasible in fine weather for a vessel of moderate draught to +land her cargo, passengers, etc. in small boats. Moreover a harbour might +be built as in our Recommendations (q.v.). There is on the northern side +a bay (caused by indentation of the land) which we think suitable to the +purpose and which, in Your Honour's honour, we have called Buggins' Bay. + +[Sidenote: Capes and Headlands.] + +VII. These are three, as above enumerated (q.v.); one, the most +precipitous and bold, we have called Cape _Providence_ (q.v.) for +reasons which appear above; the second, Cape _Mercy_, in recognition +of the great mercy shown us in finding this place without running on it +as has been the fate of many a noble vessel. The third we called Point +_Liberty_ from the nature of those glorious institutions which are +the pride of the Republic and which we intend to impose upon any future +inhabitants. These titles, which are but provisional, we pray may remain +and be Enregistered under the seal, notwithstanding the "Act to Restrain +Nuisances and Voids" of 1819, Cap. 2. + +[Sidenote: _Climate_.] + +VIII. The climate is that of the North Atlantic known as the "Oceanic." +Rain falls not infrequently, and between November and April snow is not +unknown. In summer a more genial temperature prevails, but it is never so +hot as to endanger life or to facilitate the progress of epidemic disease. +Wheat, beans, hops, turnips, and barley could be grown did the soil permit +of it. But we cannot regard an agricultural future as promising for the +new territory. + +HERE ENDETH your Commissioners' Report. + +(_Seal_) + +JOSHUA HOGG. ABRAHAM BUSH. JACOBUS BIMBER. + + * * * * * + +RECOMMENDATIONS + +Your Commissioners being also entrusted with the privilege of making +Recommendations, submit the following without prejudice and all pursuants +to the contrary notwithstanding. + +As to the _land_: your Commissioners recommend that it should be +held by the State in conformity with those principles which are gaining +a complete ascendancy among the Leading Nations of the Earth. This might +then be let out at its full value to private individuals who would make +what they could of it, leaving the Economic Rent to the community. For +the individual did not make the land, but the State did. + +This power of letting the land should, they recommend, be left in the +hands of a _Chartered Company_. Your Commissioners will provide +the names of certain reputable and wealthy citizens who will be glad to +undertake the duty of forming and directing this company, and who will act +on the principle of unsalaried public service by the upper classes, which +is the chief characteristic of our civilization. I. Jacobs, Esq., and Z. +Lewis, Esq. (to be directors of the proposed Chartered Company) have +already volunteered in this matter. + +Your Commissioners recommend that the Chartered Company should be granted +the right to strike coins of copper, nickel, silver and gold, the first +three to be issued at three times eight times and twice the value of +the metals respectively, the said currency to be on a gold basis and +mono-metallic and not to exceed the amount of $100 _per capita_. + +Your Commissioners further recommend that the same authority be empowered +to issue paper money in proportions of 165% to the gold reserve, the right +to give high values to pieces of paper having proved in the past of the +greatest value to those who have obtained it. + +Your Commissioners recommend the building of a stone harbour out to sea +without encroaching on the already exiguous dimensions of the land. They +propose two piers, each some mile and a half long, and built of Portland +rock, an excellent quarry of which is to be discovered on the property +of James Barber, Esq., of Maryville, Kent County, Conn. The stone could +be brought to Atlantis at the lowest rates by the Wall Schreiner line of +floats. In this harbour, if it be sufficiently deepened and its piers set +wide enough apart, the navies of the world could be contained, and it +would be a standing testimony to the energy of our race, "which maketh +the desert to blossom like a rose" (Lev. XXII. 3, 2). + +Your Commissioners also recommend an artesian well to be sunk until fresh +water be discovered. This method has been found successful in Australia, +which is also an island and largely composed of sand. It is said that this +method of irrigation produces astonishing results. + +Finally, in the matter of industry your Commissioners propose (not, of +course, as a unique industry but as a staple) the packing of sardines. A +sound system of fair trade based upon a tariff scientifically adjusted +to the conditions of the Island should develop the industry rapidly. +Everything lends itself to this: the skilled labour could be imparted +from home, the sardines from France, and the tin and oil from Spain. It +would need for some years an export Bounty somewhat in the nature of +Protection, the scale of which would have to be regulated by the needs +of the community, but they are convinced that when once the industry was +established, the superior skill of our workmen and the enterprise of +our capitalists would control the markets of the world. + +As to political rights, we recommend that Atlantis should be treated as a +territory, and that a sharp distinction should be drawn between Rural and +Urban conditions; that the inhabitants should not be granted the franchise +till they have shown themselves worthy of self-government, saving, of +course, those immigrants (such as the negroes of Carolina, etc.) who have +been trained in the exercise of representative institutions. All Religions +should be tolerated except those to which the bulk of the community show +an implacable aversion. Education should be free to all, compulsory upon +the poor, non-sectarian, absolutely elementary, and subject, of course, +to the paramount position of that gospel which has done so much for our +dear country. The sale of Intoxicants should be regulated by the Company, +and these should be limited to a little spirits: wine and beer and all +alcoholic liquors habitually used as beverages should be rigorously +forbidden to the labouring classes, and should only be supplied in _bona +fide_ clubs with a certain minimum yearly subscription. + +IN CONCLUSION your Commissioners will ever pray, etc. + +MS. note added at the end in the hand of Mr. Charles P. Hands, the curator +of this section: + +(_The Island was lost--luckily with no one aboard--during the storms +of the following winter. This report still possesses, however, a strong +historical interest_). + + + + +PERIGEUX OF THE PERIGORD + + +I knew a man once. I met him in a wooden inn upon a bitterly cold day. +He was an American, and we talked of many things. At last he said to me: +"Have you ever seen the Matterhorn?" + +"No," said I; for I hated the very name of it. Then he continued: + +"It is the most surprising thing I ever saw." + +"By the Lord," said I, "'you have found the very word!" I took out a +sketch-book and noted his word "surprising." What admirable humour had +this American; how subtle and how excellent a spirit! I have never seen +the Matterhorn; but it seems that one comes round a corner, and there it +is. It is surprising! Excellent word of the American. I never shall forget +it! + +An elephant escapes from a circus and puts his head in at your window +while you are writing and thinking of a word. You look up. You may be +alarmed, you may be astonished, you may be moved to sudden processes of +thought; but one thing you will find about it, and you will find out quite +quickly, and it will dominate all your other emotions of the time: the +elephant's head will be surprising. You are caught. Your soul says loudly +to its Creator: "Oh, this is something new!" + +So did I first see in the moonlight up the quite unknown and quite +deserted valley which the peak of the Dead Man dominates in a lonely +and savage manner the main crest of the Pyrenees. So did I first see a +land-fall when I first went overseas. So did I first see the Snowdon range +when I was a little boy, having, until I woke up that morning and looked +out of the windows of the hotel, never seen anything in my life more +uplifted than the rounded green hills of South England. + +Now the cathedral of St. Front in Perigeux of the Perigord is the most +surprising thing in Europe. It is much more surprising than the hills--for +a man made it. Man made it hundreds and hundreds of years ago; man has +added to it, and, by the grace of his enthusiasm and his disciplined +zeal, man has (thank God!) scraped, remodelled, and restored it. Upon my +soul, to see such a thing I was proud to be an Anthropoid, and to claim +cousinship with those dark citizens of the Dordogne and of Garonne and of +the Tarn and of the Lot, and of whatever rivers fall into the Gironde. I +know very well that they have sweated to indoctrinate, to persecute, to +trim, to improve, to exterminate, to lift up, to cast down, to annoy, to +amuse, to exasperate, to please, to enmusic, to offend, to glorify their +kind. In some of these energies of theirs I blame them, in others I +praise; but it is plainly evident that they know how to binge. I wished +(for a moment) to be altogether of their race, like that strong cavalry +man of their race to whom they have put up a statue pointing to his wooden +leg. What an incredible people to build such an incredible church! + +The Clericals claim it, the anti-Clericals adorn it. The Christians bemoan +within it the wickedness of the times. The Atheists are baptized in it, +married in it, denounced in it, and when they die are, in great coffins +surrounded by great candles, to the dirge of the _Dies Iræ_, to the +booming of the vast new organ, very formally and determinedly absolved +in it; and holy water is sprinkled over the black cloth and cross of +silver. The pious and the indifferent, nay, the sad little army of +earnest, intelligent, strenuous men who still anxiously await the death +of religion--they all draw it, photograph it, paint it; they name their +streets, their hotels, their villages, and their very children after it. +It is like everything else in the world: it must be seen to be believed. +It rises up in a big cluster of white domes upon the steep bank of the +river. And sometimes you think it a fortress, and sometimes you think it +a town, and sometimes you think it a vision. It is simple in plan and +multiple in the mind; and after all these years I remember it as one +remembers a sudden and unexpected chorus. It is well worthy of Perigeux of +the Perigord. + +Perigeux of the Perigord is Gaulish, and it has never died. When it was +Roman it was Vesona; the temple of that patron Goddess still stands at its +eastern gate, and it is one of those teaching towns which have never died, +but in which you can find quite easily and before your eyes every chapter +of our worthy story. In such towns I am filled as though by a book, with a +contemplation of what we have done, and I have little doubt for our sons. + +The city reclines and is supported upon the steep bank of the Isle just +where the stream bends and makes an amphitheatre, so that men coming in +from the north (which is the way the city was meant to be entered--and +therefore, as you may properly bet, the railway comes in at the other side +by the back door) see it all at once: a great sight. One goes up through +its narrow streets, especially noting that street which is very nobly +called after the man who tossed his sword in the air riding before the +Conqueror at Hastings, Taillefer. One turns a narrow corner between houses +very old and very tall, and then quite close, no longer a vision, but a +thing to be touched, you see--to use the word again--the "surprising" +thing. You see something bigger than you thought possible. + +Great heavens, what a church! + +Where have I heard a church called "the House of God"? I think it was in +Westmorland near an inn called "The Nag's Head"--or perhaps "The Nag's +Head" is in Cumberland--no matter, I did once hear a church so called. But +this church has a right to the name. It is a gathering-up of all that men +could do. It has fifty roofs, it has a gigantic signal tower, it has blank +walls like precipices, and round arch after round arch, and architrave +after architrave. It is like a good and settled epic; or, better still, it +is like the life of a healthy and adventurous man who, having accomplished +all his journeys and taken the Fleece of Gold, comes home to tell his +stories at evening, and to pass among his own people the years that are +left to him of his age. It has experience and growth and intensity of +knowledge, all caught up into one unity; it conquers the hill upon which +it stands. I drew one window and then another, and then before I had +finished that a cornice, and then before I had finished that a porch, +for it was evening when I saw it, and I had not many hours. + +Music, they say, does something to the soul, filling it full of +unsatisfied but transcendent desires, and making it guess, in glimpses +that mix and fail, the soul's ultimate reward or destiny. Here, in +Perigeux of the Perigord, where men hunt truffles with hounds, stone set +in a certain order does what music is said to do. For in the sight of this +standing miracle I could believe and confess, and doubt and fear, and +control, all in one. + +Here is, living and continuous, the Empire in its majority and +its determination to be eternal. The people of the Perigord, the +truffle-hunting people, need never seek civilization nor fear its death, +for they have its symbol, and a sacrament, as it were, to promise them +that the arteries of the life of Europe can never be severed. The arches +and the entablatures of this solemn thing are alive. + +It was built some say nine, some say eight hundred years ago; its apse was +built yesterday, but the whole of it is outside time. + +In human life, which goes with a short rush and then a lull, like the wind +among trees before rains, great moments are remembered; they comfort us +and they help us to laugh at decay. I am very glad that I once saw this +church in Perigeux of the Perigord. + +When I die I should like to be buried in my own land, but I should take it +as a favour from the Bishop, who is master of this place, if he would come +and give my coffin an absolution, and bring with him the cloth and the +silver cross, and if he would carry in his hand (as some of the statues +have) a little model of St. Front, the church which I have seen and which +renewed my faith. + + + + +THE POSITION + + +There is a place where the valley of the Allier escapes from the central +mountains of France and broadens out into a fertile plain. + +Here is a march or boundary between two things, the one familiar to most +English travellers, the other unfamiliar. The familiar thing is the rich +alluvium and gravel of the Northern French countrysides, the poplar trees, +the full and quiet rivers, the many towns and villages of stone, the broad +white roads interminable and intersecting the very fat of prosperity, +and over it all a mild air. The unfamiliar is the mass of the Avernian +Mountains, which mass is the core and centre of Gaul and of Gaulish +history, and of the unseen power that lies behind the whole of that +business. + +The plains are before one, the mountains behind one, and one stands in +that borderland. I know it well. + +I have said that in the Avernian Mountains was the centre of Gaul and the +power upon which the history of Gaul depends. Upon the Margeride, which is +one of their uttermost ridges, du Guesclin was wounded to death. One may +see the huge stones piled up on the place where he fell. In the heart of +those mountains, at Puy, religion has effects that are eerie; it uses odd +high peaks for shrines--needles of rock; and a long way off all round is a +circle of hills of a black-blue in the distance, and they and the rivers +have magical names--the river Red Cap and Chaise Dieu, "God's Chair." +In these mountains Julius Caesar lost (the story says) his sword; and +in these mountains the Roman armies were staved off by the Avernians. +They are as full of wonder as anything in Europe can be, and they are +complicated and tumbled all about, so that those who travel in them with +difficulty remember where they have been, unless indeed they have that +general eye for a countryside which is rare nowadays among men. + +Just at the place where the mountain land and the plain land meet, where +the shallow valleys get rounder and less abrupt, I went last September, +following the directions of a soldier who had told me how I might find +where the centre of the manoeuvres lay. The manoeuvres, attempting to +reproduce the conditions of war, made a drifting scheme of men upon either +side of the River Sioule. One could never be certain where one would find +the guns. + +I had come up off the main road from Vichy, walking vaguely towards the +sound of the firing. It was unfamiliar. The old and terrible rumble has +been lost for a generation; even the plain noise of the field-piece which +used to be called "90" is forgotten by the young men now. The new little +guns pop and ring. And when you are walking towards them from a long way +off you do not seem to be marching towards anything great, but rather +towards something clever. Nevertheless it is as easy to-day as ever it +was to walk towards the sound of cannon. + +Two valleys absolutely lonely had I trudged-through since the sun rose, +and it was perhaps eight o'clock when I came upon one of those lonely +walled parks set in bare fields which the French gentry seem to find +homelike enough. I asked a man at the lodge about how far the position +was. He said he did not know, and looked upon me with suspicion. + +I went down into the depth of the valley, and there I met a priest who was +reading his Breviary and erroneously believed me (if I might judge his +looks) to be of a different religion, for he tested philosophy by clothes; +and this, by the way, is unalterably necessary for all mankind. When, +however, he found by my method of address that I knew his language and +was of his own faith, he became very courteous, and when I told him that +I wanted to find the position he became as lively as a linesman, making +little maps with his stick in the earth, and waving his arms, and making +great sweeps with his hand to show the way in which the army had been +drifting all morning, northward and eastward, above the Sioule, with the +other division on the opposite bank, and how, whenever there was a bridge +to be fought for, the game had been to pretend that one or the other had +got hold of it. Of this priest it might truly be said, as was said of +the priest of Thiers in the Forez, that chance had made him a choir-boy, +but destiny had designed him for the profession of arms; and upon this +one could build an interesting comedy of how chance and destiny are +perpetually at issue, and how chance, having more initiative and not +being so bound to routine, gets the better of destiny upon all occasions +whatsoever. + +Well, the priest showed me in this manner whither I should walk, and so I +came out of the valley on to a great upland, and there a small boy (who +was bullying a few geese near a pond) showed much the same excitement as +the priest when he told me at what village I should find the guns. + +That village was a few miles further on. As I went along the straight, +bare road, with stubble upon either side, I thought the sound of firing +got louder; but then, again, it would diminish, as the batteries took a +further and a further position in their advance. It was great fun, this +sham action, with its crescent of advancing fire and one's self in the +centre of the curve. At the next village I had come across the arteries +of the movement. By one road provisionment was going off to the right; +by another two men with messages, one a Hussar on horseback, the other a +Reservist upon a bicycle, went by me very quickly. Then from behind some +high trees in a churchyard there popped out a lot of little Engineers, who +were rolling a great roll of wire along. So I went onwards; and at last +I came to a cleft just before the left bank of the Sioule. This cleft +appeared deserted: there was brushwood on its sides and a tiny stream +running through it. On the ridge beyond were the roofs of a village. The +firing of the pieces was now quite close and near. They were a little +further than the houses of the hamlet, doubtless in some flat field where +the position was favourable to them. Down that cleft I went, and in its +hollow I saw the first post, but as yet nothing more. Then when I got to +the top of the opposing ridge I found the whole of the 38th lolling under +the cover of the road bank. From below you would have said there were no +men at all. The guns were right up beyond the line, firing away. I went up +past the linesmen till I found the guns. + +And what a pretty sight! They were so small and light and delicate! There +was no clanking, and no shouting, and to fire them a man pulled a mere +trigger. I thought to myself: "How simple and easy our civilization +becomes. Think of the motor-cars, and how they purr. Think of the simple +telephone, and all the other little things." And with this thought in my +mind I continued to watch the guns. Without yells or worry a man spoke +gently to other men, and they all limbered up, quite easily. The weight +seemed to have gone since my time. They trotted off with the pieces, and +when they crossed the little ditch at the edge of the field I waited for +the heavy clank-clank and the jog that ought to go with that well-known +episode; but I did not hear it, and I saw no shock. They got off the +field with its little ditch on to the high road as a light cart with good +springs might have done. And when they massed themselves under the cover +of a roll of land it was all done again without noise. I thought a little +sadly that the world had changed. But it was all so pretty and sensible +that I hardly regretted the change. There was a stretch of road in front +where nothing on earth could have given cover. The line was on its +stomach, firing away, and it was getting fired at apparently, in the sham +of the manoeuvre from the other side of the Sioule. As it covered this +open space the line edged forward and upward. When a certain number of the +38th had worked up like this, the whole bunch of them, from half a mile +down the road, right through the village, were moved along, and the head +of the column was scattered to follow up the firing. It was like spraying +water out of a tap. The guns still stood massed, and then at a sudden +order which was passed along as though in the tones of a conversation +(and again I thought to myself, "Surely the world is turning upside down +since I was a boy") they started off at a sharp gallop and leapt, as it +were, the two or three hundred yards of open road between cover and cover. +They were very well driven. The middle horses and the wheelers were doing +their work: it was not only the leaders that kept the traces taut. It was +wonderfully pretty to see them go by: not like a storm but like a smoke. +No one could have hit those gunners or those teams. Whether they were on +the sky-line or not I could not tell, but at any rate they could have been +seen just for that moment from beyond the Sioule. And when they massed up +again, beyond--some seconds afterwards--one heard the pop-pop from over +the valley, which showed they had been seen just too late. + +Hours and hours after that I went on with the young fellows. The guns I +could not keep with: I walked with the line. And all the while as I walked +I kept on wondering at the change that comes over European things. This +army of young men doing two years, with its odd silence and its sharp +twittering movements, and the sense of eyes all round one, of men glancing +and appreciating: individual men catching an opportunity for cover; and +commanding men catching the whole countryside.... Then, in the early +afternoon, the bugles and the trumpets sounded that long-drawn call which +has attended victories and capitulations, and which is also sounded every +night to tell people to put out the lights in the barrack-rooms. It is the +French "Cease fire." And whether from the national irony or the national +economy, I know not, but the stopping of either kind of fire has the +same call attached to it, and you must turn out a light in a French +barrack-room to the same notes as you must by command stop shooting at the +other people. + +The game was over. I faced the fourteen miles back to Gannat very stiff. +All during those hours I had been wondering at the novelty of Europe, and +at all these young men now so different, at the silence and the cover, and +the hefty, disposable little guns. But when I had my face turned southward +again to get back to a meal, that other aspect of Europe, its eternity, +was pictured all abroad. For there right before me stood the immutable +mountains, which stand enormous and sullen, but also vague at the base, +and, therefore, in their summits, unearthly, above the Limagne. There was +that upper valley of the Allier down which Cæsar had retreated, gathering +his legions into the North, and there was that silent and menacing sky +which everywhere broods over Auvergne, and even in its clearest days seems +to lend the granite and the lava land a sort of doomed hardness, as though +Heaven in this country commanded and did not allure. Never had I seen a +landscape more mysterious than those hills, nor at the same time anything +more enduring. + + + + +HOME + + +There is a river called the Eure which runs between low hills often +wooded, with a flat meadow floor in between. It so runs for many miles. +The towns that are set upon it are for the most part small and rare, +and though the river is well known by name, and though one of the chief +cathedrals of Europe stands near its source, for the most part it is not +visited by strangers. + +In this valley one day as I was drawing a picture of the woods I found a +wandering Englishman who was in the oddest way. He seemed by the slight +bend at his knees and the leaning forward of his head to have no very +great care how much further he might go. He was in the clothes of an +English tourist, which looked odd in such a place, as, for that matter, +they do anywhere. He had upon his head a pork-pie hat which was of the +same colour and texture as his clothes, a speckly brown. He carried a +thick stick. He was a man over fifty years of age; his face was rather +hollow and worn; his eyes were very simple and pale; he was bearded with a +weak beard, and in his expression there appeared a constrained but kindly +weariness. This was the man who came up to me as I was drawing my picture. +I had heard him scrambling in the undergrowth of the woods just behind me. + +He came out and walked to me across the few yards of meadow. The haying +was over, so he did the grass no harm. He came and stood near me, +irresolutely, looking vaguely up and across the valley towards the further +woods, and then gently towards what I was drawing. When he had so stood +still and so looked for a moment he asked me in French the name of the +great house whose roof showed above the more ordered trees beyond the +river, where a park emerged from and mixed with the forest. I told him the +name of the house, whereupon he shook his head and said that he had once +more come to the wrong place. + +I asked him what he meant, and he told me, sitting down slowly and +carefully upon the grass, this adventure: + +"First," said he, "are you always quite sure whether a thing is really +there or not?" + +"I am always quite sure," said I; "I am always positive." + +He sighed, and added: "Could you understand how a man might feel that +things were really there when they were not?" + +"Only," said I, "in some very vivid dream, and even then I think a man +knows pretty well inside his own mind that he is dreaming." I said that it +seemed to me rather like the question of the cunning of lunatics; most of +them know at the bottom of their silly minds that they are cracked, as you +may see by the way they plot and pretend. + +"You are not sympathetic with me," he said slowly, "but I will +nevertheless tell you what I want to tell you, for it will relieve me, and +it will explain to you why I have again come into this valley." "Why do +you say 'again'?" said I. + +"Because," he answered gently, "whenever my work gives me the opportunity +I do the same thing. I go up the valley of the Seine by train from Dieppe; +I get out at the station at which I got out on that day, and I walk across +these low hills, hoping that I may strike just the path and just the +mood--but I never do." + +"What path and what mood?" said I. + +"I was telling you," he answered patiently, "only you were so brutal about +reality." And then he sighed. He put his stick across his knees as he sat +there on the grass, held it with a hand on either side of his knees, and +so sitting bunched up began his tale once more. + +"It was ten years ago, and I was extremely tired, for you must know that +I am a Government servant, and I find my work most wearisome. It was just +this time of year that I took a week's holiday. I intended to take it in +Paris, but I thought on my way, as the weather was so fine, that I would +do something new and that I would walk a little way off the track. I had +often wondered what country lay behind the low and steep hills on the +right of the railway line. + +"I had crossed the Channel by night," he continued, a little sorry for +himself, "to save the expense. It was dawn when reached Rouen, and there I +very well remember drinking some coffee which I did not like, and eating +some good bread which I did. I changed carriages at Rouen because the +express did not stop at any of the little stations beyond. I took a slower +train, which came immediately behind it, and stopped at most of the +stations. I took my ticket rather at random for a little station between +Pont de l'Arche and Mantes. I got out at that little station, and it was +still early--only midway through the morning. + +"I was in an odd mixture of fatigue and exhilaration: I had not slept and +I would willingly have done so, but the freshness of the new day was upon +me, and I have always had a very keen curiosity to see new sights and to +know what lies behind the hills. + +"The day was fine and already rather hot for June. I did not stop in the +village near the station for more than half an hour, just the time to take +some soup and a little wine; then I set out into the woods to cross over +into this parallel valley. I knew that I should come to it and to the +railway line that goes down it in a very few miles. I proposed when I came +to that other railway line on the far side of the hills to walk quietly +down it as nearly parallel to it as I could get, and at the first station +to take the next train for Chartres, and then the next day to go from +Chartres to Paris. That was my plan. + +"The road up into the woods was one of those great French roads which +sometimes frighten me and always weary me by their length and insistence: +men seem to have taken so much trouble to make them, and they make me +feel as though I had to take trouble myself; I avoid them when I walk. +Therefore, so soon as this great road had struck the crest of the hills +and was well into the woods (cutting through them like the trench of a +fortification, with the tall trees on either side) I struck out into a +ride which had been cut through them many years ago and was already half +overgrown, and I went along this ride for several miles. + +"It did not matter to me how I went, since my design was so simple and +since any direction more or less westward would enable me to fulfil it, +that is, to come down upon the valley of the Eure and to find the single +railway line which leads to Chartres. The woods were very pleasant on that +June noon, and once or twice I was inclined to linger in their shade and +sleep an hour. But--note this clearly--I did not sleep. I remember every +moment of the way, though I confess my fatigue oppressed me somewhat +as the miles continued. + +"At last by the steepness of a new descent I +recognized that I had crossed the watershed and was coming down into the +valley of this river. The ride had dwindled to a path, and I was wondering +where the path would lead me when I noticed that it was getting more +orderly: there were patches of sand, and here and there a man had cut and +trimmed the edges of the way. Then it became more orderly still. It was +all sanded, and there were artificial bushes here and there--I mean bushes +not native to the forest, until at last I was aware that my ramble had +taken me into some one's own land, and that I was in a private ground. + +"I saw no great harm in this, for a traveller, if he explains himself, +will usually be excused; moreover, I had to continue, for I knew no +other way, and this path led me westward also. Only, whether because my +trespassing worried me or because I felt my own dishevelment more acutely, +the lack of sleep and the strain upon me increased as I pursued those +last hundred yards, until I came out suddenly from behind a screen of +rosebushes upon a large lawn, and at the end of it there was a French +country house with a moat round it, such as they often have, and a stone +bridge over the moat. + +"The château was simple and very grand. The mouldings upon it pleased me, +and it was full of peace. Upon the further side of the lawn, so that I +could hear it but not see it, a fountain was playing into a basin. By the +sound it was one of those high French fountains which the people who built +such houses as these two hundred years ago delighted in. The plash of it +was very soothing, but I was so tired and drooping that at one moment it +sounded much further than at the next. + +"There was an iron bench at the edge of the screen of roses, and hardly +knowing what I did,--for it was not the right thing to do in another +person's place--I sat down on this bench, taking pleasure in the sight of +the moat and the house with its noble roof, and the noise of the fountain. +I think I should have gone to sleep there and at that moment--for I felt +upon me worse than ever the strain of that long hot morning and that long +night journey--had not a very curious thing happened." + +Here the man looked up at me oddly, as though to see whether I disbelieved +him or not; but I did not disbelieve him. + +I was not even very much interested, for I was trying to make the trees to +look different one from the other, which is an extremely difficult thing: +I had not succeeded and I was niggling away. He continued with more +assurance: + +"The thing that happened was this: a young girl came out of the house +dressed in white, with a blue scarf over her head and crossed round her +neck. I knew her face as well as possible: it was a face I had known all +my youth and early manhood--but for the life of me I could not remember +her name!' + +"When one is very tired," I said, "that does happen to one: a name one +knows as well as one's own escapes one. It is especially the effect of +lack of sleep." + +"It is," said he, sighing profoundly; "but the oddness of my feeling it is +impossible to describe, for there I was meeting the oldest and perhaps the +dearest and certainly the most familiar of my friends, whom," he added, +hesitating a moment, "I had not seen for many years. It was a very great +pleasure ... it was a sort of comfort and an ending. I forgot, the moment +I saw her, why I had come over the hills, and all about how I meant to get +to Chartres.... And now I must tell you," added the man a little awkwardly, +"that my name is Peter." + +"No doubt," said I gravely, for I could not see why he should not bear +that name. + +"My Christian name," he continued hurriedly. + +"Of course," said I, as sympathetically as I could. He seemed relieved +that I had not even smiled at it. + +"Yes," he went on rather quickly, "Peter--my name is Peter. Well, this +lady came up to me and said, 'Why, Peter, we never thought you would +come!' She did not seem very much astonished, but rather as though I had +come earlier than she had expected. 'I will get Philip,' she said. 'You +remember Philip?' Here I had another little trouble with my memory: I did +remember that there was a Philip, but I could not place him. That was odd, +you know. As for her, oh, I knew _her_ as well as the colour of the +sky: it was her name that my brain missed, as it might have missed my own +name or my mother's. + +"Philip came out as she called him, and there was a familiarity between +them that seemed natural to me at the time, but whether he was a brother +or a lover or a husband, or what, I could not for the life of me remember. + +"'You look tired,' he said to me in a kind voice that I liked very much +and remembered clearly. 'I am,' said I, 'dog tired.' 'Come in with us,' he +said, 'and we will give you some wine and water. When would you like to +eat?' I said I would rather sleep than eat. He said that could easily be +arranged. + +"I strolled with them towards the house across that great lawn, hearing +the noise of the fountain, now dimmer, now nearer; sometimes it seemed +miles away and sometimes right in my ears. Whether it was their +conversation or my familiarity with them or my fatigue, at any rate, as I +crossed the moat I could no longer recall anything save their presence. I +was not even troubled by the desire to recall anything; I was full of a +complete contentment, and this surging up of familiar things, this surging +up of it in a foreign place, without excuse or possible connexion or any +explanation whatsoever, seemed to me as natural as breathing. + +"As I crossed the bridge I wholly forgot whence I came or whither I was +going, but I knew myself better than ever I had known myself, and every +detail of the place was familiar to me. + +"Here I had passed (I thought) many hours of my childhood and my boyhood +and my early manhood also. I ceased considering the names and the relation +of Philip and the girl. + +"They gave me cold meat and bread and excellent wine, and water to mix +with it, and as they continued to speak even the last adumbrations of care +fell off me altogether, and my spirit seemed entirely released and free. +My approaching sleep beckoned to me like an easy entrance into Paradise. +I should wake from it quite simply into the perpetual enjoyment of this +place and its companionship. Oh, it was an absolute repose! + +"Philip took me to a little room on the ground floor fitted with the +exquisite care and the simplicity of the French: there was a curtained +bed, a thing I love. He lent me night clothes, though it was broad day, +because he said that if I undressed and got into the bed I should be much +more rested; they would keep everything quiet at that end of the house, +and the gentle fall of the water into the moat outside would not disturb +me. I said on the contrary it would soothe me, and I felt the benignity of +the place possess me like a spell. Remember that I was very tired and had +not slept for now thirty hours. + +"I remember handling the white counterpane and noting the delicate French +pattern upon it, and seeing at one corner the little red silk coronet +embroidered, which made me smile. I remember putting my hand upon the cool +linen of the pillow-case and smoothing it; then I got into that bed and +fell asleep. It was broad noon, with the stillness that comes of a summer +noon upon the woods; the air was cool and delicious above the water of the +moat, and my windows were open to it. + +"The last thing I heard as I dropped asleep was her voice calling to +Philip in the corridor. I could have told the very place. I knew that +corridor so well. We used to play there when we were children. We used to +play at travelling, and we used to invent the names of railway stations +for the various doors. Remembering this and smiling at the memory, I fell +at once into a blessed sleep. + +"...I do not want to annoy you," said the man apologetically, "but I +really had to tell you this story, and I hardly know how to tell you the +end of it." + +"Go on," said I hurriedly, for I had gone and made two trees one exactly +like the other (which in nature was never seen) and I was annoyed with +myself. + +"Well," said he, still hesitating and sighing with real sadness, "when +I woke up I was in a third-class carriage; the light was that of late +afternoon, and a man had woken me by tapping my shoulder and telling me +that the next station was Chartres.... That's all." + +He sighed again. He expected me to say something. So I did. I said without +much originality: "You must have dreamed it." + +"No," said he, very considerably put out, "that is the point! I didn't! I +tell you I can remember exactly every stage from when I left the railway +train in the Seine Valley until I got into that bed." + +"It's all very odd," said I. + +"Yes," said he, "and so was my mood; but it was real enough. It was the +second or third most real thing that has ever happened to me. I am quite +certain that it happened to me." + +I remained silent, and rubbed out the top of one of my trees so as to +invent a new top for it, since I could not draw it as it was. Then, as he +wanted me to say something more, I said: "Well, you must have got into the +train somehow." + +"Of course," said he. + +"Well, where did you get into the train?" + +"I don't know." + +"Your ticket would have told you that." + +"I think I must have given it up to the man," he answered doubtfully, "the +guard who told me that the next station was Chartres." + +"Well, it's all very mysterious," I said. + +"Yes," he said, getting up rather weakly to go on again, "it is." And +he sighed again. "I come here every year. I hope," he added a little +wistfully, "I hope, you see, that it may happen to me again ... but it +never does." + +"It will at last," said I to comfort him. + +And, will you believe it, that simple sentence made him in a moment +radiantly happy; his face beamed, and he positively thanked me, thanked me +warmly. + +"You speak like one inspired," he said. (I confess I did not feel like it +at all.) "I shall go much lighter on my way after that sentence of yours." + +He bade me good-bye with some ceremony and slouched off, with his eyes set +towards the west and the more distant hills. + + + + +THE WAY TO FAIRYLAND + + +A child of four years old, having read of Fairyland and of the people in +it, asked only two days ago, in a very popular attitude of doubt, whether +there were any such place, and, if so, where it was; for she believed in +her heart that the whole thing was a pack of lies. + +I was happy to be able to tell her that her scepticism, though well +founded, was extreme. The existence of Fairyland, I was able to point out +to her both by documentary evidence from books and also by calling in the +testimony of the aged, could not be doubted by any reasonable person. What +was really difficult was the way to get there. Indeed, so obviously true +was the existence of Fairyland, that every one in this world set out to go +there as a matter of course, but so difficult was it to find the way that +very few reached the place. Upon this the child very naturally asked me +what sort of way the way was and why it was so difficult. + +"You must first understand," said I, "where Fairyland is: it lies a little +way farther than the farthest hill you can see. It lies, in fact, just +beyond that hill. The frontiers of it are sometimes a little doubtful in +any landscape, because the landscape is confused, but if on the extreme +limits of the horizon you see a long line of hills bounding your view +exactly, then you may be perfectly certain that on the other side of those +hills is Fairyland. There are times of the day and of the weather when the +sky over Fairyland can be clearly perceived, for it has a different colour +from any other kind of sky. That is where Fairyland is. It is not on an +island, as some have pretended, still less is it under the earth--a +ridiculous story, for there it is all dark." + +"But how do you get there?" asked the child. "Do you get there by walking +to the hills and going over?" + +"No," said I, "that is just the bother of it. Several people have thought +that that was the way of getting there; in fact, it looked plain common +sense, but there is a trick about it; when you get to the hills everything +changes, because the fairies have that power: the hills become ordinary, +the people living on them turn into people just like you and me, and then +when you get to the top of the hills, before you can say knife another +common country just like ours has been stuck on the other side. On this +account, through the power of the fairies, who hate particularly to be +disturbed, no one can reach Fairyland in so simple a way as by walking +towards it." + +"Then," said the child to me, "I don't see how any one can get there"--for +this child had good brains and common sense. + +"But," said I, "you must have read in stories of people who get to +Fairyland, and I think you will notice that in the stories written by +people who know anything about it (and you know how easily these are +distinguished from the others) there are always two ways of getting to +Fairyland, and only two: one is by mistake, and the other is by a spell. +In the first way to Fairyland is to lose your way, and this is one of the +best ways of getting there; but it is dangerous, because if you get there +that way you offend the fairies. It is better to get there by a spell. +But the inconvenience of that is that you are blindfolded so as not to be +allowed to remember the way there or back again. When you get there by a +spell, one of the people from Fairyland takes you in charge. They prefer +to do it when you are asleep, but they are quite game to do it at other +times if they think it worth their while. + +"Why do they do it?" said the child. + +"They do it," said I, "because it annoys the fairies very much to think +that people are stopping believing in them. They are very proud people, +and think a lot of themselves. They can, if they like, do us good, and +they think us ungrateful when we forget about them. Sometimes in the past +people have gone on forgetting about fairies more and more and more, +until at last they have stopped believing in them altogether. The fairies +meanwhile have been looking after their own affairs, and it is their fault +more than ours when we forget about them. But when this has gone on for +too long a time the fairies wake up and find out by a way they have that +men have stopped believing in them, and get very much annoyed. Then some +fairy proposes that a map of the way to Fairyland should be drawn up and +given to the people; but this is always voted down; and at last they make +up their minds to wake people up to Fairyland by going and visiting this +world, and by spells bringing several people into their kingdom and so +getting witnesses. For, as you can imagine, it is a most unpleasant thing +to be really important and for other people not to know it." + +"Yes," said the child, who had had this unpleasant experience, and greatly +sympathized with the fairies when I explained how much they disliked it. +Then the child asked me again: + +"Why do the fairies let us forget about them?" + +"It is," said I, "because they get so excited about their own affairs. +Rather more than a hundred years ago, for instance, a war broke out in +Fairyland because the King of the Fairies, whose name is Oberon, and the +Queen of the Fairies, whose name is Titania, had asked the Trolls to +dinner. The Gnomes were very much annoyed at this, and the Elves still +more so, for the chief glory of the Elves was that being elfish got you to +know people; and it was universally admitted that the Trolls ought never +to be asked out, because they were trollish. King Oberon said that all +that was a wicked prejudice, and that the Trolls ought to be asked out to +dinner just as much as the Elves, in common justice. But his real reason +was that he was bored by the perpetual elfishness of the Elves, and wanted +to see the great ugly Trolls trying to behave like gentlemen for a change. +So the Trolls came and tied their napkins round their necks, and ate such +enormous quantities at dinner that King Oberon and his Queen almost died +of laughing. The Elves were frightfully jealous, and so the war began. And +while it was going on everybody in Earthland forgot more and more about +Fairyland, until at last some people went so far as to say, like you, that +Fairyland did not exist." + +"I did not say so," said the child, "I only asked." + +"But," I answered severely, "asking about such things is the beginning of +doubting them. Anyhow, the fairies woke up one fine day about the time +when your great-grandfather got married, to discover that they were not +believed in, so they patched up their quarrel and they sent fairies to +cast spells, and any amount of people began to be taken to Fairyland, +until at last every one was forced to believe their evidence and to say +that Fairyland existed." + +"Were they glad?" said the child. + +"Who?" said I; "the witnesses who were thus taken away and shown +Fairyland?" + +"Yes," said the child. "They ought to have been glad." + +"Well, they _weren't_!" said I. "They were as sick as dogs. Not one +of them but got into some dreadful trouble. From one his wife ran away, +another starved to death, a third killed himself, a fourth was drowned +and then burned upon the seashore, a fifth went mad (and so did several +others), and as for poverty, and all the misfortunes that go with it, it +simply rained upon the people who had been to Fairyland." + +"Why?" said the child, greatly troubled. + +"Ah!" said I, "that is what none of us know, but so it is, if they take +you to Fairyland you are in for a very bad business indeed. There is only +one way out of it." + +"And what is that?" said the child, interested. + +"Washing," said I, "washing in cold water. It has been proved over and +over again." + +"Then," said the child happily, "they can take me to Fairyland as often as +they like, and I shall not be the worse for it, for I am washed in cold +water every day. What about the other way to Fairyland?" + +"Oh _that_," said I, "that, I think, is much the best way; I've gone +there myself." + +"Have you really?" said the child, now intensely interested. "That +_is_ good! How often have you been there?" + +"Oh I can't tell you," I said carelessly, "but at least eight times, and +perhaps more, and the dodge is, as I told you, to lose your way; only the +great trouble is that no one can lose his way on purpose. At first I used +to think that one had to follow signs. There was an omnibus going down the +King's Road which had 'To the World's End' painted on it. I got into this +one day, and after I had gone some miles I said to the man, 'When do we +get to the World's End?' 'Oh,' said he, 'you have passed it long ago,' and +he rang a little bell to make me get out. So it was a fraud. Another time +I saw another omnibus with the words, 'To the Monster,' and I got into +that, but I heard that it was only a sort of joke, and that though the +Monster was there all right, he was not in Fairyland. This omnibus went +through a very uninteresting part of London, and Fairyland was nowhere in +the neighbourhood. Another time in the country of France I came upon a +printed placard which said: 'The excursion will pass by the Seven Winds, +the Foolish Heath, and St. Martin under Heaven.' This time also I thought +I had got it, but when I looked at the date on the placard I saw that the +excursion had started several days before, so I missed it again. Another +time up in Scotland I saw a signpost on which there was, 'To the King's +House seven miles.' And some one had written underneath in pencil: 'And +to the Dragon's Cave eleven.' But nothing came of it. It was a false +lane. After that I gave up believing that one could get to Fairyland by +signposts or omnibuses, until one day, quite by mistake, I chanced on the +dodge of losing one's way." + +"How is that done?" said the child. + +"That is what no one can tell you," said I. "If people knew how it was +done everybody would do it, but the whole point of losing your way is that +you do it by mistake. You must be quite certain that you have not lost +your way or it is no good. You walk along, and you walk along, and you +wonder how long it will be before you get to the town, and then instead of +getting to the town at all, there you are in Fairyland." + +"How do you know that you are in Fairyland?" said the little child. + +"It depends how far you get in," said I. "If you get in far enough trees +and rocks change into men, rivers talk, and voices of people whom you +cannot see tell you all sorts of things in loud and clear tones close to +your ear. But if you only get a little way inside then you know that you +are there by a sort of wonderment. The things ought to be like the things +you see every day, but they are a little different, notably the trees. +It happened to me once in a town called Lanchester. A part of that +town (though no one would think of it to look at it) happens to be in +Fairyland. And there I was received by three fairies, who gave me supper +in an inn. And it happened to me once in the mountains and once it +happened to me at sea. I lost my way and came upon a beach which was in +Fairyland. Another time it happened to me between Goodwood and Upwaltham +in Sussex." + +At this moment the child's nurse came in to take it away, so she came to +the point: + +"How did you know you were in Fairyland?' she said doubtfully." Perhaps +you are making all this up." + +"Nonsense!" I said reprovingly, "the only people who make things up are +little children, for they always tell lies. Grown-up people never tell +lies. Let me tell you that one always knows when one has been in Fairyland +by the feeling afterwards, and because it is impossible to find it again." + +The child said, "Very well, I will believe you," but I could see from the +expression of her eyes that she was not wholly convinced, and that in the +bottom of her heart she does not believe there is any such place. She +will, however, if she can hang on another forty years, and then I shall +have my revenge. + + + + +THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD + + +In a garden which must, I think, lie somewhat apart and enclosed in one +of the valleys of central England, you came across the English grass in +summer beneath the shade of a tree; you were running, but your arms were +stretched before you in a sort of dance and balance as though you rather +belonged to the air and to the growing things about you and above you than +to the earth over which you passed; and you were not three years old. + +As, in jest, this charming vision was recorded by a camera which some +guest had with him, a happy accident (designed, for all we know, by +whatever powers arrange such things, an accident of the instrument or of +the plate upon which your small, happy, advancing figure was recorded) so +chanced that your figure, when the picture was printed, shone all around +with light. + +I cannot, as I look at it now before me and as I write these words, +express, however much I may seek for expression, how great a meaning +underlies that accident nor how full of fate and of reason and of +suggested truth that aureole grows as I gaze. Your innocence is beatified +by it, and takes on with majesty the glory which lies behind all +innocence, but which our eyes can never see. Your happiness seems in that +mist of light to be removed and permanent; the common world in which you +are moving passes, through this trick of the lens, into a stronger world +more apt for such a sight, and one in which I am half persuaded (as I +still look upon the picture) blessedness is not a rare adventure, but +something native and secure. + +Little child, the trick which the camera has played means more and more as +I still watch your picture, for there is present in that light not only +blessedness, but holiness as well. The lightness of your movement and of +your poise (as though you were blown like a blossom along the tops of the +grass) is shone through, and your face, especially its ready and wondering +laughter, is inspired, as though the Light had filled it from within; +so that, looking thus, I look not on, but through. I say that in this +portrait which I treasure there is not only blessedness, but holiness as +well--holiness which is the cause of blessedness and which contains it, +and by which secretly all this world is sustained. + +Now there is a third thing in your portrait, little child. That accident +of light, light all about you and shining through your face, is not only +blessed nor only holy, but it is also sacred, and with that thought there +returns to me as I look what always should return to man if he is to find +any stuff or profit in his consideration of divine things. In blessedness +there is joy for which here we are not made, so that we catch it only +in glimpses or in adumbrations. And in holiness, when we perceive it we +perceive something far off; it is that from which we came and to which +we should return; yet holiness is not a human thing. But things +sacred--things devoted to a purpose, things about which there lies an awful +necessity of sacrifice, things devoted and necessarily suffering some +doom--these are certainly of this world; that, indeed, all men know well +at last, and find it part of the business through which they needs must +pass. Human memories, since they are only memories; human attachments, +since they are offered up and end; great human fears and hopeless human +longings--these are sacred things attached to a victim and to a sacrifice; +and in this picture of yours, with the light so glorifying you all round, +no one can doubt who sees it but that the sacredness of human life will be +yours also; that is, you must learn how it is offered up to some end and +what a sacrifice is there. + +I could wish, as I consider this, that the camera had played no such +trick, and had not revealed in that haze of awful meaning all that lies +beyond the nature of you, child. But it is a truth which is so revealed; +and we may not, upon a penalty more terrible than death, neglect any +ultimate truth concerning our mortal way. + +Your feet, which now do not seem to press upon the lawn across which they +run, have to go more miles than you can dream of, through more places than +you could bear to hear, and they must be directed to a goal which will not +in your very young delight be mentioned before you, or of which, if it is +mentioned, you will not understand by name; and your little hands which +you bear before you with the little gesture of flying things, will grasp +most tightly that which can least remain and will attempt to fashion what +can never be completed, and will caress that which will not respond to +the caress. Your eyes, which are now so principally filled with innocence +that that bright quality drowns all the rest, will look upon so much of +deadly suffering and of misuse in men, that they will very early change +themselves in kind; and all your face, which now vaguely remembers nothing +but the early vision from which childhood proceeds, will grow drawn and +self-guarded, and will suffer some agonies, a few despairs, innumerable +fatigues, until it has become the face of a woman grown. Nor will this +sacred doom about you, which is that of all mankind, cease or grow less +or be mitigated in any way; it will increase as surely and as steadily +as increase the number of the years, until at last you will lay down the +daylight and the knowledge of day-lit things as gladly as now you wake +from sleep to see them. + +For you are sacred, and all those elders about you, whose solemn demeanour +now and then startles you into a pretty perplexity which soon calls back +their smiles, have hearts only quite different from your quite careless +heart, because they have known the things to which, in the manner of +victims, they are consecrated. + +All that by which we painfully may earn rectitude and a proper balance in +the conduct of our short affairs I must believe that you will practise; +and I must believe, as I look here into your face, seeing your confident +advance (as though you were flying out from your babyhood into young life +without any fear), that the virtues which now surround you in a crowd and +make a sort of court for you and are your angels every way, will go along +with you and will stand by you to the end. Even so, and the more so, you +will find (if you read this some years hence) how truly it is written. By +contrast with your demeanour, with your immortal hopes, and with your +pious efforts the world about you will seem darker and less secure with +every passing harvest, and in proportion as you remember the childhood +which has led me so to write of you, in proportion as you remember +gladness and innocence with its completed joy, in that proportion will +you find at least a breaking burden in the weight of this world. + +Now you may say to me, little child (not now, but later on), to what +purpose is all this complaint, and why should you tell me these things? + +It is because in the portrait before me the holiness, the blessedness, and +therefore the sacredness are apparent that I am writing as I do. For you +must know that there is a false way out and a seeming relief for the rack +of human affairs, and that this way is taken by many. Since you are sacred +do not take it, but bear the burden. It is the character of whatever is +sacred that it does not take that way; but, like a true victim, remains +to the end, ready to complete the sacrifice. + +The way out is to forget that one is sacred, and this men and women do in +many ways. The most of them by way of treason. They betray. They break at +first uneasily, later easily, and at last unconsciously, the word which +each of us has passed before He was born in Paradise. All men and all +women are conscious of that word, for though their lips cannot frame it +here, and though the terms of the pledge are forgotten, the memory of its +obligation fills the mind. But there comes a day, and that soon in the +lives of many, when to break it once is to be much refreshed and to seem +to drop the burden; and in the second and the third time it is done, and +the fourth it is done more easily--until at last there is no more need +for a man or a woman to break that pledged word again and once again; it +is broken for good and for all. This is one most common way in which the +sacred quality is lost: the way of treason. Round about such as choose +this kind of relief grows a habit and an air of treason. They betray all +things at last, and even common friendship is at last no longer theirs. +The end of this false issue is despair. + +Another way is to take refuge from ourselves in pleasures, and this is +easily done, not by the worse, but by the better sort; for there are some, +some few, who would never betray nor break their ancient word, but who, +seeing no meaning in a sacrifice nor in a burden, escape from it through +pleasure as through a drug, and this pleasure they find in all manner of +things, and always that spirit near them which would destroy their sacred +mark, persuades them that they are right, and that in such pursuits the +sacrifice is evaded. So some will steep themselves in rhyme, some in +landscapes, some in pictures, some in the watching of the complexity and +change of things, some in music, some in action, some in mere ease. It +seems as though the men and women who would thus forget their sacredness +are better loved and better warned than those who take the other path, for +they never forget certain gracious things which should be proper to the +mind, nor do they lose their friends. But that they have taken a wrong +path you may easily perceive from this sign: that these pleasures, like +any other drug, do not feed or satisfy, but must be increased with every +dose, and even so soon pall and are continued not because they are +pleasures any longer, but because, dull though they have become, without +them there is active pain. + +Take neither the one path nor the other, but retain, I beseech you, when +the time comes, that quality of sacredness of which I speak, for there +is no alternative. Some trouble fell upon our race, and all of us must +take upon ourselves the business and the burden. If you will attempt any +way out at all it will but lead you to some worse thing. We have not all +choices before us, but only one of very few, and each of those few choices +is mortal, and all but one is evil. + +You should remember this also, dear little child, that at the +beginning--oh, only at the very beginning of life--even your reason that +God gave may lead you wrong. For with those memories strong upon you of +perfect will, of clear intelligence, and of harmonious beauty all about, +you will believe the world in which you stand to be the world from which +you have come and to which you are also destined. You have but to treat +this world for but a very little while as though it were the thing you +think it to find it is not so. + +Do you know that that which smells most strongly in this life of +immortality, and which a poet has called "the ultimate outpost of +eternity," is insecure and perishes? I mean the passionate affection of +early youth. If that does not remain, what then do you think can remain? +I tell you that nothing which you take to be permanent round about you +when you are very young is more than the symbol or clothes of permanence. +Another poet has written, speaking of the chalk hills:-- + + Only a little while remain + The Downs in their solemnity. + +Nor is this saying forced. Men and women cannot attach themselves even to +the hills where they first played. + +Some men, wise but unillumined, and not conscious of that light which I +here physically see shining all round and through you in the picture which +is before my eyes as I write, have said that to die young and to end the +business early was a great blessing. We do not know. But we do know that +to die long after and to have gone through the business must be blessed, +since blessedness and holiness and sacredness are bound together in one. + +But, of these three, be certain that sacredness is your chief business, +blessedness after your first childhood you will never know, and holiness +you may only see as men see distant mountains lifted beyond a plain; it +cannot be your habitation. Sacredness, which is the mark of that purpose +whose heir is blessedness, whose end is holiness, will be upon you until +you die; maintain it, and let it be your chief concern, for though you +neglect it, it will remain and avenge itself. + +All this I have seen in your picture as you go across the grass, and it +was an accident of the camera that did it. If any one shall say these +things do not attach to the portrait of a child, let him ask himself +whether they do not attach to the portrait that might be drawn, did human +skill suffice, of the life of a woman or a man which springs from the +demeanour of childhood; or let him ask himself whether, if a face in old +age and that same face in childhood were equally and as by a revelation +set down each in its full truth, and the growth of the one into the other +were interpreted by a profound intelligence, what I have said would not +be true of all that little passage of ours through the daylight. + + + + +ON EXPERIENCE + + +There are three phases in the life of man, so far as his thoughts upon +his surroundings are concerned. + +The first of these is the phase of youth, in which he takes certain +matured things for granted, and whether he realizes his illusion or no, +believes them to be eternal. This phase ends sharply with every man, by +the action of one blow. Some essence is dissolved, some binding cordage +snaps, or some one dies. + +I say no matter how clearly the reason of a man tells him that all about +him is changeable, and that perfect and matured things and characters upon +whose perfection and maturity he reposes for his peace must disappear, his +attitude in youth towards those things is one of a complete security as +towards things eternal. For the young man, convinced as he is that his +youth and he himself are there for ever, sees in one lasting framework his +father's garden, his mother's face, the landscape from his windows, his +friendships, and even his life; the very details of food, of clothing, +and of lesser custom, all these are fixed for him. Fixed also are the +mature and perfect things. This aged friend, in whose excellent humour +and universal science he takes so continual a delight, is there for ever. +That considered judgment of mankind upon such and such a troubling matter, +of sex, of property, or of political right, is anchored or rooted in +eternity. There comes a day when by some one experience he is startled out +of that morning dream. It is not the first death, perhaps, that strikes +him, nor the first loss--no, not even, perhaps, the first discovery that +human affection also passes (though that should be for every man the +deepest lesson of all). What wakes him to the reality which is for some +dreadful, for others august, and for the faithful divine, is always an +accident. One death, one change, one loss, among so many, unseals his +judgment, and he sees thenceforward, nay, often from one particular moment +upon which he can put his finger, the doom which lies upon all things +whatsoever that live by a material change. + +The second phase which he next enters is for a thoughtful man in a +sceptical and corrupted age the crucial phase, whereby will be determined, +not indeed the fate of his soul, but the justice, and therefore the +advantage to others, of his philosophy. + +He has done with all illusions of permanence and repose. Henceforward he +sees for himself a definite end, and the road which used to lead over +the hills and to be lost beyond in the haze of summer plains now leads +directly to a visible place; that place is a cavern in the mountain side, +dark and without issue. He must die. Henceforward he expects the passing +of all to which he is attached, and he is braced against loss by something +lent to him which is to despair as an angel is to a demon; something in +the same category of emotion, but just and fortifying, instead of void +and vain and tempting and without an end. A man sees in this second phase +of his experience that he must lose. Oh, he does not lose in a gamble! +It is not a question of winning a stake or forfeiting it, as the vulgar +falsehood of commercial analogy would try to make our time believe. He +knows henceforward that there is no success, no final attainment of +desire, because there is no fixity in any material thing. As he sits at +table with the wisest and keenest of his time, especially with the old, +hearing true stories of the great men who came before him, looking at +well-painted pictures, admiring the proper printing of collected books, +and praising the just balance of some classical verse or music which +time has judged and made worthy, he so admires and enjoys with a full +consciousness that these things are flowing past him. He cannot rely; he +attempts no foothold. The equilibrium of his soul is only to be discovered +in marching and continually marching. He now knows that he must go onward, +he may not stand, for if he did he would fall. He must go forward and see +the river of things run by. He must go forward--but to what goal? + +There is a third phase, in which (as the experience of twenty Christian +centuries determines) that goal also is discovered, and for some who so +discover it the experience of loss begins to possess a meaning. + +What this third phase is I confess I do not know, and as I have not felt +it I cannot describe it, but when that third phase is used as I have +suggested a character of wisdom enters into those so using it; a character +of wisdom which is the nearest thing our dull time can show to inspiration +and to prophecy. + +It is to be noted also that in this third phase of man's experience of +doom those who are not wise are most unwise indeed; and that where the age +of experience has not produced this sort of clear maturity in the spirit, +then it produces either despair or folly, or an exaggerated shirking of +reality, which, being a falsehood, is wickeder than despair, and far more +inhuman than mere foolishness. Thus those who in the third phase of which +I speak have not attained the wisdom which I here recognize will often +sink into a passion of avarice, accumulating wealth which they cannot +conceivably enjoy; a stupidity so manifest that every age of satire has +found it the most facile of commonplaces. Or, again, those who fail to +find wisdom in that last phase will constantly pretend an unreal world, +making plans for a future that cannot be there. So did a man eleven +years ago in the neighbourhood of Regent Street, for this man, being +eighty-seven years of age, wealthy, and wholly devoid of friends, or near +kindred, took a flat, but he insisted that the lease should be one of not +less than sixty years. In a hundred ways this last phase if it is degraded +is most degraded; and, though it is not worst, it is most sterile when it +falls to a mere regret for the past. + +Now it is here that the opposite, the wisdoms of old age appears; for the +old, when they are wise, are able to point out to men and to women of +middle age what these least suspect, and can provide them with a good +medicine against the insecurity of the soul. The old in their wisdom can +tell those just beneath them this: that though all things human pass, all +bear their fruit. They can say: "You believe that such and such a woman, +with her courtesy, her travel, her sharp edge of judgment, her large +humanity, and her love of the comedy of the world, being dead can never be +replaced. There are, growing up around you, characters quite insufficient, +and to you, perhaps, contemptible, who will in their fruiting display all +these things." There never was, nor has been, a time (say those who are +acquainted with the great story of Europe) when Christendom has failed. +Out of dead passages there has sprung up suddenly, and quite miraculously, +whatever was thought to be lost. So it has been with our music, so with +the splendour of our armies, so with the fabric of our temples, so with +our deathless rhymes. The old, when they are wise, can do for men younger +than they what history does for the reader; but they can do it far more +poignantly, having expression in their eyes and the living tones of a +voice. It is their business to console the world. + + + + +ON IMMORTALITY + + +Here and there, scattered rarely among men as men are now, you will +find one man who does not pursue the same ends as his fellows; but in a +peculiar manner leads his life as though his eyes were fixed upon some +distant goal or his appetites subjected to some constant and individual +influence. + +Such a man may be doing any one of many things. He may be a poet, and his +occupation may be the writing of good verse, pleased at its sound and +pleased as well by the reflection of the pleasure it will give to others. +Or he may be devoted, and follow a creed, a single truth or a character +which he loves, and whose influence and glory he makes it his business to +propagate. Or he may be but a worker in some material, a carver in wood, +or a manager of commercial affairs, or a governor and administrator of +men, and yet so order his life that his work and his material are his +object: not his gain in the end--not his appreciable and calculable gain +at least--nor his immediate and ephemeral pleasures. + +Such men, if you will examine them, will prove intent upon one ultimate +completion of their being which is also (whether they know it or not) a +reward, and those who have carefully considered the matter and give it +expression say that such men are out a-hunting for Immortality. + +Now what is that? There was a man, before the Normans came to England, who +sailed from the highest Scandinavian mountains, I think, towards these +shores, and landing, fought against men and was wounded so that he was +certain to die. When they asked him why he had undertaken that adventure, +he answered: "That my name might live between the lips of men." + +The young, the adventurous, the admired--how eagerly and how properly do +they not crave for glory. Fame has about it a divine something as it were +an echo of perfect worship and of perfect praise, which, though it is +itself imperfect, may well deceive the young, the adventurous, and the +admired. How great to think that things well done and the enlargement of +others shall call down upon our names, even when all is lost but the mere +names, a continuous and an increasing benediction. Nay, more than this: +how great to think of the noise only of an achievement, and to be sure +that the poem written, the carving concluded, or the battle won, the +achievement of itself, though the name of the achiever be perished or +unknown, shall awake those tremendous echoes. + +But wait a moment. What is that thing which so does and so desires? What +end does _it_ find in glory? _It_ is not the receiver of the +benefit; _it_ will not hear that large volume of recognition and of +salute. Twist it how you will no end is here, nor in such a pursuit is the +pursuer satisfied. + +It is true that men who love to create for themselves imaginary stuff, and +to feed, their cravings, if they cannot with substance then with dreams, +perpetually pretend a satisfaction in such acquirements which the years as +they proceed tell them with increasing iteration that they do not feel. +The young, the adventurous, the admired, may at first be deceived by such +a glamour, and it is in the providential scheme of human affairs, and it +is for the good of us all that the pleasing cheat should last while the +good things are doing. Thus do substantial verse and noble sculpture and +building whose stuff is lasting and whose beauty is almost imperishable, +rise to the advantage of mankind--but oh! there is no lasting in the +dream. + +There comes a day of truth inwardly but ineradicably perceived, when such +things, such aspirations, are clearly known for what they are. Of all the +affections that pass, of all those things which being made by a power +itself perishable, must be unmade again, some may be less, others more +lasting, but not one remains for ever. + +Nor is this all. What is it, I say, which did the thing and suffered the +desire? Not the receiver, still less the work achieved, it was the man +that so acted and so desired; and that part of him which was affected thus +we call the Soul. Then, surely (one may reason) the soul has, apt to its +own nature, a completion which is also a reward, and there is something +before it which is not the symbol or the cheat of perfect praise, but +is perfect praise; there is surely something before it which is not the +symbol or the cheat of life, but life completed. + +Now stand at night beneath a clear heaven solemn and severe with stars, +comprehend (as the great achievement of our race permits us now to do) +what an emptiness and what a scale are there, and you will easily discover +in that one glance, or you will feel at least the appalling thing which +tempts men to deny their immortality. + +There is no man who has closely inquired upon this, and there is none +who has troubled himself and admitted a reasonable anxiety upon it, who +has not well retained the nature of despair. Those who approach their +fellow-beings with assertion and with violence in such a matter, affirming +their discovery, their conviction, or their acquired certitude, do an +ill service to their kind. It is not thus that the last things should be +approached nor the most tremendous problem which man is doomed to envisage +be propounded and solved. Ah! the long business in this world! The way in +which your deepest love goes up in nothingness and breaks away, and the +way in which the strongest and the most continuous element of your dear +self is dissipated and fails you in some moment; if I do not understand +these things in a man nor comprehend how the turn of the years can obscure +or obliterate a man's consciousness of what his end should be, then I act +in brute ignorance, or what is much worse, in lack of charity. + +How should you not be persuaded, ephemeral intelligence? Does not every +matter which you have held closely enough and long enough escape you and +withdraw? Is not that doom true of things which were knit into us, and +were of necessity, so to speak, prime parts of our being? Is it not true +of the network and the structure which supports whatever we are, and +without which we cannot imagine ourselves to be? We ourselves perish. Of +that there is no doubt at all. One is here talking and alive. His friends +are with him: on the time when they shall meet again he is utterly not +there. The motionless flesh before his mourners is nothing. It is not a +simulacrum, it is not an outline, it is not a recollection of the man, but +rather something wholly gone useless. As for that voice, those meanings in +the eyes, and that gesture of the hand, it has suddenly and entirely +ceased to be. + +Then how shall we deny the dreadful conclusion (to which how many elder +civilizations have not turned!) that we must seek in vain for any gift to +the giver for any workers' wage, or, rather, to put it more justly, for +a true end to the life we lead. Yet it is not so. The conclusion is more +weighty by far that all things bear their fruit: that the comprehender and +the master of so much, the very _mind_, suffers to no purpose and in +one moment a tragic, final, and unworthy catastrophe agrees with nothing +other that we know. It is not thus of the good things of the earth that +turn kindly into the earth again. It cannot be thus with that which makes +of all the earth a subject thing for contemplation and for description, +for understanding, and, if it so choose--for sacrifice. + +Those of our race who have deliberately looked upon the scroll and found +there nothing to read, who have lifted the curtain and found beyond it +nothing to see, have faced their conclusions with a nobility which should +determine us; for that nobility does prove, or, if it does not prove, +compels us to proclaim, that the soul of man which breeds it has somewhere +a lasting home. The conclusion is imperative. + +Let not any one pretend in his faith that his faith is immediately evident +and everywhere acceptable. There is in all who pretend to judgment a sense +of the doubt that lies between the one conviction and the other, and all +acknowledge that the scales swing normally upon the beam for normal men. +But they swing--and one is the heavier. + +The poets, who are our interpreters, know well and can set forth the +contrast between such intimations and such despair. + + The long descent of wasted days + To these at last have led me down: + Remember that I filled with praise + The meaningless and doubtful ways + That lead to an eternal town. + +Moreover, since we have spoken of the night it is only reasonable to +consider the alternate dawn. The quality of light, its merry action on the +mind, the daylit sky under whose benediction we repose and in which our +kind has always seen the picture of its final place: are these then +visions and deceits? + + + + +ON SACRAMENTAL THINGS + + +It is good for a man's soul to sit down in the silence by himself and to +think of those things which happen by some accident to be in communion +with the whole world. If he has not the faculty of remembering these +things in their order and of calling them up one after another in his +mind, then let him write them down as they come to him upon a piece of +paper. They will comfort him; they will prove a sort of solace against +the expectation of the end. To consider such things is a sacramental +occupation. And yet the more I think of them the less I can quite +understand in what elements their power consists. + +A woman smiling at a little child, not knowing that others see her, and +holding out her hands towards it, and in one of her hands flowers; an old +man, lean and active, with an eager face, walking at dusk upon a warm +and windy evening westward towards a clear sunset below dark and flying +clouds; a group of soldiers, seen suddenly in manoeuvres, each man intent +upon his business, all working at the wonderful trade, taking their places +with exactitude and order and yet with elasticity; a deep, strong tide +running back to the sea, going noiselessly and flat and black and smooth, +and heavy with purpose under an old wall; the sea smell of a Channel +seaport town; a ship coming up at one out of the whole sea when one is +in a little boat and is waiting for her, coming up at one with her great +sails merry and every one doing its work, with the life of the wind in +her, and a balance, rhythm, and give in all that she does which marries +her to the sea--whether it be a fore and aft rig and one sees only great +lines of the white, or a square rig and one sees what is commonly and well +called a leaning tower of canvas, or that primal rig, the triangular sail, +that cuts through the airs of the world and clove a way for the first +adventures, whatever its rig, a ship so approaching an awaiting boat from +which we watch her is one of the things I mean. + +I would that the taste of my time permitted a lengthy list of such things: +they are pleasant to remember! They do so nourish the mind! A glance +of sudden comprehension mixed with mercy and humour from the face of a +lover or a friend; the noise of wheels when the guns are going by; the +clatter-clank-clank of the pieces and the shouted halt at the head of the +column; the noise of many horses, the metallic but united and harmonious +clamour of all those ironed hoofs, rapidly occupying the highway; chief +and most persistent memory, a great hill when the morning strikes it and +one sees it up before one round the turning of a rock after the long passes +and despairs of the night. + +When a man has journeyed and journeyed through those hours in which there +is no colour or shape, all along the little hours that were made for sleep +and when, therefore, the waking soul is bewildered or despairs, the morning +is always a resurrection--but especially when it reveals a height in the +sky. + +This last picture I would particularly cherish, so great a consolation is +it, and so permanent a grace does it lend later to the burdened mind of a +man. + +For when a man looks back upon his many journeys--so many rivers crossed, +and more than one of them forded in peril; so many swinging mountain +roads, so many difficult steeps and such long wastes of plains--of all the +pictures that impress themselves by the art or kindness of whatever god +presides over the success of journeys, no picture more remains than that +picture of a great hill when the day first strikes it after the long +burden of the night. + +Whatever reasons a man may have for occupying the darkness with his travel +and his weariness, those reasons must be out of the ordinary and must go +with some bad strain upon the mind. Perhaps one undertook the march from +an evil necessity under the coercion of other men, or perhaps in terror, +hoping that the darkness might hide one, or perhaps for cool, dreading the +unnatural heat of noon in a desert land; perhaps haste, which is in itself +so wearying a thing, compelled one, or perhaps anxiety. Or perhaps, most +dreadful of all, one hurried through the night afoot because one feared +what otherwise the night would bring, a night empty of sleep and a night +whose dreams were waking dreams and evil. + +But whatever prompts the adventure or the necessity, when the long burden +has been borne, and when the turn of the hours has come; when the stars +have grown paler; when colour creeps back greyly and uncertainly to the +earth, first into the greens of the high pastures, then here and there +upon a rock or a pool with reeds, while all the air, still cold, is full +of the scent of morning; while one notices the imperceptible disappearance +of the severities of Heaven until at last only the morning star hangs +splendid; when in the end of that miracle the landscape is fully revealed, +and one finds into what country one has come; then a great hill before +one, losing the forests upwards into rock and steep meadow upon its sides, +and towering at last into the peaks and crests of the inaccessible places, +gives a soul to the new land.... The sun, in a single moment and with the +immediate summons of a trumpet-call, strikes the spear-head of the high +places, and at once the valley, though still in shadow, is transfigured, +and with the daylight all manner of things have come back to the world. + +Hope is the word which gathers the origins of those things together, and +hope is the seed of what they mean, but that new light and its new quality +is more than hope. Livelihood is come back with the sunrise, and the fixed +certitude of the soul; number and measure and comprehension have returned, +and a just appreciation of all reality is the gift of the new day. Glory +(which, if men would only know it, lies behind all true certitude) +illumines and enlivens the seen world, and the living light makes of the +true things now revealed something more than truth absolute; they appear +as truth acting and creative. + +This first shaft of the sun is to that hill and valley what a word is to a +thought. It is to that hill and valley what verse is to the common story +told; it is to that hill and valley what music is to verse. And there lies +behind it, one is very sure, an infinite progress of such exaltations, so +that one begins to understand, as the pure light shines and grows and as +the limit of shadow descends the vast shoulder of the steep, what has been +meant by those great phrases which still lead on, still comfort, and still +make darkly wise, the uncomforted wondering of mankind. Such is the famous +phrase: "Eye has not seen nor ear heard, nor can it enter into the heart +of man what things God has prepared for those that serve Him." + +So much, then, is conveyed by a hill-top at sunrise when it comes upon the +traveller or the soldier after the long march of a night, the bending of +the shoulders, and the emptiness of the dark. + +Many other things put one into communion with the whole world. + +Who does not remember coming over a lifting road to a place where the +ridge is topped, and where, upon the further side, a broad landscape, +novel or endeared by memory (for either is a good thing), bursts upon the +seized imagination as a wave from the open sea, swelling up an inland +creek, breaks and bursts upon the rocks of the shore? There is a place +where a man passes from the main valley of the Rhone over into the valley +of the Isère, and where the Grésivandan so suddenly comes upon him. Two +gates of limestone rock, high as the first shoulders of the mountains, +lead into the valley which they guard; it is a province of itself, a level +floor of thirty miles, nourished by one river, and walled in up to the +clouds on either side. + +Or again, in the champagne country, moving between great blocks of wood +in the Forest of Rheims and always going upward as the ride leads him, a +man comes to a point whence he suddenly sees all that vast plain of the +invasions stretching out to where, very far off against the horizon, two +days away, twin summits mark the whole site sharply with a limit as a +frame marks a picture or a punctuation a phrase. + +There is another place more dear to me, but which I doubt whether any +other but a native of that place can know. After passing through the +plough lands of an empty plateau, a traveller breaks through a little +fringe of chestnut hedge and perceives at once before him the wealthiest +and the most historical of European things, the chief of the great +capitals of Christendom and the arena in which is now debated (and has +been for how long!) the Faith, the chief problem of this world. + +Apart from landscape other things belong to this contemplation: Notes +of music, and, stronger even than repeated and simple notes of music, a +subtle scent and its association, a familiar printed page. Perhaps the +test of these sacramental things is their power to revive the past. + +There is a story translated into the noblest of English writing by Dasent. +It is to be found in his "Tales from the Norse." It is called the Story of +the Master Maid. + +A man had found in his youth a woman on the Norwegian hills: this woman +was faëry, and there was a spell upon her. But he won her out of it in +various ways, and they crossed the sea together, and he would bring her +to his father's house, but his father was a King. As they went over-sea +together alone, he said and swore to her that he would never forget how +they had met and loved each other without warning, but by an act of God, +upon the Dovrefjeld. Come near his father's house, the ordinary influences +of the ordinary day touched him; he bade her enter a hut and wait a moment +until he had warned his father of so strange a marriage; she, however, +gazing into his eyes, and knowing how the divine may be transformed into +the earthly, quite as surely as the earthly into the divine, makes him +promise that he will not eat human food. He sits at his father's table, +still steeped in her and in the seas. He forgets his vow and eats human +food, and at once he forgets. + +Then follows much for which I have not space, but the woman in the hut by +her magic causes herself to be at last sent for to the father's palace. +The young man sees her, and is only slightly troubled as by a memory which +he cannot grasp. They talk together as strangers; but looking out of the +window by accident the King's son sees a bird and its mate; he points them +out to the woman, and she says suddenly: "So was it with you and me high +up upon the Dovrefjeld." Then he remembers all. + +Now that story is a symbol, and tells the truth. We see some one thing in +this world, and suddenly it becomes particular and sacramental; a woman +and a child, a man at evening, a troop of soldiers; we hear notes of +music, we smell the smell that went with a passed time, or we discover +after the long night a shaft of light upon the tops of the hills at +morning: there is a resurrection, and we are refreshed and renewed. + +But why all these things are so neither I nor any other man can tell. + + + + +IN PATRIA + + +There is a certain valley, or rather profound cleft, through the living +rock of certain savage mountains through which there roars and tumbles in +its narrow trench the Segre, here but a few miles from its rising in the +upland grass. + +This cleft is so disposed that the smooth limestone slabs of its western +wall stand higher than the gloomy steps of cliff upon its eastern, and +thus these western cliffs take the glare of the morning sunlight upon +them, or the brilliance of the moon when she is full or waning in the +first part of her course through the night. + +The only path by which men can go down that gorge clings to the eastern +face of the abyss and is for ever plunged in shadow. Down this path I went +very late upon a summer night, close upon midnight, and the moon just past +the full. The air was exceedingly clear even for that high place, and the +moon struck upon the limestone of the sheer opposing cliffs in a manner +neither natural nor pleasing, but suggesting horror, and, as it were, +something absolute, too simple for mankind. + +It was not cold, but there were no crickets at such a level in the +mountains, nor any vegetation there except a brush here and there clinging +between the rocks and finding a droughty rooting in their fissures. +Though the map did not include this gorge, I could guess that it would be +impossible for me, save by following that dreadful path all night, to find +a village, and therefore I peered about in the dense shadow as I went for +one of those overhanging rocks which are so common in that region, and +soon I found one. It was a refuge better than most that I had known during +a lonely travel of three days, for the whole bank was hollowed in, and +there was a distinct, if shallow, cave bordering the path. Into this, +therefore, I went and laid down, wrapping myself round in a blanket I +had brought from the plains beyond the mountains, and, with my loaf and +haversack and a wine-skin that I carried for a pillow, I was very soon +asleep. + + * * * * * + +When I woke, which I did with suddenness, it seemed to me to have turned +uncommonly cold, and when I stepped out from my blanket (for I was broad +awake) the cold struck me still more nearly, and was not natural in such a +place. But I knew how a mist will gather suddenly upon these hills, and I +went out and stood upon the path to see what weather the hour had brought +me. The sky, the narrow strip of sky above the gorge, was filled with +scud flying so low that now and then bulges or trails of it would strike +against that western cliff of limestone and wreath down it, and lift and +disappear, but fast as the scud was moving there was no noise of wind. I +seemed not to have slept long, for the moon was still riding in heaven, +though her light now came in rapid waxing and waning between the shreds of +the clouds. Beneath me a little angrier than before (so that I thought to +myself, "Up in the hills it has been raining") roared the Segre. + +As I stood thus irresolute and quite awakened from sleep, I saw to my +right the figure of a little man who beckoned. No fear took me as I saw +him, but a good deal of wonder, for he was oddly shaped, and in the +darkness of that pathway I could not see his face. But in his presence +by some accident of the mind many things changed their significance: the +gorge became personal to me, the river a voice, the fitful moonlight a +warning, and it seemed as though some safety was to be sought, or some +certitude, upwards, whence I had come, and I felt oddly as though the +little figure were a guide. + +He was so short as I watched him that I thought him almost a dwarf, though +I have seen men as small guiding the mules over the breaches in the ridge +of the hills. He was hunchback, or the great pack he was carrying made him +seem so. His thin legs were long for his body, and he walked too rapidly, +with bent knees; his right hand he leant upon a great sapling; upon his +head was a very wide hat, the stuff of which I could not see in the +darkness. Now and again he would turn and beckon me, and he always went +on a little way before. As for me, partly because he beckoned, but more +because I felt prescient of a goal, I followed him. + +No mountain path seems the same when you go up it and when you go down it. +This it was which rendered unfamiliar to me the shapes of the rocks and +the turnings of the gorge as I hurried, behind my companion. With every +passing moment, moreover, the light grew less secure, the scud thickened, +and as we rose towards the lower level of those clouds the mass of them +grew more even, until at last the path and some few yards of the emptiness +which sank away to our left was all one could discern. The mist was full +of a diffused moonlight, but it was dense. I wondered when we should +strike out of the gorge and begin to find the upland grasses that lead +toward the highest summits of those hills, for thither I was sure were we +bound. + +Soon I began to recognize that easier trend in the rock wall, those +increasing and flattened gullies which mark the higher slope. Here and +there an unmelted patch of snow appeared, grass could be seen, and at last +we were upon the roll of the high land where it runs up steeply to the +ridge of the chain. Moss and the sponging of moisture in the turf were +beneath our feet, the path disappeared, and our climb got steeper and +steeper; and still the little man went on before, pressing eagerly and +breasting the hill. I neither felt fatigue nor noticed that I did not feel +it. The extreme angle of the slope suited my mood, nor was I conscious of +its danger, though its fantastic steepness exhilarated me because it was +so novel to be trying such things at night in such a weather. The moon, +I think, must by this time have been near its sinking, for the mist grew +full of darkness round about us, and at last it was altogether deep night. +I could see my companion only as a blur of difference in the darkness, but +even as this change came I felt the steepness relax beneath my climbing +feet, the round level of the ridge was come, and soon again we were +hurrying across it until there came, in a hundred yards or so, a moment in +which my companion halted, as men who know the mountains halt when they +reach an edge below which they know the land to break away. + +He was waiting, and I waited with him: we had not long so to stand. + +The mist which so often lifts as one passes the crest of the hills lifted +for us also, and, below, it was broad day. + +Ten thousand feet below, at the foot of forest cascading into forest, +stretched out into an endless day, was the Weald. There were the places I +had always known, but not as I had known them: they were in another air. +There was the ridge, and the river valley far off to the eastward, and +Pasham Pines, Amberley wild brooks, and Petworth the little town, and I +saw the Rough clearly, and the hills out beyond the county, and beyond +them farther plains, and all the fields and all the houses of the men I +knew. Only it was much larger, and it was more intimate, and it was +farther away, and it was certainly divine. + +A broad road such as we have not here and such as they have not in those +hills, a road for armies, sank back and forth in great gradients down to +the plain. These and the forests were foreign; the Weald below, so many +thousand feet below, was not foreign but transformed. The dwarf went down +that road. I did not follow him. I saw him clearly now. His curious little +coat of mountain stuff, his thin, bent legs walking rapidly, and the +chestnut sapling by he walked, holding it in his hand by the middle. I +could see the brown colour of it, and the shininess of the bark of it, and +the ovals of white where the branchlings had been cut away. So I watched +him as he went down and down the road. He never once looked back and he no +longer beckoned me. + +In a moment, before a word could form in the mind, the mist had closed +again and it was mortally cold; and with that cold there came to me an +appalling knowledge that I was alone upon such a height and knew nothing +of my way. The hand which I put to my shoulder where my blanket was found +it wringing wet. The mist got greyer, my mind more confused as I struggled +to remember, and then I woke and found I was still in the cave. All that +business had been a dream, but so vivid that I carried it all through the +day, and carry it still. + + * * * * * + +It was the very early morning; the gorge was full of mist, the Segre made +a muffled roaring through such a bank of cloud; the damp of the mist was +on everything. The stones in the pathway glistened, the air was raw and +fresh, awaiting the rising of the sun. I took the path and went downward. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On Something, by H. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: On Something + +Author: H. Belloc + +Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7354] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on April 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON SOMETHING *** + + + + +Produced by William Flis, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + ON SOMETHING + + BY + + H. BELLOC + + + + DEDICATION + + _To + Somebody_ + + + + CONTENTS + +A PLEA FOR THE SIMPLER DRAMA + +ON A NOTEBOOK + +ON UNKNOWN PEOPLE + +ON A VAN TROMP + +HIS CHARACTER + +ON THRUPPENNY BITS + +ON THE HOTEL AT PALMA AND A PROPOSED GUIDE-BOOK + +THE DEATH OF WANDERING PETER + +THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE + +A NORFOLK MAN + +THE ODD PEOPLE + +LETTER OF ADVICE AND APOLOGY TO A YOUNG BURGLAR + +THE MONKEY QUESTION: AN APPEAL TO COMMON SENSE + +THE EMPIRE BUILDER + +CAEDWALLA + +A UNIT OF ENGLAND + +THE RELIC + +THE IRONMONGER + +A FORCE IN GAUL + +ON BRIDGES + +A BLUE BOOK + +PERIGEUX OF THE PERIGORD + +THE POSITION + +HOME + +THE WAY TO FAIRYLAND + +THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD + +ON EXPERIENCE + +ON IMMORTALITY + +ON SACRAMENTAL THINGS + +IN PATRIA + + + + + +Of the various sketches in this book some appear for the first time, +others are reprinted by courtesy of the Proprietors and Editors of _The +Westminster Gazette_, _The Clarion_, _The English Review_, _The Morning +Post_ and _The Manchester Guardian_, in which papers they appeared. + + + + + +A PLEA FOR THE SIMPLER DRAMA + + +It is with the drama as with plastic art and many other things: the plain +man feels that he has a right to put in his word, but he is rather afraid +that the art is beyond him, and he is frightened by technicalities. + +After all, these things are made for the plain man; his applause, in the +long run and duly tested by time, is the main reward of the dramatist as +of the painter or the sculptor. But if he is sensible he knows that his +immediate judgment will be crude. However, here goes. + +The plain man sees that the drama of his time has gradually passed from +one phase to another of complexity in thought coupled with simplicity of +incident, and it occurs to him that just one further step is needed to +make something final in British art. We seem to be just on the threshold +of something which would give Englishmen in the twentieth century +something of the fullness that characterized the Elizabethans: but somehow +or other our dramatists hesitate to cross that threshold. It cannot be +that their powers are lacking: it can only be some timidity or self-torture +which it is the business of the plain man to exorcise. + +If I may make a suggestion in this essay to the masters of the craft it is +that the goal of the completely modern thing can best be reached by taking +the very simplest themes of daily life--things within the experience of +the ordinary citizen--and presenting them in the majestic traditional +cadence of that peculiarly English medium, blank verse. + +As to the themes taken from the everyday life of middle-class men and +women like ourselves, it is true that the lives of the wealthy afford +more incident, and that there is a sort of glamour about them which it is +difficult to resist. But with a sufficient subtlety the whole poignancy +of the lives led by those who suffer neither the tragedies of the poor +nor the exaltation of the rich can be exactly etched. The life of +the professional middle-class, of the business man, the dentist, the +money-lender, the publisher, the spiritual pastor, nay of the playwright +himself, might be put upon the stage--and what a vital change would be +here! Here would be a kind of literary drama of which the interest would +lie in the struggle, the pain, the danger, and the triumph which we all so +intimately know, and next in the satisfaction (which we now do not have) +of the mimetic sense--the satisfaction of seeing a mirror held up to a +whole audience composed of the very class represented upon the stage. + +I have seen men of wealth and position absorbed in plays concerning +gambling, cruelty, cheating, drunkenness, and other sports, and so +absorbed chiefly because they saw _themselves_ depicted upon the +stage; and I ask, Would not my fellows and myself largely remunerate a +similar opportunity? For though the rich go repeatedly to the play, yet +the middle-class are so much more numerous that the difference is amply +compensated. + +I think we may take it, then, that an experiment in the depicting of +professional life would, even from the financial standpoint, be workable; +and I would even go so far as to suggest that a play could be written in +which there did not appear one single lord, general, Member of Parliament, +baronet, professional beauty, usurer (upon a large scale at least) or +Cabinet Minister. + +The thing is possible: and I can modestly say that in the little effort +appended as an example to these lines it has been done successfully; but +here must be mentioned the second point in my thesis--I could never have +achieved what I have here achieved in dramatic art had I not harked back +to the great tradition of the English heroic decasyllable such as our +Shakespeare has handled with so felicitous an effect. + +The play--which I have called "The Crisis," and which I design to be +the model of the school founded by these present advices--is specially +designed for acting with the sumptuous accessories at the disposal of +a great manager, such as Mr. (now Sir Henry) Beerbohm Tree, or for the +narrower circumstances of the suburban drawing-room. + +There is perhaps but one character which needs any long rehearsal, that +of the dog Fido, and luckily this is one which can easily be supplied by +mechanical means, as by the use of a toy dog of sufficient size which +barks upon the pressure of a pneumatic attachment. + +In connexion with this character I would have the student note that I +have introduced into the dog's part just before the curtain a whole line +of _dactyls_. I hope the hint will not be wasted. Such exceptions +relieve the monotony of our English _trochees_. But, saving in this +instance, I have confined myself throughout to the example of William +Shakespeare, surely the best master for those who, as I fondly hope, will +follow me in the regeneration of the British Stage. + + + + +THE CRISIS + +PLACE: _The Study at the Vicarage_. TIME 9.15 _p.m._ + + +DRAMATIS PERSONA + +THE REV. ARCHIBALD HAVERTON: The Vicar. + +MRS. HAVERTON: His Wife. + +MISS GROSVENOR: A Governess. + +MATILDA: A Maid. + +FIDO: A Dog. + +HERMIONE COBLEY: Daughter of a cottager who takes in washing. + +MISS HARVEY: A guest, cousin to Mrs. Haverton, a Unitarian. + +(_The_ REV. ARCHIBALD HAVERTON _is reading the "Standard" by a lamp + with a green shade_. MRS. HAVERTON _is hemming a towel_. FIDO + _is asleep on the rug. On the walls are three engravings from Landseer, + a portrait of Her late Majesty Queen Victoria, a bookcase with books in + it, and a looking-glass_.) + + MRS. HAVERTON: My dear--I hope I do not interrupt you-- +Helen has given notice. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_looking up suddenly_). + Given notice? +Who? Helen? Given notice? Bless my soul! + (_A pause_.) +I never thought that she would give us notice. + (_Ponders and frowns._) + + MRS. HAVERTON: Well, but she has, and now the question is, +What shall we do to find another cook? +Servants are very difficult to get. (_Sighs._) +Especially to come into the country +To such a place as this. (_Sighs._) No wonder, either! +Oh! Mercy! When one comes to think of it, +One cannot blame them. (_Sighs._) Heaven only knows +I try to do my duty! (_Sighs profoundly._) + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_uneasily_): Well, my dear, +I cannot _make_ preferment. + +(_Front door-bell rings._) + + FIDO: Bow! wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_patting him to soothe him_): + There, Fido, there! + + FIDO: Wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON: Good dog, there! + + FIDO: Wow, + Wow, wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_very nervous_): There! + + FIDO: Wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_in an agony_): Good dog! + + FIDO: Bow! wow! wow! + Wow, wow! Wow!! WOW!!! + + MRS. HAVERTON (_very excited_): Oh, Lord, he'll + wake the children! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_exploding_): How often have + I told you, Dorothy, +Not to exclaim "Good Lord!"... Apart from manners-- +Which have their own importance--blasphemy +(And I regard the phrase as blasphemous) +Cannot-- + + MRS. HAVERTON (_uneasily_): Oh, very well!... + Oh, very well! + (_Exploding in her turn_.) +Upon my soul, you are intolerable! + (_She jumps up and makes for the door. Before she gets to + it there is a knock and_ MATILDA _enters_.) + + MATILDA: Please, m'm, it's only Mrs. Cobley's daughter +To say the washing shall be sent to-morrow, +And would you check the list again and see, +Because she thinks she never had two collars +Of what you sent, but only five, because +You marked it seven; and Mrs. Cobley says +There must be some mistake. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_pompously_): I will attend to it. + + MRS. HAVERTON (_whispering angrily_): How can + you, Archibald! You haven't got +The ghost of an idea about the washing! +Sit down. (_He does so_.) (_To Matilda_) Send the + Girl in here. + + MRS. HAVERTON _sits down in a fume_. + + REV. A. HAVERTON: I think.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_snapping_): I don't care what you think! + (_Groans_.) Oh, dear! +I'm nearly off my head! + + _Enter_ MISS COBLEY. (_She bobs_.) + + Good evening, m'm. + + MRS. HAVERTON (_by way of reply_): +Now, then! What's all this fuss about the washing? + + MISS COBLEY: Please, m'm, the seven collars, what you sent-- +I mean the seven what was marked--was wrong, +And mother says as you'd have had the washing +Only there weren't but five, and would you mind.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_sharply_): I cannot understand a word you say. +Go back and tell your mother there were _seven_. +And if she sends home _five_ she pays for _two_. +So there! (_Snorts_.) + + MISS COBLEY (_sobbing_): I'm sure I.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_savagely_): Don't stand snuffling there! +Go back and tell your mother what I say.... +Impudent hussy!... + + (_Exit_ MISS COBLEY _sobbing. A pause._) + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_with assumed authority_): To return to Helen. +Tell me concisely and without complaints, +Why did she give you notice? + + (_A hand-bell rings in the passage_.) + + FIDO: Bow-wow-wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_giving him a smart kick_): Shurrup! + + FIDO (_howling_). Pen-an'-ink! Pen-an'-ink + Pen-an'-ink! Pen-an'-ink! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_controlling himself, as well as he can, goes to + the door and calls into the passage_): Miss Grosvenor! +(_Louder_) ... Miss Grosvenor!... Was that the bell for prayers? +Was that the bell for prayers?... (_Louder_) Miss Grosvenor. +(_Louder_) Miss Gros-ve-nor! (_Tapping with his foot_.) + Oh!... + + MISS GROSVENOR (_sweetly and, far off_): Is that Mr. Haverton? + + REV. A. HAVERTON: Yes! yes! yes! yes!... +Was that the bell for prayers? + + MISS GROSVENOR (_again_): Yes? Is that Mr. Haverton? Oh! Yes! +I think it is.... I'll see--I'll ask Matilda. + + (_A pause, during which the_ REV. A. HAVERTON + _is in a qualm_.) + + MISS GROSVENOR (_rustling back_): Matilda says it + _is_ the bell for prayers. + + (_They all come filing into the study and arranging the chairs. + As they enter_ MISS HARVEY, _the guest, treads heavily on + MATILDA'S foot._) + + MISS HARVEY: Matilda? Was that you? I _beg_ your pardon. + + MATILDA (_limping_): Granted, I'm sure, miss! + + MRS. HAVERTON (_whispering to the_ REV. A. HAVERTON): Do not read + the Creed! +Miss Harvey is a Unitarian. +I should suggest some simple form of prayer, +Some heartfelt word of charity and peace +Common to every Christian. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_in a deep voice_): Let us pray. + + _Curtain._ + + + + +ON A NOTEBOOK + + +A dear friend of mine (John Abdullah Capricorn, to give him his full +name) was commandeered by a publisher last year to write a book for L10. +The work was far advanced when an editor offered him L15 and his expenses +to visit the more desperate parts of the Sahara Desert, to which spots he +at once proceeded upon a roving commission. Whether he will return or no +is now doubtful, though in March we had the best hopes. With the month of +May life becomes hard for Europeans south of the Atlas, and when my poor +dear friend was last heard of he was chancing his popularity with a tribe +of Touaregs about two hundred miles south of Touggourt. + +Under these circumstances I was asked to look through his notebook and see +what could be done; and I confess to a pleased surprise.... It would have +been a very entertaining book had it been published. It will be a very +entertaining book if it is published. + +Capricorn seems to have prepared a hotchpotch of information of human +follies, of contrasts, and of blunt stupidities of which he intended +to make a very entertaining series of pages. I have not his talent for +bringing such things together, but it may amuse the reader if I merely +put in their order one or two of the notes which most struck me. + +I find first, cut out of a newspaper and pasted into the book (many of +his notes are in this form), the following really jovial paragraph: + +"Archdeacon Blunderbuss (Blunderbuss is not the real name; I suppress +that lest Capricorn's widow should lose her two or three pounds, in case +the poor fellow has really been eaten). Archdeacon Blunderbuss was more +distinguished as a scholar than as a Divine. He was a very poor preacher +and never managed to identify himself with any party. Nevertheless, in +1895 the Prime Minister appointed him to a stall in Shoreham Cathedral as +a recognition of his great learning and good work at Durham. Two years +later the rectory of St. Vacuums becoming vacant and it being within the +gift of Archdeacon Blunderbuss, he excited general amazement and much +scandal by presenting himself to the living." + +There the paragraph ends. It came in an ordinary society paper. It bore +no marks of ill-will. It came in the midst of a column of the usual +silly adulation of everybody and everything; how it got there is of no +importance. There it stood and the keen eye of Capricorn noted it and +treasured it for years. + +I will make no comment upon this paragraph. It may be read slowly or +quickly, according to the taste of the reader; it is equally delicious +either way. + +The next excerpt I find in the notebook is as follows: + +"More than 15,000,000 visits are paid annually to London pawnbrokers. + +"Jupiter is 1387 times as big as the earth, but only 300 times as heavy. + +"The world's coal mines yield 400,000,000 tons of coal a year. + +"The value of the pictures in the National Gallery is about L1,250,000." + +This tickled Capricorn--I don't know why. Perhaps he thought the style +disjointed or perhaps he had got it into his head that when this +information had been absorbed by the vulgar they would stand much where +they stood before, and be no nearer the end of man nor the accomplishment +of any Divine purpose in their creation. Anyhow he kept it, and I think +he was wise to keep it. One cannot keep everything of that kind that +is printed, so it is well to keep a specimen. Capricorn had, moreover, +intended to perpetuate that specimen for ever in his immortal prose--pray +Heaven he may return to do so! + +I next find the following excerpt from an evening paper: + +"No more gallant gentleman lives on the broad acres of his native England +than Brigadier-General Sir Hammerthrust Honeybubble, who is one of the +few survivors of the great charge at Tamulpuco, a feat of arms now +half forgotten, but with which England rang during the Brazilian War. +Brigadier-General, or, as he then was, plain Captain Hammerthrust +Honeybubble, passed through five Brazilian batteries unharmed, and came +back so terribly hacked that his head was almost severed from his body. +Hardly able to keep his seat and continually wiping the blood from his +left eye, he rode back to his troop at a walk, and, in spite of pursuit, +finally completed his escape. Sir Hammerthrust, we are glad to learn, is +still hale and hearty in his ninety-third year, and we hope he may see +many more returns of the day upon his patrimonial estate in the Orkneys." + +To this excerpt I find only one marginal note in Capricorn's delicate +and beautiful handwriting: "What day?" But whether this referred to some +appointment of his own I was unable to discover. + +I next find a certain number of cuttings which I think cannot have been +intended for the book at all, but must have been designed for poor +Capricorn's "Oxford Anthology of Bad Verse," which, just before he +left England, he was in process of preparing for the University Press. +Capricorn had a very fine sense of bad taste in verse, and the authorities +could have chosen no one better suited for the duty of editing such a +volume. I must not give the reader too much of these lines, but the +following quatrain deserves recognition and a permanent memory: + +Napoleon hoped that all the world would fall beneath his sway. He failed +in this ambition; and where is he to-day? Neither the nations of the East +nor the nations of the West Have thought the thing Napoleon thought was to +their interest. + +This is enormous. As philosophy, as history, as rhetoric, as metre, as +rhythm, as politics, it is positively enormous. The whole poem is a +wonderful poem, and I wish I had space for it here. It is patriotic and it +is written about as badly as a poem could conceivably be written. It is a +mournful pleasure to think that my dear friend had his last days in the +Old Country illuminated by such a treasure. It is but one of many, but I +think it is the best. + +Another extract which catches my eye is drawn from the works of one in a +distant and foreign land. Yet it was worth preserving. This personage, +Tindersturm by name, issued a pamphlet which fell under the regulations, +the very strict regulations, of the Prussian Government, by which any +one of its subjects who says or prints anything calculated to stir +up religious or racial strife within the State is subject to severe +penalties. Now those severe penalties had fallen upon Tindersturm and +he had been imprisoned for some years according to the paragraph that +followed the extract I am about to give. That the aforesaid Tindersturm +did indeed tend to "stir up religious and racial strife," nay, went +somewhat out of his way to do it, will be clear enough when you read the +following lines from his little broadsheet: + +"It is time for us to go for this caddish alien sect. If on your way home +from the theatre you meet the blue-eyed, tow-haired, lolloping gang, +whether they be youths or ladies, go right up to them and give them a +smart smack, left and right, a blow in the eye; and lift your foot and +give the tow-headed ones a kick. In this way must we begin the business. +My Fatherland, wake up!" + +To this extract poor Capricorn has added the word "Excellent," and the +same comment he makes upon the following conclusion to a letter written +to a religious paper and dealing with some politician or other who had +done something which the correspondent did not like: + +"That his eyes may be opened _while he lives_ is the prayer of + +"Yours truly, + +"AN EARNEST MEMBER OF THE FOLD" + +From such a series it is a recreation to turn to the little social +paragraphs which gave Capricorn such acute and such continual joy; as, for +instance, this: + +"Mrs. Harry Bacon wishes it to be known that she has ceased to have any +connection whatsoever with the Boudoir for Lost Dogs. Her address is still +Hermione House, Bourton-on-the-Water Fenton Marsh, Worcester." + +There is much more in the notebook with which I could while away the +reader's time did space permit of it. I find among the very last entries, +for instance, this: + +"It was a strenuous and thrilling contest. Some terrible blows were +exchanged. In the last round, however, Schmidt landed his opponent a very +nasty one under the chin, stretching him out lifeless and breaking his +elbow; whereupon the prize was awarded him." + +To this joyous gem Capricorn has added a whole foison of annotations. He +asks at the end: "Which was 'him'? Important." And he underlines in red +ink the word "however," perhaps as mysterious a copulative as has ever +appeared in British prose. I should add that Capricorn himself was an +ardent sportsman and very rarely missed any of the first-class events of +the ring, though personally he did not box, and on the few occasions when +I have seen the exercise forced upon him in the public streets he showed +the greatest distaste to this form of athletics. + +Lastly, I find this note with which I must close: it is taken from the +verbatim report of a great case in the courts, now half forgotten, but ten +years ago the talk of London: + +"The witness then said that he had been promised an independence for life +if he could discover the defendant in the act of enclosing any part of +the land, or any document or order of his involving such an enclosure. He +therefore watched the defendant regularly from June, 1896, to the middle +of July, 1900. He also watched the defendant's father and mother, three +boys, married daughter, grandmother and grandfather, his two married +sisters, his brother, his agent, and his agent's wife--but he had +discovered nothing." + +That such a sentence should have been printed in the English language and +delivered by an English mouth in an English witness-box was enough for +Capricorn. Give him that alone for intellectual food in his desert lodge +and he was happy. + +Shall I tempt Providence by any further extracts? ... It is difficult to +tear oneself away from such a feast. So let me put in this very last, +really the last, by way of savoury. There it is in black and white and no +one can undo it: not all her piety, nor all her wit. It dates from the +year 1904, when, Heaven knows, the internal combustion engine and its +possibilities were not exactly new, and I give it word for word: + +"The Duchess is, moreover, a pioneer in the use of the motor-car. She +finds it an agreeable and speedy means of conveyance from her country seat +to her town house, and also a very practical way of getting to see her +friends at week-ends. She has been heard to complain, however, that a +substitute for the pneumatic tyre less liable to puncture than it is would +be a priceless boon." + +There! There! May they all rest in peace! They have added to the gaiety of +mankind. + + + + +ON UNKNOWN PEOPLE + + +You will often hear it said that it is astonishing such and such work +should be present and enduring in the world, and yet the name of its +author not known; but when one considers the variety of good work and the +circumstances under which it is achieved, and the variety of taste also +between different times and places, one begins to understand what is at +first so astonishing. + +There are writers who have ascribed this frequent ignorance of ours to all +sorts of heroic moods, to the self-sacrifice or the humility of a whole +epoch or of particular artists: that is the least satisfactory of the +reasons one could find. All men desire, if not fame, at least the one poor +inalienable right of authorship, and unless one can find very good reasons +indeed why a painter or a writer or a sculptor should deliberately have +hidden himself one must look for some other cause. + +Among such causes the first two, I think, are the multiplicity of good +work, and its chance character. Not that any one ever does very good work +for once and then never again--at least, such an accident is extremely +rare--but that many a man who has achieved some skill by long labour does +now and then strike out a sort of spark quite individual and separate from +the rest. Often you will find that a man who is remembered for but one +picture or one poem is worth research. You will find that he did much +more. It is to be remembered that for a long time Ronsard himself was +thought to be a man of one poem. + +The multiplicity of good work also and the way in which accident helps it +is a cause. There are bits of architecture (and architecture is the most +anonymous of all the arts) which depend for their effect to-day very +largely upon situation and the process of time, and there are a thousand +corners in Europe intended merely for some utility which happen almost +without deliberate design to have proved perfect: this is especially true +of bridges. + +Then there is this element in the anonymity of good work, that a man very +often has no idea how good the work is which he has done. The anecdotes +(such as that famous one of Keats) which tell us of poets desiring to +destroy their work, or, at any rate, casting it aside as of little value, +are not all false. We still have the letter in which Burns enclosed "Scots +wha' hae," and it is curious to note his misjudgment of the verse; and +side by side with that kind of misjudgment we have men picking out for +singular affection and with a full expectation of glory some piece of +work of theirs to which posterity will have nothing to say. This is +especially true of work recast by men in mature age. Writers and painters +(sculptors luckily are restrained by the nature of their art--unless they +deliberately go and break up their work with a hammer) retouch and change, +in the years when they have become more critical and less creative, what +they think to be the insufficient achievements of their youth: yet it is +the vigour and the simplicity of their youthful work which other men often +prefer to remember. On this account any number of good things remain +anonymous, because the good writer or the good painter or the good +sculptor was ashamed of them. + +Then there is this reason for anonymity, that at times--for quite a short +few years--a sort of universality of good work in one or more departments +of art seems to fall upon the world or upon some district. Nowhere do +you see this more strikingly than in the carvings of the first third of +the sixteenth century in Northern and Central France and on the Flemish +border. + +Men seemed at that moment incapable of doing work that was not marvellous +when they once began to express the human figure. Sometimes their mere +name remains, more often it is doubtful, sometimes it is entirely lost. +More curious still, you often have for this period a mixture of names. You +come across some astonishing series of reliefs in a forgotten church of a +small provincial town. You know at once that it is work of the moment when +the flood of the Renaissance had at last reached the old country of the +Gothic. You can swear that if it were not made in the time of Francis I or +Henry II it was at least made by men who could remember or had seen those +times. But when you turn to the names the names are nobodies. + +By far the most famous of these famous things, or at any rate the most +deserving of fame, is the miracle of Brou. It is a whole world. You would +say that either one transcendent genius had modelled every face and figure +of those thousands (so individual are they), or that a company of inspired +men differing in their traditions and upbringing from all the commonalty +of mankind had done such things. When you go to the names all you find is +that Coulombe out of Touraine began the job, that there was some sort of +quarrel between his head-man and the paymasters, that he was replaced in +the most everyday manner conceivable by a Fleming, Van Boghem, and that +this Fleming had to help him a better-known Swiss, one Meyt. It is the +same story with nearly all this kind of work and its wonderful period. The +wealth of detail at Louviers or Gisors is almost anonymous; that of the +first named perhaps quite anonymous. + +Who carved the wood in St. James's Church at Antwerp? I think the name +is known for part of it, but no one did the whole or anything like the +whole, and yet it is all one thing. Who carved the wood in St. Bertrand +de Coraminges? We know who paid for it, and that is all we know. And as +for the wood of Rouen, we must content ourselves with the vague phrase, +"Probably Flemish artists." + +Of the Gothic statues where they were conventional, however grand the +work, one can understand that they should be anonymous, but it is curious +to note the same silence where the work is strikingly and particularly +individual. Among the kings at Rheims are two heads, one of St. Louis, +one of his grandson. Had some one famous sculptor done these things and +others, were his work known and sought after, these two heads would be as +renowned as anything in Europe. As it is they are two among hundreds that +the latter thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries scattered broadcast; +each probably was the work of a different workman, and the author or +authors of each remain equally unknown. + +I know not whether there is more pathos or more humour or more consolation +in considering this ignorance of ours with regard to the makers of good +things. + +It is full of parable. There is something of it in Nature. There are men +who will walk all day through a June wood and come out atheists at the end +of it, finding no signature thereupon; and there are others who, sailing +over the sea, come back home after seeing so many things still puzzled as +to their authorship. That is one parable. + +Then there is this: the corrective of ambition. Since so much remains, the +very names of whose authors have perished, what does it matter to you or +to the world whether your name, so long as your work, survives? Who was +it that carefully and cunningly fixed the sights on Gumber Corner so as +to get upon a clear day his exact alignment with Pulborough and then the +shoulder of Leith Hill, just to miss the two rivers and just to obtain the +best going for a military road? He was some engineer or other among the +thousands in the Imperial Service. He was at Chichester for some weeks +and drew his pay, and then perhaps went on to London, and he was born in +Africa or in Lombardy, or he was a Breton, or he was from Lusitania or +from the Euphrates. He did that bit of work most certainly without any +consideration of fame, for engineers (especially when they are soldiers) +are singular among artists in this matter. But he did a very wonderful +thing, and the Roman Road has run there for fifteen hundred years--his +creation. Some one must have hit upon that precise line and the reason for +it. It is exactly right, and the thing done was as great and is to-day as +satisfying as that sculpture of Brou or the two boys Murillo painted, whom +you may see in the Gallery at Dulwich. But he never thought of any one +knowing his name, and no one knows it. + +Then there is this last thing about anonymous work, which is also a +parable and a sad one. It shows how there is no bridge between two human +minds. + +How often have I not come upon a corbel of stone carved into the shape +of a face, and that face had upon it either horror or laughter or great +sweetness or vision, and I have looked at it as I might have looked upon +a living face, save that it was more wonderful than most living faces. It +carried in it the soul and the mind of the man who made it. But he has +been dead these hundreds of years. That corbel cannot be in communion with +me, for it is of stone; it is dumb and will not speak to me, though it +compels me continually to ask it questions. Its author also is dumb, for +he has been dead so long, and I can know nothing about him whatsoever. + +Now so it is with any two human minds, not only when they are separated by +centuries and by silence, but when they have their being side by side +under one roof and are companions all their years. + + + + +ON A VAN TROMP + + +Once there was a man who, having nothing else to do and being fond of +that kind of thing, copied with a good deal of care on to a bit of wood +the corner of a Dutch picture in one of the public galleries. + +This man was not a good artist; indeed he was nothing but a humpbacked +and very sensitive little squire with about L3000 a year of his own and +great liking for intricate amusements. He was a pretty good mathematician +and a tolerable fisherman. He knew an enormous amount about the Mohammedan +conquest of Spain, and he is, I believe, writing a book upon that subject. +I hope he will, for nearly all history wants to be rewritten. Anyhow, he, +as I have just said, did copy a corner of one of the Dutch pictures in one +of the galleries. It was a Dutch picture of the seventeenth century; and +since the laws of this country are very complicated and the sanctions +attached to them very terrible, I will not give the name of the original +artist, but I will call him Van Tromp. + +Van Tromps have always been recognized, and there was a moment about fifty +years after the artist's death when they had a considerable vogue in the +French Court. Monsieur, who was quite ignorant of such things, bought +a couple, and there is a whole row of them in the little pavilion at +Louveciennes. Van Tromp has something about him at once positive and +elusive; he is full of planes and values, and he interprets and renders, +and the rest of it. Nay, he transfers! + +About thirty years ago Mr. Mayor (of Hildesheim and London) thought it his +duty to impress upon the public how great Van Tromp was. This he did after +taking thirteen Van Tromps in payment of a bad debt, and he succeeded. But +the man I am writing about cared nothing for all this: he simply wanted to +see how well he could imitate this corner of the picture, and he did it +pretty well. He begrimed it and he rubbed at it, and then he tickled it up +again with a knife, and then he smoked it, and then he put in some dirty +whites which were vivid, and he played the fool with white of egg, and so +forth, until he had the very tone and manner of the original; and as he +had done it on an old bit of wood it was exactly right, and he was very +proud of the result. He got an old frame from near Long Acre and stuck it +in, and then he took the thing home. He had done several things of this +kind, imitating miniatures, and even enamels. It amused him. When he got +home he sat looking at it with great pleasure for an hour or two; he left +the little thing on the table of his study and went to bed. + +Here begins the story, and here, therefore, I must tell you what the +subject of this corner of the picture was. + +The subject of this corner of the picture which he had copied was a woman +in a brown jacket and a red petticoat with big feet showing underneath, +sitting on a tub and cutting up some vegetables. She had her hair bunched +up like an onion, a fashion which, as we all know, appealed to the Dutch +in the seventeenth century, or at any rate to the plebeian Dutch. I must +also tell you the name of this squire before I go any further: his name +was Hammer--Paul Hammer. He was unmarried. + +He went to bed at eleven o'clock, and when he came down at eight o'clock +he had his breakfast. He went into his study at nine o'clock, and was very +much annoyed to find that some burglars had come in during the night and +had taken away a number of small objects which were not without value; and +among-them, what he most regretted, his little pastiche of the corner of +the Van Tromp. + +For some moments he stood filled with an acute anger and wishing that he +knew who the burglars were and how to get at them; but the days passed, +and though he asked everybody, and even gave some money to the police, he +could not discover this. He put an advertisement into several newspapers, +both London newspapers and local ones, saying that money would be given if +the thing were restored, and pretty well hinting that no questions would +be asked, but nothing came. + +Meanwhile the burglars, whose names were Charles and Lothair Femeral, +foreigners but English-speaking, had found some of their ill-acquired +goods saleable, others unsaleable. They wanted a pound for the little +picture in the frame, and this they could not get, and it was a bother +haggling it about. Lothair Femeral thought of a good plan: he stopped at +an inn on the third day of their peregrinations, had a good dinner with +his brother, told the innkeeper that he could not pay the bill, and +offered to leave the Old Master in exchange. When people do this it very +often comes off, for the alternative is only the pleasure of seeing +the man in gaol, whereas a picture is always a picture, and there is a +gambler's chance of its turning up trumps. So the man grumbled and took +the little thing. He hung it up in the best room of the inn, where he gave +his richer customers food. + +Thus it was that a young gentleman who had come down to ride in that +neighbourhood, although he did not know any of the rich people round +about, saw it one day, and on seeing it exclaimed loudly in an unknown +tongue; but he very rapidly repressed his emotion and simply told the +innkeeper that he had taken a fancy to the daub and would give him thirty +shillings for it. + +The innkeeper, who had read in the newspapers of how pictures of the +utmost value are sold by fools for a few pence, said boldly that his price +was twenty pounds; whereupon the young gentleman went out gloomily, and +the innkeeper thought that he must have made a mistake, and was for three +hours depressed. But in the fourth hour again he was elated, for the young +gentleman came back with twenty pounds, not even in notes but in gold, +paid it down, and took away the picture. Then again, in the fifth hour was +the innkeeper a little depressed, but not as much as before, for it struck +him that the young gentleman must have been very eager to act in such a +fashion, and that perhaps he could have got as much as twenty-one pounds +by holding out and calling it guineas. + +The young gentleman telegraphed to his father (who lived in Wimbledon but +who did business in Bond Street) saying that he had got hold of a Van +Tromp which looked like a study for the big "Eversley" Van Tromp in the +Gallery, and he wanted to know what his father would give for it. His +father telegraphed back inviting him to spend one whole night under the +family roof. This the young man did, and, though it wrung the old father's +heart to have to do it, by the time he had seen the young gentleman's find +(or _trouvaille_ as he called it) he had given his offspring a cheque +for five hundred pounds. Whereupon the young gentleman left and went back +to do some more riding, an exercise of which he was passionately fond, and +to which he had trained several quiet horses. + +The father wrote to a certain lord of his acquaintance who was very +fond of Van Tromps, and offered him this replica or study, in some ways +finer than the original, but he said it must be a matter for private +negotiation; so he asked for an appointment, and the lord, who was a tall, +red-faced man with a bluff manner, made an appointment for nine o'clock +next morning, which was rather early for Bond Street. But money talks, and +they met. The lord was very well dressed, and when he talked he folded his +hands (which had gloves on them) over the knob of his stick and pressed +his stick firmly upon the ground. It was a way he had. But it did not +frighten the old gentleman who did business in Bond Street, and the +long and short of it was that the lord did not get the picture until he +had paid three thousand guineas--not pounds, mind you. For this sum the +picture was to be sent round to the lord's house, and so it was, and there +it would have stayed but for a very curious accident. The lord had put +the greater part of his money into a company which was developing the +resources of the South Shetland Islands, and by some miscalculation or +other the expense of this experiment proved larger than the revenues +obtainable from it. His policy, as I need hardly tell you, was to hang on, +and so he did, because in the long run the property must pay. And so it +would if they could have gone on shelling out for ever, but they could +not, and so the whole affair was wound up and the lord lost a great deal +of money. + +Under these circumstances he bethought him of the toiling millions who +never see a good picture and who have no more vivid appetite than the +hunger for good pictures. He therefore lent his collection of Van Tromps +with the least possible delay to a public gallery, and for many years they +hung there, while the lord lived in great anxiety, but with a sufficient +income for his needs in the delightful scenery of the Pennines at some +distance from a railway station, surrounded by his tenants. At last even +these--the tenants, I mean--were not sufficient, and a gentleman in the +Government who knew the value of Van Tromps proposed that these Van Tromps +should be bought for the nation; but a lot of cranks made a frightful row, +both in Parliament and out of it, so that the scheme would have fallen +through had not one of the Van Tromps--to wit, that little copy of a +corner which was obviously a replica of or a study for the best-known of +the Van Tromps--been proclaimed false quite suddenly by a gentleman who +doubted its authenticity; whereupon everybody said that it was not genuine +except three people who really counted, and these included the gentleman +who had recommended the purchase of the Van Tromps by the nation. So +enormous was the row upon the matter that the picture reached the very +pinnacle of fame, and an Australian then travelling in England was +determined to get that Van Tromp for himself, and did. + +This Australian was a very simple man, good and kind and childlike, and +frightfully rich. When he had got the Van Tromp he carried it about with +him, and at the country houses where he stopped he used to pull it out and +show it to people. It happened that among other country houses he stopped +once at the hunchback squire's, whose name, as you will remember, was Mr. +Hammer, and he showed him the Van Tromp one day after dinner. + +Now Mr. Hammer was by this time an old man, and he had ceased to care much +for the things of this world. He had suffered greatly, and he had begun to +think about religion; also he had made a good deal of money in Egyptians +(for all this was before the slump). And he was pretty well ashamed of +his pastiches; so, one way and another, the seeing of that picture did +not have the effect upon him which you might have expected; for you, the +reader, have read this story in five minutes (if you have had the patience +to get so far), but he, Mr. Hammer, had been changing and changing for +years, and I tell you he did not care a dump what happened to the wretched +thing. Only when the Australian, who was good and simple and kind and +hearty, showed him the picture and asked him proudly to guess what he had +given for it, then Mr. Hammer looked at him with a look in his eyes full +of that not mortal sadness which accompanies irremediable despair. + +"I do not know," he answered gently and with a sob in his voice. + +"I paid for that picture," said the Australian, in the accent and language +of his native clime, "no less a sum than L7500 ... and I'd pay it again +to-morrow!" Saying this, the Australian hit the table with the palm, of +his hand in a manner so manly that an aged retainer who was putting coals +upon the fire allowed the coal-scuttle to drop. + +But Mr. Hammer, ruminating in his mind all the accidents and changes and +adventures of human life, its complexity, its unfulfilled desires, its +fading but not quite perishable ideals, well knowing how men are made +happy and how unhappy, ventured on no reply. Two great tears gathered in +his eyes, and he would have shed them, perhaps to be profusely followed by +more--he was nearly breaking down--when he looked up and saw on the wall +opposite him seven pastiches which he had made in the years gone by. There +was a Titian and a George Morland, a Chardin, two cows after Cooper, and +an impressionist picture after some Frenchman whose name he had forgotten. + +"You like pictures?" he said to the Australian, the tears still standing +in his eyes. + +"I do!" said the Australian with conviction. + +"Will you let me give you these?" said Mr. Hammer. + +The Australian protested that such things could not be allowed, but he was +a simple man, and at last he consented, for he was immensely pleased. + +"It is an ungracious thing to make conditions," said Mr. Hammer, "and I +won't make any, only I should be pleased if, in your island home...." + +"I don't live on an island," said the Australian. Mr. Hammer remembered +the map of Australia, with the water all round it, but he was too polite +to argue. + +"No, of course not," he said; "you live on the mainland; I forgot. But +anyhow, I _should_ be so pleased if you would promise me to hang them +all together, these pictures with your Van Tromp, all in a line! I really +should be so pleased!" + +"Why, certainly," said the Australian, a little bewildered; "I will do so, +Mr. Hammer, if it can give you any pleasure." + +"The fact is," said Mr. Hammer, in a breaking voice, "I had that picture +once, and I intended it to hang side by side with these." + +It was in vain that the Australian, on hearing this, poured out +self-reproaches, offered with an expansion of soul to restore it, and then +more prudently attempted a negotiation. Mr. Hammer resolutely shook his +head. + +"I am an old man," he said, "and I have no heirs; it is not for me to +take, but to give, and if you will do what an old man begs of you, and +accept what I offer; if you will do more and of your courtesy keep all +these things together which were once familiar to me, it will be enough +reward." + +The next day, therefore, the Australian sailed off to his distant +continental home, carrying with him not only the Chardin, the Titian, the +Cooper, the impressionist picture, and the rest, but also the Van Tromp. +And three months after they all hung in a row in the great new copper room +at Warra-Mugga. What happened to them later on, and how they were all sold +together as "the Warra-Mugga Collection," I will tell you when I have the +time and you the patience. Farewell. + + + + +HIS CHARACTER + + +A certain merchant in the City of London, having retired from business, +purchased for himself a private house upon the heights of Hampstead and +proposed to devote his remaining years to the education and the +establishment in life of his only son. + +When this youth (whose name was George) had arrived at the age of nineteen +his father spoke to him after dinner upon his birthday with regard to the +necessity of choosing a profession. He pointed out to him the advantages +of a commercial career, and notably of that form of useful industry which +is known as banking, showing how in that trade a profit was to be made by +lending the money of one man to another, and often of a man's own money to +himself, without engaging one's own savings or fortune. + +George, to whom such matters were unfamiliar, listened attentively, and it +seemed to him with every word that dropped from his father that a wider +and wider horizon of material comfort and worldly grandeur was spreading +out before him. He had hitherto had no idea that such great rewards were +attached to services so slight in themselves, and certainly so valueless +to the community. The career sketched out for him by his father appealed +to him most strongly, and when that gentleman had completed his advice he +assured him that he would follow it in every particular. + +George's father was overjoyed to find his son so reasonable. He sat down +at once to write the note which he had planned, to an old friend and +connection by marriage, Mr. Repton, of Repton and Greening; he posted it +that night and bade the lad prepare for the solemnity of a private +interview with the head of the firm upon the morrow. + +Before George left the house next morning his father laid before him, with +the pomp which so great an occasion demanded, certain rules of conduct +which should guide not only his entry into life but his whole conduct +throughout its course. He emphasized the value of self-respect, of a +decent carriage, of discretion, of continuous and tenacious habits of +industry, of promptitude, and so forth; when, urged by I know not what +demon whose pleasure it is ever to disturb the best plans of men, the old +gentleman had the folly to add the following words as he rose to his feet +and laid his hand heavily upon his son's shoulder: + +"Above all things, George, tell the truth. I was young and now am old. I +have seen many men fail, some few succeed; and the best advice I can give +to my dear only son is that on all occasions he should fearlessly and +manfully tell the truth without regard of consequence. Believe me, it is +not only the whole root of character, but the best basis for a successful +business career even today." + +Having so spoken, the old man, more moved than he cared to show, went +upstairs to read his newspaper, and George, beautifully dressed, went out +by the front door towards the Tube, pondering very deeply the words his +father had just used. + +I cannot deny that the impression they produced upon him was +extraordinary--far more vivid than men of mature years can easily +conceive. It is often so in early youth when we listen to the voice of +authority; some particular chance phrase will have an unmeasured effect +upon one. A worn tag and platitude solemnly spoken, and at a critical +moment, may change the whole of a career. And so it was with George, +as you will shortly perceive. For as he rumbled along in the Tube his +father's words became a veritable obsession within him: he saw their value +ramifying in a multitude of directions, he perceived the strength and +accuracy of them in a hundred aspects. He knew well that the interview he +was approaching was one in which this virtue of truth might be severely +tested, but he gloried in the opportunity, and he came out of the Tube +into the fresh air within a step of Mr. Repton's office with set lips and +his young temper braced for the ordeal. + +When he got to the office there was Mr. Repton, a kindly old gentleman, +wearing large spectacles, and in general appearance one of those genial +types from which our caricaturists have constructed the national figure of +John Bull. It was a pleasure to be in the presence of so honest a man, and +in spite of George's extreme nervousness he felt a certain security in +such company. Moreover, Mr. Repton smiled paternally at him before putting +to him the few questions which the occasion demanded. He held George's +father's letter between two fingers of his right hand, moving it gently in +the air as he addressed the lad: + +"I am very glad to see you, George," he said, "in this old office. I've +seen you here before, Chrm! as you know, but not on such important +business, Chrm!" He laughed genially. "So you want to come and learn your +trade with us, do you? You're punctual I hope, Chrm?" he added, his honest +eyes full of good nature and jest. + +George looked at him in a rather gloomy manner, hesitated a moment, and +then, under the influence of an obvious effort, said in a choking voice, +"No, Mr. Repton, I'm not." + +"Hey, what?" said Mr. Repton, puzzled and a little annoyed at the young +man's manner. + +"I was saying, Mr. Repton, that I am not punctual. I have dreamy fits +which sometimes make me completely forget an appointment. And I have a +silly habit of cutting things too fine, which makes me miss trains and +things, I think I ought to tell you while I am about it, but I simply +cannot get up early in the morning. There are days when I manage to do +so under the excitement of a coming journey or for some other form of +pleasure, but as a rule I postpone my rising until the very latest +possible moment." + +George having thus delivered himself closed his lips and was silent. + +"Humph!" said Mr. Repton. It was not what the boy had said so much as the +impression of oddness which affected that worthy man. He did not like it, +and he was not quite sure of his ground. He was about to put another +question, when George volunteered a further statement: + +"I don't drink," he said, "and at my age it is not easy to understand +what the vice of continual drunkenness may be, but I shouldn't wonder +if that would be my temptation later on, and it is only fair to tell +you that, young as I am, I have twice grossly exceeded in wine; on one +occasion, not a year ago, the servants at a house where I was stopping +carried me to bed." + +"They did?" said Mr. Repton drily. + +"Yes," said George, "they did." Then there was a silence for a space of +at least three minutes. + +"My dear young man," said Mr. Repton, rising, "do you feel any aptitude +for a City career?" + +"None," said George decisively. + +"Pray," said Mr. Repton (who had grown-up children of his own and could +not help speaking with a touch of sarcasm--he thought it good for boys +in the lunatic stage), "pray," said he, looking quizzically down at the +unhappy but firm-minded George as he sat there in his chair, "is there +any form of work for which you do feel an aptitude?" + +"Yes, certainly," said George confidently. + +"And what is that?" said Mr. Repton, his smile beginning again. + +"The drama," said George without hesitation, "the poetic drama. I ought to +tell you that I have received no encouragement from those who are the best +critics of this art, though I have submitted my work to many since I left +school. Some have said that my work was commonplace, others that it was +imitative; all have agreed that it was dull, and they have unanimously +urged me to abandon every thought of such composition. Nevertheless I +am convinced that I have the highest possible talents not only in this +department of letters but in all." + +"You believe yourself," said Mr. Repton, with a touch of severity, "to be +an exceptional young man?" + +George nodded. "I do," he said, "quite exceptional. I should have used a +stronger term had I been speaking of the matter myself. I think I have +genius, or, rather, I am sure I have; and, what is more, genius of a very +high order." + +"Well," said Mr. Repton, sighing, "I don't think we shall get any +forrader. Have you been working much lately?" he asked anxiously-- +"examinations or anything?" + +"No," said George quietly. "I always feel like this." + +"Indeed!" said Mr. Repton, who was now convinced that the poor boy had +intended no discourtesy. "Well, I wonder whether you would mind taking +back a note to your father?" + +"Not at all," said George courteously. + +Mr. Repton in his turn wrote a short letter, in which he begged George's +father not to take offence at an old friend's advice, recalled to his +memory the long and faithful friendship between them, pointed out that +outsiders could often see things which members of a family could not, and +wound up by begging George's father to give George a good holiday. "Not +alone," he concluded; "I don't think that would be quite safe, but in +company with some really trustworthy man a little older than himself, who +won't get on his nerves and yet will know how to look after him. He must +get right away for some weeks," added the kind old man, "and after that +I should advise you to keep him at home and let him have some gentle +occupation. Don't encourage him in writing. I think he would take kindly +to _gardening_. But I won't write any more: I will come and see you +about it." + +Bearing that missive back did George reach his home.... All this passed in +the year 1895, and that is why George is to-day one of the best electrical +engineers in the country, instead of being a banker; and that shows how +good always comes, one way or another, of telling the truth. + + + + +ON THRUPPENNY BITS + + +Philip, King of Macedon, destroyer of the liberties of Greece, and father +to Alexander who tamed the horse Bucephalus, called for the tutor of that +lad, one Aristotle (surnamed the Teacher of the Human Race), to propound +to him a question that had greatly troubled him; for in counting out his +money (which was his habit upon a washing day, when the Queen's appetite +for afternoon tea and honey had rid him of her presence) he discovered +mixed with his treasure such an intolerable number of thruppenny bits as +very nearly drove him to despair. + +On this account King Philip of Macedon, destroyer of the liberties of +Greece, sent for Aristotle, his hanger-on, as one capable of answering any +question whatsoever, and said to him (when he had entered with a profound +obeisance): + +"Come, Aristotle, answer me straight; what is the use of a thruppenny bit?" + +"Dread sire," said Aristotle, standing in his presence with respect, "the +thruppenny bit is not to be despised. Men famous in no way for their +style, nor even for their learning, have maintained life by inscribing +within its narrow boundaries the Lord's Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten +Commandments, while others have used it as a comparison in the classes +of astronomy to illustrate the angle subtended by certain of the orbs of +heaven. The moon, whose waxing and waning is doubtless familiar to Your +Majesty, is indeed but just hidden by a thruppenny bit held between the +finger and the thumb of the observer extended at the full length of any +normal human arm." + +"Go on," said King Philip, with some irritation; "go on; go on!" + +"The thruppenny bit, Your Majesty, illustrates, as does no other coin, the +wisdom and the aptness of the duodecimal system to which the Macedonians +have so wisely clung (in common with the people of Scythia and of Thrace, +and the dumb animals) while the too brilliant Hellenes ran wild in the +false simplicity of the decimal system. The number twelve, Your +Majesty...." + +"Yes, yes, I know," said King Philip impatiently, "I have heard it a +thousand times! It has already persuaded me to abandon the duodecimal +method and to consign to the severest tortures any one who mentions it in +my presence again. My ten fingers are good enough for me. Go on, go on!" + +"Sovran Lord!" continued Aristotle, "the thruppenny bit has further been +proved in a thousand ways an adjuvator and prime helper of the Gods. For +many a man too niggardly to give sixpence, and too proud to give a copper, +has dropped this coin among the offerings at the Temple, and it is related +of a clergyman in Armagh (a town of which Your Majesty has perhaps never +heard) that he would frequently address his congregation from the rails +of the altar, pointing out the excessive number of thruppenny bits which +had been offered for the sustenance of the hierarchy, threatening to +summon before him known culprits, and to return to them the insufficient +oblation. Again, the thruppenny bit most powerfully disciplines the soul +of man, for it tries the temper as does no other coin, being small, thin, +wayward, given to hiding, and very often useless when it is discovered. +Learn also, King of Macedon, that the thruppenny bit is of value in ritual +phrases, and particularly so in objurgations and the calling down of +curses, and in the settlement of evil upon enemies, and in the final +expression of contempt. For to compare some worthless thing to a farthing, +to a penny, or to tuppence, has no vigour left in it, and it has long +been thought ridiculous even among provincials; a threadbare, worn, and +worthless sort of sneer; but the thruppenny bit has a sound about it +very valuable to one who would insist upon his superiority. Thus were +some rebel or some demagogue of Athens (for example) to venture upon the +criticism of Your Majesty's excursions into philosophy, in order to bring +those august theses into contempt, his argument would never find emphasis +or value unless he were to terminate its last phrase by a snap of the +fingers and the mention of a thruppenny bit. + +"King Philip of Macedon, most prudent of men, learn further that a +thruppenny bit, which to the foolish will often seem a mere expenditure of +threepence, to the wise may represent a saving of that sum. For how many +occasions are there not in which the inconsequent and lavish fool, the +spendthrift, the young heir, the commander of cavalry, the empty, gilded +boy, will give a sixpence to a messenger where a thruppenny bit would have +done as well? For silver is the craving of the poor, not in its amount, +but in its nature, for nature and number are indeed two things, the one on +the one hand...." + +"Oh, I know all about that," said King Philip; "I did not send for you +to get you off upon those rails, which have nothing whatever to do with +thruppenny bits. Be concrete, I pray you, good Aristotle," he continued, +and yawned. "Stick to things as they are, and do not make me remind you +how once you said that men had thirty-six, women only thirty-four, teeth. +Do not wander in the void." + +"Arbiter of Hellas," said Aristotle gravely, when the King had finished +his tirade, "the thruppenny bit has not only all that character of +usefulness which I have argued in it from the end it is designed to serve, +but one may also perceive this virtue in it in another way, which is by +observation. For you will remember how when we were all boys the fourpenny +bit of accursed memory still lingered, and how as against it the +thruppenny bit has conquered. Which is, indeed, a parable taken from +nature, showing that whatever survives is destined to survive, for that +is indeed in a way, as you may say, the end of survival." + +"Precisely," said King Philip, frowning intellectually; "I follow you. +I have heard many talk in this manner, but none talk as well as you do. +Continue, good Aristotle, continue." + +"Your Majesty, the matter needs but little exposition, though it contains +the very marrow of truth," said the philosopher, holding up in a menacing +way the five fingers of his left hand and ticking them off with the +forefinger of his right. "For it is first useful, second beautiful, third +valuable, fourth magnificent, and, fifthly, consonant to its nature." + +"Quite true," said King Philip, following carefully every word that fell +from the wise man's lips, for he could now easily understand. + +"Very well then, sire," said Aristotle in a livelier tone, charmed to +have captivated the attention of his Sovereign. "I was saying that which +survives is proved worthy of survival, as of a man and a shark, or of +Athens and Macedonia, or in many other ways. Now the thruppenny bit, +having survived to our own time, has so proved itself in that test, and +upon this all men of science are agreed. + +"Then, also, King Philip, consider how the thruppenny bit in another and +actual way, not of pure reason but, if I may say so, in a material manner, +commends itself: for is it not true that whereas all other nations +whatsoever, being by nature servile, will use a nickel piece or some other +denomination for whatever is small but is not of bronze, the Macedonians, +being designed by the Gods for the command of all the human race, have +very tenaciously clung to the thruppenny bit through good and through +evil repute, and have even under the sternest penalties enforced it upon +their conquered subjects? For when Your Majesty discovered (if you will +remember) that the people of Euboea, in manifest contempt of your Crown, +paid back into Your Majesty's treasury all their taxes in the shape of +thruppenny bits...." + +At this moment King Philip gave a loud shout, uttering in Greek the word +"Eureka," which signifies (to those who drop their aitches) "I've got it." + +"Got what?" said the philosopher, startled into common diction by the +unexpected interjection of the despot. + +"Get out!" said King Philip. "Do you suppose that any rambling Don is +going to take up my time when by a sheer accident his verbosity has +started me on a true scent? Out, Aristotle, out! Or, stay, take this note +with you to the Captain of the Guard"--and King Philip hastily scribbled +upon a parchment an order for the immediate execution of the whole of the +inhabitants of Euboea, saving such as could redeem themselves at the price +of ten drachmae, the said sum upon no account whatsoever to be paid in +coin containing so much as one thruppenny bit. + +But the offended philosopher had departed, and being well wound up could +not, any more than any other member of the academies, cease from spouting; +so that King Philip was intolerably aggravated to hear him as he waddled +down the Palace stairs still declaiming in a loud tone: + +"And, sixteenthly, the thruppenny bit has about it this noble quality, +that it represents an aliquot part of that sum which is paid to me daily +from the Royal Treasury in silver, a metal upon which we have always +insisted. And, seventeenthly...." + +But King Philip banged the door. + + + + +ON THE HOTEL AT PALMA AND A PROPOSED GUIDE-BOOK + + +The hotel at Palma is like the Savoy, but the cooking is a great deal +better. It is large and new; its decorations are in the modern style with +twiddly lines. Its luxury is greater than that of its London competitor. +It has an eager, willing porter and a delightful landlord. You do what you +like in it and there are books to read. One of these books was an English +guide-book. I read it. It was full of lies, so gross and palpable that I +told my host how abominably it traduced his country, and advised him first +to beat the book well and then to burn it over a slow fire. It said that +the people were superstitious--it is false. They have no taboo about days; +they play about on Sundays. They have no taboo about drinks; they drink +what they feel inclined (which is wine) when they feel inclined (which is +when they are thirsty). They have no taboo book, Bible or Koran, no damned +psychical rubbish, no damned "folk-lore," no triply damned mumbo-jumbo of +social ranks; kind, really good, simple-minded dukes would have a devil of +a time in Palma. Avoid it, my dears, keep away. If anything, the people of +Palma have not quite enough superstition. They play there for love, money, +and amusement. No taboo (talking of love) about love. + +The book said they were poor. Their populace is three or four times as +rich as ours. They own their own excellent houses and their own land; no +one but has all the meat and fruit and vegetables and wine he wants, and +usually draught animals and musical instruments as well. + +In fact, the book told the most frightful lies and was a worthy companion +to other guidebooks. It moved me to plan a guide-book of my own in which +the truth should be told about all the places I know. It should be called +"Guide to Northumberland, Sussex, Chelsea, the French frontier, South +Holland, the Solent, Lombardy, the North Sea, and Rome, with a chapter on +part of Cheshire and some remarks on the United States of America." + +In this book the fault would lie in its too great scrappiness, but the +merit in its exactitude. Thus I would inform the reader that the best time +to sleep in Siena is from nine in the morning till three in the afternoon, +and that the best place to sleep is the north side of St. Domenic's ugly +brick church there. + +Again, I would tell him that the man who keeps the "Turk's Head" at +Valogne, in Normandy, was only outwardly and professedly an Atheist, but +really and inwardly a Papist. + +I would tell him that it sometimes snowed in Lombardy in June, for I have +seen it--and that any fool can cross the Alps blindfold, and that the +sea is usually calm, not rough, and that the people of Dax are the most +horrible in all France, and that Lourdes, contrary to the general opinion, +does work miracles, for I have seen them. + +I would also tell him of the place at Toulouse where the harper plays +to you during dinner, and of the grubby little inn at Terneuzen on the +Scheldt where they charge you just anything they please for anything; +five shillings for a bit of bread, or half a crown for a napkin. + +All these things, and hundreds of others of the same kind, would I put +in my book, and at the end should be a list of all the hotels in Europe +where, at the date of publication, the landlord was nice, for it is the +character of the landlords which makes all the difference--and that +changes as do all human things. + +There you could see first, like a sort of Primate of Hotels, the Railway +Hotel at York. Then the inn at La Bruyere in the Landes, then the "Swan" +at Petworth with its mild ale, then the "White Hart" of Storrington, +then the rest of them, all the six or seven hundred of them, from the +"Elephant" of Chateau Thierry to the "Feathers" of Ludlow--a truly noble +remainder of what once was England; the "Feathers" of Ludlow, where the +beds are of honest wood with curtains to them, and where a man may drink +half the night with the citizens to the success of their engines and the +putting out of all fires. For there are in West England three little inns +in three little towns, all in a line, and all beginning with an L-- +Ledbury, Ludlow, and Leominster, all with "Feathers," all with orchards +round, and I cannot tell which is the best. + +Then my guide-book will go on to talk about harbours; it will prove how +almost every harbour was impossible to make in a little boat; but it would +describe the difficulties of each so that a man in a little boat might +possibly make them. It would describe the rush of the tide outside Margate +and the still more dangerous rush outside Shoreham, and the absurd bar +at Littlehampton that strikes out of the sea, and the place to lie at in +Newhaven, and how not to stick upon the Platters outside Harwich; and the +very tortuous entry to Poole, and the long channel into Christchurch past +Hengistbury Head; and the enormous tides of South Wales; and why you often +have to beach at Britonferry, and the terrible difficulty of mooring in +Great Yarmouth; and the sad changes of Little Yarmouth, and the single +black buoy at Calais which is much too far out to be of any use; and how +to wait for the tide in the Swin. And also what no book has ever yet +given, an exact direction of the way in which one may roll into Orford +Haven, on the top of a spring tide if one has luck, and how if one has no +luck one sticks on the gravel and is pounded to pieces. + +Then my guide-book would go on to tell of the way in which to make men +pleasant to you according to their climate and country; of how you must +not hurry the people of Aragon, and how it is your duty to bargain with +the people of Catalonia; and how it is impossible to eat at Daroca; and +how careful one must be with gloomy men who keep inns at the very top of +glens, especially if they are silent, under Cheviot. And how one must not +talk religion when one has got over the Scotch border, with some remarks +about Jedburgh, and the terrible things that happened to a man there who +would talk religion though he had been plainly warned. + +Then my guide-book would go on to tell how one should climb ordinary +mountains, and why one should avoid feats; and how to lose a guide which +is a very valuable art, for when you have lost your guide you need not pay +him. My book will also have a note (for it is hardly worth a chapter) on +the proper method of frightening sheep dogs when they attempt to kill you +with their teeth upon the everlasting hills. + +This my good and new guide-book (oh, how it blossoms in my head as I +write!) would further describe what trains go to what places, and in what +way the boredom of them can best be overcome, and which expresses really +go fast; and I should have a footnote describing those lines of steamers +on which one can travel for nothing if one puts a sufficiently bold face +upon the matter. + +My guide-book would have directions for the pacifying of Arabs, a trick +which I learnt from a past master, a little way east of Batna in the year +1905--I will also explain how one can tell time by the stars and by the +shadow of the sun; upon what sort of food one can last longest and how +best to carry it, and what rites propitiate, if they are solemnized in a +due order, the half-malicious fairies which haunt men when they are lost +in lonely valleys, right up under the high peaks of the world. And my book +should have a whole chapter devoted to Ulysses. + +For you must know that one day I came into Narbonne where I had never been +before, and I saw written up in large letters upon a big, ugly house: + +ULYSSES, + +Lodging for Man and Beast. + +So I went in and saw the master, who had a round bullet head and cropped +hair, and I said to him: "What! Are you landed, then, after all your +journeys? And do I find you at last, you of whom I have read so much and +seen so little?" But with an oath he refused me lodging. + +This tale is true, as would be every other tale in my book. + +What a fine book it will be! + + + + +THE DEATH OF WANDERING PETER + + +"I will confess and I will not deny," said Wandering Peter (of whom you +have heard little but of whom in God's good time you shall hear more). "I +will confess and I will not deny that the chief pleasure I know is the +contemplation of my fellow beings." + +He spoke thus in his bed in the inn of a village upon the River Yonne +beyond Auxerre, in which bed he lay a-dying; but though he was dying he +was full of words. + +"What energy! What cunning! What desire! I have often been upon the edge +of a steep place, such as a chalk pit or a cliff above a plain, and +watched them down below, hurrying around, turning about, laying down, +putting up, leading, making, organizing, driving, considering, directing, +exceeding, and restraining; upon my soul I was proud to be one of them! I +have said to myself," said Wandering Peter, "lift up your heart; you also +are one of these! For though I am," he continued, "a wandering man and +lonely, given to the hills and to empty places, yet I glory in the workers +on the plain, as might a poor man in his noble lineage. From these I came; +to these in my old age I would have returned." + +At these words the people about his bed fell to sobbing when they thought +how he would never wander more, but Peter Wanderwide continued with a high +heart: + +"How pleasant it is to see them plough! First they cunningly contrive an +arrangement that throws the earth aside and tosses it to the air, and +then, since they are too weak to pull the same, they use great beasts, +oxen or horses or even elephants, and impose them with their will, so that +they patiently haul this contrivance through the thick clods; they tear +up and they put into furrows, and they transform the earth. Nothing can +withstand them. Birds you will think could escape them by flying up into +the air. It is an error. Upon birds also my people impose their view. They +spread nets, food, bait, trap, and lime. They hail stones and shot and +arrows at them. They cause some by a perpetual discipline to live near +them, to lay eggs and to be killed at will; of this sort are hens, geese, +turkeys, ducks, and guinea-fowls. Nothing eludes the careful planning of +man. + +"Moreover, they can build. They do not build this way or that, as a dull +necessity forces them, not they! They build as they feel inclined. They +hew down, they saw through (and how marvellous is a saw!), they trim +timber, they mix lime and sand, they excavate the recesses of the hills. +Oh! the fine fellows! They can at whim make your chambers or the Tower +prison, or my aunt's new villa at Wimbledon (which is a joke of theirs), +or St. Pancras Station, or the Crystal Palace, or Westminster Abbey, or +St. Paul's, or Bon Secours. They are agreeable to every change in the wind +that blows about the world. It blows Gothic, and they say 'By all means'-- +and there is your Gothic--a thing dreamt of and done! It suddenly veers +south again and blows from the Mediterranean. The jolly little fellows are +equal to the strain, and up goes Amboise, and Anet, and the Louvre, and +all the Renaissance. It blows everyhow and at random as though in anger at +seeing them so ready. They care not at all! They build the Eiffel Tower, +the Queen Anne house, the Mary Jane house, the Modern-Style house, the +Carlton, the Ritz, the Grand Palais, the Trocadero, Olympia, Euston, the +Midhurst Sanatorium, and old Beit's Palace in Park Lane. They are not to +be defeated, they have immortal certitudes. + +"Have you considered their lines and their drawings and their cunning +plans?" said Wandering Peter. "They are astonishing there! Put a bit of +charcoal into my dog's mouth or my pet monkey's paw--would he copy the +world? Not he! But men--my brothers--_they_ take it in hand and make +war against the unspeaking forces; the trees and the hills are of their +own showing, and the places in which they dwell, by their own power, +become full of their own spirit. Nature is made more by being their model, +for in all they draw, paint, or chisel they are in touch with heaven and +with hell.... They write (Lord! the intelligence of their men, and Lord! +the beauty of their women). They write unimaginable things! + +"They write epics, they write lyrics, they write riddles and marching +songs and drinking songs and rhetoric, and chronicles, and elegies, and +pathetic memories; and in everything that they write they reveal things +greater than they know. They are capable," said Peter Wanderwide, in +his dying enthusiasm, "of so writing that the thought enlarges upon the +writing and becomes far more than what they have written. They write that +sort of verse called 'Stop-Short,' which when it is written makes one +think more violently than ever, as though it were an introduction to the +realms of the soul. And then again they write things which gently mock +themselves and are a consolation for themselves against the doom of +death." + +But when Peter Wanderwide said that word "death," the howling and the +boo-hooing of the company assembled about his bed grew so loud that he +could hardly hear himself think. For there was present the Mayor of +the village, and the Priest of the village, and the Mayor's wife, and +the Adjutant Mayor or Deputy Mayor, and the village Councillor, and +the Road-mender, and the Schoolmaster, and the Cobbler, and all the +notabilities, as many as could crush into the room, and none but the +Doctor was missing. + +And outside the house was a great crowd of the village folk, weeping +bitterly and begging for news of him, and mourning that so great and so +good a man should find his death in so small a place. + +Peter Wanderwide was sinking very fast, and his life was going out with +his breath, but his heart was still so high that he continued although his +voice was failing: + +"Look you, good people all, in your little passage through the daylight, +get to see as many hills and buildings and rivers, fields, books, men, +horses, ships, and precious stones as you can possibly manage to do. Or +else stay in one village and marry in it and die there. For one of these +two fates is the best fate for every man. Either to be what I have been, a +wanderer with all the bitterness of it, or to stay at home and hear in +one's garden the voice of God. + +"For my part I have followed out my fate. And I propose in spite of my +numerous iniquities, by the recollection of my many joys in the glories of +this earth, as by corks, to float myself in the sea of nothingness until I +reach the regions of the Blessed and the pure in heart. + +"For I think when I am dead Almighty God will single me out on account +of my accoutrement, my stirrup leathers, and the things that I shall be +talking of concerning Ireland and the Perigord, and my boat upon the +narrow seas; and I think He will ask St. Michael, who is the Clerk and +Registrar of battling men, who it is that stands thus ready to speak +(unless his eyes betray him) of so many things? Then St. Michael will +forget my name although he will know my face; he will forget my name +because I never stayed long enough in one place for him to remember it. + +"But St. Peter, because he is my Patron Saint and because I have always +had a special devotion to him, will answer for me and will have no +argument, for he holds the keys. And he will open the door and I will come +in. And when I am inside the door of Heaven I shall freely grow those +wings, the pushing and nascence of which have bothered my shoulder blades +with birth pains all my life long, and more especially since my thirtieth +year. I say, friends and companions all, that I shall grow a very +satisfying and supporting pair of wings, and once I am so furnished I +shall be received among the Blessed, and I shall at once begin to tell +them, as I told you on earth, all sorts of things, both false and true, +with regard to the countries through which I carried forward my homeless +feet, and in which I have been given such fulfilment for my eyes." + +When Peter Wanderwide had delivered himself of these remarks, which he did +with great dignity and fire for one in such extremity, he gasped a little, +coughed, and died. + +I need not tell you what solemnities attended his burial, nor with what +fervour the people flocked to pray at his tomb; but it is worth knowing +that the poet of that place, who was rival to the chief poet in Auxerre +itself, gathered up the story of his death into a rhyme, written in the +dialect of that valley, of which rhyme this is an English translation: + + When Peter Wanderwide was young + He wandered everywhere he would; + And all that he approved was sung, + And most of what he saw was good. + + When Peter Wanderwide was thrown + By Death himself beyond Auxerre, + He chanted in heroic tone + To Priest and people gathered there: + + "If all that I have loved and seen + Be with me on the Judgment Day, + I shall be saved the crowd between + From Satan and his foul array. + + "Almighty God will surely cry + 'St. Michael! Who is this that stands + With Ireland in his dubious eye, + And Perigord between his hands, + + "'And on his arm the stirrup thongs, + And in his gait the narrow seas, + And in his mouth Burgundian songs, + But in his heart the Pyrenees?' + + "St. Michael then will answer right + (But not without angelic shame): + 'I seem to know his face by sight; + I cannot recollect his name....' + + "St. Peter will befriend me then, + Because my name is Peter too; + 'I know him for the best of men + That ever wallopped barley brew. + + "'And though I did not know him well, + And though his soul were clogged with sin, + _I_ hold the keys of Heaven and Hell. + Be welcome, noble Peterkin.' + + "Then shall I spread my native wings + And tread secure the heavenly floor, + And tell the Blessed doubtful things + Of Val d'Aran and Perigord." + + * * * * * + + This was the last and solemn jest + Of weary Peter Wanderwide, + He spoke it with a failing zest, + And having spoken it, he died. + + + + +THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE + + +The nation known to history as the Nephalo Ceclumenazenoi, or, more +shortly, the Nepioi, inhabited a fruitful and prosperous district +consisting in a portion of the mainland and certain islands situated in +the Picrocholian Sea; and had there for countless centuries enjoyed a +particular form of government which it is not difficult to describe, for +it was religious and arranged upon the principle that no ancient custom +might be changed. + +Lest such changes should come about through the lapse of time or the +evil passions of men, the citizens of the aforesaid nation had them very +clearly engraved in a dead language and upon bronze tablets, which they +fixed upon the doors of their principal temple, where it stood upon a +hill outside the city, and it was their laudable custom to entrust the +interpretation of them not to aged judges, but to little children, for +they argued that we increase in wickedness with years, and that no one +is safe from the aged, but that children are, alone of the articulately +speaking race, truth-tellers. Therefore, upon the first day of the year +(which falls in that country at the time of sowing) they would take one +hundred boys of ten years of age chosen by lot, they would make these +hundred, who had previously for one year received instruction in their +sacred language, write each a translation of the simple code engraved +upon the bronze tablets. It was invariably discovered that these artless +compositions varied only according to the ability of the lads to construe, +and that some considerable proportion of them did accurately show forth +in the vernacular of the time the meaning of those ancestral laws. They +had further a magistrate known as the Archon. whose business it was to +administrate these customs and to punish those who broke them. And this +Archon, when or if he proposed something contrary to custom in the opinion +of not less than a hundred petitioners, was judged by a court of children. + +In this fashion for thousands of years did the Nepioi proceed with their +calm and ordinary lives, enjoying themselves like so many grigs, and +utterly untroubled by those broils and imaginations of State which +disturbed their neighbours. + +There was a legend among them (upon which the whole of this Constitution +was based) that a certain Hero, one Melek, being in stature twelve foot +high and no less than 93 inches round the chest, had landed in their +country 150,000 years previously, and finding them very barbarous, slaying +one another and unacquainted with the use of letters, the precious metals, +or the art of usury, had instructed them in civilization, endowed them +with letters, a coinage, police, lawyers, instruments of torture, and all +the other requisites of a great State, and had finally drawn up for them +this code of law or custom, which they carefully preserved engraved upon +the tablets of bronze, which were set upon the walls of their chief temple +on the hill outside the city. + +Within the temple itself its great shrine and, so to speak, its very cause +of being was the Hero's tomb. He lay therein covered with plates of gold, +and it was confidently asserted and strictly and unquestionably believed +that at some unknown time in the future he would come out to rule them for +ever in a millennial fashion--though heaven knows they were happy enough +as it was. + +Among their customs was this: that certain appointed officers +would at every change in the moon proclaim the former existence and virtue +of Melek, his residence in the tomb, and his claims to authority. To enter +the tomb, indeed, was death, but there was proof of the whole story in +documents which were carefully preserved in the temple, and which were +from time to time consulted and verified. The whole structure of Nepioian +society reposed upon the sanctity of this story, upon the presence of the +Hero in his tomb, and of his continued authority, for with this was +intertwined, or rather upon this was based, the further sanctity of their +customs. + +Things so proceeded without hurt or cloud until upon one most unfortunate +day a certain man, bearing the vulgar name of Megalocrates, which +signifies a person whose health requires the use of a wide head-gear, +discovered that a certain herb which grew in great abundance in their +territory and had hitherto been thought useless would serve almost every +purpose of the table, sufficing, according to its preparation, for meat, +bread, vegetables, and salt, and, if properly distilled, for a liquor that +would make the Nepioi even more drunk than did their native spirits. + +From this discovery ensued a great plenty throughout the land, the +population very rapidly increased, the fortunes of the wealthy grew to +double, treble, and four times those which had formerly been known, the +middle classes adopted a novel accent in speech and a gait hitherto +unusual, while great numbers of the poor acquired the power of living upon +so small a proportion of foul air, dull light, stagnant water, and mangy +crusts as would have astonished their nicer forefathers. Meanwhile this +great period of progress could not but lead to further discoveries, and +the Nepioi had soon produced whole colleges in which were studied the arts +useful to mankind and constantly discovered a larger and a larger number +of surprising and useful things. At last the Nepioi (though this, perhaps, +will hardly be credited) were capable of travelling underground, flying +through the air, conversing with men a thousand miles away in a moment of +time, and committing suicide painlessly whenever there arose occasion for +that exercise. + +It may be imagined with what reverence the authors of all these boons, the +members of the learned colleges, were regarded; and how their opinions had +in the eyes and ears of the Nepioi an unanswerable character. + +Now it so happened that in one of these colleges a professor of more than +ordinary position emitted one day the opinion that Melek had lived only +half as long ago as was commonly supposed. In proof of this he put forward +the undoubted truth that if Melek had lived at the time he was supposed +to have lived, then he would have lived twice as long ago as he, the +professor, said that he had lived. The more old-fashioned and stupid +of the Nepioi murmured against such opinions, and though they humbly +confessed themselves unable to discover any flaw in the professor's logic, +they were sure he was wrong somewhere and they were greatly disturbed. +But the opinion gained ground, and, what is more, this fruitful and +intelligent surmise upon the part of the professor bred a whole series of +further theories upon Melek, each of which contradicted the last but one, +and the latest of which was always of so limpid and so self-evident a +truth as to be accepted by whatever was intelligent and energetic in the +population, and especially by the young unmarried women of the wealthier +classes. In this manner the epoch of Melek was reduced to five, to three, +to two, to one thousand years. Then to five hundred, and at last to one +hundred and fifty. But here was a trouble. The records of the State, which +had been carefully kept for many centuries, showed no trace of Melek's +coming during any part of the time, but always referred to him as a +long-distant forerunner. There was not even any mention of a man twelve +foot high, nor even of one a little over 93 inches round the chest. At last +it was proposed by an individual of great courage that he might be allowed +to open the tomb of Melek and afterwards, if they so pleased, suffer death. +This privilege was readily granted to him by the Archon. The worthy +reformer, therefore, prised open the sacred shrine and found within it +absolutely nothing whatsoever. + +Upon this there arose among the Nepioi all manner of schools and +discussions, some saying this and some that, but none with the certitude +of old. Their customs fell into disrepute, and even the very professors +themselves were occasionally doubted when they laid down the law upon +matters in which they alone were competent--as, for instance, when they +asserted that the moon was made of a peculiarly delicious edible substance +which increased in savour when it was preserved in the store-rooms of the +housewives; or when they affirmed with every appearance of truth that no +man did evil, and that wilful murder, arson, cruelty to the innocent and +the weak, and deliberate fraud were of no more disadvantage to the general +state, or to men single, than the drinking of a cup of cold water. + +So things proceeded until one day, when all custom and authority had +fallen into this really lamentable deliquescence, fleets were observed +upon the sea, manned by men-at-arms, the admiral of which sent a short +message to the Archon proposing that the people of the country should send +to him and his one-half of their yearly wealth for ever, "or," so the +message proceeded, "take the consequences." Upon the Archon communicating +this to the people there arose at once an infinity of babble, some saying +one thing and some another, some proposing to pay neighbouring savages +to come in and fight the invaders, others saying it would be cheaper to +compromise with a large sum, but the most part agreeing that the wisest +thing would be for the Archon and his great-aunt to go out to the fleet +in a little boat and persuade the enemy's admiral (as they could surely +easily do) that while most human acts were of doubtful responsibility and +not really wicked, yet the invasion, and, above all, the impoverishment +of the Nepioi was so foul a wrong as would certainly call down upon its +fiendish perpetrator the fires of heaven. + +While the Archon and his great-aunt were rowing out in the little boat +a few doddering old men and superstitious females slunk off to consult +the bronze tablets, and there found under Schedule XII these words: "If +an enemy threaten the State, you shall arm and repel him." In their +superstition the poor old chaps, with their half-daft female devotees +accompanying them, tottered back to the crowds to persuade them to some +ridiculous fanaticism or other, based on no better authority than the +non-existent Melek and his absurd and exploded authority. + +Judge of their horror when, as they neared the city, they saw from the +height whereon the temple stood that the invaders had landed, and, having +put to the sword all the inhabitants without exception, were proceeding to +make an inventory of the goods and to settle the place as conquerors. The +admiral summoned this remnant of the nation, and hearing what they had to +say treated them with the greatest courtesy and kindness and pensioned +them off for their remaining years, during which period they so instructed +him and his fighting men in the mysteries of their religion as quite to +convert them, and in a sense to found the Nepioian State over again; but +it should be mentioned that the admiral, by way of precaution, changed +that part of the religion which related to the tomb of Melek and situated +the shrine in the very centre of the crater of an active volcano in the +neighbourhood, which by night and day, at every season of the year, +belched forth molten rock so that none could approach it within fifteen +miles. + + + + +A NORFOLK MAN + + +Among the delights of historical study which makes it so curiously +similar to travel, and therefore so fatally attractive to men who cannot +afford it, is the element of discovery and surprise: notably in little +details. + +When in travel one goes along a way one has never been before one often +comes upon something odd, which one could not dream was there: for +instance, once I was in a room in a little house in the south and thought +there must be machinery somewhere from the noise I heard, until a man in +the house quietly lifted up a trapdoor in the floor, and there, running +under and through the house a long way below, was a river: the River +Garonne. + +It is the same way in historical study. You come upon the most +extraordinary things: little things, but things whose unexpectedness is +enormous. I had an example of this the other day, as I was looking up some +last details to make certain of the affair of Valmy. + +Most people have heard of the French Revolution, and many people have +heard of the battle of Valmy, which decided the first fate of that +movement, when it was first threatened by war. But very few people have +read about Valmy, so it is necessary to give some idea of the action to +understand the astonishing little thing attaching to it which I am about +to describe. + +The cannonade of Valmy was exchanged between a French Army with its back +to a range of hills and a Prussian Army about a mile away over against +them. It was as though the French Army had stretched from Leatherhead +to Epsom and had engaged in a cannonade with a Prussian Army lying over +against them in a position astraddle of the road to Kingston. + +Through this range of hills at the back of the French Army lay a gap, just +as there is a gap through the hills behind Leatherhead. Not only was that +gap easily passable by an army--easily, at least, compared with the hill +country on either side--but it had running through it the great road from +Metz to Paris, so that advance along it was rapid and practicable. + +It so happened that another force of the enemy besides that which was +cannonading the French in front was advancing through this gap from +behind, and it is evident that if this second force of the enemy had been +able to get through the gap it would have been all up with the French. +Dumouriez, who commanded the French, saw this well enough; he had ordered +the gap to be strongly fortified and well gunned and a camp to be formed +there, largely made up of Volunteers and Irregulars. On the proper conduct +of that post depended everything: and here comes the fun. The commander +of the post was not what you might expect, a Frenchman of any one of the +French types with which the Revolution has made us familiar: contrariwise, +he was an elderly private gentleman from the county of Norfolk. + +His name was Money. The little that is known about him is entertaining to +a degree. His own words prove him to be like the person in the song, "a +very honest man," and luckily for us he has left in a book a record of the +day (and subsequent actions) stamped vividly with his own character. John +Money: called by his neighbours General John Money, not, as you might +expect. General Money: a man devoted to the noble profession of arms and +also eaten up with a passion for ballooning. + +I find it difficult to believe that he was first in action at the age of +nine years or that he held King George's commission as a Cornet at the +age of ten. He does not tell us so himself nor do any of his friends. The +surmise is that of our Universities, and it is worthy of them. Clap on ten +years and you are nearer the mark. At any rate he was under fire in 1761, +and he was a Cornet in 1762; a Cornet in the Inniskilling Dragoons with a +commission dated on the 11th of March of that year. Then he transformed +himself into a Linesman, got his company in the 9th Foot eight years +later, and eight years later again, at the outbreak of the American War, +he was a major. He was quarter-master-general under Burgoyne, he was taken +prisoner--I think at Saratoga, but anyhow during that disastrous advance +upon the Hudson Valley. He got his lieutenant-colonelcy towards the end of +the war. He retired from the Army and never saw active service again. When +the Low Countries revolted against Austria he offered his services to the +insurgents and was accepted, but the truly entertaining chapter of his +adventures begins when he suggested himself to the French Government as +a very proper and likely man to command a brigade on the outbreak of the +great war with the Empire and with Prussia. + +Very beautifully does he tell us in his preface what moved him to that act. +"Colonel Money," he says, in the quiet third person of a self-respecting +Norfolk gentleman, "does not mean to assign any other reason for serving +the armies of France than that he loves his profession and went there +merely to improve himself in it." Spoken like Othello! + +He dedicates the book, by the way, to the Marquis Townshend, and carefully +adds that he has not got permission to dedicate it to that exalted +nobleman, nay, that he fears that he would not get permission if he asked +for it. But Lord Townshend is such a rattling good soldier that Colonel +Money is quite sure he will want to hear all about the war. On which +account he has this book so dedicated and printed by E. Harlow, bookseller +to Her Majesty, in Pall Mall. + +Before beginning his narrative the excellent fellow pathetically says, +that as there was no war a little time before, nor apparently any +likelihood of one, "Colonel Money once intended to serve the Turks"; from +this horrid fate a Christian Providence delivered him, and sent him to the +defence of Gaul. + +His commission was dated on the 19th of July, 1792; Marshal of the Camps, +that is, virtually, brigadier-general. He is very proud of it, and he +gives it in full. It ends up "Given in the year of Grace 1792 of our Reign +the 19th and Liberty the 4th. Louis." The phrase, in accompaniment with +the signature and the date, is not without irony. + +Colonel Money could never stomach certain traits in the French people. + +Before he left Paris for his command on the frontier he was witness to +the fighting when the Palace was stormed by the populace, and he is +our authority for the fact that the 5th Battalion of Paris Volunteers +stationed in the Champs Elysees helped to massacre the Swiss Guard. + +"The lieutenant-colonel of this battalion," writes honest John Money, +"who was under my command during part of the campaign, related to me the +circumstances of this murder, and apparently with pleasure. He said: 'That +the unhappy men implored mercy, but,' added he, 'we did not regard this. +We put them all to death, and our men cut off most of their heads and +fixed them on their bayonets.'" + +Colonel or, as he then was, General Money disapproves of this. + +He also disapproves of the officer in command of the Marseillese, and says +he was a "Tyger." It seems that the "Tyger" was dining with Theroigne de +Mericourt and three English gentlemen in the very hotel where Money was +stopping, and it occurs to him that they might have broken in from their +drunken revels next door and treated him unfriendly. + +Then he goes to the frontier, and after a good deal of complaint that he +has not been given his proper command he finds himself at the head of that +very important post which was the saving of the Army of Valmy. + +Dumouriez, who always talked to him in English (for English was more +widely known abroad then than it is now, at least among gentlemen), had +a very great opinion of Money; but he deplores the fact that Money's +address to his soldiery was couched "in a jargon which they could not even +begin to understand." Money does not tell us that in his account of the +fighting, but he does tell us some very interesting things, which reveal +him as a man at once energetic and exceedingly simple. He left the guns +to Galbaud, remarking that no one but a gunner could attend to that sort +of thing, which was sound sense; but the Volunteers, the Line, and the +Cavalry he looked after himself, and when the first attack was made he +gave the order to fire from the batteries. Just as they were blazing away +Dillon, who was far off but his superior, sent word to the batteries to +cease firing. Why, nobody knows. At any rate the orderly galloped up and +told Money that those were Dillon's orders. On which Money very charmingly +writes: + +"I told him to go back and tell General Dillon that I commanded there, and +that whilst the enemy fired shot and shell on me _I_ should continue +to fire back on them." A sentence that warms the heart. Having thus +delivered himself to the orderly, he began pacing up and down the parapet +"to let my men see that there was not much to be apprehended from a +cannonade." + +You may if you will make a little picture of this to yourselves. A great +herd of volunteers, some of whom had never been under fire, the rest +of whom had bolted miserably at Verdun a few days before, men not yet +soldiers and almost without discipline: the batteries banging away in the +wood behind them, in front of them a long earthwork at which the enemy +were lobbing great round lumps of iron and exploding shells, and along +the edge of this earthwork an elderly gentleman from Norfolk, in England, +walking up and down undisturbed, occasionally giving orders to his army, +and teaching his command a proper contempt for fire. + +He adds as another reason why he did not cease fire when he was ordered +that "without doubt the troops would have thought there was treason in it, +and I had probably been cut in pieces." + +He did not understand what had happened at Valmy, though he was so useful +in securing the success of that day. All he noted was that after the +cannonade Kellermann had fallen back. He rode into St. Menehould, where +Dumouriez's head-quarters were, ran up to the top of the steeple and +surveyed the country around the enemy's camp with an enormous telescope, +laid a bet at dinner of five to one that the enemy would attack again +(they did not do so, and so he lost his bet, but he says nothing about +paying it), and then heard that France had been decreed a Republic. +His comment on this piece of news is strong but cryptical. "It was +surprising," he says, "to see what an effect this news had on the Army." + +Every sentence betrays the personality: the keen, eccentric character +which took to balloons just after the Montgolfiers, and fell with his +balloon into the North Sea, wrote his Treatise on the use of such +instruments in War, and was never happy unless he was seeing or doing +something--preferably under arms. And in every sentence also there is that +curious directness of statement which is of such advantage to vivacity +in any memoir. Thus of Gobert, who served under him, he has a little +footnote: "This unfortunate young man lost his head at the same time +General Dillon suffered, and a very amiable young man he was, and an +excellent officer." + +He ends his book in a phrase from which I think not a word could be taken +nor to which a word could be added without spoiling it. I will quote it in +full. + +"The reader, I trust, will excuse my having so often departed from the +line of my profession in giving my opinion on subjects that are not +military" (for instance, his objections to the head-cutting business), +"but having had occasion to know the people of France I freely venture to +submit my judgments to the public and have the satisfaction to find that +they coincide with the opinion of those who know that extraordinary nation +_still better than myself_." + + + + +THE ODD PEOPLE + + +The people of Monomotapa, of whom I have written more than once, I have +recently revisited; and I confess to an astonishment at the success with +which they deal with the various difficulties and problems arising in +their social life. + +Thus, in most countries the laws of property are complex in the extreme; +punishable acts in connexion with them are numerous and often difficult to +define. + +In Monomotapa the whole thing is settled in a very simple manner: in the +first place, instead of strict laws binding men down by written words, +they appoint a number of citizens who shall have it in their discretion to +decide whether a man's actions are worthy of punishment or no; and these +appointed citizens have also the power to assign the punishment, which may +vary from a single day's imprisonment to a lifetime. So crimeless is the +country, however, that in a population of over thirty millions less than +twenty such nominations are necessary; I must, however, admit that these +score are aided by several thousand minor judges who are appointed in a +different manner. + +Their method of appointment is this: it is discovered as accurately as may +be by a man's manner of dress and the hours of his labour and the size of +the house he inhabits, whether he have more than a certain yearly revenue; +any man discovered to have more than this revenue is immediately appointed +to the office of which I speak. + +The power of these assessors is limited, however, for though it is left to +their discretion whether their fellow-citizens are worthy of punishment +or not, yet the total punishment they can inflict is limited to a certain +number of years of imprisonment. In old times this sort of minor judge +was not appointed in Monomotapa unless he could prove that he kept dogs +in great numbers for the purposes of hunting, and at least three horses. +But this foolish prejudice has broken down in the progress of modern +enlightenment, and, as I have said, the test is now extended to a general +consideration of clothes, the size of the house inhabited, and the amount +of leisure enjoyed, the type of tobacco smoked, and other equally +reasonable indications of judicial capacity. + +The men thus chosen to consider the actions of their fellow-citizens in +courts of law are rewarded in two ways: the first small body who are the +more powerful magistrates are given a hundred times the income of an +ordinary citizen, for it is claimed that in this way not only are the best +men for the purpose obtained, but, further, so large a salary makes all +temptation to bribery impossible and secures a strict impartiality between +rich and poor. + +The lesser judges, on the other hand, are paid nothing, for it is wisely +pointed out that a man who is paid nothing and who volunteers his services +to the State will not be the kind of a man who would take a bribe or who +would consider social differences in his judgments. + +It is further pointed out by the Monomotapans (I think very reasonably) +that the kind of man who will give his services for nothing, even in the +arduous work of imprisoning his fellow-citizens, will probably be the best +man for the job, and does not need to be allured to it by the promise of +a great salary. In this way they obtain both kinds of judges, and, oddly +enough, each kind speaks, acts, and lives much as does the other. + +I must next describe the methods by which this interesting and sensible +people secure the ends of their criminal system. + +When one of their magistrates has come to the conclusion that on the whole +he will have a fellow-citizen imprisoned, that person is handed over to +the guardianship of certain officials, whose business it is to see that +the man does not die during the period for which he is entrusted to them. +When some one of the numerous forms of torture which they are permitted +to use has the effect of causing death, the official responsible is +reprimanded and may even be dismissed. The object indeed of the whole +system is to reform and amend the criminal. He is therefore forbidden to +speak or to communicate in any way with human beings, and is segregated in +a very small room devoid of all ornament, with the exception of one hour a +day, during which he is compelled to walk round and round a deep, walled +courtyard designed for the purpose of such an exercise. If (as is often +the case) after some years of this treatment the criminal shows no signs +of mental or moral improvement, he is released; and if he is a man of +property, lives unmolested on what he has, and that usually in a quiet +and retired way. But if he is devoid of property, the problem is indeed a +difficult one, for it is the business of the police to forbid him to work, +and they are rewarded if he is found committing any act which the judges +or the magistrates are likely to disapprove. In this way even those who +have failed to effect reform in their characters during their first term +of imprisonment are commonly--if they are poor--re-incarcerated within +a short time, so that the system works precisely as it was intended to, +giving the maximum amount of reformation to the worst and the hardest +characters. I should add that the Monomotapan character is such that in +proportion to wealth a man's virtues increase, and it is remarkable that +nearly all those who suffer the species of imprisonment I have described +are of the poorer classes of society. + +Though they are so reasonable, and indeed afford so excellent a model to +ourselves in most of their social relations, the people of Monomotapa +have, I confess, certain customs which I have never clearly understood, +and which my increasing study of them fails to explain to me. + +Thus, in matters which, with us, are thought susceptible of positive +proof (such as the taste and quality of cooking, or the mental abilities +of a fellow-citizen) the Monomotapans establish their judgment in a +transcendental or super-rational manner. The cooking in a restaurant or +hotel is with them excellent in proportion, not to the taste of the viands +subjected to it, but to the rental of the premises. And when a man desires +the most delicious food he does not consider where he has tasted such food +in the past, but rather the situation and probable rateable value of the +eating-house which will provide him with it. Nay, he is willing--if he +understands that that rateable value is high--to pay far more for the same +article than he would in a humbler hostelry. + +The same super-rational method, as I have called it, applies to the +Monomotapan judgment of political ability; for here it is not what a +man has said or written, nor whether he has proved himself capable +of foreseeing certain events of moment to the State, it is not these +characters that determine his political career, but a mixture of other +indices, one of which is that his brothers shall be younger than himself, +another that when he speaks he shall strike the palm of his open left hand +with his clenched right hand in a particular manner by no means commonly +or easily acquired; another that he shall not wear at one and the same +time a coat which is bifurcated and a hat of hemispherical outline; +another that he shall keep silence upon certain types of foreigners who +frequent the markets of Monomotapa, and shall even pretend that they are +not foreigners but Monomotapans; and this index of statesmanship he must +preserve under all circumstances, even when the foreigners in question +cannot speak the Monomotapan language. + +Some years ago it was required of every statesman that he should, for at +least so many times in any one year, extravagantly praise the virtues +of these foreign merchants, and particularly allude to their intensely +unforeign character; but this custom has recently fallen into abeyance, +and silence upon the subject is the most that is demanded. + +A further social habit of this people which we should find very strange +and which I for my part think unaccountable is their habit of judging the +excellence of a literary production, not by the sense or even the sound of +it, but by the ink in which it is printed and the paper upon which it is +impressed. And this applies not only to their letters but also to their +foreign information, and on this account they should (one would imagine) +obtain but a very distorted view of the world. For if a good printer +prints with excellent ink at five shillings a pound, and with beautiful +clear type upon the best linen paper, the statement that the British +Islands are uninhabited, while another in bad ink and upon flimsy paper +and with worn type affirms that they contain over forty million souls, the +first impression and not the second would be conveyed to the Monomotapan, +mind. As a fact, however, they are not misinformed, for this singular +frailty of theirs (as I conceive it to be) is moderated by one very wise +countervailing mental habit of theirs, which is to believe whatever they +hear asserted more than twenty-six times, so that even if the assertion be +conveyed to them in bad print and upon poor paper, they will believe it if +they read it over and over again to the required limits of reiterations. + +No people in the world are fonder of animals than this genial race, but +here again curious limits to their affection are to be discovered, for +while they will tear to pieces some abandoned wretch who beats a llama +with a hazel twig for its correction, they will see nothing remarkable in +the tearing to pieces of an alpaca goat by dogs specially trained in that +exercise. + +Generally speaking, the larger an animal is, the warmer is the affection +borne it by these people. Fleas and lice are crushed without pity, +blackbeetles with more hesitation, small birds are spared entirely, and +so on upwards until for calves they have a special legislation to protect +and cherish them. At the other end of the scale, microbes are pitilessly +exterminated. + +Divorce is not common in Monomotapa. But such divorces as take place are +very rightly treated differently, according to the wealth of the persons +involved. Above a certain scale of wealth divorce is only granted after a +lengthy trial in a court of justice; but with the poor it is established +by the decree of a magistrate who usually, shortly after pronouncing his +sentence, finds an occasion to imprison the innocent party. Moreover, the +poor can be divorced in this manner, if any magistrate feels inclined to +exercise his power, while for the divorce of the rich set conditions are +laid down. + +I should add that the Monomotapans have no religion; but the tolerance of +their Constitution is nowhere better shown than in this particular, for +though they themselves regard religion as ridiculous, they will permit +its exercise within the State, and even occasionally give high office and +emoluments to those who practise it. + +We have, indeed, much to learn in this matter of religion from the race +whose habits I have discovered and here describe. Nothing, perhaps, has +done more to warp our own story than the hide-bound prejudice that a +doctrine could not be both false and true at the same time, and the +unreasoning certitude, inherited from the bad old days of clerical +tyranny, that a thing either was or was not. + +No such narrowness troubles the Monomotapan. He will prefer--and very +wisely prefer--an opinion that renders him comfortable to one that in any +way interferes with his appetites; and if two such opinions contradict +each other, he will not fall into a silly casuistry which would attempt to +reconcile them: he will quietly accept both, and serve the Higher Purpose +with a contented mind. + +It is on this account that I have said that the Monomotapans regard +religion as ridiculous. For true religion, indeed (as they phrase it), +they have the highest reverence; and true religion consists in following +the inclinations of an honest man, that is, oneself; but "religion in the +sense of fixed doctrine," as one of their priests explained to me, "is +abhorrent to our free commonwealth." Thus such hair-splitting questions as +whether God really exists or no, whether it be wrong to kill or to steal, +whether we owe any duties to the State, and, if so, what duties, are +treated by the honest Monomotapans with the contempt they deserve: they +abandon such speculation for the worthy task of enjoying, each man, what +his fortune permits him to enjoy. + +But, as I have said above, they do not persecute the small minority living +in their midst who cling with the tenacity of all starved minds to their +fixed ideas; and if a man who professes certitude upon doctrinal matters +is useful in other ways, they are very far from refusing his services to +the State. I have known more than one, for instance, of this old-fashioned +and bigoted lot who, when he offered a sum of money in order to be +admitted to the Senate of Monomotapa, found it accepted as readily and +cheerfully as though it had been offered by one of the broadest principles +and most liberal mind. + +Let no one be surprised that I have spoken of their priests, for though +the Monomotapans regard religion with due contempt, it does not follow +that they will take away the livelihood of a very honest class of people +who in an older and barbaric state of affairs were employed to maintain +the structure of what was then a public worship. The priesthood, +therefore, is very justly and properly retained by the Monomotapans, +subject only to a few simple duties and to a sacred intonation of voice +very distressing to those not accustomed to it. If I am asked in what +occupation they are employed, I answer, the wealthier of them in such +sports and futilities as attract the wealthy, and the less wealthy in such +futilities and sports as the less wealthy customarily enjoy. Nor is it a +rigid law among them that the sons of priests should be priests, but only +the custom--so far, at least, as I have been able to discover. + + + + +LETTER OF ADVICE AND APOLOGY TO A YOUNG BURGLAR + + +My dear Ormond, + +Nothing was further from my thoughts. I had imagined you knew me well +enough--and, for the matter of that, all your mother's family--to judge +me better. Believe me, no conception of blaming your profession entered +my mind for a moment. Whether there be such a thing as "property" in the +abstract I should leave it to metaphysicians to decide: in practical +affairs everything must be judged in its own surroundings. + +It was not upon any musty theological whimsy that I wrote; the definition +of stealing or "theft"--I care not by what name you call it--is not for +practical men to discuss. Nor was I concerned with the ethical discussion +of burglary (to give the matter its old legal and technical title); it was +lack of judgment, sudden actions due to nothing but impulse, and what I +think I may call "the speculative side" of a burglar's life. + +You have not, as yet, any great responsibilities. No one is dependent upon +you--you have but yourself to provide for; but you must remember that such +responsibilities will arrive in their natural course, and that if you form +habits of rashness or obstinacy now they will cling to you through life. +We are all looking forward to a certain event when Anne is free again; in +plain English, my boy, we know your loyal heart, and we shall bless the +union; but I should feel easier in my mind if I saw you settled into one +definite branch of the profession before you undertook the nurture of a +family. + +Adventure tempts you because you are brave, and something of a poet in +you leads you to unusual scenes of action. Well, Youth has a right to its +dreams, but beware of letting a dangerous Quixotism spoil your splendid +chances. + +Take, for example, your breaking into Mr. Cowl's house. You may say Mr. +Cowl was not a journalist, but only a reviewer; the distinction is very +thin, but let it pass. You know and I know that the houses of _none_ +in any way connected with the daily Press should ever be approached. It is +plain common sense. The journalist comes home at all hours of the night. +His servant (if he keeps one) is often up before he is abed. Do you think +to enter such houses unobserved? + +Again, in one capacity or another, the journalist is dealing with our +profession all day long. Some he serves and knows as masters; others he is +employed in denouncing at about forty-two shillings the 1600 words; others +again it is his business to interview and to pacify or cajole in the +lobbies of the House--do you think he would not know what you were if he +found you in the kitchen with a dark lantern? + +There is another peril--I mean that of alienating friends. Mr. Cowl is an +Imperialist--of a very unemphatic type: he wears (as you will say) gold +spectacles, and has a nervous cough, but he _is_ an Imperialist. I +never said that it was _wrong_ or even _foolish_ to alienate +such a man. I said that a great and powerful section of opinion thought it +a breach of honour in one of Ours to do it. Do not run away with the first +impression my words convey. Believe me, I weigh them all. + +There has been so much misunderstanding that I hardly know what to choose. +Take those watches. I did not say that watches were "a mere distraction." +You have put the words into my mouth. What I said was that watches, +especially watches at a Tariff Reform meeting, were not worth the risk. +Of course a hatful of watches, such as your Uncle Robert would bring home +from fires, or better still, such a load as your poor cousin Charles +obtained upon Empire Day last year, has value. But how many gold watches +are there, off the platform, at a Tariff Reform meeting? And what possible +chance have you of getting _on_ the platform? Now church and purses, +that is another thing, but your mid-Devon adventure was simple folly. + +Who is Lord Darrell? I never heard of him! For Heaven's sake don't get +caught by a title. Do you know any of the servants? His butler or his +secretary? The fellow who catalogues the library is useful. Do recollect +that lots of the ornaments in those Mayfair houses are fastened to the +wall. That is where your dear father failed over the large Chinese jar in +Park Street.... Your mother would never forgive me if you were to get into +another of your boyish scrapes. + +There is another little matter, my dear Ormond, which I wish you to lay +to heart very seriously. Now do take an old man's advice and do not get +up upon your Quixotic hobby-horse the moment you sniff what it is--for I +suppose you have guessed it already. Yes, it is what you feared: I want to +urge you to follow your mother's ardent wish and add commission business +to your other work. I know very well that young men must dream their +dreams, but the world is what it is, and after all there is nothing so +very dreadful in the commission side of our profession. You do not come +into direct relation with the collectors of curios and church ornaments: +there is always an agent to break the crudeness of the connexion. And +it is a certain and profitable source of income with none of the risks +attached to it that the older branches of the profession unfortunately +show. Moreover, it affords excellent opportunities for foreign travel, +and gives one a special position very difficult to define, but easily +appreciable among one's colleagues. + +George Burton made to my knowledge three thousand pounds last year in a +short season; he got this very large commission without the necessity of +breaking into a single public-house; he earned it entirely upon objects +taken out of churches upon the Continent, and in only three cases had he +to pick a pocket. It would have hurt him very much with his knowledge and +tastes to have had to break a stained-glass window. + +Do consider this, my dear Ormond, for your mother's sake. Don't think for +a moment that I am advising you to take up any of those forms of work +which we both agree in despising, and which are quite unworthy of your +traditions, as for instance stealing pictures on commission out of the +houses of dealers and then turning detective to recover them again. It is +much too easy work for a man of your talents, much too ill-paid, and much +too dangerous. It is all very well for the picture dealer to leave the +door open, but what if the policeman is not in the know? No, you will +always find me on your side in your steady refusal to have anything to do +with this kind of business. + +Ormond, my dear lad, bear me no ill-will. It is true of every profession, +of the Bar and of the City, of homicide, medicine, the Services, even +Politics--everything, that success only comes slowly, and that the +experience of older men is the key to it. + +Tomorrow is Ascension Day, and I am at leisure. Come and dine with me at +the Colonial Club at eight for eight-fifteen. I will show you a +magnificent littla tanagra I picked up yesterday, and we will talk about +the new prospectus. + +God bless you! (Dress.) + +Your affectionate Uncle + + + + +THE MONKEY QUESTION: AN APPEAL TO COMMON SENSE + + +A privileged body slips so easily into regarding its privileges as common +rights that I fear the plea which the SIMIAN LEAGUE repeats in this +pamphlet will still sound strange in the ears of many, though the work of +the League has been increasingly successful and has reached yearly a wider +circle of the educated public since its foundation by Lady Wayne in 1902. +We desire to place before our fellow-citizens the claims of Monkeys, and +we hope once more that nothing we say may seem extreme or violent, for we +know full well what poor weapons violence and passion are in the debate of +a practical political matter. + +Perhaps it is best to begin by pointing out how rarely even the best of us +pause in our fevered race for wealth to consider the disabilities of any +of our fellow-creatures: when that truth is grasped it will be easier to +plead the special cause of the Simian. + +Were English men and women to realize the wrongs of the Race, or at any +rate the illogical and therefore unjust position in which we have placed +them; were the just and thoughtful men, the refined and golden-hearted +ladies who are ready in this country to support every good cause when it +is properly presented; were _they_ to realize the disabilities of the +Monkey, I do not say as vividly they realize the tragedies and misfortunes +of London life, they could not, I think, avoid an ill-ease, a pricking of +conscience, which would lead at last to some hearty and English effort for +the relief of the cousin and forerunner of man. + +The attitude adopted towards Monkeys by the mass of those who, after all, +live in the same world, and have much the same appetites and necessities +and sufferings as they, is an attitude I am persuaded, not of +heartlessness, but of ignorance. To disturb that ignorance, and in some to +awake a consciousness which, perhaps, they fear, is not a grateful task, +but it is our duty, and we will pursue it. + +Let the reader consider for one moment the aspect not only of formal law +but of the whole community, and of what is called "public opinion" towards +this section of sentient beings. + +As things now are--aye! and have been for centuries in this green England +of ours--a Monkey may not marry; he may not own land; he may not fill any +salaried post under the Crown. The Papists themselves are debarred from +no honour (outside Ireland) save the Lord Chancellorship. Monkeys, who +are responsible for no persecutions in the past, whose religion presents +no insult or outrage to our common reason, and who differ little from +ourselves in their general practice of life and thought, _are debarred +from all_! + +A Monkey may not be a Member of Parliament, a Civil Servant, an officer +in either Service, no, not even in the Territorial Army. It is doubtful +whether he may hold a commission for the peace. True, there is no statute +upon the subject, and the rural magistracy is perhaps the freest and most +open of all our offices, and the least restricted by artificial barriers +of examination or test; nevertheless, it is the considered opinion of the +best legal authorities that no Monkey could sit upon the Bench, and in any +case the discussion is purely academic, for it is difficult to believe +that any Lord-Lieutenant, under the ridiculous anachronism of our present +Constitution, would nominate a Monkey to such a position--unless (which is +by law impossible) he should be heir to an owner of an estate in land. + +Nor is this all. The mention of unpaid posts recalls the damning truth +that all honorary positions in the Diplomatic Service, including even the +purely formal stage in the Foreign Office, are closed to the Monkey; the +very Court sinecures, which admittedly require no talents, are denied to +our Simian fellow-creatures, if not by law at least by custom and in +practice. + +There have been employed by the League in the British Museum the services +of two ladies who feel most keenly upon this subject. They are (to the +honour of their sex) as amply qualified as any person in this kingdom for +the task which they have undertaken, and they report to the Executive +Commission after two months of minute research that (with one doubtful +exception occurring during the reign of Her late Majesty) no Monkey has +held any position whatever at Court. + +All judicial positions are equally inaccessible to them; for though, +perhaps, in theory a Monkey could be promoted to the Bench if he had +served his party sufficiently long and faithfully in the House of Commons +(to which body he is admissible--at least I can find no rule or custom, +let alone a statute, against it), yet he is cut off from such an ambition +at the very outset by his inadmissibility to a legal career. The Inns of +Court are monopolist, and, like all monopolists, hopelessly conservative. +They have admitted first one class and then another--though reluctantly-- +to their privileges, but it will be twenty or thirty years at least +before they will give way in the matter of Monkeys. To be a physician, +a solicitor, an engineer, or a Commissioner for Oaths is denied them as +effectually as though they did not exist. Indeed, no occupation is left +them save that of manual labour, and on this I would say a word. It is +fashionable to jeer at the Monkey's disinclination to sustained physical +effort and to concentrated toil; but it is remarkable that those who +affect such a contempt for the Monkey's powers are the first to deny him +access to the liberal professions in which they know (though they dare not +confess it) he would be a serious rival to the European. As it is, in the +few places open to Monkeys--the somewhat parasitical domestic occupation +of "companions" and the more manly, but still humiliating, task of acting +as assistants to organ-grinders, the Monkey has won universal if grudging +praise. + +Latterly, since progress cannot be indefinitely delayed, the Monkey has +indeed advanced by one poor step towards the civic equality which is his +right, and has appeared as an actor upon the boards of our music-halls. It +should surely be a sufficient rebuke for those who continue to sneer at +the Simian League and such devoted pioneers as Miss Greeley and Lady Wayne +that the Monkey has been honourably admitted and has done first-rate work +in a profession which His late Gracious Majesty and His late Majesty's +late revered mother, Queen Victoria, have seen fit to honour by the +bestowal of knighthoods, and in one case (where the recipient was +childless) of a baronetcy. + +The disabilities I have enumerated are by no means exhaustive. A Monkey +may not sign or deliver a deed; he may not serve on a jury; he may be +ill-treated, forsooth, and even killed by some cruel master, and the +law will refuse to protect him or to punish his oppressor. He may be +subjected to all the by-laws of a tyrannical or fanatical administration, +but in preventing such abuses he has no voice. He may not enter our +older Universities, at least as the member of a college; that is, he can +only take a degree at Oxford or Cambridge under the implied and wholly +unmerited stigma applying to the non-collegiate student. And these +iniquities apply not only to the great anthropoids whose strength and +grossness we might legitimately fear, but to the most delicately organized +types--to the Barbary Ape, the Lemur, and the Ring-tailed Baboon. +Finally--and this is the worst feature in the whole matter--a Monkey, by +a legal fiction at least as old as the fourteenth century, is not a person +in the eye of the law. + +We call England a free country, yet at the present day and as you read +these lines, _any Monkey found at large may be summarily arrested_. +He has no remedy; no action for assault will lie. He is not even allowed +to call witnesses in his own defence, or to establish an alibi. + +It may be pleaded that these disabilities attach also to the Irish, but we +must remember that the Irish are allowed a certain though modified freedom +of the Press, and have extended to them the incalculable advantage of +sending representatives to Westminster. The Monkey has no such remedies. +He may be incarcerated, nay _chained_, yet he cannot sue out a writ +for habeas corpus any more than can a British subject in time of war, and +worst of all, through the connivance or impotence of the police, cases +have been brought forward _and approved_ in which Monkeys have been +openly bought and sold! + +We boast our sense of delicacy, and perhaps rightly, in view of our +superiority over other nations in this particular; yet we permit the +Monkey to exhibit revolting nakedness, and we hardly heed the omission! +It is true that some Monkeys are covered from time to time with little +blue coats. A cap is occasionally disdainfully permitted them, and not +infrequently they are permitted a pair of leather breeches, through a hole +in which the tail is permitted to protrude; but no reasonable man will +deny that these garments are regarded in the light of mere ornaments, and +rarely fulfil those functions which every decent Englishman requires of +clothing. + +And now we come to the most important section of our appeal. _What can +be done_? + +We are a kindly people and we are a just people, but we are also a very +conservative people. The fate of all pioneers besets those who attempt to +move in this matter. They are jeered at, or, what is worse, neglected. One +of the most prominent of the League's workers has been certified a lunatic +by an authority whose bitter prejudice is well known, and against whom we +have as yet had no grant of a _mandamus_, and we have all noticed the +quiet contempt, the sort of organized boycott or conspiracy of silence +with which a company at dinner will receive the subject when it is brought +forward. + +There are also to be met the violent prejudices with which the mass of +the population is still filled in this regard. These prejudices are, of +course, more common among the uneducated poor than in the upper classes, +who in various relations come more often in contact with Monkeys, and who +also have a wider and more tolerant, because a better cultivated, spirit. +But the prejudice is discernible in every class of society, even in the +very highest. We have also arrayed against us in our crusade for right and +justice the dying but still formidable power of clericalism. Society is +but half emancipated from its medieval trammels, and the priest, that +Eternal Enemy of Liberty, can still put in his evil word against the +rights of the Simian. + +Let us not despair! We can hope for nothing, it is true, until we have +effected a profound change in public opinion, and that change cannot +be effected by laws. It can only be brought about by a slow and almost +imperceptible effort, unsleeping, tireless, and convinced: something of +the same sort as has destroyed the power of militarism upon the Continent +of Europe; something of the same sort as has scotched landlordism at home; +something of the same sort as has freed the unhappy natives of the Congo +from the misrule of depraved foreigners; something of the same sort as has +produced the great wave in favour of temperance through the length and +breadth of this land. + +We must not attempt extremes or demand full justice to the exclusion of +excellent half-measures. No one condemns more strongly than do we the +militant pro-Simians who have twice assaulted and once blinded for life a +keeper in the Zoological Gardens. We do not even approve of those ardent +but in our opinion misguided spirits of the Simian Freedom Society who +publish side by side the photographs of Pongo the learned Ape from the +Gaboons and that of a certain Cabinet Minister, accompanied by the legend +"Which is Which?" It is not by actions of this kind that we shall win the +good fight; but rather by a perseverance in reason combined with courtesy +shall we attain our end, until at long last our Brother shall be free! As +for the excellent but somewhat provincial reactionaries who still object +to us that the Monkey differs fundamentally from the human race; that he +is not possessed of human speech, and so forth, we can afford to smile at +their waning authority. Modern science has sufficiently dealt with them; +and if any one bring out against the Monkey the obscurantist insult that +His Hide is Covered with Hair, we can at once point to innumerable human +beings, fully recognized and endowed with civic rights, who, were they +carefully examined, would prove in no better case. As to speech, the +Monkey communicates in his own way as well or better than do we, and for +that matter, if speech is to be the criterion, are we to deny civic rights +to the Dumb? + +We have it upon the authority of all our greatest scientific men, that +there is no substantial difference between the Ape and Man. One of the +greatest has said that between himself and his poorer fellow-citizens +there was a wider difference than that which separated them from the +Monkey. Hackel has testified that while there is a _boundary_, there +is no _gulf_ between the corps of professors to which he belongs and +the Chimpanzee. The Gorilla is universally accepted, and if we have won +the battle for the Gorilla, the rest will follow. + +Tolstoy is with us, Webb is with us, Gorky is with us, Zola and Ferrer +were with us and fight for us from their graves. The whole current of +modern thought is with us. WE CANNOT FAIL! + +_Questions submitted at the last Election by the Simian League_ + +1. Are you in favour of removing the present disabilities of Monkeys? + +2. Are you in favour of a short Statute which should put adult Monkeys +upon the same footing as other subjects of His Majesty as from the 1st of +January, 1912? And _would you, if necessary, vote against your party in +favour of such a measure?_ + +3. Are you in favour of the inclusion of Monkeys under the Wild Birds Act? + +(A plain reply "Yes" or "No" was to be written by the candidate under each +of these questions and forwarded to the Secretary, Mr. Consul, 73 Purbeck +Street, W.. before the 14th January, 1910. No replies received after +that date were admitted. The Simian League, which has agents in every +constituency, acted according to the replies received, and treated +the lack of reply as a negative. Of 1375 circulars sent, 309 remained +unanswered, 264 were answered in the negative, 201 gave a qualified +affirmative, _all the rest (no less than 799) a clear and, in some +cases, an enthusiastic adherence to our principles_. It is a sufficient +proof of the power of the League and the growth of the cause of justice +that in these 799 no less than 515 are members of the present House of +Commons.) + + + + +THE EMPIRE BUILDER + + +We possess in this country a breed of men in whom we feel a pride so +loyal, so strong, and so frank that were I to give further expression to +it here I should justly be accused of insisting upon a hackneyed theme. +These are the Empire Builders, the Men Efficient, the agents whom we +cannot but feel--however reluctantly we admit it--to be less strictly +bound by the common laws of life than are we lesser ones. + +But there is something about these men not hackneyed as a theme, which is +their youth. By what process is the great mind developed? Of what sort is +the Empire Builder when he is young? + +The fellow commonly rises from below: What was his experience there below? +In what school was he trained? What accident of fortune, how met, or how +surmounted, or how used, produced at last the Man who Can? In _that_ +inquiry there is food for very deep reflection. It is here that our +Masters, whose general motives are so open and so plain, touch upon +mystery. That secret power of determining nourishment which is at the base +of all organic life has in its own silent way built up the boyhood and the +adolescence which we only know in their maturity. + +I will not pretend to a full knowledge of that strange education of the +mind which has produced so many similar men for the advancement of the +race, but I can point to one example which lately came straight across my +vision--an accident, an illumination, a revealing flash of how our time +breeds the Great Type. I was acquainted for some hours with the actions of +a youth of whose very name I am ignorant, but whose face I am very certain +will reappear twenty years hence in a setting of glory, recognized as yet +one other of those superb spirits who will do all for England. + +The occasion was a pageant--no matter what pageant--a great public pageant +which passed through the Strand, and was to be witnessed by hundreds of +thousands. Let us call it "The Function." + +Well, I was walking down the Strand three days before this Function was +to take place, when I saw in an empty shop window about twenty-five +wooden chairs, arranged in tiers one above the other upon a sloping +platform, and lettered from A to Y. In the window was a large notice, +very clearly printed, and it was to this effect: + +WHY PAY FANCY PRICES WHICH MUST INEVITABLY FALL BEFORE THE FUNCTION? +SEATS IN THIS WINDOW, COMMANDING A FULL VIEW OF THE PROCESSION, 5S. + +At a little desk in the gangway by which the chairs were approached sat +a dark, pale child--I can call him by no other name, so frail and young +did he seem--and the delicacy of his complexion led me to wonder perhaps +whether he was not one of those whom the climate of England strikes with +consumption, and who, in the mysterious providence of our race, wander +abroad in search of health and find a Realm. His alertness, however, and +the brilliance of his eye; his winning, almost obsequious address, and the +hooked clutch of his gestures betrayed an energy that no physical weakness +could conquer. He invited me to enter, and begged me to purchase a seat. + +I had no need of one, for I had made arrangements to spend the Great +Day itself and the next at a small hotel in the extreme north of +Sutherlandshire, but I was arrested by the evident mental power of my new +acquaintance, and I wasted five shillings in buying the chair marked D. + +It was with some difficulty that I could purchase it, so eager was he that +I should have the best place; "seeing," said he, "that they are all one +price, and that you may as well benefit by being an early bird." I noted +the strict rectitude which, for all that men ignorant of modern commerce +may say, is at the basis of commercial success. + +Something so attracted me +in the whole business that I was weak enough to take a chair in a tea-shop +opposite and watch all day the actions of the Child of Fate. + +In less than an hour twenty different people, mainly gentlefolk, had come +in and bought places at the sensible price at which he offered them. To +each of them he gave a ticket corresponding to the number of the chair. He +was courteous to all, and even expansive. He explained the advantage of +each particular seat. + +So far so good; but, what was more astonishing, in the second hour another +twenty came and appeared to purchase; in the third (which was the busiest +time of the day) some forty, first and last, must have done business with +the Favourite of Fortune. I pondered upon these things very deeply, and +went home. + +Next morning the attraction which the place had for me drew me as with +a magnet, and I went, somewhat stealthily I fear, to the same tea-shop +and noticed with the greatest astonishment that the chairs were now not +lettered, but numbered, and that the boy was sitting at his little desk +with a series of white cards bearing the figures from one to twenty-five. +It was very early--not ten o'clock--but the Child was as spruce and neat +as he had been in the afternoon of the day before. He bore already that +mark of energy combined with neatness which is the stamp of success. + +I crossed the road and entered. He recognized me at once (their memory for +faces is wonderful), and said cheerfully: + +"Your D corresponds to the number 4." + +I thanked him very much, and asked him why he had changed his system of +notation. He told me it was because several people had explained to him +that they remembered figures more easily than letters. We then talked to +each other, agreeing upon the maxims of simplicity and directness which +are at the root of all mercantile stability. He told me he required +cash from all who bought his chairs; that there was no agreement, no +insurance--no "frills," as he wittily called them. + +"It is as simple," he said, "as buying a pound of tea. I am satisfied, and +they are satisfied. As for the risk, it is covered by the low price, and +if you ask me how I can let them at so low a price, I will tell you. It is +because I have found exactly what was needed and have added nothing more. +Moreover, I did not buy the chairs, but hired them." + +I went back to my tea-shop with head bent, murmuring to myself those +memorable lines: + + We founded many a mighty State, + Pray God that we may never fail + From craven fears of being great + +(or words to that effect). + +That day no less than 153 people did business with the Youth. + +Next day I found among my morning letters a note from a politician of my +acquaintance, telling me that the Function was postponed--indefinitely. +I wasted not a moment. I went at once to my post of observation, my +tea-shop, and I proceeded to watch the Leader. + +There was as yet no knowledge of the calamity in London. + +My friend seemed to have noticed me; at any rate a new and somewhat +anxious look was apparent on his face. With a firm and decided step I +crossed the road to greet him, and when he saw me he was all at his ease. +He told me that my seat had been especially asked for, and that a higher +price had been offered; but a bargain, he said, was a bargain, and so we +fell to chatting. When I mentioned, among other subjects, the very great +success of his enterprise, he gave a slight start, which did honour to his +heart; but he was of too stern a mould to give way. He was of the temper +of the Pioneers. + +I assured him at once that it was very far from my intention to reproach +him for the talents which he had used with so much ability and energy. I +pointed out to him that even if I desired to injure him, which I did not, +it would be impossible for me, or for any one, to trace more than half a +dozen, at the most, of his numerous clients. + +It is frequently the case that men of small business capacity will +perceive some important element in a commercial problem which escapes the +eyes of Genius; and I could see that this simple observation of mine had +relieved him almost to tears. + +Before he could thank me, a newsboy appeared with a very large placard, +upon which was written + +"POSTPONED." + +In a moment his mind grasped the whole meaning of that word; but he went +out with a steady step, and paid the sixpence which the newsboy demanded. +Even in that uncomplaining action, the uncomplaining forfeiture of the +comparatively large sum which necessity demanded, one could detect the +financial grip which is the true arbiter of the fates of nations. He +needed the paper: he did not haggle about the price. He first mastered the +exact words of the announcement, and then, looking up at me with a face of +paper, he said: + +"It is not only postponed, but all this preparation is thrown away." + +I have said that I have no commercial aptitude; I admit that I was +puzzled. + +"Surely," said I, "this is exactly what you needed?" + +He shook his head, still restraining, by a powerful effort, the natural +expression of his grief, and showed me, for all his answer, a rail way +ticket to Boulogne which he had purchased, and which was available for the +night boat on the eve of the Function. I then understood what he meant +when he said that all his preparations had been thrown away. + +I do not know whether I did right or wrong--I felt myself to be nothing +more than a blind instrument in the hands of the superior power which +governs the destinies of a people. + +"How much did the ticket cost?" said I. + +"Thirty shillings," said he. + +I pulled out a sovereign and a half-sovereign from my pocket, and said: + +"Here is the money. I have leisure, and I would as soon go to Boulogne as +to Sutherlandshire." + +He did not thank me effusively, as might one of the more excitable and +less efficient races; but he grasped my hand and blessed me silently. I +then left him. + + * * * * * + +In the steamer to Boulogne, as I was musing over this strange adventure, a +sturdy Anglo-Saxon man, a true son of Drake or Raleigh, came up and asked +me for my ticket. As I gave it him my eye fell idly upon the price of the +ticket. It was twenty-five shillings--but I had saved a directing and +creative mind. + +If he should come across these lines he will remember me. He is probably +in the House of Commons by now. Perhaps he has bought his peerage. +Wherever he is I hope he will remember me. + + + + +CAEDWALLA + + +Caedwalla, a prince out of Wales (though some deny it), wandered in the +Andredsweald. He was nineteen years of age and his heart was full of anger +for wrong that had been done him by men of his own blood. For he was +rightfully heir to the throne of the kingdom of Sussex, but he was kept +from it by the injustice of men. + +A retinue went with him of that sort which will always follow adventure +and exile. These, the rich of the seacoast and of the Gwent called broken +men; but they loved their Lord. So he went hunting, feeding upon what he +slew, and proceeding from steading to steading in the sparse woods of +Andred where is sometimes an open heath, and sometimes a mile of oak, and +often a clay swamp, and, seen from little lifted knolls of sand where the +broom grows and the gorse, the Downs to the south like a wall. + +As he so wandered upon one day, he came upon another man of a very +different fashion, for Caedwalla would have nothing to do with the Cross +of Christ, nor with the customs of the towns, nor with the talk of foreign +men. But this man was a bishop wandering, and his name was Wilfrid. He +also had his little retinue, and, by an accident of his office or of his +exile, he had proceeded to a steading in the heaths and woods of the +Weald where also was Caedwalla: so they met. The pride and the bearing of +Wilfrid, seeing that he was of a Roman town and an officer of the State, +and a bishop to boot, nay, a bishop above bishops, was not the pride +Caedwalla loved, and the young man bore himself with another sort of +pride, which was that of the mountains and of pagan men. Nevertheless +Wilfrid put before him, with Roman rhetoric and with uplifted hands, the +story of our Lord, and Caedwalla, keeping his face set during all that +recital, could not forbid this story to sink into the depths of his heart, +where for many years it remained, and did no more than remain. + +The kingdom of Sussex, cultivated by men of various kinds, received +Wilfrid the Bishop wherever he went. He did many things that do not here +concern me, and his chief work was to make the rich towns of the sea plain +and of Chichester and of Lewes and of Arundel, and of the steadings of +the Weald, and of the wealden markets also, Christian men; for he showed +them that it was a mean thing to go about in a hairy way like pagans, +unacquainted with letters, and of imperfect ability in the making of +raiment or the getting of victuals. Indeed, as I have written in another +place, it was St. Wilfrid who taught the King of Sussex and his men how to +catch fish in nets. They revered him everywhere, and when they had given +up their shameful barbarism and decently accepted the rules of life and +the religion of it, they pressed upon St. Wilfrid that he should found a +bishopric, and that it should have a cathedral and a see (all of which +things he had explained to them), and he did this on Selsey Bill: but +to-day the sea has swallowed all. + +Time passed, and the young man Caedwalla, still a very young man in the +twenties, came to his own, and he sat on the throne that was rightfully +his in Chichester and he ruled all Sussex to its utmost boundaries. And +he was king of much more, as history shows, but all the while he proudly +refused in his young man's heart the raiment and the manner of the thing +which he had hated in his exile, nor would he accept the Latin prayers, +nor bow to the name of the Christian God. + +Caedwalla, still so young but now a king, thought it shameful that he +should rule no more than the empire God had given him, and he was filled +with a longing to cross the sea and to conquer new land. Wherefore, +whether well or ill advised, he set out to cross the sea and to conquer +the Isle of Wight, of which story said that Wight the hero had established +his kingdom there in the old time before writing was, and when there were +only songs. So Caedwalla and his fighting men, they landed in that island +and they fought against the many inhabitants of it, and they subdued it, +but in these battles Caedwalla was wounded. + +It happened that the King of that island, whose name was Atwald, had two +heirs, youths, whom it was pitifully hoped this conqueror would spare, for +they fled up the Water to Stoneham; but a monk who served God by the ford +of reeds which is near Hampton at the head of the Water, hearing that King +Caedwalla (who was recovering of wounds he had had in the war with the men +of Wight) had heard of the youths' hiding-place and had determined to kill +them, sought the King and begged that at least they might be instructed +in the Faith before they died, saying to him: "King, though you are not +of the Faith, that is no reason that you should deprive others of such +a gift. Let me therefore see that these young men are instructed and +baptized, after which you may exercise your cruel will." And Caedwalla +assented. These lads, therefore, were taken to a holy place up on Itchen, +where they were instructed in the truths and the mysteries of religion. +And while this so went forward Caedwalla would ask from time to time +whether they were yet Christians. + +At last they had received all the knowledge the holy men could give them +and they were baptized. When they were so received into the fold Caedwalla +would wait no longer but had them slain. And it is said that they went to +death joyfully, thinking it to be no more than the gate of immortality. + +After such deeds Caedwalla still reigned over the kingdom of Sussex and +his other kingdoms, nor did he by speech or manner give the rich or poor +about him to understand whether anything was passing in his heart. But +while they sang Mass in the cathedral of Selsey and while still the +new-comers came (now more rarely, for nearly all were enrolled): while +the new-comers came, I say, in their last numbers from the remotest parts +of the forest ridge, and from the loneliest combes of the Downs to hear +of Christ and his cross and his resurrection and the salvation of men, +Caedwalla sat in Chichester and consulted his own heart only and was a +pagan King. No one else you may say in all the land so kept himself apart. + +His youth had been thus spent and he thus ruled, when as his thirtieth +year approached he gave forth a decision to his nobles and to his earls +and to the Welsh-speaking men and to the seafaring men and to the priests +and to all his people. He said: "I will take ship and I will go over the +sea to Rome, where I may worship at the tombs of the blessed Apostles, and +there I will be baptized. But since I am a king no one but the Pope shall +baptize me. I will do penance for my sins. I will lift my eyes to things +worthy of a man. I will put behind me what was dear to me, and I will +accept that which is to come." And as they could not alter Caedwalla +in any of his previous decisions, so they could not alter him in this. +But his people gave gladly for the furnishing of his journey, and all +the sheep of the Downs and their fleece, and all the wheat in the clay +steadings of the Weald, and the little vineyards in the priests' gardens +that looked towards the sea, and the fishermen, and every sort in Sussex +that sail or plough or clip or tend sheep or reap or forge iron at the +hammer ponds, gave of what they had to King Caedwalla, so that he went +forth with a good retinue and many provisions upon his journey to the +tombs of the Apostles. + +When King Caedwalla came to Rome the Pope received him and said: "I hear +that you would be instructed in the Faith." To which King Caedwalla +answered that such was his desire, and that he would crave baptism at the +hands of the said Pope. And meanwhile Caedwalla took up good lodgings in +Rome, gave money to the poor, and showed himself abroad as one who had +come from the ends of the earth, that is, from the kingdom of Sussex, +which in those days was not yet famous. Caedwalla, now being thirty years +old and having learnt what one should learn in order to receive baptism, +was baptized, and they put a white robe on him which he was to wear for +certain days. + +King Caedwalla, when he was thus made one with the unity of Christian men, +was very glad. But he also said that before he had lost that white robe so +given him, death would come and take him (though he was a young man and a +warrior), and that not in battle. He was certain it was so. + +And so indeed it came about. For within the limit of days during which +ritual demanded that the King should wear his white garment, nay, within +that same week, he died. + +So those boys who had found death at his hands had died after baptism, +up on Itchen in the Gwent, when Caedwalla the King had journeyed out of +Sussex to conquer and to hold the Wight with his spear and his sword and +his shield, and his captains and his armoured men. + +Now that you have done reading this story you may think that I have made +it up or that it is a legend or that it comes out of some storyteller's +book. Learn, therefore, that it is plain history, like the battle of +Waterloo or the Licensing Bill (differing from the chronicle only in this, +that I have put living words into the mouths of men), and be assured that +the history of England is a very wonderful thing. + + + + +A UNIT OF ENGLAND + + +England has been lucky in its type of subdivision. All over Western +Europe the type of subdivision following in the fall of the Empire has +been of capital importance in the development of the great nations, +but while these have elsewhere been exaggerated to petty kingdoms or +diminished to mere townships in Britain, for centuries the counties have +formed true and lasting local units, and they have survived with more +vigour than the corresponding divisions of the other provinces of Roman +Europe. + +That accident of the county moulded and sustained local feeling during +the generations when local government and local initiative were dying +elsewhere; it has preserved a sort of aristocratic independence, the +survival of custom, and the differentiation of the State. + +It is not necessarily (as many historians unacquainted with Europe as a +whole have taken for granted) a supreme advantage for any people to escape +from institution of a strong central executive. Such a power is the normal +fruit of all high civilizations. It protects the weak against the strong. +It is necessary for rapid action in war, it makes for clarity and method +during peace, it secures a minimum for all, and it forbids the illusions +and vices of the rich to taint the whole commonwealth. + +But though such an escape from strong central government and the +substitution for it of a ruling class is not a supreme advantage, it +has advantages of its own which every foreign historian of England has +recognized, and it is the divisions into counties which, after the change +of religion in the sixteenth century, was mainly responsible for the +slow substitution of local and oligarchic for general, central, and +bureaucratic government in England. + +Not all the counties by any means are true to type. All the Welsh +divisions, for instance, are more or less artificial and late, with the +exception of Anglesey. And as for the non-Roman parts, Ireland and the +Highlands of Scotland, it goes without saying that the county never was, +and is not to this day, a true unit. The central and much of the west of +England is the same. That is, the shires are cut as their name implies, +somewhat arbitrarily, from the general mass of territory. + +When one says "arbitrarily" one does not mean that no local sentiment +bound them, or that they had not some natural basis, for they had. They +were the territory of central towns: Shrewsbury, Warwick, Derby, Chester, +Oxford, Buckingham, Bedford, Nottingham. But their life was not and has +not since been strongly individual. They have not continuous boundaries +nor an early national root. But all round these, in a sort of ring, run +the counties which have had true local life from the beginning. Cornwall +is utterly different from Devon, and with a clear historic reason for the +difference. Devon, again, is a perfectly separate unit, resulting from a +definite political act of the early ninth century. Of Dorset and Hampshire +one can say less, but with Sussex you get a unit which has been one +kingdom and one diocese, set in true natural limits and lying within +these same boundaries for much more than a thousand years. Kent, probably +an original Roman division, has been one unit for longer still. Norfolk, +Suffolk, and Essex are equally old, though not upon their land boundaries +equally denned; but perhaps the most sharply defined of all--after Sussex, +at least--was Southern and Central Lancashire. + +Its topography was like one of those ideal examples which military +instructors take for their models when they wish to simplify a lesson +upon terrain. Upon one side ran the long, high, and difficult range which +is the backbone of England; upon the other the sea, and the sea and the +mountains leant one towards the other, making two sides of a triangle +that met above Morecambe Bay. + +How formidable the natural barriers of this triangle were it is not easy +for the student of our time to recognize. It needs a general survey of the +past, and a knowledge of many unfamiliar conditions in the present, to +appreciate it. + +The difficulty of those Eastern moors and hills, for instance, the +resistance they offer to human passage, meets you continually throughout +English history. The engineers of the modern railways could give one a +whole romance of it; the story of every army that has had to cross them, +and of which we have record, bears the same witness. The illusion which +the modern traveller may be under that the barrier is negligible is very +soon dispelled when for his recreation he crosses it by any other methods +than the railway; and perhaps in such an experience of travel nothing more +impresses one in the character of that barrier than the _loneliness_. + +There is no other corresponding contrast of men and emptiness that I know +of in Europe. + +The great towns lie, enormous, pullulating, millioned in the plains on +either side; they push their limbs up far into the valleys. Between them, +utterly deserted, you have these miles and miles of bare upland, like the +roof of a house between two crowded streets. + +Merely to cross the Pennines, driving or on foot, is sufficient to teach +one this. To go the length of the hills along the watershed from the +Peak to Crossfell (few people have done it!) is to get an impression of +desertion and separation which you will match nowhere else in travel, +nowhere else, at least, within touch and almost hearing of great towns. + +The sea also was here more of a barrier than a bond. Ireland--not Roman, +and later an enemy--lay over against that shore. Its ports (save one) +silted. Its slope from the shore was shallow: the approach and the +beaching of a fleet not easy. Its river mouths were few and dangerous. + +This triangle of Lancashire, so cut off from the west and from the east, +had for its base a barrier that completed its isolation. That barrier +was the marshy valley of the Mersey. It could be outflanked only at +its extreme eastern point, where the valley rises to the hundred-foot +contour line. From that point the valley rises so rapidly within half a +dozen miles into the eastern hills that it was dry even under primitive +conditions, and the opportunity here afforded for a passage is marked +by the topographical point of Stockport. + +By that gate the main avenues of approach still enter the county. Through +this gap passed the London Road, and passes to-day the London and +North-Western Railway. It was this gate which gave its early strategic +importance to Manchester, lying just north of it and holding the whole of +this corner. + +Historians have noted that to hold Manchester was ultimately to hold +Lancashire itself. It was not the industrial importance of the town, for +that was hardly existent until quite modern times: it was its strategic +position which gave it such a character. The Roman fort at the junction +of the two rivers near Knott Mill represented the first good defensible +position commanding this gate upon the south-east. + +To enter the county anywhere west of the hundred-foot contour and the +Mersey Valley was, for an army deprived of modern methods, impossible: +a little organized destruction would make it impossible again. + +Two artificial causeways negotiated the valley. Each bears to this day (at +Stretford and at Stretton) the proof of its old character, for both words +indicate the passage of a "street," that is, of a hard-made way, over the +soft and drowned land. Stretford was but the approach to Manchester from +Chester--and Manchester thus commanded (by the way) the two south-eastern +approaches to the county, the one natural, the other artificial. The +approach by Stretton gave Warrington its strategic importance in the early +history of the county; Warrington, the central point upon the Mersey, +standing at a clear day's march from Liverpool, the port on the one +hand, and a clear day's march from Manchester on the other. It was from +Warrington that Lord Strange marched upon Manchester at the very beginning +of the Civil War, and if by some accident this stretch of territory should +again be a scene of warfare, Warrington, in spite of the close network of +modern communications, would be the strategic centre of the county +boundary. + +So one might take the units out of which modern England has been built +up one by one, showing that their boundaries were fixed by nature, and +that their local separation was not the product of the pirate raids, but +is something infinitely older, older than the Empire, and very probably +(did we know what the Roman divisions of Britain were) accepted under +the Empire. So one might prove or at least suggest that the strategical +character of the English county and of its chief stronghold and barriers +lay in an origin far beyond the limits of recorded history. To produce +such a study would be to add to the truth and reality of our history, for +England was not made nor even moulded by the Danish and the Saxon raids. +The framework is far, far older and so strong that it still survives. + + + + +THE RELIC + + +It was upon an evening in Spain, but with nothing which that word evokes +for us in the North--for it was merely a lessening of the light without +dews, without mists, and without skies--that I came up a stony valley +and saw against the random line of the plateau at its head the dome of a +church. The road I travelled was but faintly marked, and was often lost +and mingled with the rough boulders and the sand, and in the shallow +depression of the valley there were but a few stagnant pools. + +The shape of the dome was Italian, and it should have stood in an Italian +landscape, drier indeed than that to which Northerners are accustomed, +but still surrounded by trees, and with a distance that could render +things lightly blue. Instead of that this large building stood in the +complete waste which I have already described at such length, which is so +appalling and so new to an European from any other province of Europe. As +I approached the building I saw that there gathered round it a village, or +rather a group of dependent houses; for the church was so much larger than +anything in the place, and the material of which the church itself and the +habitations were built was so similar, the flat old tiled roofs all mixed +under the advance of darkness into so united a body, that one would have +said, as was perhaps historically the truth, that the church was not built +for the needs of the place, but that the borough had grown round the +shrine, and had served for little save to house its servants. + +When the long ascent was ended and the crest reached, where the head of +the valley merged into the upper plain, I passed into the narrow first +lanes. It was now quite dark. The darkness had come suddenly, and, to +make all things consonant, there was no moon and there were not any +stars; clouds had risen of an even and menacing sort, and one could see no +heaven. Here and there lights began to show in the houses, but most people +were in the street, talking loudly from their doorsteps to each other. +They watched me as I came along because I was a foreigner, and I went down +till I reached the central market-place, wondering how I should tell the +best place for sleep. But long before my choice could be made my thoughts +were turned in another direction by finding myself at a turn of the +irregular paving, right in front of a vast facade, and behind it, somewhat +belittled by the great length of the church itself, the dome just showed. +I had come to the very steps of the church which had accompanied my +thoughts and had been a goal before me during all the last hours of the +day. + +In the presence of so wonderful a thing I forgot the object of my journey +and the immediate care of the moment, and I went through the great doors +that opened on the Place. These were carved, and by the little that +lingered of the light and the glimmer of the electric light on the +neighbouring wall (for there is electric light everywhere in Spain, but it +is often of a red heat) I could perceive that these doors were wonderfully +carved. Already at Saragossa, and several times during my walking south +from thence, I had noted that what the Spaniards did had a strange +affinity to the work of Flanders. The two districts differ altogether save +in the human character of those who inhabit them: the one is pastoral, +full of deep meadows and perpetual woods, of minerals and of coal for +modern energy, of harbours and good tidal rivers for the industry of the +Middle Ages; the other is a desert land, far up in the sky, with an air +like a knife, and a complete absence of the creative sense in nature about +one. Yet in both the creation of man runs riot; in both there is a sort +of endlessness of imagination; in both every detail that man achieves +in art is carefully completed and different from its neighbour; and in +both there is an exuberance of the human soul: but with this difference, +that something in the Spanish temper has killed the grotesque. Both +districts have been mingled in history, yet it is not the Spaniard who has +invigorated the Delta of the Rhine and the high country to the south of +it, nor the Walloons and the Flemings who have taught the Spaniards; but +each of these highly separated peoples resembles the other when it comes +to the outward expression of the soul: why, I cannot tell. + +Within, there is not a complete darkness, but a series of lights showing +against the silence of the blackness of the nave; and in the middle of +the nave, like a great funeral thing, was the choir which these Spanish +churches have preserved, an intact tradition, from the origins of the +Christian Faith. Go to the earliest of the basilicas in Rome, and you +will see that sacred enclosure standing in the middle of the edifice and +taking up a certain proportion of the whole. We in the North, where the +Faith lived uninterruptedly and, after the ninth century, with no great +struggle, dwindled this feature and extended the open and popular space, +keeping only the rood-screen as a hint of what had once been the Secret +Mysteries and the Initiations of our origins. But here in Spain the +earliest forms of Christian externals crystallized, as it were; they +were thrust, like an insult or a challenge, against the Asiatic as the +reconquest of the desolated province proceeded; and therefore in every +Spanish church you have, side by side with the Christian riot of art, this +original hierarchic and secret thing, almost shocking to a Northerner, the +choir, the Coro, with high solemn walls shutting out the people from the +priests and from the Mysteries as they had been shut out when the whole +system was organized for defence against an inimical society around. + +The silence of the place was not complete nor, as I have said, was the +darkness. At the far end of the choir, behind the high altar, was the +light of many candles, and there were people murmuring or whispering, +though not at prayers. There was a young priest passing me at that moment, +and I said to him in Latin of the common sort that I could speak no +Spanish. I asked him if he could speak to me slowly in Latin, as I was +speaking to him. He answered me with this word, "_Paucissime_," which +I easily understood. I then asked him very carefully, and speaking slowly, +whether Benediction were about to be held--an evening rite; but as I did +not know the Latin for Benediction, I called it alternately "Benedictio," +which is English, and "Salus," which is French. He said twice, "Si, si," +which, whether it were Italian or French or local, I understood by the +nodding of his head; but at any rate he had not caught my meaning, for +when I came behind the high altar where the candles were, and knelt there, +I clearly saw that no preparations for Benediction were toward. There was +not even an altar. All there was was a pair of cupboard doors, as it were, +of very thickly carved wood, very heavily gilded and very old; indeed, the +pattern of the carving was barbaric, and I think it must have dated from +that turn of the Dark into the Middle Ages when so much of our Christian +work resembled the work of savages: spirals and hideous heads, and +serpents and other things. + +By this I was already enormously impressed, and by a little group of +people around of whom perhaps half were children, when the young priest to +whom I had spoken approached and, calling a well-dressed man of the middle +class who stood by and who had, I suppose, some local prominence, went up +the steps with him towards these wooden doors; he fitted a key into the +lock and opened them wide. The candles shone at once through thick clear +glass upon a frame of jewels which flashed wonderfully, and in their +midst was the head of a dead man, cut off from the body, leaning somewhat +sideways, and changed in a terrible manner from the expression of living +men. It was so changed, not only by incalculable age, but also, as I +presume, by the violence of his death. + +To those inexperienced in the practice of such worship there might be more +excuse for the novel impression which this sight suddenly produced upon +me. Our race from its very beginning, nay, all the races of men, have +preserved the fleshly memorials of those to whom sanctity attached, and I +have seen such relics in many parts of Europe almost as commonplaces; but +for some reason my emotions upon that evening were of a different kind. +The length of the way (for I was miles and miles southwards over this +desert waste), the ignorance of the language which surrounded me, the +inhuman outline hour after hour under the glare of the sun, or in the +inhospitable darkness of this hard Iberian land, the sternness of the +faces, the violent richness and the magnitude of the architecture about +me, and my knowledge of the trials through which the province had passed, +put me in this Presence into a mood very different, I think, from that +which pilgrimage is calculated to arouse; there was in it much more of +awe, and even of terror; there seemed to re-arise in the presence of +that distorted face the memories of active pain and of the unconquerable +struggle by which this ruined land was recovered. I wondered as I looked +at that face whether he had fallen in protest against the Mohammedans, or, +as have so many, in a Spanish endurance of torture, martyred by Pagans in +the Pacific Seas. But no history of him was given to me, nor do I now know +as I write what occasion it was that made this head so great. + +They said but a few prayers, all familiar to me, in the Latin tongue; then +the "Our Father" and some few others which have always been recited in the +vernacular. They next intoned the Salve Regina. But what an intonation! + +Had I not heard that chant often enough in my life to catch its meaning? +I had never heard it set to such a tune! It was harsh, it was full of +battle, and the supplication in it throbbed with present and physical +agony. Had I cared less for the human beings about me, so much suffering, +so much national tradition of suffering would have revolted, as it did +indeed appal, me. The chant came to an end, and the three gracious +epithets in which it closes were full of wailing, and the children's +voices were very high. + +Then the priest shut the doors and locked them, and a boy came and blew +the candles out one by one, and I went out into the market-place, fuller +than ever of Spain. + + + + +THE IRONMONGER + + +When I was in the French army we came one day with the guns in July along +a straight and dusty road and clattered into the village called Bar-le-Duc. +Of the details of such marches I have often written. I wish now to speak of +another thing, which, in long accounts of mere rumbling of guns, one might +never have time to tell, but which is really the most important of all +experiences under arms in France--I mean the older civilians, the fathers. + +Who made the French army? Who determined to recover from the defeats and +to play once more that determined game which makes up half French history, +the "Thesaurization," the gradual reaccumulation of power? The general +answer to such questions is to say: "The nation being beaten had to set +to and recover its old position." That answer is insufficient. It deals +in abstractions and it tells you nothing. Plenty of political societies +throughout history have sat down under disaster and consented to sink +slowly. Many have done worse--they have maintained after sharp warnings +the pride of their blind years; they have maintained that pride on into +the great disasters, and when these came they have sullenly died. France +neither consented to sink nor died by being overweening. Some men must +have been at work to force their sons into the conscription, to consent +to heavy taxation, to be vigilant, accumulative, tenacious, and, as it +were, constantly eager. There must have been classes in which, unknown to +themselves, the stirp of the nation survived; individuals who, aiming at +twenty different things, managed, as a resultant, to carry up the army +to the pitch in which I had known it and to lay a slow foundation for +recovered vigour. Who were these men? + +I had read of them in Birmingham when I was at school; I had read of them +in books when I read of the Hundred Years' War and of the Revolution. +I was to read of them again in books at Oxford. But on that Saturday +at Bar-le-Duc I _saw_ one of them, and by as much as the physical +impression is worth more than the secondary effect of history, my sight +of them is worth writing down. + +A man in my battery, one Matthieu, told me he had leave to go out for the +evening, and told me also to go and get leave. He said his uncle had asked +him to dine and bring a friend. It seemed his uncle lived in a villa on +the heights above the town; he was an ironmonger who had retired. I went +to my Sergeant and asked him for leave. + +My Sergeant was a noble who was working his way up through the ranks, and +when I found him he was checking off forage at a barn where some of our +men were working. He looked me hard in the eyes, and said in a drawling +lackadaisical voice: + +"You are the Englishman?" + +"Yes, Sergeant," said I a little anxiously (for I was very keen to get a +good dinner in town after all that marching). + +"Well," said he, "as you are the Englishman you can go." Such is the logic +of the service. + +The army is no place to argue, and I went. I suppose what he meant was, +"As we are both more or less in exile, take my blessing and be off," but +he may merely have meant to be inconsequent, for inconsequence is the wit +of schoolboys and soldiers. I went up the hill with my friend. + +The long twilight was still broad over the hill and the old houses of +Bar-le-Duc, as we climbed. It was night by the clock, but one could have +seen to read. We were tired, and talked of nothing in particular, but such +things as we said were full of the old refrain of conscripts: "Dog of a +trade," "When shall we be out of it?" Even as we spoke there was pride in +our breasts at the noise of trumpets in the mist below along the river and +the Eighth making its presence known, and our uniforms and our swords. + +We stopped at last before a little square house with "The Lilacs" painted +on its gate; there was a parched little lawn, a little fountain, a tripod +supporting a globular mirror, and we went in. + +Matthieu's uncle met us; he was in a cotton suit walking about among his +flowers and enjoying the evening. He was a man of about fifty, short, +strong, brown, and abrupt. Though it was already evening and one could see +little, we knew well enough that his eyes were steady and dark. For he +had the attitude and carriage of those men who invigorate France. His +self-confidence was evident in his sturdy legs and his arms akimbo, his +vulgarity in his gesture, his narrowness in his forward and peering look, +his indomitable energy in every movement of his body. It did not surprise +me to learn in his later conversation that he was a Republican. He spoke +at once to us both, saying in a kind of grumbling shout: + +"Well, gunners!" + +Then he spoke roughly to his nephew, telling him we were late: to me +a little too politely saying he put no blame on me, but only on his +scapegrace of a nephew. I said that our lateness was due to having to +find the Sergeant. He answered: + +"One must always put the blame on some one else," which was rank bad +manners. + +He led the way into the house. The dining-room gave on to a veranda, +and beyond this was another little lawn with trees. In the dark a few +insects chirped, and, as the evening was warmish, one smelt the flowers. +The windows had been left open. Everything was clean, neat, and bare. On +the walls were two excellent old prints, a badly drawn certificate of +membership in some society or other, a still worse portrait of a local +worthy, and a water-colour painted, I suppose, by his daughter. + +He introduced me to his wife, a hard-featured woman, with thin hair, full +of duty, busy and precise--fresh from the kitchen. We unhooked our swords +with the conventional clatter, and sat down to the meal. + +I will confess that as we ate those excellent dishes (they were all +excellent) and drank that ordinary wine, I seemed to be living in a book +rather than among living men. Here was I, a young English boy, thrust +by accident into the French army. Fairly acquainted with its language, +though I spoke it with an accent; taken (of course) by my host for a pure +Englishman, though half my blood was French. Here was I sitting at his +side and watching things, and learning--as for him, men like him, of whom +England has some few left in forgotten villages, and who are, when they +can be found, the strength of a State, _they_ never bother about +learning anything far removed from their realities. + +I noticed the one servant going in and out rapidly, bullied a good deal by +her master, deft but nervous. I noticed how everything was solid and good: +the chairs, table, clock, clothes--and especially the cooking. I saw his +local newspaper neatly folded on the mantelpiece. I saw the pet dog of his +retirement crouching at his side, and I heard the chance sayings he threw +to his nephew, the maxims granted to youth long ago. I wondered how much +that nephew would inherit. I guessed about ten thousand pounds at the +least, and twenty at the most. I was almost inclined to cross myself at +the thought of such a lot of money. + +My host grew more genial: he asked me questions on England. His wife also +was interested in that country. They both knew more about it than their +class in England knows about France: and this astonished me, for, in the +gentry, English gentlemen know more about France than French gentlemen +know about England. + +He asked me if agriculture were still in a bad way; why we had not more +of the people at the Universities; why we allowed only lords into our +Parliament, and whether there were more French commercial travellers in +England than English commercial travellers in France. In all these points +I admitted, supplemented, and corrected, and probably distorted his +impressions. + +He asked me if English gunners were good. I said I did not know, but I +thought so. He replied that the English drivers had a high reputation in +his country--his brother (the brother of an ironmonger) was a Captain of +the Horse Artillery, and had told him so. And this he said to me, who wore +a French uniform, but whose heart was away up in Arun Valley, in my own +woods, and at rest and alone. + +In the last hour when we had to be getting back a certain tenderness came +into his somewhat mercenary look. He devoted himself more to his nephew; +he took him aside, and, with some ceremony, gave him money. He offered us +cigars. We took one each. His round French face became all wrinkles, like +a cracked plate. He said: + +"Bah! Take them by the pocketful! We know what life is in the regiment," +and he crammed half a dozen each into the pocket of our tunics. But when +he said "We know what the life is," he lied. For he had only been a +"mobile" in '70. He had voted, but never suffered, the conscription. + +So we said good night to this man, our host, who had so regaled us. I may +be wrong, but I fancy he was an anti-clerical. He was a hard man, just, +eager, and attentive, narrow, as I have said, and unconsciously (as I have +also said) building up the nation. + +There was the Ironmonger of Bar-le-Duc; and there are hundreds of +thousands of the same kind. + + + + +A FORCE IN GAUL + + +There is a force in Gaul which is of prime consequence to all Europe. It +has canalized European religion, fixed European law, and latterly launched +a renewed political ideal. It is very vigorous to-day. + +It was this force which made the massacres of September, which overthrew +Robespierre, which elected Napoleon. In a more concentrated form, it was +this force which combined into so puissant a whole the separate men--not +men of genius--who formed the Committee of Public Safety. It is this +force which made the Commune, so that to this day no individual can quite +tell you what the Commune was driving at. And it is this force which at +the present moment so grievously misunderstands and overestimates the +strength of the armies which are the rivals of the French; indeed, in that +connexion it might truly be said that the peace of Europe is preserved +much more by the German knowledge of what the French army is, even than +by French ignorance of what the German army is. + +I say the disadvantages of this force or quality in a commonwealth are +apparent, for the weakness and disadvantages of something extraneous to +ourselves are never difficult to grasp. What is of more moment for us +is to understand, with whatever difficulty, the strength which such a +quality conveys. Not to have understood that strength, nay, not to have +appreciated the existence of the force of which I speak, has made nearly +all the English histories of France worthless. French turbulence is +represented in them as anarchy, and the whole of the great story which has +been the central pivot of Western Europe appears as an incongruous series +of misfortunes. Even Carlyle, with his astonishing grasp of men and his +power of rapid integration from a few details (for he read hardly anything +of his subject), never comprehended this force. He could understand a +master ordering about a lot of servants; indeed, he would have liked +to have been a servant himself, and _was_ one to the best of his +ability; but he could not understand self-organization from below. Yet +upon the existence of that power depends the whole business of the +Revolution. Its strength, then, (and principal advantage), lies in the +fact that it makes democracy possible at critical moments, even in a large +community. + +There is no one, or hardly any one, so wicked or so stupid as to deny the +democratic ideal. There is no one, or hardly any one, so perverted that, +were he the member of a small and simple community, he would be content to +forgo his natural right to be a full member thereof. There is no one, or +hardly any one, who would not feel his exclusion from such rights, among +men of his own blood, to be intolerable. But while every one admits the +democratic ideal, most men who think and nearly all the wiser of those +who think, perceive its one great obstacle to lie in the contrast between +the idea and the action where the obstacle of complexity--whether due +to varied interests, to separate origins, or even to mere numbers--is +present. + +The psychology of the multitude is not the psychology of the individual. +Ask every man in West Sussex separately whether he would have bread made +artificially dearer by Act of Parliament, and you will get an overwhelming +majority against such economic action on the part of the State. Treat them +collectively, and they will elect--I bargain they will elect for years +to come--men pledged to such an action. Or again, look at a crowd when +it roars down a street in anger--the sight is unfortunately only too +rare to-day--you have the impression of a beast majestic in its courage, +terrible in its ferocity, but with something evil about its cruelty and +determination. Yet if you stop and consider the face of one of its members +straggling on one of its outer edges, you will probably see the bewildered +face of a poor, uncertain, weak-mouthed man whose eyes are roving from +one object to another, and who appears all the weaker because he is under +the influence of this collective domination. Or again, consider the jokes +which make a great public assembly honestly shake with laughter, and +imagine those jokes attempted in a private room! Our tricky politicians +know well this difference between the psychologies of the individual +and of the multitude. The cleverest of them often suffer in reputation +precisely because they know what hopeless arguments and what still more +hopeless jests will move collectivities, the individual units of which +would never have listened to such humour or to such reasoning. + +The larger the community with which one is dealing, the truer this is; so +that, when it comes to many millions spread upon a large territory, one +may well despair of any machinery which shall give expression to that very +real thing which Rousseau called the General Will. + +In the presence of such a difficulty most men who are concerned both for +the good of their country and for the general order of society incline, +especially as they grow older, to one, or other of the old traditional +organic methods by which a State may be expressed and controlled. They +incline to an oligarchy such as is here in England where a small group of +families, intermarried one with the other, dining together perpetually +and perpetually guests in each other's houses, are by a tacit agreement +with the populace permitted to direct a nation. Or they incline to the +old-fashioned and very stable device of a despotic bureaucracy such as +manages to keep Prussia upright, and did until recently support the +expansion of Russia. + +The evils of such a compromise with a political idea are evident enough. +The oligarchy will be luxurious and corporately corrupt, and individually +somewhat despicable, with a sort of softness about it in morals and in +military affairs. The despot or the bureaucracy will be individually +corrupt, especially in the lower branches of the system, and hatefully +unfeeling. + +"But," (says your thinker, especially as he advances in age) "man is so +made that he _cannot_ otherwise be collectively governed. He cannot +collectively be the master, or at any rate permanently the master of his +collective destiny, whatever power his reason and free will give him over +his individual fate. The nation" (says he), "especially the large nation, +certainly has a Will, but it cannot directly express that Will. And if it +attempts to do so, whatever machinery it chooses--even the referendum--will +but create a gross mechanical parody of that subtle organic thing, the +National soul. The oligarchy or the bureaucracy" (he will maintain, and +usually maintain justly) "inherit, convey, and maintain the national +spirit more truly than would an attempted democratic system." + +General history, even the general history of Western Europe, is upon the +whole on the side of such a criticism. Andorra is a perfect democracy, and +has been a perfect democracy for at least a thousand years, perhaps since +first men inhabited that isolated valley. But there is no great State +which has maintained even for three generations a democratic system +undisturbed. + +Now it is peculiar to the French among the great and independent nations, +that they are capable, by some freak in their development, of rapid +_communal_ self-expression. It is, I repeat, only in crises that +this power appears. But such as it is, it plays a part much more real and +much more expressive of the collective will than does the more ordinary +organization of other peoples. + +Those who attacked the Tuileries upon the 10th of August acted in a manner +entirely spontaneous, and succeeded. The arrest of the Royal Family at +Varennes was not the action of one individual or of two; it was not Drouet +nor was it the Saulce family. It was a great number of individuals (the +King had been recognized all along the journey), each thinking the same +thing under the tension of a particular episode, each vaguely tending to +one kind of action and tending with increasing energy towards that action, +and all combining, as it were, upon that culminating point in the long +journey which was reached at the archway of the little town in Argonne. + +To have expressed and portrayed this common national power has been the +saving of the principal French historians, notably of Michelet. It has +furnished them with the key by which alone the history of their country +could be made plain. Nothing is easier than to ridicule or deny so +mystical a thing. Taine, by temperament intensely anti-national, ridiculed +it as he ridiculed the mysteries of the Faith; but with this consequence, +that his denial made it impossible for him to write the history of his +country, and compelled him throughout his work, but especially in his +history of the Revolution, to perpetual, and at last to somewhat crude, +forms of falsehood. + +Not to recognize this National force has, again, led men into another +error: they will have it that the great common actions of Frenchmen are +due to some occult force or to a master. They will explain the Crusades +by the cunning organization of the Papacy; the French Revolution by the +cunning organization of the Masonic lodges; the Napoleonic episode by the +individual cunning and plan of Bonaparte. Such explanations are puerile. + +The blow of 1870 was perhaps the most severe which any modern nation has +endured. By some accident it did not terminate the activity of the French +nation. The Southern States of America remain under the effect of the +Civil War. All that is not Prussian in Germany remains prostrate-- +especially in ideas--under the effect of the Prussian victory over it. The +French but barely escaped a similarly permanent dissolution of national +character: but they did escape it; and the national mark, the power of +spontaneous and collective action, after a few years' check, began to +emerge. + +Upon two occasions an attempt was made towards such action. The first was +in the time of Boulanger, the second during the Dreyfus business. In both +cases the nation instinctively saw, or rather felt, its enemy. In both +there was a moment when the cosmopolitan financier stood in physical peril +of his life. Neither, however, matured; in neither did the people finally +move. + +Latterly several partial risings have marked French life. Why none of them +should have culminated I will consider in a moment. Meanwhile, the foreign +observer will do well to note the character of these movements, abortive +though they were. It is like standing upon the edge of a crater and +watching the heave and swell of the vast energies below. There may have +been no actual eruption for some time, but the activities of the volcano +and its nature are certain to you as you gaze. The few days that passed +two years ago in Herault are an example. + +No one who is concerned for the immediate future of Europe should neglect +the omen: half a million men, with leaders chosen rapidly by themselves, +converging without disaster, with ample commissariat, with precision and +rapidity upon one spot: a common action decided upon, and that action most +calculated to defeat the enemy; decided upon by men of no exceptional +power, mere mouthpieces of this vast concourse: similar and exactly +parallel decisions over the whole countryside from the great towns to the +tiny mountain villages. It is the spirit of a swarm of bees. One incident +in the affair was the most characteristic of it all: fearing they would +be ordered to fire on men of their own district the private soldiers and +corporals of the 17th of the Line mutinied. So far so good: mutinies are +common in all actively military states--the exceptional thing was what +followed. The men organized themselves without a single officer or +non-commissioned officer, equipped themselves for a full day's march to +the capital of the province, achieved it in good order, and took quarters +in the town. All that exact movement was spontaneous. It explains the +Marshals of the Empire. These were sent off as a punishment to the edge +of the African desert; the mutiny seemed to the moneydealers a proof of +military defeat. They erred: these young men, some of them of but six +months' training, none of them of much more than two years, not one of +them over twenty-five years of age, were a precise symbol of the power +which made the Revolution and its victims. The reappearance of that power +in our tranquil modern affairs seems to me of capital importance. + +One should end by asking one's self, "Will these unfinished movements +breed a finished movement at last? Will Gaul move to some final purpose +in our time, and if so, against what, with what an object and in what a +manner?" + +Prophecy is vain, but it is entertaining, and I will prophesy that Gaul +will move in our time, and that the movement will be directed against the +pestilent humbug of the parliamentary system. + +For forty years this force in the nation of which I speak, though so +frequently stirred, has not achieved its purpose. But in nearly every +case, directly or indirectly, the thing against which it moved was the +Parliament. It would be too lengthy a matter to discuss here why the +representative system has sunk to be what it is in modern Europe. It +was the glory of the Middle Ages, it was a great vital institution of +Christendom, sprung from the monastic institution that preceded it, a true +and living power first in Spain, where Christendom was at its most acute +activity in the struggle against Asia, then in the north-west, in England +and in France. And indeed, in one form or another, throughout all the old +limits of the Empire. It died, its fossil was preserved in one or two +small and obscure communities, its ancient rules and form were captured by +the English squires and merchants, and it was maintained, a curious but +vigorous survival, in this country. When the Revolution in 1789 began the +revival of democracy in the great nations the old representative scheme of +the French, a very perfect one, was artificially resurrected, based upon +the old doctrine of universal suffrage and upon a direct mandate. It was +logical, it ought to have worked, but in barely a hundred years it has +failed. + +There is an instructive little anecdote upon the occupation of Rome in +1870. + +When the French garrison was withdrawn and the Northern Italians had +occupied the city, representative machinery was set to work, nominally +to discover whether the change in Government were popular or no. A tiny +handful of votes was recorded in the negative, let us say forty-three. + +Later, in the early winter of that same year, a great festival of the +Church was celebrated in the Basilica of St. Peter and at the tombs of the +Apostles. The huge church was crowded, many were even pressed outside the +doors. When the ceremony was over the dense mass that streamed out into +the darkness took up the cry, the irony of which filled the night air of +the Trastevere and its slums of sovereign citizens. The cry was this: + +"We are the Forty-three!" + +It is an anecdote that applies continually to the modern representative +system in every country which has the misfortune to support it. No one +needs to be reminded of such a truth. We know in England how the one +strong feeling in the elections of 1906 was the desire to get at the South +African Jews and sweep away their Chinese labour from under them. + +The politicians and the party hacks put into power by that popular +determination went straight to the South African Jews, hat in hand, asked +them what was their good pleasure in the matter, and framed a scheme in +connivance with them, by which no vengeance should be taken and not a +penny of theirs should be imperilled. + +In modern France the chances of escape from the parliamentary game, tawdry +at its best, at its worst a social peril, are much greater than in this +country. The names and forms of the thing are not of ancient institution. +There is therefore no opportunity for bamboozling people with a sham +continuity, or of mixing up the interests of the party hacks with the +instinct of patriotism. Moreover, in modern France the parliamentary +system happened to come up vitally against the domestic habits of +the people earlier and more violently than it has yet done in this +country. The little gang which had captured the machine was violently +anti-Christian; it proceeded step by step to the destruction of the +Church, until at the end of 1905 the crisis had taken this form. The +Church was disestablished, its endowments were cancelled, the housing of +its hierarchy, its churches and its cathedrals and their furniture were, +further, to be taken from it unless it adopted a Presbyterian form of +government which could not but have cankered it and which was the very +negative of its spirit. So far nothing that the Parliament had done really +touched the lives of the people. Even the proposal to put the remaining +goods of the Church under Presbyterian management was a matter for the +theologians and not for them. Not one man in a hundred knew or cared +about the business. The critical date approached (the 11th of December, +if I remember rightly). Rome was to accept the anti-Catholic scheme of +government or all the churches were to be shut. Rome refused the scheme, +and Parliament, faced for once with a reality and brought under the +necessity of really interfering with the popular life or of capitulating, +capitulated. + +What has that example to do, you may ask, with that movement in the south +of France, which is the text of these pages? The answer is as follows: + +In the south of France the one main thing actually touching the lives +of the people, after their religion (which the complete breakdown of +the anti-clerical threat had secured), was the sale of their principal +manufacture. This sale was rendered difficult from a number of reasons, +one of which, perhaps not the chief, but the most apparent and the most +easily remediable, was the adulteration and fraud existing in the trade. +Such adulteration and fraud are common to all the trade of our own time. +It was winked at by the gang in power in France, just as similar dirty +work is winked at by the gang in power in every other parliamentary +country. When the peasants who had suffered so severely by this +commercial corruption of our time asked that it should be put a stop to, +the old reply, which has done duty half a million times in every case of +corruption in France, England, or America for a generation, was given to +them: "If you desire a policy to be effected, elect men who will effect +it." As a fact, these four departments had elected a group of men, of whom +Laferre, the Grand Master of the Freemasons, is a good type, with his +absorbing interest in the destruction of Christianity, and his ignorance +and ineptitude in any other field than that of theology. + +The peasants replied to this sophistry, which had done duty so often and +had been successful so often in their case as in others, by calling upon +their Deputies to resign. Laferre neglected to do so. He was too greatly +occupied with his opportunity. He went down to "address his constituents." +They chased him for miles. And in that exhilarating episode it was +apparent that the peasants of the Aude had discovered in their simple +fashion both where the representative system was at fault and by what +methods it may be remedied. + + + + +ON BRIDGES + + +Stand on the side of a stream and consider two things: the imbecility of +your private nature and the genius of your common kind. + +For you cannot cross the stream, you--Individual you; but Man (from whence +you come) has found out an art for crossing it. This art is the building +of bridges. And hence man in the general may properly be called Pontifex, +or "The Bridge Builder"; and his symbolic summits of office will carry +some such title. + +Here I will confess (Individual) that I am tempted to leave you by the +side of the stream, to swim it if you can, to drown if you can't, or to +go back home and be eaten out with your desire for the ulterior shore, +while I digress upon that word Pontifex, which, note you, is not only a +name over a shop as "Henry Pontifex, Italian Warehouseman," or "Pontifex +Brothers, Barbers," but a true key-word breeding ideas and making one +consider the greatness of man, or rather the greatness of what made him. + +For man builds bridges over streams, and he has built bridges more or less +stable between mind and mind (a difficult art!), having designed letters +for that purpose, which are his instrument; and man builds by prayer a +bridge between himself and God; man also builds bridges which unite him +with Beauty all about. + +Thus he paints and draws and makes statues, and builds for beauty as well +as for shelter from the weather. And man builds bridges between knowledge +and knowledge, co-ordinating one thing that he knows with another thing +that he knows, and putting a bridge from each to each. And man is for ever +building--but he has never yet completed, nor ever will--that bridge they +call philosophy, which is to explain himself in relation to that whence +he came. I say, when his skeleton is put in the Museum properly labelled, +it shall be labelled not _Homo Sapiens_, but _Homo Pontifex_; +hence also the anthem, or rather the choral response, "_Pontificem +habemus_," which is sung so nobly by pontifical great choirs, when +pontifications are pontificated, as behooves the court of a Pontiff. + +Nevertheless (Individual) I will not leave you there, for I have pity +on you, and I will explain to you the nature of bridges. By a bridge +was man's first worry overcome. For note you, there is no worry so +considerable as to wail by impassable streams (as Swinburne has it). +It is the proper occupation of the less fortunate dead. + + + + +ON BRIDGES + + +Believe me, without bridges the world would be very different to you. You +take them for granted, you lollop along the road, you cross a bridge. You +may be so ungrateful as to forget all about it, but it is an awful thing! + +A bridge is a violation of the will of nature and a challenge. "You +desired me not to cross," says man to the River God, "but I will." And +he does so: not easily. The god had never objected to him that he should +swim and wet himself. Nay, when he was swimming the god could drown him at +will, but to bridge the stream, nay, to insult it, to leap over it, that +was man all over; in a way he knows that the earthy gods are less than +himself and that all that he dreads is his inferior, for only that which +he reveres and loves can properly claim his allegiance. Nor does he in the +long run pay that allegiance save to holiness, or in a lesser way to +valour and to worth. + +Man cannot build bridges everywhere. They are not multitudinous as are his +roads, nor universal as are his pastures and his tillage. He builds from +time to time in one rare place and another, and the bridge always remains +a sacred thing. Moreover, the bridge is always in peril. The little +bridge at Paris which carried the Roman road to the island was swept away +continually; and the bridge of Staines that carried the Roman road from +the great port to London was utterly destroyed. + +Bridges have always lived with fear in their hearts; and if you think +this is only true of old bridges (Individual), have you forgotten the Tay +Bridge with the train upon it? Or the bridge that they were building over +the St. Lawrence some little time ago, or the bridge across the Loire +where those peasants went to their death on a Sunday only a few months +since? Carefully consider these things and remember that the building and +the sustaining of a bridge is always a wonderful and therefore a perilous +thing. + +No bridges more testify to the soul of man than the bridges that leap +in one arch from height to height over the gorge of a torrent. Many of +these are called the Devil's Bridges with good reason, for they suggest +art beyond man's power, and there are two to be crossed and wondered at, +one in Wales in the mountains, and another in Switzerland, also in the +mountains. There is a third in the mountains at the gate of the Sahara, of +the same sort, jumping from rock to rock. But it is not called the Devil's +Bridge. It is called with Semitic simplicity "El Kantara," and that is +the name the Arabs gave to the old bridges, to the lordly bridges of the +Romans, wherever they came across them, for the Arabs were as incapable +of making bridges as they were of doing anything else except singing love +songs and riding about on horses. "Alcantara" is a name all over Spain, +and it is in the heart of the capital of Portugal, and it is fixed in the +wilds of Estremadura. You get it outside Constantine also where the bridge +spans the gulf. Never did an Arab see bridges but he wondered. + +Our people also, though they were not of the sort to stand with their +mouths open in front of bridges or anything else, felt the mystery of +these things. And they put chapels in the middle of them, as you may see +at Bale, and at Bradford-upon-Avon, and especially was there one upon old +London Bridge, which was dedicated to St. Thomas a Becket, and was very +large. And speaking of old London Bridge, every one in London should +revere bridges, for a great number of reasons. + +In the first place London never would have been London but for London +Bridge. + +In the second place, bridges enable the people of London to visit the +south of the river, which is full of pleasing and extraordinary sights, +and in which may be seen, visibly present to the eye, Democracy. If any +one doubts this let him take the voyage. + +Then again, but for bridges Londoners could not see the river except +from the Embankment, which is an empty sort of place, or from the windows +of hotels. Bridges also permit railways from the south to enter London. +If this seems to you a commonplace, visit New York or for ever after hold +your peace. + +All things have been degraded in our time and have also been multiplied, +which is perhaps a condition of degradation; and your simple thing, your +bridge, has suffered with the rest. Men have invented all manner of +bridges: tubular bridges, suspension bridges, cantilever bridges, swing +bridges, pontoon bridges, and the bridge called the Russian Bridge, which +is intolerable; but they have not been able to do with the bridge what +they have done with some other things: they have not been able to destroy +it; it is still a bridge, still perilous, and still a triumph. The bridge +still remains the thing which may go at any moment and yet the thing +which, when it remains, remains our oldest monument. There is a bridge +over the Euphrates--I forget whether it goes all the way across--which the +Romans built. And the oldest thing in the way of bridges in the town of +Paris, a thing three hundred years old, was the bridge that stood the late +floods best. The bridge will remain a symbol in spite of the engineers. + +Look how differently men have treated bridges according to the passing +mood of civilization. Once they thought it reasonable to tax people who +crossed bridges. Now they think it unreasonable. Yet the one course was +as reasonable as the other. Once they built houses on bridges, clearly +perceiving that there was lack of room for houses, and that there was +a housing problem, and that the bridges gave a splendid chance. Now no +one dares to build a house upon a bridge, and the one proceeding is as +reasonable as the other. + +The time has come to talk at random about bridges. + +The ugliest bridge in the world runs from Lambeth to the Horseferry Road, +and takes the place of the old British trackway which here crossed the +Thames. About the middle of it, if you will grope in the mud, you may or +may not find the great Seal of England which James II there cast into +the flood. If it was fished up again, why then it is not there. The most +beautiful bridge in London is Waterloo Bridge; the most historic is London +Bridge; and far the most useful Westminster Bridge. The most famous bridge +in Italy to tourists is the old bridge at Florence, and the best known +from pictures the Bridge of Sighs in Venice. That with the best chance +of an eternal fame is the bridge which carries the road from Tizzano to +Serchia over the gully of the muddy Apennines, for upon the 18th of June, +1901, it was broken down in the middle of the night, and very nearly cost +the life of a man who could ill afford it. The place where a bridge is +most needed, and is not present, is the Ford of Fornovo. The place where +there is most bridge and where it is least needed is the railway bridge +at Venice. The bridge that trembles most is the Bridge of Piacenza. The +bridge that frightens you most is the Brooklyn Bridge, and the bridge that +frightens you least is the bridge in St. James's Park; for even if you +are terrified by water in every form, as are too many boastful men, you +must know, or can be told, that there is but a dampness of some inches in +the sheet below. The longest bridge for boring one is the railway bridge +across the Somme to St. Valery, whence Duke William started with a +horseshoe mouth and very glum upon his doubtful adventure to invade these +shores--but there was no bridge in his time. The shortest bridge is made +of a plank, in the village of Loudwater in the county of Bucks, not far +from those Chiltern Hundreds which men take in Parliament for the good of +their health as a man might take the waters. The most entertaining bridge +is the Tower Bridge, which lifts up and splits into two just as you are +beginning to cross it, as can be testified by a cloud of witnesses. The +broadest bridge is the Alexandre III Bridge in Paris, at least it looks +the broadest, while the narrowest bridge, without a shadow of doubt, is +the bridge that was built by ants in the moon; if the phrase startles you +remember it is only in a novel by Wells. + +The first elliptical bridge was designed by a monk of Cortona, and the +first round one by Adam.... + +But one might go on indefinitely about bridges and I am heartily tired of +them. Let them cross and recross the streams of the world. I for my part +will stay upon my own side. + + + + +A BLUE BOOK + + +I have thought it of some value to contemporary history to preserve the +following document, which concerns the discovery and survey of an island +in the North Atlantic, which upon its discovery was annexed by the United +States in the first moments of their imperial expansion, and was given the +name of "Atlantis." + +The island, which appears to have been formed by some convulsion of +nature, disappeared the year after its discovery, and the report drawn up +by the Commissioners is therefore very little known, and has of course +no importance in the field of practical finance and administration. But +it is a document of the highest and most curious interest as an example +of the ideas that guided the policy of the Great Republic at the moment +when the survey was undertaken; and English readers in particular will +be pleased to note the development and expansion of English methods and +of characteristic English points of view and institutions throughout the +whole document. + +Any one who desires to consult the maps, etc., which I have been unable +to reproduce in this little volume, must refer to the Record Office at +Washington. My only purpose in reprinting these really fascinating pages +in such a volume as this is the hope that they may give pleasure to many +who would not have had the opportunity to consult them in the public +archives where they have hitherto been buried. + + A. 2. E. 331 ff. + +REPORT OF THE THREE COMMISSIONERS APPOINTED BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE +REPUBLIC TO REPORT UPON THE POTENTIAL RESOURCES, SITUATION, ETC., OF THE +NEW ISLAND KNOWN AS "ATLANTIS," RECENTLY DISCOVERED IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC +AND ANNEXED TO THE REPUBLIC, TOGETHER WITH A RECOMMENDATION ON FUTURE +TREATMENT OF SAME. + +TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE REPUBLIC. + +YOUR HONOUR, + +[Sidenote: Preamble.] + +Your Honour's three Commissioners, Joshua Hogg, Abraham Bush and Jack +Bimber, being of sound mind, solvent, and in good corporeal health, all +citizens of more than five years' standing, and domiciled within the +boundaries, frontiers or terms of the Republic, do make oath and say, So +Help Them God:-- + +[Sidenote: _Arrival off Atlantis_.] + +I. That on the 20th of the month of July, being at that time in or about +Latitude 45 N. and betwixt and between Longitude 51 W. and 51.10 W., so +near as could be made out, the captain of the steamboat "Glory of the +Morning Star" (chartered _for this occasion only_ by the Government +of the Republic, without any damage, precedent or future lien whatsoever), +by name James Murphy, of Cork, Ireland, and domiciled within the aforesaid +terms, boundaries, etc., did in a loud voice at about 4.33 a.m., when it +was already light, cry out "That's Hur," or words to that effect. Your +three Commissioners being at that moment in the cabin, state-room or cuddy +in the forward part of the ship (see annexed plan), came up on deck and +were ordered or enjoined to go below by those having authority on the +"Glory of the Morning Star." Your three Commissioners desire individually +and collectively to call attention to the fact that this order was +obeyed, being given under the Maritime Acts of 1853, and desire also to +protest against the indignity offered in their persons to the majesty of +the Republic. (See Attorney-General's Plea, Folio 56, M.) At or about +_6.30_ a.m. of the same day, July 20th, your Commissioners were +called upon deck, and there was put at their disposal a beat manned by +four sailors, who did thereupon and with all due dispatch row them towards +the island, at that moment some two miles off the weather bow, that is +S.S.W. by S. of the "Glory of the Morning Star." They did then each +individually and all collectively land, disembark and set foot upon the +Island of Atlantis and take possession thereof in the name of Your Honour +and the Republic, displaying at the same time a small flag 19" x 6" in +token of the same, which flag was distinctly noted, seen, recorded and +witnessed by the undersigned, to which they put their hand and seal, +trusting in the guidance of Divine Providence. + +JOSHUA HOGG + +ABRAHAM BUSH + +JACK BIMBER. + +[Sidenote: _Shape and Dimensions of the Island_] + +II. Your Commissioners proceeded at once to a measurement of the aforesaid +island of Atlantis, which they discovered to be of a triangular or +three-cornered shape, in dimensions as follows: On the northern face from +Cape Providence (q.v.) to Cape Mercy (q.v.), one mile one furlong and a +bit. On the south-western face from Cape Mercy (q.v.) to Point Liberty +(q.v.), seven furlongs, two roods and a foot. On the south-eastern face, +which is the shortest face, from Point Liberty (q.v.) round again to Cape +Providence (q.v.), from which we started, something like half a mile, and +not worth measuring. These dimensions, lines, figures, measurements and +plans they do submit to the public office of Record as accurate and done +to the best of their ability by the undersigned: So Help Them God. (SEAL.) + +[Sidenote: _Appearance and Structure of the Island_.] + +III. It will be seen from the above that the island is in shape an +Isosceles triangle, as it were, pointing in a north-westerly direction +and having a short base turned to the south-east, contains some 170 acres +or half a square mile, and is situate in a temperate latitude suited to +the Anglo-Saxon Race. As to material or structure, it is composed of sand +(_see its specimens in glass phial_), the said sand being of a yellow +colour when dry and inclining to a brown colour where it may be wet by the +sea or by rain. + +[Sidenote: _Springs and Rivers_.] + +IV. There are no springs or rivers in the Island. + +[Sidenote: _Hills and Mountains_.] + +V. There are no mountains on the Island, but there is in the North a +slight hummock some fifteen feet in height. To this hummock we have +given (saving your Honour's Reverence) the name of "Mount Providence" +in commemoration of the manifold and evident graces of Providence in +permitting us to occupy and develop this new land in the furtherance of +true civilization and good government. The hill is at present too small +to make a feature in the landscape, but we have great hopes that it will +grow. (See _Younger_ on "The Sand Dunes of Picardy," Vol. II, pp. +199-200.) + +[Sidenote: Harbours.] + +VI. The Island is difficult of approach as it slopes up gradually from the +sea bottom and the tides are slight. At high water there is no sounding +of more than three fathoms for about a mile and a half from shore; but at +a distance of two miles soundings of five and six fathoms are common, and +it would be feasible in fine weather for a vessel of moderate draught to +land her cargo, passengers, etc. in small boats. Moreover a harbour might +be built as in our Recommendations (q.v.). There is on the northern side +a bay (caused by indentation of the land) which we think suitable to the +purpose and which, in Your Honour's honour, we have called Buggins' Bay. + +[Sidenote: Capes and Headlands.] + +VII. These are three, as above enumerated (q.v.); one, the most +precipitous and bold, we have called Cape _Providence_ (q.v.) for +reasons which appear above; the second, Cape _Mercy_, in recognition +of the great mercy shown us in finding this place without running on it +as has been the fate of many a noble vessel. The third we called Point +_Liberty_ from the nature of those glorious institutions which are +the pride of the Republic and which we intend to impose upon any future +inhabitants. These titles, which are but provisional, we pray may remain +and be Enregistered under the seal, notwithstanding the "Act to Restrain +Nuisances and Voids" of 1819, Cap. 2. + +[Sidenote: _Climate_.] + +VIII. The climate is that of the North Atlantic known as the "Oceanic." +Rain falls not infrequently, and between November and April snow is not +unknown. In summer a more genial temperature prevails, but it is never so +hot as to endanger life or to facilitate the progress of epidemic disease. +Wheat, beans, hops, turnips, and barley could be grown did the soil permit +of it. But we cannot regard an agricultural future as promising for the +new territory. + +HERE ENDETH your Commissioners' Report. + +(_Seal_) + +JOSHUA HOGG. ABRAHAM BUSH. JACOBUS BIMBER. + + * * * * * + +RECOMMENDATIONS + +Your Commissioners being also entrusted with the privilege of making +Recommendations, submit the following without prejudice and all pursuants +to the contrary notwithstanding. + +As to the _land_: your Commissioners recommend that it should be +held by the State in conformity with those principles which are gaining +a complete ascendancy among the Leading Nations of the Earth. This might +then be let out at its full value to private individuals who would make +what they could of it, leaving the Economic Rent to the community. For +the individual did not make the land, but the State did. + +This power of letting the land should, they recommend, be left in the +hands of a _Chartered Company_. Your Commissioners will provide +the names of certain reputable and wealthy citizens who will be glad to +undertake the duty of forming and directing this company, and who will act +on the principle of unsalaried public service by the upper classes, which +is the chief characteristic of our civilization. I. Jacobs, Esq., and Z. +Lewis, Esq. (to be directors of the proposed Chartered Company) have +already volunteered in this matter. + +Your Commissioners recommend that the Chartered Company should be granted +the right to strike coins of copper, nickel, silver and gold, the first +three to be issued at three times eight times and twice the value of +the metals respectively, the said currency to be on a gold basis and +mono-metallic and not to exceed the amount of $100 _per capita_. + +Your Commissioners further recommend that the same authority be empowered +to issue paper money in proportions of 165% to the gold reserve, the right +to give high values to pieces of paper having proved in the past of the +greatest value to those who have obtained it. + +Your Commissioners recommend the building of a stone harbour out to sea +without encroaching on the already exiguous dimensions of the land. They +propose two piers, each some mile and a half long, and built of Portland +rock, an excellent quarry of which is to be discovered on the property +of James Barber, Esq., of Maryville, Kent County, Conn. The stone could +be brought to Atlantis at the lowest rates by the Wall Schreiner line of +floats. In this harbour, if it be sufficiently deepened and its piers set +wide enough apart, the navies of the world could be contained, and it +would be a standing testimony to the energy of our race, "which maketh +the desert to blossom like a rose" (Lev. XXII. 3, 2). + +Your Commissioners also recommend an artesian well to be sunk until fresh +water be discovered. This method has been found successful in Australia, +which is also an island and largely composed of sand. It is said that this +method of irrigation produces astonishing results. + +Finally, in the matter of industry your Commissioners propose (not, of +course, as a unique industry but as a staple) the packing of sardines. A +sound system of fair trade based upon a tariff scientifically adjusted +to the conditions of the Island should develop the industry rapidly. +Everything lends itself to this: the skilled labour could be imparted +from home, the sardines from France, and the tin and oil from Spain. It +would need for some years an export Bounty somewhat in the nature of +Protection, the scale of which would have to be regulated by the needs +of the community, but they are convinced that when once the industry was +established, the superior skill of our workmen and the enterprise of +our capitalists would control the markets of the world. + +As to political rights, we recommend that Atlantis should be treated as a +territory, and that a sharp distinction should be drawn between Rural and +Urban conditions; that the inhabitants should not be granted the franchise +till they have shown themselves worthy of self-government, saving, of +course, those immigrants (such as the negroes of Carolina, etc.) who have +been trained in the exercise of representative institutions. All Religions +should be tolerated except those to which the bulk of the community show +an implacable aversion. Education should be free to all, compulsory upon +the poor, non-sectarian, absolutely elementary, and subject, of course, +to the paramount position of that gospel which has done so much for our +dear country. The sale of Intoxicants should be regulated by the Company, +and these should be limited to a little spirits: wine and beer and all +alcoholic liquors habitually used as beverages should be rigorously +forbidden to the labouring classes, and should only be supplied in _bona +fide_ clubs with a certain minimum yearly subscription. + +IN CONCLUSION your Commissioners will ever pray, etc. + +MS. note added at the end in the hand of Mr. Charles P. Hands, the curator +of this section: + +(_The Island was lost--luckily with no one aboard--during the storms +of the following winter. This report still possesses, however, a strong +historical interest_). + + + + +PERIGEUX OF THE PERIGORD + + +I knew a man once. I met him in a wooden inn upon a bitterly cold day. +He was an American, and we talked of many things. At last he said to me: +"Have you ever seen the Matterhorn?" + +"No," said I; for I hated the very name of it. Then he continued: + +"It is the most surprising thing I ever saw." + +"By the Lord," said I, "'you have found the very word!" I took out a +sketch-book and noted his word "surprising." What admirable humour had +this American; how subtle and how excellent a spirit! I have never seen +the Matterhorn; but it seems that one comes round a corner, and there it +is. It is surprising! Excellent word of the American. I never shall forget +it! + +An elephant escapes from a circus and puts his head in at your window +while you are writing and thinking of a word. You look up. You may be +alarmed, you may be astonished, you may be moved to sudden processes of +thought; but one thing you will find about it, and you will find out quite +quickly, and it will dominate all your other emotions of the time: the +elephant's head will be surprising. You are caught. Your soul says loudly +to its Creator: "Oh, this is something new!" + +So did I first see in the moonlight up the quite unknown and quite +deserted valley which the peak of the Dead Man dominates in a lonely +and savage manner the main crest of the Pyrenees. So did I first see a +land-fall when I first went overseas. So did I first see the Snowdon range +when I was a little boy, having, until I woke up that morning and looked +out of the windows of the hotel, never seen anything in my life more +uplifted than the rounded green hills of South England. + +Now the cathedral of St. Front in Perigeux of the Perigord is the most +surprising thing in Europe. It is much more surprising than the hills--for +a man made it. Man made it hundreds and hundreds of years ago; man has +added to it, and, by the grace of his enthusiasm and his disciplined +zeal, man has (thank God!) scraped, remodelled, and restored it. Upon my +soul, to see such a thing I was proud to be an Anthropoid, and to claim +cousinship with those dark citizens of the Dordogne and of Garonne and of +the Tarn and of the Lot, and of whatever rivers fall into the Gironde. I +know very well that they have sweated to indoctrinate, to persecute, to +trim, to improve, to exterminate, to lift up, to cast down, to annoy, to +amuse, to exasperate, to please, to enmusic, to offend, to glorify their +kind. In some of these energies of theirs I blame them, in others I +praise; but it is plainly evident that they know how to binge. I wished +(for a moment) to be altogether of their race, like that strong cavalry +man of their race to whom they have put up a statue pointing to his wooden +leg. What an incredible people to build such an incredible church! + +The Clericals claim it, the anti-Clericals adorn it. The Christians bemoan +within it the wickedness of the times. The Atheists are baptized in it, +married in it, denounced in it, and when they die are, in great coffins +surrounded by great candles, to the dirge of the _Dies Ira_, to the +booming of the vast new organ, very formally and determinedly absolved +in it; and holy water is sprinkled over the black cloth and cross of +silver. The pious and the indifferent, nay, the sad little army of +earnest, intelligent, strenuous men who still anxiously await the death +of religion--they all draw it, photograph it, paint it; they name their +streets, their hotels, their villages, and their very children after it. +It is like everything else in the world: it must be seen to be believed. +It rises up in a big cluster of white domes upon the steep bank of the +river. And sometimes you think it a fortress, and sometimes you think it +a town, and sometimes you think it a vision. It is simple in plan and +multiple in the mind; and after all these years I remember it as one +remembers a sudden and unexpected chorus. It is well worthy of Perigeux of +the Perigord. + +Perigeux of the Perigord is Gaulish, and it has never died. When it was +Roman it was Vesona; the temple of that patron Goddess still stands at its +eastern gate, and it is one of those teaching towns which have never died, +but in which you can find quite easily and before your eyes every chapter +of our worthy story. In such towns I am filled as though by a book, with a +contemplation of what we have done, and I have little doubt for our sons. + +The city reclines and is supported upon the steep bank of the Isle just +where the stream bends and makes an amphitheatre, so that men coming in +from the north (which is the way the city was meant to be entered--and +therefore, as you may properly bet, the railway comes in at the other side +by the back door) see it all at once: a great sight. One goes up through +its narrow streets, especially noting that street which is very nobly +called after the man who tossed his sword in the air riding before the +Conqueror at Hastings, Taillefer. One turns a narrow corner between houses +very old and very tall, and then quite close, no longer a vision, but a +thing to be touched, you see--to use the word again--the "surprising" +thing. You see something bigger than you thought possible. + +Great heavens, what a church! + +Where have I heard a church called "the House of God"? I think it was in +Westmorland near an inn called "The Nag's Head"--or perhaps "The Nag's +Head" is in Cumberland--no matter, I did once hear a church so called. But +this church has a right to the name. It is a gathering-up of all that men +could do. It has fifty roofs, it has a gigantic signal tower, it has blank +walls like precipices, and round arch after round arch, and architrave +after architrave. It is like a good and settled epic; or, better still, it +is like the life of a healthy and adventurous man who, having accomplished +all his journeys and taken the Fleece of Gold, comes home to tell his +stories at evening, and to pass among his own people the years that are +left to him of his age. It has experience and growth and intensity of +knowledge, all caught up into one unity; it conquers the hill upon which +it stands. I drew one window and then another, and then before I had +finished that a cornice, and then before I had finished that a porch, +for it was evening when I saw it, and I had not many hours. + +Music, they say, does something to the soul, filling it full of +unsatisfied but transcendent desires, and making it guess, in glimpses +that mix and fail, the soul's ultimate reward or destiny. Here, in +Perigeux of the Perigord, where men hunt truffles with hounds, stone set +in a certain order does what music is said to do. For in the sight of this +standing miracle I could believe and confess, and doubt and fear, and +control, all in one. + +Here is, living and continuous, the Empire in its majority and +its determination to be eternal. The people of the Perigord, the +truffle-hunting people, need never seek civilization nor fear its death, +for they have its symbol, and a sacrament, as it were, to promise them +that the arteries of the life of Europe can never be severed. The arches +and the entablatures of this solemn thing are alive. + +It was built some say nine, some say eight hundred years ago; its apse was +built yesterday, but the whole of it is outside time. + +In human life, which goes with a short rush and then a lull, like the wind +among trees before rains, great moments are remembered; they comfort us +and they help us to laugh at decay. I am very glad that I once saw this +church in Perigeux of the Perigord. + +When I die I should like to be buried in my own land, but I should take it +as a favour from the Bishop, who is master of this place, if he would come +and give my coffin an absolution, and bring with him the cloth and the +silver cross, and if he would carry in his hand (as some of the statues +have) a little model of St. Front, the church which I have seen and which +renewed my faith. + + + + +THE POSITION + + +There is a place where the valley of the Allier escapes from the central +mountains of France and broadens out into a fertile plain. + +Here is a march or boundary between two things, the one familiar to most +English travellers, the other unfamiliar. The familiar thing is the rich +alluvium and gravel of the Northern French countrysides, the poplar trees, +the full and quiet rivers, the many towns and villages of stone, the broad +white roads interminable and intersecting the very fat of prosperity, +and over it all a mild air. The unfamiliar is the mass of the Avernian +Mountains, which mass is the core and centre of Gaul and of Gaulish +history, and of the unseen power that lies behind the whole of that +business. + +The plains are before one, the mountains behind one, and one stands in +that borderland. I know it well. + +I have said that in the Avernian Mountains was the centre of Gaul and the +power upon which the history of Gaul depends. Upon the Margeride, which is +one of their uttermost ridges, du Guesclin was wounded to death. One may +see the huge stones piled up on the place where he fell. In the heart of +those mountains, at Puy, religion has effects that are eerie; it uses odd +high peaks for shrines--needles of rock; and a long way off all round is a +circle of hills of a black-blue in the distance, and they and the rivers +have magical names--the river Red Cap and Chaise Dieu, "God's Chair." +In these mountains Julius Caesar lost (the story says) his sword; and +in these mountains the Roman armies were staved off by the Avernians. +They are as full of wonder as anything in Europe can be, and they are +complicated and tumbled all about, so that those who travel in them with +difficulty remember where they have been, unless indeed they have that +general eye for a countryside which is rare nowadays among men. + +Just at the place where the mountain land and the plain land meet, where +the shallow valleys get rounder and less abrupt, I went last September, +following the directions of a soldier who had told me how I might find +where the centre of the manoeuvres lay. The manoeuvres, attempting to +reproduce the conditions of war, made a drifting scheme of men upon either +side of the River Sioule. One could never be certain where one would find +the guns. + +I had come up off the main road from Vichy, walking vaguely towards the +sound of the firing. It was unfamiliar. The old and terrible rumble has +been lost for a generation; even the plain noise of the field-piece which +used to be called "90" is forgotten by the young men now. The new little +guns pop and ring. And when you are walking towards them from a long way +off you do not seem to be marching towards anything great, but rather +towards something clever. Nevertheless it is as easy to-day as ever it +was to walk towards the sound of cannon. + +Two valleys absolutely lonely had I trudged-through since the sun rose, +and it was perhaps eight o'clock when I came upon one of those lonely +walled parks set in bare fields which the French gentry seem to find +homelike enough. I asked a man at the lodge about how far the position +was. He said he did not know, and looked upon me with suspicion. + +I went down into the depth of the valley, and there I met a priest who was +reading his Breviary and erroneously believed me (if I might judge his +looks) to be of a different religion, for he tested philosophy by clothes; +and this, by the way, is unalterably necessary for all mankind. When, +however, he found by my method of address that I knew his language and +was of his own faith, he became very courteous, and when I told him that +I wanted to find the position he became as lively as a linesman, making +little maps with his stick in the earth, and waving his arms, and making +great sweeps with his hand to show the way in which the army had been +drifting all morning, northward and eastward, above the Sioule, with the +other division on the opposite bank, and how, whenever there was a bridge +to be fought for, the game had been to pretend that one or the other had +got hold of it. Of this priest it might truly be said, as was said of +the priest of Thiers in the Forez, that chance had made him a choir-boy, +but destiny had designed him for the profession of arms; and upon this +one could build an interesting comedy of how chance and destiny are +perpetually at issue, and how chance, having more initiative and not +being so bound to routine, gets the better of destiny upon all occasions +whatsoever. + +Well, the priest showed me in this manner whither I should walk, and so I +came out of the valley on to a great upland, and there a small boy (who +was bullying a few geese near a pond) showed much the same excitement as +the priest when he told me at what village I should find the guns. + +That village was a few miles further on. As I went along the straight, +bare road, with stubble upon either side, I thought the sound of firing +got louder; but then, again, it would diminish, as the batteries took a +further and a further position in their advance. It was great fun, this +sham action, with its crescent of advancing fire and one's self in the +centre of the curve. At the next village I had come across the arteries +of the movement. By one road provisionment was going off to the right; +by another two men with messages, one a Hussar on horseback, the other a +Reservist upon a bicycle, went by me very quickly. Then from behind some +high trees in a churchyard there popped out a lot of little Engineers, who +were rolling a great roll of wire along. So I went onwards; and at last +I came to a cleft just before the left bank of the Sioule. This cleft +appeared deserted: there was brushwood on its sides and a tiny stream +running through it. On the ridge beyond were the roofs of a village. The +firing of the pieces was now quite close and near. They were a little +further than the houses of the hamlet, doubtless in some flat field where +the position was favourable to them. Down that cleft I went, and in its +hollow I saw the first post, but as yet nothing more. Then when I got to +the top of the opposing ridge I found the whole of the 38th lolling under +the cover of the road bank. From below you would have said there were no +men at all. The guns were right up beyond the line, firing away. I went up +past the linesmen till I found the guns. + +And what a pretty sight! They were so small and light and delicate! There +was no clanking, and no shouting, and to fire them a man pulled a mere +trigger. I thought to myself: "How simple and easy our civilization +becomes. Think of the motor-cars, and how they purr. Think of the simple +telephone, and all the other little things." And with this thought in my +mind I continued to watch the guns. Without yells or worry a man spoke +gently to other men, and they all limbered up, quite easily. The weight +seemed to have gone since my time. They trotted off with the pieces, and +when they crossed the little ditch at the edge of the field I waited for +the heavy clank-clank and the jog that ought to go with that well-known +episode; but I did not hear it, and I saw no shock. They got off the +field with its little ditch on to the high road as a light cart with good +springs might have done. And when they massed themselves under the cover +of a roll of land it was all done again without noise. I thought a little +sadly that the world had changed. But it was all so pretty and sensible +that I hardly regretted the change. There was a stretch of road in front +where nothing on earth could have given cover. The line was on its +stomach, firing away, and it was getting fired at apparently, in the sham +of the manoeuvre from the other side of the Sioule. As it covered this +open space the line edged forward and upward. When a certain number of the +38th had worked up like this, the whole bunch of them, from half a mile +down the road, right through the village, were moved along, and the head +of the column was scattered to follow up the firing. It was like spraying +water out of a tap. The guns still stood massed, and then at a sudden +order which was passed along as though in the tones of a conversation +(and again I thought to myself, "Surely the world is turning upside down +since I was a boy") they started off at a sharp gallop and leapt, as it +were, the two or three hundred yards of open road between cover and cover. +They were very well driven. The middle horses and the wheelers were doing +their work: it was not only the leaders that kept the traces taut. It was +wonderfully pretty to see them go by: not like a storm but like a smoke. +No one could have hit those gunners or those teams. Whether they were on +the sky-line or not I could not tell, but at any rate they could have been +seen just for that moment from beyond the Sioule. And when they massed up +again, beyond--some seconds afterwards--one heard the pop-pop from over +the valley, which showed they had been seen just too late. + +Hours and hours after that I went on with the young fellows. The guns I +could not keep with: I walked with the line. And all the while as I walked +I kept on wondering at the change that comes over European things. This +army of young men doing two years, with its odd silence and its sharp +twittering movements, and the sense of eyes all round one, of men glancing +and appreciating: individual men catching an opportunity for cover; and +commanding men catching the whole countryside.... Then, in the early +afternoon, the bugles and the trumpets sounded that long-drawn call which +has attended victories and capitulations, and which is also sounded every +night to tell people to put out the lights in the barrack-rooms. It is the +French "Cease fire." And whether from the national irony or the national +economy, I know not, but the stopping of either kind of fire has the +same call attached to it, and you must turn out a light in a French +barrack-room to the same notes as you must by command stop shooting at the +other people. + +The game was over. I faced the fourteen miles back to Gannat very stiff. +All during those hours I had been wondering at the novelty of Europe, and +at all these young men now so different, at the silence and the cover, and +the hefty, disposable little guns. But when I had my face turned southward +again to get back to a meal, that other aspect of Europe, its eternity, +was pictured all abroad. For there right before me stood the immutable +mountains, which stand enormous and sullen, but also vague at the base, +and, therefore, in their summits, unearthly, above the Limagne. There was +that upper valley of the Allier down which Casar had retreated, gathering +his legions into the North, and there was that silent and menacing sky +which everywhere broods over Auvergne, and even in its clearest days seems +to lend the granite and the lava land a sort of doomed hardness, as though +Heaven in this country commanded and did not allure. Never had I seen a +landscape more mysterious than those hills, nor at the same time anything +more enduring. + + + + +HOME + + +There is a river called the Eure which runs between low hills often +wooded, with a flat meadow floor in between. It so runs for many miles. +The towns that are set upon it are for the most part small and rare, +and though the river is well known by name, and though one of the chief +cathedrals of Europe stands near its source, for the most part it is not +visited by strangers. + +In this valley one day as I was drawing a picture of the woods I found a +wandering Englishman who was in the oddest way. He seemed by the slight +bend at his knees and the leaning forward of his head to have no very +great care how much further he might go. He was in the clothes of an +English tourist, which looked odd in such a place, as, for that matter, +they do anywhere. He had upon his head a pork-pie hat which was of the +same colour and texture as his clothes, a speckly brown. He carried a +thick stick. He was a man over fifty years of age; his face was rather +hollow and worn; his eyes were very simple and pale; he was bearded with a +weak beard, and in his expression there appeared a constrained but kindly +weariness. This was the man who came up to me as I was drawing my picture. +I had heard him scrambling in the undergrowth of the woods just behind me. + +He came out and walked to me across the few yards of meadow. The haying +was over, so he did the grass no harm. He came and stood near me, +irresolutely, looking vaguely up and across the valley towards the further +woods, and then gently towards what I was drawing. When he had so stood +still and so looked for a moment he asked me in French the name of the +great house whose roof showed above the more ordered trees beyond the +river, where a park emerged from and mixed with the forest. I told him the +name of the house, whereupon he shook his head and said that he had once +more come to the wrong place. + +I asked him what he meant, and he told me, sitting down slowly and +carefully upon the grass, this adventure: + +"First," said he, "are you always quite sure whether a thing is really +there or not?" + +"I am always quite sure," said I; "I am always positive." + +He sighed, and added: "Could you understand how a man might feel that +things were really there when they were not?" + +"Only," said I, "in some very vivid dream, and even then I think a man +knows pretty well inside his own mind that he is dreaming." I said that it +seemed to me rather like the question of the cunning of lunatics; most of +them know at the bottom of their silly minds that they are cracked, as you +may see by the way they plot and pretend. + +"You are not sympathetic with me," he said slowly, "but I will +nevertheless tell you what I want to tell you, for it will relieve me, and +it will explain to you why I have again come into this valley." "Why do +you say 'again'?" said I. + +"Because," he answered gently, "whenever my work gives me the opportunity +I do the same thing. I go up the valley of the Seine by train from Dieppe; +I get out at the station at which I got out on that day, and I walk across +these low hills, hoping that I may strike just the path and just the +mood--but I never do." + +"What path and what mood?" said I. + +"I was telling you," he answered patiently, "only you were so brutal about +reality." And then he sighed. He put his stick across his knees as he sat +there on the grass, held it with a hand on either side of his knees, and +so sitting bunched up began his tale once more. + +"It was ten years ago, and I was extremely tired, for you must know that +I am a Government servant, and I find my work most wearisome. It was just +this time of year that I took a week's holiday. I intended to take it in +Paris, but I thought on my way, as the weather was so fine, that I would +do something new and that I would walk a little way off the track. I had +often wondered what country lay behind the low and steep hills on the +right of the railway line. + +"I had crossed the Channel by night," he continued, a little sorry for +himself, "to save the expense. It was dawn when reached Rouen, and there I +very well remember drinking some coffee which I did not like, and eating +some good bread which I did. I changed carriages at Rouen because the +express did not stop at any of the little stations beyond. I took a slower +train, which came immediately behind it, and stopped at most of the +stations. I took my ticket rather at random for a little station between +Pont de l'Arche and Mantes. I got out at that little station, and it was +still early--only midway through the morning. + +"I was in an odd mixture of fatigue and exhilaration: I had not slept and +I would willingly have done so, but the freshness of the new day was upon +me, and I have always had a very keen curiosity to see new sights and to +know what lies behind the hills. + +"The day was fine and already rather hot for June. I did not stop in the +village near the station for more than half an hour, just the time to take +some soup and a little wine; then I set out into the woods to cross over +into this parallel valley. I knew that I should come to it and to the +railway line that goes down it in a very few miles. I proposed when I came +to that other railway line on the far side of the hills to walk quietly +down it as nearly parallel to it as I could get, and at the first station +to take the next train for Chartres, and then the next day to go from +Chartres to Paris. That was my plan. + +"The road up into the woods was one of those great French roads which +sometimes frighten me and always weary me by their length and insistence: +men seem to have taken so much trouble to make them, and they make me +feel as though I had to take trouble myself; I avoid them when I walk. +Therefore, so soon as this great road had struck the crest of the hills +and was well into the woods (cutting through them like the trench of a +fortification, with the tall trees on either side) I struck out into a +ride which had been cut through them many years ago and was already half +overgrown, and I went along this ride for several miles. + +"It did not matter to me how I went, since my design was so simple and +since any direction more or less westward would enable me to fulfil it, +that is, to come down upon the valley of the Eure and to find the single +railway line which leads to Chartres. The woods were very pleasant on that +June noon, and once or twice I was inclined to linger in their shade and +sleep an hour. But--note this clearly--I did not sleep. I remember every +moment of the way, though I confess my fatigue oppressed me somewhat +as the miles continued. + +"At last by the steepness of a new descent I +recognized that I had crossed the watershed and was coming down into the +valley of this river. The ride had dwindled to a path, and I was wondering +where the path would lead me when I noticed that it was getting more +orderly: there were patches of sand, and here and there a man had cut and +trimmed the edges of the way. Then it became more orderly still. It was +all sanded, and there were artificial bushes here and there--I mean bushes +not native to the forest, until at last I was aware that my ramble had +taken me into some one's own land, and that I was in a private ground. + +"I saw no great harm in this, for a traveller, if he explains himself, +will usually be excused; moreover, I had to continue, for I knew no +other way, and this path led me westward also. Only, whether because my +trespassing worried me or because I felt my own dishevelment more acutely, +the lack of sleep and the strain upon me increased as I pursued those +last hundred yards, until I came out suddenly from behind a screen of +rosebushes upon a large lawn, and at the end of it there was a French +country house with a moat round it, such as they often have, and a stone +bridge over the moat. + +"The chateau was simple and very grand. The mouldings upon it pleased me, +and it was full of peace. Upon the further side of the lawn, so that I +could hear it but not see it, a fountain was playing into a basin. By the +sound it was one of those high French fountains which the people who built +such houses as these two hundred years ago delighted in. The plash of it +was very soothing, but I was so tired and drooping that at one moment it +sounded much further than at the next. + +"There was an iron bench at the edge of the screen of roses, and hardly +knowing what I did,--for it was not the right thing to do in another +person's place--I sat down on this bench, taking pleasure in the sight of +the moat and the house with its noble roof, and the noise of the fountain. +I think I should have gone to sleep there and at that moment--for I felt +upon me worse than ever the strain of that long hot morning and that long +night journey--had not a very curious thing happened." + +Here the man looked up at me oddly, as though to see whether I disbelieved +him or not; but I did not disbelieve him. + +I was not even very much interested, for I was trying to make the trees to +look different one from the other, which is an extremely difficult thing: +I had not succeeded and I was niggling away. He continued with more +assurance: + +"The thing that happened was this: a young girl came out of the house +dressed in white, with a blue scarf over her head and crossed round her +neck. I knew her face as well as possible: it was a face I had known all +my youth and early manhood--but for the life of me I could not remember +her name!' + +"When one is very tired," I said, "that does happen to one: a name one +knows as well as one's own escapes one. It is especially the effect of +lack of sleep." + +"It is," said he, sighing profoundly; "but the oddness of my feeling it is +impossible to describe, for there I was meeting the oldest and perhaps the +dearest and certainly the most familiar of my friends, whom," he added, +hesitating a moment, "I had not seen for many years. It was a very great +pleasure ... it was a sort of comfort and an ending. I forgot, the moment +I saw her, why I had come over the hills, and all about how I meant to get +to Chartres.... And now I must tell you," added the man a little awkwardly, +"that my name is Peter." + +"No doubt," said I gravely, for I could not see why he should not bear +that name. + +"My Christian name," he continued hurriedly. + +"Of course," said I, as sympathetically as I could. He seemed relieved +that I had not even smiled at it. + +"Yes," he went on rather quickly, "Peter--my name is Peter. Well, this +lady came up to me and said, 'Why, Peter, we never thought you would +come!' She did not seem very much astonished, but rather as though I had +come earlier than she had expected. 'I will get Philip,' she said. 'You +remember Philip?' Here I had another little trouble with my memory: I did +remember that there was a Philip, but I could not place him. That was odd, +you know. As for her, oh, I knew _her_ as well as the colour of the +sky: it was her name that my brain missed, as it might have missed my own +name or my mother's. + +"Philip came out as she called him, and there was a familiarity between +them that seemed natural to me at the time, but whether he was a brother +or a lover or a husband, or what, I could not for the life of me remember. + +"'You look tired,' he said to me in a kind voice that I liked very much +and remembered clearly. 'I am,' said I, 'dog tired.' 'Come in with us,' he +said, 'and we will give you some wine and water. When would you like to +eat?' I said I would rather sleep than eat. He said that could easily be +arranged. + +"I strolled with them towards the house across that great lawn, hearing +the noise of the fountain, now dimmer, now nearer; sometimes it seemed +miles away and sometimes right in my ears. Whether it was their +conversation or my familiarity with them or my fatigue, at any rate, as I +crossed the moat I could no longer recall anything save their presence. I +was not even troubled by the desire to recall anything; I was full of a +complete contentment, and this surging up of familiar things, this surging +up of it in a foreign place, without excuse or possible connexion or any +explanation whatsoever, seemed to me as natural as breathing. + +"As I crossed the bridge I wholly forgot whence I came or whither I was +going, but I knew myself better than ever I had known myself, and every +detail of the place was familiar to me. + +"Here I had passed (I thought) many hours of my childhood and my boyhood +and my early manhood also. I ceased considering the names and the relation +of Philip and the girl. + +"They gave me cold meat and bread and excellent wine, and water to mix +with it, and as they continued to speak even the last adumbrations of care +fell off me altogether, and my spirit seemed entirely released and free. +My approaching sleep beckoned to me like an easy entrance into Paradise. +I should wake from it quite simply into the perpetual enjoyment of this +place and its companionship. Oh, it was an absolute repose! + +"Philip took me to a little room on the ground floor fitted with the +exquisite care and the simplicity of the French: there was a curtained +bed, a thing I love. He lent me night clothes, though it was broad day, +because he said that if I undressed and got into the bed I should be much +more rested; they would keep everything quiet at that end of the house, +and the gentle fall of the water into the moat outside would not disturb +me. I said on the contrary it would soothe me, and I felt the benignity of +the place possess me like a spell. Remember that I was very tired and had +not slept for now thirty hours. + +"I remember handling the white counterpane and noting the delicate French +pattern upon it, and seeing at one corner the little red silk coronet +embroidered, which made me smile. I remember putting my hand upon the cool +linen of the pillow-case and smoothing it; then I got into that bed and +fell asleep. It was broad noon, with the stillness that comes of a summer +noon upon the woods; the air was cool and delicious above the water of the +moat, and my windows were open to it. + +"The last thing I heard as I dropped asleep was her voice calling to +Philip in the corridor. I could have told the very place. I knew that +corridor so well. We used to play there when we were children. We used to +play at travelling, and we used to invent the names of railway stations +for the various doors. Remembering this and smiling at the memory, I fell +at once into a blessed sleep. + +"...I do not want to annoy you," said the man apologetically, "but I +really had to tell you this story, and I hardly know how to tell you the +end of it." + +"Go on," said I hurriedly, for I had gone and made two trees one exactly +like the other (which in nature was never seen) and I was annoyed with +myself. + +"Well," said he, still hesitating and sighing with real sadness, "when +I woke up I was in a third-class carriage; the light was that of late +afternoon, and a man had woken me by tapping my shoulder and telling me +that the next station was Chartres.... That's all." + +He sighed again. He expected me to say something. So I did. I said without +much originality: "You must have dreamed it." + +"No," said he, very considerably put out, "that is the point! I didn't! I +tell you I can remember exactly every stage from when I left the railway +train in the Seine Valley until I got into that bed." + +"It's all very odd," said I. + +"Yes," said he, "and so was my mood; but it was real enough. It was the +second or third most real thing that has ever happened to me. I am quite +certain that it happened to me." + +I remained silent, and rubbed out the top of one of my trees so as to +invent a new top for it, since I could not draw it as it was. Then, as he +wanted me to say something more, I said: "Well, you must have got into the +train somehow." + +"Of course," said he. + +"Well, where did you get into the train?" + +"I don't know." + +"Your ticket would have told you that." + +"I think I must have given it up to the man," he answered doubtfully, "the +guard who told me that the next station was Chartres." + +"Well, it's all very mysterious," I said. + +"Yes," he said, getting up rather weakly to go on again, "it is." And +he sighed again. "I come here every year. I hope," he added a little +wistfully, "I hope, you see, that it may happen to me again ... but it +never does." + +"It will at last," said I to comfort him. + +And, will you believe it, that simple sentence made him in a moment +radiantly happy; his face beamed, and he positively thanked me, thanked me +warmly. + +"You speak like one inspired," he said. (I confess I did not feel like it +at all.) "I shall go much lighter on my way after that sentence of yours." + +He bade me good-bye with some ceremony and slouched off, with his eyes set +towards the west and the more distant hills. + + + + +THE WAY TO FAIRYLAND + + +A child of four years old, having read of Fairyland and of the people in +it, asked only two days ago, in a very popular attitude of doubt, whether +there were any such place, and, if so, where it was; for she believed in +her heart that the whole thing was a pack of lies. + +I was happy to be able to tell her that her scepticism, though well +founded, was extreme. The existence of Fairyland, I was able to point out +to her both by documentary evidence from books and also by calling in the +testimony of the aged, could not be doubted by any reasonable person. What +was really difficult was the way to get there. Indeed, so obviously true +was the existence of Fairyland, that every one in this world set out to go +there as a matter of course, but so difficult was it to find the way that +very few reached the place. Upon this the child very naturally asked me +what sort of way the way was and why it was so difficult. + +"You must first understand," said I, "where Fairyland is: it lies a little +way farther than the farthest hill you can see. It lies, in fact, just +beyond that hill. The frontiers of it are sometimes a little doubtful in +any landscape, because the landscape is confused, but if on the extreme +limits of the horizon you see a long line of hills bounding your view +exactly, then you may be perfectly certain that on the other side of those +hills is Fairyland. There are times of the day and of the weather when the +sky over Fairyland can be clearly perceived, for it has a different colour +from any other kind of sky. That is where Fairyland is. It is not on an +island, as some have pretended, still less is it under the earth--a +ridiculous story, for there it is all dark." + +"But how do you get there?" asked the child. "Do you get there by walking +to the hills and going over?" + +"No," said I, "that is just the bother of it. Several people have thought +that that was the way of getting there; in fact, it looked plain common +sense, but there is a trick about it; when you get to the hills everything +changes, because the fairies have that power: the hills become ordinary, +the people living on them turn into people just like you and me, and then +when you get to the top of the hills, before you can say knife another +common country just like ours has been stuck on the other side. On this +account, through the power of the fairies, who hate particularly to be +disturbed, no one can reach Fairyland in so simple a way as by walking +towards it." + +"Then," said the child to me, "I don't see how any one can get there"--for +this child had good brains and common sense. + +"But," said I, "you must have read in stories of people who get to +Fairyland, and I think you will notice that in the stories written by +people who know anything about it (and you know how easily these are +distinguished from the others) there are always two ways of getting to +Fairyland, and only two: one is by mistake, and the other is by a spell. +In the first way to Fairyland is to lose your way, and this is one of the +best ways of getting there; but it is dangerous, because if you get there +that way you offend the fairies. It is better to get there by a spell. +But the inconvenience of that is that you are blindfolded so as not to be +allowed to remember the way there or back again. When you get there by a +spell, one of the people from Fairyland takes you in charge. They prefer +to do it when you are asleep, but they are quite game to do it at other +times if they think it worth their while. + +"Why do they do it?" said the child. + +"They do it," said I, "because it annoys the fairies very much to think +that people are stopping believing in them. They are very proud people, +and think a lot of themselves. They can, if they like, do us good, and +they think us ungrateful when we forget about them. Sometimes in the past +people have gone on forgetting about fairies more and more and more, +until at last they have stopped believing in them altogether. The fairies +meanwhile have been looking after their own affairs, and it is their fault +more than ours when we forget about them. But when this has gone on for +too long a time the fairies wake up and find out by a way they have that +men have stopped believing in them, and get very much annoyed. Then some +fairy proposes that a map of the way to Fairyland should be drawn up and +given to the people; but this is always voted down; and at last they make +up their minds to wake people up to Fairyland by going and visiting this +world, and by spells bringing several people into their kingdom and so +getting witnesses. For, as you can imagine, it is a most unpleasant thing +to be really important and for other people not to know it." + +"Yes," said the child, who had had this unpleasant experience, and greatly +sympathized with the fairies when I explained how much they disliked it. +Then the child asked me again: + +"Why do the fairies let us forget about them?" + +"It is," said I, "because they get so excited about their own affairs. +Rather more than a hundred years ago, for instance, a war broke out in +Fairyland because the King of the Fairies, whose name is Oberon, and the +Queen of the Fairies, whose name is Titania, had asked the Trolls to +dinner. The Gnomes were very much annoyed at this, and the Elves still +more so, for the chief glory of the Elves was that being elfish got you to +know people; and it was universally admitted that the Trolls ought never +to be asked out, because they were trollish. King Oberon said that all +that was a wicked prejudice, and that the Trolls ought to be asked out to +dinner just as much as the Elves, in common justice. But his real reason +was that he was bored by the perpetual elfishness of the Elves, and wanted +to see the great ugly Trolls trying to behave like gentlemen for a change. +So the Trolls came and tied their napkins round their necks, and ate such +enormous quantities at dinner that King Oberon and his Queen almost died +of laughing. The Elves were frightfully jealous, and so the war began. And +while it was going on everybody in Earthland forgot more and more about +Fairyland, until at last some people went so far as to say, like you, that +Fairyland did not exist." + +"I did not say so," said the child, "I only asked." + +"But," I answered severely, "asking about such things is the beginning of +doubting them. Anyhow, the fairies woke up one fine day about the time +when your great-grandfather got married, to discover that they were not +believed in, so they patched up their quarrel and they sent fairies to +cast spells, and any amount of people began to be taken to Fairyland, +until at last every one was forced to believe their evidence and to say +that Fairyland existed." + +"Were they glad?" said the child. + +"Who?" said I; "the witnesses who were thus taken away and shown +Fairyland?" + +"Yes," said the child. "They ought to have been glad." + +"Well, they _weren't_!" said I. "They were as sick as dogs. Not one +of them but got into some dreadful trouble. From one his wife ran away, +another starved to death, a third killed himself, a fourth was drowned +and then burned upon the seashore, a fifth went mad (and so did several +others), and as for poverty, and all the misfortunes that go with it, it +simply rained upon the people who had been to Fairyland." + +"Why?" said the child, greatly troubled. + +"Ah!" said I, "that is what none of us know, but so it is, if they take +you to Fairyland you are in for a very bad business indeed. There is only +one way out of it." + +"And what is that?" said the child, interested. + +"Washing," said I, "washing in cold water. It has been proved over and +over again." + +"Then," said the child happily, "they can take me to Fairyland as often as +they like, and I shall not be the worse for it, for I am washed in cold +water every day. What about the other way to Fairyland?" + +"Oh _that_," said I, "that, I think, is much the best way; I've gone +there myself." + +"Have you really?" said the child, now intensely interested. "That +_is_ good! How often have you been there?" + +"Oh I can't tell you," I said carelessly, "but at least eight times, and +perhaps more, and the dodge is, as I told you, to lose your way; only the +great trouble is that no one can lose his way on purpose. At first I used +to think that one had to follow signs. There was an omnibus going down the +King's Road which had 'To the World's End' painted on it. I got into this +one day, and after I had gone some miles I said to the man, 'When do we +get to the World's End?' 'Oh,' said he, 'you have passed it long ago,' and +he rang a little bell to make me get out. So it was a fraud. Another time +I saw another omnibus with the words, 'To the Monster,' and I got into +that, but I heard that it was only a sort of joke, and that though the +Monster was there all right, he was not in Fairyland. This omnibus went +through a very uninteresting part of London, and Fairyland was nowhere in +the neighbourhood. Another time in the country of France I came upon a +printed placard which said: 'The excursion will pass by the Seven Winds, +the Foolish Heath, and St. Martin under Heaven.' This time also I thought +I had got it, but when I looked at the date on the placard I saw that the +excursion had started several days before, so I missed it again. Another +time up in Scotland I saw a signpost on which there was, 'To the King's +House seven miles.' And some one had written underneath in pencil: 'And +to the Dragon's Cave eleven.' But nothing came of it. It was a false +lane. After that I gave up believing that one could get to Fairyland by +signposts or omnibuses, until one day, quite by mistake, I chanced on the +dodge of losing one's way." + +"How is that done?" said the child. + +"That is what no one can tell you," said I. "If people knew how it was +done everybody would do it, but the whole point of losing your way is that +you do it by mistake. You must be quite certain that you have not lost +your way or it is no good. You walk along, and you walk along, and you +wonder how long it will be before you get to the town, and then instead of +getting to the town at all, there you are in Fairyland." + +"How do you know that you are in Fairyland?" said the little child. + +"It depends how far you get in," said I. "If you get in far enough trees +and rocks change into men, rivers talk, and voices of people whom you +cannot see tell you all sorts of things in loud and clear tones close to +your ear. But if you only get a little way inside then you know that you +are there by a sort of wonderment. The things ought to be like the things +you see every day, but they are a little different, notably the trees. +It happened to me once in a town called Lanchester. A part of that +town (though no one would think of it to look at it) happens to be in +Fairyland. And there I was received by three fairies, who gave me supper +in an inn. And it happened to me once in the mountains and once it +happened to me at sea. I lost my way and came upon a beach which was in +Fairyland. Another time it happened to me between Goodwood and Upwaltham +in Sussex." + +At this moment the child's nurse came in to take it away, so she came to +the point: + +"How did you know you were in Fairyland?' she said doubtfully." Perhaps +you are making all this up." + +"Nonsense!" I said reprovingly, "the only people who make things up are +little children, for they always tell lies. Grown-up people never tell +lies. Let me tell you that one always knows when one has been in Fairyland +by the feeling afterwards, and because it is impossible to find it again." + +The child said, "Very well, I will believe you," but I could see from the +expression of her eyes that she was not wholly convinced, and that in the +bottom of her heart she does not believe there is any such place. She +will, however, if she can hang on another forty years, and then I shall +have my revenge. + + + + +THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD + + +In a garden which must, I think, lie somewhat apart and enclosed in one +of the valleys of central England, you came across the English grass in +summer beneath the shade of a tree; you were running, but your arms were +stretched before you in a sort of dance and balance as though you rather +belonged to the air and to the growing things about you and above you than +to the earth over which you passed; and you were not three years old. + +As, in jest, this charming vision was recorded by a camera which some +guest had with him, a happy accident (designed, for all we know, by +whatever powers arrange such things, an accident of the instrument or of +the plate upon which your small, happy, advancing figure was recorded) so +chanced that your figure, when the picture was printed, shone all around +with light. + +I cannot, as I look at it now before me and as I write these words, +express, however much I may seek for expression, how great a meaning +underlies that accident nor how full of fate and of reason and of +suggested truth that aureole grows as I gaze. Your innocence is beatified +by it, and takes on with majesty the glory which lies behind all +innocence, but which our eyes can never see. Your happiness seems in that +mist of light to be removed and permanent; the common world in which you +are moving passes, through this trick of the lens, into a stronger world +more apt for such a sight, and one in which I am half persuaded (as I +still look upon the picture) blessedness is not a rare adventure, but +something native and secure. + +Little child, the trick which the camera has played means more and more as +I still watch your picture, for there is present in that light not only +blessedness, but holiness as well. The lightness of your movement and of +your poise (as though you were blown like a blossom along the tops of the +grass) is shone through, and your face, especially its ready and wondering +laughter, is inspired, as though the Light had filled it from within; +so that, looking thus, I look not on, but through. I say that in this +portrait which I treasure there is not only blessedness, but holiness as +well--holiness which is the cause of blessedness and which contains it, +and by which secretly all this world is sustained. + +Now there is a third thing in your portrait, little child. That accident +of light, light all about you and shining through your face, is not only +blessed nor only holy, but it is also sacred, and with that thought there +returns to me as I look what always should return to man if he is to find +any stuff or profit in his consideration of divine things. In blessedness +there is joy for which here we are not made, so that we catch it only +in glimpses or in adumbrations. And in holiness, when we perceive it we +perceive something far off; it is that from which we came and to which +we should return; yet holiness is not a human thing. But things sacred-- +things devoted to a purpose, things about which there lies an awful +necessity of sacrifice, things devoted and necessarily suffering some +doom--these are certainly of this world; that, indeed, all men know well +at last, and find it part of the business through which they needs must +pass. Human memories, since they are only memories; human attachments, +since they are offered up and end; great human fears and hopeless human +longings--these are sacred things attached to a victim and to a sacrifice; +and in this picture of yours, with the light so glorifying you all round, +no one can doubt who sees it but that the sacredness of human life will be +yours also; that is, you must learn how it is offered up to some end and +what a sacrifice is there. + +I could wish, as I consider this, that the camera had played no such +trick, and had not revealed in that haze of awful meaning all that lies +beyond the nature of you, child. But it is a truth which is so revealed; +and we may not, upon a penalty more terrible than death, neglect any +ultimate truth concerning our mortal way. + +Your feet, which now do not seem to press upon the lawn across which they +run, have to go more miles than you can dream of, through more places than +you could bear to hear, and they must be directed to a goal which will not +in your very young delight be mentioned before you, or of which, if it is +mentioned, you will not understand by name; and your little hands which +you bear before you with the little gesture of flying things, will grasp +most tightly that which can least remain and will attempt to fashion what +can never be completed, and will caress that which will not respond to +the caress. Your eyes, which are now so principally filled with innocence +that that bright quality drowns all the rest, will look upon so much of +deadly suffering and of misuse in men, that they will very early change +themselves in kind; and all your face, which now vaguely remembers nothing +but the early vision from which childhood proceeds, will grow drawn and +self-guarded, and will suffer some agonies, a few despairs, innumerable +fatigues, until it has become the face of a woman grown. Nor will this +sacred doom about you, which is that of all mankind, cease or grow less +or be mitigated in any way; it will increase as surely and as steadily +as increase the number of the years, until at last you will lay down the +daylight and the knowledge of day-lit things as gladly as now you wake +from sleep to see them. + +For you are sacred, and all those elders about you, whose solemn demeanour +now and then startles you into a pretty perplexity which soon calls back +their smiles, have hearts only quite different from your quite careless +heart, because they have known the things to which, in the manner of +victims, they are consecrated. + +All that by which we painfully may earn rectitude and a proper balance in +the conduct of our short affairs I must believe that you will practise; +and I must believe, as I look here into your face, seeing your confident +advance (as though you were flying out from your babyhood into young life +without any fear), that the virtues which now surround you in a crowd and +make a sort of court for you and are your angels every way, will go along +with you and will stand by you to the end. Even so, and the more so, you +will find (if you read this some years hence) how truly it is written. By +contrast with your demeanour, with your immortal hopes, and with your +pious efforts the world about you will seem darker and less secure with +every passing harvest, and in proportion as you remember the childhood +which has led me so to write of you, in proportion as you remember +gladness and innocence with its completed joy, in that proportion will +you find at least a breaking burden in the weight of this world. + +Now you may say to me, little child (not now, but later on), to what +purpose is all this complaint, and why should you tell me these things? + +It is because in the portrait before me the holiness, the blessedness, and +therefore the sacredness are apparent that I am writing as I do. For you +must know that there is a false way out and a seeming relief for the rack +of human affairs, and that this way is taken by many. Since you are sacred +do not take it, but bear the burden. It is the character of whatever is +sacred that it does not take that way; but, like a true victim, remains +to the end, ready to complete the sacrifice. + +The way out is to forget that one is sacred, and this men and women do in +many ways. The most of them by way of treason. They betray. They break at +first uneasily, later easily, and at last unconsciously, the word which +each of us has passed before He was born in Paradise. All men and all +women are conscious of that word, for though their lips cannot frame it +here, and though the terms of the pledge are forgotten, the memory of its +obligation fills the mind. But there comes a day, and that soon in the +lives of many, when to break it once is to be much refreshed and to seem +to drop the burden; and in the second and the third time it is done, and +the fourth it is done more easily--until at last there is no more need +for a man or a woman to break that pledged word again and once again; it +is broken for good and for all. This is one most common way in which the +sacred quality is lost: the way of treason. Round about such as choose +this kind of relief grows a habit and an air of treason. They betray all +things at last, and even common friendship is at last no longer theirs. +The end of this false issue is despair. + +Another way is to take refuge from ourselves in pleasures, and this is +easily done, not by the worse, but by the better sort; for there are some, +some few, who would never betray nor break their ancient word, but who, +seeing no meaning in a sacrifice nor in a burden, escape from it through +pleasure as through a drug, and this pleasure they find in all manner of +things, and always that spirit near them which would destroy their sacred +mark, persuades them that they are right, and that in such pursuits the +sacrifice is evaded. So some will steep themselves in rhyme, some in +landscapes, some in pictures, some in the watching of the complexity and +change of things, some in music, some in action, some in mere ease. It +seems as though the men and women who would thus forget their sacredness +are better loved and better warned than those who take the other path, for +they never forget certain gracious things which should be proper to the +mind, nor do they lose their friends. But that they have taken a wrong +path you may easily perceive from this sign: that these pleasures, like +any other drug, do not feed or satisfy, but must be increased with every +dose, and even so soon pall and are continued not because they are +pleasures any longer, but because, dull though they have become, without +them there is active pain. + +Take neither the one path nor the other, but retain, I beseech you, when +the time comes, that quality of sacredness of which I speak, for there +is no alternative. Some trouble fell upon our race, and all of us must +take upon ourselves the business and the burden. If you will attempt any +way out at all it will but lead you to some worse thing. We have not all +choices before us, but only one of very few, and each of those few choices +is mortal, and all but one is evil. + +You should remember this also, dear little child, that at the beginning-- +oh, only at the very beginning of life--even your reason that God gave +may lead you wrong. For with those memories strong upon you of perfect +will, of clear intelligence, and of harmonious beauty all about, you will +believe the world in which you stand to be the world from which you have +come and to which you are also destined. You have but to treat this world +for but a very little while as though it were the thing you think it to +find it is not so. + +Do you know that that which smells most strongly in this life of +immortality, and which a poet has called "the ultimate outpost of +eternity," is insecure and perishes? I mean the passionate affection of +early youth. If that does not remain, what then do you think can remain? +I tell you that nothing which you take to be permanent round about you +when you are very young is more than the symbol or clothes of permanence. +Another poet has written, speaking of the chalk hills:-- + + Only a little while remain + The Downs in their solemnity. + +Nor is this saying forced. Men and women cannot attach themselves even to +the hills where they first played. + +Some men, wise but unillumined, and not conscious of that light which I +here physically see shining all round and through you in the picture which +is before my eyes as I write, have said that to die young and to end the +business early was a great blessing. We do not know. But we do know that +to die long after and to have gone through the business must be blessed, +since blessedness and holiness and sacredness are bound together in one. + +But, of these three, be certain that sacredness is your chief business, +blessedness after your first childhood you will never know, and holiness +you may only see as men see distant mountains lifted beyond a plain; it +cannot be your habitation. Sacredness, which is the mark of that purpose +whose heir is blessedness, whose end is holiness, will be upon you until +you die; maintain it, and let it be your chief concern, for though you +neglect it, it will remain and avenge itself. + +All this I have seen in your picture as you go across the grass, and it +was an accident of the camera that did it. If any one shall say these +things do not attach to the portrait of a child, let him ask himself +whether they do not attach to the portrait that might be drawn, did human +skill suffice, of the life of a woman or a man which springs from the +demeanour of childhood; or let him ask himself whether, if a face in old +age and that same face in childhood were equally and as by a revelation +set down each in its full truth, and the growth of the one into the other +were interpreted by a profound intelligence, what I have said would not +be true of all that little passage of ours through the daylight. + + + + +ON EXPERIENCE + + +There are three phases in the life of man, so far as his thoughts upon +his surroundings are concerned. + +The first of these is the phase of youth, in which he takes certain +matured things for granted, and whether he realizes his illusion or no, +believes them to be eternal. This phase ends sharply with every man, by +the action of one blow. Some essence is dissolved, some binding cordage +snaps, or some one dies. + +I say no matter how clearly the reason of a man tells him that all about +him is changeable, and that perfect and matured things and characters upon +whose perfection and maturity he reposes for his peace must disappear, his +attitude in youth towards those things is one of a complete security as +towards things eternal. For the young man, convinced as he is that his +youth and he himself are there for ever, sees in one lasting framework his +father's garden, his mother's face, the landscape from his windows, his +friendships, and even his life; the very details of food, of clothing, +and of lesser custom, all these are fixed for him. Fixed also are the +mature and perfect things. This aged friend, in whose excellent humour +and universal science he takes so continual a delight, is there for ever. +That considered judgment of mankind upon such and such a troubling matter, +of sex, of property, or of political right, is anchored or rooted in +eternity. There comes a day when by some one experience he is startled out +of that morning dream. It is not the first death, perhaps, that strikes +him, nor the first loss--no, not even, perhaps, the first discovery that +human affection also passes (though that should be for every man the +deepest lesson of all). What wakes him to the reality which is for some +dreadful, for others august, and for the faithful divine, is always an +accident. One death, one change, one loss, among so many, unseals his +judgment, and he sees thenceforward, nay, often from one particular moment +upon which he can put his finger, the doom which lies upon all things +whatsoever that live by a material change. + +The second phase which he next enters is for a thoughtful man in a +sceptical and corrupted age the crucial phase, whereby will be determined, +not indeed the fate of his soul, but the justice, and therefore the +advantage to others, of his philosophy. + +He has done with all illusions of permanence and repose. Henceforward he +sees for himself a definite end, and the road which used to lead over +the hills and to be lost beyond in the haze of summer plains now leads +directly to a visible place; that place is a cavern in the mountain side, +dark and without issue. He must die. Henceforward he expects the passing +of all to which he is attached, and he is braced against loss by something +lent to him which is to despair as an angel is to a demon; something in +the same category of emotion, but just and fortifying, instead of void +and vain and tempting and without an end. A man sees in this second phase +of his experience that he must lose. Oh, he does not lose in a gamble! +It is not a question of winning a stake or forfeiting it, as the vulgar +falsehood of commercial analogy would try to make our time believe. He +knows henceforward that there is no success, no final attainment of +desire, because there is no fixity in any material thing. As he sits at +table with the wisest and keenest of his time, especially with the old, +hearing true stories of the great men who came before him, looking at +well-painted pictures, admiring the proper printing of collected books, +and praising the just balance of some classical verse or music which +time has judged and made worthy, he so admires and enjoys with a full +consciousness that these things are flowing past him. He cannot rely; he +attempts no foothold. The equilibrium of his soul is only to be discovered +in marching and continually marching. He now knows that he must go onward, +he may not stand, for if he did he would fall. He must go forward and see +the river of things run by. He must go forward--but to what goal? + +There is a third phase, in which (as the experience of twenty Christian +centuries determines) that goal also is discovered, and for some who so +discover it the experience of loss begins to possess a meaning. + +What this third phase is I confess I do not know, and as I have not felt +it I cannot describe it, but when that third phase is used as I have +suggested a character of wisdom enters into those so using it; a character +of wisdom which is the nearest thing our dull time can show to inspiration +and to prophecy. + +It is to be noted also that in this third phase of man's experience of +doom those who are not wise are most unwise indeed; and that where the age +of experience has not produced this sort of clear maturity in the spirit, +then it produces either despair or folly, or an exaggerated shirking of +reality, which, being a falsehood, is wickeder than despair, and far more +inhuman than mere foolishness. Thus those who in the third phase of which +I speak have not attained the wisdom which I here recognize will often +sink into a passion of avarice, accumulating wealth which they cannot +conceivably enjoy; a stupidity so manifest that every age of satire has +found it the most facile of commonplaces. Or, again, those who fail to +find wisdom in that last phase will constantly pretend an unreal world, +making plans for a future that cannot be there. So did a man eleven +years ago in the neighbourhood of Regent Street, for this man, being +eighty-seven years of age, wealthy, and wholly devoid of friends, or near +kindred, took a flat, but he insisted that the lease should be one of not +less than sixty years. In a hundred ways this last phase if it is degraded +is most degraded; and, though it is not worst, it is most sterile when it +falls to a mere regret for the past. + +Now it is here that the opposite, the wisdoms of old age appears; for the +old, when they are wise, are able to point out to men and to women of +middle age what these least suspect, and can provide them with a good +medicine against the insecurity of the soul. The old in their wisdom can +tell those just beneath them this: that though all things human pass, all +bear their fruit. They can say: "You believe that such and such a woman, +with her courtesy, her travel, her sharp edge of judgment, her large +humanity, and her love of the comedy of the world, being dead can never be +replaced. There are, growing up around you, characters quite insufficient, +and to you, perhaps, contemptible, who will in their fruiting display all +these things." There never was, nor has been, a time (say those who are +acquainted with the great story of Europe) when Christendom has failed. +Out of dead passages there has sprung up suddenly, and quite miraculously, +whatever was thought to be lost. So it has been with our music, so with +the splendour of our armies, so with the fabric of our temples, so with +our deathless rhymes. The old, when they are wise, can do for men younger +than they what history does for the reader; but they can do it far more +poignantly, having expression in their eyes and the living tones of a +voice. It is their business to console the world. + + + + +ON IMMORTALITY + + +Here and there, scattered rarely among men as men are now, you will +find one man who does not pursue the same ends as his fellows; but in a +peculiar manner leads his life as though his eyes were fixed upon some +distant goal or his appetites subjected to some constant and individual +influence. + +Such a man may be doing any one of many things. He may be a poet, and his +occupation may be the writing of good verse, pleased at its sound and +pleased as well by the reflection of the pleasure it will give to others. +Or he may be devoted, and follow a creed, a single truth or a character +which he loves, and whose influence and glory he makes it his business to +propagate. Or he may be but a worker in some material, a carver in wood, +or a manager of commercial affairs, or a governor and administrator of +men, and yet so order his life that his work and his material are his +object: not his gain in the end--not his appreciable and calculable gain +at least--nor his immediate and ephemeral pleasures. + +Such men, if you will examine them, will prove intent upon one ultimate +completion of their being which is also (whether they know it or not) a +reward, and those who have carefully considered the matter and give it +expression say that such men are out a-hunting for Immortality. + +Now what is that? There was a man, before the Normans came to England, who +sailed from the highest Scandinavian mountains, I think, towards these +shores, and landing, fought against men and was wounded so that he was +certain to die. When they asked him why he had undertaken that adventure, +he answered: "That my name might live between the lips of men." + +The young, the adventurous, the admired--how eagerly and how properly do +they not crave for glory. Fame has about it a divine something as it were +an echo of perfect worship and of perfect praise, which, though it is +itself imperfect, may well deceive the young, the adventurous, and the +admired. How great to think that things well done and the enlargement of +others shall call down upon our names, even when all is lost but the mere +names, a continuous and an increasing benediction. Nay, more than this: +how great to think of the noise only of an achievement, and to be sure +that the poem written, the carving concluded, or the battle won, the +achievement of itself, though the name of the achiever be perished or +unknown, shall awake those tremendous echoes. + +But wait a moment. What is that thing which so does and so desires? What +end does _it_ find in glory? _It_ is not the receiver of the +benefit; _it_ will not hear that large volume of recognition and of +salute. Twist it how you will no end is here, nor in such a pursuit is the +pursuer satisfied. + +It is true that men who love to create for themselves imaginary stuff, and +to feed, their cravings, if they cannot with substance then with dreams, +perpetually pretend a satisfaction in such acquirements which the years as +they proceed tell them with increasing iteration that they do not feel. +The young, the adventurous, the admired, may at first be deceived by such +a glamour, and it is in the providential scheme of human affairs, and it +is for the good of us all that the pleasing cheat should last while the +good things are doing. Thus do substantial verse and noble sculpture and +building whose stuff is lasting and whose beauty is almost imperishable, +rise to the advantage of mankind--but oh! there is no lasting in the +dream. + +There comes a day of truth inwardly but ineradicably perceived, when such +things, such aspirations, are clearly known for what they are. Of all the +affections that pass, of all those things which being made by a power +itself perishable, must be unmade again, some may be less, others more +lasting, but not one remains for ever. + +Nor is this all. What is it, I say, which did the thing and suffered the +desire? Not the receiver, still less the work achieved, it was the man +that so acted and so desired; and that part of him which was affected thus +we call the Soul. Then, surely (one may reason) the soul has, apt to its +own nature, a completion which is also a reward, and there is something +before it which is not the symbol or the cheat of perfect praise, but +is perfect praise; there is surely something before it which is not the +symbol or the cheat of life, but life completed. + +Now stand at night beneath a clear heaven solemn and severe with stars, +comprehend (as the great achievement of our race permits us now to do) +what an emptiness and what a scale are there, and you will easily discover +in that one glance, or you will feel at least the appalling thing which +tempts men to deny their immortality. + +There is no man who has closely inquired upon this, and there is none +who has troubled himself and admitted a reasonable anxiety upon it, who +has not well retained the nature of despair. Those who approach their +fellow-beings with assertion and with violence in such a matter, affirming +their discovery, their conviction, or their acquired certitude, do an +ill service to their kind. It is not thus that the last things should be +approached nor the most tremendous problem which man is doomed to envisage +be propounded and solved. Ah! the long business in this world! The way in +which your deepest love goes up in nothingness and breaks away, and the +way in which the strongest and the most continuous element of your dear +self is dissipated and fails you in some moment; if I do not understand +these things in a man nor comprehend how the turn of the years can obscure +or obliterate a man's consciousness of what his end should be, then I act +in brute ignorance, or what is much worse, in lack of charity. + +How should you not be persuaded, ephemeral intelligence? Does not every +matter which you have held closely enough and long enough escape you and +withdraw? Is not that doom true of things which were knit into us, and +were of necessity, so to speak, prime parts of our being? Is it not true +of the network and the structure which supports whatever we are, and +without which we cannot imagine ourselves to be? We ourselves perish. Of +that there is no doubt at all. One is here talking and alive. His friends +are with him: on the time when they shall meet again he is utterly not +there. The motionless flesh before his mourners is nothing. It is not a +simulacrum, it is not an outline, it is not a recollection of the man, but +rather something wholly gone useless. As for that voice, those meanings in +the eyes, and that gesture of the hand, it has suddenly and entirely +ceased to be. + +Then how shall we deny the dreadful conclusion (to which how many elder +civilizations have not turned!) that we must seek in vain for any gift to +the giver for any workers' wage, or, rather, to put it more justly, for +a true end to the life we lead. Yet it is not so. The conclusion is more +weighty by far that all things bear their fruit: that the comprehender and +the master of so much, the very _mind_, suffers to no purpose and in +one moment a tragic, final, and unworthy catastrophe agrees with nothing +other that we know. It is not thus of the good things of the earth that +turn kindly into the earth again. It cannot be thus with that which makes +of all the earth a subject thing for contemplation and for description, +for understanding, and, if it so choose--for sacrifice. + +Those of our race who have deliberately looked upon the scroll and found +there nothing to read, who have lifted the curtain and found beyond it +nothing to see, have faced their conclusions with a nobility which should +determine us; for that nobility does prove, or, if it does not prove, +compels us to proclaim, that the soul of man which breeds it has somewhere +a lasting home. The conclusion is imperative. + +Let not any one pretend in his faith that his faith is immediately evident +and everywhere acceptable. There is in all who pretend to judgment a sense +of the doubt that lies between the one conviction and the other, and all +acknowledge that the scales swing normally upon the beam for normal men. +But they swing--and one is the heavier. + +The poets, who are our interpreters, know well and can set forth the +contrast between such intimations and such despair. + + The long descent of wasted days + To these at last have led me down: + Remember that I filled with praise + The meaningless and doubtful ways + That lead to an eternal town. + +Moreover, since we have spoken of the night it is only reasonable to +consider the alternate dawn. The quality of light, its merry action on the +mind, the daylit sky under whose benediction we repose and in which our +kind has always seen the picture of its final place: are these then +visions and deceits? + + + + +ON SACRAMENTAL THINGS + + +It is good for a man's soul to sit down in the silence by himself and to +think of those things which happen by some accident to be in communion +with the whole world. If he has not the faculty of remembering these +things in their order and of calling them up one after another in his +mind, then let him write them down as they come to him upon a piece of +paper. They will comfort him; they will prove a sort of solace against +the expectation of the end. To consider such things is a sacramental +occupation. And yet the more I think of them the less I can quite +understand in what elements their power consists. + +A woman smiling at a little child, not knowing that others see her, and +holding out her hands towards it, and in one of her hands flowers; an old +man, lean and active, with an eager face, walking at dusk upon a warm +and windy evening westward towards a clear sunset below dark and flying +clouds; a group of soldiers, seen suddenly in manoeuvres, each man intent +upon his business, all working at the wonderful trade, taking their places +with exactitude and order and yet with elasticity; a deep, strong tide +running back to the sea, going noiselessly and flat and black and smooth, +and heavy with purpose under an old wall; the sea smell of a Channel +seaport town; a ship coming up at one out of the whole sea when one is +in a little boat and is waiting for her, coming up at one with her great +sails merry and every one doing its work, with the life of the wind in +her, and a balance, rhythm, and give in all that she does which marries +her to the sea--whether it be a fore and aft rig and one sees only great +lines of the white, or a square rig and one sees what is commonly and well +called a leaning tower of canvas, or that primal rig, the triangular sail, +that cuts through the airs of the world and clove a way for the first +adventures, whatever its rig, a ship so approaching an awaiting boat from +which we watch her is one of the things I mean. + +I would that the taste of my time permitted a lengthy list of such things: +they are pleasant to remember! They do so nourish the mind! A glance +of sudden comprehension mixed with mercy and humour from the face of a +lover or a friend; the noise of wheels when the guns are going by; the +clatter-clank-clank of the pieces and the shouted halt at the head of the +column; the noise of many horses, the metallic but united and harmonious +clamour of all those ironed hoofs, rapidly occupying the highway; chief +and most persistent memory, a great hill when the morning strikes it and +one sees it up before one round the turning of a rock after the long passes +and despairs of the night. + +When a man has journeyed and journeyed through those hours in which there +is no colour or shape, all along the little hours that were made for sleep +and when, therefore, the waking soul is bewildered or despairs, the morning +is always a resurrection--but especially when it reveals a height in the +sky. + +This last picture I would particularly cherish, so great a consolation is +it, and so permanent a grace does it lend later to the burdened mind of a +man. + +For when a man looks back upon his many journeys--so many rivers crossed, +and more than one of them forded in peril; so many swinging mountain +roads, so many difficult steeps and such long wastes of plains--of all the +pictures that impress themselves by the art or kindness of whatever god +presides over the success of journeys, no picture more remains than that +picture of a great hill when the day first strikes it after the long +burden of the night. + +Whatever reasons a man may have for occupying the darkness with his travel +and his weariness, those reasons must be out of the ordinary and must go +with some bad strain upon the mind. Perhaps one undertook the march from +an evil necessity under the coercion of other men, or perhaps in terror, +hoping that the darkness might hide one, or perhaps for cool, dreading the +unnatural heat of noon in a desert land; perhaps haste, which is in itself +so wearying a thing, compelled one, or perhaps anxiety. Or perhaps, most +dreadful of all, one hurried through the night afoot because one feared +what otherwise the night would bring, a night empty of sleep and a night +whose dreams were waking dreams and evil. + +But whatever prompts the adventure or the necessity, when the long burden +has been borne, and when the turn of the hours has come; when the stars +have grown paler; when colour creeps back greyly and uncertainly to the +earth, first into the greens of the high pastures, then here and there +upon a rock or a pool with reeds, while all the air, still cold, is full +of the scent of morning; while one notices the imperceptible disappearance +of the severities of Heaven until at last only the morning star hangs +splendid; when in the end of that miracle the landscape is fully revealed, +and one finds into what country one has come; then a great hill before +one, losing the forests upwards into rock and steep meadow upon its sides, +and towering at last into the peaks and crests of the inaccessible places, +gives a soul to the new land.... The sun, in a single moment and with the +immediate summons of a trumpet-call, strikes the spear-head of the high +places, and at once the valley, though still in shadow, is transfigured, +and with the daylight all manner of things have come back to the world. + +Hope is the word which gathers the origins of those things together, and +hope is the seed of what they mean, but that new light and its new quality +is more than hope. Livelihood is come back with the sunrise, and the fixed +certitude of the soul; number and measure and comprehension have returned, +and a just appreciation of all reality is the gift of the new day. Glory +(which, if men would only know it, lies behind all true certitude) +illumines and enlivens the seen world, and the living light makes of the +true things now revealed something more than truth absolute; they appear +as truth acting and creative. + +This first shaft of the sun is to that hill and valley what a word is to a +thought. It is to that hill and valley what verse is to the common story +told; it is to that hill and valley what music is to verse. And there lies +behind it, one is very sure, an infinite progress of such exaltations, so +that one begins to understand, as the pure light shines and grows and as +the limit of shadow descends the vast shoulder of the steep, what has been +meant by those great phrases which still lead on, still comfort, and still +make darkly wise, the uncomforted wondering of mankind. Such is the famous +phrase: "Eye has not seen nor ear heard, nor can it enter into the heart +of man what things God has prepared for those that serve Him." + +So much, then, is conveyed by a hill-top at sunrise when it comes upon the +traveller or the soldier after the long march of a night, the bending of +the shoulders, and the emptiness of the dark. + +Many other things put one into communion with the whole world. + +Who does not remember coming over a lifting road to a place where the +ridge is topped, and where, upon the further side, a broad landscape, +novel or endeared by memory (for either is a good thing), bursts upon the +seized imagination as a wave from the open sea, swelling up an inland +creek, breaks and bursts upon the rocks of the shore? There is a place +where a man passes from the main valley of the Rhone over into the valley +of the Isere, and where the Gresivandan so suddenly comes upon him. Two +gates of limestone rock, high as the first shoulders of the mountains, +lead into the valley which they guard; it is a province of itself, a level +floor of thirty miles, nourished by one river, and walled in up to the +clouds on either side. + +Or again, in the champagne country, moving between great blocks of wood +in the Forest of Rheims and always going upward as the ride leads him, a +man comes to a point whence he suddenly sees all that vast plain of the +invasions stretching out to where, very far off against the horizon, two +days away, twin summits mark the whole site sharply with a limit as a +frame marks a picture or a punctuation a phrase. + +There is another place more dear to me, but which I doubt whether any +other but a native of that place can know. After passing through the +plough lands of an empty plateau, a traveller breaks through a little +fringe of chestnut hedge and perceives at once before him the wealthiest +and the most historical of European things, the chief of the great +capitals of Christendom and the arena in which is now debated (and has +been for how long!) the Faith, the chief problem of this world. + +Apart from landscape other things belong to this contemplation: Notes +of music, and, stronger even than repeated and simple notes of music, a +subtle scent and its association, a familiar printed page. Perhaps the +test of these sacramental things is their power to revive the past. + +There is a story translated into the noblest of English writing by Dasent. +It is to be found in his "Tales from the Norse." It is called the Story of +the Master Maid. + +A man had found in his youth a woman on the Norwegian hills: this woman +was faery, and there was a spell upon her. But he won her out of it in +various ways, and they crossed the sea together, and he would bring her +to his father's house, but his father was a King. As they went over-sea +together alone, he said and swore to her that he would never forget how +they had met and loved each other without warning, but by an act of God, +upon the Dovrefjeld. Come near his father's house, the ordinary influences +of the ordinary day touched him; he bade her enter a hut and wait a moment +until he had warned his father of so strange a marriage; she, however, +gazing into his eyes, and knowing how the divine may be transformed into +the earthly, quite as surely as the earthly into the divine, makes him +promise that he will not eat human food. He sits at his father's table, +still steeped in her and in the seas. He forgets his vow and eats human +food, and at once he forgets. + +Then follows much for which I have not space, but the woman in the hut by +her magic causes herself to be at last sent for to the father's palace. +The young man sees her, and is only slightly troubled as by a memory which +he cannot grasp. They talk together as strangers; but looking out of the +window by accident the King's son sees a bird and its mate; he points them +out to the woman, and she says suddenly: "So was it with you and me high +up upon the Dovrefjeld." Then he remembers all. + +Now that story is a symbol, and tells the truth. We see some one thing in +this world, and suddenly it becomes particular and sacramental; a woman +and a child, a man at evening, a troop of soldiers; we hear notes of +music, we smell the smell that went with a passed time, or we discover +after the long night a shaft of light upon the tops of the hills at +morning: there is a resurrection, and we are refreshed and renewed. + +But why all these things are so neither I nor any other man can tell. + + + + +IN PATRIA + + +There is a certain valley, or rather profound cleft, through the living +rock of certain savage mountains through which there roars and tumbles in +its narrow trench the Segre, here but a few miles from its rising in the +upland grass. + +This cleft is so disposed that the smooth limestone slabs of its western +wall stand higher than the gloomy steps of cliff upon its eastern, and +thus these western cliffs take the glare of the morning sunlight upon +them, or the brilliance of the moon when she is full or waning in the +first part of her course through the night. + +The only path by which men can go down that gorge clings to the eastern +face of the abyss and is for ever plunged in shadow. Down this path I went +very late upon a summer night, close upon midnight, and the moon just past +the full. The air was exceedingly clear even for that high place, and the +moon struck upon the limestone of the sheer opposing cliffs in a manner +neither natural nor pleasing, but suggesting horror, and, as it were, +something absolute, too simple for mankind. + +It was not cold, but there were no crickets at such a level in the +mountains, nor any vegetation there except a brush here and there clinging +between the rocks and finding a droughty rooting in their fissures. +Though the map did not include this gorge, I could guess that it would be +impossible for me, save by following that dreadful path all night, to find +a village, and therefore I peered about in the dense shadow as I went for +one of those overhanging rocks which are so common in that region, and +soon I found one. It was a refuge better than most that I had known during +a lonely travel of three days, for the whole bank was hollowed in, and +there was a distinct, if shallow, cave bordering the path. Into this, +therefore, I went and laid down, wrapping myself round in a blanket I +had brought from the plains beyond the mountains, and, with my loaf and +haversack and a wine-skin that I carried for a pillow, I was very soon +asleep. + + * * * * * + +When I woke, which I did with suddenness, it seemed to me to have turned +uncommonly cold, and when I stepped out from my blanket (for I was broad +awake) the cold struck me still more nearly, and was not natural in such a +place. But I knew how a mist will gather suddenly upon these hills, and I +went out and stood upon the path to see what weather the hour had brought +me. The sky, the narrow strip of sky above the gorge, was filled with +scud flying so low that now and then bulges or trails of it would strike +against that western cliff of limestone and wreath down it, and lift and +disappear, but fast as the scud was moving there was no noise of wind. I +seemed not to have slept long, for the moon was still riding in heaven, +though her light now came in rapid waxing and waning between the shreds of +the clouds. Beneath me a little angrier than before (so that I thought to +myself, "Up in the hills it has been raining") roared the Segre. + +As I stood thus irresolute and quite awakened from sleep, I saw to my +right the figure of a little man who beckoned. No fear took me as I saw +him, but a good deal of wonder, for he was oddly shaped, and in the +darkness of that pathway I could not see his face. But in his presence +by some accident of the mind many things changed their significance: the +gorge became personal to me, the river a voice, the fitful moonlight a +warning, and it seemed as though some safety was to be sought, or some +certitude, upwards, whence I had come, and I felt oddly as though the +little figure were a guide. + +He was so short as I watched him that I thought him almost a dwarf, though +I have seen men as small guiding the mules over the breaches in the ridge +of the hills. He was hunchback, or the great pack he was carrying made him +seem so. His thin legs were long for his body, and he walked too rapidly, +with bent knees; his right hand he leant upon a great sapling; upon his +head was a very wide hat, the stuff of which I could not see in the +darkness. Now and again he would turn and beckon me, and he always went +on a little way before. As for me, partly because he beckoned, but more +because I felt prescient of a goal, I followed him. + +No mountain path seems the same when you go up it and when you go down it. +This it was which rendered unfamiliar to me the shapes of the rocks and +the turnings of the gorge as I hurried, behind my companion. With every +passing moment, moreover, the light grew less secure, the scud thickened, +and as we rose towards the lower level of those clouds the mass of them +grew more even, until at last the path and some few yards of the emptiness +which sank away to our left was all one could discern. The mist was full +of a diffused moonlight, but it was dense. I wondered when we should +strike out of the gorge and begin to find the upland grasses that lead +toward the highest summits of those hills, for thither I was sure were we +bound. + +Soon I began to recognize that easier trend in the rock wall, those +increasing and flattened gullies which mark the higher slope. Here and +there an unmelted patch of snow appeared, grass could be seen, and at last +we were upon the roll of the high land where it runs up steeply to the +ridge of the chain. Moss and the sponging of moisture in the turf were +beneath our feet, the path disappeared, and our climb got steeper and +steeper; and still the little man went on before, pressing eagerly and +breasting the hill. I neither felt fatigue nor noticed that I did not feel +it. The extreme angle of the slope suited my mood, nor was I conscious of +its danger, though its fantastic steepness exhilarated me because it was +so novel to be trying such things at night in such a weather. The moon, +I think, must by this time have been near its sinking, for the mist grew +full of darkness round about us, and at last it was altogether deep night. +I could see my companion only as a blur of difference in the darkness, but +even as this change came I felt the steepness relax beneath my climbing +feet, the round level of the ridge was come, and soon again we were +hurrying across it until there came, in a hundred yards or so, a moment in +which my companion halted, as men who know the mountains halt when they +reach an edge below which they know the land to break away. + +He was waiting, and I waited with him: we had not long so to stand. + +The mist which so often lifts as one passes the crest of the hills lifted +for us also, and, below, it was broad day. + +Ten thousand feet below, at the foot of forest cascading into forest, +stretched out into an endless day, was the Weald. There were the places I +had always known, but not as I had known them: they were in another air. +There was the ridge, and the river valley far off to the eastward, and +Pasham Pines, Amberley wild brooks, and Petworth the little town, and I +saw the Rough clearly, and the hills out beyond the county, and beyond +them farther plains, and all the fields and all the houses of the men I +knew. Only it was much larger, and it was more intimate, and it was +farther away, and it was certainly divine. + +A broad road such as we have not here and such as they have not in those +hills, a road for armies, sank back and forth in great gradients down to +the plain. These and the forests were foreign; the Weald below, so many +thousand feet below, was not foreign but transformed. The dwarf went down +that road. I did not follow him. I saw him clearly now. His curious little +coat of mountain stuff, his thin, bent legs walking rapidly, and the +chestnut sapling by he walked, holding it in his hand by the middle. I +could see the brown colour of it, and the shininess of the bark of it, and +the ovals of white where the branchlings had been cut away. So I watched +him as he went down and down the road. He never once looked back and he no +longer beckoned me. + +In a moment, before a word could form in the mind, the mist had closed +again and it was mortally cold; and with that cold there came to me an +appalling knowledge that I was alone upon such a height and knew nothing +of my way. The hand which I put to my shoulder where my blanket was found +it wringing wet. The mist got greyer, my mind more confused as I struggled +to remember, and then I woke and found I was still in the cave. All that +business had been a dream, but so vivid that I carried it all through the +day, and carry it still. + + * * * * * + +It was the very early morning; the gorge was full of mist, the Segre made +a muffled roaring through such a bank of cloud; the damp of the mist was +on everything. The stones in the pathway glistened, the air was raw and +fresh, awaiting the rising of the sun. I took the path and went downward. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On Something, by H. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: On Something + +Author: H. Belloc + +Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7354] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on April 20, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-Latin-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON SOMETHING *** + + + + +Produced by William Flis, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + ON SOMETHING + + BY + + H. BELLOC + + + + DEDICATION + + _To + Somebody_ + + + + CONTENTS + +A PLEA FOR THE SIMPLER DRAMA + +ON A NOTEBOOK + +ON UNKNOWN PEOPLE + +ON A VAN TROMP + +HIS CHARACTER + +ON THRUPPENNY BITS + +ON THE HOTEL AT PALMA AND A PROPOSED GUIDE-BOOK + +THE DEATH OF WANDERING PETER + +THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE + +A NORFOLK MAN + +THE ODD PEOPLE + +LETTER OF ADVICE AND APOLOGY TO A YOUNG BURGLAR + +THE MONKEY QUESTION: AN APPEAL TO COMMON SENSE + +THE EMPIRE BUILDER + +CAEDWALLA + +A UNIT OF ENGLAND + +THE RELIC + +THE IRONMONGER + +A FORCE IN GAUL + +ON BRIDGES + +A BLUE BOOK + +PERIGEUX OF THE PERIGORD + +THE POSITION + +HOME + +THE WAY TO FAIRYLAND + +THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD + +ON EXPERIENCE + +ON IMMORTALITY + +ON SACRAMENTAL THINGS + +IN PATRIA + + + + + +Of the various sketches in this book some appear for the first time, +others are reprinted by courtesy of the Proprietors and Editors of _The +Westminster Gazette_, _The Clarion_, _The English Review_, _The Morning +Post_ and _The Manchester Guardian_, in which papers they appeared. + + + + + +A PLEA FOR THE SIMPLER DRAMA + + +It is with the drama as with plastic art and many other things: the plain +man feels that he has a right to put in his word, but he is rather afraid +that the art is beyond him, and he is frightened by technicalities. + +After all, these things are made for the plain man; his applause, in the +long run and duly tested by time, is the main reward of the dramatist as +of the painter or the sculptor. But if he is sensible he knows that his +immediate judgment will be crude. However, here goes. + +The plain man sees that the drama of his time has gradually passed from +one phase to another of complexity in thought coupled with simplicity of +incident, and it occurs to him that just one further step is needed to +make something final in British art. We seem to be just on the threshold +of something which would give Englishmen in the twentieth century +something of the fullness that characterized the Elizabethans: but somehow +or other our dramatists hesitate to cross that threshold. It cannot be +that their powers are lacking: it can only be some timidity or self-torture +which it is the business of the plain man to exorcise. + +If I may make a suggestion in this essay to the masters of the craft it is +that the goal of the completely modern thing can best be reached by taking +the very simplest themes of daily life--things within the experience of +the ordinary citizen--and presenting them in the majestic traditional +cadence of that peculiarly English medium, blank verse. + +As to the themes taken from the everyday life of middle-class men and +women like ourselves, it is true that the lives of the wealthy afford +more incident, and that there is a sort of glamour about them which it is +difficult to resist. But with a sufficient subtlety the whole poignancy +of the lives led by those who suffer neither the tragedies of the poor +nor the exaltation of the rich can be exactly etched. The life of +the professional middle-class, of the business man, the dentist, the +money-lender, the publisher, the spiritual pastor, nay of the playwright +himself, might be put upon the stage--and what a vital change would be +here! Here would be a kind of literary drama of which the interest would +lie in the struggle, the pain, the danger, and the triumph which we all so +intimately know, and next in the satisfaction (which we now do not have) +of the mimetic sense--the satisfaction of seeing a mirror held up to a +whole audience composed of the very class represented upon the stage. + +I have seen men of wealth and position absorbed in plays concerning +gambling, cruelty, cheating, drunkenness, and other sports, and so +absorbed chiefly because they saw _themselves_ depicted upon the +stage; and I ask, Would not my fellows and myself largely remunerate a +similar opportunity? For though the rich go repeatedly to the play, yet +the middle-class are so much more numerous that the difference is amply +compensated. + +I think we may take it, then, that an experiment in the depicting of +professional life would, even from the financial standpoint, be workable; +and I would even go so far as to suggest that a play could be written in +which there did not appear one single lord, general, Member of Parliament, +baronet, professional beauty, usurer (upon a large scale at least) or +Cabinet Minister. + +The thing is possible: and I can modestly say that in the little effort +appended as an example to these lines it has been done successfully; but +here must be mentioned the second point in my thesis--I could never have +achieved what I have here achieved in dramatic art had I not harked back +to the great tradition of the English heroic decasyllable such as our +Shakespeare has handled with so felicitous an effect. + +The play--which I have called "The Crisis," and which I design to be +the model of the school founded by these present advices--is specially +designed for acting with the sumptuous accessories at the disposal of +a great manager, such as Mr. (now Sir Henry) Beerbohm Tree, or for the +narrower circumstances of the suburban drawing-room. + +There is perhaps but one character which needs any long rehearsal, that +of the dog Fido, and luckily this is one which can easily be supplied by +mechanical means, as by the use of a toy dog of sufficient size which +barks upon the pressure of a pneumatic attachment. + +In connexion with this character I would have the student note that I +have introduced into the dog's part just before the curtain a whole line +of _dactyls_. I hope the hint will not be wasted. Such exceptions +relieve the monotony of our English _trochees_. But, saving in this +instance, I have confined myself throughout to the example of William +Shakespeare, surely the best master for those who, as I fondly hope, will +follow me in the regeneration of the British Stage. + + + + +THE CRISIS + +PLACE: _The Study at the Vicarage_. TIME 9.15 _p.m._ + + +DRAMATIS PERSONÆ + +THE REV. ARCHIBALD HAVERTON: The Vicar. + +MRS. HAVERTON: His Wife. + +MISS GROSVENOR: A Governess. + +MATILDA: A Maid. + +FIDO: A Dog. + +HERMIONE COBLEY: Daughter of a cottager who takes in washing. + +MISS HARVEY: A guest, cousin to Mrs. Haverton, a Unitarian. + +(_The_ REV. ARCHIBALD HAVERTON _is reading the "Standard" by a lamp + with a green shade_. MRS. HAVERTON _is hemming a towel_. FIDO + _is asleep on the rug. On the walls are three engravings from Landseer, + a portrait of Her late Majesty Queen Victoria, a bookcase with books in + it, and a looking-glass_.) + + MRS. HAVERTON: My dear--I hope I do not interrupt you-- +Helen has given notice. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_looking up suddenly_). + Given notice? +Who? Helen? Given notice? Bless my soul! + (_A pause_.) +I never thought that she would give us notice. + (_Ponders and frowns._) + + MRS. HAVERTON: Well, but she has, and now the question is, +What shall we do to find another cook? +Servants are very difficult to get. (_Sighs._) +Especially to come into the country +To such a place as this. (_Sighs._) No wonder, either! +Oh! Mercy! When one comes to think of it, +One cannot blame them. (_Sighs._) Heaven only knows +I try to do my duty! (_Sighs profoundly._) + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_uneasily_): Well, my dear, +I cannot _make_ preferment. + +(_Front door-bell rings._) + + FIDO: Bow! wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_patting him to soothe him_): + There, Fido, there! + + FIDO: Wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON: Good dog, there! + + FIDO: Wow, + Wow, wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_very nervous_): There! + + FIDO: Wow! wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_in an agony_): Good dog! + + FIDO: Bow! wow! wow! + Wow, wow! Wow!! WOW!!! + + MRS. HAVERTON (_very excited_): Oh, Lord, he'll + wake the children! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_exploding_): How often have + I told you, Dorothy, +Not to exclaim "Good Lord!"... Apart from manners-- +Which have their own importance--blasphemy +(And I regard the phrase as blasphemous) +Cannot-- + + MRS. HAVERTON (_uneasily_): Oh, very well!... + Oh, very well! + (_Exploding in her turn_.) +Upon my soul, you are intolerable! + (_She jumps up and makes for the door. Before she gets to + it there is a knock and_ MATILDA _enters_.) + + MATILDA: Please, m'm, it's only Mrs. Cobley's daughter +To say the washing shall be sent to-morrow, +And would you check the list again and see, +Because she thinks she never had two collars +Of what you sent, but only five, because +You marked it seven; and Mrs. Cobley says +There must be some mistake. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_pompously_): I will attend to it. + + MRS. HAVERTON (_whispering angrily_): How can + you, Archibald! You haven't got +The ghost of an idea about the washing! +Sit down. (_He does so_.) (_To Matilda_) Send the + Girl in here. + + MRS. HAVERTON _sits down in a fume_. + + REV. A. HAVERTON: I think.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_snapping_): I don't care what you think! + (_Groans_.) Oh, dear! +I'm nearly off my head! + + _Enter_ MISS COBLEY. (_She bobs_.) + + Good evening, m'm. + + MRS. HAVERTON (_by way of reply_): +Now, then! What's all this fuss about the washing? + + MISS COBLEY: Please, m'm, the seven collars, what you sent-- +I mean the seven what was marked--was wrong, +And mother says as you'd have had the washing +Only there weren't but five, and would you mind.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_sharply_): I cannot understand a word you say. +Go back and tell your mother there were _seven_. +And if she sends home _five_ she pays for _two_. +So there! (_Snorts_.) + + MISS COBLEY (_sobbing_): I'm sure I.... + + MRS. HAVERTON (_savagely_): Don't stand snuffling there! +Go back and tell your mother what I say.... +Impudent hussy!... + + (_Exit_ MISS COBLEY _sobbing. A pause._) + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_with assumed authority_): To return to Helen. +Tell me concisely and without complaints, +Why did she give you notice? + + (_A hand-bell rings in the passage_.) + + FIDO: Bow-wow-wow! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_giving him a smart kick_): Shurrup! + + FIDO (_howling_). Pen-an'-ink! Pen-an'-ink + Pen-an'-ink! Pen-an'-ink! + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_controlling himself, as well as he can, goes to + the door and calls into the passage_): Miss Grosvenor! +(_Louder_) ... Miss Grosvenor!... Was that the bell for prayers? +Was that the bell for prayers?... (_Louder_) Miss Grosvenor. +(_Louder_) Miss Gros-ve-nor! (_Tapping with his foot_.) + Oh!... + + MISS GROSVENOR (_sweetly and, far off_): Is that Mr. Haverton? + + REV. A. HAVERTON: Yes! yes! yes! yes!... +Was that the bell for prayers? + + MISS GROSVENOR (_again_): Yes? Is that Mr. Haverton? Oh! Yes! +I think it is.... I'll see--I'll ask Matilda. + + (_A pause, during which the_ REV. A. HAVERTON + _is in a qualm_.) + + MISS GROSVENOR (_rustling back_): Matilda says it + _is_ the bell for prayers. + + (_They all come filing into the study and arranging the chairs. + As they enter_ MISS HARVEY, _the guest, treads heavily on + MATILDA'S foot._) + + MISS HARVEY: Matilda? Was that you? I _beg_ your pardon. + + MATILDA (_limping_): Granted, I'm sure, miss! + + MRS. HAVERTON (_whispering to the_ REV. A. HAVERTON): Do not read + the Creed! +Miss Harvey is a Unitarian. +I should suggest some simple form of prayer, +Some heartfelt word of charity and peace +Common to every Christian. + + REV. A. HAVERTON (_in a deep voice_): Let us pray. + + _Curtain._ + + + + +ON A NOTEBOOK + + +A dear friend of mine (John Abdullah Capricorn, to give him his full +name) was commandeered by a publisher last year to write a book for £10. +The work was far advanced when an editor offered him £15 and his expenses +to visit the more desperate parts of the Sahara Desert, to which spots he +at once proceeded upon a roving commission. Whether he will return or no +is now doubtful, though in March we had the best hopes. With the month of +May life becomes hard for Europeans south of the Atlas, and when my poor +dear friend was last heard of he was chancing his popularity with a tribe +of Touaregs about two hundred miles south of Touggourt. + +Under these circumstances I was asked to look through his notebook and see +what could be done; and I confess to a pleased surprise.... It would have +been a very entertaining book had it been published. It will be a very +entertaining book if it is published. + +Capricorn seems to have prepared a hotchpotch of information of human +follies, of contrasts, and of blunt stupidities of which he intended +to make a very entertaining series of pages. I have not his talent for +bringing such things together, but it may amuse the reader if I merely +put in their order one or two of the notes which most struck me. + +I find first, cut out of a newspaper and pasted into the book (many of +his notes are in this form), the following really jovial paragraph: + +"Archdeacon Blunderbuss (Blunderbuss is not the real name; I suppress +that lest Capricorn's widow should lose her two or three pounds, in case +the poor fellow has really been eaten). Archdeacon Blunderbuss was more +distinguished as a scholar than as a Divine. He was a very poor preacher +and never managed to identify himself with any party. Nevertheless, in +1895 the Prime Minister appointed him to a stall in Shoreham Cathedral as +a recognition of his great learning and good work at Durham. Two years +later the rectory of St. Vacuums becoming vacant and it being within the +gift of Archdeacon Blunderbuss, he excited general amazement and much +scandal by presenting himself to the living." + +There the paragraph ends. It came in an ordinary society paper. It bore +no marks of ill-will. It came in the midst of a column of the usual +silly adulation of everybody and everything; how it got there is of no +importance. There it stood and the keen eye of Capricorn noted it and +treasured it for years. + +I will make no comment upon this paragraph. It may be read slowly or +quickly, according to the taste of the reader; it is equally delicious +either way. + +The next excerpt I find in the notebook is as follows: + +"More than 15,000,000 visits are paid annually to London pawnbrokers. + +"Jupiter is 1387 times as big as the earth, but only 300 times as heavy. + +"The world's coal mines yield 400,000,000 tons of coal a year. + +"The value of the pictures in the National Gallery is about £1,250,000." + +This tickled Capricorn--I don't know why. Perhaps he thought the style +disjointed or perhaps he had got it into his head that when this +information had been absorbed by the vulgar they would stand much where +they stood before, and be no nearer the end of man nor the accomplishment +of any Divine purpose in their creation. Anyhow he kept it, and I think +he was wise to keep it. One cannot keep everything of that kind that +is printed, so it is well to keep a specimen. Capricorn had, moreover, +intended to perpetuate that specimen for ever in his immortal prose--pray +Heaven he may return to do so! + +I next find the following excerpt from an evening paper: + +"No more gallant gentleman lives on the broad acres of his native England +than Brigadier-General Sir Hammerthrust Honeybubble, who is one of the +few survivors of the great charge at Tamulpuco, a feat of arms now +half forgotten, but with which England rang during the Brazilian War. +Brigadier-General, or, as he then was, plain Captain Hammerthrust +Honeybubble, passed through five Brazilian batteries unharmed, and came +back so terribly hacked that his head was almost severed from his body. +Hardly able to keep his seat and continually wiping the blood from his +left eye, he rode back to his troop at a walk, and, in spite of pursuit, +finally completed his escape. Sir Hammerthrust, we are glad to learn, is +still hale and hearty in his ninety-third year, and we hope he may see +many more returns of the day upon his patrimonial estate in the Orkneys." + +To this excerpt I find only one marginal note in Capricorn's delicate +and beautiful handwriting: "What day?" But whether this referred to some +appointment of his own I was unable to discover. + +I next find a certain number of cuttings which I think cannot have been +intended for the book at all, but must have been designed for poor +Capricorn's "Oxford Anthology of Bad Verse," which, just before he +left England, he was in process of preparing for the University Press. +Capricorn had a very fine sense of bad taste in verse, and the authorities +could have chosen no one better suited for the duty of editing such a +volume. I must not give the reader too much of these lines, but the +following quatrain deserves recognition and a permanent memory: + +Napoleon hoped that all the world would fall beneath his sway. He failed +in this ambition; and where is he to-day? Neither the nations of the East +nor the nations of the West Have thought the thing Napoleon thought was to +their interest. + +This is enormous. As philosophy, as history, as rhetoric, as metre, as +rhythm, as politics, it is positively enormous. The whole poem is a +wonderful poem, and I wish I had space for it here. It is patriotic and it +is written about as badly as a poem could conceivably be written. It is a +mournful pleasure to think that my dear friend had his last days in the +Old Country illuminated by such a treasure. It is but one of many, but I +think it is the best. + +Another extract which catches my eye is drawn from the works of one in a +distant and foreign land. Yet it was worth preserving. This personage, +Tindersturm by name, issued a pamphlet which fell under the regulations, +the very strict regulations, of the Prussian Government, by which any +one of its subjects who says or prints anything calculated to stir +up religious or racial strife within the State is subject to severe +penalties. Now those severe penalties had fallen upon Tindersturm and +he had been imprisoned for some years according to the paragraph that +followed the extract I am about to give. That the aforesaid Tindersturm +did indeed tend to "stir up religious and racial strife," nay, went +somewhat out of his way to do it, will be clear enough when you read the +following lines from his little broadsheet: + +"It is time for us to go for this caddish alien sect. If on your way home +from the theatre you meet the blue-eyed, tow-haired, lolloping gang, +whether they be youths or ladies, go right up to them and give them a +smart smack, left and right, a blow in the eye; and lift your foot and +give the tow-headed ones a kick. In this way must we begin the business. +My Fatherland, wake up!" + +To this extract poor Capricorn has added the word "Excellent," and the +same comment he makes upon the following conclusion to a letter written +to a religious paper and dealing with some politician or other who had +done something which the correspondent did not like: + +"That his eyes may be opened _while he lives_ is the prayer of + +"Yours truly, + +"AN EARNEST MEMBER OF THE FOLD" + +From such a series it is a recreation to turn to the little social +paragraphs which gave Capricorn such acute and such continual joy; as, for +instance, this: + +"Mrs. Harry Bacon wishes it to be known that she has ceased to have any +connection whatsoever with the Boudoir for Lost Dogs. Her address is still +Hermione House, Bourton-on-the-Water Fenton Marsh, Worcester." + +There is much more in the notebook with which I could while away the +reader's time did space permit of it. I find among the very last entries, +for instance, this: + +"It was a strenuous and thrilling contest. Some terrible blows were +exchanged. In the last round, however, Schmidt landed his opponent a very +nasty one under the chin, stretching him out lifeless and breaking his +elbow; whereupon the prize was awarded him." + +To this joyous gem Capricorn has added a whole foison of annotations. He +asks at the end: "Which was 'him'? Important." And he underlines in red +ink the word "however," perhaps as mysterious a copulative as has ever +appeared in British prose. I should add that Capricorn himself was an +ardent sportsman and very rarely missed any of the first-class events of +the ring, though personally he did not box, and on the few occasions when +I have seen the exercise forced upon him in the public streets he showed +the greatest distaste to this form of athletics. + +Lastly, I find this note with which I must close: it is taken from the +verbatim report of a great case in the courts, now half forgotten, but ten +years ago the talk of London: + +"The witness then said that he had been promised an independence for life +if he could discover the defendant in the act of enclosing any part of +the land, or any document or order of his involving such an enclosure. He +therefore watched the defendant regularly from June, 1896, to the middle +of July, 1900. He also watched the defendant's father and mother, three +boys, married daughter, grandmother and grandfather, his two married +sisters, his brother, his agent, and his agent's wife--but he had +discovered nothing." + +That such a sentence should have been printed in the English language and +delivered by an English mouth in an English witness-box was enough for +Capricorn. Give him that alone for intellectual food in his desert lodge +and he was happy. + +Shall I tempt Providence by any further extracts? ... It is difficult to +tear oneself away from such a feast. So let me put in this very last, +really the last, by way of savoury. There it is in black and white and no +one can undo it: not all her piety, nor all her wit. It dates from the +year 1904, when, Heaven knows, the internal combustion engine and its +possibilities were not exactly new, and I give it word for word: + +"The Duchess is, moreover, a pioneer in the use of the motor-car. She +finds it an agreeable and speedy means of conveyance from her country seat +to her town house, and also a very practical way of getting to see her +friends at week-ends. She has been heard to complain, however, that a +substitute for the pneumatic tyre less liable to puncture than it is would +be a priceless boon." + +There! There! May they all rest in peace! They have added to the gaiety of +mankind. + + + + +ON UNKNOWN PEOPLE + + +You will often hear it said that it is astonishing such and such work +should be present and enduring in the world, and yet the name of its +author not known; but when one considers the variety of good work and the +circumstances under which it is achieved, and the variety of taste also +between different times and places, one begins to understand what is at +first so astonishing. + +There are writers who have ascribed this frequent ignorance of ours to all +sorts of heroic moods, to the self-sacrifice or the humility of a whole +epoch or of particular artists: that is the least satisfactory of the +reasons one could find. All men desire, if not fame, at least the one poor +inalienable right of authorship, and unless one can find very good reasons +indeed why a painter or a writer or a sculptor should deliberately have +hidden himself one must look for some other cause. + +Among such causes the first two, I think, are the multiplicity of good +work, and its chance character. Not that any one ever does very good work +for once and then never again--at least, such an accident is extremely +rare--but that many a man who has achieved some skill by long labour does +now and then strike out a sort of spark quite individual and separate from +the rest. Often you will find that a man who is remembered for but one +picture or one poem is worth research. You will find that he did much +more. It is to be remembered that for a long time Ronsard himself was +thought to be a man of one poem. + +The multiplicity of good work also and the way in which accident helps it +is a cause. There are bits of architecture (and architecture is the most +anonymous of all the arts) which depend for their effect to-day very +largely upon situation and the process of time, and there are a thousand +corners in Europe intended merely for some utility which happen almost +without deliberate design to have proved perfect: this is especially true +of bridges. + +Then there is this element in the anonymity of good work, that a man very +often has no idea how good the work is which he has done. The anecdotes +(such as that famous one of Keats) which tell us of poets desiring to +destroy their work, or, at any rate, casting it aside as of little value, +are not all false. We still have the letter in which Burns enclosed "Scots +wha' hae," and it is curious to note his misjudgment of the verse; and +side by side with that kind of misjudgment we have men picking out for +singular affection and with a full expectation of glory some piece of +work of theirs to which posterity will have nothing to say. This is +especially true of work recast by men in mature age. Writers and painters +(sculptors luckily are restrained by the nature of their art--unless they +deliberately go and break up their work with a hammer) retouch and change, +in the years when they have become more critical and less creative, what +they think to be the insufficient achievements of their youth: yet it is +the vigour and the simplicity of their youthful work which other men often +prefer to remember. On this account any number of good things remain +anonymous, because the good writer or the good painter or the good +sculptor was ashamed of them. + +Then there is this reason for anonymity, that at times--for quite a short +few years--a sort of universality of good work in one or more departments +of art seems to fall upon the world or upon some district. Nowhere do +you see this more strikingly than in the carvings of the first third of +the sixteenth century in Northern and Central France and on the Flemish +border. + +Men seemed at that moment incapable of doing work that was not marvellous +when they once began to express the human figure. Sometimes their mere +name remains, more often it is doubtful, sometimes it is entirely lost. +More curious still, you often have for this period a mixture of names. You +come across some astonishing series of reliefs in a forgotten church of a +small provincial town. You know at once that it is work of the moment when +the flood of the Renaissance had at last reached the old country of the +Gothic. You can swear that if it were not made in the time of Francis I or +Henry II it was at least made by men who could remember or had seen those +times. But when you turn to the names the names are nobodies. + +By far the most famous of these famous things, or at any rate the most +deserving of fame, is the miracle of Brou. It is a whole world. You would +say that either one transcendent genius had modelled every face and figure +of those thousands (so individual are they), or that a company of inspired +men differing in their traditions and upbringing from all the commonalty +of mankind had done such things. When you go to the names all you find is +that Coulombe out of Touraine began the job, that there was some sort of +quarrel between his head-man and the paymasters, that he was replaced in +the most everyday manner conceivable by a Fleming, Van Boghem, and that +this Fleming had to help him a better-known Swiss, one Meyt. It is the +same story with nearly all this kind of work and its wonderful period. The +wealth of detail at Louviers or Gisors is almost anonymous; that of the +first named perhaps quite anonymous. + +Who carved the wood in St. James's Church at Antwerp? I think the name +is known for part of it, but no one did the whole or anything like the +whole, and yet it is all one thing. Who carved the wood in St. Bertrand +de Coraminges? We know who paid for it, and that is all we know. And as +for the wood of Rouen, we must content ourselves with the vague phrase, +"Probably Flemish artists." + +Of the Gothic statues where they were conventional, however grand the +work, one can understand that they should be anonymous, but it is curious +to note the same silence where the work is strikingly and particularly +individual. Among the kings at Rheims are two heads, one of St. Louis, +one of his grandson. Had some one famous sculptor done these things and +others, were his work known and sought after, these two heads would be as +renowned as anything in Europe. As it is they are two among hundreds that +the latter thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries scattered broadcast; +each probably was the work of a different workman, and the author or +authors of each remain equally unknown. + +I know not whether there is more pathos or more humour or more consolation +in considering this ignorance of ours with regard to the makers of good +things. + +It is full of parable. There is something of it in Nature. There are men +who will walk all day through a June wood and come out atheists at the end +of it, finding no signature thereupon; and there are others who, sailing +over the sea, come back home after seeing so many things still puzzled as +to their authorship. That is one parable. + +Then there is this: the corrective of ambition. Since so much remains, the +very names of whose authors have perished, what does it matter to you or +to the world whether your name, so long as your work, survives? Who was +it that carefully and cunningly fixed the sights on Gumber Corner so as +to get upon a clear day his exact alignment with Pulborough and then the +shoulder of Leith Hill, just to miss the two rivers and just to obtain the +best going for a military road? He was some engineer or other among the +thousands in the Imperial Service. He was at Chichester for some weeks +and drew his pay, and then perhaps went on to London, and he was born in +Africa or in Lombardy, or he was a Breton, or he was from Lusitania or +from the Euphrates. He did that bit of work most certainly without any +consideration of fame, for engineers (especially when they are soldiers) +are singular among artists in this matter. But he did a very wonderful +thing, and the Roman Road has run there for fifteen hundred years--his +creation. Some one must have hit upon that precise line and the reason for +it. It is exactly right, and the thing done was as great and is to-day as +satisfying as that sculpture of Brou or the two boys Murillo painted, whom +you may see in the Gallery at Dulwich. But he never thought of any one +knowing his name, and no one knows it. + +Then there is this last thing about anonymous work, which is also a +parable and a sad one. It shows how there is no bridge between two human +minds. + +How often have I not come upon a corbel of stone carved into the shape +of a face, and that face had upon it either horror or laughter or great +sweetness or vision, and I have looked at it as I might have looked upon +a living face, save that it was more wonderful than most living faces. It +carried in it the soul and the mind of the man who made it. But he has +been dead these hundreds of years. That corbel cannot be in communion with +me, for it is of stone; it is dumb and will not speak to me, though it +compels me continually to ask it questions. Its author also is dumb, for +he has been dead so long, and I can know nothing about him whatsoever. + +Now so it is with any two human minds, not only when they are separated by +centuries and by silence, but when they have their being side by side +under one roof and are companions all their years. + + + + +ON A VAN TROMP + + +Once there was a man who, having nothing else to do and being fond of +that kind of thing, copied with a good deal of care on to a bit of wood +the corner of a Dutch picture in one of the public galleries. + +This man was not a good artist; indeed he was nothing but a humpbacked +and very sensitive little squire with about £3000 a year of his own and +great liking for intricate amusements. He was a pretty good mathematician +and a tolerable fisherman. He knew an enormous amount about the Mohammedan +conquest of Spain, and he is, I believe, writing a book upon that subject. +I hope he will, for nearly all history wants to be rewritten. Anyhow, he, +as I have just said, did copy a corner of one of the Dutch pictures in one +of the galleries. It was a Dutch picture of the seventeenth century; and +since the laws of this country are very complicated and the sanctions +attached to them very terrible, I will not give the name of the original +artist, but I will call him Van Tromp. + +Van Tromps have always been recognized, and there was a moment about fifty +years after the artist's death when they had a considerable vogue in the +French Court. Monsieur, who was quite ignorant of such things, bought +a couple, and there is a whole row of them in the little pavilion at +Louveciennes. Van Tromp has something about him at once positive and +elusive; he is full of planes and values, and he interprets and renders, +and the rest of it. Nay, he transfers! + +About thirty years ago Mr. Mayor (of Hildesheim and London) thought it his +duty to impress upon the public how great Van Tromp was. This he did after +taking thirteen Van Tromps in payment of a bad debt, and he succeeded. But +the man I am writing about cared nothing for all this: he simply wanted to +see how well he could imitate this corner of the picture, and he did it +pretty well. He begrimed it and he rubbed at it, and then he tickled it up +again with a knife, and then he smoked it, and then he put in some dirty +whites which were vivid, and he played the fool with white of egg, and so +forth, until he had the very tone and manner of the original; and as he +had done it on an old bit of wood it was exactly right, and he was very +proud of the result. He got an old frame from near Long Acre and stuck it +in, and then he took the thing home. He had done several things of this +kind, imitating miniatures, and even enamels. It amused him. When he got +home he sat looking at it with great pleasure for an hour or two; he left +the little thing on the table of his study and went to bed. + +Here begins the story, and here, therefore, I must tell you what the +subject of this corner of the picture was. + +The subject of this corner of the picture which he had copied was a woman +in a brown jacket and a red petticoat with big feet showing underneath, +sitting on a tub and cutting up some vegetables. She had her hair bunched +up like an onion, a fashion which, as we all know, appealed to the Dutch +in the seventeenth century, or at any rate to the plebeian Dutch. I must +also tell you the name of this squire before I go any further: his name +was Hammer--Paul Hammer. He was unmarried. + +He went to bed at eleven o'clock, and when he came down at eight o'clock +he had his breakfast. He went into his study at nine o'clock, and was very +much annoyed to find that some burglars had come in during the night and +had taken away a number of small objects which were not without value; and +among-them, what he most regretted, his little pastiche of the corner of +the Van Tromp. + +For some moments he stood filled with an acute anger and wishing that he +knew who the burglars were and how to get at them; but the days passed, +and though he asked everybody, and even gave some money to the police, he +could not discover this. He put an advertisement into several newspapers, +both London newspapers and local ones, saying that money would be given if +the thing were restored, and pretty well hinting that no questions would +be asked, but nothing came. + +Meanwhile the burglars, whose names were Charles and Lothair Femeral, +foreigners but English-speaking, had found some of their ill-acquired +goods saleable, others unsaleable. They wanted a pound for the little +picture in the frame, and this they could not get, and it was a bother +haggling it about. Lothair Femeral thought of a good plan: he stopped at +an inn on the third day of their peregrinations, had a good dinner with +his brother, told the innkeeper that he could not pay the bill, and +offered to leave the Old Master in exchange. When people do this it very +often comes off, for the alternative is only the pleasure of seeing +the man in gaol, whereas a picture is always a picture, and there is a +gambler's chance of its turning up trumps. So the man grumbled and took +the little thing. He hung it up in the best room of the inn, where he gave +his richer customers food. + +Thus it was that a young gentleman who had come down to ride in that +neighbourhood, although he did not know any of the rich people round +about, saw it one day, and on seeing it exclaimed loudly in an unknown +tongue; but he very rapidly repressed his emotion and simply told the +innkeeper that he had taken a fancy to the daub and would give him thirty +shillings for it. + +The innkeeper, who had read in the newspapers of how pictures of the +utmost value are sold by fools for a few pence, said boldly that his price +was twenty pounds; whereupon the young gentleman went out gloomily, and +the innkeeper thought that he must have made a mistake, and was for three +hours depressed. But in the fourth hour again he was elated, for the young +gentleman came back with twenty pounds, not even in notes but in gold, +paid it down, and took away the picture. Then again, in the fifth hour was +the innkeeper a little depressed, but not as much as before, for it struck +him that the young gentleman must have been very eager to act in such a +fashion, and that perhaps he could have got as much as twenty-one pounds +by holding out and calling it guineas. + +The young gentleman telegraphed to his father (who lived in Wimbledon but +who did business in Bond Street) saying that he had got hold of a Van +Tromp which looked like a study for the big "Eversley" Van Tromp in the +Gallery, and he wanted to know what his father would give for it. His +father telegraphed back inviting him to spend one whole night under the +family roof. This the young man did, and, though it wrung the old father's +heart to have to do it, by the time he had seen the young gentleman's find +(or _trouvaille_ as he called it) he had given his offspring a cheque +for five hundred pounds. Whereupon the young gentleman left and went back +to do some more riding, an exercise of which he was passionately fond, and +to which he had trained several quiet horses. + +The father wrote to a certain lord of his acquaintance who was very +fond of Van Tromps, and offered him this replica or study, in some ways +finer than the original, but he said it must be a matter for private +negotiation; so he asked for an appointment, and the lord, who was a tall, +red-faced man with a bluff manner, made an appointment for nine o'clock +next morning, which was rather early for Bond Street. But money talks, and +they met. The lord was very well dressed, and when he talked he folded his +hands (which had gloves on them) over the knob of his stick and pressed +his stick firmly upon the ground. It was a way he had. But it did not +frighten the old gentleman who did business in Bond Street, and the +long and short of it was that the lord did not get the picture until he +had paid three thousand guineas--not pounds, mind you. For this sum the +picture was to be sent round to the lord's house, and so it was, and there +it would have stayed but for a very curious accident. The lord had put +the greater part of his money into a company which was developing the +resources of the South Shetland Islands, and by some miscalculation or +other the expense of this experiment proved larger than the revenues +obtainable from it. His policy, as I need hardly tell you, was to hang on, +and so he did, because in the long run the property must pay. And so it +would if they could have gone on shelling out for ever, but they could +not, and so the whole affair was wound up and the lord lost a great deal +of money. + +Under these circumstances he bethought him of the toiling millions who +never see a good picture and who have no more vivid appetite than the +hunger for good pictures. He therefore lent his collection of Van Tromps +with the least possible delay to a public gallery, and for many years they +hung there, while the lord lived in great anxiety, but with a sufficient +income for his needs in the delightful scenery of the Pennines at some +distance from a railway station, surrounded by his tenants. At last even +these--the tenants, I mean--were not sufficient, and a gentleman in the +Government who knew the value of Van Tromps proposed that these Van Tromps +should be bought for the nation; but a lot of cranks made a frightful row, +both in Parliament and out of it, so that the scheme would have fallen +through had not one of the Van Tromps--to wit, that little copy of a +corner which was obviously a replica of or a study for the best-known of +the Van Tromps--been proclaimed false quite suddenly by a gentleman who +doubted its authenticity; whereupon everybody said that it was not genuine +except three people who really counted, and these included the gentleman +who had recommended the purchase of the Van Tromps by the nation. So +enormous was the row upon the matter that the picture reached the very +pinnacle of fame, and an Australian then travelling in England was +determined to get that Van Tromp for himself, and did. + +This Australian was a very simple man, good and kind and childlike, and +frightfully rich. When he had got the Van Tromp he carried it about with +him, and at the country houses where he stopped he used to pull it out and +show it to people. It happened that among other country houses he stopped +once at the hunchback squire's, whose name, as you will remember, was Mr. +Hammer, and he showed him the Van Tromp one day after dinner. + +Now Mr. Hammer was by this time an old man, and he had ceased to care much +for the things of this world. He had suffered greatly, and he had begun to +think about religion; also he had made a good deal of money in Egyptians +(for all this was before the slump). And he was pretty well ashamed of +his pastiches; so, one way and another, the seeing of that picture did +not have the effect upon him which you might have expected; for you, the +reader, have read this story in five minutes (if you have had the patience +to get so far), but he, Mr. Hammer, had been changing and changing for +years, and I tell you he did not care a dump what happened to the wretched +thing. Only when the Australian, who was good and simple and kind and +hearty, showed him the picture and asked him proudly to guess what he had +given for it, then Mr. Hammer looked at him with a look in his eyes full +of that not mortal sadness which accompanies irremediable despair. + +"I do not know," he answered gently and with a sob in his voice. + +"I paid for that picture," said the Australian, in the accent and language +of his native clime, "no less a sum than £7500 ... and I'd pay it again +to-morrow!" Saying this, the Australian hit the table with the palm, of +his hand in a manner so manly that an aged retainer who was putting coals +upon the fire allowed the coal-scuttle to drop. + +But Mr. Hammer, ruminating in his mind all the accidents and changes and +adventures of human life, its complexity, its unfulfilled desires, its +fading but not quite perishable ideals, well knowing how men are made +happy and how unhappy, ventured on no reply. Two great tears gathered in +his eyes, and he would have shed them, perhaps to be profusely followed by +more--he was nearly breaking down--when he looked up and saw on the wall +opposite him seven pastiches which he had made in the years gone by. There +was a Titian and a George Morland, a Chardin, two cows after Cooper, and +an impressionist picture after some Frenchman whose name he had forgotten. + +"You like pictures?" he said to the Australian, the tears still standing +in his eyes. + +"I do!" said the Australian with conviction. + +"Will you let me give you these?" said Mr. Hammer. + +The Australian protested that such things could not be allowed, but he was +a simple man, and at last he consented, for he was immensely pleased. + +"It is an ungracious thing to make conditions," said Mr. Hammer, "and I +won't make any, only I should be pleased if, in your island home...." + +"I don't live on an island," said the Australian. Mr. Hammer remembered +the map of Australia, with the water all round it, but he was too polite +to argue. + +"No, of course not," he said; "you live on the mainland; I forgot. But +anyhow, I _should_ be so pleased if you would promise me to hang them +all together, these pictures with your Van Tromp, all in a line! I really +should be so pleased!" + +"Why, certainly," said the Australian, a little bewildered; "I will do so, +Mr. Hammer, if it can give you any pleasure." + +"The fact is," said Mr. Hammer, in a breaking voice, "I had that picture +once, and I intended it to hang side by side with these." + +It was in vain that the Australian, on hearing this, poured out +self-reproaches, offered with an expansion of soul to restore it, and then +more prudently attempted a negotiation. Mr. Hammer resolutely shook his +head. + +"I am an old man," he said, "and I have no heirs; it is not for me to +take, but to give, and if you will do what an old man begs of you, and +accept what I offer; if you will do more and of your courtesy keep all +these things together which were once familiar to me, it will be enough +reward." + +The next day, therefore, the Australian sailed off to his distant +continental home, carrying with him not only the Chardin, the Titian, the +Cooper, the impressionist picture, and the rest, but also the Van Tromp. +And three months after they all hung in a row in the great new copper room +at Warra-Mugga. What happened to them later on, and how they were all sold +together as "the Warra-Mugga Collection," I will tell you when I have the +time and you the patience. Farewell. + + + + +HIS CHARACTER + + +A certain merchant in the City of London, having retired from business, +purchased for himself a private house upon the heights of Hampstead and +proposed to devote his remaining years to the education and the +establishment in life of his only son. + +When this youth (whose name was George) had arrived at the age of nineteen +his father spoke to him after dinner upon his birthday with regard to the +necessity of choosing a profession. He pointed out to him the advantages +of a commercial career, and notably of that form of useful industry which +is known as banking, showing how in that trade a profit was to be made by +lending the money of one man to another, and often of a man's own money to +himself, without engaging one's own savings or fortune. + +George, to whom such matters were unfamiliar, listened attentively, and it +seemed to him with every word that dropped from his father that a wider +and wider horizon of material comfort and worldly grandeur was spreading +out before him. He had hitherto had no idea that such great rewards were +attached to services so slight in themselves, and certainly so valueless +to the community. The career sketched out for him by his father appealed +to him most strongly, and when that gentleman had completed his advice he +assured him that he would follow it in every particular. + +George's father was overjoyed to find his son so reasonable. He sat down +at once to write the note which he had planned, to an old friend and +connection by marriage, Mr. Repton, of Repton and Greening; he posted it +that night and bade the lad prepare for the solemnity of a private +interview with the head of the firm upon the morrow. + +Before George left the house next morning his father laid before him, with +the pomp which so great an occasion demanded, certain rules of conduct +which should guide not only his entry into life but his whole conduct +throughout its course. He emphasized the value of self-respect, of a +decent carriage, of discretion, of continuous and tenacious habits of +industry, of promptitude, and so forth; when, urged by I know not what +demon whose pleasure it is ever to disturb the best plans of men, the old +gentleman had the folly to add the following words as he rose to his feet +and laid his hand heavily upon his son's shoulder: + +"Above all things, George, tell the truth. I was young and now am old. I +have seen many men fail, some few succeed; and the best advice I can give +to my dear only son is that on all occasions he should fearlessly and +manfully tell the truth without regard of consequence. Believe me, it is +not only the whole root of character, but the best basis for a successful +business career even today." + +Having so spoken, the old man, more moved than he cared to show, went +upstairs to read his newspaper, and George, beautifully dressed, went out +by the front door towards the Tube, pondering very deeply the words his +father had just used. + +I cannot deny that the impression they produced upon him was +extraordinary--far more vivid than men of mature years can easily +conceive. It is often so in early youth when we listen to the voice of +authority; some particular chance phrase will have an unmeasured effect +upon one. A worn tag and platitude solemnly spoken, and at a critical +moment, may change the whole of a career. And so it was with George, +as you will shortly perceive. For as he rumbled along in the Tube his +father's words became a veritable obsession within him: he saw their value +ramifying in a multitude of directions, he perceived the strength and +accuracy of them in a hundred aspects. He knew well that the interview he +was approaching was one in which this virtue of truth might be severely +tested, but he gloried in the opportunity, and he came out of the Tube +into the fresh air within a step of Mr. Repton's office with set lips and +his young temper braced for the ordeal. + +When he got to the office there was Mr. Repton, a kindly old gentleman, +wearing large spectacles, and in general appearance one of those genial +types from which our caricaturists have constructed the national figure of +John Bull. It was a pleasure to be in the presence of so honest a man, and +in spite of George's extreme nervousness he felt a certain security in +such company. Moreover, Mr. Repton smiled paternally at him before putting +to him the few questions which the occasion demanded. He held George's +father's letter between two fingers of his right hand, moving it gently in +the air as he addressed the lad: + +"I am very glad to see you, George," he said, "in this old office. I've +seen you here before, Chrm! as you know, but not on such important +business, Chrm!" He laughed genially. "So you want to come and learn your +trade with us, do you? You're punctual I hope, Chrm?" he added, his honest +eyes full of good nature and jest. + +George looked at him in a rather gloomy manner, hesitated a moment, and +then, under the influence of an obvious effort, said in a choking voice, +"No, Mr. Repton, I'm not." + +"Hey, what?" said Mr. Repton, puzzled and a little annoyed at the young +man's manner. + +"I was saying, Mr. Repton, that I am not punctual. I have dreamy fits +which sometimes make me completely forget an appointment. And I have a +silly habit of cutting things too fine, which makes me miss trains and +things, I think I ought to tell you while I am about it, but I simply +cannot get up early in the morning. There are days when I manage to do +so under the excitement of a coming journey or for some other form of +pleasure, but as a rule I postpone my rising until the very latest +possible moment." + +George having thus delivered himself closed his lips and was silent. + +"Humph!" said Mr. Repton. It was not what the boy had said so much as the +impression of oddness which affected that worthy man. He did not like it, +and he was not quite sure of his ground. He was about to put another +question, when George volunteered a further statement: + +"I don't drink," he said, "and at my age it is not easy to understand +what the vice of continual drunkenness may be, but I shouldn't wonder +if that would be my temptation later on, and it is only fair to tell +you that, young as I am, I have twice grossly exceeded in wine; on one +occasion, not a year ago, the servants at a house where I was stopping +carried me to bed." + +"They did?" said Mr. Repton drily. + +"Yes," said George, "they did." Then there was a silence for a space of +at least three minutes. + +"My dear young man," said Mr. Repton, rising, "do you feel any aptitude +for a City career?" + +"None," said George decisively. + +"Pray," said Mr. Repton (who had grown-up children of his own and could +not help speaking with a touch of sarcasm--he thought it good for boys +in the lunatic stage), "pray," said he, looking quizzically down at the +unhappy but firm-minded George as he sat there in his chair, "is there +any form of work for which you do feel an aptitude?" + +"Yes, certainly," said George confidently. + +"And what is that?" said Mr. Repton, his smile beginning again. + +"The drama," said George without hesitation, "the poetic drama. I ought to +tell you that I have received no encouragement from those who are the best +critics of this art, though I have submitted my work to many since I left +school. Some have said that my work was commonplace, others that it was +imitative; all have agreed that it was dull, and they have unanimously +urged me to abandon every thought of such composition. Nevertheless I +am convinced that I have the highest possible talents not only in this +department of letters but in all." + +"You believe yourself," said Mr. Repton, with a touch of severity, "to be +an exceptional young man?" + +George nodded. "I do," he said, "quite exceptional. I should have used a +stronger term had I been speaking of the matter myself. I think I have +genius, or, rather, I am sure I have; and, what is more, genius of a very +high order." + +"Well," said Mr. Repton, sighing, "I don't think we shall get any +forrader. Have you been working much lately?" he asked anxiously-- +"examinations or anything?" + +"No," said George quietly. "I always feel like this." + +"Indeed!" said Mr. Repton, who was now convinced that the poor boy had +intended no discourtesy. "Well, I wonder whether you would mind taking +back a note to your father?" + +"Not at all," said George courteously. + +Mr. Repton in his turn wrote a short letter, in which he begged George's +father not to take offence at an old friend's advice, recalled to his +memory the long and faithful friendship between them, pointed out that +outsiders could often see things which members of a family could not, and +wound up by begging George's father to give George a good holiday. "Not +alone," he concluded; "I don't think that would be quite safe, but in +company with some really trustworthy man a little older than himself, who +won't get on his nerves and yet will know how to look after him. He must +get right away for some weeks," added the kind old man, "and after that +I should advise you to keep him at home and let him have some gentle +occupation. Don't encourage him in writing. I think he would take kindly +to _gardening_. But I won't write any more: I will come and see you +about it." + +Bearing that missive back did George reach his home.... All this passed in +the year 1895, and that is why George is to-day one of the best electrical +engineers in the country, instead of being a banker; and that shows how +good always comes, one way or another, of telling the truth. + + + + +ON THRUPPENNY BITS + + +Philip, King of Macedon, destroyer of the liberties of Greece, and father +to Alexander who tamed the horse Bucephalus, called for the tutor of that +lad, one Aristotle (surnamed the Teacher of the Human Race), to propound +to him a question that had greatly troubled him; for in counting out his +money (which was his habit upon a washing day, when the Queen's appetite +for afternoon tea and honey had rid him of her presence) he discovered +mixed with his treasure such an intolerable number of thruppenny bits as +very nearly drove him to despair. + +On this account King Philip of Macedon, destroyer of the liberties of +Greece, sent for Aristotle, his hanger-on, as one capable of answering any +question whatsoever, and said to him (when he had entered with a profound +obeisance): + +"Come, Aristotle, answer me straight; what is the use of a thruppenny bit?" + +"Dread sire," said Aristotle, standing in his presence with respect, "the +thruppenny bit is not to be despised. Men famous in no way for their +style, nor even for their learning, have maintained life by inscribing +within its narrow boundaries the Lord's Prayer, the Creed, and the Ten +Commandments, while others have used it as a comparison in the classes +of astronomy to illustrate the angle subtended by certain of the orbs of +heaven. The moon, whose waxing and waning is doubtless familiar to Your +Majesty, is indeed but just hidden by a thruppenny bit held between the +finger and the thumb of the observer extended at the full length of any +normal human arm." + +"Go on," said King Philip, with some irritation; "go on; go on!" + +"The thruppenny bit, Your Majesty, illustrates, as does no other coin, the +wisdom and the aptness of the duodecimal system to which the Macedonians +have so wisely clung (in common with the people of Scythia and of Thrace, +and the dumb animals) while the too brilliant Hellenes ran wild in the +false simplicity of the decimal system. The number twelve, Your +Majesty...." + +"Yes, yes, I know," said King Philip impatiently, "I have heard it a +thousand times! It has already persuaded me to abandon the duodecimal +method and to consign to the severest tortures any one who mentions it in +my presence again. My ten fingers are good enough for me. Go on, go on!" + +"Sovran Lord!" continued Aristotle, "the thruppenny bit has further been +proved in a thousand ways an adjuvator and prime helper of the Gods. For +many a man too niggardly to give sixpence, and too proud to give a copper, +has dropped this coin among the offerings at the Temple, and it is related +of a clergyman in Armagh (a town of which Your Majesty has perhaps never +heard) that he would frequently address his congregation from the rails +of the altar, pointing out the excessive number of thruppenny bits which +had been offered for the sustenance of the hierarchy, threatening to +summon before him known culprits, and to return to them the insufficient +oblation. Again, the thruppenny bit most powerfully disciplines the soul +of man, for it tries the temper as does no other coin, being small, thin, +wayward, given to hiding, and very often useless when it is discovered. +Learn also, King of Macedon, that the thruppenny bit is of value in ritual +phrases, and particularly so in objurgations and the calling down of +curses, and in the settlement of evil upon enemies, and in the final +expression of contempt. For to compare some worthless thing to a farthing, +to a penny, or to tuppence, has no vigour left in it, and it has long +been thought ridiculous even among provincials; a threadbare, worn, and +worthless sort of sneer; but the thruppenny bit has a sound about it +very valuable to one who would insist upon his superiority. Thus were +some rebel or some demagogue of Athens (for example) to venture upon the +criticism of Your Majesty's excursions into philosophy, in order to bring +those august theses into contempt, his argument would never find emphasis +or value unless he were to terminate its last phrase by a snap of the +fingers and the mention of a thruppenny bit. + +"King Philip of Macedon, most prudent of men, learn further that a +thruppenny bit, which to the foolish will often seem a mere expenditure of +threepence, to the wise may represent a saving of that sum. For how many +occasions are there not in which the inconsequent and lavish fool, the +spendthrift, the young heir, the commander of cavalry, the empty, gilded +boy, will give a sixpence to a messenger where a thruppenny bit would have +done as well? For silver is the craving of the poor, not in its amount, +but in its nature, for nature and number are indeed two things, the one on +the one hand...." + +"Oh, I know all about that," said King Philip; "I did not send for you +to get you off upon those rails, which have nothing whatever to do with +thruppenny bits. Be concrete, I pray you, good Aristotle," he continued, +and yawned. "Stick to things as they are, and do not make me remind you +how once you said that men had thirty-six, women only thirty-four, teeth. +Do not wander in the void." + +"Arbiter of Hellas," said Aristotle gravely, when the King had finished +his tirade, "the thruppenny bit has not only all that character of +usefulness which I have argued in it from the end it is designed to serve, +but one may also perceive this virtue in it in another way, which is by +observation. For you will remember how when we were all boys the fourpenny +bit of accursed memory still lingered, and how as against it the +thruppenny bit has conquered. Which is, indeed, a parable taken from +nature, showing that whatever survives is destined to survive, for that +is indeed in a way, as you may say, the end of survival." + +"Precisely," said King Philip, frowning intellectually; "I follow you. +I have heard many talk in this manner, but none talk as well as you do. +Continue, good Aristotle, continue." + +"Your Majesty, the matter needs but little exposition, though it contains +the very marrow of truth," said the philosopher, holding up in a menacing +way the five fingers of his left hand and ticking them off with the +forefinger of his right. "For it is first useful, second beautiful, third +valuable, fourth magnificent, and, fifthly, consonant to its nature." + +"Quite true," said King Philip, following carefully every word that fell +from the wise man's lips, for he could now easily understand. + +"Very well then, sire," said Aristotle in a livelier tone, charmed to +have captivated the attention of his Sovereign. "I was saying that which +survives is proved worthy of survival, as of a man and a shark, or of +Athens and Macedonia, or in many other ways. Now the thruppenny bit, +having survived to our own time, has so proved itself in that test, and +upon this all men of science are agreed. + +"Then, also, King Philip, consider how the thruppenny bit in another and +actual way, not of pure reason but, if I may say so, in a material manner, +commends itself: for is it not true that whereas all other nations +whatsoever, being by nature servile, will use a nickel piece or some other +denomination for whatever is small but is not of bronze, the Macedonians, +being designed by the Gods for the command of all the human race, have +very tenaciously clung to the thruppenny bit through good and through +evil repute, and have even under the sternest penalties enforced it upon +their conquered subjects? For when Your Majesty discovered (if you will +remember) that the people of Euboea, in manifest contempt of your Crown, +paid back into Your Majesty's treasury all their taxes in the shape of +thruppenny bits...." + +At this moment King Philip gave a loud shout, uttering in Greek the word +"Eureka," which signifies (to those who drop their aitches) "I've got it." + +"Got what?" said the philosopher, startled into common diction by the +unexpected interjection of the despot. + +"Get out!" said King Philip. "Do you suppose that any rambling Don is +going to take up my time when by a sheer accident his verbosity has +started me on a true scent? Out, Aristotle, out! Or, stay, take this note +with you to the Captain of the Guard"--and King Philip hastily scribbled +upon a parchment an order for the immediate execution of the whole of the +inhabitants of Euboea, saving such as could redeem themselves at the price +of ten drachmae, the said sum upon no account whatsoever to be paid in +coin containing so much as one thruppenny bit. + +But the offended philosopher had departed, and being well wound up could +not, any more than any other member of the academies, cease from spouting; +so that King Philip was intolerably aggravated to hear him as he waddled +down the Palace stairs still declaiming in a loud tone: + +"And, sixteenthly, the thruppenny bit has about it this noble quality, +that it represents an aliquot part of that sum which is paid to me daily +from the Royal Treasury in silver, a metal upon which we have always +insisted. And, seventeenthly...." + +But King Philip banged the door. + + + + +ON THE HOTEL AT PALMA AND A PROPOSED GUIDE-BOOK + + +The hotel at Palma is like the Savoy, but the cooking is a great deal +better. It is large and new; its decorations are in the modern style with +twiddly lines. Its luxury is greater than that of its London competitor. +It has an eager, willing porter and a delightful landlord. You do what you +like in it and there are books to read. One of these books was an English +guide-book. I read it. It was full of lies, so gross and palpable that I +told my host how abominably it traduced his country, and advised him first +to beat the book well and then to burn it over a slow fire. It said that +the people were superstitious--it is false. They have no taboo about days; +they play about on Sundays. They have no taboo about drinks; they drink +what they feel inclined (which is wine) when they feel inclined (which is +when they are thirsty). They have no taboo book, Bible or Koran, no damned +psychical rubbish, no damned "folk-lore," no triply damned mumbo-jumbo of +social ranks; kind, really good, simple-minded dukes would have a devil of +a time in Palma. Avoid it, my dears, keep away. If anything, the people of +Palma have not quite enough superstition. They play there for love, money, +and amusement. No taboo (talking of love) about love. + +The book said they were poor. Their populace is three or four times as +rich as ours. They own their own excellent houses and their own land; no +one but has all the meat and fruit and vegetables and wine he wants, and +usually draught animals and musical instruments as well. + +In fact, the book told the most frightful lies and was a worthy companion +to other guidebooks. It moved me to plan a guide-book of my own in which +the truth should be told about all the places I know. It should be called +"Guide to Northumberland, Sussex, Chelsea, the French frontier, South +Holland, the Solent, Lombardy, the North Sea, and Rome, with a chapter on +part of Cheshire and some remarks on the United States of America." + +In this book the fault would lie in its too great scrappiness, but the +merit in its exactitude. Thus I would inform the reader that the best time +to sleep in Siena is from nine in the morning till three in the afternoon, +and that the best place to sleep is the north side of St. Domenic's ugly +brick church there. + +Again, I would tell him that the man who keeps the "Turk's Head" at +Valogne, in Normandy, was only outwardly and professedly an Atheist, but +really and inwardly a Papist. + +I would tell him that it sometimes snowed in Lombardy in June, for I have +seen it--and that any fool can cross the Alps blindfold, and that the +sea is usually calm, not rough, and that the people of Dax are the most +horrible in all France, and that Lourdes, contrary to the general opinion, +does work miracles, for I have seen them. + +I would also tell him of the place at Toulouse where the harper plays +to you during dinner, and of the grubby little inn at Terneuzen on the +Scheldt where they charge you just anything they please for anything; +five shillings for a bit of bread, or half a crown for a napkin. + +All these things, and hundreds of others of the same kind, would I put +in my book, and at the end should be a list of all the hotels in Europe +where, at the date of publication, the landlord was nice, for it is the +character of the landlords which makes all the difference--and that +changes as do all human things. + +There you could see first, like a sort of Primate of Hotels, the Railway +Hotel at York. Then the inn at La Bruyère in the Landes, then the "Swan" +at Petworth with its mild ale, then the "White Hart" of Storrington, +then the rest of them, all the six or seven hundred of them, from the +"Elephant" of Chateau Thierry to the "Feathers" of Ludlow--a truly noble +remainder of what once was England; the "Feathers" of Ludlow, where the +beds are of honest wood with curtains to them, and where a man may drink +half the night with the citizens to the success of their engines and the +putting out of all fires. For there are in West England three little inns +in three little towns, all in a line, and all beginning with an L-- +Ledbury, Ludlow, and Leominster, all with "Feathers," all with orchards +round, and I cannot tell which is the best. + +Then my guide-book will go on to talk about harbours; it will prove how +almost every harbour was impossible to make in a little boat; but it would +describe the difficulties of each so that a man in a little boat might +possibly make them. It would describe the rush of the tide outside Margate +and the still more dangerous rush outside Shoreham, and the absurd bar +at Littlehampton that strikes out of the sea, and the place to lie at in +Newhaven, and how not to stick upon the Platters outside Harwich; and the +very tortuous entry to Poole, and the long channel into Christchurch past +Hengistbury Head; and the enormous tides of South Wales; and why you often +have to beach at Britonferry, and the terrible difficulty of mooring in +Great Yarmouth; and the sad changes of Little Yarmouth, and the single +black buoy at Calais which is much too far out to be of any use; and how +to wait for the tide in the Swin. And also what no book has ever yet +given, an exact direction of the way in which one may roll into Orford +Haven, on the top of a spring tide if one has luck, and how if one has no +luck one sticks on the gravel and is pounded to pieces. + +Then my guide-book would go on to tell of the way in which to make men +pleasant to you according to their climate and country; of how you must +not hurry the people of Aragon, and how it is your duty to bargain with +the people of Catalonia; and how it is impossible to eat at Daroca; and +how careful one must be with gloomy men who keep inns at the very top of +glens, especially if they are silent, under Cheviot. And how one must not +talk religion when one has got over the Scotch border, with some remarks +about Jedburgh, and the terrible things that happened to a man there who +would talk religion though he had been plainly warned. + +Then my guide-book would go on to tell how one should climb ordinary +mountains, and why one should avoid feats; and how to lose a guide which +is a very valuable art, for when you have lost your guide you need not pay +him. My book will also have a note (for it is hardly worth a chapter) on +the proper method of frightening sheep dogs when they attempt to kill you +with their teeth upon the everlasting hills. + +This my good and new guide-book (oh, how it blossoms in my head as I +write!) would further describe what trains go to what places, and in what +way the boredom of them can best be overcome, and which expresses really +go fast; and I should have a footnote describing those lines of steamers +on which one can travel for nothing if one puts a sufficiently bold face +upon the matter. + +My guide-book would have directions for the pacifying of Arabs, a trick +which I learnt from a past master, a little way east of Batna in the year +1905--I will also explain how one can tell time by the stars and by the +shadow of the sun; upon what sort of food one can last longest and how +best to carry it, and what rites propitiate, if they are solemnized in a +due order, the half-malicious fairies which haunt men when they are lost +in lonely valleys, right up under the high peaks of the world. And my book +should have a whole chapter devoted to Ulysses. + +For you must know that one day I came into Narbonne where I had never been +before, and I saw written up in large letters upon a big, ugly house: + +ULYSSES, + +Lodging for Man and Beast. + +So I went in and saw the master, who had a round bullet head and cropped +hair, and I said to him: "What! Are you landed, then, after all your +journeys? And do I find you at last, you of whom I have read so much and +seen so little?" But with an oath he refused me lodging. + +This tale is true, as would be every other tale in my book. + +What a fine book it will be! + + + + +THE DEATH OF WANDERING PETER + + +"I will confess and I will not deny," said Wandering Peter (of whom you +have heard little but of whom in God's good time you shall hear more). "I +will confess and I will not deny that the chief pleasure I know is the +contemplation of my fellow beings." + +He spoke thus in his bed in the inn of a village upon the River Yonne +beyond Auxerre, in which bed he lay a-dying; but though he was dying he +was full of words. + +"What energy! What cunning! What desire! I have often been upon the edge +of a steep place, such as a chalk pit or a cliff above a plain, and +watched them down below, hurrying around, turning about, laying down, +putting up, leading, making, organizing, driving, considering, directing, +exceeding, and restraining; upon my soul I was proud to be one of them! I +have said to myself," said Wandering Peter, "lift up your heart; you also +are one of these! For though I am," he continued, "a wandering man and +lonely, given to the hills and to empty places, yet I glory in the workers +on the plain, as might a poor man in his noble lineage. From these I came; +to these in my old age I would have returned." + +At these words the people about his bed fell to sobbing when they thought +how he would never wander more, but Peter Wanderwide continued with a high +heart: + +"How pleasant it is to see them plough! First they cunningly contrive an +arrangement that throws the earth aside and tosses it to the air, and +then, since they are too weak to pull the same, they use great beasts, +oxen or horses or even elephants, and impose them with their will, so that +they patiently haul this contrivance through the thick clods; they tear +up and they put into furrows, and they transform the earth. Nothing can +withstand them. Birds you will think could escape them by flying up into +the air. It is an error. Upon birds also my people impose their view. They +spread nets, food, bait, trap, and lime. They hail stones and shot and +arrows at them. They cause some by a perpetual discipline to live near +them, to lay eggs and to be killed at will; of this sort are hens, geese, +turkeys, ducks, and guinea-fowls. Nothing eludes the careful planning of +man. + +"Moreover, they can build. They do not build this way or that, as a dull +necessity forces them, not they! They build as they feel inclined. They +hew down, they saw through (and how marvellous is a saw!), they trim +timber, they mix lime and sand, they excavate the recesses of the hills. +Oh! the fine fellows! They can at whim make your chambers or the Tower +prison, or my aunt's new villa at Wimbledon (which is a joke of theirs), +or St. Pancras Station, or the Crystal Palace, or Westminster Abbey, or +St. Paul's, or Bon Secours. They are agreeable to every change in the wind +that blows about the world. It blows Gothic, and they say 'By all means'-- +and there is your Gothic--a thing dreamt of and done! It suddenly veers +south again and blows from the Mediterranean. The jolly little fellows are +equal to the strain, and up goes Amboise, and Anet, and the Louvre, and +all the Renaissance. It blows everyhow and at random as though in anger at +seeing them so ready. They care not at all! They build the Eiffel Tower, +the Queen Anne house, the Mary Jane house, the Modern-Style house, the +Carlton, the Ritz, the Grand Palais, the Trocadero, Olympia, Euston, the +Midhurst Sanatorium, and old Beit's Palace in Park Lane. They are not to +be defeated, they have immortal certitudes. + +"Have you considered their lines and their drawings and their cunning +plans?" said Wandering Peter. "They are astonishing there! Put a bit of +charcoal into my dog's mouth or my pet monkey's paw--would he copy the +world? Not he! But men--my brothers--_they_ take it in hand and make +war against the unspeaking forces; the trees and the hills are of their +own showing, and the places in which they dwell, by their own power, +become full of their own spirit. Nature is made more by being their model, +for in all they draw, paint, or chisel they are in touch with heaven and +with hell.... They write (Lord! the intelligence of their men, and Lord! +the beauty of their women). They write unimaginable things! + +"They write epics, they write lyrics, they write riddles and marching +songs and drinking songs and rhetoric, and chronicles, and elegies, and +pathetic memories; and in everything that they write they reveal things +greater than they know. They are capable," said Peter Wanderwide, in +his dying enthusiasm, "of so writing that the thought enlarges upon the +writing and becomes far more than what they have written. They write that +sort of verse called 'Stop-Short,' which when it is written makes one +think more violently than ever, as though it were an introduction to the +realms of the soul. And then again they write things which gently mock +themselves and are a consolation for themselves against the doom of +death." + +But when Peter Wanderwide said that word "death," the howling and the +boo-hooing of the company assembled about his bed grew so loud that he +could hardly hear himself think. For there was present the Mayor of +the village, and the Priest of the village, and the Mayor's wife, and +the Adjutant Mayor or Deputy Mayor, and the village Councillor, and +the Road-mender, and the Schoolmaster, and the Cobbler, and all the +notabilities, as many as could crush into the room, and none but the +Doctor was missing. + +And outside the house was a great crowd of the village folk, weeping +bitterly and begging for news of him, and mourning that so great and so +good a man should find his death in so small a place. + +Peter Wanderwide was sinking very fast, and his life was going out with +his breath, but his heart was still so high that he continued although his +voice was failing: + +"Look you, good people all, in your little passage through the daylight, +get to see as many hills and buildings and rivers, fields, books, men, +horses, ships, and precious stones as you can possibly manage to do. Or +else stay in one village and marry in it and die there. For one of these +two fates is the best fate for every man. Either to be what I have been, a +wanderer with all the bitterness of it, or to stay at home and hear in +one's garden the voice of God. + +"For my part I have followed out my fate. And I propose in spite of my +numerous iniquities, by the recollection of my many joys in the glories of +this earth, as by corks, to float myself in the sea of nothingness until I +reach the regions of the Blessed and the pure in heart. + +"For I think when I am dead Almighty God will single me out on account +of my accoutrement, my stirrup leathers, and the things that I shall be +talking of concerning Ireland and the Perigord, and my boat upon the +narrow seas; and I think He will ask St. Michael, who is the Clerk and +Registrar of battling men, who it is that stands thus ready to speak +(unless his eyes betray him) of so many things? Then St. Michael will +forget my name although he will know my face; he will forget my name +because I never stayed long enough in one place for him to remember it. + +"But St. Peter, because he is my Patron Saint and because I have always +had a special devotion to him, will answer for me and will have no +argument, for he holds the keys. And he will open the door and I will come +in. And when I am inside the door of Heaven I shall freely grow those +wings, the pushing and nascence of which have bothered my shoulder blades +with birth pains all my life long, and more especially since my thirtieth +year. I say, friends and companions all, that I shall grow a very +satisfying and supporting pair of wings, and once I am so furnished I +shall be received among the Blessed, and I shall at once begin to tell +them, as I told you on earth, all sorts of things, both false and true, +with regard to the countries through which I carried forward my homeless +feet, and in which I have been given such fulfilment for my eyes." + +When Peter Wanderwide had delivered himself of these remarks, which he did +with great dignity and fire for one in such extremity, he gasped a little, +coughed, and died. + +I need not tell you what solemnities attended his burial, nor with what +fervour the people flocked to pray at his tomb; but it is worth knowing +that the poet of that place, who was rival to the chief poet in Auxerre +itself, gathered up the story of his death into a rhyme, written in the +dialect of that valley, of which rhyme this is an English translation: + + When Peter Wanderwide was young + He wandered everywhere he would; + And all that he approved was sung, + And most of what he saw was good. + + When Peter Wanderwide was thrown + By Death himself beyond Auxerre, + He chanted in heroic tone + To Priest and people gathered there: + + "If all that I have loved and seen + Be with me on the Judgment Day, + I shall be saved the crowd between + From Satan and his foul array. + + "Almighty God will surely cry + 'St. Michael! Who is this that stands + With Ireland in his dubious eye, + And Perigord between his hands, + + "'And on his arm the stirrup thongs, + And in his gait the narrow seas, + And in his mouth Burgundian songs, + But in his heart the Pyrenees?' + + "St. Michael then will answer right + (But not without angelic shame): + 'I seem to know his face by sight; + I cannot recollect his name....' + + "St. Peter will befriend me then, + Because my name is Peter too; + 'I know him for the best of men + That ever wallopped barley brew. + + "'And though I did not know him well, + And though his soul were clogged with sin, + _I_ hold the keys of Heaven and Hell. + Be welcome, noble Peterkin.' + + "Then shall I spread my native wings + And tread secure the heavenly floor, + And tell the Blessed doubtful things + Of Val d'Aran and Perigord." + + * * * * * + + This was the last and solemn jest + Of weary Peter Wanderwide, + He spoke it with a failing zest, + And having spoken it, he died. + + + + +THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE + + +The nation known to history as the Nephalo Ceclumenazenoi, or, more +shortly, the Nepioi, inhabited a fruitful and prosperous district +consisting in a portion of the mainland and certain islands situated in +the Picrocholian Sea; and had there for countless centuries enjoyed a +particular form of government which it is not difficult to describe, for +it was religious and arranged upon the principle that no ancient custom +might be changed. + +Lest such changes should come about through the lapse of time or the +evil passions of men, the citizens of the aforesaid nation had them very +clearly engraved in a dead language and upon bronze tablets, which they +fixed upon the doors of their principal temple, where it stood upon a +hill outside the city, and it was their laudable custom to entrust the +interpretation of them not to aged judges, but to little children, for +they argued that we increase in wickedness with years, and that no one +is safe from the aged, but that children are, alone of the articulately +speaking race, truth-tellers. Therefore, upon the first day of the year +(which falls in that country at the time of sowing) they would take one +hundred boys of ten years of age chosen by lot, they would make these +hundred, who had previously for one year received instruction in their +sacred language, write each a translation of the simple code engraved +upon the bronze tablets. It was invariably discovered that these artless +compositions varied only according to the ability of the lads to construe, +and that some considerable proportion of them did accurately show forth +in the vernacular of the time the meaning of those ancestral laws. They +had further a magistrate known as the Archon. whose business it was to +administrate these customs and to punish those who broke them. And this +Archon, when or if he proposed something contrary to custom in the opinion +of not less than a hundred petitioners, was judged by a court of children. + +In this fashion for thousands of years did the Nepioi proceed with their +calm and ordinary lives, enjoying themselves like so many grigs, and +utterly untroubled by those broils and imaginations of State which +disturbed their neighbours. + +There was a legend among them (upon which the whole of this Constitution +was based) that a certain Hero, one Melek, being in stature twelve foot +high and no less than 93 inches round the chest, had landed in their +country 150,000 years previously, and finding them very barbarous, slaying +one another and unacquainted with the use of letters, the precious metals, +or the art of usury, had instructed them in civilization, endowed them +with letters, a coinage, police, lawyers, instruments of torture, and all +the other requisites of a great State, and had finally drawn up for them +this code of law or custom, which they carefully preserved engraved upon +the tablets of bronze, which were set upon the walls of their chief temple +on the hill outside the city. + +Within the temple itself its great shrine and, so to speak, its very cause +of being was the Hero's tomb. He lay therein covered with plates of gold, +and it was confidently asserted and strictly and unquestionably believed +that at some unknown time in the future he would come out to rule them for +ever in a millennial fashion--though heaven knows they were happy enough +as it was. + +Among their customs was this: that certain appointed officers +would at every change in the moon proclaim the former existence and virtue +of Melek, his residence in the tomb, and his claims to authority. To enter +the tomb, indeed, was death, but there was proof of the whole story in +documents which were carefully preserved in the temple, and which were +from time to time consulted and verified. The whole structure of Nepioian +society reposed upon the sanctity of this story, upon the presence of the +Hero in his tomb, and of his continued authority, for with this was +intertwined, or rather upon this was based, the further sanctity of their +customs. + +Things so proceeded without hurt or cloud until upon one most unfortunate +day a certain man, bearing the vulgar name of Megalocrates, which +signifies a person whose health requires the use of a wide head-gear, +discovered that a certain herb which grew in great abundance in their +territory and had hitherto been thought useless would serve almost every +purpose of the table, sufficing, according to its preparation, for meat, +bread, vegetables, and salt, and, if properly distilled, for a liquor that +would make the Nepioi even more drunk than did their native spirits. + +From this discovery ensued a great plenty throughout the land, the +population very rapidly increased, the fortunes of the wealthy grew to +double, treble, and four times those which had formerly been known, the +middle classes adopted a novel accent in speech and a gait hitherto +unusual, while great numbers of the poor acquired the power of living upon +so small a proportion of foul air, dull light, stagnant water, and mangy +crusts as would have astonished their nicer forefathers. Meanwhile this +great period of progress could not but lead to further discoveries, and +the Nepioi had soon produced whole colleges in which were studied the arts +useful to mankind and constantly discovered a larger and a larger number +of surprising and useful things. At last the Nepioi (though this, perhaps, +will hardly be credited) were capable of travelling underground, flying +through the air, conversing with men a thousand miles away in a moment of +time, and committing suicide painlessly whenever there arose occasion for +that exercise. + +It may be imagined with what reverence the authors of all these boons, the +members of the learned colleges, were regarded; and how their opinions had +in the eyes and ears of the Nepioi an unanswerable character. + +Now it so happened that in one of these colleges a professor of more than +ordinary position emitted one day the opinion that Melek had lived only +half as long ago as was commonly supposed. In proof of this he put forward +the undoubted truth that if Melek had lived at the time he was supposed +to have lived, then he would have lived twice as long ago as he, the +professor, said that he had lived. The more old-fashioned and stupid +of the Nepioi murmured against such opinions, and though they humbly +confessed themselves unable to discover any flaw in the professor's logic, +they were sure he was wrong somewhere and they were greatly disturbed. +But the opinion gained ground, and, what is more, this fruitful and +intelligent surmise upon the part of the professor bred a whole series of +further theories upon Melek, each of which contradicted the last but one, +and the latest of which was always of so limpid and so self-evident a +truth as to be accepted by whatever was intelligent and energetic in the +population, and especially by the young unmarried women of the wealthier +classes. In this manner the epoch of Melek was reduced to five, to three, +to two, to one thousand years. Then to five hundred, and at last to one +hundred and fifty. But here was a trouble. The records of the State, which +had been carefully kept for many centuries, showed no trace of Melek's +coming during any part of the time, but always referred to him as a +long-distant forerunner. There was not even any mention of a man twelve +foot high, nor even of one a little over 93 inches round the chest. At last +it was proposed by an individual of great courage that he might be allowed +to open the tomb of Melek and afterwards, if they so pleased, suffer death. +This privilege was readily granted to him by the Archon. The worthy +reformer, therefore, prised open the sacred shrine and found within it +absolutely nothing whatsoever. + +Upon this there arose among the Nepioi all manner of schools and +discussions, some saying this and some that, but none with the certitude +of old. Their customs fell into disrepute, and even the very professors +themselves were occasionally doubted when they laid down the law upon +matters in which they alone were competent--as, for instance, when they +asserted that the moon was made of a peculiarly delicious edible substance +which increased in savour when it was preserved in the store-rooms of the +housewives; or when they affirmed with every appearance of truth that no +man did evil, and that wilful murder, arson, cruelty to the innocent and +the weak, and deliberate fraud were of no more disadvantage to the general +state, or to men single, than the drinking of a cup of cold water. + +So things proceeded until one day, when all custom and authority had +fallen into this really lamentable deliquescence, fleets were observed +upon the sea, manned by men-at-arms, the admiral of which sent a short +message to the Archon proposing that the people of the country should send +to him and his one-half of their yearly wealth for ever, "or," so the +message proceeded, "take the consequences." Upon the Archon communicating +this to the people there arose at once an infinity of babble, some saying +one thing and some another, some proposing to pay neighbouring savages +to come in and fight the invaders, others saying it would be cheaper to +compromise with a large sum, but the most part agreeing that the wisest +thing would be for the Archon and his great-aunt to go out to the fleet +in a little boat and persuade the enemy's admiral (as they could surely +easily do) that while most human acts were of doubtful responsibility and +not really wicked, yet the invasion, and, above all, the impoverishment +of the Nepioi was so foul a wrong as would certainly call down upon its +fiendish perpetrator the fires of heaven. + +While the Archon and his great-aunt were rowing out in the little boat +a few doddering old men and superstitious females slunk off to consult +the bronze tablets, and there found under Schedule XII these words: "If +an enemy threaten the State, you shall arm and repel him." In their +superstition the poor old chaps, with their half-daft female devotees +accompanying them, tottered back to the crowds to persuade them to some +ridiculous fanaticism or other, based on no better authority than the +non-existent Melek and his absurd and exploded authority. + +Judge of their horror when, as they neared the city, they saw from the +height whereon the temple stood that the invaders had landed, and, having +put to the sword all the inhabitants without exception, were proceeding to +make an inventory of the goods and to settle the place as conquerors. The +admiral summoned this remnant of the nation, and hearing what they had to +say treated them with the greatest courtesy and kindness and pensioned +them off for their remaining years, during which period they so instructed +him and his fighting men in the mysteries of their religion as quite to +convert them, and in a sense to found the Nepioian State over again; but +it should be mentioned that the admiral, by way of precaution, changed +that part of the religion which related to the tomb of Melek and situated +the shrine in the very centre of the crater of an active volcano in the +neighbourhood, which by night and day, at every season of the year, +belched forth molten rock so that none could approach it within fifteen +miles. + + + + +A NORFOLK MAN + + +Among the delights of historical study which makes it so curiously +similar to travel, and therefore so fatally attractive to men who cannot +afford it, is the element of discovery and surprise: notably in little +details. + +When in travel one goes along a way one has never been before one often +comes upon something odd, which one could not dream was there: for +instance, once I was in a room in a little house in the south and thought +there must be machinery somewhere from the noise I heard, until a man in +the house quietly lifted up a trapdoor in the floor, and there, running +under and through the house a long way below, was a river: the River +Garonne. + +It is the same way in historical study. You come upon the most +extraordinary things: little things, but things whose unexpectedness is +enormous. I had an example of this the other day, as I was looking up some +last details to make certain of the affair of Valmy. + +Most people have heard of the French Revolution, and many people have +heard of the battle of Valmy, which decided the first fate of that +movement, when it was first threatened by war. But very few people have +read about Valmy, so it is necessary to give some idea of the action to +understand the astonishing little thing attaching to it which I am about +to describe. + +The cannonade of Valmy was exchanged between a French Army with its back +to a range of hills and a Prussian Army about a mile away over against +them. It was as though the French Army had stretched from Leatherhead +to Epsom and had engaged in a cannonade with a Prussian Army lying over +against them in a position astraddle of the road to Kingston. + +Through this range of hills at the back of the French Army lay a gap, just +as there is a gap through the hills behind Leatherhead. Not only was that +gap easily passable by an army--easily, at least, compared with the hill +country on either side--but it had running through it the great road from +Metz to Paris, so that advance along it was rapid and practicable. + +It so happened that another force of the enemy besides that which was +cannonading the French in front was advancing through this gap from +behind, and it is evident that if this second force of the enemy had been +able to get through the gap it would have been all up with the French. +Dumouriez, who commanded the French, saw this well enough; he had ordered +the gap to be strongly fortified and well gunned and a camp to be formed +there, largely made up of Volunteers and Irregulars. On the proper conduct +of that post depended everything: and here comes the fun. The commander +of the post was not what you might expect, a Frenchman of any one of the +French types with which the Revolution has made us familiar: contrariwise, +he was an elderly private gentleman from the county of Norfolk. + +His name was Money. The little that is known about him is entertaining to +a degree. His own words prove him to be like the person in the song, "a +very honest man," and luckily for us he has left in a book a record of the +day (and subsequent actions) stamped vividly with his own character. John +Money: called by his neighbours General John Money, not, as you might +expect. General Money: a man devoted to the noble profession of arms and +also eaten up with a passion for ballooning. + +I find it difficult to believe that he was first in action at the age of +nine years or that he held King George's commission as a Cornet at the +age of ten. He does not tell us so himself nor do any of his friends. The +surmise is that of our Universities, and it is worthy of them. Clap on ten +years and you are nearer the mark. At any rate he was under fire in 1761, +and he was a Cornet in 1762; a Cornet in the Inniskilling Dragoons with a +commission dated on the 11th of March of that year. Then he transformed +himself into a Linesman, got his company in the 9th Foot eight years +later, and eight years later again, at the outbreak of the American War, +he was a major. He was quarter-master-general under Burgoyne, he was taken +prisoner--I think at Saratoga, but anyhow during that disastrous advance +upon the Hudson Valley. He got his lieutenant-colonelcy towards the end of +the war. He retired from the Army and never saw active service again. When +the Low Countries revolted against Austria he offered his services to the +insurgents and was accepted, but the truly entertaining chapter of his +adventures begins when he suggested himself to the French Government as +a very proper and likely man to command a brigade on the outbreak of the +great war with the Empire and with Prussia. + +Very beautifully does he tell us in his preface what moved him to that act. +"Colonel Money," he says, in the quiet third person of a self-respecting +Norfolk gentleman, "does not mean to assign any other reason for serving +the armies of France than that he loves his profession and went there +merely to improve himself in it." Spoken like Othello! + +He dedicates the book, by the way, to the Marquis Townshend, and carefully +adds that he has not got permission to dedicate it to that exalted +nobleman, nay, that he fears that he would not get permission if he asked +for it. But Lord Townshend is such a rattling good soldier that Colonel +Money is quite sure he will want to hear all about the war. On which +account he has this book so dedicated and printed by E. Harlow, bookseller +to Her Majesty, in Pall Mall. + +Before beginning his narrative the excellent fellow pathetically says, +that as there was no war a little time before, nor apparently any +likelihood of one, "Colonel Money once intended to serve the Turks"; from +this horrid fate a Christian Providence delivered him, and sent him to the +defence of Gaul. + +His commission was dated on the 19th of July, 1792; Marshal of the Camps, +that is, virtually, brigadier-general. He is very proud of it, and he +gives it in full. It ends up "Given in the year of Grace 1792 of our Reign +the 19th and Liberty the 4th. Louis." The phrase, in accompaniment with +the signature and the date, is not without irony. + +Colonel Money could never stomach certain traits in the French people. + +Before he left Paris for his command on the frontier he was witness to +the fighting when the Palace was stormed by the populace, and he is +our authority for the fact that the 5th Battalion of Paris Volunteers +stationed in the Champs Elysées helped to massacre the Swiss Guard. + +"The lieutenant-colonel of this battalion," writes honest John Money, +"who was under my command during part of the campaign, related to me the +circumstances of this murder, and apparently with pleasure. He said: 'That +the unhappy men implored mercy, but,' added he, 'we did not regard this. +We put them all to death, and our men cut off most of their heads and +fixed them on their bayonets.'" + +Colonel or, as he then was, General Money disapproves of this. + +He also disapproves of the officer in command of the Marseillese, and says +he was a "Tyger." It seems that the "Tyger" was dining with Théroigne de +Méricourt and three English gentlemen in the very hotel where Money was +stopping, and it occurs to him that they might have broken in from their +drunken revels next door and treated him unfriendly. + +Then he goes to the frontier, and after a good deal of complaint that he +has not been given his proper command he finds himself at the head of that +very important post which was the saving of the Army of Valmy. + +Dumouriez, who always talked to him in English (for English was more +widely known abroad then than it is now, at least among gentlemen), had +a very great opinion of Money; but he deplores the fact that Money's +address to his soldiery was couched "in a jargon which they could not even +begin to understand." Money does not tell us that in his account of the +fighting, but he does tell us some very interesting things, which reveal +him as a man at once energetic and exceedingly simple. He left the guns +to Galbaud, remarking that no one but a gunner could attend to that sort +of thing, which was sound sense; but the Volunteers, the Line, and the +Cavalry he looked after himself, and when the first attack was made he +gave the order to fire from the batteries. Just as they were blazing away +Dillon, who was far off but his superior, sent word to the batteries to +cease firing. Why, nobody knows. At any rate the orderly galloped up and +told Money that those were Dillon's orders. On which Money very charmingly +writes: + +"I told him to go back and tell General Dillon that I commanded there, and +that whilst the enemy fired shot and shell on me _I_ should continue +to fire back on them." A sentence that warms the heart. Having thus +delivered himself to the orderly, he began pacing up and down the parapet +"to let my men see that there was not much to be apprehended from a +cannonade." + +You may if you will make a little picture of this to yourselves. A great +herd of volunteers, some of whom had never been under fire, the rest +of whom had bolted miserably at Verdun a few days before, men not yet +soldiers and almost without discipline: the batteries banging away in the +wood behind them, in front of them a long earthwork at which the enemy +were lobbing great round lumps of iron and exploding shells, and along +the edge of this earthwork an elderly gentleman from Norfolk, in England, +walking up and down undisturbed, occasionally giving orders to his army, +and teaching his command a proper contempt for fire. + +He adds as another reason why he did not cease fire when he was ordered +that "without doubt the troops would have thought there was treason in it, +and I had probably been cut in pieces." + +He did not understand what had happened at Valmy, though he was so useful +in securing the success of that day. All he noted was that after the +cannonade Kellermann had fallen back. He rode into St. Ménehould, where +Dumouriez's head-quarters were, ran up to the top of the steeple and +surveyed the country around the enemy's camp with an enormous telescope, +laid a bet at dinner of five to one that the enemy would attack again +(they did not do so, and so he lost his bet, but he says nothing about +paying it), and then heard that France had been decreed a Republic. +His comment on this piece of news is strong but cryptical. "It was +surprising," he says, "to see what an effect this news had on the Army." + +Every sentence betrays the personality: the keen, eccentric character +which took to balloons just after the Montgolfiers, and fell with his +balloon into the North Sea, wrote his Treatise on the use of such +instruments in War, and was never happy unless he was seeing or doing +something--preferably under arms. And in every sentence also there is that +curious directness of statement which is of such advantage to vivacity +in any memoir. Thus of Gobert, who served under him, he has a little +footnote: "This unfortunate young man lost his head at the same time +General Dillon suffered, and a very amiable young man he was, and an +excellent officer." + +He ends his book in a phrase from which I think not a word could be taken +nor to which a word could be added without spoiling it. I will quote it in +full. + +"The reader, I trust, will excuse my having so often departed from the +line of my profession in giving my opinion on subjects that are not +military" (for instance, his objections to the head-cutting business), +"but having had occasion to know the people of France I freely venture to +submit my judgments to the public and have the satisfaction to find that +they coincide with the opinion of those who know that extraordinary nation +_still better than myself_." + + + + +THE ODD PEOPLE + + +The people of Monomotapa, of whom I have written more than once, I have +recently revisited; and I confess to an astonishment at the success with +which they deal with the various difficulties and problems arising in +their social life. + +Thus, in most countries the laws of property are complex in the extreme; +punishable acts in connexion with them are numerous and often difficult to +define. + +In Monomotapa the whole thing is settled in a very simple manner: in the +first place, instead of strict laws binding men down by written words, +they appoint a number of citizens who shall have it in their discretion to +decide whether a man's actions are worthy of punishment or no; and these +appointed citizens have also the power to assign the punishment, which may +vary from a single day's imprisonment to a lifetime. So crimeless is the +country, however, that in a population of over thirty millions less than +twenty such nominations are necessary; I must, however, admit that these +score are aided by several thousand minor judges who are appointed in a +different manner. + +Their method of appointment is this: it is discovered as accurately as may +be by a man's manner of dress and the hours of his labour and the size of +the house he inhabits, whether he have more than a certain yearly revenue; +any man discovered to have more than this revenue is immediately appointed +to the office of which I speak. + +The power of these assessors is limited, however, for though it is left to +their discretion whether their fellow-citizens are worthy of punishment +or not, yet the total punishment they can inflict is limited to a certain +number of years of imprisonment. In old times this sort of minor judge +was not appointed in Monomotapa unless he could prove that he kept dogs +in great numbers for the purposes of hunting, and at least three horses. +But this foolish prejudice has broken down in the progress of modern +enlightenment, and, as I have said, the test is now extended to a general +consideration of clothes, the size of the house inhabited, and the amount +of leisure enjoyed, the type of tobacco smoked, and other equally +reasonable indications of judicial capacity. + +The men thus chosen to consider the actions of their fellow-citizens in +courts of law are rewarded in two ways: the first small body who are the +more powerful magistrates are given a hundred times the income of an +ordinary citizen, for it is claimed that in this way not only are the best +men for the purpose obtained, but, further, so large a salary makes all +temptation to bribery impossible and secures a strict impartiality between +rich and poor. + +The lesser judges, on the other hand, are paid nothing, for it is wisely +pointed out that a man who is paid nothing and who volunteers his services +to the State will not be the kind of a man who would take a bribe or who +would consider social differences in his judgments. + +It is further pointed out by the Monomotapans (I think very reasonably) +that the kind of man who will give his services for nothing, even in the +arduous work of imprisoning his fellow-citizens, will probably be the best +man for the job, and does not need to be allured to it by the promise of +a great salary. In this way they obtain both kinds of judges, and, oddly +enough, each kind speaks, acts, and lives much as does the other. + +I must next describe the methods by which this interesting and sensible +people secure the ends of their criminal system. + +When one of their magistrates has come to the conclusion that on the whole +he will have a fellow-citizen imprisoned, that person is handed over to +the guardianship of certain officials, whose business it is to see that +the man does not die during the period for which he is entrusted to them. +When some one of the numerous forms of torture which they are permitted +to use has the effect of causing death, the official responsible is +reprimanded and may even be dismissed. The object indeed of the whole +system is to reform and amend the criminal. He is therefore forbidden to +speak or to communicate in any way with human beings, and is segregated in +a very small room devoid of all ornament, with the exception of one hour a +day, during which he is compelled to walk round and round a deep, walled +courtyard designed for the purpose of such an exercise. If (as is often +the case) after some years of this treatment the criminal shows no signs +of mental or moral improvement, he is released; and if he is a man of +property, lives unmolested on what he has, and that usually in a quiet +and retired way. But if he is devoid of property, the problem is indeed a +difficult one, for it is the business of the police to forbid him to work, +and they are rewarded if he is found committing any act which the judges +or the magistrates are likely to disapprove. In this way even those who +have failed to effect reform in their characters during their first term +of imprisonment are commonly--if they are poor--re-incarcerated within +a short time, so that the system works precisely as it was intended to, +giving the maximum amount of reformation to the worst and the hardest +characters. I should add that the Monomotapan character is such that in +proportion to wealth a man's virtues increase, and it is remarkable that +nearly all those who suffer the species of imprisonment I have described +are of the poorer classes of society. + +Though they are so reasonable, and indeed afford so excellent a model to +ourselves in most of their social relations, the people of Monomotapa +have, I confess, certain customs which I have never clearly understood, +and which my increasing study of them fails to explain to me. + +Thus, in matters which, with us, are thought susceptible of positive +proof (such as the taste and quality of cooking, or the mental abilities +of a fellow-citizen) the Monomotapans establish their judgment in a +transcendental or super-rational manner. The cooking in a restaurant or +hotel is with them excellent in proportion, not to the taste of the viands +subjected to it, but to the rental of the premises. And when a man desires +the most delicious food he does not consider where he has tasted such food +in the past, but rather the situation and probable rateable value of the +eating-house which will provide him with it. Nay, he is willing--if he +understands that that rateable value is high--to pay far more for the same +article than he would in a humbler hostelry. + +The same super-rational method, as I have called it, applies to the +Monomotapan judgment of political ability; for here it is not what a +man has said or written, nor whether he has proved himself capable +of foreseeing certain events of moment to the State, it is not these +characters that determine his political career, but a mixture of other +indices, one of which is that his brothers shall be younger than himself, +another that when he speaks he shall strike the palm of his open left hand +with his clenched right hand in a particular manner by no means commonly +or easily acquired; another that he shall not wear at one and the same +time a coat which is bifurcated and a hat of hemispherical outline; +another that he shall keep silence upon certain types of foreigners who +frequent the markets of Monomotapa, and shall even pretend that they are +not foreigners but Monomotapans; and this index of statesmanship he must +preserve under all circumstances, even when the foreigners in question +cannot speak the Monomotapan language. + +Some years ago it was required of every statesman that he should, for at +least so many times in any one year, extravagantly praise the virtues +of these foreign merchants, and particularly allude to their intensely +unforeign character; but this custom has recently fallen into abeyance, +and silence upon the subject is the most that is demanded. + +A further social habit of this people which we should find very strange +and which I for my part think unaccountable is their habit of judging the +excellence of a literary production, not by the sense or even the sound of +it, but by the ink in which it is printed and the paper upon which it is +impressed. And this applies not only to their letters but also to their +foreign information, and on this account they should (one would imagine) +obtain but a very distorted view of the world. For if a good printer +prints with excellent ink at five shillings a pound, and with beautiful +clear type upon the best linen paper, the statement that the British +Islands are uninhabited, while another in bad ink and upon flimsy paper +and with worn type affirms that they contain over forty million souls, the +first impression and not the second would be conveyed to the Monomotapan, +mind. As a fact, however, they are not misinformed, for this singular +frailty of theirs (as I conceive it to be) is moderated by one very wise +countervailing mental habit of theirs, which is to believe whatever they +hear asserted more than twenty-six times, so that even if the assertion be +conveyed to them in bad print and upon poor paper, they will believe it if +they read it over and over again to the required limits of reiterations. + +No people in the world are fonder of animals than this genial race, but +here again curious limits to their affection are to be discovered, for +while they will tear to pieces some abandoned wretch who beats a llama +with a hazel twig for its correction, they will see nothing remarkable in +the tearing to pieces of an alpaca goat by dogs specially trained in that +exercise. + +Generally speaking, the larger an animal is, the warmer is the affection +borne it by these people. Fleas and lice are crushed without pity, +blackbeetles with more hesitation, small birds are spared entirely, and +so on upwards until for calves they have a special legislation to protect +and cherish them. At the other end of the scale, microbes are pitilessly +exterminated. + +Divorce is not common in Monomotapa. But such divorces as take place are +very rightly treated differently, according to the wealth of the persons +involved. Above a certain scale of wealth divorce is only granted after a +lengthy trial in a court of justice; but with the poor it is established +by the decree of a magistrate who usually, shortly after pronouncing his +sentence, finds an occasion to imprison the innocent party. Moreover, the +poor can be divorced in this manner, if any magistrate feels inclined to +exercise his power, while for the divorce of the rich set conditions are +laid down. + +I should add that the Monomotapans have no religion; but the tolerance of +their Constitution is nowhere better shown than in this particular, for +though they themselves regard religion as ridiculous, they will permit +its exercise within the State, and even occasionally give high office and +emoluments to those who practise it. + +We have, indeed, much to learn in this matter of religion from the race +whose habits I have discovered and here describe. Nothing, perhaps, has +done more to warp our own story than the hide-bound prejudice that a +doctrine could not be both false and true at the same time, and the +unreasoning certitude, inherited from the bad old days of clerical +tyranny, that a thing either was or was not. + +No such narrowness troubles the Monomotapan. He will prefer--and very +wisely prefer--an opinion that renders him comfortable to one that in any +way interferes with his appetites; and if two such opinions contradict +each other, he will not fall into a silly casuistry which would attempt to +reconcile them: he will quietly accept both, and serve the Higher Purpose +with a contented mind. + +It is on this account that I have said that the Monomotapans regard +religion as ridiculous. For true religion, indeed (as they phrase it), +they have the highest reverence; and true religion consists in following +the inclinations of an honest man, that is, oneself; but "religion in the +sense of fixed doctrine," as one of their priests explained to me, "is +abhorrent to our free commonwealth." Thus such hair-splitting questions as +whether God really exists or no, whether it be wrong to kill or to steal, +whether we owe any duties to the State, and, if so, what duties, are +treated by the honest Monomotapans with the contempt they deserve: they +abandon such speculation for the worthy task of enjoying, each man, what +his fortune permits him to enjoy. + +But, as I have said above, they do not persecute the small minority living +in their midst who cling with the tenacity of all starved minds to their +fixed ideas; and if a man who professes certitude upon doctrinal matters +is useful in other ways, they are very far from refusing his services to +the State. I have known more than one, for instance, of this old-fashioned +and bigoted lot who, when he offered a sum of money in order to be +admitted to the Senate of Monomotapa, found it accepted as readily and +cheerfully as though it had been offered by one of the broadest principles +and most liberal mind. + +Let no one be surprised that I have spoken of their priests, for though +the Monomotapans regard religion with due contempt, it does not follow +that they will take away the livelihood of a very honest class of people +who in an older and barbaric state of affairs were employed to maintain +the structure of what was then a public worship. The priesthood, +therefore, is very justly and properly retained by the Monomotapans, +subject only to a few simple duties and to a sacred intonation of voice +very distressing to those not accustomed to it. If I am asked in what +occupation they are employed, I answer, the wealthier of them in such +sports and futilities as attract the wealthy, and the less wealthy in such +futilities and sports as the less wealthy customarily enjoy. Nor is it a +rigid law among them that the sons of priests should be priests, but only +the custom--so far, at least, as I have been able to discover. + + + + +LETTER OF ADVICE AND APOLOGY TO A YOUNG BURGLAR + + +My dear Ormond, + +Nothing was further from my thoughts. I had imagined you knew me well +enough--and, for the matter of that, all your mother's family--to judge +me better. Believe me, no conception of blaming your profession entered +my mind for a moment. Whether there be such a thing as "property" in the +abstract I should leave it to metaphysicians to decide: in practical +affairs everything must be judged in its own surroundings. + +It was not upon any musty theological whimsy that I wrote; the definition +of stealing or "theft"--I care not by what name you call it--is not for +practical men to discuss. Nor was I concerned with the ethical discussion +of burglary (to give the matter its old legal and technical title); it was +lack of judgment, sudden actions due to nothing but impulse, and what I +think I may call "the speculative side" of a burglar's life. + +You have not, as yet, any great responsibilities. No one is dependent upon +you--you have but yourself to provide for; but you must remember that such +responsibilities will arrive in their natural course, and that if you form +habits of rashness or obstinacy now they will cling to you through life. +We are all looking forward to a certain event when Anne is free again; in +plain English, my boy, we know your loyal heart, and we shall bless the +union; but I should feel easier in my mind if I saw you settled into one +definite branch of the profession before you undertook the nurture of a +family. + +Adventure tempts you because you are brave, and something of a poet in +you leads you to unusual scenes of action. Well, Youth has a right to its +dreams, but beware of letting a dangerous Quixotism spoil your splendid +chances. + +Take, for example, your breaking into Mr. Cowl's house. You may say Mr. +Cowl was not a journalist, but only a reviewer; the distinction is very +thin, but let it pass. You know and I know that the houses of _none_ +in any way connected with the daily Press should ever be approached. It is +plain common sense. The journalist comes home at all hours of the night. +His servant (if he keeps one) is often up before he is abed. Do you think +to enter such houses unobserved? + +Again, in one capacity or another, the journalist is dealing with our +profession all day long. Some he serves and knows as masters; others he is +employed in denouncing at about forty-two shillings the 1600 words; others +again it is his business to interview and to pacify or cajole in the +lobbies of the House--do you think he would not know what you were if he +found you in the kitchen with a dark lantern? + +There is another peril--I mean that of alienating friends. Mr. Cowl is an +Imperialist--of a very unemphatic type: he wears (as you will say) gold +spectacles, and has a nervous cough, but he _is_ an Imperialist. I +never said that it was _wrong_ or even _foolish_ to alienate +such a man. I said that a great and powerful section of opinion thought it +a breach of honour in one of Ours to do it. Do not run away with the first +impression my words convey. Believe me, I weigh them all. + +There has been so much misunderstanding that I hardly know what to choose. +Take those watches. I did not say that watches were "a mere distraction." +You have put the words into my mouth. What I said was that watches, +especially watches at a Tariff Reform meeting, were not worth the risk. +Of course a hatful of watches, such as your Uncle Robert would bring home +from fires, or better still, such a load as your poor cousin Charles +obtained upon Empire Day last year, has value. But how many gold watches +are there, off the platform, at a Tariff Reform meeting? And what possible +chance have you of getting _on_ the platform? Now church and purses, +that is another thing, but your mid-Devon adventure was simple folly. + +Who is Lord Darrell? I never heard of him! For Heaven's sake don't get +caught by a title. Do you know any of the servants? His butler or his +secretary? The fellow who catalogues the library is useful. Do recollect +that lots of the ornaments in those Mayfair houses are fastened to the +wall. That is where your dear father failed over the large Chinese jar in +Park Street.... Your mother would never forgive me if you were to get into +another of your boyish scrapes. + +There is another little matter, my dear Ormond, which I wish you to lay +to heart very seriously. Now do take an old man's advice and do not get +up upon your Quixotic hobby-horse the moment you sniff what it is--for I +suppose you have guessed it already. Yes, it is what you feared: I want to +urge you to follow your mother's ardent wish and add commission business +to your other work. I know very well that young men must dream their +dreams, but the world is what it is, and after all there is nothing so +very dreadful in the commission side of our profession. You do not come +into direct relation with the collectors of curios and church ornaments: +there is always an agent to break the crudeness of the connexion. And +it is a certain and profitable source of income with none of the risks +attached to it that the older branches of the profession unfortunately +show. Moreover, it affords excellent opportunities for foreign travel, +and gives one a special position very difficult to define, but easily +appreciable among one's colleagues. + +George Burton made to my knowledge three thousand pounds last year in a +short season; he got this very large commission without the necessity of +breaking into a single public-house; he earned it entirely upon objects +taken out of churches upon the Continent, and in only three cases had he +to pick a pocket. It would have hurt him very much with his knowledge and +tastes to have had to break a stained-glass window. + +Do consider this, my dear Ormond, for your mother's sake. Don't think for +a moment that I am advising you to take up any of those forms of work +which we both agree in despising, and which are quite unworthy of your +traditions, as for instance stealing pictures on commission out of the +houses of dealers and then turning detective to recover them again. It is +much too easy work for a man of your talents, much too ill-paid, and much +too dangerous. It is all very well for the picture dealer to leave the +door open, but what if the policeman is not in the know? No, you will +always find me on your side in your steady refusal to have anything to do +with this kind of business. + +Ormond, my dear lad, bear me no ill-will. It is true of every profession, +of the Bar and of the City, of homicide, medicine, the Services, even +Politics--everything, that success only comes slowly, and that the +experience of older men is the key to it. + +Tomorrow is Ascension Day, and I am at leisure. Come and dine with me at +the Colonial Club at eight for eight-fifteen. I will show you a +magnificent littla tanagra I picked up yesterday, and we will talk about +the new prospectus. + +God bless you! (Dress.) + +Your affectionate Uncle + + + + +THE MONKEY QUESTION: AN APPEAL TO COMMON SENSE + + +A privileged body slips so easily into regarding its privileges as common +rights that I fear the plea which the SIMIAN LEAGUE repeats in this +pamphlet will still sound strange in the ears of many, though the work of +the League has been increasingly successful and has reached yearly a wider +circle of the educated public since its foundation by Lady Wayne in 1902. +We desire to place before our fellow-citizens the claims of Monkeys, and +we hope once more that nothing we say may seem extreme or violent, for we +know full well what poor weapons violence and passion are in the debate of +a practical political matter. + +Perhaps it is best to begin by pointing out how rarely even the best of us +pause in our fevered race for wealth to consider the disabilities of any +of our fellow-creatures: when that truth is grasped it will be easier to +plead the special cause of the Simian. + +Were English men and women to realize the wrongs of the Race, or at any +rate the illogical and therefore unjust position in which we have placed +them; were the just and thoughtful men, the refined and golden-hearted +ladies who are ready in this country to support every good cause when it +is properly presented; were _they_ to realize the disabilities of the +Monkey, I do not say as vividly they realize the tragedies and misfortunes +of London life, they could not, I think, avoid an ill-ease, a pricking of +conscience, which would lead at last to some hearty and English effort for +the relief of the cousin and forerunner of man. + +The attitude adopted towards Monkeys by the mass of those who, after all, +live in the same world, and have much the same appetites and necessities +and sufferings as they, is an attitude I am persuaded, not of +heartlessness, but of ignorance. To disturb that ignorance, and in some to +awake a consciousness which, perhaps, they fear, is not a grateful task, +but it is our duty, and we will pursue it. + +Let the reader consider for one moment the aspect not only of formal law +but of the whole community, and of what is called "public opinion" towards +this section of sentient beings. + +As things now are--aye! and have been for centuries in this green England +of ours--a Monkey may not marry; he may not own land; he may not fill any +salaried post under the Crown. The Papists themselves are debarred from +no honour (outside Ireland) save the Lord Chancellorship. Monkeys, who +are responsible for no persecutions in the past, whose religion presents +no insult or outrage to our common reason, and who differ little from +ourselves in their general practice of life and thought, _are debarred +from all_! + +A Monkey may not be a Member of Parliament, a Civil Servant, an officer +in either Service, no, not even in the Territorial Army. It is doubtful +whether he may hold a commission for the peace. True, there is no statute +upon the subject, and the rural magistracy is perhaps the freest and most +open of all our offices, and the least restricted by artificial barriers +of examination or test; nevertheless, it is the considered opinion of the +best legal authorities that no Monkey could sit upon the Bench, and in any +case the discussion is purely academic, for it is difficult to believe +that any Lord-Lieutenant, under the ridiculous anachronism of our present +Constitution, would nominate a Monkey to such a position--unless (which is +by law impossible) he should be heir to an owner of an estate in land. + +Nor is this all. The mention of unpaid posts recalls the damning truth +that all honorary positions in the Diplomatic Service, including even the +purely formal stage in the Foreign Office, are closed to the Monkey; the +very Court sinecures, which admittedly require no talents, are denied to +our Simian fellow-creatures, if not by law at least by custom and in +practice. + +There have been employed by the League in the British Museum the services +of two ladies who feel most keenly upon this subject. They are (to the +honour of their sex) as amply qualified as any person in this kingdom for +the task which they have undertaken, and they report to the Executive +Commission after two months of minute research that (with one doubtful +exception occurring during the reign of Her late Majesty) no Monkey has +held any position whatever at Court. + +All judicial positions are equally inaccessible to them; for though, +perhaps, in theory a Monkey could be promoted to the Bench if he had +served his party sufficiently long and faithfully in the House of Commons +(to which body he is admissible--at least I can find no rule or custom, +let alone a statute, against it), yet he is cut off from such an ambition +at the very outset by his inadmissibility to a legal career. The Inns of +Court are monopolist, and, like all monopolists, hopelessly conservative. +They have admitted first one class and then another--though reluctantly-- +to their privileges, but it will be twenty or thirty years at least +before they will give way in the matter of Monkeys. To be a physician, +a solicitor, an engineer, or a Commissioner for Oaths is denied them as +effectually as though they did not exist. Indeed, no occupation is left +them save that of manual labour, and on this I would say a word. It is +fashionable to jeer at the Monkey's disinclination to sustained physical +effort and to concentrated toil; but it is remarkable that those who +affect such a contempt for the Monkey's powers are the first to deny him +access to the liberal professions in which they know (though they dare not +confess it) he would be a serious rival to the European. As it is, in the +few places open to Monkeys--the somewhat parasitical domestic occupation +of "companions" and the more manly, but still humiliating, task of acting +as assistants to organ-grinders, the Monkey has won universal if grudging +praise. + +Latterly, since progress cannot be indefinitely delayed, the Monkey has +indeed advanced by one poor step towards the civic equality which is his +right, and has appeared as an actor upon the boards of our music-halls. It +should surely be a sufficient rebuke for those who continue to sneer at +the Simian League and such devoted pioneers as Miss Greeley and Lady Wayne +that the Monkey has been honourably admitted and has done first-rate work +in a profession which His late Gracious Majesty and His late Majesty's +late revered mother, Queen Victoria, have seen fit to honour by the +bestowal of knighthoods, and in one case (where the recipient was +childless) of a baronetcy. + +The disabilities I have enumerated are by no means exhaustive. A Monkey +may not sign or deliver a deed; he may not serve on a jury; he may be +ill-treated, forsooth, and even killed by some cruel master, and the +law will refuse to protect him or to punish his oppressor. He may be +subjected to all the by-laws of a tyrannical or fanatical administration, +but in preventing such abuses he has no voice. He may not enter our +older Universities, at least as the member of a college; that is, he can +only take a degree at Oxford or Cambridge under the implied and wholly +unmerited stigma applying to the non-collegiate student. And these +iniquities apply not only to the great anthropoids whose strength and +grossness we might legitimately fear, but to the most delicately organized +types--to the Barbary Ape, the Lemur, and the Ring-tailed Baboon. +Finally--and this is the worst feature in the whole matter--a Monkey, by +a legal fiction at least as old as the fourteenth century, is not a person +in the eye of the law. + +We call England a free country, yet at the present day and as you read +these lines, _any Monkey found at large may be summarily arrested_. +He has no remedy; no action for assault will lie. He is not even allowed +to call witnesses in his own defence, or to establish an alibi. + +It may be pleaded that these disabilities attach also to the Irish, but we +must remember that the Irish are allowed a certain though modified freedom +of the Press, and have extended to them the incalculable advantage of +sending representatives to Westminster. The Monkey has no such remedies. +He may be incarcerated, nay _chained_, yet he cannot sue out a writ +for habeas corpus any more than can a British subject in time of war, and +worst of all, through the connivance or impotence of the police, cases +have been brought forward _and approved_ in which Monkeys have been +openly bought and sold! + +We boast our sense of delicacy, and perhaps rightly, in view of our +superiority over other nations in this particular; yet we permit the +Monkey to exhibit revolting nakedness, and we hardly heed the omission! +It is true that some Monkeys are covered from time to time with little +blue coats. A cap is occasionally disdainfully permitted them, and not +infrequently they are permitted a pair of leather breeches, through a hole +in which the tail is permitted to protrude; but no reasonable man will +deny that these garments are regarded in the light of mere ornaments, and +rarely fulfil those functions which every decent Englishman requires of +clothing. + +And now we come to the most important section of our appeal. _What can +be done_? + +We are a kindly people and we are a just people, but we are also a very +conservative people. The fate of all pioneers besets those who attempt to +move in this matter. They are jeered at, or, what is worse, neglected. One +of the most prominent of the League's workers has been certified a lunatic +by an authority whose bitter prejudice is well known, and against whom we +have as yet had no grant of a _mandamus_, and we have all noticed the +quiet contempt, the sort of organized boycott or conspiracy of silence +with which a company at dinner will receive the subject when it is brought +forward. + +There are also to be met the violent prejudices with which the mass of +the population is still filled in this regard. These prejudices are, of +course, more common among the uneducated poor than in the upper classes, +who in various relations come more often in contact with Monkeys, and who +also have a wider and more tolerant, because a better cultivated, spirit. +But the prejudice is discernible in every class of society, even in the +very highest. We have also arrayed against us in our crusade for right and +justice the dying but still formidable power of clericalism. Society is +but half emancipated from its medieval trammels, and the priest, that +Eternal Enemy of Liberty, can still put in his evil word against the +rights of the Simian. + +Let us not despair! We can hope for nothing, it is true, until we have +effected a profound change in public opinion, and that change cannot +be effected by laws. It can only be brought about by a slow and almost +imperceptible effort, unsleeping, tireless, and convinced: something of +the same sort as has destroyed the power of militarism upon the Continent +of Europe; something of the same sort as has scotched landlordism at home; +something of the same sort as has freed the unhappy natives of the Congo +from the misrule of depraved foreigners; something of the same sort as has +produced the great wave in favour of temperance through the length and +breadth of this land. + +We must not attempt extremes or demand full justice to the exclusion of +excellent half-measures. No one condemns more strongly than do we the +militant pro-Simians who have twice assaulted and once blinded for life a +keeper in the Zoological Gardens. We do not even approve of those ardent +but in our opinion misguided spirits of the Simian Freedom Society who +publish side by side the photographs of Pongo the learned Ape from the +Gaboons and that of a certain Cabinet Minister, accompanied by the legend +"Which is Which?" It is not by actions of this kind that we shall win the +good fight; but rather by a perseverance in reason combined with courtesy +shall we attain our end, until at long last our Brother shall be free! As +for the excellent but somewhat provincial reactionaries who still object +to us that the Monkey differs fundamentally from the human race; that he +is not possessed of human speech, and so forth, we can afford to smile at +their waning authority. Modern science has sufficiently dealt with them; +and if any one bring out against the Monkey the obscurantist insult that +His Hide is Covered with Hair, we can at once point to innumerable human +beings, fully recognized and endowed with civic rights, who, were they +carefully examined, would prove in no better case. As to speech, the +Monkey communicates in his own way as well or better than do we, and for +that matter, if speech is to be the criterion, are we to deny civic rights +to the Dumb? + +We have it upon the authority of all our greatest scientific men, that +there is no substantial difference between the Ape and Man. One of the +greatest has said that between himself and his poorer fellow-citizens +there was a wider difference than that which separated them from the +Monkey. Hackel has testified that while there is a _boundary_, there +is no _gulf_ between the corps of professors to which he belongs and +the Chimpanzee. The Gorilla is universally accepted, and if we have won +the battle for the Gorilla, the rest will follow. + +Tolstoy is with us, Webb is with us, Gorky is with us, Zola and Ferrer +were with us and fight for us from their graves. The whole current of +modern thought is with us. WE CANNOT FAIL! + +_Questions submitted at the last Election by the Simian League_ + +1. Are you in favour of removing the present disabilities of Monkeys? + +2. Are you in favour of a short Statute which should put adult Monkeys +upon the same footing as other subjects of His Majesty as from the 1st of +January, 1912? And _would you, if necessary, vote against your party in +favour of such a measure?_ + +3. Are you in favour of the inclusion of Monkeys under the Wild Birds Act? + +(A plain reply "Yes" or "No" was to be written by the candidate under each +of these questions and forwarded to the Secretary, Mr. Consul, 73 Purbeck +Street, W.. before the 14th January, 1910. No replies received after +that date were admitted. The Simian League, which has agents in every +constituency, acted according to the replies received, and treated +the lack of reply as a negative. Of 1375 circulars sent, 309 remained +unanswered, 264 were answered in the negative, 201 gave a qualified +affirmative, _all the rest (no less than 799) a clear and, in some +cases, an enthusiastic adherence to our principles_. It is a sufficient +proof of the power of the League and the growth of the cause of justice +that in these 799 no less than 515 are members of the present House of +Commons.) + + + + +THE EMPIRE BUILDER + + +We possess in this country a breed of men in whom we feel a pride so +loyal, so strong, and so frank that were I to give further expression to +it here I should justly be accused of insisting upon a hackneyed theme. +These are the Empire Builders, the Men Efficient, the agents whom we +cannot but feel--however reluctantly we admit it--to be less strictly +bound by the common laws of life than are we lesser ones. + +But there is something about these men not hackneyed as a theme, which is +their youth. By what process is the great mind developed? Of what sort is +the Empire Builder when he is young? + +The fellow commonly rises from below: What was his experience there below? +In what school was he trained? What accident of fortune, how met, or how +surmounted, or how used, produced at last the Man who Can? In _that_ +inquiry there is food for very deep reflection. It is here that our +Masters, whose general motives are so open and so plain, touch upon +mystery. That secret power of determining nourishment which is at the base +of all organic life has in its own silent way built up the boyhood and the +adolescence which we only know in their maturity. + +I will not pretend to a full knowledge of that strange education of the +mind which has produced so many similar men for the advancement of the +race, but I can point to one example which lately came straight across my +vision--an accident, an illumination, a revealing flash of how our time +breeds the Great Type. I was acquainted for some hours with the actions of +a youth of whose very name I am ignorant, but whose face I am very certain +will reappear twenty years hence in a setting of glory, recognized as yet +one other of those superb spirits who will do all for England. + +The occasion was a pageant--no matter what pageant--a great public pageant +which passed through the Strand, and was to be witnessed by hundreds of +thousands. Let us call it "The Function." + +Well, I was walking down the Strand three days before this Function was +to take place, when I saw in an empty shop window about twenty-five +wooden chairs, arranged in tiers one above the other upon a sloping +platform, and lettered from A to Y. In the window was a large notice, +very clearly printed, and it was to this effect: + +WHY PAY FANCY PRICES WHICH MUST INEVITABLY FALL BEFORE THE FUNCTION? +SEATS IN THIS WINDOW, COMMANDING A FULL VIEW OF THE PROCESSION, 5S. + +At a little desk in the gangway by which the chairs were approached sat +a dark, pale child--I can call him by no other name, so frail and young +did he seem--and the delicacy of his complexion led me to wonder perhaps +whether he was not one of those whom the climate of England strikes with +consumption, and who, in the mysterious providence of our race, wander +abroad in search of health and find a Realm. His alertness, however, and +the brilliance of his eye; his winning, almost obsequious address, and the +hooked clutch of his gestures betrayed an energy that no physical weakness +could conquer. He invited me to enter, and begged me to purchase a seat. + +I had no need of one, for I had made arrangements to spend the Great +Day itself and the next at a small hotel in the extreme north of +Sutherlandshire, but I was arrested by the evident mental power of my new +acquaintance, and I wasted five shillings in buying the chair marked D. + +It was with some difficulty that I could purchase it, so eager was he that +I should have the best place; "seeing," said he, "that they are all one +price, and that you may as well benefit by being an early bird." I noted +the strict rectitude which, for all that men ignorant of modern commerce +may say, is at the basis of commercial success. + +Something so attracted me +in the whole business that I was weak enough to take a chair in a tea-shop +opposite and watch all day the actions of the Child of Fate. + +In less than an hour twenty different people, mainly gentlefolk, had come +in and bought places at the sensible price at which he offered them. To +each of them he gave a ticket corresponding to the number of the chair. He +was courteous to all, and even expansive. He explained the advantage of +each particular seat. + +So far so good; but, what was more astonishing, in the second hour another +twenty came and appeared to purchase; in the third (which was the busiest +time of the day) some forty, first and last, must have done business with +the Favourite of Fortune. I pondered upon these things very deeply, and +went home. + +Next morning the attraction which the place had for me drew me as with +a magnet, and I went, somewhat stealthily I fear, to the same tea-shop +and noticed with the greatest astonishment that the chairs were now not +lettered, but numbered, and that the boy was sitting at his little desk +with a series of white cards bearing the figures from one to twenty-five. +It was very early--not ten o'clock--but the Child was as spruce and neat +as he had been in the afternoon of the day before. He bore already that +mark of energy combined with neatness which is the stamp of success. + +I crossed the road and entered. He recognized me at once (their memory for +faces is wonderful), and said cheerfully: + +"Your D corresponds to the number 4." + +I thanked him very much, and asked him why he had changed his system of +notation. He told me it was because several people had explained to him +that they remembered figures more easily than letters. We then talked to +each other, agreeing upon the maxims of simplicity and directness which +are at the root of all mercantile stability. He told me he required +cash from all who bought his chairs; that there was no agreement, no +insurance--no "frills," as he wittily called them. + +"It is as simple," he said, "as buying a pound of tea. I am satisfied, and +they are satisfied. As for the risk, it is covered by the low price, and +if you ask me how I can let them at so low a price, I will tell you. It is +because I have found exactly what was needed and have added nothing more. +Moreover, I did not buy the chairs, but hired them." + +I went back to my tea-shop with head bent, murmuring to myself those +memorable lines: + + We founded many a mighty State, + Pray God that we may never fail + From craven fears of being great + +(or words to that effect). + +That day no less than 153 people did business with the Youth. + +Next day I found among my morning letters a note from a politician of my +acquaintance, telling me that the Function was postponed--indefinitely. +I wasted not a moment. I went at once to my post of observation, my +tea-shop, and I proceeded to watch the Leader. + +There was as yet no knowledge of the calamity in London. + +My friend seemed to have noticed me; at any rate a new and somewhat +anxious look was apparent on his face. With a firm and decided step I +crossed the road to greet him, and when he saw me he was all at his ease. +He told me that my seat had been especially asked for, and that a higher +price had been offered; but a bargain, he said, was a bargain, and so we +fell to chatting. When I mentioned, among other subjects, the very great +success of his enterprise, he gave a slight start, which did honour to his +heart; but he was of too stern a mould to give way. He was of the temper +of the Pioneers. + +I assured him at once that it was very far from my intention to reproach +him for the talents which he had used with so much ability and energy. I +pointed out to him that even if I desired to injure him, which I did not, +it would be impossible for me, or for any one, to trace more than half a +dozen, at the most, of his numerous clients. + +It is frequently the case that men of small business capacity will +perceive some important element in a commercial problem which escapes the +eyes of Genius; and I could see that this simple observation of mine had +relieved him almost to tears. + +Before he could thank me, a newsboy appeared with a very large placard, +upon which was written + +"POSTPONED." + +In a moment his mind grasped the whole meaning of that word; but he went +out with a steady step, and paid the sixpence which the newsboy demanded. +Even in that uncomplaining action, the uncomplaining forfeiture of the +comparatively large sum which necessity demanded, one could detect the +financial grip which is the true arbiter of the fates of nations. He +needed the paper: he did not haggle about the price. He first mastered the +exact words of the announcement, and then, looking up at me with a face of +paper, he said: + +"It is not only postponed, but all this preparation is thrown away." + +I have said that I have no commercial aptitude; I admit that I was +puzzled. + +"Surely," said I, "this is exactly what you needed?" + +He shook his head, still restraining, by a powerful effort, the natural +expression of his grief, and showed me, for all his answer, a rail way +ticket to Boulogne which he had purchased, and which was available for the +night boat on the eve of the Function. I then understood what he meant +when he said that all his preparations had been thrown away. + +I do not know whether I did right or wrong--I felt myself to be nothing +more than a blind instrument in the hands of the superior power which +governs the destinies of a people. + +"How much did the ticket cost?" said I. + +"Thirty shillings," said he. + +I pulled out a sovereign and a half-sovereign from my pocket, and said: + +"Here is the money. I have leisure, and I would as soon go to Boulogne as +to Sutherlandshire." + +He did not thank me effusively, as might one of the more excitable and +less efficient races; but he grasped my hand and blessed me silently. I +then left him. + + * * * * * + +In the steamer to Boulogne, as I was musing over this strange adventure, a +sturdy Anglo-Saxon man, a true son of Drake or Raleigh, came up and asked +me for my ticket. As I gave it him my eye fell idly upon the price of the +ticket. It was twenty-five shillings--but I had saved a directing and +creative mind. + +If he should come across these lines he will remember me. He is probably +in the House of Commons by now. Perhaps he has bought his peerage. +Wherever he is I hope he will remember me. + + + + +CAEDWALLA + + +Caedwalla, a prince out of Wales (though some deny it), wandered in the +Andredsweald. He was nineteen years of age and his heart was full of anger +for wrong that had been done him by men of his own blood. For he was +rightfully heir to the throne of the kingdom of Sussex, but he was kept +from it by the injustice of men. + +A retinue went with him of that sort which will always follow adventure +and exile. These, the rich of the seacoast and of the Gwent called broken +men; but they loved their Lord. So he went hunting, feeding upon what he +slew, and proceeding from steading to steading in the sparse woods of +Andred where is sometimes an open heath, and sometimes a mile of oak, and +often a clay swamp, and, seen from little lifted knolls of sand where the +broom grows and the gorse, the Downs to the south like a wall. + +As he so wandered upon one day, he came upon another man of a very +different fashion, for Caedwalla would have nothing to do with the Cross +of Christ, nor with the customs of the towns, nor with the talk of foreign +men. But this man was a bishop wandering, and his name was Wilfrid. He +also had his little retinue, and, by an accident of his office or of his +exile, he had proceeded to a steading in the heaths and woods of the +Weald where also was Caedwalla: so they met. The pride and the bearing of +Wilfrid, seeing that he was of a Roman town and an officer of the State, +and a bishop to boot, nay, a bishop above bishops, was not the pride +Caedwalla loved, and the young man bore himself with another sort of +pride, which was that of the mountains and of pagan men. Nevertheless +Wilfrid put before him, with Roman rhetoric and with uplifted hands, the +story of our Lord, and Caedwalla, keeping his face set during all that +recital, could not forbid this story to sink into the depths of his heart, +where for many years it remained, and did no more than remain. + +The kingdom of Sussex, cultivated by men of various kinds, received +Wilfrid the Bishop wherever he went. He did many things that do not here +concern me, and his chief work was to make the rich towns of the sea plain +and of Chichester and of Lewes and of Arundel, and of the steadings of +the Weald, and of the wealden markets also, Christian men; for he showed +them that it was a mean thing to go about in a hairy way like pagans, +unacquainted with letters, and of imperfect ability in the making of +raiment or the getting of victuals. Indeed, as I have written in another +place, it was St. Wilfrid who taught the King of Sussex and his men how to +catch fish in nets. They revered him everywhere, and when they had given +up their shameful barbarism and decently accepted the rules of life and +the religion of it, they pressed upon St. Wilfrid that he should found a +bishopric, and that it should have a cathedral and a see (all of which +things he had explained to them), and he did this on Selsey Bill: but +to-day the sea has swallowed all. + +Time passed, and the young man Caedwalla, still a very young man in the +twenties, came to his own, and he sat on the throne that was rightfully +his in Chichester and he ruled all Sussex to its utmost boundaries. And +he was king of much more, as history shows, but all the while he proudly +refused in his young man's heart the raiment and the manner of the thing +which he had hated in his exile, nor would he accept the Latin prayers, +nor bow to the name of the Christian God. + +Caedwalla, still so young but now a king, thought it shameful that he +should rule no more than the empire God had given him, and he was filled +with a longing to cross the sea and to conquer new land. Wherefore, +whether well or ill advised, he set out to cross the sea and to conquer +the Isle of Wight, of which story said that Wight the hero had established +his kingdom there in the old time before writing was, and when there were +only songs. So Caedwalla and his fighting men, they landed in that island +and they fought against the many inhabitants of it, and they subdued it, +but in these battles Caedwalla was wounded. + +It happened that the King of that island, whose name was Atwald, had two +heirs, youths, whom it was pitifully hoped this conqueror would spare, for +they fled up the Water to Stoneham; but a monk who served God by the ford +of reeds which is near Hampton at the head of the Water, hearing that King +Caedwalla (who was recovering of wounds he had had in the war with the men +of Wight) had heard of the youths' hiding-place and had determined to kill +them, sought the King and begged that at least they might be instructed +in the Faith before they died, saying to him: "King, though you are not +of the Faith, that is no reason that you should deprive others of such +a gift. Let me therefore see that these young men are instructed and +baptized, after which you may exercise your cruel will." And Caedwalla +assented. These lads, therefore, were taken to a holy place up on Itchen, +where they were instructed in the truths and the mysteries of religion. +And while this so went forward Caedwalla would ask from time to time +whether they were yet Christians. + +At last they had received all the knowledge the holy men could give them +and they were baptized. When they were so received into the fold Caedwalla +would wait no longer but had them slain. And it is said that they went to +death joyfully, thinking it to be no more than the gate of immortality. + +After such deeds Caedwalla still reigned over the kingdom of Sussex and +his other kingdoms, nor did he by speech or manner give the rich or poor +about him to understand whether anything was passing in his heart. But +while they sang Mass in the cathedral of Selsey and while still the +new-comers came (now more rarely, for nearly all were enrolled): while +the new-comers came, I say, in their last numbers from the remotest parts +of the forest ridge, and from the loneliest combes of the Downs to hear +of Christ and his cross and his resurrection and the salvation of men, +Caedwalla sat in Chichester and consulted his own heart only and was a +pagan King. No one else you may say in all the land so kept himself apart. + +His youth had been thus spent and he thus ruled, when as his thirtieth +year approached he gave forth a decision to his nobles and to his earls +and to the Welsh-speaking men and to the seafaring men and to the priests +and to all his people. He said: "I will take ship and I will go over the +sea to Rome, where I may worship at the tombs of the blessed Apostles, and +there I will be baptized. But since I am a king no one but the Pope shall +baptize me. I will do penance for my sins. I will lift my eyes to things +worthy of a man. I will put behind me what was dear to me, and I will +accept that which is to come." And as they could not alter Caedwalla +in any of his previous decisions, so they could not alter him in this. +But his people gave gladly for the furnishing of his journey, and all +the sheep of the Downs and their fleece, and all the wheat in the clay +steadings of the Weald, and the little vineyards in the priests' gardens +that looked towards the sea, and the fishermen, and every sort in Sussex +that sail or plough or clip or tend sheep or reap or forge iron at the +hammer ponds, gave of what they had to King Caedwalla, so that he went +forth with a good retinue and many provisions upon his journey to the +tombs of the Apostles. + +When King Caedwalla came to Rome the Pope received him and said: "I hear +that you would be instructed in the Faith." To which King Caedwalla +answered that such was his desire, and that he would crave baptism at the +hands of the said Pope. And meanwhile Caedwalla took up good lodgings in +Rome, gave money to the poor, and showed himself abroad as one who had +come from the ends of the earth, that is, from the kingdom of Sussex, +which in those days was not yet famous. Caedwalla, now being thirty years +old and having learnt what one should learn in order to receive baptism, +was baptized, and they put a white robe on him which he was to wear for +certain days. + +King Caedwalla, when he was thus made one with the unity of Christian men, +was very glad. But he also said that before he had lost that white robe so +given him, death would come and take him (though he was a young man and a +warrior), and that not in battle. He was certain it was so. + +And so indeed it came about. For within the limit of days during which +ritual demanded that the King should wear his white garment, nay, within +that same week, he died. + +So those boys who had found death at his hands had died after baptism, +up on Itchen in the Gwent, when Caedwalla the King had journeyed out of +Sussex to conquer and to hold the Wight with his spear and his sword and +his shield, and his captains and his armoured men. + +Now that you have done reading this story you may think that I have made +it up or that it is a legend or that it comes out of some storyteller's +book. Learn, therefore, that it is plain history, like the battle of +Waterloo or the Licensing Bill (differing from the chronicle only in this, +that I have put living words into the mouths of men), and be assured that +the history of England is a very wonderful thing. + + + + +A UNIT OF ENGLAND + + +England has been lucky in its type of subdivision. All over Western +Europe the type of subdivision following in the fall of the Empire has +been of capital importance in the development of the great nations, +but while these have elsewhere been exaggerated to petty kingdoms or +diminished to mere townships in Britain, for centuries the counties have +formed true and lasting local units, and they have survived with more +vigour than the corresponding divisions of the other provinces of Roman +Europe. + +That accident of the county moulded and sustained local feeling during +the generations when local government and local initiative were dying +elsewhere; it has preserved a sort of aristocratic independence, the +survival of custom, and the differentiation of the State. + +It is not necessarily (as many historians unacquainted with Europe as a +whole have taken for granted) a supreme advantage for any people to escape +from institution of a strong central executive. Such a power is the normal +fruit of all high civilizations. It protects the weak against the strong. +It is necessary for rapid action in war, it makes for clarity and method +during peace, it secures a minimum for all, and it forbids the illusions +and vices of the rich to taint the whole commonwealth. + +But though such an escape from strong central government and the +substitution for it of a ruling class is not a supreme advantage, it +has advantages of its own which every foreign historian of England has +recognized, and it is the divisions into counties which, after the change +of religion in the sixteenth century, was mainly responsible for the +slow substitution of local and oligarchic for general, central, and +bureaucratic government in England. + +Not all the counties by any means are true to type. All the Welsh +divisions, for instance, are more or less artificial and late, with the +exception of Anglesey. And as for the non-Roman parts, Ireland and the +Highlands of Scotland, it goes without saying that the county never was, +and is not to this day, a true unit. The central and much of the west of +England is the same. That is, the shires are cut as their name implies, +somewhat arbitrarily, from the general mass of territory. + +When one says "arbitrarily" one does not mean that no local sentiment +bound them, or that they had not some natural basis, for they had. They +were the territory of central towns: Shrewsbury, Warwick, Derby, Chester, +Oxford, Buckingham, Bedford, Nottingham. But their life was not and has +not since been strongly individual. They have not continuous boundaries +nor an early national root. But all round these, in a sort of ring, run +the counties which have had true local life from the beginning. Cornwall +is utterly different from Devon, and with a clear historic reason for the +difference. Devon, again, is a perfectly separate unit, resulting from a +definite political act of the early ninth century. Of Dorset and Hampshire +one can say less, but with Sussex you get a unit which has been one +kingdom and one diocese, set in true natural limits and lying within +these same boundaries for much more than a thousand years. Kent, probably +an original Roman division, has been one unit for longer still. Norfolk, +Suffolk, and Essex are equally old, though not upon their land boundaries +equally denned; but perhaps the most sharply defined of all--after Sussex, +at least--was Southern and Central Lancashire. + +Its topography was like one of those ideal examples which military +instructors take for their models when they wish to simplify a lesson +upon terrain. Upon one side ran the long, high, and difficult range which +is the backbone of England; upon the other the sea, and the sea and the +mountains leant one towards the other, making two sides of a triangle +that met above Morecambe Bay. + +How formidable the natural barriers of this triangle were it is not easy +for the student of our time to recognize. It needs a general survey of the +past, and a knowledge of many unfamiliar conditions in the present, to +appreciate it. + +The difficulty of those Eastern moors and hills, for instance, the +resistance they offer to human passage, meets you continually throughout +English history. The engineers of the modern railways could give one a +whole romance of it; the story of every army that has had to cross them, +and of which we have record, bears the same witness. The illusion which +the modern traveller may be under that the barrier is negligible is very +soon dispelled when for his recreation he crosses it by any other methods +than the railway; and perhaps in such an experience of travel nothing more +impresses one in the character of that barrier than the _loneliness_. + +There is no other corresponding contrast of men and emptiness that I know +of in Europe. + +The great towns lie, enormous, pullulating, millioned in the plains on +either side; they push their limbs up far into the valleys. Between them, +utterly deserted, you have these miles and miles of bare upland, like the +roof of a house between two crowded streets. + +Merely to cross the Pennines, driving or on foot, is sufficient to teach +one this. To go the length of the hills along the watershed from the +Peak to Crossfell (few people have done it!) is to get an impression of +desertion and separation which you will match nowhere else in travel, +nowhere else, at least, within touch and almost hearing of great towns. + +The sea also was here more of a barrier than a bond. Ireland--not Roman, +and later an enemy--lay over against that shore. Its ports (save one) +silted. Its slope from the shore was shallow: the approach and the +beaching of a fleet not easy. Its river mouths were few and dangerous. + +This triangle of Lancashire, so cut off from the west and from the east, +had for its base a barrier that completed its isolation. That barrier +was the marshy valley of the Mersey. It could be outflanked only at +its extreme eastern point, where the valley rises to the hundred-foot +contour line. From that point the valley rises so rapidly within half a +dozen miles into the eastern hills that it was dry even under primitive +conditions, and the opportunity here afforded for a passage is marked +by the topographical point of Stockport. + +By that gate the main avenues of approach still enter the county. Through +this gap passed the London Road, and passes to-day the London and +North-Western Railway. It was this gate which gave its early strategic +importance to Manchester, lying just north of it and holding the whole of +this corner. + +Historians have noted that to hold Manchester was ultimately to hold +Lancashire itself. It was not the industrial importance of the town, for +that was hardly existent until quite modern times: it was its strategic +position which gave it such a character. The Roman fort at the junction +of the two rivers near Knott Mill represented the first good defensible +position commanding this gate upon the south-east. + +To enter the county anywhere west of the hundred-foot contour and the +Mersey Valley was, for an army deprived of modern methods, impossible: +a little organized destruction would make it impossible again. + +Two artificial causeways negotiated the valley. Each bears to this day (at +Stretford and at Stretton) the proof of its old character, for both words +indicate the passage of a "street," that is, of a hard-made way, over the +soft and drowned land. Stretford was but the approach to Manchester from +Chester--and Manchester thus commanded (by the way) the two south-eastern +approaches to the county, the one natural, the other artificial. The +approach by Stretton gave Warrington its strategic importance in the early +history of the county; Warrington, the central point upon the Mersey, +standing at a clear day's march from Liverpool, the port on the one +hand, and a clear day's march from Manchester on the other. It was from +Warrington that Lord Strange marched upon Manchester at the very beginning +of the Civil War, and if by some accident this stretch of territory should +again be a scene of warfare, Warrington, in spite of the close network of +modern communications, would be the strategic centre of the county +boundary. + +So one might take the units out of which modern England has been built +up one by one, showing that their boundaries were fixed by nature, and +that their local separation was not the product of the pirate raids, but +is something infinitely older, older than the Empire, and very probably +(did we know what the Roman divisions of Britain were) accepted under +the Empire. So one might prove or at least suggest that the strategical +character of the English county and of its chief stronghold and barriers +lay in an origin far beyond the limits of recorded history. To produce +such a study would be to add to the truth and reality of our history, for +England was not made nor even moulded by the Danish and the Saxon raids. +The framework is far, far older and so strong that it still survives. + + + + +THE RELIC + + +It was upon an evening in Spain, but with nothing which that word evokes +for us in the North--for it was merely a lessening of the light without +dews, without mists, and without skies--that I came up a stony valley +and saw against the random line of the plateau at its head the dome of a +church. The road I travelled was but faintly marked, and was often lost +and mingled with the rough boulders and the sand, and in the shallow +depression of the valley there were but a few stagnant pools. + +The shape of the dome was Italian, and it should have stood in an Italian +landscape, drier indeed than that to which Northerners are accustomed, +but still surrounded by trees, and with a distance that could render +things lightly blue. Instead of that this large building stood in the +complete waste which I have already described at such length, which is so +appalling and so new to an European from any other province of Europe. As +I approached the building I saw that there gathered round it a village, or +rather a group of dependent houses; for the church was so much larger than +anything in the place, and the material of which the church itself and the +habitations were built was so similar, the flat old tiled roofs all mixed +under the advance of darkness into so united a body, that one would have +said, as was perhaps historically the truth, that the church was not built +for the needs of the place, but that the borough had grown round the +shrine, and had served for little save to house its servants. + +When the long ascent was ended and the crest reached, where the head of +the valley merged into the upper plain, I passed into the narrow first +lanes. It was now quite dark. The darkness had come suddenly, and, to +make all things consonant, there was no moon and there were not any +stars; clouds had risen of an even and menacing sort, and one could see no +heaven. Here and there lights began to show in the houses, but most people +were in the street, talking loudly from their doorsteps to each other. +They watched me as I came along because I was a foreigner, and I went down +till I reached the central market-place, wondering how I should tell the +best place for sleep. But long before my choice could be made my thoughts +were turned in another direction by finding myself at a turn of the +irregular paving, right in front of a vast façade, and behind it, somewhat +belittled by the great length of the church itself, the dome just showed. +I had come to the very steps of the church which had accompanied my +thoughts and had been a goal before me during all the last hours of the +day. + +In the presence of so wonderful a thing I forgot the object of my journey +and the immediate care of the moment, and I went through the great doors +that opened on the Place. These were carved, and by the little that +lingered of the light and the glimmer of the electric light on the +neighbouring wall (for there is electric light everywhere in Spain, but it +is often of a red heat) I could perceive that these doors were wonderfully +carved. Already at Saragossa, and several times during my walking south +from thence, I had noted that what the Spaniards did had a strange +affinity to the work of Flanders. The two districts differ altogether save +in the human character of those who inhabit them: the one is pastoral, +full of deep meadows and perpetual woods, of minerals and of coal for +modern energy, of harbours and good tidal rivers for the industry of the +Middle Ages; the other is a desert land, far up in the sky, with an air +like a knife, and a complete absence of the creative sense in nature about +one. Yet in both the creation of man runs riot; in both there is a sort +of endlessness of imagination; in both every detail that man achieves +in art is carefully completed and different from its neighbour; and in +both there is an exuberance of the human soul: but with this difference, +that something in the Spanish temper has killed the grotesque. Both +districts have been mingled in history, yet it is not the Spaniard who has +invigorated the Delta of the Rhine and the high country to the south of +it, nor the Walloons and the Flemings who have taught the Spaniards; but +each of these highly separated peoples resembles the other when it comes +to the outward expression of the soul: why, I cannot tell. + +Within, there is not a complete darkness, but a series of lights showing +against the silence of the blackness of the nave; and in the middle of +the nave, like a great funeral thing, was the choir which these Spanish +churches have preserved, an intact tradition, from the origins of the +Christian Faith. Go to the earliest of the basilicas in Rome, and you +will see that sacred enclosure standing in the middle of the edifice and +taking up a certain proportion of the whole. We in the North, where the +Faith lived uninterruptedly and, after the ninth century, with no great +struggle, dwindled this feature and extended the open and popular space, +keeping only the rood-screen as a hint of what had once been the Secret +Mysteries and the Initiations of our origins. But here in Spain the +earliest forms of Christian externals crystallized, as it were; they +were thrust, like an insult or a challenge, against the Asiatic as the +reconquest of the desolated province proceeded; and therefore in every +Spanish church you have, side by side with the Christian riot of art, this +original hierarchic and secret thing, almost shocking to a Northerner, the +choir, the Coro, with high solemn walls shutting out the people from the +priests and from the Mysteries as they had been shut out when the whole +system was organized for defence against an inimical society around. + +The silence of the place was not complete nor, as I have said, was the +darkness. At the far end of the choir, behind the high altar, was the +light of many candles, and there were people murmuring or whispering, +though not at prayers. There was a young priest passing me at that moment, +and I said to him in Latin of the common sort that I could speak no +Spanish. I asked him if he could speak to me slowly in Latin, as I was +speaking to him. He answered me with this word, "_Paucissime_," which +I easily understood. I then asked him very carefully, and speaking slowly, +whether Benediction were about to be held--an evening rite; but as I did +not know the Latin for Benediction, I called it alternately "Benedictio," +which is English, and "Salus," which is French. He said twice, "Si, si," +which, whether it were Italian or French or local, I understood by the +nodding of his head; but at any rate he had not caught my meaning, for +when I came behind the high altar where the candles were, and knelt there, +I clearly saw that no preparations for Benediction were toward. There was +not even an altar. All there was was a pair of cupboard doors, as it were, +of very thickly carved wood, very heavily gilded and very old; indeed, the +pattern of the carving was barbaric, and I think it must have dated from +that turn of the Dark into the Middle Ages when so much of our Christian +work resembled the work of savages: spirals and hideous heads, and +serpents and other things. + +By this I was already enormously impressed, and by a little group of +people around of whom perhaps half were children, when the young priest to +whom I had spoken approached and, calling a well-dressed man of the middle +class who stood by and who had, I suppose, some local prominence, went up +the steps with him towards these wooden doors; he fitted a key into the +lock and opened them wide. The candles shone at once through thick clear +glass upon a frame of jewels which flashed wonderfully, and in their +midst was the head of a dead man, cut off from the body, leaning somewhat +sideways, and changed in a terrible manner from the expression of living +men. It was so changed, not only by incalculable age, but also, as I +presume, by the violence of his death. + +To those inexperienced in the practice of such worship there might be more +excuse for the novel impression which this sight suddenly produced upon +me. Our race from its very beginning, nay, all the races of men, have +preserved the fleshly memorials of those to whom sanctity attached, and I +have seen such relics in many parts of Europe almost as commonplaces; but +for some reason my emotions upon that evening were of a different kind. +The length of the way (for I was miles and miles southwards over this +desert waste), the ignorance of the language which surrounded me, the +inhuman outline hour after hour under the glare of the sun, or in the +inhospitable darkness of this hard Iberian land, the sternness of the +faces, the violent richness and the magnitude of the architecture about +me, and my knowledge of the trials through which the province had passed, +put me in this Presence into a mood very different, I think, from that +which pilgrimage is calculated to arouse; there was in it much more of +awe, and even of terror; there seemed to re-arise in the presence of +that distorted face the memories of active pain and of the unconquerable +struggle by which this ruined land was recovered. I wondered as I looked +at that face whether he had fallen in protest against the Mohammedans, or, +as have so many, in a Spanish endurance of torture, martyred by Pagans in +the Pacific Seas. But no history of him was given to me, nor do I now know +as I write what occasion it was that made this head so great. + +They said but a few prayers, all familiar to me, in the Latin tongue; then +the "Our Father" and some few others which have always been recited in the +vernacular. They next intoned the Salve Regina. But what an intonation! + +Had I not heard that chant often enough in my life to catch its meaning? +I had never heard it set to such a tune! It was harsh, it was full of +battle, and the supplication in it throbbed with present and physical +agony. Had I cared less for the human beings about me, so much suffering, +so much national tradition of suffering would have revolted, as it did +indeed appal, me. The chant came to an end, and the three gracious +epithets in which it closes were full of wailing, and the children's +voices were very high. + +Then the priest shut the doors and locked them, and a boy came and blew +the candles out one by one, and I went out into the market-place, fuller +than ever of Spain. + + + + +THE IRONMONGER + + +When I was in the French army we came one day with the guns in July along +a straight and dusty road and clattered into the village called Bar-le-Duc. +Of the details of such marches I have often written. I wish now to speak of +another thing, which, in long accounts of mere rumbling of guns, one might +never have time to tell, but which is really the most important of all +experiences under arms in France--I mean the older civilians, the fathers. + +Who made the French army? Who determined to recover from the defeats and +to play once more that determined game which makes up half French history, +the "Thesaurization," the gradual reaccumulation of power? The general +answer to such questions is to say: "The nation being beaten had to set +to and recover its old position." That answer is insufficient. It deals +in abstractions and it tells you nothing. Plenty of political societies +throughout history have sat down under disaster and consented to sink +slowly. Many have done worse--they have maintained after sharp warnings +the pride of their blind years; they have maintained that pride on into +the great disasters, and when these came they have sullenly died. France +neither consented to sink nor died by being overweening. Some men must +have been at work to force their sons into the conscription, to consent +to heavy taxation, to be vigilant, accumulative, tenacious, and, as it +were, constantly eager. There must have been classes in which, unknown to +themselves, the stirp of the nation survived; individuals who, aiming at +twenty different things, managed, as a resultant, to carry up the army +to the pitch in which I had known it and to lay a slow foundation for +recovered vigour. Who were these men? + +I had read of them in Birmingham when I was at school; I had read of them +in books when I read of the Hundred Years' War and of the Revolution. +I was to read of them again in books at Oxford. But on that Saturday +at Bar-le-Duc I _saw_ one of them, and by as much as the physical +impression is worth more than the secondary effect of history, my sight +of them is worth writing down. + +A man in my battery, one Matthieu, told me he had leave to go out for the +evening, and told me also to go and get leave. He said his uncle had asked +him to dine and bring a friend. It seemed his uncle lived in a villa on +the heights above the town; he was an ironmonger who had retired. I went +to my Sergeant and asked him for leave. + +My Sergeant was a noble who was working his way up through the ranks, and +when I found him he was checking off forage at a barn where some of our +men were working. He looked me hard in the eyes, and said in a drawling +lackadaisical voice: + +"You are the Englishman?" + +"Yes, Sergeant," said I a little anxiously (for I was very keen to get a +good dinner in town after all that marching). + +"Well," said he, "as you are the Englishman you can go." Such is the logic +of the service. + +The army is no place to argue, and I went. I suppose what he meant was, +"As we are both more or less in exile, take my blessing and be off," but +he may merely have meant to be inconsequent, for inconsequence is the wit +of schoolboys and soldiers. I went up the hill with my friend. + +The long twilight was still broad over the hill and the old houses of +Bar-le-Duc, as we climbed. It was night by the clock, but one could have +seen to read. We were tired, and talked of nothing in particular, but such +things as we said were full of the old refrain of conscripts: "Dog of a +trade," "When shall we be out of it?" Even as we spoke there was pride in +our breasts at the noise of trumpets in the mist below along the river and +the Eighth making its presence known, and our uniforms and our swords. + +We stopped at last before a little square house with "The Lilacs" painted +on its gate; there was a parched little lawn, a little fountain, a tripod +supporting a globular mirror, and we went in. + +Matthieu's uncle met us; he was in a cotton suit walking about among his +flowers and enjoying the evening. He was a man of about fifty, short, +strong, brown, and abrupt. Though it was already evening and one could see +little, we knew well enough that his eyes were steady and dark. For he +had the attitude and carriage of those men who invigorate France. His +self-confidence was evident in his sturdy legs and his arms akimbo, his +vulgarity in his gesture, his narrowness in his forward and peering look, +his indomitable energy in every movement of his body. It did not surprise +me to learn in his later conversation that he was a Republican. He spoke +at once to us both, saying in a kind of grumbling shout: + +"Well, gunners!" + +Then he spoke roughly to his nephew, telling him we were late: to me +a little too politely saying he put no blame on me, but only on his +scapegrace of a nephew. I said that our lateness was due to having to +find the Sergeant. He answered: + +"One must always put the blame on some one else," which was rank bad +manners. + +He led the way into the house. The dining-room gave on to a veranda, +and beyond this was another little lawn with trees. In the dark a few +insects chirped, and, as the evening was warmish, one smelt the flowers. +The windows had been left open. Everything was clean, neat, and bare. On +the walls were two excellent old prints, a badly drawn certificate of +membership in some society or other, a still worse portrait of a local +worthy, and a water-colour painted, I suppose, by his daughter. + +He introduced me to his wife, a hard-featured woman, with thin hair, full +of duty, busy and precise--fresh from the kitchen. We unhooked our swords +with the conventional clatter, and sat down to the meal. + +I will confess that as we ate those excellent dishes (they were all +excellent) and drank that ordinary wine, I seemed to be living in a book +rather than among living men. Here was I, a young English boy, thrust +by accident into the French army. Fairly acquainted with its language, +though I spoke it with an accent; taken (of course) by my host for a pure +Englishman, though half my blood was French. Here was I sitting at his +side and watching things, and learning--as for him, men like him, of whom +England has some few left in forgotten villages, and who are, when they +can be found, the strength of a State, _they_ never bother about +learning anything far removed from their realities. + +I noticed the one servant going in and out rapidly, bullied a good deal by +her master, deft but nervous. I noticed how everything was solid and good: +the chairs, table, clock, clothes--and especially the cooking. I saw his +local newspaper neatly folded on the mantelpiece. I saw the pet dog of his +retirement crouching at his side, and I heard the chance sayings he threw +to his nephew, the maxims granted to youth long ago. I wondered how much +that nephew would inherit. I guessed about ten thousand pounds at the +least, and twenty at the most. I was almost inclined to cross myself at +the thought of such a lot of money. + +My host grew more genial: he asked me questions on England. His wife also +was interested in that country. They both knew more about it than their +class in England knows about France: and this astonished me, for, in the +gentry, English gentlemen know more about France than French gentlemen +know about England. + +He asked me if agriculture were still in a bad way; why we had not more +of the people at the Universities; why we allowed only lords into our +Parliament, and whether there were more French commercial travellers in +England than English commercial travellers in France. In all these points +I admitted, supplemented, and corrected, and probably distorted his +impressions. + +He asked me if English gunners were good. I said I did not know, but I +thought so. He replied that the English drivers had a high reputation in +his country--his brother (the brother of an ironmonger) was a Captain of +the Horse Artillery, and had told him so. And this he said to me, who wore +a French uniform, but whose heart was away up in Arun Valley, in my own +woods, and at rest and alone. + +In the last hour when we had to be getting back a certain tenderness came +into his somewhat mercenary look. He devoted himself more to his nephew; +he took him aside, and, with some ceremony, gave him money. He offered us +cigars. We took one each. His round French face became all wrinkles, like +a cracked plate. He said: + +"Bah! Take them by the pocketful! We know what life is in the regiment," +and he crammed half a dozen each into the pocket of our tunics. But when +he said "We know what the life is," he lied. For he had only been a +"mobile" in '70. He had voted, but never suffered, the conscription. + +So we said good night to this man, our host, who had so regaled us. I may +be wrong, but I fancy he was an anti-clerical. He was a hard man, just, +eager, and attentive, narrow, as I have said, and unconsciously (as I have +also said) building up the nation. + +There was the Ironmonger of Bar-le-Duc; and there are hundreds of +thousands of the same kind. + + + + +A FORCE IN GAUL + + +There is a force in Gaul which is of prime consequence to all Europe. It +has canalized European religion, fixed European law, and latterly launched +a renewed political ideal. It is very vigorous to-day. + +It was this force which made the massacres of September, which overthrew +Robespierre, which elected Napoleon. In a more concentrated form, it was +this force which combined into so puissant a whole the separate men--not +men of genius--who formed the Committee of Public Safety. It is this +force which made the Commune, so that to this day no individual can quite +tell you what the Commune was driving at. And it is this force which at +the present moment so grievously misunderstands and overestimates the +strength of the armies which are the rivals of the French; indeed, in that +connexion it might truly be said that the peace of Europe is preserved +much more by the German knowledge of what the French army is, even than +by French ignorance of what the German army is. + +I say the disadvantages of this force or quality in a commonwealth are +apparent, for the weakness and disadvantages of something extraneous to +ourselves are never difficult to grasp. What is of more moment for us +is to understand, with whatever difficulty, the strength which such a +quality conveys. Not to have understood that strength, nay, not to have +appreciated the existence of the force of which I speak, has made nearly +all the English histories of France worthless. French turbulence is +represented in them as anarchy, and the whole of the great story which has +been the central pivot of Western Europe appears as an incongruous series +of misfortunes. Even Carlyle, with his astonishing grasp of men and his +power of rapid integration from a few details (for he read hardly anything +of his subject), never comprehended this force. He could understand a +master ordering about a lot of servants; indeed, he would have liked +to have been a servant himself, and _was_ one to the best of his +ability; but he could not understand self-organization from below. Yet +upon the existence of that power depends the whole business of the +Revolution. Its strength, then, (and principal advantage), lies in the +fact that it makes democracy possible at critical moments, even in a large +community. + +There is no one, or hardly any one, so wicked or so stupid as to deny the +democratic ideal. There is no one, or hardly any one, so perverted that, +were he the member of a small and simple community, he would be content to +forgo his natural right to be a full member thereof. There is no one, or +hardly any one, who would not feel his exclusion from such rights, among +men of his own blood, to be intolerable. But while every one admits the +democratic ideal, most men who think and nearly all the wiser of those +who think, perceive its one great obstacle to lie in the contrast between +the idea and the action where the obstacle of complexity--whether due +to varied interests, to separate origins, or even to mere numbers--is +present. + +The psychology of the multitude is not the psychology of the individual. +Ask every man in West Sussex separately whether he would have bread made +artificially dearer by Act of Parliament, and you will get an overwhelming +majority against such economic action on the part of the State. Treat them +collectively, and they will elect--I bargain they will elect for years +to come--men pledged to such an action. Or again, look at a crowd when +it roars down a street in anger--the sight is unfortunately only too +rare to-day--you have the impression of a beast majestic in its courage, +terrible in its ferocity, but with something evil about its cruelty and +determination. Yet if you stop and consider the face of one of its members +straggling on one of its outer edges, you will probably see the bewildered +face of a poor, uncertain, weak-mouthed man whose eyes are roving from +one object to another, and who appears all the weaker because he is under +the influence of this collective domination. Or again, consider the jokes +which make a great public assembly honestly shake with laughter, and +imagine those jokes attempted in a private room! Our tricky politicians +know well this difference between the psychologies of the individual +and of the multitude. The cleverest of them often suffer in reputation +precisely because they know what hopeless arguments and what still more +hopeless jests will move collectivities, the individual units of which +would never have listened to such humour or to such reasoning. + +The larger the community with which one is dealing, the truer this is; so +that, when it comes to many millions spread upon a large territory, one +may well despair of any machinery which shall give expression to that very +real thing which Rousseau called the General Will. + +In the presence of such a difficulty most men who are concerned both for +the good of their country and for the general order of society incline, +especially as they grow older, to one, or other of the old traditional +organic methods by which a State may be expressed and controlled. They +incline to an oligarchy such as is here in England where a small group of +families, intermarried one with the other, dining together perpetually +and perpetually guests in each other's houses, are by a tacit agreement +with the populace permitted to direct a nation. Or they incline to the +old-fashioned and very stable device of a despotic bureaucracy such as +manages to keep Prussia upright, and did until recently support the +expansion of Russia. + +The evils of such a compromise with a political idea are evident enough. +The oligarchy will be luxurious and corporately corrupt, and individually +somewhat despicable, with a sort of softness about it in morals and in +military affairs. The despot or the bureaucracy will be individually +corrupt, especially in the lower branches of the system, and hatefully +unfeeling. + +"But," (says your thinker, especially as he advances in age) "man is so +made that he _cannot_ otherwise be collectively governed. He cannot +collectively be the master, or at any rate permanently the master of his +collective destiny, whatever power his reason and free will give him over +his individual fate. The nation" (says he), "especially the large nation, +certainly has a Will, but it cannot directly express that Will. And if it +attempts to do so, whatever machinery it chooses--even the referendum--will +but create a gross mechanical parody of that subtle organic thing, the +National soul. The oligarchy or the bureaucracy" (he will maintain, and +usually maintain justly) "inherit, convey, and maintain the national +spirit more truly than would an attempted democratic system." + +General history, even the general history of Western Europe, is upon the +whole on the side of such a criticism. Andorra is a perfect democracy, and +has been a perfect democracy for at least a thousand years, perhaps since +first men inhabited that isolated valley. But there is no great State +which has maintained even for three generations a democratic system +undisturbed. + +Now it is peculiar to the French among the great and independent nations, +that they are capable, by some freak in their development, of rapid +_communal_ self-expression. It is, I repeat, only in crises that +this power appears. But such as it is, it plays a part much more real and +much more expressive of the collective will than does the more ordinary +organization of other peoples. + +Those who attacked the Tuileries upon the 10th of August acted in a manner +entirely spontaneous, and succeeded. The arrest of the Royal Family at +Varennes was not the action of one individual or of two; it was not Drouet +nor was it the Saulce family. It was a great number of individuals (the +King had been recognized all along the journey), each thinking the same +thing under the tension of a particular episode, each vaguely tending to +one kind of action and tending with increasing energy towards that action, +and all combining, as it were, upon that culminating point in the long +journey which was reached at the archway of the little town in Argonne. + +To have expressed and portrayed this common national power has been the +saving of the principal French historians, notably of Michelet. It has +furnished them with the key by which alone the history of their country +could be made plain. Nothing is easier than to ridicule or deny so +mystical a thing. Taine, by temperament intensely anti-national, ridiculed +it as he ridiculed the mysteries of the Faith; but with this consequence, +that his denial made it impossible for him to write the history of his +country, and compelled him throughout his work, but especially in his +history of the Revolution, to perpetual, and at last to somewhat crude, +forms of falsehood. + +Not to recognize this National force has, again, led men into another +error: they will have it that the great common actions of Frenchmen are +due to some occult force or to a master. They will explain the Crusades +by the cunning organization of the Papacy; the French Revolution by the +cunning organization of the Masonic lodges; the Napoleonic episode by the +individual cunning and plan of Bonaparte. Such explanations are puerile. + +The blow of 1870 was perhaps the most severe which any modern nation has +endured. By some accident it did not terminate the activity of the French +nation. The Southern States of America remain under the effect of the +Civil War. All that is not Prussian in Germany remains prostrate-- +especially in ideas--under the effect of the Prussian victory over it. The +French but barely escaped a similarly permanent dissolution of national +character: but they did escape it; and the national mark, the power of +spontaneous and collective action, after a few years' check, began to +emerge. + +Upon two occasions an attempt was made towards such action. The first was +in the time of Boulanger, the second during the Dreyfus business. In both +cases the nation instinctively saw, or rather felt, its enemy. In both +there was a moment when the cosmopolitan financier stood in physical peril +of his life. Neither, however, matured; in neither did the people finally +move. + +Latterly several partial risings have marked French life. Why none of them +should have culminated I will consider in a moment. Meanwhile, the foreign +observer will do well to note the character of these movements, abortive +though they were. It is like standing upon the edge of a crater and +watching the heave and swell of the vast energies below. There may have +been no actual eruption for some time, but the activities of the volcano +and its nature are certain to you as you gaze. The few days that passed +two years ago in Herault are an example. + +No one who is concerned for the immediate future of Europe should neglect +the omen: half a million men, with leaders chosen rapidly by themselves, +converging without disaster, with ample commissariat, with precision and +rapidity upon one spot: a common action decided upon, and that action most +calculated to defeat the enemy; decided upon by men of no exceptional +power, mere mouthpieces of this vast concourse: similar and exactly +parallel decisions over the whole countryside from the great towns to the +tiny mountain villages. It is the spirit of a swarm of bees. One incident +in the affair was the most characteristic of it all: fearing they would +be ordered to fire on men of their own district the private soldiers and +corporals of the 17th of the Line mutinied. So far so good: mutinies are +common in all actively military states--the exceptional thing was what +followed. The men organized themselves without a single officer or +non-commissioned officer, equipped themselves for a full day's march to +the capital of the province, achieved it in good order, and took quarters +in the town. All that exact movement was spontaneous. It explains the +Marshals of the Empire. These were sent off as a punishment to the edge +of the African desert; the mutiny seemed to the moneydealers a proof of +military defeat. They erred: these young men, some of them of but six +months' training, none of them of much more than two years, not one of +them over twenty-five years of age, were a precise symbol of the power +which made the Revolution and its victims. The reappearance of that power +in our tranquil modern affairs seems to me of capital importance. + +One should end by asking one's self, "Will these unfinished movements +breed a finished movement at last? Will Gaul move to some final purpose +in our time, and if so, against what, with what an object and in what a +manner?" + +Prophecy is vain, but it is entertaining, and I will prophesy that Gaul +will move in our time, and that the movement will be directed against the +pestilent humbug of the parliamentary system. + +For forty years this force in the nation of which I speak, though so +frequently stirred, has not achieved its purpose. But in nearly every +case, directly or indirectly, the thing against which it moved was the +Parliament. It would be too lengthy a matter to discuss here why the +representative system has sunk to be what it is in modern Europe. It +was the glory of the Middle Ages, it was a great vital institution of +Christendom, sprung from the monastic institution that preceded it, a true +and living power first in Spain, where Christendom was at its most acute +activity in the struggle against Asia, then in the north-west, in England +and in France. And indeed, in one form or another, throughout all the old +limits of the Empire. It died, its fossil was preserved in one or two +small and obscure communities, its ancient rules and form were captured by +the English squires and merchants, and it was maintained, a curious but +vigorous survival, in this country. When the Revolution in 1789 began the +revival of democracy in the great nations the old representative scheme of +the French, a very perfect one, was artificially resurrected, based upon +the old doctrine of universal suffrage and upon a direct mandate. It was +logical, it ought to have worked, but in barely a hundred years it has +failed. + +There is an instructive little anecdote upon the occupation of Rome in +1870. + +When the French garrison was withdrawn and the Northern Italians had +occupied the city, representative machinery was set to work, nominally +to discover whether the change in Government were popular or no. A tiny +handful of votes was recorded in the negative, let us say forty-three. + +Later, in the early winter of that same year, a great festival of the +Church was celebrated in the Basilica of St. Peter and at the tombs of the +Apostles. The huge church was crowded, many were even pressed outside the +doors. When the ceremony was over the dense mass that streamed out into +the darkness took up the cry, the irony of which filled the night air of +the Trastevere and its slums of sovereign citizens. The cry was this: + +"We are the Forty-three!" + +It is an anecdote that applies continually to the modern representative +system in every country which has the misfortune to support it. No one +needs to be reminded of such a truth. We know in England how the one +strong feeling in the elections of 1906 was the desire to get at the South +African Jews and sweep away their Chinese labour from under them. + +The politicians and the party hacks put into power by that popular +determination went straight to the South African Jews, hat in hand, asked +them what was their good pleasure in the matter, and framed a scheme in +connivance with them, by which no vengeance should be taken and not a +penny of theirs should be imperilled. + +In modern France the chances of escape from the parliamentary game, tawdry +at its best, at its worst a social peril, are much greater than in this +country. The names and forms of the thing are not of ancient institution. +There is therefore no opportunity for bamboozling people with a sham +continuity, or of mixing up the interests of the party hacks with the +instinct of patriotism. Moreover, in modern France the parliamentary +system happened to come up vitally against the domestic habits of +the people earlier and more violently than it has yet done in this +country. The little gang which had captured the machine was violently +anti-Christian; it proceeded step by step to the destruction of the +Church, until at the end of 1905 the crisis had taken this form. The +Church was disestablished, its endowments were cancelled, the housing of +its hierarchy, its churches and its cathedrals and their furniture were, +further, to be taken from it unless it adopted a Presbyterian form of +government which could not but have cankered it and which was the very +negative of its spirit. So far nothing that the Parliament had done really +touched the lives of the people. Even the proposal to put the remaining +goods of the Church under Presbyterian management was a matter for the +theologians and not for them. Not one man in a hundred knew or cared +about the business. The critical date approached (the 11th of December, +if I remember rightly). Rome was to accept the anti-Catholic scheme of +government or all the churches were to be shut. Rome refused the scheme, +and Parliament, faced for once with a reality and brought under the +necessity of really interfering with the popular life or of capitulating, +capitulated. + +What has that example to do, you may ask, with that movement in the south +of France, which is the text of these pages? The answer is as follows: + +In the south of France the one main thing actually touching the lives +of the people, after their religion (which the complete breakdown of +the anti-clerical threat had secured), was the sale of their principal +manufacture. This sale was rendered difficult from a number of reasons, +one of which, perhaps not the chief, but the most apparent and the most +easily remediable, was the adulteration and fraud existing in the trade. +Such adulteration and fraud are common to all the trade of our own time. +It was winked at by the gang in power in France, just as similar dirty +work is winked at by the gang in power in every other parliamentary +country. When the peasants who had suffered so severely by this +commercial corruption of our time asked that it should be put a stop to, +the old reply, which has done duty half a million times in every case of +corruption in France, England, or America for a generation, was given to +them: "If you desire a policy to be effected, elect men who will effect +it." As a fact, these four departments had elected a group of men, of whom +Laferre, the Grand Master of the Freemasons, is a good type, with his +absorbing interest in the destruction of Christianity, and his ignorance +and ineptitude in any other field than that of theology. + +The peasants replied to this sophistry, which had done duty so often and +had been successful so often in their case as in others, by calling upon +their Deputies to resign. Laferre neglected to do so. He was too greatly +occupied with his opportunity. He went down to "address his constituents." +They chased him for miles. And in that exhilarating episode it was +apparent that the peasants of the Aude had discovered in their simple +fashion both where the representative system was at fault and by what +methods it may be remedied. + + + + +ON BRIDGES + + +Stand on the side of a stream and consider two things: the imbecility of +your private nature and the genius of your common kind. + +For you cannot cross the stream, you--Individual you; but Man (from whence +you come) has found out an art for crossing it. This art is the building +of bridges. And hence man in the general may properly be called Pontifex, +or "The Bridge Builder"; and his symbolic summits of office will carry +some such title. + +Here I will confess (Individual) that I am tempted to leave you by the +side of the stream, to swim it if you can, to drown if you can't, or to +go back home and be eaten out with your desire for the ulterior shore, +while I digress upon that word Pontifex, which, note you, is not only a +name over a shop as "Henry Pontifex, Italian Warehouseman," or "Pontifex +Brothers, Barbers," but a true key-word breeding ideas and making one +consider the greatness of man, or rather the greatness of what made him. + +For man builds bridges over streams, and he has built bridges more or less +stable between mind and mind (a difficult art!), having designed letters +for that purpose, which are his instrument; and man builds by prayer a +bridge between himself and God; man also builds bridges which unite him +with Beauty all about. + +Thus he paints and draws and makes statues, and builds for beauty as well +as for shelter from the weather. And man builds bridges between knowledge +and knowledge, co-ordinating one thing that he knows with another thing +that he knows, and putting a bridge from each to each. And man is for ever +building--but he has never yet completed, nor ever will--that bridge they +call philosophy, which is to explain himself in relation to that whence +he came. I say, when his skeleton is put in the Museum properly labelled, +it shall be labelled not _Homo Sapiens_, but _Homo Pontifex_; +hence also the anthem, or rather the choral response, "_Pontificem +habemus_," which is sung so nobly by pontifical great choirs, when +pontifications are pontificated, as behooves the court of a Pontiff. + +Nevertheless (Individual) I will not leave you there, for I have pity +on you, and I will explain to you the nature of bridges. By a bridge +was man's first worry overcome. For note you, there is no worry so +considerable as to wail by impassable streams (as Swinburne has it). +It is the proper occupation of the less fortunate dead. + + + + +ON BRIDGES + + +Believe me, without bridges the world would be very different to you. You +take them for granted, you lollop along the road, you cross a bridge. You +may be so ungrateful as to forget all about it, but it is an awful thing! + +A bridge is a violation of the will of nature and a challenge. "You +desired me not to cross," says man to the River God, "but I will." And +he does so: not easily. The god had never objected to him that he should +swim and wet himself. Nay, when he was swimming the god could drown him at +will, but to bridge the stream, nay, to insult it, to leap over it, that +was man all over; in a way he knows that the earthy gods are less than +himself and that all that he dreads is his inferior, for only that which +he reveres and loves can properly claim his allegiance. Nor does he in the +long run pay that allegiance save to holiness, or in a lesser way to +valour and to worth. + +Man cannot build bridges everywhere. They are not multitudinous as are his +roads, nor universal as are his pastures and his tillage. He builds from +time to time in one rare place and another, and the bridge always remains +a sacred thing. Moreover, the bridge is always in peril. The little +bridge at Paris which carried the Roman road to the island was swept away +continually; and the bridge of Staines that carried the Roman road from +the great port to London was utterly destroyed. + +Bridges have always lived with fear in their hearts; and if you think +this is only true of old bridges (Individual), have you forgotten the Tay +Bridge with the train upon it? Or the bridge that they were building over +the St. Lawrence some little time ago, or the bridge across the Loire +where those peasants went to their death on a Sunday only a few months +since? Carefully consider these things and remember that the building and +the sustaining of a bridge is always a wonderful and therefore a perilous +thing. + +No bridges more testify to the soul of man than the bridges that leap +in one arch from height to height over the gorge of a torrent. Many of +these are called the Devil's Bridges with good reason, for they suggest +art beyond man's power, and there are two to be crossed and wondered at, +one in Wales in the mountains, and another in Switzerland, also in the +mountains. There is a third in the mountains at the gate of the Sahara, of +the same sort, jumping from rock to rock. But it is not called the Devil's +Bridge. It is called with Semitic simplicity "El Kantara," and that is +the name the Arabs gave to the old bridges, to the lordly bridges of the +Romans, wherever they came across them, for the Arabs were as incapable +of making bridges as they were of doing anything else except singing love +songs and riding about on horses. "Alcantara" is a name all over Spain, +and it is in the heart of the capital of Portugal, and it is fixed in the +wilds of Estremadura. You get it outside Constantine also where the bridge +spans the gulf. Never did an Arab see bridges but he wondered. + +Our people also, though they were not of the sort to stand with their +mouths open in front of bridges or anything else, felt the mystery of +these things. And they put chapels in the middle of them, as you may see +at Bale, and at Bradford-upon-Avon, and especially was there one upon old +London Bridge, which was dedicated to St. Thomas a Becket, and was very +large. And speaking of old London Bridge, every one in London should +revere bridges, for a great number of reasons. + +In the first place London never would have been London but for London +Bridge. + +In the second place, bridges enable the people of London to visit the +south of the river, which is full of pleasing and extraordinary sights, +and in which may be seen, visibly present to the eye, Democracy. If any +one doubts this let him take the voyage. + +Then again, but for bridges Londoners could not see the river except +from the Embankment, which is an empty sort of place, or from the windows +of hotels. Bridges also permit railways from the south to enter London. +If this seems to you a commonplace, visit New York or for ever after hold +your peace. + +All things have been degraded in our time and have also been multiplied, +which is perhaps a condition of degradation; and your simple thing, your +bridge, has suffered with the rest. Men have invented all manner of +bridges: tubular bridges, suspension bridges, cantilever bridges, swing +bridges, pontoon bridges, and the bridge called the Russian Bridge, which +is intolerable; but they have not been able to do with the bridge what +they have done with some other things: they have not been able to destroy +it; it is still a bridge, still perilous, and still a triumph. The bridge +still remains the thing which may go at any moment and yet the thing +which, when it remains, remains our oldest monument. There is a bridge +over the Euphrates--I forget whether it goes all the way across--which the +Romans built. And the oldest thing in the way of bridges in the town of +Paris, a thing three hundred years old, was the bridge that stood the late +floods best. The bridge will remain a symbol in spite of the engineers. + +Look how differently men have treated bridges according to the passing +mood of civilization. Once they thought it reasonable to tax people who +crossed bridges. Now they think it unreasonable. Yet the one course was +as reasonable as the other. Once they built houses on bridges, clearly +perceiving that there was lack of room for houses, and that there was +a housing problem, and that the bridges gave a splendid chance. Now no +one dares to build a house upon a bridge, and the one proceeding is as +reasonable as the other. + +The time has come to talk at random about bridges. + +The ugliest bridge in the world runs from Lambeth to the Horseferry Road, +and takes the place of the old British trackway which here crossed the +Thames. About the middle of it, if you will grope in the mud, you may or +may not find the great Seal of England which James II there cast into +the flood. If it was fished up again, why then it is not there. The most +beautiful bridge in London is Waterloo Bridge; the most historic is London +Bridge; and far the most useful Westminster Bridge. The most famous bridge +in Italy to tourists is the old bridge at Florence, and the best known +from pictures the Bridge of Sighs in Venice. That with the best chance +of an eternal fame is the bridge which carries the road from Tizzano to +Serchia over the gully of the muddy Apennines, for upon the 18th of June, +1901, it was broken down in the middle of the night, and very nearly cost +the life of a man who could ill afford it. The place where a bridge is +most needed, and is not present, is the Ford of Fornovo. The place where +there is most bridge and where it is least needed is the railway bridge +at Venice. The bridge that trembles most is the Bridge of Piacenza. The +bridge that frightens you most is the Brooklyn Bridge, and the bridge that +frightens you least is the bridge in St. James's Park; for even if you +are terrified by water in every form, as are too many boastful men, you +must know, or can be told, that there is but a dampness of some inches in +the sheet below. The longest bridge for boring one is the railway bridge +across the Somme to St. Valery, whence Duke William started with a +horseshoe mouth and very glum upon his doubtful adventure to invade these +shores--but there was no bridge in his time. The shortest bridge is made +of a plank, in the village of Loudwater in the county of Bucks, not far +from those Chiltern Hundreds which men take in Parliament for the good of +their health as a man might take the waters. The most entertaining bridge +is the Tower Bridge, which lifts up and splits into two just as you are +beginning to cross it, as can be testified by a cloud of witnesses. The +broadest bridge is the Alexandre III Bridge in Paris, at least it looks +the broadest, while the narrowest bridge, without a shadow of doubt, is +the bridge that was built by ants in the moon; if the phrase startles you +remember it is only in a novel by Wells. + +The first elliptical bridge was designed by a monk of Cortona, and the +first round one by Adam.... + +But one might go on indefinitely about bridges and I am heartily tired of +them. Let them cross and recross the streams of the world. I for my part +will stay upon my own side. + + + + +A BLUE BOOK + + +I have thought it of some value to contemporary history to preserve the +following document, which concerns the discovery and survey of an island +in the North Atlantic, which upon its discovery was annexed by the United +States in the first moments of their imperial expansion, and was given the +name of "Atlantis." + +The island, which appears to have been formed by some convulsion of +nature, disappeared the year after its discovery, and the report drawn up +by the Commissioners is therefore very little known, and has of course +no importance in the field of practical finance and administration. But +it is a document of the highest and most curious interest as an example +of the ideas that guided the policy of the Great Republic at the moment +when the survey was undertaken; and English readers in particular will +be pleased to note the development and expansion of English methods and +of characteristic English points of view and institutions throughout the +whole document. + +Any one who desires to consult the maps, etc., which I have been unable +to reproduce in this little volume, must refer to the Record Office at +Washington. My only purpose in reprinting these really fascinating pages +in such a volume as this is the hope that they may give pleasure to many +who would not have had the opportunity to consult them in the public +archives where they have hitherto been buried. + + A. 2. E. 331 ff. + +REPORT OF THE THREE COMMISSIONERS APPOINTED BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE +REPUBLIC TO REPORT UPON THE POTENTIAL RESOURCES, SITUATION, ETC., OF THE +NEW ISLAND KNOWN AS "ATLANTIS," RECENTLY DISCOVERED IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC +AND ANNEXED TO THE REPUBLIC, TOGETHER WITH A RECOMMENDATION ON FUTURE +TREATMENT OF SAME. + +TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE REPUBLIC. + +YOUR HONOUR, + +[Sidenote: Preamble.] + +Your Honour's three Commissioners, Joshua Hogg, Abraham Bush and Jack +Bimber, being of sound mind, solvent, and in good corporeal health, all +citizens of more than five years' standing, and domiciled within the +boundaries, frontiers or terms of the Republic, do make oath and say, So +Help Them God:-- + +[Sidenote: _Arrival off Atlantis_.] + +I. That on the 20th of the month of July, being at that time in or about +Latitude 45 N. and betwixt and between Longitude 51 W. and 51.10° W., so +near as could be made out, the captain of the steamboat "Glory of the +Morning Star" (chartered _for this occasion only_ by the Government +of the Republic, without any damage, precedent or future lien whatsoever), +by name James Murphy, of Cork, Ireland, and domiciled within the aforesaid +terms, boundaries, etc., did in a loud voice at about 4.33 a.m., when it +was already light, cry out "That's Hur," or words to that effect. Your +three Commissioners being at that moment in the cabin, state-room or cuddy +in the forward part of the ship (see annexed plan), came up on deck and +were ordered or enjoined to go below by those having authority on the +"Glory of the Morning Star." Your three Commissioners desire individually +and collectively to call attention to the fact that this order was +obeyed, being given under the Maritime Acts of 1853, and desire also to +protest against the indignity offered in their persons to the majesty of +the Republic. (See Attorney-General's Plea, Folio 56, M.) At or about +_6.30_ a.m. of the same day, July 20th, your Commissioners were +called upon deck, and there was put at their disposal a beat manned by +four sailors, who did thereupon and with all due dispatch row them towards +the island, at that moment some two miles off the weather bow, that is +S.S.W. by S. of the "Glory of the Morning Star." They did then each +individually and all collectively land, disembark and set foot upon the +Island of Atlantis and take possession thereof in the name of Your Honour +and the Republic, displaying at the same time a small flag 19" x 6" in +token of the same, which flag was distinctly noted, seen, recorded and +witnessed by the undersigned, to which they put their hand and seal, +trusting in the guidance of Divine Providence. + +JOSHUA HOGG + +ABRAHAM BUSH + +JACK BIMBER. + +[Sidenote: _Shape and Dimensions of the Island_] + +II. Your Commissioners proceeded at once to a measurement of the aforesaid +island of Atlantis, which they discovered to be of a triangular or +three-cornered shape, in dimensions as follows: On the northern face from +Cape Providence (q.v.) to Cape Mercy (q.v.), one mile one furlong and a +bit. On the south-western face from Cape Mercy (q.v.) to Point Liberty +(q.v.), seven furlongs, two roods and a foot. On the south-eastern face, +which is the shortest face, from Point Liberty (q.v.) round again to Cape +Providence (q.v.), from which we started, something like half a mile, and +not worth measuring. These dimensions, lines, figures, measurements and +plans they do submit to the public office of Record as accurate and done +to the best of their ability by the undersigned: So Help Them God. (SEAL.) + +[Sidenote: _Appearance and Structure of the Island_.] + +III. It will be seen from the above that the island is in shape an +Isosceles triangle, as it were, pointing in a north-westerly direction +and having a short base turned to the south-east, contains some 170 acres +or half a square mile, and is situate in a temperate latitude suited to +the Anglo-Saxon Race. As to material or structure, it is composed of sand +(_see its specimens in glass phial_), the said sand being of a yellow +colour when dry and inclining to a brown colour where it may be wet by the +sea or by rain. + +[Sidenote: _Springs and Rivers_.] + +IV. There are no springs or rivers in the Island. + +[Sidenote: _Hills and Mountains_.] + +V. There are no mountains on the Island, but there is in the North a +slight hummock some fifteen feet in height. To this hummock we have +given (saving your Honour's Reverence) the name of "Mount Providence" +in commemoration of the manifold and evident graces of Providence in +permitting us to occupy and develop this new land in the furtherance of +true civilization and good government. The hill is at present too small +to make a feature in the landscape, but we have great hopes that it will +grow. (See _Younger_ on "The Sand Dunes of Picardy," Vol. II, pp. +199-200.) + +[Sidenote: Harbours.] + +VI. The Island is difficult of approach as it slopes up gradually from the +sea bottom and the tides are slight. At high water there is no sounding +of more than three fathoms for about a mile and a half from shore; but at +a distance of two miles soundings of five and six fathoms are common, and +it would be feasible in fine weather for a vessel of moderate draught to +land her cargo, passengers, etc. in small boats. Moreover a harbour might +be built as in our Recommendations (q.v.). There is on the northern side +a bay (caused by indentation of the land) which we think suitable to the +purpose and which, in Your Honour's honour, we have called Buggins' Bay. + +[Sidenote: Capes and Headlands.] + +VII. These are three, as above enumerated (q.v.); one, the most +precipitous and bold, we have called Cape _Providence_ (q.v.) for +reasons which appear above; the second, Cape _Mercy_, in recognition +of the great mercy shown us in finding this place without running on it +as has been the fate of many a noble vessel. The third we called Point +_Liberty_ from the nature of those glorious institutions which are +the pride of the Republic and which we intend to impose upon any future +inhabitants. These titles, which are but provisional, we pray may remain +and be Enregistered under the seal, notwithstanding the "Act to Restrain +Nuisances and Voids" of 1819, Cap. 2. + +[Sidenote: _Climate_.] + +VIII. The climate is that of the North Atlantic known as the "Oceanic." +Rain falls not infrequently, and between November and April snow is not +unknown. In summer a more genial temperature prevails, but it is never so +hot as to endanger life or to facilitate the progress of epidemic disease. +Wheat, beans, hops, turnips, and barley could be grown did the soil permit +of it. But we cannot regard an agricultural future as promising for the +new territory. + +HERE ENDETH your Commissioners' Report. + +(_Seal_) + +JOSHUA HOGG. ABRAHAM BUSH. JACOBUS BIMBER. + + * * * * * + +RECOMMENDATIONS + +Your Commissioners being also entrusted with the privilege of making +Recommendations, submit the following without prejudice and all pursuants +to the contrary notwithstanding. + +As to the _land_: your Commissioners recommend that it should be +held by the State in conformity with those principles which are gaining +a complete ascendancy among the Leading Nations of the Earth. This might +then be let out at its full value to private individuals who would make +what they could of it, leaving the Economic Rent to the community. For +the individual did not make the land, but the State did. + +This power of letting the land should, they recommend, be left in the +hands of a _Chartered Company_. Your Commissioners will provide +the names of certain reputable and wealthy citizens who will be glad to +undertake the duty of forming and directing this company, and who will act +on the principle of unsalaried public service by the upper classes, which +is the chief characteristic of our civilization. I. Jacobs, Esq., and Z. +Lewis, Esq. (to be directors of the proposed Chartered Company) have +already volunteered in this matter. + +Your Commissioners recommend that the Chartered Company should be granted +the right to strike coins of copper, nickel, silver and gold, the first +three to be issued at three times eight times and twice the value of +the metals respectively, the said currency to be on a gold basis and +mono-metallic and not to exceed the amount of $100 _per capita_. + +Your Commissioners further recommend that the same authority be empowered +to issue paper money in proportions of 165% to the gold reserve, the right +to give high values to pieces of paper having proved in the past of the +greatest value to those who have obtained it. + +Your Commissioners recommend the building of a stone harbour out to sea +without encroaching on the already exiguous dimensions of the land. They +propose two piers, each some mile and a half long, and built of Portland +rock, an excellent quarry of which is to be discovered on the property +of James Barber, Esq., of Maryville, Kent County, Conn. The stone could +be brought to Atlantis at the lowest rates by the Wall Schreiner line of +floats. In this harbour, if it be sufficiently deepened and its piers set +wide enough apart, the navies of the world could be contained, and it +would be a standing testimony to the energy of our race, "which maketh +the desert to blossom like a rose" (Lev. XXII. 3, 2). + +Your Commissioners also recommend an artesian well to be sunk until fresh +water be discovered. This method has been found successful in Australia, +which is also an island and largely composed of sand. It is said that this +method of irrigation produces astonishing results. + +Finally, in the matter of industry your Commissioners propose (not, of +course, as a unique industry but as a staple) the packing of sardines. A +sound system of fair trade based upon a tariff scientifically adjusted +to the conditions of the Island should develop the industry rapidly. +Everything lends itself to this: the skilled labour could be imparted +from home, the sardines from France, and the tin and oil from Spain. It +would need for some years an export Bounty somewhat in the nature of +Protection, the scale of which would have to be regulated by the needs +of the community, but they are convinced that when once the industry was +established, the superior skill of our workmen and the enterprise of +our capitalists would control the markets of the world. + +As to political rights, we recommend that Atlantis should be treated as a +territory, and that a sharp distinction should be drawn between Rural and +Urban conditions; that the inhabitants should not be granted the franchise +till they have shown themselves worthy of self-government, saving, of +course, those immigrants (such as the negroes of Carolina, etc.) who have +been trained in the exercise of representative institutions. All Religions +should be tolerated except those to which the bulk of the community show +an implacable aversion. Education should be free to all, compulsory upon +the poor, non-sectarian, absolutely elementary, and subject, of course, +to the paramount position of that gospel which has done so much for our +dear country. The sale of Intoxicants should be regulated by the Company, +and these should be limited to a little spirits: wine and beer and all +alcoholic liquors habitually used as beverages should be rigorously +forbidden to the labouring classes, and should only be supplied in _bona +fide_ clubs with a certain minimum yearly subscription. + +IN CONCLUSION your Commissioners will ever pray, etc. + +MS. note added at the end in the hand of Mr. Charles P. Hands, the curator +of this section: + +(_The Island was lost--luckily with no one aboard--during the storms +of the following winter. This report still possesses, however, a strong +historical interest_). + + + + +PERIGEUX OF THE PERIGORD + + +I knew a man once. I met him in a wooden inn upon a bitterly cold day. +He was an American, and we talked of many things. At last he said to me: +"Have you ever seen the Matterhorn?" + +"No," said I; for I hated the very name of it. Then he continued: + +"It is the most surprising thing I ever saw." + +"By the Lord," said I, "'you have found the very word!" I took out a +sketch-book and noted his word "surprising." What admirable humour had +this American; how subtle and how excellent a spirit! I have never seen +the Matterhorn; but it seems that one comes round a corner, and there it +is. It is surprising! Excellent word of the American. I never shall forget +it! + +An elephant escapes from a circus and puts his head in at your window +while you are writing and thinking of a word. You look up. You may be +alarmed, you may be astonished, you may be moved to sudden processes of +thought; but one thing you will find about it, and you will find out quite +quickly, and it will dominate all your other emotions of the time: the +elephant's head will be surprising. You are caught. Your soul says loudly +to its Creator: "Oh, this is something new!" + +So did I first see in the moonlight up the quite unknown and quite +deserted valley which the peak of the Dead Man dominates in a lonely +and savage manner the main crest of the Pyrenees. So did I first see a +land-fall when I first went overseas. So did I first see the Snowdon range +when I was a little boy, having, until I woke up that morning and looked +out of the windows of the hotel, never seen anything in my life more +uplifted than the rounded green hills of South England. + +Now the cathedral of St. Front in Perigeux of the Perigord is the most +surprising thing in Europe. It is much more surprising than the hills--for +a man made it. Man made it hundreds and hundreds of years ago; man has +added to it, and, by the grace of his enthusiasm and his disciplined +zeal, man has (thank God!) scraped, remodelled, and restored it. Upon my +soul, to see such a thing I was proud to be an Anthropoid, and to claim +cousinship with those dark citizens of the Dordogne and of Garonne and of +the Tarn and of the Lot, and of whatever rivers fall into the Gironde. I +know very well that they have sweated to indoctrinate, to persecute, to +trim, to improve, to exterminate, to lift up, to cast down, to annoy, to +amuse, to exasperate, to please, to enmusic, to offend, to glorify their +kind. In some of these energies of theirs I blame them, in others I +praise; but it is plainly evident that they know how to binge. I wished +(for a moment) to be altogether of their race, like that strong cavalry +man of their race to whom they have put up a statue pointing to his wooden +leg. What an incredible people to build such an incredible church! + +The Clericals claim it, the anti-Clericals adorn it. The Christians bemoan +within it the wickedness of the times. The Atheists are baptized in it, +married in it, denounced in it, and when they die are, in great coffins +surrounded by great candles, to the dirge of the _Dies Iræ_, to the +booming of the vast new organ, very formally and determinedly absolved +in it; and holy water is sprinkled over the black cloth and cross of +silver. The pious and the indifferent, nay, the sad little army of +earnest, intelligent, strenuous men who still anxiously await the death +of religion--they all draw it, photograph it, paint it; they name their +streets, their hotels, their villages, and their very children after it. +It is like everything else in the world: it must be seen to be believed. +It rises up in a big cluster of white domes upon the steep bank of the +river. And sometimes you think it a fortress, and sometimes you think it +a town, and sometimes you think it a vision. It is simple in plan and +multiple in the mind; and after all these years I remember it as one +remembers a sudden and unexpected chorus. It is well worthy of Perigeux of +the Perigord. + +Perigeux of the Perigord is Gaulish, and it has never died. When it was +Roman it was Vesona; the temple of that patron Goddess still stands at its +eastern gate, and it is one of those teaching towns which have never died, +but in which you can find quite easily and before your eyes every chapter +of our worthy story. In such towns I am filled as though by a book, with a +contemplation of what we have done, and I have little doubt for our sons. + +The city reclines and is supported upon the steep bank of the Isle just +where the stream bends and makes an amphitheatre, so that men coming in +from the north (which is the way the city was meant to be entered--and +therefore, as you may properly bet, the railway comes in at the other side +by the back door) see it all at once: a great sight. One goes up through +its narrow streets, especially noting that street which is very nobly +called after the man who tossed his sword in the air riding before the +Conqueror at Hastings, Taillefer. One turns a narrow corner between houses +very old and very tall, and then quite close, no longer a vision, but a +thing to be touched, you see--to use the word again--the "surprising" +thing. You see something bigger than you thought possible. + +Great heavens, what a church! + +Where have I heard a church called "the House of God"? I think it was in +Westmorland near an inn called "The Nag's Head"--or perhaps "The Nag's +Head" is in Cumberland--no matter, I did once hear a church so called. But +this church has a right to the name. It is a gathering-up of all that men +could do. It has fifty roofs, it has a gigantic signal tower, it has blank +walls like precipices, and round arch after round arch, and architrave +after architrave. It is like a good and settled epic; or, better still, it +is like the life of a healthy and adventurous man who, having accomplished +all his journeys and taken the Fleece of Gold, comes home to tell his +stories at evening, and to pass among his own people the years that are +left to him of his age. It has experience and growth and intensity of +knowledge, all caught up into one unity; it conquers the hill upon which +it stands. I drew one window and then another, and then before I had +finished that a cornice, and then before I had finished that a porch, +for it was evening when I saw it, and I had not many hours. + +Music, they say, does something to the soul, filling it full of +unsatisfied but transcendent desires, and making it guess, in glimpses +that mix and fail, the soul's ultimate reward or destiny. Here, in +Perigeux of the Perigord, where men hunt truffles with hounds, stone set +in a certain order does what music is said to do. For in the sight of this +standing miracle I could believe and confess, and doubt and fear, and +control, all in one. + +Here is, living and continuous, the Empire in its majority and +its determination to be eternal. The people of the Perigord, the +truffle-hunting people, need never seek civilization nor fear its death, +for they have its symbol, and a sacrament, as it were, to promise them +that the arteries of the life of Europe can never be severed. The arches +and the entablatures of this solemn thing are alive. + +It was built some say nine, some say eight hundred years ago; its apse was +built yesterday, but the whole of it is outside time. + +In human life, which goes with a short rush and then a lull, like the wind +among trees before rains, great moments are remembered; they comfort us +and they help us to laugh at decay. I am very glad that I once saw this +church in Perigeux of the Perigord. + +When I die I should like to be buried in my own land, but I should take it +as a favour from the Bishop, who is master of this place, if he would come +and give my coffin an absolution, and bring with him the cloth and the +silver cross, and if he would carry in his hand (as some of the statues +have) a little model of St. Front, the church which I have seen and which +renewed my faith. + + + + +THE POSITION + + +There is a place where the valley of the Allier escapes from the central +mountains of France and broadens out into a fertile plain. + +Here is a march or boundary between two things, the one familiar to most +English travellers, the other unfamiliar. The familiar thing is the rich +alluvium and gravel of the Northern French countrysides, the poplar trees, +the full and quiet rivers, the many towns and villages of stone, the broad +white roads interminable and intersecting the very fat of prosperity, +and over it all a mild air. The unfamiliar is the mass of the Avernian +Mountains, which mass is the core and centre of Gaul and of Gaulish +history, and of the unseen power that lies behind the whole of that +business. + +The plains are before one, the mountains behind one, and one stands in +that borderland. I know it well. + +I have said that in the Avernian Mountains was the centre of Gaul and the +power upon which the history of Gaul depends. Upon the Margeride, which is +one of their uttermost ridges, du Guesclin was wounded to death. One may +see the huge stones piled up on the place where he fell. In the heart of +those mountains, at Puy, religion has effects that are eerie; it uses odd +high peaks for shrines--needles of rock; and a long way off all round is a +circle of hills of a black-blue in the distance, and they and the rivers +have magical names--the river Red Cap and Chaise Dieu, "God's Chair." +In these mountains Julius Caesar lost (the story says) his sword; and +in these mountains the Roman armies were staved off by the Avernians. +They are as full of wonder as anything in Europe can be, and they are +complicated and tumbled all about, so that those who travel in them with +difficulty remember where they have been, unless indeed they have that +general eye for a countryside which is rare nowadays among men. + +Just at the place where the mountain land and the plain land meet, where +the shallow valleys get rounder and less abrupt, I went last September, +following the directions of a soldier who had told me how I might find +where the centre of the manoeuvres lay. The manoeuvres, attempting to +reproduce the conditions of war, made a drifting scheme of men upon either +side of the River Sioule. One could never be certain where one would find +the guns. + +I had come up off the main road from Vichy, walking vaguely towards the +sound of the firing. It was unfamiliar. The old and terrible rumble has +been lost for a generation; even the plain noise of the field-piece which +used to be called "90" is forgotten by the young men now. The new little +guns pop and ring. And when you are walking towards them from a long way +off you do not seem to be marching towards anything great, but rather +towards something clever. Nevertheless it is as easy to-day as ever it +was to walk towards the sound of cannon. + +Two valleys absolutely lonely had I trudged-through since the sun rose, +and it was perhaps eight o'clock when I came upon one of those lonely +walled parks set in bare fields which the French gentry seem to find +homelike enough. I asked a man at the lodge about how far the position +was. He said he did not know, and looked upon me with suspicion. + +I went down into the depth of the valley, and there I met a priest who was +reading his Breviary and erroneously believed me (if I might judge his +looks) to be of a different religion, for he tested philosophy by clothes; +and this, by the way, is unalterably necessary for all mankind. When, +however, he found by my method of address that I knew his language and +was of his own faith, he became very courteous, and when I told him that +I wanted to find the position he became as lively as a linesman, making +little maps with his stick in the earth, and waving his arms, and making +great sweeps with his hand to show the way in which the army had been +drifting all morning, northward and eastward, above the Sioule, with the +other division on the opposite bank, and how, whenever there was a bridge +to be fought for, the game had been to pretend that one or the other had +got hold of it. Of this priest it might truly be said, as was said of +the priest of Thiers in the Forez, that chance had made him a choir-boy, +but destiny had designed him for the profession of arms; and upon this +one could build an interesting comedy of how chance and destiny are +perpetually at issue, and how chance, having more initiative and not +being so bound to routine, gets the better of destiny upon all occasions +whatsoever. + +Well, the priest showed me in this manner whither I should walk, and so I +came out of the valley on to a great upland, and there a small boy (who +was bullying a few geese near a pond) showed much the same excitement as +the priest when he told me at what village I should find the guns. + +That village was a few miles further on. As I went along the straight, +bare road, with stubble upon either side, I thought the sound of firing +got louder; but then, again, it would diminish, as the batteries took a +further and a further position in their advance. It was great fun, this +sham action, with its crescent of advancing fire and one's self in the +centre of the curve. At the next village I had come across the arteries +of the movement. By one road provisionment was going off to the right; +by another two men with messages, one a Hussar on horseback, the other a +Reservist upon a bicycle, went by me very quickly. Then from behind some +high trees in a churchyard there popped out a lot of little Engineers, who +were rolling a great roll of wire along. So I went onwards; and at last +I came to a cleft just before the left bank of the Sioule. This cleft +appeared deserted: there was brushwood on its sides and a tiny stream +running through it. On the ridge beyond were the roofs of a village. The +firing of the pieces was now quite close and near. They were a little +further than the houses of the hamlet, doubtless in some flat field where +the position was favourable to them. Down that cleft I went, and in its +hollow I saw the first post, but as yet nothing more. Then when I got to +the top of the opposing ridge I found the whole of the 38th lolling under +the cover of the road bank. From below you would have said there were no +men at all. The guns were right up beyond the line, firing away. I went up +past the linesmen till I found the guns. + +And what a pretty sight! They were so small and light and delicate! There +was no clanking, and no shouting, and to fire them a man pulled a mere +trigger. I thought to myself: "How simple and easy our civilization +becomes. Think of the motor-cars, and how they purr. Think of the simple +telephone, and all the other little things." And with this thought in my +mind I continued to watch the guns. Without yells or worry a man spoke +gently to other men, and they all limbered up, quite easily. The weight +seemed to have gone since my time. They trotted off with the pieces, and +when they crossed the little ditch at the edge of the field I waited for +the heavy clank-clank and the jog that ought to go with that well-known +episode; but I did not hear it, and I saw no shock. They got off the +field with its little ditch on to the high road as a light cart with good +springs might have done. And when they massed themselves under the cover +of a roll of land it was all done again without noise. I thought a little +sadly that the world had changed. But it was all so pretty and sensible +that I hardly regretted the change. There was a stretch of road in front +where nothing on earth could have given cover. The line was on its +stomach, firing away, and it was getting fired at apparently, in the sham +of the manoeuvre from the other side of the Sioule. As it covered this +open space the line edged forward and upward. When a certain number of the +38th had worked up like this, the whole bunch of them, from half a mile +down the road, right through the village, were moved along, and the head +of the column was scattered to follow up the firing. It was like spraying +water out of a tap. The guns still stood massed, and then at a sudden +order which was passed along as though in the tones of a conversation +(and again I thought to myself, "Surely the world is turning upside down +since I was a boy") they started off at a sharp gallop and leapt, as it +were, the two or three hundred yards of open road between cover and cover. +They were very well driven. The middle horses and the wheelers were doing +their work: it was not only the leaders that kept the traces taut. It was +wonderfully pretty to see them go by: not like a storm but like a smoke. +No one could have hit those gunners or those teams. Whether they were on +the sky-line or not I could not tell, but at any rate they could have been +seen just for that moment from beyond the Sioule. And when they massed up +again, beyond--some seconds afterwards--one heard the pop-pop from over +the valley, which showed they had been seen just too late. + +Hours and hours after that I went on with the young fellows. The guns I +could not keep with: I walked with the line. And all the while as I walked +I kept on wondering at the change that comes over European things. This +army of young men doing two years, with its odd silence and its sharp +twittering movements, and the sense of eyes all round one, of men glancing +and appreciating: individual men catching an opportunity for cover; and +commanding men catching the whole countryside.... Then, in the early +afternoon, the bugles and the trumpets sounded that long-drawn call which +has attended victories and capitulations, and which is also sounded every +night to tell people to put out the lights in the barrack-rooms. It is the +French "Cease fire." And whether from the national irony or the national +economy, I know not, but the stopping of either kind of fire has the +same call attached to it, and you must turn out a light in a French +barrack-room to the same notes as you must by command stop shooting at the +other people. + +The game was over. I faced the fourteen miles back to Gannat very stiff. +All during those hours I had been wondering at the novelty of Europe, and +at all these young men now so different, at the silence and the cover, and +the hefty, disposable little guns. But when I had my face turned southward +again to get back to a meal, that other aspect of Europe, its eternity, +was pictured all abroad. For there right before me stood the immutable +mountains, which stand enormous and sullen, but also vague at the base, +and, therefore, in their summits, unearthly, above the Limagne. There was +that upper valley of the Allier down which Cæsar had retreated, gathering +his legions into the North, and there was that silent and menacing sky +which everywhere broods over Auvergne, and even in its clearest days seems +to lend the granite and the lava land a sort of doomed hardness, as though +Heaven in this country commanded and did not allure. Never had I seen a +landscape more mysterious than those hills, nor at the same time anything +more enduring. + + + + +HOME + + +There is a river called the Eure which runs between low hills often +wooded, with a flat meadow floor in between. It so runs for many miles. +The towns that are set upon it are for the most part small and rare, +and though the river is well known by name, and though one of the chief +cathedrals of Europe stands near its source, for the most part it is not +visited by strangers. + +In this valley one day as I was drawing a picture of the woods I found a +wandering Englishman who was in the oddest way. He seemed by the slight +bend at his knees and the leaning forward of his head to have no very +great care how much further he might go. He was in the clothes of an +English tourist, which looked odd in such a place, as, for that matter, +they do anywhere. He had upon his head a pork-pie hat which was of the +same colour and texture as his clothes, a speckly brown. He carried a +thick stick. He was a man over fifty years of age; his face was rather +hollow and worn; his eyes were very simple and pale; he was bearded with a +weak beard, and in his expression there appeared a constrained but kindly +weariness. This was the man who came up to me as I was drawing my picture. +I had heard him scrambling in the undergrowth of the woods just behind me. + +He came out and walked to me across the few yards of meadow. The haying +was over, so he did the grass no harm. He came and stood near me, +irresolutely, looking vaguely up and across the valley towards the further +woods, and then gently towards what I was drawing. When he had so stood +still and so looked for a moment he asked me in French the name of the +great house whose roof showed above the more ordered trees beyond the +river, where a park emerged from and mixed with the forest. I told him the +name of the house, whereupon he shook his head and said that he had once +more come to the wrong place. + +I asked him what he meant, and he told me, sitting down slowly and +carefully upon the grass, this adventure: + +"First," said he, "are you always quite sure whether a thing is really +there or not?" + +"I am always quite sure," said I; "I am always positive." + +He sighed, and added: "Could you understand how a man might feel that +things were really there when they were not?" + +"Only," said I, "in some very vivid dream, and even then I think a man +knows pretty well inside his own mind that he is dreaming." I said that it +seemed to me rather like the question of the cunning of lunatics; most of +them know at the bottom of their silly minds that they are cracked, as you +may see by the way they plot and pretend. + +"You are not sympathetic with me," he said slowly, "but I will +nevertheless tell you what I want to tell you, for it will relieve me, and +it will explain to you why I have again come into this valley." "Why do +you say 'again'?" said I. + +"Because," he answered gently, "whenever my work gives me the opportunity +I do the same thing. I go up the valley of the Seine by train from Dieppe; +I get out at the station at which I got out on that day, and I walk across +these low hills, hoping that I may strike just the path and just the +mood--but I never do." + +"What path and what mood?" said I. + +"I was telling you," he answered patiently, "only you were so brutal about +reality." And then he sighed. He put his stick across his knees as he sat +there on the grass, held it with a hand on either side of his knees, and +so sitting bunched up began his tale once more. + +"It was ten years ago, and I was extremely tired, for you must know that +I am a Government servant, and I find my work most wearisome. It was just +this time of year that I took a week's holiday. I intended to take it in +Paris, but I thought on my way, as the weather was so fine, that I would +do something new and that I would walk a little way off the track. I had +often wondered what country lay behind the low and steep hills on the +right of the railway line. + +"I had crossed the Channel by night," he continued, a little sorry for +himself, "to save the expense. It was dawn when reached Rouen, and there I +very well remember drinking some coffee which I did not like, and eating +some good bread which I did. I changed carriages at Rouen because the +express did not stop at any of the little stations beyond. I took a slower +train, which came immediately behind it, and stopped at most of the +stations. I took my ticket rather at random for a little station between +Pont de l'Arche and Mantes. I got out at that little station, and it was +still early--only midway through the morning. + +"I was in an odd mixture of fatigue and exhilaration: I had not slept and +I would willingly have done so, but the freshness of the new day was upon +me, and I have always had a very keen curiosity to see new sights and to +know what lies behind the hills. + +"The day was fine and already rather hot for June. I did not stop in the +village near the station for more than half an hour, just the time to take +some soup and a little wine; then I set out into the woods to cross over +into this parallel valley. I knew that I should come to it and to the +railway line that goes down it in a very few miles. I proposed when I came +to that other railway line on the far side of the hills to walk quietly +down it as nearly parallel to it as I could get, and at the first station +to take the next train for Chartres, and then the next day to go from +Chartres to Paris. That was my plan. + +"The road up into the woods was one of those great French roads which +sometimes frighten me and always weary me by their length and insistence: +men seem to have taken so much trouble to make them, and they make me +feel as though I had to take trouble myself; I avoid them when I walk. +Therefore, so soon as this great road had struck the crest of the hills +and was well into the woods (cutting through them like the trench of a +fortification, with the tall trees on either side) I struck out into a +ride which had been cut through them many years ago and was already half +overgrown, and I went along this ride for several miles. + +"It did not matter to me how I went, since my design was so simple and +since any direction more or less westward would enable me to fulfil it, +that is, to come down upon the valley of the Eure and to find the single +railway line which leads to Chartres. The woods were very pleasant on that +June noon, and once or twice I was inclined to linger in their shade and +sleep an hour. But--note this clearly--I did not sleep. I remember every +moment of the way, though I confess my fatigue oppressed me somewhat +as the miles continued. + +"At last by the steepness of a new descent I +recognized that I had crossed the watershed and was coming down into the +valley of this river. The ride had dwindled to a path, and I was wondering +where the path would lead me when I noticed that it was getting more +orderly: there were patches of sand, and here and there a man had cut and +trimmed the edges of the way. Then it became more orderly still. It was +all sanded, and there were artificial bushes here and there--I mean bushes +not native to the forest, until at last I was aware that my ramble had +taken me into some one's own land, and that I was in a private ground. + +"I saw no great harm in this, for a traveller, if he explains himself, +will usually be excused; moreover, I had to continue, for I knew no +other way, and this path led me westward also. Only, whether because my +trespassing worried me or because I felt my own dishevelment more acutely, +the lack of sleep and the strain upon me increased as I pursued those +last hundred yards, until I came out suddenly from behind a screen of +rosebushes upon a large lawn, and at the end of it there was a French +country house with a moat round it, such as they often have, and a stone +bridge over the moat. + +"The château was simple and very grand. The mouldings upon it pleased me, +and it was full of peace. Upon the further side of the lawn, so that I +could hear it but not see it, a fountain was playing into a basin. By the +sound it was one of those high French fountains which the people who built +such houses as these two hundred years ago delighted in. The plash of it +was very soothing, but I was so tired and drooping that at one moment it +sounded much further than at the next. + +"There was an iron bench at the edge of the screen of roses, and hardly +knowing what I did,--for it was not the right thing to do in another +person's place--I sat down on this bench, taking pleasure in the sight of +the moat and the house with its noble roof, and the noise of the fountain. +I think I should have gone to sleep there and at that moment--for I felt +upon me worse than ever the strain of that long hot morning and that long +night journey--had not a very curious thing happened." + +Here the man looked up at me oddly, as though to see whether I disbelieved +him or not; but I did not disbelieve him. + +I was not even very much interested, for I was trying to make the trees to +look different one from the other, which is an extremely difficult thing: +I had not succeeded and I was niggling away. He continued with more +assurance: + +"The thing that happened was this: a young girl came out of the house +dressed in white, with a blue scarf over her head and crossed round her +neck. I knew her face as well as possible: it was a face I had known all +my youth and early manhood--but for the life of me I could not remember +her name!' + +"When one is very tired," I said, "that does happen to one: a name one +knows as well as one's own escapes one. It is especially the effect of +lack of sleep." + +"It is," said he, sighing profoundly; "but the oddness of my feeling it is +impossible to describe, for there I was meeting the oldest and perhaps the +dearest and certainly the most familiar of my friends, whom," he added, +hesitating a moment, "I had not seen for many years. It was a very great +pleasure ... it was a sort of comfort and an ending. I forgot, the moment +I saw her, why I had come over the hills, and all about how I meant to get +to Chartres.... And now I must tell you," added the man a little awkwardly, +"that my name is Peter." + +"No doubt," said I gravely, for I could not see why he should not bear +that name. + +"My Christian name," he continued hurriedly. + +"Of course," said I, as sympathetically as I could. He seemed relieved +that I had not even smiled at it. + +"Yes," he went on rather quickly, "Peter--my name is Peter. Well, this +lady came up to me and said, 'Why, Peter, we never thought you would +come!' She did not seem very much astonished, but rather as though I had +come earlier than she had expected. 'I will get Philip,' she said. 'You +remember Philip?' Here I had another little trouble with my memory: I did +remember that there was a Philip, but I could not place him. That was odd, +you know. As for her, oh, I knew _her_ as well as the colour of the +sky: it was her name that my brain missed, as it might have missed my own +name or my mother's. + +"Philip came out as she called him, and there was a familiarity between +them that seemed natural to me at the time, but whether he was a brother +or a lover or a husband, or what, I could not for the life of me remember. + +"'You look tired,' he said to me in a kind voice that I liked very much +and remembered clearly. 'I am,' said I, 'dog tired.' 'Come in with us,' he +said, 'and we will give you some wine and water. When would you like to +eat?' I said I would rather sleep than eat. He said that could easily be +arranged. + +"I strolled with them towards the house across that great lawn, hearing +the noise of the fountain, now dimmer, now nearer; sometimes it seemed +miles away and sometimes right in my ears. Whether it was their +conversation or my familiarity with them or my fatigue, at any rate, as I +crossed the moat I could no longer recall anything save their presence. I +was not even troubled by the desire to recall anything; I was full of a +complete contentment, and this surging up of familiar things, this surging +up of it in a foreign place, without excuse or possible connexion or any +explanation whatsoever, seemed to me as natural as breathing. + +"As I crossed the bridge I wholly forgot whence I came or whither I was +going, but I knew myself better than ever I had known myself, and every +detail of the place was familiar to me. + +"Here I had passed (I thought) many hours of my childhood and my boyhood +and my early manhood also. I ceased considering the names and the relation +of Philip and the girl. + +"They gave me cold meat and bread and excellent wine, and water to mix +with it, and as they continued to speak even the last adumbrations of care +fell off me altogether, and my spirit seemed entirely released and free. +My approaching sleep beckoned to me like an easy entrance into Paradise. +I should wake from it quite simply into the perpetual enjoyment of this +place and its companionship. Oh, it was an absolute repose! + +"Philip took me to a little room on the ground floor fitted with the +exquisite care and the simplicity of the French: there was a curtained +bed, a thing I love. He lent me night clothes, though it was broad day, +because he said that if I undressed and got into the bed I should be much +more rested; they would keep everything quiet at that end of the house, +and the gentle fall of the water into the moat outside would not disturb +me. I said on the contrary it would soothe me, and I felt the benignity of +the place possess me like a spell. Remember that I was very tired and had +not slept for now thirty hours. + +"I remember handling the white counterpane and noting the delicate French +pattern upon it, and seeing at one corner the little red silk coronet +embroidered, which made me smile. I remember putting my hand upon the cool +linen of the pillow-case and smoothing it; then I got into that bed and +fell asleep. It was broad noon, with the stillness that comes of a summer +noon upon the woods; the air was cool and delicious above the water of the +moat, and my windows were open to it. + +"The last thing I heard as I dropped asleep was her voice calling to +Philip in the corridor. I could have told the very place. I knew that +corridor so well. We used to play there when we were children. We used to +play at travelling, and we used to invent the names of railway stations +for the various doors. Remembering this and smiling at the memory, I fell +at once into a blessed sleep. + +"...I do not want to annoy you," said the man apologetically, "but I +really had to tell you this story, and I hardly know how to tell you the +end of it." + +"Go on," said I hurriedly, for I had gone and made two trees one exactly +like the other (which in nature was never seen) and I was annoyed with +myself. + +"Well," said he, still hesitating and sighing with real sadness, "when +I woke up I was in a third-class carriage; the light was that of late +afternoon, and a man had woken me by tapping my shoulder and telling me +that the next station was Chartres.... That's all." + +He sighed again. He expected me to say something. So I did. I said without +much originality: "You must have dreamed it." + +"No," said he, very considerably put out, "that is the point! I didn't! I +tell you I can remember exactly every stage from when I left the railway +train in the Seine Valley until I got into that bed." + +"It's all very odd," said I. + +"Yes," said he, "and so was my mood; but it was real enough. It was the +second or third most real thing that has ever happened to me. I am quite +certain that it happened to me." + +I remained silent, and rubbed out the top of one of my trees so as to +invent a new top for it, since I could not draw it as it was. Then, as he +wanted me to say something more, I said: "Well, you must have got into the +train somehow." + +"Of course," said he. + +"Well, where did you get into the train?" + +"I don't know." + +"Your ticket would have told you that." + +"I think I must have given it up to the man," he answered doubtfully, "the +guard who told me that the next station was Chartres." + +"Well, it's all very mysterious," I said. + +"Yes," he said, getting up rather weakly to go on again, "it is." And +he sighed again. "I come here every year. I hope," he added a little +wistfully, "I hope, you see, that it may happen to me again ... but it +never does." + +"It will at last," said I to comfort him. + +And, will you believe it, that simple sentence made him in a moment +radiantly happy; his face beamed, and he positively thanked me, thanked me +warmly. + +"You speak like one inspired," he said. (I confess I did not feel like it +at all.) "I shall go much lighter on my way after that sentence of yours." + +He bade me good-bye with some ceremony and slouched off, with his eyes set +towards the west and the more distant hills. + + + + +THE WAY TO FAIRYLAND + + +A child of four years old, having read of Fairyland and of the people in +it, asked only two days ago, in a very popular attitude of doubt, whether +there were any such place, and, if so, where it was; for she believed in +her heart that the whole thing was a pack of lies. + +I was happy to be able to tell her that her scepticism, though well +founded, was extreme. The existence of Fairyland, I was able to point out +to her both by documentary evidence from books and also by calling in the +testimony of the aged, could not be doubted by any reasonable person. What +was really difficult was the way to get there. Indeed, so obviously true +was the existence of Fairyland, that every one in this world set out to go +there as a matter of course, but so difficult was it to find the way that +very few reached the place. Upon this the child very naturally asked me +what sort of way the way was and why it was so difficult. + +"You must first understand," said I, "where Fairyland is: it lies a little +way farther than the farthest hill you can see. It lies, in fact, just +beyond that hill. The frontiers of it are sometimes a little doubtful in +any landscape, because the landscape is confused, but if on the extreme +limits of the horizon you see a long line of hills bounding your view +exactly, then you may be perfectly certain that on the other side of those +hills is Fairyland. There are times of the day and of the weather when the +sky over Fairyland can be clearly perceived, for it has a different colour +from any other kind of sky. That is where Fairyland is. It is not on an +island, as some have pretended, still less is it under the earth--a +ridiculous story, for there it is all dark." + +"But how do you get there?" asked the child. "Do you get there by walking +to the hills and going over?" + +"No," said I, "that is just the bother of it. Several people have thought +that that was the way of getting there; in fact, it looked plain common +sense, but there is a trick about it; when you get to the hills everything +changes, because the fairies have that power: the hills become ordinary, +the people living on them turn into people just like you and me, and then +when you get to the top of the hills, before you can say knife another +common country just like ours has been stuck on the other side. On this +account, through the power of the fairies, who hate particularly to be +disturbed, no one can reach Fairyland in so simple a way as by walking +towards it." + +"Then," said the child to me, "I don't see how any one can get there"--for +this child had good brains and common sense. + +"But," said I, "you must have read in stories of people who get to +Fairyland, and I think you will notice that in the stories written by +people who know anything about it (and you know how easily these are +distinguished from the others) there are always two ways of getting to +Fairyland, and only two: one is by mistake, and the other is by a spell. +In the first way to Fairyland is to lose your way, and this is one of the +best ways of getting there; but it is dangerous, because if you get there +that way you offend the fairies. It is better to get there by a spell. +But the inconvenience of that is that you are blindfolded so as not to be +allowed to remember the way there or back again. When you get there by a +spell, one of the people from Fairyland takes you in charge. They prefer +to do it when you are asleep, but they are quite game to do it at other +times if they think it worth their while. + +"Why do they do it?" said the child. + +"They do it," said I, "because it annoys the fairies very much to think +that people are stopping believing in them. They are very proud people, +and think a lot of themselves. They can, if they like, do us good, and +they think us ungrateful when we forget about them. Sometimes in the past +people have gone on forgetting about fairies more and more and more, +until at last they have stopped believing in them altogether. The fairies +meanwhile have been looking after their own affairs, and it is their fault +more than ours when we forget about them. But when this has gone on for +too long a time the fairies wake up and find out by a way they have that +men have stopped believing in them, and get very much annoyed. Then some +fairy proposes that a map of the way to Fairyland should be drawn up and +given to the people; but this is always voted down; and at last they make +up their minds to wake people up to Fairyland by going and visiting this +world, and by spells bringing several people into their kingdom and so +getting witnesses. For, as you can imagine, it is a most unpleasant thing +to be really important and for other people not to know it." + +"Yes," said the child, who had had this unpleasant experience, and greatly +sympathized with the fairies when I explained how much they disliked it. +Then the child asked me again: + +"Why do the fairies let us forget about them?" + +"It is," said I, "because they get so excited about their own affairs. +Rather more than a hundred years ago, for instance, a war broke out in +Fairyland because the King of the Fairies, whose name is Oberon, and the +Queen of the Fairies, whose name is Titania, had asked the Trolls to +dinner. The Gnomes were very much annoyed at this, and the Elves still +more so, for the chief glory of the Elves was that being elfish got you to +know people; and it was universally admitted that the Trolls ought never +to be asked out, because they were trollish. King Oberon said that all +that was a wicked prejudice, and that the Trolls ought to be asked out to +dinner just as much as the Elves, in common justice. But his real reason +was that he was bored by the perpetual elfishness of the Elves, and wanted +to see the great ugly Trolls trying to behave like gentlemen for a change. +So the Trolls came and tied their napkins round their necks, and ate such +enormous quantities at dinner that King Oberon and his Queen almost died +of laughing. The Elves were frightfully jealous, and so the war began. And +while it was going on everybody in Earthland forgot more and more about +Fairyland, until at last some people went so far as to say, like you, that +Fairyland did not exist." + +"I did not say so," said the child, "I only asked." + +"But," I answered severely, "asking about such things is the beginning of +doubting them. Anyhow, the fairies woke up one fine day about the time +when your great-grandfather got married, to discover that they were not +believed in, so they patched up their quarrel and they sent fairies to +cast spells, and any amount of people began to be taken to Fairyland, +until at last every one was forced to believe their evidence and to say +that Fairyland existed." + +"Were they glad?" said the child. + +"Who?" said I; "the witnesses who were thus taken away and shown +Fairyland?" + +"Yes," said the child. "They ought to have been glad." + +"Well, they _weren't_!" said I. "They were as sick as dogs. Not one +of them but got into some dreadful trouble. From one his wife ran away, +another starved to death, a third killed himself, a fourth was drowned +and then burned upon the seashore, a fifth went mad (and so did several +others), and as for poverty, and all the misfortunes that go with it, it +simply rained upon the people who had been to Fairyland." + +"Why?" said the child, greatly troubled. + +"Ah!" said I, "that is what none of us know, but so it is, if they take +you to Fairyland you are in for a very bad business indeed. There is only +one way out of it." + +"And what is that?" said the child, interested. + +"Washing," said I, "washing in cold water. It has been proved over and +over again." + +"Then," said the child happily, "they can take me to Fairyland as often as +they like, and I shall not be the worse for it, for I am washed in cold +water every day. What about the other way to Fairyland?" + +"Oh _that_," said I, "that, I think, is much the best way; I've gone +there myself." + +"Have you really?" said the child, now intensely interested. "That +_is_ good! How often have you been there?" + +"Oh I can't tell you," I said carelessly, "but at least eight times, and +perhaps more, and the dodge is, as I told you, to lose your way; only the +great trouble is that no one can lose his way on purpose. At first I used +to think that one had to follow signs. There was an omnibus going down the +King's Road which had 'To the World's End' painted on it. I got into this +one day, and after I had gone some miles I said to the man, 'When do we +get to the World's End?' 'Oh,' said he, 'you have passed it long ago,' and +he rang a little bell to make me get out. So it was a fraud. Another time +I saw another omnibus with the words, 'To the Monster,' and I got into +that, but I heard that it was only a sort of joke, and that though the +Monster was there all right, he was not in Fairyland. This omnibus went +through a very uninteresting part of London, and Fairyland was nowhere in +the neighbourhood. Another time in the country of France I came upon a +printed placard which said: 'The excursion will pass by the Seven Winds, +the Foolish Heath, and St. Martin under Heaven.' This time also I thought +I had got it, but when I looked at the date on the placard I saw that the +excursion had started several days before, so I missed it again. Another +time up in Scotland I saw a signpost on which there was, 'To the King's +House seven miles.' And some one had written underneath in pencil: 'And +to the Dragon's Cave eleven.' But nothing came of it. It was a false +lane. After that I gave up believing that one could get to Fairyland by +signposts or omnibuses, until one day, quite by mistake, I chanced on the +dodge of losing one's way." + +"How is that done?" said the child. + +"That is what no one can tell you," said I. "If people knew how it was +done everybody would do it, but the whole point of losing your way is that +you do it by mistake. You must be quite certain that you have not lost +your way or it is no good. You walk along, and you walk along, and you +wonder how long it will be before you get to the town, and then instead of +getting to the town at all, there you are in Fairyland." + +"How do you know that you are in Fairyland?" said the little child. + +"It depends how far you get in," said I. "If you get in far enough trees +and rocks change into men, rivers talk, and voices of people whom you +cannot see tell you all sorts of things in loud and clear tones close to +your ear. But if you only get a little way inside then you know that you +are there by a sort of wonderment. The things ought to be like the things +you see every day, but they are a little different, notably the trees. +It happened to me once in a town called Lanchester. A part of that +town (though no one would think of it to look at it) happens to be in +Fairyland. And there I was received by three fairies, who gave me supper +in an inn. And it happened to me once in the mountains and once it +happened to me at sea. I lost my way and came upon a beach which was in +Fairyland. Another time it happened to me between Goodwood and Upwaltham +in Sussex." + +At this moment the child's nurse came in to take it away, so she came to +the point: + +"How did you know you were in Fairyland?' she said doubtfully." Perhaps +you are making all this up." + +"Nonsense!" I said reprovingly, "the only people who make things up are +little children, for they always tell lies. Grown-up people never tell +lies. Let me tell you that one always knows when one has been in Fairyland +by the feeling afterwards, and because it is impossible to find it again." + +The child said, "Very well, I will believe you," but I could see from the +expression of her eyes that she was not wholly convinced, and that in the +bottom of her heart she does not believe there is any such place. She +will, however, if she can hang on another forty years, and then I shall +have my revenge. + + + + +THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD + + +In a garden which must, I think, lie somewhat apart and enclosed in one +of the valleys of central England, you came across the English grass in +summer beneath the shade of a tree; you were running, but your arms were +stretched before you in a sort of dance and balance as though you rather +belonged to the air and to the growing things about you and above you than +to the earth over which you passed; and you were not three years old. + +As, in jest, this charming vision was recorded by a camera which some +guest had with him, a happy accident (designed, for all we know, by +whatever powers arrange such things, an accident of the instrument or of +the plate upon which your small, happy, advancing figure was recorded) so +chanced that your figure, when the picture was printed, shone all around +with light. + +I cannot, as I look at it now before me and as I write these words, +express, however much I may seek for expression, how great a meaning +underlies that accident nor how full of fate and of reason and of +suggested truth that aureole grows as I gaze. Your innocence is beatified +by it, and takes on with majesty the glory which lies behind all +innocence, but which our eyes can never see. Your happiness seems in that +mist of light to be removed and permanent; the common world in which you +are moving passes, through this trick of the lens, into a stronger world +more apt for such a sight, and one in which I am half persuaded (as I +still look upon the picture) blessedness is not a rare adventure, but +something native and secure. + +Little child, the trick which the camera has played means more and more as +I still watch your picture, for there is present in that light not only +blessedness, but holiness as well. The lightness of your movement and of +your poise (as though you were blown like a blossom along the tops of the +grass) is shone through, and your face, especially its ready and wondering +laughter, is inspired, as though the Light had filled it from within; +so that, looking thus, I look not on, but through. I say that in this +portrait which I treasure there is not only blessedness, but holiness as +well--holiness which is the cause of blessedness and which contains it, +and by which secretly all this world is sustained. + +Now there is a third thing in your portrait, little child. That accident +of light, light all about you and shining through your face, is not only +blessed nor only holy, but it is also sacred, and with that thought there +returns to me as I look what always should return to man if he is to find +any stuff or profit in his consideration of divine things. In blessedness +there is joy for which here we are not made, so that we catch it only +in glimpses or in adumbrations. And in holiness, when we perceive it we +perceive something far off; it is that from which we came and to which +we should return; yet holiness is not a human thing. But things sacred-- +things devoted to a purpose, things about which there lies an awful +necessity of sacrifice, things devoted and necessarily suffering some +doom--these are certainly of this world; that, indeed, all men know well +at last, and find it part of the business through which they needs must +pass. Human memories, since they are only memories; human attachments, +since they are offered up and end; great human fears and hopeless human +longings--these are sacred things attached to a victim and to a sacrifice; +and in this picture of yours, with the light so glorifying you all round, +no one can doubt who sees it but that the sacredness of human life will be +yours also; that is, you must learn how it is offered up to some end and +what a sacrifice is there. + +I could wish, as I consider this, that the camera had played no such +trick, and had not revealed in that haze of awful meaning all that lies +beyond the nature of you, child. But it is a truth which is so revealed; +and we may not, upon a penalty more terrible than death, neglect any +ultimate truth concerning our mortal way. + +Your feet, which now do not seem to press upon the lawn across which they +run, have to go more miles than you can dream of, through more places than +you could bear to hear, and they must be directed to a goal which will not +in your very young delight be mentioned before you, or of which, if it is +mentioned, you will not understand by name; and your little hands which +you bear before you with the little gesture of flying things, will grasp +most tightly that which can least remain and will attempt to fashion what +can never be completed, and will caress that which will not respond to +the caress. Your eyes, which are now so principally filled with innocence +that that bright quality drowns all the rest, will look upon so much of +deadly suffering and of misuse in men, that they will very early change +themselves in kind; and all your face, which now vaguely remembers nothing +but the early vision from which childhood proceeds, will grow drawn and +self-guarded, and will suffer some agonies, a few despairs, innumerable +fatigues, until it has become the face of a woman grown. Nor will this +sacred doom about you, which is that of all mankind, cease or grow less +or be mitigated in any way; it will increase as surely and as steadily +as increase the number of the years, until at last you will lay down the +daylight and the knowledge of day-lit things as gladly as now you wake +from sleep to see them. + +For you are sacred, and all those elders about you, whose solemn demeanour +now and then startles you into a pretty perplexity which soon calls back +their smiles, have hearts only quite different from your quite careless +heart, because they have known the things to which, in the manner of +victims, they are consecrated. + +All that by which we painfully may earn rectitude and a proper balance in +the conduct of our short affairs I must believe that you will practise; +and I must believe, as I look here into your face, seeing your confident +advance (as though you were flying out from your babyhood into young life +without any fear), that the virtues which now surround you in a crowd and +make a sort of court for you and are your angels every way, will go along +with you and will stand by you to the end. Even so, and the more so, you +will find (if you read this some years hence) how truly it is written. By +contrast with your demeanour, with your immortal hopes, and with your +pious efforts the world about you will seem darker and less secure with +every passing harvest, and in proportion as you remember the childhood +which has led me so to write of you, in proportion as you remember +gladness and innocence with its completed joy, in that proportion will +you find at least a breaking burden in the weight of this world. + +Now you may say to me, little child (not now, but later on), to what +purpose is all this complaint, and why should you tell me these things? + +It is because in the portrait before me the holiness, the blessedness, and +therefore the sacredness are apparent that I am writing as I do. For you +must know that there is a false way out and a seeming relief for the rack +of human affairs, and that this way is taken by many. Since you are sacred +do not take it, but bear the burden. It is the character of whatever is +sacred that it does not take that way; but, like a true victim, remains +to the end, ready to complete the sacrifice. + +The way out is to forget that one is sacred, and this men and women do in +many ways. The most of them by way of treason. They betray. They break at +first uneasily, later easily, and at last unconsciously, the word which +each of us has passed before He was born in Paradise. All men and all +women are conscious of that word, for though their lips cannot frame it +here, and though the terms of the pledge are forgotten, the memory of its +obligation fills the mind. But there comes a day, and that soon in the +lives of many, when to break it once is to be much refreshed and to seem +to drop the burden; and in the second and the third time it is done, and +the fourth it is done more easily--until at last there is no more need +for a man or a woman to break that pledged word again and once again; it +is broken for good and for all. This is one most common way in which the +sacred quality is lost: the way of treason. Round about such as choose +this kind of relief grows a habit and an air of treason. They betray all +things at last, and even common friendship is at last no longer theirs. +The end of this false issue is despair. + +Another way is to take refuge from ourselves in pleasures, and this is +easily done, not by the worse, but by the better sort; for there are some, +some few, who would never betray nor break their ancient word, but who, +seeing no meaning in a sacrifice nor in a burden, escape from it through +pleasure as through a drug, and this pleasure they find in all manner of +things, and always that spirit near them which would destroy their sacred +mark, persuades them that they are right, and that in such pursuits the +sacrifice is evaded. So some will steep themselves in rhyme, some in +landscapes, some in pictures, some in the watching of the complexity and +change of things, some in music, some in action, some in mere ease. It +seems as though the men and women who would thus forget their sacredness +are better loved and better warned than those who take the other path, for +they never forget certain gracious things which should be proper to the +mind, nor do they lose their friends. But that they have taken a wrong +path you may easily perceive from this sign: that these pleasures, like +any other drug, do not feed or satisfy, but must be increased with every +dose, and even so soon pall and are continued not because they are +pleasures any longer, but because, dull though they have become, without +them there is active pain. + +Take neither the one path nor the other, but retain, I beseech you, when +the time comes, that quality of sacredness of which I speak, for there +is no alternative. Some trouble fell upon our race, and all of us must +take upon ourselves the business and the burden. If you will attempt any +way out at all it will but lead you to some worse thing. We have not all +choices before us, but only one of very few, and each of those few choices +is mortal, and all but one is evil. + +You should remember this also, dear little child, that at the beginning-- +oh, only at the very beginning of life--even your reason that God gave +may lead you wrong. For with those memories strong upon you of perfect +will, of clear intelligence, and of harmonious beauty all about, you will +believe the world in which you stand to be the world from which you have +come and to which you are also destined. You have but to treat this world +for but a very little while as though it were the thing you think it to +find it is not so. + +Do you know that that which smells most strongly in this life of +immortality, and which a poet has called "the ultimate outpost of +eternity," is insecure and perishes? I mean the passionate affection of +early youth. If that does not remain, what then do you think can remain? +I tell you that nothing which you take to be permanent round about you +when you are very young is more than the symbol or clothes of permanence. +Another poet has written, speaking of the chalk hills:-- + + Only a little while remain + The Downs in their solemnity. + +Nor is this saying forced. Men and women cannot attach themselves even to +the hills where they first played. + +Some men, wise but unillumined, and not conscious of that light which I +here physically see shining all round and through you in the picture which +is before my eyes as I write, have said that to die young and to end the +business early was a great blessing. We do not know. But we do know that +to die long after and to have gone through the business must be blessed, +since blessedness and holiness and sacredness are bound together in one. + +But, of these three, be certain that sacredness is your chief business, +blessedness after your first childhood you will never know, and holiness +you may only see as men see distant mountains lifted beyond a plain; it +cannot be your habitation. Sacredness, which is the mark of that purpose +whose heir is blessedness, whose end is holiness, will be upon you until +you die; maintain it, and let it be your chief concern, for though you +neglect it, it will remain and avenge itself. + +All this I have seen in your picture as you go across the grass, and it +was an accident of the camera that did it. If any one shall say these +things do not attach to the portrait of a child, let him ask himself +whether they do not attach to the portrait that might be drawn, did human +skill suffice, of the life of a woman or a man which springs from the +demeanour of childhood; or let him ask himself whether, if a face in old +age and that same face in childhood were equally and as by a revelation +set down each in its full truth, and the growth of the one into the other +were interpreted by a profound intelligence, what I have said would not +be true of all that little passage of ours through the daylight. + + + + +ON EXPERIENCE + + +There are three phases in the life of man, so far as his thoughts upon +his surroundings are concerned. + +The first of these is the phase of youth, in which he takes certain +matured things for granted, and whether he realizes his illusion or no, +believes them to be eternal. This phase ends sharply with every man, by +the action of one blow. Some essence is dissolved, some binding cordage +snaps, or some one dies. + +I say no matter how clearly the reason of a man tells him that all about +him is changeable, and that perfect and matured things and characters upon +whose perfection and maturity he reposes for his peace must disappear, his +attitude in youth towards those things is one of a complete security as +towards things eternal. For the young man, convinced as he is that his +youth and he himself are there for ever, sees in one lasting framework his +father's garden, his mother's face, the landscape from his windows, his +friendships, and even his life; the very details of food, of clothing, +and of lesser custom, all these are fixed for him. Fixed also are the +mature and perfect things. This aged friend, in whose excellent humour +and universal science he takes so continual a delight, is there for ever. +That considered judgment of mankind upon such and such a troubling matter, +of sex, of property, or of political right, is anchored or rooted in +eternity. There comes a day when by some one experience he is startled out +of that morning dream. It is not the first death, perhaps, that strikes +him, nor the first loss--no, not even, perhaps, the first discovery that +human affection also passes (though that should be for every man the +deepest lesson of all). What wakes him to the reality which is for some +dreadful, for others august, and for the faithful divine, is always an +accident. One death, one change, one loss, among so many, unseals his +judgment, and he sees thenceforward, nay, often from one particular moment +upon which he can put his finger, the doom which lies upon all things +whatsoever that live by a material change. + +The second phase which he next enters is for a thoughtful man in a +sceptical and corrupted age the crucial phase, whereby will be determined, +not indeed the fate of his soul, but the justice, and therefore the +advantage to others, of his philosophy. + +He has done with all illusions of permanence and repose. Henceforward he +sees for himself a definite end, and the road which used to lead over +the hills and to be lost beyond in the haze of summer plains now leads +directly to a visible place; that place is a cavern in the mountain side, +dark and without issue. He must die. Henceforward he expects the passing +of all to which he is attached, and he is braced against loss by something +lent to him which is to despair as an angel is to a demon; something in +the same category of emotion, but just and fortifying, instead of void +and vain and tempting and without an end. A man sees in this second phase +of his experience that he must lose. Oh, he does not lose in a gamble! +It is not a question of winning a stake or forfeiting it, as the vulgar +falsehood of commercial analogy would try to make our time believe. He +knows henceforward that there is no success, no final attainment of +desire, because there is no fixity in any material thing. As he sits at +table with the wisest and keenest of his time, especially with the old, +hearing true stories of the great men who came before him, looking at +well-painted pictures, admiring the proper printing of collected books, +and praising the just balance of some classical verse or music which +time has judged and made worthy, he so admires and enjoys with a full +consciousness that these things are flowing past him. He cannot rely; he +attempts no foothold. The equilibrium of his soul is only to be discovered +in marching and continually marching. He now knows that he must go onward, +he may not stand, for if he did he would fall. He must go forward and see +the river of things run by. He must go forward--but to what goal? + +There is a third phase, in which (as the experience of twenty Christian +centuries determines) that goal also is discovered, and for some who so +discover it the experience of loss begins to possess a meaning. + +What this third phase is I confess I do not know, and as I have not felt +it I cannot describe it, but when that third phase is used as I have +suggested a character of wisdom enters into those so using it; a character +of wisdom which is the nearest thing our dull time can show to inspiration +and to prophecy. + +It is to be noted also that in this third phase of man's experience of +doom those who are not wise are most unwise indeed; and that where the age +of experience has not produced this sort of clear maturity in the spirit, +then it produces either despair or folly, or an exaggerated shirking of +reality, which, being a falsehood, is wickeder than despair, and far more +inhuman than mere foolishness. Thus those who in the third phase of which +I speak have not attained the wisdom which I here recognize will often +sink into a passion of avarice, accumulating wealth which they cannot +conceivably enjoy; a stupidity so manifest that every age of satire has +found it the most facile of commonplaces. Or, again, those who fail to +find wisdom in that last phase will constantly pretend an unreal world, +making plans for a future that cannot be there. So did a man eleven +years ago in the neighbourhood of Regent Street, for this man, being +eighty-seven years of age, wealthy, and wholly devoid of friends, or near +kindred, took a flat, but he insisted that the lease should be one of not +less than sixty years. In a hundred ways this last phase if it is degraded +is most degraded; and, though it is not worst, it is most sterile when it +falls to a mere regret for the past. + +Now it is here that the opposite, the wisdoms of old age appears; for the +old, when they are wise, are able to point out to men and to women of +middle age what these least suspect, and can provide them with a good +medicine against the insecurity of the soul. The old in their wisdom can +tell those just beneath them this: that though all things human pass, all +bear their fruit. They can say: "You believe that such and such a woman, +with her courtesy, her travel, her sharp edge of judgment, her large +humanity, and her love of the comedy of the world, being dead can never be +replaced. There are, growing up around you, characters quite insufficient, +and to you, perhaps, contemptible, who will in their fruiting display all +these things." There never was, nor has been, a time (say those who are +acquainted with the great story of Europe) when Christendom has failed. +Out of dead passages there has sprung up suddenly, and quite miraculously, +whatever was thought to be lost. So it has been with our music, so with +the splendour of our armies, so with the fabric of our temples, so with +our deathless rhymes. The old, when they are wise, can do for men younger +than they what history does for the reader; but they can do it far more +poignantly, having expression in their eyes and the living tones of a +voice. It is their business to console the world. + + + + +ON IMMORTALITY + + +Here and there, scattered rarely among men as men are now, you will +find one man who does not pursue the same ends as his fellows; but in a +peculiar manner leads his life as though his eyes were fixed upon some +distant goal or his appetites subjected to some constant and individual +influence. + +Such a man may be doing any one of many things. He may be a poet, and his +occupation may be the writing of good verse, pleased at its sound and +pleased as well by the reflection of the pleasure it will give to others. +Or he may be devoted, and follow a creed, a single truth or a character +which he loves, and whose influence and glory he makes it his business to +propagate. Or he may be but a worker in some material, a carver in wood, +or a manager of commercial affairs, or a governor and administrator of +men, and yet so order his life that his work and his material are his +object: not his gain in the end--not his appreciable and calculable gain +at least--nor his immediate and ephemeral pleasures. + +Such men, if you will examine them, will prove intent upon one ultimate +completion of their being which is also (whether they know it or not) a +reward, and those who have carefully considered the matter and give it +expression say that such men are out a-hunting for Immortality. + +Now what is that? There was a man, before the Normans came to England, who +sailed from the highest Scandinavian mountains, I think, towards these +shores, and landing, fought against men and was wounded so that he was +certain to die. When they asked him why he had undertaken that adventure, +he answered: "That my name might live between the lips of men." + +The young, the adventurous, the admired--how eagerly and how properly do +they not crave for glory. Fame has about it a divine something as it were +an echo of perfect worship and of perfect praise, which, though it is +itself imperfect, may well deceive the young, the adventurous, and the +admired. How great to think that things well done and the enlargement of +others shall call down upon our names, even when all is lost but the mere +names, a continuous and an increasing benediction. Nay, more than this: +how great to think of the noise only of an achievement, and to be sure +that the poem written, the carving concluded, or the battle won, the +achievement of itself, though the name of the achiever be perished or +unknown, shall awake those tremendous echoes. + +But wait a moment. What is that thing which so does and so desires? What +end does _it_ find in glory? _It_ is not the receiver of the +benefit; _it_ will not hear that large volume of recognition and of +salute. Twist it how you will no end is here, nor in such a pursuit is the +pursuer satisfied. + +It is true that men who love to create for themselves imaginary stuff, and +to feed, their cravings, if they cannot with substance then with dreams, +perpetually pretend a satisfaction in such acquirements which the years as +they proceed tell them with increasing iteration that they do not feel. +The young, the adventurous, the admired, may at first be deceived by such +a glamour, and it is in the providential scheme of human affairs, and it +is for the good of us all that the pleasing cheat should last while the +good things are doing. Thus do substantial verse and noble sculpture and +building whose stuff is lasting and whose beauty is almost imperishable, +rise to the advantage of mankind--but oh! there is no lasting in the +dream. + +There comes a day of truth inwardly but ineradicably perceived, when such +things, such aspirations, are clearly known for what they are. Of all the +affections that pass, of all those things which being made by a power +itself perishable, must be unmade again, some may be less, others more +lasting, but not one remains for ever. + +Nor is this all. What is it, I say, which did the thing and suffered the +desire? Not the receiver, still less the work achieved, it was the man +that so acted and so desired; and that part of him which was affected thus +we call the Soul. Then, surely (one may reason) the soul has, apt to its +own nature, a completion which is also a reward, and there is something +before it which is not the symbol or the cheat of perfect praise, but +is perfect praise; there is surely something before it which is not the +symbol or the cheat of life, but life completed. + +Now stand at night beneath a clear heaven solemn and severe with stars, +comprehend (as the great achievement of our race permits us now to do) +what an emptiness and what a scale are there, and you will easily discover +in that one glance, or you will feel at least the appalling thing which +tempts men to deny their immortality. + +There is no man who has closely inquired upon this, and there is none +who has troubled himself and admitted a reasonable anxiety upon it, who +has not well retained the nature of despair. Those who approach their +fellow-beings with assertion and with violence in such a matter, affirming +their discovery, their conviction, or their acquired certitude, do an +ill service to their kind. It is not thus that the last things should be +approached nor the most tremendous problem which man is doomed to envisage +be propounded and solved. Ah! the long business in this world! The way in +which your deepest love goes up in nothingness and breaks away, and the +way in which the strongest and the most continuous element of your dear +self is dissipated and fails you in some moment; if I do not understand +these things in a man nor comprehend how the turn of the years can obscure +or obliterate a man's consciousness of what his end should be, then I act +in brute ignorance, or what is much worse, in lack of charity. + +How should you not be persuaded, ephemeral intelligence? Does not every +matter which you have held closely enough and long enough escape you and +withdraw? Is not that doom true of things which were knit into us, and +were of necessity, so to speak, prime parts of our being? Is it not true +of the network and the structure which supports whatever we are, and +without which we cannot imagine ourselves to be? We ourselves perish. Of +that there is no doubt at all. One is here talking and alive. His friends +are with him: on the time when they shall meet again he is utterly not +there. The motionless flesh before his mourners is nothing. It is not a +simulacrum, it is not an outline, it is not a recollection of the man, but +rather something wholly gone useless. As for that voice, those meanings in +the eyes, and that gesture of the hand, it has suddenly and entirely +ceased to be. + +Then how shall we deny the dreadful conclusion (to which how many elder +civilizations have not turned!) that we must seek in vain for any gift to +the giver for any workers' wage, or, rather, to put it more justly, for +a true end to the life we lead. Yet it is not so. The conclusion is more +weighty by far that all things bear their fruit: that the comprehender and +the master of so much, the very _mind_, suffers to no purpose and in +one moment a tragic, final, and unworthy catastrophe agrees with nothing +other that we know. It is not thus of the good things of the earth that +turn kindly into the earth again. It cannot be thus with that which makes +of all the earth a subject thing for contemplation and for description, +for understanding, and, if it so choose--for sacrifice. + +Those of our race who have deliberately looked upon the scroll and found +there nothing to read, who have lifted the curtain and found beyond it +nothing to see, have faced their conclusions with a nobility which should +determine us; for that nobility does prove, or, if it does not prove, +compels us to proclaim, that the soul of man which breeds it has somewhere +a lasting home. The conclusion is imperative. + +Let not any one pretend in his faith that his faith is immediately evident +and everywhere acceptable. There is in all who pretend to judgment a sense +of the doubt that lies between the one conviction and the other, and all +acknowledge that the scales swing normally upon the beam for normal men. +But they swing--and one is the heavier. + +The poets, who are our interpreters, know well and can set forth the +contrast between such intimations and such despair. + + The long descent of wasted days + To these at last have led me down: + Remember that I filled with praise + The meaningless and doubtful ways + That lead to an eternal town. + +Moreover, since we have spoken of the night it is only reasonable to +consider the alternate dawn. The quality of light, its merry action on the +mind, the daylit sky under whose benediction we repose and in which our +kind has always seen the picture of its final place: are these then +visions and deceits? + + + + +ON SACRAMENTAL THINGS + + +It is good for a man's soul to sit down in the silence by himself and to +think of those things which happen by some accident to be in communion +with the whole world. If he has not the faculty of remembering these +things in their order and of calling them up one after another in his +mind, then let him write them down as they come to him upon a piece of +paper. They will comfort him; they will prove a sort of solace against +the expectation of the end. To consider such things is a sacramental +occupation. And yet the more I think of them the less I can quite +understand in what elements their power consists. + +A woman smiling at a little child, not knowing that others see her, and +holding out her hands towards it, and in one of her hands flowers; an old +man, lean and active, with an eager face, walking at dusk upon a warm +and windy evening westward towards a clear sunset below dark and flying +clouds; a group of soldiers, seen suddenly in manoeuvres, each man intent +upon his business, all working at the wonderful trade, taking their places +with exactitude and order and yet with elasticity; a deep, strong tide +running back to the sea, going noiselessly and flat and black and smooth, +and heavy with purpose under an old wall; the sea smell of a Channel +seaport town; a ship coming up at one out of the whole sea when one is +in a little boat and is waiting for her, coming up at one with her great +sails merry and every one doing its work, with the life of the wind in +her, and a balance, rhythm, and give in all that she does which marries +her to the sea--whether it be a fore and aft rig and one sees only great +lines of the white, or a square rig and one sees what is commonly and well +called a leaning tower of canvas, or that primal rig, the triangular sail, +that cuts through the airs of the world and clove a way for the first +adventures, whatever its rig, a ship so approaching an awaiting boat from +which we watch her is one of the things I mean. + +I would that the taste of my time permitted a lengthy list of such things: +they are pleasant to remember! They do so nourish the mind! A glance +of sudden comprehension mixed with mercy and humour from the face of a +lover or a friend; the noise of wheels when the guns are going by; the +clatter-clank-clank of the pieces and the shouted halt at the head of the +column; the noise of many horses, the metallic but united and harmonious +clamour of all those ironed hoofs, rapidly occupying the highway; chief +and most persistent memory, a great hill when the morning strikes it and +one sees it up before one round the turning of a rock after the long passes +and despairs of the night. + +When a man has journeyed and journeyed through those hours in which there +is no colour or shape, all along the little hours that were made for sleep +and when, therefore, the waking soul is bewildered or despairs, the morning +is always a resurrection--but especially when it reveals a height in the +sky. + +This last picture I would particularly cherish, so great a consolation is +it, and so permanent a grace does it lend later to the burdened mind of a +man. + +For when a man looks back upon his many journeys--so many rivers crossed, +and more than one of them forded in peril; so many swinging mountain +roads, so many difficult steeps and such long wastes of plains--of all the +pictures that impress themselves by the art or kindness of whatever god +presides over the success of journeys, no picture more remains than that +picture of a great hill when the day first strikes it after the long +burden of the night. + +Whatever reasons a man may have for occupying the darkness with his travel +and his weariness, those reasons must be out of the ordinary and must go +with some bad strain upon the mind. Perhaps one undertook the march from +an evil necessity under the coercion of other men, or perhaps in terror, +hoping that the darkness might hide one, or perhaps for cool, dreading the +unnatural heat of noon in a desert land; perhaps haste, which is in itself +so wearying a thing, compelled one, or perhaps anxiety. Or perhaps, most +dreadful of all, one hurried through the night afoot because one feared +what otherwise the night would bring, a night empty of sleep and a night +whose dreams were waking dreams and evil. + +But whatever prompts the adventure or the necessity, when the long burden +has been borne, and when the turn of the hours has come; when the stars +have grown paler; when colour creeps back greyly and uncertainly to the +earth, first into the greens of the high pastures, then here and there +upon a rock or a pool with reeds, while all the air, still cold, is full +of the scent of morning; while one notices the imperceptible disappearance +of the severities of Heaven until at last only the morning star hangs +splendid; when in the end of that miracle the landscape is fully revealed, +and one finds into what country one has come; then a great hill before +one, losing the forests upwards into rock and steep meadow upon its sides, +and towering at last into the peaks and crests of the inaccessible places, +gives a soul to the new land.... The sun, in a single moment and with the +immediate summons of a trumpet-call, strikes the spear-head of the high +places, and at once the valley, though still in shadow, is transfigured, +and with the daylight all manner of things have come back to the world. + +Hope is the word which gathers the origins of those things together, and +hope is the seed of what they mean, but that new light and its new quality +is more than hope. Livelihood is come back with the sunrise, and the fixed +certitude of the soul; number and measure and comprehension have returned, +and a just appreciation of all reality is the gift of the new day. Glory +(which, if men would only know it, lies behind all true certitude) +illumines and enlivens the seen world, and the living light makes of the +true things now revealed something more than truth absolute; they appear +as truth acting and creative. + +This first shaft of the sun is to that hill and valley what a word is to a +thought. It is to that hill and valley what verse is to the common story +told; it is to that hill and valley what music is to verse. And there lies +behind it, one is very sure, an infinite progress of such exaltations, so +that one begins to understand, as the pure light shines and grows and as +the limit of shadow descends the vast shoulder of the steep, what has been +meant by those great phrases which still lead on, still comfort, and still +make darkly wise, the uncomforted wondering of mankind. Such is the famous +phrase: "Eye has not seen nor ear heard, nor can it enter into the heart +of man what things God has prepared for those that serve Him." + +So much, then, is conveyed by a hill-top at sunrise when it comes upon the +traveller or the soldier after the long march of a night, the bending of +the shoulders, and the emptiness of the dark. + +Many other things put one into communion with the whole world. + +Who does not remember coming over a lifting road to a place where the +ridge is topped, and where, upon the further side, a broad landscape, +novel or endeared by memory (for either is a good thing), bursts upon the +seized imagination as a wave from the open sea, swelling up an inland +creek, breaks and bursts upon the rocks of the shore? There is a place +where a man passes from the main valley of the Rhone over into the valley +of the Isère, and where the Grésivandan so suddenly comes upon him. Two +gates of limestone rock, high as the first shoulders of the mountains, +lead into the valley which they guard; it is a province of itself, a level +floor of thirty miles, nourished by one river, and walled in up to the +clouds on either side. + +Or again, in the champagne country, moving between great blocks of wood +in the Forest of Rheims and always going upward as the ride leads him, a +man comes to a point whence he suddenly sees all that vast plain of the +invasions stretching out to where, very far off against the horizon, two +days away, twin summits mark the whole site sharply with a limit as a +frame marks a picture or a punctuation a phrase. + +There is another place more dear to me, but which I doubt whether any +other but a native of that place can know. After passing through the +plough lands of an empty plateau, a traveller breaks through a little +fringe of chestnut hedge and perceives at once before him the wealthiest +and the most historical of European things, the chief of the great +capitals of Christendom and the arena in which is now debated (and has +been for how long!) the Faith, the chief problem of this world. + +Apart from landscape other things belong to this contemplation: Notes +of music, and, stronger even than repeated and simple notes of music, a +subtle scent and its association, a familiar printed page. Perhaps the +test of these sacramental things is their power to revive the past. + +There is a story translated into the noblest of English writing by Dasent. +It is to be found in his "Tales from the Norse." It is called the Story of +the Master Maid. + +A man had found in his youth a woman on the Norwegian hills: this woman +was faëry, and there was a spell upon her. But he won her out of it in +various ways, and they crossed the sea together, and he would bring her +to his father's house, but his father was a King. As they went over-sea +together alone, he said and swore to her that he would never forget how +they had met and loved each other without warning, but by an act of God, +upon the Dovrefjeld. Come near his father's house, the ordinary influences +of the ordinary day touched him; he bade her enter a hut and wait a moment +until he had warned his father of so strange a marriage; she, however, +gazing into his eyes, and knowing how the divine may be transformed into +the earthly, quite as surely as the earthly into the divine, makes him +promise that he will not eat human food. He sits at his father's table, +still steeped in her and in the seas. He forgets his vow and eats human +food, and at once he forgets. + +Then follows much for which I have not space, but the woman in the hut by +her magic causes herself to be at last sent for to the father's palace. +The young man sees her, and is only slightly troubled as by a memory which +he cannot grasp. They talk together as strangers; but looking out of the +window by accident the King's son sees a bird and its mate; he points them +out to the woman, and she says suddenly: "So was it with you and me high +up upon the Dovrefjeld." Then he remembers all. + +Now that story is a symbol, and tells the truth. We see some one thing in +this world, and suddenly it becomes particular and sacramental; a woman +and a child, a man at evening, a troop of soldiers; we hear notes of +music, we smell the smell that went with a passed time, or we discover +after the long night a shaft of light upon the tops of the hills at +morning: there is a resurrection, and we are refreshed and renewed. + +But why all these things are so neither I nor any other man can tell. + + + + +IN PATRIA + + +There is a certain valley, or rather profound cleft, through the living +rock of certain savage mountains through which there roars and tumbles in +its narrow trench the Segre, here but a few miles from its rising in the +upland grass. + +This cleft is so disposed that the smooth limestone slabs of its western +wall stand higher than the gloomy steps of cliff upon its eastern, and +thus these western cliffs take the glare of the morning sunlight upon +them, or the brilliance of the moon when she is full or waning in the +first part of her course through the night. + +The only path by which men can go down that gorge clings to the eastern +face of the abyss and is for ever plunged in shadow. Down this path I went +very late upon a summer night, close upon midnight, and the moon just past +the full. The air was exceedingly clear even for that high place, and the +moon struck upon the limestone of the sheer opposing cliffs in a manner +neither natural nor pleasing, but suggesting horror, and, as it were, +something absolute, too simple for mankind. + +It was not cold, but there were no crickets at such a level in the +mountains, nor any vegetation there except a brush here and there clinging +between the rocks and finding a droughty rooting in their fissures. +Though the map did not include this gorge, I could guess that it would be +impossible for me, save by following that dreadful path all night, to find +a village, and therefore I peered about in the dense shadow as I went for +one of those overhanging rocks which are so common in that region, and +soon I found one. It was a refuge better than most that I had known during +a lonely travel of three days, for the whole bank was hollowed in, and +there was a distinct, if shallow, cave bordering the path. Into this, +therefore, I went and laid down, wrapping myself round in a blanket I +had brought from the plains beyond the mountains, and, with my loaf and +haversack and a wine-skin that I carried for a pillow, I was very soon +asleep. + + * * * * * + +When I woke, which I did with suddenness, it seemed to me to have turned +uncommonly cold, and when I stepped out from my blanket (for I was broad +awake) the cold struck me still more nearly, and was not natural in such a +place. But I knew how a mist will gather suddenly upon these hills, and I +went out and stood upon the path to see what weather the hour had brought +me. The sky, the narrow strip of sky above the gorge, was filled with +scud flying so low that now and then bulges or trails of it would strike +against that western cliff of limestone and wreath down it, and lift and +disappear, but fast as the scud was moving there was no noise of wind. I +seemed not to have slept long, for the moon was still riding in heaven, +though her light now came in rapid waxing and waning between the shreds of +the clouds. Beneath me a little angrier than before (so that I thought to +myself, "Up in the hills it has been raining") roared the Segre. + +As I stood thus irresolute and quite awakened from sleep, I saw to my +right the figure of a little man who beckoned. No fear took me as I saw +him, but a good deal of wonder, for he was oddly shaped, and in the +darkness of that pathway I could not see his face. But in his presence +by some accident of the mind many things changed their significance: the +gorge became personal to me, the river a voice, the fitful moonlight a +warning, and it seemed as though some safety was to be sought, or some +certitude, upwards, whence I had come, and I felt oddly as though the +little figure were a guide. + +He was so short as I watched him that I thought him almost a dwarf, though +I have seen men as small guiding the mules over the breaches in the ridge +of the hills. He was hunchback, or the great pack he was carrying made him +seem so. His thin legs were long for his body, and he walked too rapidly, +with bent knees; his right hand he leant upon a great sapling; upon his +head was a very wide hat, the stuff of which I could not see in the +darkness. Now and again he would turn and beckon me, and he always went +on a little way before. As for me, partly because he beckoned, but more +because I felt prescient of a goal, I followed him. + +No mountain path seems the same when you go up it and when you go down it. +This it was which rendered unfamiliar to me the shapes of the rocks and +the turnings of the gorge as I hurried, behind my companion. With every +passing moment, moreover, the light grew less secure, the scud thickened, +and as we rose towards the lower level of those clouds the mass of them +grew more even, until at last the path and some few yards of the emptiness +which sank away to our left was all one could discern. The mist was full +of a diffused moonlight, but it was dense. I wondered when we should +strike out of the gorge and begin to find the upland grasses that lead +toward the highest summits of those hills, for thither I was sure were we +bound. + +Soon I began to recognize that easier trend in the rock wall, those +increasing and flattened gullies which mark the higher slope. Here and +there an unmelted patch of snow appeared, grass could be seen, and at last +we were upon the roll of the high land where it runs up steeply to the +ridge of the chain. Moss and the sponging of moisture in the turf were +beneath our feet, the path disappeared, and our climb got steeper and +steeper; and still the little man went on before, pressing eagerly and +breasting the hill. I neither felt fatigue nor noticed that I did not feel +it. The extreme angle of the slope suited my mood, nor was I conscious of +its danger, though its fantastic steepness exhilarated me because it was +so novel to be trying such things at night in such a weather. The moon, +I think, must by this time have been near its sinking, for the mist grew +full of darkness round about us, and at last it was altogether deep night. +I could see my companion only as a blur of difference in the darkness, but +even as this change came I felt the steepness relax beneath my climbing +feet, the round level of the ridge was come, and soon again we were +hurrying across it until there came, in a hundred yards or so, a moment in +which my companion halted, as men who know the mountains halt when they +reach an edge below which they know the land to break away. + +He was waiting, and I waited with him: we had not long so to stand. + +The mist which so often lifts as one passes the crest of the hills lifted +for us also, and, below, it was broad day. + +Ten thousand feet below, at the foot of forest cascading into forest, +stretched out into an endless day, was the Weald. There were the places I +had always known, but not as I had known them: they were in another air. +There was the ridge, and the river valley far off to the eastward, and +Pasham Pines, Amberley wild brooks, and Petworth the little town, and I +saw the Rough clearly, and the hills out beyond the county, and beyond +them farther plains, and all the fields and all the houses of the men I +knew. Only it was much larger, and it was more intimate, and it was +farther away, and it was certainly divine. + +A broad road such as we have not here and such as they have not in those +hills, a road for armies, sank back and forth in great gradients down to +the plain. These and the forests were foreign; the Weald below, so many +thousand feet below, was not foreign but transformed. The dwarf went down +that road. I did not follow him. I saw him clearly now. His curious little +coat of mountain stuff, his thin, bent legs walking rapidly, and the +chestnut sapling by he walked, holding it in his hand by the middle. I +could see the brown colour of it, and the shininess of the bark of it, and +the ovals of white where the branchlings had been cut away. So I watched +him as he went down and down the road. He never once looked back and he no +longer beckoned me. + +In a moment, before a word could form in the mind, the mist had closed +again and it was mortally cold; and with that cold there came to me an +appalling knowledge that I was alone upon such a height and knew nothing +of my way. The hand which I put to my shoulder where my blanket was found +it wringing wet. The mist got greyer, my mind more confused as I struggled +to remember, and then I woke and found I was still in the cave. All that +business had been a dream, but so vivid that I carried it all through the +day, and carry it still. + + * * * * * + +It was the very early morning; the gorge was full of mist, the Segre made +a muffled roaring through such a bank of cloud; the damp of the mist was +on everything. The stones in the pathway glistened, the air was raw and +fresh, awaiting the rising of the sun. I took the path and went downward. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On Something, by H. 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