diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/7trtr10.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/7trtr10.txt | 6144 |
1 files changed, 6144 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/7trtr10.txt b/old/7trtr10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..740df01 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7trtr10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6144 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tremendous Trifles, by G.K. Chesterton + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. 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: Tremendous Trifles + +Author: G.K. Chesterton + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8092] +[This file was first posted on June 13, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, TREMENDOUS TRIFLES *** + + + + +TREMENDOUS TRIFLES + +by + +G. K. Chesterton + + + + + + +Preface + +These fleeting sketches are all republished by kind permission +of the Editor of the DAILY NEWS, in which paper they appeared. +They amount to no more than a sort of sporadic diary--a diary +recording one day in twenty which happened to stick in the fancy-- +the only kind of diary the author has ever been able to keep. +Even that diary he could only keep by keeping it in public, +for bread and cheese. But trivial as are the topics they +are not utterly without a connecting thread of motive. As the +reader's eye strays, with hearty relief, from these pages, +it probably alights on something, a bed-post or a lamp-post, +a window blind or a wall. It is a thousand to one that the +reader is looking at something that he has never seen: that is, +never realised. He could not write an essay on such a post or +wall: he does not know what the post or wall mean. He could +not even write the synopsis of an essay; as "The Bed-Post; Its +Significance--Security Essential to Idea of Sleep--Night Felt +as Infinite--Need of Monumental Architecture," and so on. +He could not sketch in outline his theoretic attitude towards +window-blinds, even in the form of a summary. "The Window-Blind-- +Its Analogy to the Curtain and Veil--Is Modesty Natural? +--Worship of and Avoidance of the Sun, etc., etc." None of us +think enough of these things on which the eye rests. But don't +let us let the eye rest. Why should the eye be so lazy? Let us +exercise the eye until it learns to see startling facts that run +across the landscape as plain as a painted fence. Let us be +ocular athletes. Let us learn to write essays on a stray cat or +a coloured cloud. I have attempted some such thing in what +follows; but anyone else may do it better, if anyone else will +only try. + + +Contents Chapter + I Tremendous Trifles + II A Piece of Chalk + III The Secret of a Train + IV The Perfect Game + V The Extraordinary Cabman + VI An Accident + VII The Advantages of Having One Leg + VIII The End of the World + IX In the Place de la Bastille + X On Lying in Bed + XI The Twelve Men + XII The Wind and the Trees + XIII The Dickensian + XIV In Topsy-Turvy Land + XV What I Found in My Pocket + XVI The Dragon's Grandmother + XVII The Red Angel + XVIII The Tower + XIX How I Met the President + XX The Giant + XXI The Great Man + XXII The Orthodox Barber + XXIII The Toy Theatre + XXIV A Tragedy of Twopence + XXV A Cab Ride Across Country + XXVI The Two Noises + XXVII Some Policemen and a Moral + XXVIII The Lion + XXIX Humanity: An Interlude + XXX The Little Birds Who Won't Sing + XXXI The Riddle of the Ivy + XXXII The Travellers in State + XXXIII The Prehistoric Railway Station + XXXIV The Diabolist + XXXV A Glimpse of My Country + XXXVI A Somewhat Improbable Story + XXXVII The Shop of Ghosts +XXXVIII The Ballade of a Strange Town + XXXIX The Mystery of a Pageant + + +I + +Tremendous Trifles + +Once upon a time there were two little boys who lived chiefly +in the front garden, because their villa was a model one. +The front garden was about the same size as the dinner table; +it consisted of four strips of gravel, a square of turf with some +mysterious pieces of cork standing up in the middle and one flower +bed with a row of red daisies. One morning while they were at play +in these romantic grounds, a passing individual, probably the milkman, +leaned over the railing and engaged them in philosophical conversation. +The boys, whom we will call Paul and Peter, were at least sharply +interested in his remarks. For the milkman (who was, I need say, +a fairy) did his duty in that state of life by offering them +in the regulation manner anything that they chose to ask for. +And Paul closed with the offer with a business-like abruptness, +explaining that he had long wished to be a giant that he might stride +across continents and oceans and visit Niagara or the Himalayas +in an afternoon dinner stroll. The milkman producing a wand from +his breast pocket, waved it in a hurried and perfunctory manner; +and in an instant the model villa with its front garden was like a +tiny doll's house at Paul's colossal feet. He went striding away +with his head above the clouds to visit Niagara and the Himalayas. +But when he came to the Himalayas, he found they were quite small +and silly-looking, like the little cork rockery in the garden; and when +he found Niagara it was no bigger than the tap turned on in the bathroom. +He wandered round the world for several minutes trying to find +something really large and finding everything small, till in sheer +boredom he lay down on four or five prairies and fell asleep. +Unfortunately his head was just outside the hut of an intellectual +backwoodsman who came out of it at that moment with an axe in one hand +and a book of Neo-Catholic Philosophy in the other. The man looked +at the book and then at the giant, and then at the book again. +And in the book it said, "It can be maintained that the evil +of pride consists in being out of proportion to the universe." +So the backwoodsman put down his book, took his axe and, +working eight hours a day for about a week, cut the giant's head off; +and there was an end of him. + +Such is the severe yet salutary history of Paul. But Peter, oddly +enough, made exactly the opposite request; he said he had long +wished to be a pigmy about half an inch high; and of course he +immediately became one. When the transformation was over he found +himself in the midst of an immense plain, covered with a tall green +jungle and above which, at intervals, rose strange trees each with +a head like the sun in symbolic pictures, with gigantic rays of +silver and a huge heart of gold. Toward the middle of this prairie +stood up a mountain of such romantic and impossible shape, yet of +such stony height and dominance, that it looked like some incident +of the end of the world. And far away on the faint horizon he +could see the line of another forest, taller and yet more mystical, +of a terrible crimson colour, like a forest on fire for ever. He +set out on his adventures across that coloured plain; and he has +not come to the end of it yet. + +Such is the story of Peter and Paul, which contains all the highest +qualities of a modern fairy tale, including that of being wholly unfit +for children; and indeed the motive with which I have introduced +it is not childish, but rather full of subtlety and reaction. +It is in fact the almost desperate motive of excusing or palliating +the pages that follow. Peter and Paul are the two primary influences +upon European literature to-day; and I may be permitted to put my own +preference in its most favourable shape, even if I can only do it +by what little girls call telling a story. + +I need scarcely say that I am the pigmy. The only excuse for the scraps +that follow is that they show what can be achieved with a commonplace +existence and the sacred spectacles of exaggeration. The other +great literary theory, that which is roughly represented in England +by Mr. Rudyard Kipling, is that we moderns are to regain the primal zest +by sprawling all over the world growing used to travel and geographical +variety, being at home everywhere, that is being at home nowhere. +Let it be granted that a man in a frock coat is a heartrending sight; +and the two alternative methods still remain. Mr. Kipling's school +advises us to go to Central Africa in order to find a man without +a frock coat. The school to which I belong suggests that we should +stare steadily at the man until we see the man inside the frock coat. +If we stare at him long enough he may even be moved to take off his coat +to us; and that is a far greater compliment than his taking off his hat. +In other words, we may, by fixing our attention almost fiercely +on the facts actually before us, force them to turn into adventures; +force them to give up their meaning and fulfil their mysterious purpose. +The purpose of the Kipling literature is to show how many extraordinary +things a man may see if he is active and strides from continent +to continent like the giant in my tale. But the object of my school +is to show how many extraordinary things even a lazy and ordinary man +may see if he can spur himself to the single activity of seeing. +For this purpose I have taken the laziest person of my acquaintance, that +is myself; and made an idle diary of such odd things as I have fallen over +by accident, in walking in a very limited area at a very indolent pace. +If anyone says that these are very small affairs talked about in very +big language, I can only gracefully compliment him upon seeing the joke. +If anyone says that I am making mountains out of molehills, I confess +with pride that it is so. I can imagine no more successful and productive +form of manufacture than that of making mountains out of molehills. +But I would add this not unimportant fact, that molehills are mountains; +one has only to become a pigmy like Peter to discover that. + +I have my doubts about all this real value in mountaineering, +in getting to the top of everything and overlooking everything. +Satan was the most celebrated of Alpine guides, when he took +Jesus to the top of an exceeding high mountain and showed +him all the kingdoms of the earth. But the joy of Satan +in standing on a peak is not a joy in largeness, but a joy in +beholding smallness, in the fact that all men look like insects +at his feet. It is from the valley that things look large; +it is from the level that things look high; I am a child +of the level and have no need of that celebrated Alpine guide. +I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help; +but I will not lift up my carcass to the hills, unless it is +absolutely necessary. Everything is in an attitude of mind; +and at this moment I am in a comfortable attitude. +I will sit still and let the marvels and the adventures settle +on me like flies. There are plenty of them, I assure you. +The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only +for want of wonder. + + +II + +A Piece of Chalk + +I remember one splendid morning, all blue and silver, in the summer +holidays when I reluctantly tore myself away from the task of doing +nothing in particular, and put on a hat of some sort and picked up +a walking-stick, and put six very bright-coloured chalks in my pocket. +I then went into the kitchen (which, along with the rest of the house, +belonged to a very square and sensible old woman in a Sussex village), +and asked the owner and occupant of the kitchen if she had any +brown paper. She had a great deal; in fact, she had too much; and she +mistook the purpose and the rationale of the existence of brown paper. +She seemed to have an idea that if a person wanted brown paper he must +be wanting to tie up parcels; which was the last thing I wanted to do; +indeed, it is a thing which I have found to be beyond my mental capacity. +Hence she dwelt very much on the varying qualities of toughness and +endurance in the material. I explained to her that I only wanted to draw +pictures on it, and that I did not want them to endure in the least; +and that from my point of view, therefore, it was a question, not of +tough consistency, but of responsive surface, a thing comparatively +irrelevant in a parcel. When she understood that I wanted to draw +she offered to overwhelm me with note-paper, apparently supposing +that I did my notes and correspondence on old brown paper wrappers +from motives of economy. + +I then tried to explain the rather delicate logical shade, that I +not only liked brown paper, but liked the quality of brownness +in paper, just as I liked the quality of brownness in October woods, +or in beer, or in the peat-streams of the North. Brown paper +represents the primal twilight of the first toil of creation, +and with a bright-coloured chalk or two you can pick out points +of fire in it, sparks of gold, and blood-red, and sea-green, +like the first fierce stars that sprang out of divine darkness. +All this I said (in an off-hand way) to the old woman; and I put the brown +paper in my pocket along with the chalks, and possibly other things. +I suppose every one must have reflected how primeval and how poetical +are the things that one carries in one's pocket; the pocket-knife, +for instance, the type of all human tools, the infant of the sword. +Once I planned to write a book of poems entirely about the things +in my pockets. But I found it would be too long; and the age +of the great epics is past. + +. . . . . + +With my stick and my knife, my chalks and my brown paper, +I went out on to the great downs. I crawled across those colossal +contours that express the best quality of England, because they +are at the same time soft and strong. The smoothness of them +has the same meaning as the smoothness of great cart-horses, +or the smoothness of the beech-tree; it declares in the teeth +of our timid and cruel theories that the mighty are merciful. +As my eye swept the landscape, the landscape was as kindly +as any of its cottages, but for power it was like an earthquake. +The villages in the immense valley were safe, one could see, +for centuries; yet the lifting of the whole land was like +the lifting of one enormous wave to wash them all away. + +I crossed one swell of living turf after another, looking for a place +to sit down and draw. Do not, for heaven's sake, imagine I was going +to sketch from Nature. I was going to draw devils and seraphim, +and blind old gods that men worshipped before the dawn of right, +and saints in robes of angry crimson, and seas of strange green, +and all the sacred or monstrous symbols that look so well in bright +colours on brown paper. They are much better worth drawing than Nature; +also they are much easier to draw. When a cow came slouching +by in the field next to me, a mere artist might have drawn it; +but I always get wrong in the hind legs of quadrupeds. So I drew +the soul of the cow; which I saw there plainly walking before me +in the sunlight; and the soul was all purple and silver, and had +seven horns and the mystery that belongs to all the beasts. But +though I could not with a crayon get the best out of the landscape, +it does not follow that the landscape was not getting the best out +of me. And this, I think, is the mistake that people make about the +old poets who lived before Wordsworth, and were supposed not to care +very much about Nature because they did not describe it much. + +They preferred writing about great men to writing about great hills; +but they sat on the great hills to write it. They gave out much +less about Nature, but they drank in, perhaps, much more. They +painted the white robes of their holy virgins with the blinding +snow, at which they had stared all day. They blazoned the shields +of their paladins with the purple and gold of many heraldic sunsets. +The greenness of a thousand green leaves clustered into the live +green figure of Robin Hood. The blueness of a score of forgotten +skies became the blue robes of the Virgin. The inspiration went +in like sunbeams and came out like Apollo. + +. . . . . + +But as I sat scrawling these silly figures on the brown paper, it began +to dawn on me, to my great disgust, that I had left one chalk, and that a +most exquisite and essential chalk, behind. I searched all my pockets, +but I could not find any white chalk. Now, those who are acquainted +with all the philosophy (nay, religion) which is typified in the art +of drawing on brown paper, know that white is positive and essential. +I cannot avoid remarking here upon a moral significance. One of the +wise and awful truths which this brown-paper art reveals, is this, +that white is a colour. It is not a mere absence of colour; it is +a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as +black. When, so to speak, your pencil grows red-hot, it draws roses; +when it grows white-hot, it draws stars. And one of the two or three +defiant verities of the best religious morality, of real Christianity, +for example, is exactly this same thing; the chief assertion of +religious morality is that white is a colour. Virtue is not the absence +of vices or the avoidance of moral dangers; virtue is a vivid and +separate thing, like pain or a particular smell. Mercy does not mean +not being cruel or sparing people revenge or punishment; it means a +plain and positive thing like the sun, which one has either seen or +not seen. + +Chastity does not mean abstention from sexual wrong; it means +something flaming, like Joan of Arc. In a word, God paints in +many colours; but He never paints so gorgeously, I had almost +said so gaudily, as when He paints in white. In a sense our age +has realised this fact, and expressed it in our sullen costume. +For if it were really true that white was a blank and colourless +thing, negative and non-committal, then white would be used instead +of black and grey for the funeral dress of this pessimistic period. +We should see city gentlemen in frock coats of spotless silver +linen, with top hats as white as wonderful arum lilies. Which is +not the case. + +Meanwhile, I could not find my chalk. + +. . . . . + +I sat on the hill in a sort of despair. There was no town +nearer than Chichester at which it was even remotely probable +that there would be such a thing as an artist's colourman. +And yet, without white, my absurd little pictures would be as +pointless as the world would be if there were no good people in it. +I stared stupidly round, racking my brain for expedients. +Then I suddenly stood up and roared with laughter, again and again, +so that the cows stared at me and called a committee. Imagine a +man in the Sahara regretting that he had no sand for his hour-glass. +Imagine a gentleman in mid-ocean wishing that he had brought some +salt water with him for his chemical experiments. I was sitting on +an immense warehouse of white chalk. The landscape was made +entirely out of white chalk. White chalk was piled more miles until +it met the sky. I stooped and broke a piece off the rock I sat on; +it did not mark so well as the shop chalks do; but it gave the +effect. And I stood there in a trance of pleasure, realising that +this Southern England is not only a grand peninsula, and a tradition +and a civilisation; it is something even more admirable. It is a +piece of chalk. + + +III + +The Secret of a Train + +All this talk of a railway mystery has sent my mind back to a +loose memory. I will not merely say that this story is true: +because, as you will soon see, it is all truth and no story. +It has no explanation and no conclusion; it is, like most of the other +things we encounter in life, a fragment of something else which +would be intensely exciting if it were not too large to be seen. +For the perplexity of life arises from there being too many +interesting things in it for us to be interested properly in any +of them; what we call its triviality is really the tag-ends +of numberless tales; ordinary and unmeaning existence is like ten +thousand thrilling detective stories mixed up with a spoon. +My experience was a fragment of this nature, and it is, at any rate, +not fictitious. Not only am I not making up the incidents +(what there were of them), but I am not making up the atmosphere +of the landscape, which were the whole horror of the thing. +I remember them vividly, and they were as I shall now describe. + +. . . . . + +About noon of an ashen autumn day some years ago I was standing +outside the station at Oxford intending to take the train to London. +And for some reason, out of idleness or the emptiness of my mind +or the emptiness of the pale grey sky, or the cold, a kind of caprice +fell upon me that I would not go by that train at all, but would step +out on the road and walk at least some part of the way to London. +I do not know if other people are made like me in this matter; +but to me it is always dreary weather, what may be called +useless weather, that slings into life a sense of action and romance. +On bright blue days I do not want anything to happen; the world +is complete and beautiful, a thing for contemplation. I no more +ask for adventures under that turquoise dome than I ask for +adventures in church. But when the background of man's life is +a grey background, then, in the name of man's sacred supremacy, +I desire to paint on it in fire and gore. When the heavens fail +man refuses to fail; when the sky seems to have written on it, in +letters of lead and pale silver, the decree that nothing shall +happen, then the immortal soul, the prince of the creatures, rises +up and decrees that something shall happen, if it be only the +slaughter of a policeman. But this is a digressive way of stating +what I have said already--that the bleak sky awoke in me a hunger +for some change of plans, that the monotonous weather seemed to +render unbearable the use of the monotonous train, and that I set +out into the country lanes, out of the town of Oxford. It was, +perhaps, at that moment that a strange curse came upon me out of +the city and the sky, whereby it was decreed that years afterwards +I should, in an article in the DAILY NEWS, talk about Sir George +Trevelyan in connection with Oxford, when I knew perfectly well +that he went to Cambridge. + +As I crossed the country everything was ghostly and colourless. +The fields that should have been green were as grey as the skies; +the tree-tops that should have been green were as grey as the clouds +and as cloudy. And when I had walked for some hours the evening +was closing in. A sickly sunset clung weakly to the horizon, +as if pale with reluctance to leave the world in the dark. +And as it faded more and more the skies seemed to come closer and +to threaten. The clouds which had been merely sullen became swollen; +and then they loosened and let down the dark curtains of the rain. +The rain was blinding and seemed to beat like blows from an enemy +at close quarters; the skies seemed bending over and bawling +in my ears. I walked on many more miles before I met a man, +and in that distance my mind had been made up; and when I met +him I asked him if anywhere in the neighbourhood I could pick up +the train for Paddington. He directed me to a small silent station +(I cannot even remember the name of it) which stood well away +from the road and looked as lonely as a hut on the Andes. +I do not think I have ever seen such a type of time and sadness +and scepticism and everything devilish as that station was: +it looked as if it had always been raining there ever since +the creation of the world. The water streamed from the soaking +wood of it as if it were not water at all, but some loathsome +liquid corruption of the wood itself; as if the solid station +were eternally falling to pieces and pouring away in filth. +It took me nearly ten minutes to find a man in the station. +When I did he was a dull one, and when I asked him if there was +a train to Paddington his answer was sleepy and vague. As far as I +understood him, he said there would be a train in half an hour. +I sat down and lit a cigar and waited, watching the last tail +of the tattered sunset and listening to the everlasting rain. +It may have been in half an hour or less, but a train came rather +slowly into the station. It was an unnaturally dark train; +I could not see a light anywhere in the long black body of it; +and I could not see any guard running beside it. I was reduced +to walking up to the engine and calling out to the stoker to ask +if the train was going to London. "Well--yes, sir," he said, with +an unaccountable kind of reluctance. "It is going to London; +but----" It was just starting, and I jumped into the first +carriage; it was pitch dark. I sat there smoking and wondering, +as we steamed through the continually darkening landscape, lined +with desolate poplars, until we slowed down and stopped, +irrationally, in the middle of a field. I heard a heavy noise as +of some one clambering off the train, and a dark, ragged head +suddenly put itself into my window. "Excuse me, sir," said the +stoker, "but I think, perhaps--well, perhaps you ought to know-- +there's a dead man in this train." + +. . . . . + +Had I been a true artist, a person of exquisite susceptibilities +and nothing else, I should have been bound, no doubt, to be +finally overwhelmed with this sensational touch, and to have +insisted on getting out and walking. As it was, I regret to +say, I expressed myself politely, but firmly, to the effect that +I didn't care particularly if the train took me to Paddington. +But when the train had started with its unknown burden I did do +one thing, and do it quite instinctively, without stopping to +think, or to think more than a flash. I threw away my cigar. +Something that is as old as man and has to do with all mourning +and ceremonial told me to do it. There was something +unnecessarily horrible, it seemed to me, in the idea of there +being only two men in that train, and one of them dead and the +other smoking a cigar. And as the red and gold of the butt end +of it faded like a funeral torch trampled out at some symbolic +moment of a procession, I realised how immortal ritual is. I +realised (what is the origin and essence of all ritual) that in +the presence of those sacred riddles about which we can say +nothing it is more decent merely to do something. And I realised +that ritual will always mean throwing away something; DESTROYING +our corn or wine upon the altar of our gods. + +When the train panted at last into Paddington Station I sprang +out of it with a suddenly released curiosity. There was a barrier +and officials guarding the rear part of the train; no one was +allowed to press towards it. They were guarding and hiding +something; perhaps death in some too shocking form, perhaps +something like the Merstham matter, so mixed up with human mystery +and wickedness that the land has to give it a sort of sanctity; +perhaps something worse than either. I went out gladly enough into +the streets and saw the lamps shining on the laughing faces. Nor +have I ever known from that day to this into what strange story I +wandered or what frightful thing was my companion in the dark. + + +IV + +THE PERFECT GAME + +We have all met the man who says that some odd things have +happened to him, but that he does not really believe that they +were supernatural. My own position is the opposite of this. +I believe in the supernatural as a matter of intellect and reason, +not as a matter of personal experience. I do not see ghosts; +I only see their inherent probability. But it is entirely +a matter of the mere intelligence, not even of the motions; +my nerves and body are altogether of this earth, very earthy. +But upon people of this temperament one weird incident will often +leave a peculiar impression. And the weirdest circumstance +that ever occurred to me occurred a little while ago. It consisted +in nothing less than my playing a game, and playing it quite well +for some seventeen consecutive minutes. The ghost of my grandfather +would have astonished me less. + +On one of these blue and burning afternoons I found myself, to my +inexpressible astonishment, playing a game called croquet. I had +imagined that it belonged to the epoch of Leach and Anthony Trollope, +and I had neglected to provide myself with those very long and +luxuriant side whiskers which are really essential to such a scene. +I played it with a man whom we will call Parkinson, and with whom I had +a semi-philosophical argument which lasted through the entire contest. +It is deeply implanted in my mind that I had the best of the argument; +but it is certain and beyond dispute that I had the worst of the game. + +"Oh, Parkinson, Parkinson!" I cried, patting him affectionately +on the head with a mallet, "how far you really are from the pure +love of the sport--you who can play. It is only we who play badly +who love the Game itself. You love glory; you love applause; +you love the earthquake voice of victory; you do not love croquet. +You do not love croquet until you love being beaten at croquet. +It is we the bunglers who adore the occupation in the abstract. +It is we to whom it is art for art's sake. If we may see the face +of Croquet herself (if I may so express myself) we are content to +see her face turned upon us in anger. Our play is called amateurish; +and we wear proudly the name of amateur, for amateurs is but the +French for Lovers. We accept all adventures from our Lady, the most +disastrous or the most dreary. We wait outside her iron gates (I +allude to the hoops), vainly essaying to enter. Our devoted balls, +impetuous and full of chivalry, will not be confined within +the pedantic boundaries of the mere croquet ground. Our balls seek +honour in the ends of the earth; they turn up in the flower-beds +and the conservatory; they are to be found in the front garden +and the next street. No, Parkinson! The good painter has skill. +It is the bad painter who loves his art. The good musician +loves being a musician, the bad musician loves music. With such a +pure and hopeless passion do I worship croquet. I love the game +itself. I love the parallelogram of grass marked out with chalk or +tape, as if its limits were the frontiers of my sacred Fatherland, +the four seas of Britain. I love the mere swing of the mallets, and +the click of the balls is music. The four colours are to me +sacramental and symbolic, like the red of martyrdom, or the white +of Easter Day. You lose all this, my poor Parkinson. You have to +solace yourself for the absence of this vision by the paltry +consolation of being able to go through hoops and to hit the stick." + +And I waved my mallet in the air with a graceful gaiety. + +"Don't be too sorry for me," said Parkinson, with his simple sarcasm. +"I shall get over it in time. But it seems to me that the more +a man likes a game the better he would want to play it. Granted that +the pleasure in the thing itself comes first, does not the pleasure +of success come naturally and inevitably afterwards? Or, take your +own simile of the Knight and his Lady-love. I admit the gentleman +does first and foremost want to be in the lady's presence. But I +never yet heard of a gentleman who wanted to look an utter ass when +he was there." + +"Perhaps not; though he generally looks it," I replied. "But the truth +is that there is a fallacy in the simile, although it was my own. The +happiness at which the lover is aiming is an infinite happiness, which +can be extended without limit. The more he is loved, normally speaking, +the jollier he will be. It is definitely true that the stronger the +love of both lovers, the stronger will be the happiness. But it is not +true that the stronger the play of both croquet players the stronger +will be the game. It is logically possible--(follow me closely here, +Parkinson!)--it is logically possible, to play croquet too well to +enjoy it at all. If you could put this blue ball through that distant +hoop as easily as you could pick it up with your hand, then you would +not put it through that hoop any more than you pick it up with your +hand; it would not be worth doing. If you could play unerringly you +would not play at all. The moment the game is perfect the game +disappears." + +"I do not think, however," said Parkinson, "that you are in any +immediate danger of effecting that sort of destruction. I do not +think your croquet will vanish through its own faultless excellence. +You are safe for the present." + +I again caressed him with the mallet, knocked a ball about, wired myself, +and resumed the thread of my discourse. + +The long, warm evening had been gradually closing in, and by this +time it was almost twilight. By the time I had delivered four +more fundamental principles, and my companion had gone through five +more hoops, the dusk was verging upon dark. + +"We shall have to give this up," said Parkinson, as he missed +a ball almost for the first time, "I can't see a thing." + +"Nor can I," I answered, "and it is a comfort to reflect that I +could not hit anything if I saw it." + +With that I struck a ball smartly, and sent it away into the darkness +towards where the shadowy figure of Parkinson moved in the hot haze. +Parkinson immediately uttered a loud and dramatic cry. The situation, +indeed, called for it. I had hit the right ball. + +Stunned with astonishment, I crossed the gloomy ground, and hit my ball +again. It went through a hoop. I could not see the hoop; but it was +the right hoop. I shuddered from head to foot. + +Words were wholly inadequate, so I slouched heavily after that +impossible ball. Again I hit it away into the night, in what I +supposed was the vague direction of the quite invisible stick. +And in the dead silence I heard the stick rattle as the ball +struck it heavily. + +I threw down my mallet. "I can't stand this," I said. "My ball has +gone right three times. These things are not of this world." + +"Pick your mallet up ," said Parkinson, "have another go." + +"I tell you I daren't. If I made another hoop like that I should see +all the devils dancing there on the blessed grass." + +"Why devils?" asked Parkinson; "they may be only fairies making fun of +you. They are sending you the 'Perfect Game,' which is no game." + +I looked about me. The garden was full of a burning darkness, +in which the faint glimmers had the look of fire. I stepped across +the grass as if it burnt me, picked up the mallet, and hit the ball +somewhere--somewhere where another ball might be. I heard the dull +click of the balls touching, and ran into the house like one pursued. + + +V + +The Extraordinary Cabman + +From time to time I have introduced into this newspaper column the +narration of incidents that have really occurred. I do not mean to +insinuate that in this respect it stands alone among newspaper +columns. I mean only that I have found that my meaning was better +expressed by some practical parable out of daily life than by any +other method; therefore I propose to narrate the incident of the +extraordinary cabman, which occurred to me only three days ago, and +which, slight as it apparently is, aroused in me a moment of genuine +emotion bordering upon despair. + +On the day that I met the strange cabman I had been lunching +in a little restaurant in Soho in company with three or four +of my best friends. My best friends are all either bottomless +sceptics or quite uncontrollable believers, so our discussion +at luncheon turned upon the most ultimate and terrible ideas. +And the whole argument worked out ultimately to this: that the +question is whether a man can be certain of anything at all. +I think he can be certain, for if (as I said to my friend, +furiously brandishing an empty bottle) it is impossible +intellectually to entertain certainty, what is this certainty +which it is impossible to entertain? If I have never experienced +such a thing as certainty I cannot even say that a thing is not +certain. Similarly, if I have never experienced such a thing as +green I cannot even say that my nose is not green. It may be as +green as possible for all I know, if I have really no experience +of greenness. So we shouted at each other and shook the room; +because metaphysics is the only thoroughly emotional thing. +And the difference between us was very deep, because it +was a difference as to the object of the whole thing +called broad-mindedness or the opening of the intellect. +For my friend said that he opened his intellect as the sun +opens the fans of a palm tree, opening for opening's sake, +opening infinitely for ever. But I said that I opened +my intellect as I opened my mouth, in order to shut it +again on something solid. I was doing it at the moment. +And as I truly pointed out, it would look uncommonly silly +if I went on opening my mouth infinitely, for ever and ever. + +. . . . . + +Now when this argument was over, or at least when it was cut short +(for it will never be over), I went away with one of my companions, +who in the confusion and comparative insanity of a General Election +had somehow become a member of Parliament, and I drove with him in a cab +from the corner of Leicester-square to the members' entrance of the House +of Commons, where the police received me with a quite unusual tolerance. +Whether they thought that he was my keeper or that I was his keeper +is a discussion between us which still continues. + +It is necessary in this narrative to preserve the utmost exactitude +of detail. After leaving my friend at the House I took the cab +on a few hundred yards to an office in Victoria-street which I +had to visit. I then got out and offered him more than his fare. +He looked at it, but not with the surly doubt and general +disposition to try it on which is not unknown among normal cabmen. +But this was no normal, perhaps, no human, cabman. He looked at it +with a dull and infantile astonishment, clearly quite genuine. +"Do you know, sir," he said, "you've only given me 1s.8d?" +I remarked, with some surprise, that I did know it. "Now you know, +sir," said he in a kindly, appealing, reasonable way, "you know +that ain't the fare from Euston." "Euston," I repeated vaguely, +for the phrase at that moment sounded to me like China or Arabia. +"What on earth has Euston got to do with it?" "You hailed me just outside +Euston Station," began the man with astonishing precision, "and then +you said----" "What in the name of Tartarus are you talking about?" +I said with Christian forbearance; "I took you at the south-west +corner of Leicester-square." "Leicester-square," he exclaimed, +loosening a kind of cataract of scorn, "why we ain't been near +Leicester-square to-day. You hailed me outside Euston Station, +and you said----" "Are you mad, or am I?" I asked with scientific calm. + +I looked at the man. No ordinary dishonest cabman would +think of creating so solid and colossal and creative a lie. +And this man was not a dishonest cabman. If ever a human +face was heavy and simple and humble, and with great big +blue eyes protruding like a frog's, if ever (in short) +a human face was all that a human face should be, it was the +face of that resentful and respectful cabman. I looked up and +down the street; an unusually dark twilight seemed to be coming +on. And for one second the old nightmare of the sceptic put +its finger on my nerve. What was certainty? Was anybody +certain of anything? Heavens! to think of the dull rut of the +sceptics who go on asking whether we possess a future life. +The exciting question for real scepticism is whether we +possess a past life. What is a minute ago, rationalistically +considered, except a tradition and a picture? The darkness grew +deeper from the road. The cabman calmly gave me the most elaborate +details of the gesture, the words, the complex but consistent +course of action which I had adopted since that remarkable +occasion when I had hailed him outside Euston Station. How did I +know (my sceptical friends would say) that I had not hailed him +outside Euston. I was firm about my assertion; he was quite equally +firm about his. He was obviously quite as honest a man as I, and a +member of a much more respectable profession. In that moment +the universe and the stars swung just a hair's breadth from +their balance, and the foundations of the earth were moved. +But for the same reason that I believe in Democracy, for the same +reason that I believe in free will, for the same reason that I +believe in fixed character of virtue, the reason that could +only be expressed by saying that I do not choose to be a lunatic, +I continued to believe that this honest cabman was wrong, +and I repeated to him that I had really taken him at the corner +of Leicester-square. He began with the same evident and +ponderous sincerity, "You hailed me outside Euston Station, +and you said----" + +And at this moment there came over his features a kind +of frightful transfiguration of living astonishment, +as if he had been lit up like a lamp from the inside. +"Why, I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I beg your pardon. +I beg your pardon. You took me from Leicester-square. I remember now. +I beg your pardon." And with that this astonishing man let out +his whip with a sharp crack at his horse and went trundling away. +The whole of which interview, before the banner of St. George I swear, +is strictly true. + +. . . . . + +I looked at the strange cabman as he lessened in the distance +and the mists. I do not know whether I was right in fancying +that although his face had seemed so honest there was something +unearthly and demoniac about him when seen from behind. +Perhaps he had been sent to tempt me from my adherence to those +sanities and certainties which I had defended earlier in the day. +In any case it gave me pleasure to remember that my sense of reality, +though it had rocked for an instant, had remained erect. + + +VI + +An Accident + +Some time ago I wrote in these columns an article called +"The Extraordinary Cabman." I am now in a position to +contribute my experience of a still more extraordinary cab. +The extraordinary thing about the cab was that it did not like me; +it threw me out violently in the middle of the Strand. +If my friends who read the DAILY NEWS are as romantic (and as rich) +as I take them to be, I presume that this experience is not uncommon. +I suppose that they are all being thrown out of cabs, all over London. +Still, as there are some people, virginal and remote from the world, +who have not yet had this luxurious experience, I will give +a short account of the psychology of myself when my hansom cab +ran into the side of a motor omnibus, and I hope hurt it. + +I do not need to dwell on the essential romance of the hansom cab-- +that one really noble modern thing which our age, when it is judged, +will gravely put beside the Parthenon. It is really modern in that +it is both secret and swift. My particular hansom cab was modern in +these two respects; it was also very modern in the fact that it came +to grief. But it is also English; it is not to be found abroad; it +belongs to a beautiful, romantic country where nearly everybody is +pretending to be richer than they are, and acting as if they were. +It is comfortable, and yet it is reckless; and that combination +is the very soul of England. But although I had always +realised all these good qualities in a hansom cab, I had not +experienced all the possibilities, or, as the moderns put it, +all the aspects of that vehicle. My enunciation of the merits +of a hansom cab had been always made when it was the right way up. +Let me, therefore, explain how I felt when I fell out of a hansom +cab for the first and, I am happy to believe, the last time. +Polycrates threw one ring into the sea to propitiate the Fates. +I have thrown one hansom cab into the sea (if you will excuse a rather +violent metaphor) and the Fates are, I am quite sure, propitiated. +Though I am told they do not like to be told so. + +I was driving yesterday afternoon in a hansom cab down one +of the sloping streets into the Strand, reading one of my own +admirable articles with continual pleasure, and still more +continual surprise, when the horse fell forward, scrambled a moment +on the scraping stones, staggered to his feet again, and went forward. +The horses in my cabs often do this, and I have learnt to enjoy +my own articles at any angle of the vehicle. So I did not see +anything at all odd about the way the horse went on again. +But I saw it suddenly in the faces of all the people on the pavement. +They were all turned towards me, and they were all struck +with fear suddenly, as with a white flame out of the sky. +And one man half ran out into the road with a movement of the +elbow as if warding off a blow, and tried to stop the horse. +Then I knew that the reins were lost, and the next moment the horse +was like a living thunder-bolt. I try to describe things exactly +as they seemed to me; many details I may have missed or mis-stated; +many details may have, so to speak, gone mad in the race down the road. +I remember that I once called one of my experiences narrated in this +paper "A Fragment of Fact." This is, at any rate, a fragment of fact. +No fact could possibly be more fragmentary than the sort of fact +that I expected to be at the bottom of that street. + +. . . . . + +I believe in preaching to the converted; for I have generally +found that the converted do not understand their own religion. +Thus I have always urged in this paper that democracy has +a deeper meaning than democrats understand; that is, that common +and popular things, proverbs, and ordinary sayings always have +something in them unrealised by most who repeat them. Here is one. +We have all heard about the man who is in momentary danger, +and who sees the whole of his life pass before him in a moment. +In the cold, literal, and common sense of words, this is obviously +a thundering lie. Nobody can pretend that in an accident +or a mortal crisis he elaborately remembered all the tickets +he had ever taken to Wimbledon, or all the times that he had ever +passed the brown bread and butter. + +But in those few moments, while my cab was tearing towards +the traffic of the Strand, I discovered that there is a truth +behind this phrase, as there is behind all popular phrases. +I did really have, in that short and shrieking period, +a rapid succession of a number of fundamental points of view. +I had, so to speak, about five religions in almost as many seconds. +My first religion was pure Paganism, which among sincere men +is more shortly described as extreme fear. Then there succeeded +a state of mind which is quite real, but for which no proper +name has ever been found. The ancients called it Stoicism, +and I think it must be what some German lunatics mean +(if they mean anything) when they talk about Pessimism. +It was an empty and open acceptance of the thing that happens-- +as if one had got beyond the value of it. And then, curiously enough, +came a very strong contrary feeling--that things mattered very +much indeed, and yet that they were something more than tragic. +It was a feeling, not that life was unimportant, but that +life was much too important ever to be anything but life. +I hope that this was Christianity. At any rate, it occurred +at the moment when we went crash into the omnibus. + +It seemed to me that the hansom cab simply turned over on top of me, +like an enormous hood or hat. I then found myself crawling +out from underneath it in attitudes so undignified that they +must have added enormously to that great cause to which the +Anti-Puritan League and I have recently dedicated ourselves. +I mean the cause of the pleasures of the people. As to my demeanour +when I emerged, I have two confessions to make, and they are both +made merely in the interests of mental science. The first is that +whereas I had been in a quite pious frame of mind the moment before +the collision, when I got to my feet and found I had got off with a +cut or two I began (like St. Peter) to curse and to swear. +A man offered me a newspaper or something that I had dropped. +I can distinctly remember consigning the paper to a state +of irremediable spiritual ruin. I am very sorry for this now, +and I apologise both to the man and to the paper. I have not the +least idea what was the meaning of this unnatural anger; I mention +it as a psychological confession. It was immediately followed by +extreme hilarity, and I made so many silly jokes to the policeman +that he disgraced himself by continual laughter before all the +little boys in the street, who had hitherto taken him seriously. + +. . . . . + +There is one other odd thing about the matter which I also mention +as a curiosity of the human brain or deficiency of brain. +At intervals of about every three minutes I kept on reminding +the policeman that I had not paid the cabman, and that I hoped +he would not lose his money. He said it would be all right, +and the man would appear. But it was not until about half an hour +afterwards that it suddenly struck me with a shock intolerable +that the man might conceivably have lost more than half a crown; +that he had been in danger as well as I. I had instinctively +regarded the cabman as something uplifted above accidents, a god. +I immediately made inquiries, and I am happy to say that they +seemed to have been unnecessary. + +But henceforward I shall always understand with a darker and more delicate +charity those who take tythe of mint, and anise, and cumin, and neglect +the weightier matters of the law; I shall remember how I was once really +tortured with owing half a crown to a man who might have been dead. +Some admirable men in white coats at the Charing Cross Hospital tied +up my small injury, and I went out again into the Strand. I felt upon +me even a kind of unnatural youth; I hungered for something untried. +So to open a new chapter in my life I got into a hansom cab. + + +VII + +The Advantages of Having One Leg + +A friend of mine who was visiting a poor woman in bereavement +and casting about for some phrase of consolation that should +not be either insolent or weak, said at last, "I think one can +live through these great sorrows and even be the better. +What wears one is the little worries." "That's quite right, mum," +answered the old woman with emphasis, "and I ought to know, +seeing I've had ten of 'em." It is, perhaps, in this sense +that it is most true that little worries are most wearing. +In its vaguer significance the phrase, though it contains a truth, +contains also some possibilities of self-deception and error. +People who have both small troubles and big ones have the +right to say that they find the small ones the most bitter; +and it is undoubtedly true that the back which is bowed under +loads incredible can feel a faint addition to those loads; +a giant holding up the earth and all its animal creation might +still find the grasshopper a burden. But I am afraid that the +maxim that the smallest worries are the worst is sometimes used +or abused by people, because they have nothing but the very +smallest worries. The lady may excuse herself for reviling the +crumpled rose leaf by reflecting with what extraordinary dignity +she would wear the crown of thorns--if she had to. The gentleman +may permit himself to curse the dinner and tell himself that he +would behave much better if it were a mere matter of starvation. +We need not deny that the grasshopper on man's shoulder is +a burden; but we need not pay much respect to the gentleman +who is always calling out that he would rather have an elephant +when he knows there are no elephants in the country. +We may concede that a straw may break the camel's back, +but we like to know that it really is the last straw and +not the first. + +I grant that those who have serious wrongs have a real right +to grumble, so long as they grumble about something else. +It is a singular fact that if they are sane they almost always +do grumble about something else. To talk quite reasonably about +your own quite real wrongs is the quickest way to go off your head. +But people with great troubles talk about little ones, +and the man who complains of the crumpled rose leaf very often +has his flesh full of the thorns. But if a man has commonly +a very clear and happy daily life then I think we are justified +in asking that he shall not make mountains out of molehills. +I do no deny that molehills can sometimes be important. +Small annoyances have this evil about them, that they can be more +abrupt because they are more invisible; they cast no shadow before, +they have no atmosphere. No one ever had a mystical premonition +that he was going to tumble over a hassock. William III. +died by falling over a molehill; I do not suppose that with all his +varied abilities he could have managed to fall over a mountain. +But when all this is allowed for, I repeat that we may ask a happy man +(not William III.) to put up with pure inconveniences, and even make +them part of his happiness. Of positive pain or positive poverty +I do not here speak. I speak of those innumerable accidental +limitations that are always falling across our path--bad weather, +confinement to this or that house or room, failure of appointments +or arrangements, waiting at railway stations, missing posts, +finding unpunctuality when we want punctuality, or, what is worse, +finding punctuality when we don't. It is of the poetic pleasures +to be drawn from all these that I sing--I sing with confidence +because I have recently been experimenting in the poetic pleasures +which arise from having to sit in one chair with a sprained foot, +with the only alternative course of standing on one leg like a stork-- +a stork is a poetic simile; therefore I eagerly adopted it. + +To appreciate anything we must always isolate it, even if +the thing itself symbolise something other than isolation. +If we wish to see what a house is it must be a house in some +uninhabited landscape. If we wish to depict what a man really +is we must depict a man alone in a desert or on a dark sea sand. +So long as he is a single figure he means all that humanity means; +so long as he is solitary he means human society; so long +as he is solitary he means sociability and comradeship. +Add another figure and the picture is less human--not more so. +One is company, two is none. If you wish to symbolise +human building draw one dark tower on the horizon; if you +wish to symbolise light let there be no star in the sky. +Indeed, all through that strangely lit season which we +call our day there is but one star in the sky--a large, +fierce star which we call the sun. One sun is splendid; +six suns would be only vulgar. One Tower Of Giotto is sublime; +a row of Towers of Giotto would be only like a row of white posts. +The poetry of art is in beholding the single tower; the poetry +of nature in seeing the single tree; the poetry of love in +following the single woman; the poetry of religion in worshipping +the single star. And so, in the same pensive lucidity, I find +the poetry of all human anatomy in standing on a single leg. +To express complete and perfect leggishness the leg must stand +in sublime isolation, like the tower in the wilderness. +As Ibsen so finely says, the strongest leg is that which +stands most alone. + +This lonely leg on which I rest has all the simplicity +of some Doric column. The students of architecture tell us +that the only legitimate use of a column is to support weight. +This column of mine fulfils its legitimate function. +It supports weight. Being of an animal and organic consistency, +it may even improve by the process, and during these few +days that I am thus unequally balanced, the helplessness +or dislocation of the one leg may find compensation in the +astonishing strength and classic beauty of the other leg. +Mrs. Mountstuart Jenkinson in Mr. George Meredith's novel might +pass by at any moment, and seeing me in the stork-like attitude +would exclaim, with equal admiration and a more literal exactitude, +"He has a leg." Notice how this famous literary phrase supports +my contention touching this isolation of any admirable thing. +Mrs. Mountstuart Jenkinson, wishing to make a clear and perfect +picture of human grace, said that Sir Willoughby Patterne had a leg. +She delicately glossed over and concealed the clumsy and offensive +fact that he had really two legs. Two legs were superfluous +and irrelevant, a reflection, and a confusion. Two legs would have +confused Mrs. Mountstuart Jenkinson like two Monuments in London. +That having had one good leg he should have another-- +this would be to use vain repetitions as the Gentiles do. +She would have been as much bewildered by him as if he had +been a centipede. + +All pessimism has a secret optimism for its object. All surrender +of life, all denial of pleasure, all darkness, all austerity, +all desolation has for its real aim this separation of something +so that it may be poignantly and perfectly enjoyed. I feel +grateful for the slight sprain which has introduced this mysterious +and fascinating division between one of my feet and the other. +The way to love anything is to realise that it might be lost. +In one of my feet I can feel how strong and splendid a foot is; +in the other I can realise how very much otherwise it might +have been. The moral of the thing is wholly exhilarating. +This world and all our powers in it are far more awful and +beautiful than even we know until some accident reminds us. +If you wish to perceive that limitless felicity, limit yourself +if only for a moment. If you wish to realise how fearfully +and wonderfully God's image is made, stand on one leg. +If you want to realise the splendid vision of all visible things-- +wink the other eye. + + +VIII + +The End of the World + +For some time I had been wandering in quiet streets in the curious +town of Besancon, which stands like a sort of peninsula +in a horse-shoe of river. You may learn from the guide books +that it was the birthplace of Victor Hugo, and that it is +a military station with many forts, near the French frontier. +But you will not learn from guide books that the very tiles +on the roofs seem to be of some quainter and more delicate +colour than the tiles of all the other towns of the world; +that the tiles look like the little clouds of some strange sunset, +or like the lustrous scales of some strange fish. They will not +tell you that in this town the eye cannot rest on anything without +finding it in some way attractive and even elvish, a carved face +at a street corner, a gleam of green fields through a stunted arch, +or some unexpected colour for the enamel of a spire or dome. + +. . . . . + +Evening was coming on and in the light of it all these colours +so simple and yet so subtle seemed more and more to fit together +and make a fairy tale. I sat down for a little outside a cafe +with a row of little toy trees in front of it, and presently +the driver of a fly (as we should call it) came to the same place. +He was one of those very large and dark Frenchmen, a type not +common but yet typical of France; the Rabelaisian Frenchman, +huge, swarthy, purple-faced, a walking wine-barrel; he was a sort +of Southern Falstaff, if one can imagine Falstaff anything but English. +And, indeed, there was a vital difference, typical of two nations. +For while Falstaff would have been shaking with hilarity like +a huge jelly, full of the broad farce of the London streets, +this Frenchman was rather solemn and dignified than otherwise-- +as if pleasure were a kind of pagan religion. After some +talk which was full of the admirable civility and equality +of French civilisation, he suggested without either eagerness +or embarrassment that he should take me in his fly for an hour's +ride in the hills beyond the town. And though it was growing late +I consented; for there was one long white road under an archway +and round a hill that dragged me like a long white cord. +We drove through the strong, squat gateway that was made by Romans, +and I remember the coincidence like a sort of omen that as we +passed out of the city I heard simultaneously the three sounds +which are the trinity of France. They make what some poet calls +"a tangled trinity," and I am not going to disentangle it. +Whatever those three things mean, how or why they co-exist; +whether they can be reconciled or perhaps are reconciled already; +the three sounds I heard then by an accident all at once make up +the French mystery. For the brass band in the Casino gardens behind +me was playing with a sort of passionate levity some ramping tune +from a Parisian comic opera, and while this was going on I heard +also the bugles on the hills above, that told of terrible loyalties +and men always arming in the gate of France; and I heard also, +fainter than these sounds and through them all, the Angelus. + +. . . . . + +After this coincidence of symbols I had a curious sense of having +left France behind me, or, perhaps, even the civilised world. +And, indeed, there was something in the landscape wild +enough to encourage such a fancy. I have seen perhaps +higher mountains, but I have never seen higher rocks; +I have never seen height so near, so abrupt and sensational, +splinters of rock that stood up like the spires of churches, +cliffs that fell sudden and straight as Satan fell from heaven. +There was also a quality in the ride which was not only astonishing, +but rather bewildering; a quality which many must have noticed +if they have driven or ridden rapidly up mountain roads. +I mean a sense of gigantic gyration, as of the whole +earth turning about one's head. It is quite inadequate +to say that the hills rose and fell like enormous waves. +Rather the hills seemed to turn about me like the enormous sails +of a windmill, a vast wheel of monstrous archangelic wings. +As we drove on and up into the gathering purple of the sunset this +dizziness increased, confounding things above with things below. +Wide walls of wooded rock stood out above my head like a roof. +I stared at them until I fancied that I was staring down at a +wooded plain. Below me steeps of green swept down to the river. +I stared at them until I fancied that they swept up to the sky. +The purple darkened, night drew nearer; it seemed only to cut clearer +the chasms and draw higher the spires of that nightmare landscape. +Above me in the twilight was the huge black hulk of the driver, +and his broad, blank back was as mysterious as the back +of Death in Watts' picture. I felt that I was growing +too fantastic, and I sought to speak of ordinary things. +I called out to the driver in French, "Where are you taking me?" +and it is a literal and solemn fact that he answered me in the same +language without turning around, "To the end of the world." + +I did not answer. I let him drag the vehicle up dark, +steep ways, until I saw lights under a low roof of little +trees and two children, one oddly beautiful, playing at ball. +Then we found ourselves filling up the strict main street +of a tiny hamlet, and across the wall of its inn was written +in large letters, LE BOUT DU MONDE--the end of the world. + +The driver and I sat down outside that inn without a word, as if all +ceremonies were natural and understood in that ultimate place. +I ordered bread for both of us, and red wine, that was good but +had no name. On the other side of the road was a little plain +church with a cross on top of it and a cock on top of the cross. +This seemed to me a very good end of the world; if the story +of the world ended here it ended well. Then I wondered whether I +myself should really be content to end here, where most certainly +there were the best things of Christendom--a church and children's +games and decent soil and a tavern for men to talk with men. +But as I thought a singular doubt and desire grew slowly in me, +and at last I started up. + +"Are you not satisfied?" asked my companion. "No," I said, +"I am not satisfied even at the end of the world." + +Then, after a silence, I said, "Because you see there are two +ends of the world. And this is the wrong end of the world; +at least the wrong one for me. This is the French end of the world. +I want the other end of the world. Drive me to the other end +of the world." + +"The other end of the world?" he asked. "Where is that?" + +"It is in Walham Green," I whispered hoarsely. "You see it +on the London omnibuses. 'World's End and Walham Green.' +Oh, I know how good this is; I love your vineyards and your +free peasantry, but I want the English end of the world. +I love you like a brother, but I want an English cabman, +who will be funny and ask me what his fare 'is.' Your bugles +stir my blood, but I want to see a London policeman. +Take, oh, take me to see a London policeman." + +He stood quite dark and still against the end of the sunset, +and I could not tell whether he understood or not. I got back +into his carriage. + +"You will understand," I said, "if ever you are an exile even +for pleasure. The child to his mother, the man to his country, +as a countryman of yours once said. But since, perhaps, it is +rather too long a drive to the English end of the world, +we may as well drive back to Besancon." + +Only as the stars came out among those immortal hills I wept +for Walham Green. + + +IX + +In the Place de La Bastille + +On the first of May I was sitting outside a cafe in the Place de +la Bastille in Paris staring at the exultant column, crowned with +a capering figure, which stands in the place where the people +destroyed a prison and ended an age. The thing is a curious +example of how symbolic is the great part of human history. +As a matter of mere material fact, the Bastille when it was taken +was not a horrible prison; it was hardly a prison at all. +But it was a symbol, and the people always go by a sure +instinct for symbols; for the Chinaman, for instance, +at the last General Election, or for President Kruger's hat +in the election before; their poetic sense is perfect. +The Chinaman with his pigtail is not an idle flippancy. +He does typify with a compact precision exactly the thing +the people resent in African policy, the alien and grotesque +nature of the power of wealth, the fact that money has no roots, +that it is not a natural and familiar power, but a sort of airy +and evil magic calling monsters from the ends of the earth. +The people hate the mine owner who can bring a Chinaman +flying across the sea, exactly as the people hated the wizard +who could fetch a flying dragon through the air. It was the same +with Mr. Kruger's hat. His hat (that admirable hat) was not merely +a joke. It did symbolise, and symbolise extremely well, the exact +thing which our people at that moment regarded with impatience and +venom; the old-fashioned, dingy, Republican simplicity, the +unbeautiful dignity of the bourgeois, and the heavier truisms of +political morality. No; the people are sometimes wrong on the +practical side of politics; they are never wrong on the artistic +side. + +. . . . . + +So it was, certainly, with the Bastille. The destruction of the Bastille +was not a reform; it was something more important than a reform. +It was an iconoclasm; it was the breaking of a stone image. +The people saw the building like a giant looking at them with +a score of eyes, and they struck at it as at a carved fact. +For of all the shapes in which that immense illusion called materialism +can terrify the soul, perhaps the most oppressive are big buildings. +Man feels like a fly, an accident, in the thing he has himself made. +It requires a violent effort of the spirit to remember that +man made this confounding thing and man could unmake it. +Therefore the mere act of the ragged people in the street +taking and destroying a huge public building has a spiritual, +a ritual meaning far beyond its immediate political results. +It is a religious service. If, for instance, the Socialists were +numerous or courageous enough to capture and smash up the Bank +of England, you might argue for ever about the inutility of the act, +and how it really did not touch the root of the economic problem +in the correct manner. But mankind would never forget it. +It would change the world. + +Architecture is a very good test of the true strength +of a society, for the most valuable things in a human +state are the irrevocable things--marriage, for instance. +And architecture approaches nearer than any other art to +being irrevocable, because it is so difficult to get rid of. +You can turn a picture with its face to the wall; it would be a +nuisance to turn that Roman cathedral with its face to the wall. +You can tear a poem to pieces; it is only in moments of +very sincere emotion that you tear a town-hall to pieces. +A building is akin to dogma; it is insolent, like a dogma. +Whether or no it is permanent, it claims permanence like a dogma. +People ask why we have no typical architecture of the modern world, +like impressionism in painting. Surely it is obviously +because we have not enough dogmas; we cannot bear to see +anything in the sky that is solid and enduring, anything in +the sky that does not change like the clouds of the sky. +But along with this decision which is involved in creating a building, +there goes a quite similar decision in the more delightful +task of smashing one. The two of necessity go together. +In few places have so many fine public buildings been set up +as here in Paris, and in few places have so many been destroyed. +When people have finally got into the horrible habit of preserving +buildings, they have got out of the habit of building them. +And in London one mingles, as it were, one's tears because so few +are pulled down. + +. . . . . + +As I sat staring at the column of the Bastille, inscribed to Liberty +and Glory, there came out of one corner of the square (which, like +so many such squares, was at once crowded and quiet) a sudden and +silent line of horsemen. Their dress was of a dull blue, plain and +prosaic enough, but the sun set on fire the brass and steel of their +helmets; and their helmets were carved like the helmets of the Romans. +I had seen them by twos and threes often enough before. +I had seen plenty of them in pictures toiling through the snows +of Friedland or roaring round the squares at Waterloo. +But now they came file after file, like an invasion, +and something in their numbers, or in the evening light that lit +up their faces and their crests, or something in the reverie +into which they broke, made me inclined to spring to my feet +and cry out, "The French soldiers!" There were the little men +with the brown faces that had so often ridden through the capitals +of Europe as coolly as they now rode through their own. +And when I looked across the square I saw that the two other corners +were choked with blue and red; held by little groups of infantry. +The city was garrisoned as against a revolution. + +Of course, I had heard all about the strike, chiefly from a baker. +He said he was not going to "Chomer." I said, "Qu'est-ce que +c'est que le chome?" He said, "Ils ne veulent pas travailler." +I said, "Ni moi non plus," and he thought I was a class-conscious +collectivist proletarian. The whole thing was curious, and the true +moral of it one not easy for us, as a nation, to grasp, because our +own faults are so deeply and dangerously in the other direction. +To me, as an Englishman (personally steeped in the English optimism +and the English dislike of severity), the whole thing seemed a fuss +about nothing. It looked like turning out one of the best armies +in Europe against ordinary people walking about the street. +The cavalry charged us once or twice, more or less harmlessly. +But, of course, it is hard to say how far in such criticisms +one is assuming the French populace to be (what it is not) +as docile as the English. But the deeper truth of the matter tingled, +so to speak, through the whole noisy night. This people has +a natural faculty for feeling itself on the eve of something--of the +Bartholomew or the Revolution or the Commune or the Day of Judgment. +It is this sense of crisis that makes France eternally young. +It is perpetually pulling down and building up, as it pulled down +the prison and put up the column in the Place de La Bastille. +France has always been at the point of dissolution. She has found +the only method of immortality. She dies daily. + + +X + +On Lying in Bed + +Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience +if only one had a coloured pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling. +This, however, is not generally a part of the domestic +apparatus on the premises. I think myself that the thing +might be managed with several pails of Aspinall and a broom. +Only if one worked in a really sweeping and masterly way, +and laid on the colour in great washes, it might drip down again +on one's face in floods of rich and mingled colour like some +strange fairy rain; and that would have its disadvantages. +I am afraid it would be necessary to stick to black and white +in this form of artistic composition. To that purpose, indeed, +the white ceiling would be of the greatest possible use; in fact, +it is the only use I think of a white ceiling being put to. + +But for the beautiful experiment of lying in bed I might never have +discovered it. For years I have been looking for some blank spaces +in a modern house to draw on. Paper is much too small for any really +allegorical design; as Cyrano de Bergerac says, "Il me faut des geants." +But when I tried to find these fine clear spaces in the modern +rooms such as we all live in I was continually disappointed. +I found an endless pattern and complication of small objects +hung like a curtain of fine links between me and my desire. +I examined the walls; I found them to my surprise to be +already covered with wallpaper, and I found the wallpaper +to be already covered with uninteresting images, all bearing +a ridiculous resemblance to each other. I could not understand +why one arbitrary symbol (a symbol apparently entirely +devoid of any religious or philosophical significance) +should thus be sprinkled all over my nice walls like a sort +of small-pox. The Bible must be referring to wallpapers, I think, +when it says, "Use not vain repetitions, as the Gentiles do." +I found the Turkey carpet a mass of unmeaning colours, +rather like the Turkish Empire, or like the sweetmeat called +Turkish Delight. I do not exactly know what Turkish Delight +really is; but I suppose it is Macedonian Massacres. +Everywhere that I went forlornly, with my pencil or my paint brush, +I found that others had unaccountably been before me, +spoiling the walls, the curtains, and the furniture with their +childish and barbaric designs. + +. . . . . + +Nowhere did I find a really clear space for sketching until this occasion +when I prolonged beyond the proper limit the process of lying on my back +in bed. Then the light of that white heaven broke upon my vision, +that breadth of mere white which is indeed almost the definition +of Paradise, since it means purity and also means freedom. +But alas! like all heavens, now that it is seen it is found +to be unattainable; it looks more austere and more distant +than the blue sky outside the window. For my proposal to paint +on it with the bristly end of a broom has been discouraged-- +never mind by whom; by a person debarred from all political rights-- +and even my minor proposal to put the other end of the broom into +the kitchen fire and turn it to charcoal has not been conceded. +Yet I am certain that it was from persons in my position that all +the original inspiration came for covering the ceilings of palaces +and cathedrals with a riot of fallen angels or victorious gods. +I am sure that it was only because Michael Angelo was engaged +in the ancient and honourable occupation of lying in bed that +he ever realized how the roof of the Sistine Chapel might be made +into an awful imitation of a divine drama that could only be acted +in the heavens. + +The tone now commonly taken toward the practice of lying in bed +is hypocritical and unhealthy. Of all the marks of modernity +that seem to mean a kind of decadence, there is none more menacing +and dangerous than the exultation of very small and secondary +matters of conduct at the expense of very great and primary ones, +at the expense of eternal ties and tragic human morality. +If there is one thing worse than the modern weakening of major morals, +it is the modern strengthening of minor morals. Thus it is considered +more withering to accuse a man of bad taste than of bad ethics. +Cleanliness is not next to godliness nowadays, for cleanliness +is made essential and godliness is regarded as an offence. +A playwright can attack the institution of marriage so long +as he does not misrepresent the manners of society, and I have met +Ibsenite pessimists who thought it wrong to take beer but right +to take prussic acid. Especially this is so in matters of hygiene; +notably such matters as lying in bed. Instead of being regarded, +as it ought to be, as a matter of personal convenience +and adjustment, it has come to be regarded by many as if it +were a part of essential morals to get up early in the morning. +It is upon the whole part of practical wisdom; but there is nothing +good about it or bad about its opposite. + +. . . . . + +Misers get up early in the morning; and burglars, I am informed, +get up the night before. It is the great peril of our society +that all its mechanisms may grow more fixed while its spirit grows +more fickle. A man's minor actions and arrangements ought to +be free, flexible, creative; the things that should be unchangeable +are his principles, his ideals. But with us the reverse is true; +our views change constantly; but our lunch does not change. +Now, I should like men to have strong and rooted conceptions, +but as for their lunch, let them have it sometimes in the garden, +sometimes in bed, sometimes on the roof, sometimes in the top +of a tree. Let them argue from the same first principles, +but let them do it in a bed, or a boat, or a balloon. +This alarming growth of good habits really means a too great emphasis +on those virtues which mere custom can ensure, it means too little +emphasis on those virtues which custom can never quite ensure, +sudden and splendid virtues of inspired pity or of inspired candour. +If ever that abrupt appeal is made to us we may fail. +A man can get use to getting up at five o'clock in the morning. +A man cannot very well get used to being burnt for his opinions; +the first experiment is commonly fatal. Let us pay a little more +attention to these possibilities of the heroic and unexpected. +I dare say that when I get out of this bed I shall do some deed +of an almost terrible virtue. + +For those who study the great art of lying in bed there is one emphatic +caution to be added. Even for those who can do their work in bed +(like journalists), still more for those whose work cannot be done +in bed (as, for example, the professional harpooners of whales), +it is obvious that the indulgence must be very occasional. +But that is not the caution I mean. The caution is this: +if you do lie in bed, be sure you do it without any reason or +justification at all. I do not speak, of course, of the seriously sick. +But if a healthy man lies in bed, let him do it without a rag of excuse; +then he will get up a healthy man. If he does it for some secondary +hygienic reason, if he has some scientific explanation, he may get +up a hypochondriac. + + +XI + +The Twelve Men + +The other day, while I was meditating on morality and Mr. H. Pitt, I was, +so to speak, snatched up and put into a jury box to try people. +The snatching took some weeks, but to me it seemed something sudden +and arbitrary. I was put into this box because I lived in Battersea, +and my name began with a C. Looking round me, I saw that there were +also summoned and in attendance in the court whole crowds and processions +of men, all of whom lived in Battersea, and all of whose names began +with a C. + +It seems that they always summon jurymen in this sweeping +alphabetical way. At one official blow, so to speak, +Battersea is denuded of all its C's, and left to get on +as best it can with the rest of the alphabet. A Cumberpatch +is missing from one street--a Chizzolpop from another-- +three Chucksterfields from Chucksterfield House; the children +are crying out for an absent Cadgerboy; the woman at the street +corner is weeping for her Coffintop, and will not be comforted. +We settle down with a rollicking ease into our seats +(for we are a bold, devil-may-care race, the C's of Battersea), +and an oath is administered to us in a totally inaudible manner +by an individual resembling an Army surgeon in his second childhood. +We understand, however, that we are to well and truly try the case +between our sovereign lord the King and the prisoner at the bar, +neither of whom has put in an appearance as yet. + +. . . . . + +Just when I was wondering whether the King and the prisoner +were, perhaps, coming to an amicable understanding in some +adjoining public house, the prisoner's head appears above +the barrier of the dock; he is accused of stealing bicycles, +and he is the living image of a great friend of mine. +We go into the matter of the stealing of the bicycles. +We do well and truly try the case between the King and the +prisoner in the affair of the bicycles. And we come to the +conclusion, after a brief but reasonable discussion, that +the King is not in any way implicated. Then we pass on to a +woman who neglected her children, and who looks as if somebody +or something had neglected her. And I am one of those who fancy +that something had. + +All the time that the eye took in these light appearances +and the brain passed these light criticisms, there was in +the heart a barbaric pity and fear which men have never been +able to utter from the beginning, but which is the power behind +half the poems of the world. The mood cannot even adequately +be suggested, except faintly by this statement that tragedy +is the highest expression of the infinite value of human life. +Never had I stood so close to pain; and never so far away +from pessimism. Ordinarily, I should not have spoken of these +dark emotions at all, for speech about them is too difficult; +but I mention them now for a specific and particular +reason to the statement of which I will proceed at once. +I speak these feelings because out of the furnace of them there +came a curious realisation of a political or social truth. +I saw with a queer and indescribable kind of clearness what +a jury really is, and why we must never let it go. + +The trend of our epoch up to this time has been consistently towards +specialism and professionalism. We tend to have trained soldiers +because they fight better, trained singers because they sing better, +trained dancers because they dance better, specially instructed +laughers because they laugh better, and so on and so on. +The principle has been applied to law and politics by innumerable +modern writers. Many Fabians have insisted that a greater +part of our political work should be performed by experts. +Many legalists have declared that the untrained jury should be +altogether supplanted by the trained Judge. + +. . . . . + +Now, if this world of ours were really what is called reasonable, +I do not know that there would be any fault to find with this. +But the true result of all experience and the true foundation +of all religion is this. That the four or five things +that it is most practically essential that a man should know, +are all of them what people call paradoxes. That is to say, +that though we all find them in life to be mere plain truths, +yet we cannot easily state them in words without being guilty +of seeming verbal contradictions. One of them, for instance, +is the unimpeachable platitude that the man who finds most +pleasure for himself is often the man who least hunts for it. +Another is the paradox of courage; the fact that the way +to avoid death is not to have too much aversion to it. +Whoever is careless enough of his bones to climb some hopeful +cliff above the tide may save his bones by that carelessness. +Whoever will lose his life, the same shall save it; +an entirely practical and prosaic statement. + +Now, one of these four or five paradoxes which should be taught +to every infant prattling at his mother's knee is the following: +That the more a man looks at a thing, the less he can see it, +and the more a man learns a thing the less he knows it. +The Fabian argument of the expert, that the man who is trained +should be the man who is trusted would be absolutely unanswerable +if it were really true that a man who studied a thing and practiced +it every day went on seeing more and more of its significance. +But he does not. He goes on seeing less and less of its significance. +In the same way, alas! we all go on every day, unless we are +continually goading ourselves into gratitude and humility, +seeing less and less of the significance of the sky or the stones. + +. . . . . + +Now it is a terrible business to mark a man out for the vengeance of men. +But it is a thing to which a man can grow accustomed, as he can +to other terrible things; he can even grow accustomed to the sun. +And the horrible thing about all legal officials, even the best, +about all judges, magistrates, barristers, detectives, and policemen, +is not that they are wicked (some of them are good), not that they +are stupid (several of them are quite intelligent), it is simply +that they have got used to it. + +Strictly they do not see the prisoner in the dock; all they +see is the usual man in the usual place. They do not see +the awful court of judgment; they only see their own workshop. +Therefore, the instinct of Christian civilisation has most wisely +declared that into their judgments there shall upon every occasion +be infused fresh blood and fresh thoughts from the streets. +Men shall come in who can see the court and the crowd, +and coarse faces of the policeman and the professional criminals, +the wasted faces of the wastrels, the unreal faces of the +gesticulating counsel, and see it all as one sees a new picture +or a play hitherto unvisited. + +Our civilisation has decided, and very justly decided, +that determining the guilt or innocence of men is a thing too +important to be trusted to trained men. It wishes for light upon +that awful matter, it asks men who know no more law than I know, +but who can feel the things that I felt in the jury box. +When it wants a library catalogued, or the solar system discovered, +or any trifle of that kind, it uses up specialists. But when it +wishes anything done which is really serious, it collects twelve +of the ordinary men standing round. The same thing was done, if I +remember right, by the Founder of Christianity. + + +XII + +The Wind and the Trees + +I am sitting under tall trees, with a great wind boiling like surf +about the tops of them, so that their living load of leaves rocks +and roars in something that is at once exultation and agony. +I feel, in fact, as if I were actually sitting at the bottom +of the sea among mere anchors and ropes, while over my head +and over the green twilight of water sounded the everlasting rush +of waves and the toil and crash and shipwreck of tremendous ships. +The wind tugs at the trees as if it might pluck them root +and all out of the earth like tufts of grass. Or, to try yet +another desperate figure of speech for this unspeakable energy, +the trees are straining and tearing and lashing as if they +were a tribe of dragons each tied by the tail. + +As I look at these top-heavy giants tortured by an invisible +and violent witchcraft, a phrase comes back into my mind. +I remember a little boy of my acquaintance who was once walking +in Battersea Park under just such torn skies and tossing trees. +He did not like the wind at all; it blew in his face too much; +it made him shut his eyes; and it blew off his hat, of which +he was very proud. He was, as far as I remember, about four. +After complaining repeatedly of the atmospheric unrest, he said +at last to his mother, "Well, why don't you take away the trees, +and then it wouldn't wind." + +Nothing could be more intelligent or natural than this mistake. +Any one looking for the first time at the trees might fancy +that they were indeed vast and titanic fans, which by their mere +waving agitated the air around them for miles. Nothing, I say, +could be more human and excusable than the belief that it is +the trees which make the wind. Indeed, the belief is so human +and excusable that it is, as a matter of fact, the belief of about +ninety-nine out of a hundred of the philosophers, reformers, +sociologists, and politicians of the great age in which we live. +My small friend was, in fact, very like the principal modern thinkers; +only much nicer. + +. . . . . + +In the little apologue or parable which he has thus the honour +of inventing, the trees stand for all visible things +and the wind for the invisible. The wind is the spirit +which bloweth where it listeth; the trees are the material +things of the world which are blown where the spirit lists. +The wind is philosophy, religion, revolution; the trees are +cities and civilisations. We only know that there is a wind +because the trees on some distant hill suddenly go mad. +We only know that there is a real revolution because all +the chimney-pots go mad on the whole skyline of the city. + +Just as the ragged outline of a tree grows suddenly more +ragged and rises into fantastic crests or tattered tails, +so the human city rises under the wind of the spirit into toppling +temples or sudden spires. No man has ever seen a revolution. +Mobs pouring through the palaces, blood pouring down the gutters, +the guillotine lifted higher than the throne, a prison +in ruins, a people in arms--these things are not revolution, +but the results of revolution. + +You cannot see a wind; you can only see that there is a wind. +So, also, you cannot see a revolution; you can only see that +there is a revolution. And there never has been in the history +of the world a real revolution, brutally active and decisive, +which was not preceded by unrest and new dogma in the reign +of invisible things. All revolutions began by being abstract. +Most revolutions began by being quite pedantically abstract. + +The wind is up above the world before a twig on the tree has moved. +So there must always be a battle in the sky before there +is a battle on the earth. Since it is lawful to pray +for the coming of the kingdom, it is lawful also to pray for +the coming of the revolution that shall restore the kingdom. +It is lawful to hope to hear the wind of Heaven in the trees. +It is lawful to pray "Thine anger come on earth as it +is in Heaven." + +. . . . . + +The great human dogma, then, is that the wind moves the trees. +The great human heresy is that the trees move the wind. +When people begin to say that the material circumstances have +alone created the moral circumstances, then they have prevented +all possibility of serious change. For if my circumstances +have made me wholly stupid, how can I be certain even that I +am right in altering those circumstances? + +The man who represents all thought as an accident of environment +is simply smashing and discrediting all his own thoughts-- +including that one. To treat the human mind as having an ultimate +authority is necessary to any kind of thinking, even free thinking. +And nothing will ever be reformed in this age or country unless +we realise that the moral fact comes first. + +For example, most of us, I suppose, have seen in print and heard +in debating clubs an endless discussion that goes on between Socialists +and total abstainers. The latter say that drink leads to poverty; +the former say that poverty leads to drink. I can only wonder at their +either of them being content with such simple physical explanations. +Surely it is obvious that the thing which among the English proletariat +leads to poverty is the same as the thing which leads to drink; +the absence of strong civic dignity, the absence of an instinct +that resists degradation. + +When you have discovered why enormous English estates were not long +ago cut up into small holdings like the land of France, you will have +discovered why the Englishman is more drunken than the Frenchman. +The Englishman, among his million delightful virtues, really has +this quality, which may strictly be called "hand to mouth," because under +its influence a man's hand automatically seeks his own mouth, +instead of seeking (as it sometimes should do) his oppressor's nose. +And a man who says that the English inequality in land is due only +to economic causes, or that the drunkenness of England is due only +to economic causes, is saying something so absurd that he cannot +really have thought what he was saying. + +Yet things quite as preposterous as this are said and written under +the influence of that great spectacle of babyish helplessness, the +economic theory of history. We have people who represent that all +great historic motives were economic, and then have to howl at the +top of their voices in order to induce the modern democracy to act +on economic motives. The extreme Marxian politicians in England +exhibit themselves as a small, heroic minority, trying vainly to +induce the world to do what, according to their theory, the world +always does. The truth is, of course, that there will be a social +revolution the moment the thing has ceased to be purely economic. +You can never have a revolution in order to establish a democracy. +You must have a democracy in order to have a revolution. + +. . . . . + +I get up from under the trees, for the wind and the slight +rain have ceased. The trees stand up like golden pillars +in a clear sunlight. The tossing of the trees and the blowing +of the wind have ceased simultaneously. So I suppose there +are still modern philosophers who will maintain that the trees +make the wind. + + +XIII + +The Dickensian + +He was a quiet man, dressed in dark clothes, with a large limp straw hat; +with something almost military in his moustache and whiskers, +but with a quite unmilitary stoop and very dreamy eyes. +He was gazing with a rather gloomy interest at the cluster, +one might almost say the tangle, of small shipping which grew thicker +as our little pleasure boat crawled up into Yarmouth Harbour. +A boat entering this harbour, as every one knows, does not +enter in front of the town like a foreigner, but creeps round +at the back like a traitor taking the town in the rear. +The passage of the river seems almost too narrow for traffic, +and in consequence the bigger ships look colossal. As we passed +under a timber ship from Norway, which seemed to block up the heavens +like a cathedral, the man in a straw hat pointed to an odd wooden +figurehead carved like a woman, and said, like one continuing +a conversation, "Now, why have they left off having them. +They didn't do any one any harm?" + +I replied with some flippancy about the captain's wife being jealous; +but I knew in my heart that the man had struck a deep note. +There has been something in our most recent civilisation which is +mysteriously hostile to such healthy and humane symbols. + +"They hate anything like that, which is human and pretty," he continued, +exactly echoing my thoughts. "I believe they broke up all the jolly +old figureheads with hatchets and enjoyed doing it." + +"Like Mr. Quilp," I answered, "when he battered the wooden Admiral +with the poker." + +His whole face suddenly became alive, and for the first time +he stood erect and stared at me. + +"Do you come to Yarmouth for that?" he asked. + +"For what?" + +"For Dickens," he answered, and drummed with his foot on the deck. + +"No," I answered; "I come for fun, though that is much the same thing." + +"I always come," he answered quietly, "to find Peggotty's boat. +It isn't here." + +And when he said that I understood him perfectly. + +There are two Yarmouths; I daresay there are two hundred +to the people who live there. I myself have never come +to the end of the list of Batterseas. But there are two to +the stranger and tourist; the poor part, which is dignified, +and the prosperous part, which is savagely vulgar. +My new friend haunted the first of these like a ghost; +to the latter he would only distantly allude. + +"The place is very much spoilt now . . . trippers, you know," +he would say, not at all scornfully, but simply sadly. +That was the nearest he would go to an admission of the monstrous +watering place that lay along the front, outblazing the sun, +and more deafening than the sea. But behind--out of earshot +of this uproar--there are lanes so narrow that they seem +like secret entrances to some hidden place of repose. +There are squares so brimful of silence that to plunge into one +of them is like plunging into a pool. In these places the man +and I paced up and down talking about Dickens, or, rather, +doing what all true Dickensians do, telling each other verbatim +long passages which both of us knew quite well already. +We were really in the atmosphere of the older England. +Fishermen passed us who might well have been characters +like Peggotty; we went into a musty curiosity shop and +bought pipe-stoppers carved into figures from Pickwick. +The evening was settling down between all the buildings +with that slow gold that seems to soak everything when we went +into the church. + +In the growing darkness of the church, my eye caught the coloured +windows which on that clear golden evening were flaming with all the +passionate heraldry of the most fierce and ecstatic of Christian arts. +At length I said to my companion: + +"Do you see that angel over there? I think it must be meant +for the angel at the sepulchre." + +He saw that I was somewhat singularly moved, and he raised his eyebrows. + +"I daresay," he said. "What is there odd about that?" + +After a pause I said, "Do you remember what the angel at +the sepulchre said?" + +"Not particularly," he answered; "but where are you off +to in such a hurry?" + +I walked him rapidly out of the still square, past the +fishermen's almshouses, towards the coast, he still inquiring +indignantly where I was going. + +"I am going," I said, "to put pennies in automatic machines +on the beach. I am going to listen to the niggers. I am going +to have my photograph taken. I am going to drink ginger-beer +out of its original bottle. I will buy some picture postcards. +I do want a boat. I am ready to listen to a concertina, +and but for the defects of my education should be ready to play it. +I am willing to ride on a donkey; that is, if the donkey is willing. +I am willing to be a donkey; for all this was commanded me +by the angel in the stained-glass window." + +"I really think," said the Dickensian, "that I had better put +you in charge of your relations." + +"Sir," I answered, "there are certain writers to whom humanity +owes much, whose talent is yet of so shy or delicate or retrospective +a type that we do well to link it with certain quaint places +or certain perishing associations. It would not be unnatural +to look for the spirit of Horace Walpole at Strawberry Hill, +or even for the shade of Thackeray in Old Kensington. +But let us have no antiquarianism about Dickens, for Dickens +is not an antiquity. Dickens looks not backward, but forward; +he might look at our modern mobs with satire, or with fury, +but he would love to look at them. He might lash our democracy, +but it would be because, like a democrat, he asked much from it. +We will not have all his books bound up under the title +of 'The Old Curiosity Shop.' Rather we will have them +all bound up under the title of 'Great Expectations.' +Wherever humanity is he would have us face it and make +something of it, swallow it with a holy cannibalism, +and assimilate it with the digestion of a giant. We must +take these trippers as he would have taken them, and tear +out of them their tragedy and their farce. Do you remember +now what the angel said at the sepulchre? 'Why seek ye the +living among the dead? He is not here; he is risen.'" + +With that we came out suddenly on the wide stretch of the sands, +which were black with the knobs and masses of our laughing and quite +desperate democracy. And the sunset, which was now in its final glory, +flung far over all of them a red flush and glitter like the gigantic +firelight of Dickens. In that strange evening light every figure +looked at once grotesque and attractive, as if he had a story to tell. +I heard a little girl (who was being throttled by another little girl) +say by way of self-vindication, "My sister-in-law 'as got four rings +aside her weddin' ring!" + +I stood and listened for more, but my friend went away. + + +XIV + +In Topsy-Turvy Land + +Last week, in an idle metaphor, I took the tumbling of trees +and the secret energy of the wind as typical of the visible world +moving under the violence of the invisible. I took this metaphor +merely because I happened to be writing the article in a wood. +Nevertheless, now that I return to Fleet Street (which seems to me, +I confess, much better and more poetical than all the wild woods +in the world), I am strangely haunted by this accidental comparison. +The people's figures seem a forest and their soul a wind. +All the human personalities which speak or signal to me seem to have +this fantastic character of the fringe of the forest against the sky. +That man that talks to me, what is he but an articulate tree? +That driver of a van who waves his hands wildly at me to tell me +to get out of the way, what is he but a bunch of branches stirred +and swayed by a spiritual wind, a sylvan object that I can continue +to contemplate with calm? That policeman who lifts his hand +to warn three omnibuses of the peril that they run in encountering +my person, what is he but a shrub shaken for a moment with that +blast of human law which is a thing stronger than anarchy? +Gradually this impression of the woods wears off. But this +black-and-white contrast between the visible and invisible, this deep +sense that the one essential belief is belief in the invisible as against +the visible, is suddenly and sensationally brought back to my mind. +Exactly at the moment when Fleet Street has grown most familiar (that is, +most bewildering and bright), my eye catches a poster of vivid violet, +on which I see written in large black letters these remarkable words: +"Should Shop Assistants Marry?" + +. . . . . + +When I saw those words everything might just as well +have turned upside down. The men in Fleet Street might +have been walking about on their hands. The cross of +St. Paul's might have been hanging in the air upside down. +For I realise that I have really come into a topsy-turvy country; +I have come into the country where men do definitely believe +that the waving of the trees makes the wind. That is to say, +they believe that the material circumstances, however black +and twisted, are more important than the spiritual realities, +however powerful and pure. "Should Shop Assistants Marry?" I am +puzzled to think what some periods and schools of human history +would have made of such a question. The ascetics of the East +or of some periods of the early Church would have thought +that the question meant, "Are not shop assistants too saintly, +too much of another world, even to feel the emotions of the sexes?" +But I suppose that is not what the purple poster means. +In some pagan cities it might have meant, "Shall slaves so vile +as shop assistants even be allowed to propagate their abject race?" +But I suppose that is not what the purple poster meant. +We must face, I fear, the full insanity of what it does mean. +It does really mean that a section of the human race is asking +whether the primary relations of the two human sexes are particularly +good for modern shops. The human race is asking whether Adam +and Eve are entirely suitable for Marshall and Snelgrove. +If this is not topsy-turvy I cannot imagine what would be. +We ask whether the universal institution will improve our +(please God) temporary institution. Yet I have known many +such questions. For instance, I have known a man ask seriously, +"Does Democracy help the Empire?" Which is like saying, +"Is art favourable to frescoes?" + +I say that there are many such questions asked. +But if the world ever runs short of them, I can suggest +a large number of questions of precisely the same kind, +based on precisely the same principle. + +"Do Feet Improve Boots?"--"Is Bread Better when Eaten?"--"Should +Hats have Heads in them?"--"Do People Spoil a Town?"--"Do Walls +Ruin Wall-papers?"--"Should Neckties enclose Necks?"--"Do Hands +Hurt Walking-sticks?"--"Does Burning Destroy Firewood?"--"Is +Cleanliness Good for Soap?"--"Can Cricket Really Improve +Cricket-bats?"--"Shall We Take Brides with our Wedding Rings?" +and a hundred others. + +Not one of these questions differs at all in intellectual purport +or in intellectual value from the question which I have quoted from +the purple poster, or from any of the typical questions asked by +half of the earnest economists of our times. All the questions they +ask are of this character; they are all tinged with this same initial +absurdity. They do not ask if the means is suited to the end; they +all ask (with profound and penetrating scepticism) if the end is suited +to the means. They do not ask whether the tail suits the dog. +They all ask whether a dog is (by the highest artistic canons) +the most ornamental appendage that can be put at the end of a tail. +In short, instead of asking whether our modern arrangements, +our streets, trades, bargains, laws, and concrete institutions are +suited to the primal and permanent idea of a healthy human life, +they never admit that healthy human life into the discussion +at all, except suddenly and accidentally at odd moments; +and then they only ask whether that healthy human life is suited +to our streets and trades. Perfection may be attainable or +unattainable as an end. It may or may not be possible to talk +of imperfection as a means to perfection. But surely it passes +toleration to talk of perfection as a means to imperfection. +The New Jerusalem may be a reality. It may be a dream. +But surely it is too outrageous to say that the New Jerusalem +is a reality on the road to Birmingham. + +. . . . . + +This is the most enormous and at the same time the most secret +of the modern tyrannies of materialism. In theory the thing ought +to be simple enough. A really human human being would always put +the spiritual things first. A walking and speaking statue of God +finds himself at one particular moment employed as a shop assistant. +He has in himself a power of terrible love, a promise of paternity, +a thirst for some loyalty that shall unify life, and in the ordinary +course of things he asks himself, "How far do the existing conditions +of those assisting in shops fit in with my evident and epic destiny +in the matter of love and marriage?" But here, as I have said, +comes in the quiet and crushing power of modern materialism. +It prevents him rising in rebellion, as he would otherwise do. +By perpetually talking about environment and visible things, +by perpetually talking about economics and physical necessity, +painting and keeping repainted a perpetual picture of iron +machinery and merciless engines, of rails of steel, and of +towers of stone, modern materialism at last produces this +tremendous impression in which the truth is stated upside down. +At last the result is achieved. The man does not say as +he ought to have said, "Should married men endure being modern +shop assistants?" The man says, "Should shop assistants marry?" +Triumph has completed the immense illusion of materialism. +The slave does not say, "Are these chains worthy of me?" +The slave says scientifically and contentedly, "Am I even worthy +of these chains?" + + +XV + +What I Found in My Pocket + +Once when I was very young I met one of those men who have +made the Empire what it is--a man in an astracan coat, +with an astracan moustache--a tight, black, curly moustache. +Whether he put on the moustache with the coat or whether his Napoleonic +will enabled him not only to grow a moustache in the usual place, +but also to grow little moustaches all over his clothes, I do not know. +I only remember that he said to me the following words: "A man can't +get on nowadays by hanging about with his hands in his pockets." +I made reply with the quite obvious flippancy that perhaps a man got +on by having his hands in other people's pockets; whereupon he began +to argue about Moral Evolution, so I suppose what I said had some +truth in it. But the incident now comes back to me, and connects +itself with another incident--if you can call it an incident-- +which happened to me only the other day. + +I have only once in my life picked a pocket, and then (perhaps through +some absent-mindedness) I picked my own. My act can really with some +reason be so described. For in taking things out of my own pocket I +had at least one of the more tense and quivering emotions of the thief; +I had a complete ignorance and a profound curiosity as to what I should +find there. Perhaps it would be the exaggeration of eulogy to call me a +tidy person. But I can always pretty satisfactorily account for all my +possessions. I can always tell where they are, and what I have done with +them, so long as I can keep them out of my pockets. If once anything +slips into those unknown abysses, I wave it a sad Virgilian farewell. +I suppose that the things that I have dropped into my pockets +are still there; the same presumption applies to the things +that I have dropped into the sea. But I regard the riches stored +in both these bottomless chasms with the same reverent ignorance. +They tell us that on the last day the sea will give up its dead; +and I suppose that on the same occasion long strings of +extraordinary things will come running out of my pockets. +But I have quite forgotten what any of them are; and there +is really nothing (excepting the money) that I shall be at all +surprised at finding among them. + +. . . . . + +Such at least has hitherto been my state of innocence. +I here only wish briefly to recall the special, extraordinary, +and hitherto unprecedented circumstances which led me in +cold blood, and being of sound mind, to turn out my pockets. +I was locked up in a third-class carriage for a rather long journey. +The time was towards evening, but it might have been anything, +for everything resembling earth or sky or light or shade +was painted out as if with a great wet brush by an unshifting +sheet of quite colourless rain. I had no books or newspapers. +I had not even a pencil and a scrap of paper with which +to write a religious epic. There were no advertisements +on the walls of the carriage, otherwise I could have plunged +into the study, for any collection of printed words is quite +enough to suggest infinite complexities of mental ingenuity. +When I find myself opposite the words "Sunlight Soap" I can +exhaust all the aspects of Sun Worship, Apollo, and Summer +poetry before I go on to the less congenial subject of soap. +But there was no printed word or picture anywhere; there was +nothing but blank wood inside the carriage and blank wet without. +Now I deny most energetically that anything is, or can +be, uninteresting. So I stared at the joints of the walls and seats, +and began thinking hard on the fascinating subject of wood. +Just as I had begun to realise why, perhaps, it was that Christ +was a carpenter, rather than a bricklayer, or a baker, +or anything else, I suddenly started upright, and remembered +my pockets. I was carrying about with me an unknown treasury. +I had a British Museum and a South Kensington collection +of unknown curios hung all over me in different places. +I began to take the things out. + +. . . . . + +The first thing I came upon consisted of piles and heaps of +Battersea tram tickets. There were enough to equip a paper chase. +They shook down in showers like confetti. Primarily, of course, +they touched my patriotic emotions, and brought tears to my eyes; +also they provided me with the printed matter I required, +for I found on the back of them some short but striking +little scientific essays about some kind of pill. Comparatively +speaking, in my then destitution, those tickets might be regarded +as a small but well-chosen scientific library. Should my railway +journey continue (which seemed likely at the time) for a few months +longer, I could imagine myself throwing myself into the controversial +aspects of the pill, composing replies and rejoinders pro and con +upon the data furnished to me. But after all it was the symbolic +quality of the tickets that moved me most. For as certainly as the +cross of St. George means English patriotism, those scraps of paper +meant all that municipal patriotism which is now, perhaps, the +greatest hope of England. + +The next thing that I took out was a pocket-knife. A pocket-knife, +I need hardly say, would require a thick book full of moral +meditations all to itself. A knife typifies one of the most +primary of those practical origins upon which as upon low, +thick pillows all our human civilisation reposes. Metals, the +mystery of the thing called iron and of the thing called steel, +led me off half-dazed into a kind of dream. I saw into the +intrails of dim, damp wood, where the first man among all the +common stones found the strange stone. I saw a vague and violent +battle, in which stone axes broke and stone knives were splintered +against something shining and new in the hand of one desperate man. +I heard all the hammers on all the anvils of the earth. +I saw all the swords of Feudal and all the weals of Industrial war. +For the knife is only a short sword; and the pocket-knife +is a secret sword. I opened it and looked at that brilliant +and terrible tongue which we call a blade; and I thought that +perhaps it was the symbol of the oldest of the needs of man. +The next moment I knew that I was wrong; for the thing +that came next out of my pocket was a box of matches. +Then I saw fire, which is stronger even than steel, the old, +fierce female thing, the thing we all love, but dare not touch. + +The next thing I found was a piece of chalk; and I saw +in it all the art and all the frescoes of the world. +The next was a coin of a very modest value; and I saw in it +not only the image and superscription of our own Caesar, +but all government and order since the world began. +But I have not space to say what were the items in the long and +splendid procession of poetical symbols that came pouring out. +I cannot tell you all the things that were in my pocket. +I can tell you one thing, however, that I could not find in my pocket. +I allude to my railway ticket. + + +XVI + +The Dragon's Grandmother + +I met a man the other day who did not believe in fairy tales. +I do not mean that he did not believe in the incidents narrated +in them--that he did not believe that a pumpkin could turn into +a coach. He did, indeed, entertain this curious disbelief. +And, like all the other people I have ever met who entertained it, +he was wholly unable to give me an intelligent reason for it. +He tried the laws of nature, but he soon dropped that. +Then he said that pumpkins were unalterable in ordinary experience, +and that we all reckoned on their infinitely protracted pumpkinity. +But I pointed out to him that this was not an attitude we +adopt specially towards impossible marvels, but simply +the attitude we adopt towards all unusual occurrences. +If we were certain of miracles we should not count on them. +Things that happen very seldom we all leave out of +our calculations, whether they are miraculous or not. +I do not expect a glass of water to be turned into wine; +but neither do I expect a glass of water to be poisoned with +prussic acid. I do not in ordinary business relations act +on the assumption that the editor is a fairy; but neither do I +act on the assumption that he is a Russian spy, or the lost +heir of the Holy Roman Empire. What we assume in action is +not that the natural order is unalterable, but simply that it +is much safer to bet on uncommon incidents than on common ones. +This does not touch the credibility of any attested tale +about a Russian spy or a pumpkin turned into a coach. +If I had seen a pumpkin turned into a Panhard motor-car +with my own eyes that would not make me any more inclined +to assume that the same thing would happen again. I should not +invest largely in pumpkins with an eye to the motor trade. +Cinderella got a ball dress from the fairy; but I do not suppose +that she looked after her own clothes any the less after it. + +But the view that fairy tales cannot really have happened, +though crazy, is common. The man I speak of disbelieved +in fairy tales in an even more amazing and perverted sense. +He actually thought that fairy tales ought not to be told +to children. That is (like a belief in slavery or annexation) +one of those intellectual errors which lie very near +to ordinary mortal sins. There are some refusals which, +though they may be done what is called conscientiously, +yet carry so much of their whole horror in the very act of them, +that a man must in doing them not only harden but slightly +corrupt his heart. One of them was the refusal of milk to young +mothers when their husbands were in the field against us. +Another is the refusal of fairy tales to children. + +. . . . . + +The man had come to see me in connection with some silly society +of which I am an enthusiastic member; he was a fresh-coloured, +short-sighted young man, like a stray curate who was too +helpless even to find his way to the Church of England. He had a +curious green necktie and a very long neck; I am always meeting +idealists with very long necks. Perhaps it is that their eternal +aspiration slowly lifts their heads nearer and nearer to the stars. +Or perhaps it has something to do with the fact that so many of +them are vegetarians: perhaps they are slowly evolving the neck of +the giraffe so that they can eat all the tops of the trees in +Kensington Gardens. These things are in every sense above me. +Such, anyhow, was the young man who did not believe in fairy tales; +and by a curious coincidence he entered the room when I had just +finished looking through a pile of contemporary fiction, and had +begun to read "Grimm's Fairy tales" as a natural consequence. + +The modern novels stood before me, however, in a stack; and you can +imagine their titles for yourself. There was "Suburban Sue: A Tale +of Psychology," and also "Psychological Sue: A Tale of Suburbia"; +there was "Trixy: A Temperament," and "Man-Hate: A Monochrome," and all +those nice things. I read them with real interest, but, curiously enough, +I grew tired of them at last, and when I saw "Grimm's Fairy Tales" +lying accidentally on the table, I gave a cry of indecent joy. +Here at least, here at last, one could find a little common sense. +I opened the book, and my eyes fell on these splendid and satisfying +words, "The Dragon's Grandmother." That at least was reasonable; +that at least was true. "The Dragon's Grandmother!" While I was +rolling this first touch of ordinary human reality upon my tongue, +I looked up suddenly and saw this monster with a green tie standing +in the doorway. + +. . . . . + +I listened to what he said about the society politely enough, +I hope; but when he incidentally mentioned that he did not believe +in fairy tales, I broke out beyond control. "Man," I said, +"who are you that you should not believe in fairy tales? +It is much easier to believe in Blue Beard than to believe in you. +A blue beard is a misfortune; but there are green ties which are sins. +It is far easier to believe in a million fairy tales +than to believe in one man who does not like fairy tales. +I would rather kiss Grimm instead of a Bible and swear to all +his stories as if they were thirty-nine articles than say +seriously and out of my heart that there can be such a man as you; +that you are not some temptation of the devil or some delusion +from the void. Look at these plain, homely, practical words. +'The Dragon's Grandmother,' that is all right; that is rational +almost to the verge of rationalism. If there was a dragon, +he had a grandmother. But you--you had no grandmother! +If you had known one, she would have taught you to love fairy tales. +You had no father, you had no mother; no natural causes can explain you. +You cannot be. I believe many things which I have not seen; +but of such things as you it may be said, 'Blessed is he that has +seen and yet has disbelieved.'" + +. . . . . + +It seemed to me that he did not follow me with sufficient delicacy, +so I moderated my tone. "Can you not see," I said, "that fairy +tales in their essence are quite solid and straightforward; +but that this everlasting fiction about modern life is in its +nature essentially incredible? Folk-lore means that the soul +is sane, but that the universe is wild and full of marvels. +Realism means that the world is dull and full of routine, but that +the soul is sick and screaming. The problem of the fairy tale is-- +what will a healthy man do with a fantastic world? The problem +of the modern novel is--what will a madman do with a dull world? +In the fairy tales the cosmos goes mad; but the hero does not go mad. +In the modern novels the hero is mad before the book begins, +and suffers from the harsh steadiness and cruel sanity of the cosmos. +In the excellent tale of 'The Dragon's Grandmother,' in all the other +tales of Grimm, it is assumed that the young man setting out on his +travels will have all substantial truths in him; that he will be brave, +full of faith, reasonable, that he will respect his parents, +keep his word, rescue one kind of people, defy another kind, +'parcere subjectis et debellare,' etc. Then, having assumed +this centre of sanity, the writer entertains himself by fancying +what would happen if the whole world went mad all round it, +if the sun turned green and the moon blue, if horses had six legs +and giants had two heads. But your modern literature takes insanity +as its centre. Therefore, it loses the interest even of insanity. +A lunatic is not startling to himself, because he is quite serious; +that is what makes him a lunatic. A man who thinks he is +a piece of glass is to himself as dull as a piece of glass. +A man who thinks he is a chicken is to himself as common as a chicken. +It is only sanity that can see even a wild poetry in insanity. +Therefore, these wise old tales made the hero ordinary and +the tale extraordinary. But you have made the hero extraordinary +and the tale ordinary--so ordinary--oh, so very ordinary." + +I saw him still gazing at me fixedly. Some nerve snapped in me +under the hypnotic stare. I leapt to my feet and cried, "In the name +of God and Democracy and the Dragon's grandmother--in the name of all +good things--I charge you to avaunt and haunt this house no more." +Whether or no it was the result of the exorcism, there is no doubt +that he definitely went away. + + +XVII + +The Red Angel + +I find that there really are human beings who think fairy tales bad +for children. I do not speak of the man in the green tie, for him +I can never count truly human. But a lady has written me an earnest +letter saying that fairy tales ought not to be taught to children even +if they are true. She says that it is cruel to tell children fairy +tales, because it frightens them. You might just as well say that +it is cruel to give girls sentimental novels because it makes them cry. +All this kind of talk is based on that complete forgetting +of what a child is like which has been the firm foundation +of so many educational schemes. If you keep bogies and goblins +away from children they would make them up for themselves. +One small child in the dark can invent more hells than Swedenborg. +One small child can imagine monsters too big and black +to get into any picture, and give them names too unearthly +and cacophonous to have occurred in the cries of any lunatic. +The child, to begin with, commonly likes horrors, and he +continues to indulge in them even when he does not like them. +There is just as much difficulty in saying exactly where pure +pain begins in his case, as there is in ours when we walk of our +own free will into the torture-chamber of a great tragedy. +The fear does not come from fairy tales; the fear comes from +the universe of the soul. + +. . . . . + +The timidity of the child or the savage is entirely reasonable; +they are alarmed at this world, because this world is a very +alarming place. They dislike being alone because it is verily +and indeed an awful idea to be alone. Barbarians fear +the unknown for the same reason that Agnostics worship it-- +because it is a fact. Fairy tales, then, are not responsible +for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; +fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; +that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. +Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. +What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea +of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known +the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. +What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to +kill the dragon. + +Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him +for a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless +terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies +in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe +more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear. +When I was a child I have stared at the darkness until the whole +black bulk of it turned into one negro giant taller than heaven. +If there was one star in the sky it only made him a Cyclops. +But fairy tales restored my mental health, for next day I read +an authentic account of how a negro giant with one eye, of quite +equal dimensions, had been baffled by a little boy like myself +(of similar inexperience and even lower social status) +by means of a sword, some bad riddles, and a brave heart. +Sometimes the sea at night seemed as dreadful as any dragon. +But then I was acquainted with many youngest sons and little +sailors to whom a dragon or two was as simple as the sea. + +Take the most horrible of Grimm's tales in incident and imagery, +the excellent tale of the "Boy who Could not Shudder," and you +will see what I mean. There are some living shocks in that tale. +I remember specially a man's legs which fell down the chimney +by themselves and walked about the room, until they were rejoined +by the severed head and body which fell down the chimney after them. +That is very good. But the point of the story and the point +of the reader's feelings is not that these things are frightening, +but the far more striking fact that the hero was not frightened at them. +The most fearful of all these fearful wonders was his own absence +of fear. He slapped the bogies on the back and asked the devils +to drink wine with him; many a time in my youth, when stifled with some +modern morbidity, I have prayed for a double portion of his spirit. +If you have not read the end of his story, go and read it; +it is the wisest thing in the world. The hero was at last taught +to shudder by taking a wife, who threw a pail of cold water over him. +In that one sentence there is more of the real meaning of marriage +than in all the books about sex that cover Europe and America. + +. . . . . + +At the four corners of a child's bed stand Perseus and Roland, Sigurd and +St. George. If you withdraw the guard of heroes you are not making +him rational; you are only leaving him to fight the devils alone. +For the devils, alas, we have always believed in. The hopeful element in +the universe has in modern times continually been denied and reasserted; +but the hopeless element has never for a moment been denied. +As I told "H. N. B." (whom I pause to wish a Happy Christmas in its +most superstitious sense), the one thing modern people really do +believe in is damnation. The greatest of purely modern poets summed +up the really modern attitude in that fine Agnostic line-- + +"There may be Heaven; there must be Hell." + +The gloomy view of the universe has been a continuous tradition; +and the new types of spiritual investigation or conjecture all begin +by being gloomy. A little while ago men believed in no spirits. +Now they are beginning rather slowly to believe in rather slow spirits. + +. . . . . + +Some people objected to spiritualism, table rappings, and such things, +because they were undignified, because the ghosts cracked jokes or +waltzed with dinner-tables. I do not share this objection in the least. +I wish the spirits were more farcical than they are. That they +should make more jokes and better ones, would be my suggestion. +For almost all the spiritualism of our time, in so far as it is new, +is solemn and sad. Some Pagan gods were lawless, and some Christian +saints were a little too serious; but the spirits of modern spiritualism +are both lawless and serious--a disgusting combination. The specially +contemporary spirits are not only devils, they are blue devils. +This is, first and last, the real value of Christmas; in so far +as the mythology remains at all it is a kind of happy mythology. +Personally, of course, I believe in Santa Claus; but it is the season +of forgiveness, and I will forgive others for not doing so. +But if there is anyone who does not comprehend the defect in our +world which I am civilising, I should recommend him, for instance, +to read a story by Mr. Henry James, called "The Turn of the Screw." +It is one of the most powerful things ever written, and it is one +of the things about which I doubt most whether it ought ever to have +been written at all. It describes two innocent children gradually +growing at once omniscient and half-witted under the influence of +the foul ghosts of a groom and a governess. As I say, I doubt whether +Mr. Henry James ought to have published it (no, it is not indecent, +do not buy it; it is a spiritual matter), but I think the question +so doubtful that I will give that truly great man a chance. +I will approve the thing as well as admire it if he will write +another tale just as powerful about two children and Santa Claus. +If he will not, or cannot, then the conclusion is clear; we can +deal strongly with gloomy mystery, but not with happy mystery; +we are not rationalists, but diabolists. + +. . . . . + +I have thought vaguely of all this staring at a great red fire that +stands up in the room like a great red angel. But, perhaps, you have +never heard of a red angel. But you have heard of a blue devil. +That is exactly what I mean. + + +XVIII + +The Tower + +I have been standing where everybody has stood, opposite the great +Belfry Tower of Bruges, and thinking, as every one has thought +(though not, perhaps, said), that it is built in defiance of all decencies +of architecture. It is made in deliberate disproportion to achieve +the one startling effect of height. It is a church on stilts. +But this sort of sublime deformity is characteristic of the whole fancy +and energy of these Flemish cities. Flanders has the flattest and most +prosaic landscapes, but the most violent and extravagant of buildings. +Here Nature is tame; it is civilisation that is untamable. +Here the fields are as flat as a paved square; but, on the other hand, +the streets and roofs are as uproarious as a forest in a great wind. +The waters of wood and meadow slide as smoothly and meekly +as if they were in the London water-pipes. But the parish +pump is carved with all the creatures out of the wilderness. +Part of this is true, of course, of all art. We talk of wild animals, +but the wildest animal is man. There are sounds in music that are +more ancient and awful than the cry of the strangest beast at night. +And so also there are buildings that are shapeless in their strength, +seeming to lift themselves slowly like monsters from the primal mire, +and there are spires that seem to fly up suddenly like a startled bird. + +. . . . . + +This savagery even in stone is the expression of the special spirit +in humanity. All the beasts of the field are respectable; it is only +man who has broken loose. All animals are domestic animals; only man +is ever undomestic. All animals are tame animals; it is only we who +are wild. And doubtless, also, while this queer energy is common to +all human art, it is also generally characteristic of Christian art +among the arts of the world. This is what people really mean when +they say that Christianity is barbaric, and arose in ignorance. +As a matter of historic fact, it didn't; it arose in the most +equably civilised period the world has ever seen. + +But it is true that there is something in it that breaks +the outline of perfect and conventional beauty, something that dots +with anger the blind eyes of the Apollo and lashes to a cavalry +charge the horses of the Elgin Marbles. Christianity is savage, +in the sense that it is primeval; there is in it a touch +of the nigger hymn. I remember a debate in which I had praised +militant music in ritual, and some one asked me if I could +imagine Christ walking down the street before a brass band. +I said I could imagine it with the greatest ease; for Christ +definitely approved a natural noisiness at a great moment. +When the street children shouted too loud, certain priggish +disciples did begin to rebuke them in the name of good taste. +He said: "If these were silent the very stones would cry out." +With these words He called up all the wealth of artistic +creation that has been founded on this creed. With those words +He founded Gothic architecture. For in a town like this, +which seems to have grown Gothic as a wood grows leaves, +anywhere and anyhow, any odd brick or moulding may be carved off +into a shouting face. The front of vast buildings is thronged +with open mouths, angels praising God, or devils defying Him. +Rock itself is racked and twisted, until it seems to scream. +The miracle is accomplished; the very stones cry out. + +But though this furious fancy is certainly a specialty of men among +creatures, and of Christian art among arts, it is still most notable +in the art of Flanders. All Gothic buildings are full of extravagant +things in detail; but this is an extravagant thing in design. All +Christian temples worth talking about have gargoyles; but Bruges +Belfry is a gargoyle. It is an unnaturally long-necked animal, like +a giraffe. The same impression of exaggeration is forced on the mind +at every corner of a Flemish town. And if any one asks, +"Why did the people of these flat countries instinctively raise +these riotous and towering monuments?" the only answer one can +give is, "Because they were the people of these flat countries." +If any one asks, "Why the men of Bruges sacrificed architecture +and everything to the sense of dizzy and divine heights?" +we can only answer, "Because Nature gave them no encouragement +to do so." + +. . . . . + +As I stare at the Belfry, I think with a sort of smile of some +of my friends in London who are quite sure of how children will +turn out if you give them what they call "the right environment." +It is a troublesome thing, environment, for it sometimes works +positively and sometimes negatively, and more often between the two. +A beautiful environment may make a child love beauty; +it may make him bored with beauty; most likely the two effects +will mix and neutralise each other. Most likely, that is, +the environment will make hardly any difference at all. +In the scientific style of history (which was recently fashionable, +and is still conventional) we always had a list of countries +that had owed their characteristics to their physical conditions. + +The Spaniards (it was said) are passionate because their country +is hot; Scandinavians adventurous because their country is cold; +Englishmen naval because they are islanders; Switzers free +because they are mountaineers. It is all very nice in its way. +Only unfortunately I am quite certain that I could make up quite +as long a list exactly contrary in its argument point-blank +against the influence of their geographical environment. +Thus Spaniards have discovered more continents than Scandinavians +because their hot climate discouraged them from exertion. +Thus Dutchmen have fought for their freedom quite as +bravely as Switzers because the Dutch have no mountains. +Thus Pagan Greece and Rome and many Mediterranean peoples have +specially hated the sea because they had the nicest sea to deal with, +the easiest sea to manage. I could extend the list for ever. +But however long it was, two examples would certainly stand up in it +as pre-eminent and unquestionable. The first is that the Swiss, +who live under staggering precipices and spires of eternal snow, +have produced no art or literature at all, and are by far +the most mundane, sensible, and business-like people in Europe. +The other is that the people of Belgium, who live in a country +like a carpet, have, by an inner energy, desired to exalt their +towers till they struck the stars. + +As it is therefore quite doubtful whether a person will go specially +with his environment or specially against his environment, +I cannot comfort myself with the thought that the modern +discussions about environment are of much practical value. +But I think I will not write any more about these modern +theories, but go on looking at the Belfry of Bruges. I would +give them the greater attention if I were not pretty well +convinced that the theories will have disappeared a long time +before the Belfry. + + +XIX + +How I Met the President + +Several years ago, when there was a small war going on in South Africa +and a great fuss going on in England, when it was by no means so popular +and convenient to be a Pro-Boer as it is now, I remember making +a bright suggestion to my Pro-Boer friends and allies, which was not, +I regret to say, received with the seriousness it deserved. +I suggested that a band of devoted and noble youths, including ourselves, +should express our sense of the pathos of the President's and +the Republic's fate by growing Kruger beards under our chins. +I imagined how abruptly this decoration would alter the appearance +of Mr. John Morley; how startling it would be as it emerged from under +the chin of Mr. Lloyd-George. But the younger men, my own friends, +on whom I more particularly urged it, men whose names are in many cases +familiar to the readers of this paper--Mr. Masterman's for instance, +and Mr. Conrad Noel--they, I felt, being young and beautiful, +would do even more justice to the Kruger beard, and when walking +down the street with it could not fail to attract attention. +The beard would have been a kind of counterblast to the Rhodes hat. +An appropriate counterblast; for the Rhodesian power in Africa +is only an external thing, placed upon the top like a hat; +the Dutch power and tradition is a thing rooted and growing +like a beard; we have shaved it, and it is growing again. +The Kruger beard would represent time and the natural processes. +You cannot grow a beard in a moment of passion. + +. . . . . + +After making this proposal to my friends I hurriedly left town. +I went down to a West Country place where there was shortly afterwards +an election, at which I enjoyed myself very much canvassing for +the Liberal candidate. The extraordinary thing was that he got in. +I sometimes lie awake at night and meditate upon that mystery; +but it must not detain us now. The rather singular incident +which happened to me then, and which some recent events have +recalled to me, happened while the canvassing was still going on. +It was a burning blue day, and the warm sunshine, settling everywhere +on the high hedges and the low hills, brought out into a kind +of heavy bloom that HUMANE quality of the landscape which, +as far as I know, only exists in England; that sense as if +the bushes and the roads were human, and had kindness like men; +as if the tree were a good giant with one wooden leg; +as if the very line of palings were a row of good-tempered gnomes. +On one side of the white, sprawling road a low hill or down +showed but a little higher than the hedge, on the other the land +tumbled down into a valley that opened towards the Mendip hills. +The road was very erratic, for every true English road exists +in order to lead one a dance; and what could be more beautiful +and beneficent than a dance? At an abrupt turn of it I came upon +a low white building, with dark doors and dark shuttered windows, +evidently not inhabited and scarcely in the ordinary sense inhabitable-- +a thing more like a toolhouse than a house of any other kind. +Made idle by the heat, I paused, and, taking a piece of red chalk +out of my pocket, began drawing aimlessly on the back door-- +drawing goblins and Mr. Chamberlain, and finally the ideal +Nationalist with the Kruger beard. The materials did not permit +of any delicate rendering of his noble and national expansion +of countenance (stoical and yet hopeful, full of tears for man, +and yet of an element of humour); but the hat was finely handled. +Just as I was adding the finishing touches to the Kruger fantasy, +I was frozen to the spot with terror. The black door, +which I thought no more of than the lid of an empty box, +began slowly to open, impelled from within by a human hand. +And President Kruger himself came out into the sunlight! + +He was a shade milder of eye than he was in his portraits, and he did +not wear that ceremonial scarf which was usually, in such pictures, +slung across his ponderous form. But there was the hat which filled +the Empire with so much alarm; there were the clumsy dark clothes, +there was the heavy, powerful face; there, above all, was the Kruger +beard which I had sought to evoke (if I may use the verb) from under +the features of Mr. Masterman. Whether he had the umbrella or not I +was too much emotionally shaken to observe; he had not the stone +lions with him, or Mrs. Kruger; and what he was doing in that dark +shed I cannot imagine, but I suppose he was oppressing an Outlander. + +I was surprised, I must confess, to meet President Kruger +in Somersetshire during the war. I had no idea that he was in +the neighbourhood. But a yet more arresting surprise awaited me. +Mr. Kruger regarded me for some moments with a dubious grey eye, +and then addressed me with a strong Somersetshire accent. +A curious cold shock went through me to hear that inappropriate voice +coming out of that familiar form. It was as if you met a Chinaman, +with pigtail and yellow jacket, and he began to talk broad Scotch. +But the next moment, of course, I understood the situation. +We had much underrated the Boers in supposing that the Boer +education was incomplete. In pursuit of his ruthless plot +against our island home, the terrible President had learnt not +only English, but all the dialects at a moment's notice to win +over a Lancashire merchant or seduce a Northumberland Fusilier. +No doubt, if I asked him, this stout old gentleman could +grind out Sussex, Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, and so on, +like the tunes in a barrel organ. I could not wonder if our plain, +true-hearted German millionaires fell before a cunning so penetrated +with culture as this. + +. . . . . + +And now I come to the third and greatest surprise of all +that this strange old man gave me. When he asked me, +dryly enough, but not without a certain steady civility +that belongs to old-fashioned country people, what I wanted +and what I was doing, I told him the facts of the case, +explaining my political mission and the almost angelic qualities +of the Liberal candidate. Whereupon, this old man became +suddenly transfigured in the sunlight into a devil of wrath. +It was some time before I could understand a word he said, +but the one word that kept on recurring was the word "Kruger," +and it was invariably accompanied with a volley of violent terms. +Was I for old Kruger, was I? Did I come to him and want him +to help old Kruger? I ought to be ashamed, I was . . . and +here he became once more obscure. The one thing that he made +quite clear was that he wouldn't do anything for Kruger. + +"But you ARE Kruger," burst from my lips, in a natural explosion +of reasonableness. "You ARE Kruger, aren't you?" + +After this innocent CRI DE COEUR of mine, I thought at first +there would be a fight, and I remembered with regret that +the President in early life had had a hobby of killing lions. +But really I began to think that I had been mistaken, and that it +was not the President after all. There was a confounding sincerity +in the anger with which he declared that he was Farmer Bowles, +and everybody knowed it. I appeased him eventually and parted +from him at the door of his farmhouse, where he left me with a few +tags of religion, which again raised my suspicions of his identity. +In the coffee-room to which I returned there was an illustrated +paper with a picture of President Kruger, and he and Farmer Bowles +were as like as two peas. There was a picture also of a group +of Outlander leaders, and the faces of them, leering and triumphant, +were perhaps unduly darkened by the photograph, but they seemed +to me like the faces of a distant and hostile people. + +I saw the old man once again on the fierce night of the poll, +when he drove down our Liberal lines in a little cart ablaze +with the blue Tory ribbons, for he was a man who would carry his +colours everywhere. It was evening, and the warm western light was +on the grey hair and heavy massive features of that good old man. +I knew as one knows a fact of sense that if Spanish and German +stockbrokers had flooded his farm or country he would +have fought them for ever, not fiercely like an Irishman, +but with the ponderous courage and ponderous cunning of the Boer. +I knew that without seeing it, as certainly as I knew without +seeing it that when he went into the polling room he put his +cross against the Conservative name. Then he came out again, +having given his vote and looking more like Kruger than ever. +And at the same hour on the same night thousands upon thousands +of English Krugers gave the same vote. And thus Kruger was +pulled down and the dark-faced men in the photograph reigned +in his stead. + + +XX + +The Giant + +I sometimes fancy that every great city must have been built by night. +At least, it is only at night that every part of a great city is great. +All architecture is great architecture after sunset; perhaps +architecture is really a nocturnal art, like the art of fireworks. +At least, I think many people of those nobler trades that work +by night (journalists, policemen, burglars, coffee-stall keepers, +and such mistaken enthusiasts as refuse to go home till morning) +must often have stood admiring some black bulk of building with a crown +of battlements or a crest of spires and then burst into tears at +daybreak to discover that it was only a haberdasher's shop with huge +gold letters across the face of it. + +. . . . . + +I had a sensation of this sort the other day as I happened to be +wandering in the Temple Gardens towards the end of twilight. +I sat down on a bench with my back to the river, happening to +choose such a place that a huge angle and facade of building +jutting out from the Strand sat above me like an incubus. +I dare say that if I took the same seat to-morrow by daylight I +should find the impression entirely false. In sunlight the thing +might seem almost distant; but in that half-darkness it seemed +as if the walls were almost falling upon me. Never before have I +had so strongly the sense which makes people pessimists in politics, +the sense of the hopeless height of the high places of the earth. +That pile of wealth and power, whatever was its name, went up above +and beyond me like a cliff that no living thing could climb. +I had an irrational sense that this thing had to be fought, that I +had to fight it; and that I could offer nothing to the occasion +but an indolent journalist with a walking-stick. + +Almost as I had the thought, two windows were lit in that black, +blind face. It was as if two eyes had opened in the huge +face of a sleeping giant; the eyes were too close together, +and gave it the suggestion of a bestial sneer. And either +by accident of this light or of some other, I could now read +the big letters which spaced themselves across the front; +it was the Babylon Hotel. It was the perfect symbol of everything +that I should like to pull down with my hands if I could. +Reared by a detected robber, it is framed to be the fashionable +and luxurious home of undetected robbers. In the house of man +are many mansions; but there is a class of men who feel normal +nowhere except in the Babylon Hotel or in Dartmoor Gaol. +That big black face, which was staring at me with its flaming +eyes too close together, that was indeed the giant of all epic +and fairy tales. But, alas! I was not the giant-killer; +the hour had come, but not the man. I sat down on the seat again +(I had had one wild impulse to climb up the front of the hotel +and fall in at one of the windows), and I tried to think, +as all decent people are thinking, what one can really do. +And all the time that oppressive wall went up in front of me, +and took hold upon the heavens like a house of the gods. + +. . . . . + +It is remarkable that in so many great wars it has been +the defeated who have won. The people who were left +worst at the end of the war were generally the people +who were left best at the end of the whole business. +For instance, the Crusades ended in the defeat of the Christians. +But they did not end in the decline of the Christians; +they ended in the decline of the Saracens. That huge prophetic wave +of Moslem power which had hung in the very heavens above the towns +of Christendom, that wave was broken, and never came on again. +The Crusaders had saved Paris in the act of losing Jerusalem. +The same applies to that epic of Republican war in the eighteenth +century to which we Liberals owe our political creed. +The French Revolution ended in defeat: the kings came back +across a carpet of dead at Waterloo. The Revolution had +lost its last battle; but it had gained its first object. +It had cut a chasm. The world has never been the same since. +No one after that has ever been able to treat the poor merely +as a pavement. + +These jewels of God, the poor, are still treated as mere +stones of the street; but as stones that may sometimes fly. +If it please God, you and I may see some of the stones +flying again before we see death. But here I only remark +the interesting fact that the conquered almost always conquer. +Sparta killed Athens with a final blow, and she was born again. +Sparta went away victorious, and died slowly of her own wounds. +The Boers lost the South African War and gained South Africa. + +And this is really all that we can do when we fight something really +stronger than ourselves; we can deal it its death-wound one moment; +it deals us death in the end. It is something if we can shock +and jar the unthinking impetus and enormous innocence of evil; +just as a pebble on a railway can stagger the Scotch express. +It is enough for the great martyrs and criminals of the French revolution, +that they have surprised for all time the secret weakness of the strong. +They have awakened and set leaping and quivering in his crypt for ever +the coward in the hearts of kings. + +. . . . . + +When Jack the Giant-Killer really first saw the giant his +experience was not such as has been generally supposed. +If you care to hear it I will tell you the real story of Jack +the Giant-Killer. To begin with, the most awful thing which Jack +first felt about the giant was that he was not a giant. +He came striding across an interminable wooded plain, and against +its remote horizon the giant was quite a small figure, like a figure +in a picture--he seemed merely a man walking across the grass. +Then Jack was shocked by remembering that the grass which the man +was treading down was one of the tallest forests upon that plain. +The man came nearer and nearer, growing bigger and bigger, +and at the instant when he passed the possible stature of humanity +Jack almost screamed. The rest was an intolerable apocalypse. + +The giant had the one frightful quality of a miracle; +the more he became incredible the more he became solid. +The less one could believe in him the more plainly one could see him. +It was unbearable that so much of the sky should be occupied +by one human face. His eyes, which had stood out like bow windows, +became bigger yet, and there was no metaphor that could +contain their bigness; yet still they were human eyes. +Jack's intellect was utterly gone under that huge hypnotism +of the face that filled the sky; his last hope was submerged, +his five wits all still with terror. + +But there stood up in him still a kind of cold chivalry, a dignity of dead +honour that would not forget the small and futile sword in his hand. +He rushed at one of the colossal feet of this human tower, and when +he came quite close to it the ankle-bone arched over him like a cave. +Then he planted the point of his sword against the foot and leant on it +with all his weight, till it went up to the hilt and broke the hilt, +and then snapped just under it. And it was plain that the giant felt +a sort of prick, for he snatched up his great foot into his great hand +for an instant; and then, putting it down again, he bent over and stared +at the ground until he had seen his enemy. + +Then he picked up Jack between a big finger and thumb and threw +him away; and as Jack went through the air he felt as if he were +flying from system to system through the universe of stars. +But, as the giant had thrown him away carelessly, he did not strike +a stone, but struck soft mire by the side of a distant river. +There he lay insensible for several hours; but when he awoke again +his horrible conqueror was still in sight. He was striding away +across the void and wooded plain towards where it ended in the sea; +and by this time he was only much higher than any of the hills. +He grew less and less indeed; but only as a really high mountain +grows at last less and less when we leave it in a railway train. +Half an hour afterwards he was a bright blue colour, as are the +distant hills; but his outline was still human and still gigantic. +Then the big blue figure seemed to come to the brink of the big +blue sea, and even as it did so it altered its attitude. +Jack, stunned and bleeding, lifted himself laboriously upon one +elbow to stare. The giant once more caught hold of his ankle, +wavered twice as in a wind, and then went over into the great sea +which washes the whole world, and which, alone of all things God +has made, was big enough to drown him. + + +XXI + +A Great Man + +People accuse journalism of being too personal; but to me it has +always seemed far too impersonal. It is charged with tearing +away the veils from private life; but it seems to me to be always +dropping diaphanous but blinding veils between men and men. +The Yellow Press is abused for exposing facts which are private; +I wish the Yellow Press did anything so valuable. It is exactly +the decisive individual touches that it never gives; and a proof of this +is that after one has met a man a million times in the newspapers it +is always a complete shock and reversal to meet him in real life. +The Yellow Pressman seems to have no power of catching the first +fresh fact about a man that dominates all after impressions. +For instance, before I met Bernard Shaw I heard that he spoke with +a reckless desire for paradox or a sneering hatred of sentiment; +but I never knew till he opened his mouth that he spoke with +an Irish accent, which is more important than all the other +criticisms put together. + +Journalism is not personal enough. So far from digging out +private personalities, it cannot even report the obvious personalities +on the surface. Now there is one vivid and even bodily impression +of this kind which we have all felt when we met great poets +or politicians, but which never finds its way into the newspapers. +I mean the impression that they are much older than we thought they were. +We connect great men with their great triumphs, which generally +happened some years ago, and many recruits enthusiastic for the thin +Napoleon of Marengo must have found themselves in the presence +of the fat Napoleon of Leipzic. + +I remember reading a newspaper account of how a certain rising politician +confronted the House of Lords with the enthusiasm almost of boyhood. +It described how his "brave young voice" rang in the rafters. +I also remember that I met him some days after, and he was considerably +older than my own father. I mention this truth for only one purpose: +all this generalisation leads up to only one fact--the fact that I once +met a great man who was younger than I expected. + +. . . . . + +I had come over the wooded wall from the villages about Epsom, and down +a stumbling path between trees towards the valley in which Dorking lies. +A warm sunlight was working its way through the leafage; a sunlight +which though of saintless gold had taken on the quality of evening. +It was such sunlight as reminds a man that the sun begins to set +an instant after noon. It seemed to lessen as the wood strengthened +and the road sank. + +I had a sensation peculiar to such entangled descents; +I felt that the treetops that closed above me were the fixed +and real things, certain as the level of the sea; but that +the solid earth was every instant failing under my feet. +In a little while that splendid sunlight showed only in splashes, +like flaming stars and suns in the dome of green sky. +Around me in that emerald twilight were trunks of trees of every +plain or twisted type; it was like a chapel supported on columns +of every earthly and unearthly style of architecture. + +Without intention my mind grew full of fancies on the nature +of the forest; on the whole philosophy of mystery and force. +For the meaning of woods is the combination of energy with complexity. +A forest is not in the least rude or barbarous; it is only dense +with delicacy. Unique shapes that an artist would copy or a +philosopher watch for years if he found them in an open plain are +here mingled and confounded; but it is not a darkness of deformity. +It is a darkness of life; a darkness of perfection. And I began +to think how much of the highest human obscurity is like this, +and how much men have misunderstood it. People will tell you, +for instance, that theology became elaborate because it was dead. +Believe me, if it had been dead it would never have become elaborate; +it is only the live tree that grows too many branches. + +. . . . . + +These trees thinned and fell away from each other, and I came out +into deep grass and a road. I remember being surprised that the +evening was so far advanced; I had a fancy that this valley had a +sunset all to itself. I went along that road according to directions +that had been given me, and passed the gateway in a slight paling +beyond which the wood changed only faintly to a garden. +It was as if the curious courtesy and fineness of that character +I was to meet went out from him upon the valley; for I felt +on all these things the finger of that quality which the old +English called "faerie"; it is the quality which those can +never understand who think of the past as merely brutal; +it is an ancient elegance such as there is in trees. +I went through the garden and saw an old man sitting by a table, +looking smallish in his big chair. He was already an invalid, +and his hair and beard were both white; not like snow, for snow +is cold and heavy, but like something feathery, or even fierce; +rather they were white like the white thistledown. I came up +quite close to him; he looked at me as he put out his frail hand, +and I saw of a sudden that his eyes were startlingly young. +He was the one great man of the old world whom I have met +who was not a mere statue over his own grave. + +He was deaf and he talked like a torrent. He did not talk about +the books he had written; he was far too much alive for that. +He talked about the books he had not written. He unrolled +a purple bundle of romances which he had never had time to sell. +He asked me to write one of the stories for him, as he would +have asked the milkman, if he had been talking to the milkman. +It was a splendid and frantic story, a sort of astronomical farce. +It was all about a man who was rushing up to the Royal Society +with the only possible way of avoiding an earth-destroying comet; +and it showed how, even on this huge errand, the man was tripped +up at every other minute by his own weakness and vanities; +how he lost a train by trifling or was put in gaol for brawling. +That is only one of them; there were ten or twenty more. +Another, I dimly remember, was a version of the fall of Parnell; +the idea that a quite honest man might be secret from a pure love +of secrecy, of solitary self-control. I went out of that garden with a +blurred sensation of the million possibilities of creative literature. +The feeling increased as my way fell back into the wood; for a wood +is a palace with a million corridors that cross each other everywhere. +I really had the feeling that I had seen the creative quality; +which is supernatural. I had seen what Virgil calls the Old Man +of the Forest: I had seen an elf. The trees thronged behind my path; +I have never seen him again; and now I shall not see him, +because he died last Tuesday. + + +XXII + +The Orthodox Barber + +Those thinkers who cannot believe in any gods often assert +that the love of humanity would be in itself sufficient for them; +and so, perhaps, it would, if they had it. There is a very real +thing which may be called the love of humanity; in our time it +exists almost entirely among what are called uneducated people; +and it does not exist at all among the people who talk about it. + +A positive pleasure in being in the presence of any other human being +is chiefly remarkable, for instance, in the masses on Bank Holiday; +that is why they are so much nearer Heaven (despite appearances) +than any other part of our population. + +I remember seeing a crowd of factory girls getting into an empty +train at a wayside country station. There were about twenty of them; +they all got into one carriage; and they left all the rest of the +train entirely empty. That is the real love of humanity. That is +the definite pleasure in the immediate proximity of one's own kind. +Only this coarse, rank, real love of men seems to be entirely +lacking in those who propose the love of humanity as a substitute +for all other love; honourable, rationalistic idealists. + +I can well remember the explosion of human joy which marked +the sudden starting of that train; all the factory girls +who could not find seats (and they must have been the majority) +relieving their feelings by jumping up and down. Now I have never +seen any rationalistic idealists do this. I have never seen twenty +modern philosophers crowd into one third-class carriage for the +mere pleasure of being together. I have never seen twenty Mr. +McCabes all in one carriage and all jumping up and down. + +Some people express a fear that vulgar trippers will overrun +all beautiful places, such as Hampstead or Burnham Beeches. +But their fear is unreasonable; because trippers always +prefer to trip together; they pack as close as they can; +they have a suffocating passion of philanthropy. + +. . . . . + +But among the minor and milder aspects of the same principle, +I have no hesitation in placing the problem of the colloquial barber. +Before any modern man talks with authority about loving men, I insist +(I insist with violence) that he shall always be very much pleased +when his barber tries to talk to him. His barber is humanity: +let him love that. If he is not pleased at this, I will not accept any +substitute in the way of interest in the Congo or the future of Japan. +If a man cannot love his barber whom he has seen, how shall he love +the Japanese whom he has not seen? + +It is urged against the barber that he begins by talking about +the weather; so do all dukes and diplomatists, only that they talk about +it with ostentatious fatigue and indifference, whereas the barber talks +about it with an astonishing, nay incredible, freshness of interest. +It is objected to him that he tells people that they are going bald. +That is to say, his very virtues are cast up against him; +he is blamed because, being a specialist, he is a sincere specialist, +and because, being a tradesman, he is not entirely a slave. +But the only proof of such things is by example; therefore I will prove +the excellence of the conversation of barbers by a specific case. +Lest any one should accuse me of attempting to prove it by fictitious +means, I beg to say quite seriously that though I forget the exact +language employed, the following conversation between me and a human +(I trust), living barber really took place a few days ago. + +. . . . . + +I had been invited to some At Home to meet the Colonial Premiers, +and lest I should be mistaken for some partly reformed bush-ranger out of +the interior of Australia I went into a shop in the Strand to get shaved. +While I was undergoing the torture the man said to me: + +"There seems to be a lot in the papers about this new shaving, sir. +It seems you can shave yourself with anything--with a stick or a stone +or a pole or a poker" (here I began for the first time to detect +a sarcastic intonation) "or a shovel or a----" + +Here he hesitated for a word, and I, although I knew nothing about +the matter, helped him out with suggestions in the same rhetorical vein. + +"Or a button-hook," I said, "or a blunderbuss or a battering-ram +or a piston-rod----" + +He resumed, refreshed with this assistance, "Or a curtain rod +or a candle-stick, or a----" + +"Cow-catcher," I suggested eagerly, and we continued in this ecstatic duet +for some time. Then I asked him what it was all about, and he told me. +He explained the thing eloquently and at length. + +"The funny part of it is," he said, "that the thing isn't new at all. +It's been talked about ever since I was a boy, and long before. +There is always a notion that the razor might be done without somehow. +But none of those schemes ever came to anything; and I don't believe +myself that this will." + +"Why, as to that," I said, rising slowly from the chair and trying +to put on my coat inside out, "I don't know how it may be in the case +of you and your new shaving. Shaving, with all respect to you, +is a trivial and materialistic thing, and in such things +startling inventions are sometimes made. But what you say +reminds me in some dark and dreamy fashion of something else. +I recall it especially when you tell me, with such evident +experience and sincerity, that the new shaving is not really new. +My friend, the human race is always trying this dodge of making +everything entirely easy; but the difficulty which it shifts off +one thing it shifts on to another. If one man has not the toil +of preparing a man's chin, I suppose that some other man has the toil +of preparing something very curious to put on a man's chin. +It would be nice if we could be shaved without troubling anybody. +It would be nicer still if we could go unshaved without annoying anybody-- + + "'But, O wise friend, chief Barber of the Strand, + Brother, nor you nor I have made the world.' + +"Whoever made it, who is wiser, and we hope better than we, made it +under strange limitations, and with painful conditions of pleasure. + +"In the first and darkest of its books it is fiercely written +that a man shall not eat his cake and have it; and though +all men talked until the stars were old it would still be true +that a man who has lost his razor could not shave with it. +But every now and then men jump up with the new something +or other and say that everything can be had without sacrifice, +that bad is good if you are only enlightened, and that there +is no real difference between being shaved and not being shaved. +The difference, they say, is only a difference of degree; +everything is evolutionary and relative. Shavedness is +immanent in man. Every ten-penny nail is a Potential Razor. +The superstitious people of the past (they say) believed that +a lot of black bristles standing out at right angles to one's +face was a positive affair. But the higher criticism teaches +us better. Bristles are merely negative. They are a Shadow +where Shaving should be. + +"Well, it all goes on, and I suppose it all means something. +But a baby is the Kingdom of God, and if you try to kiss a baby +he will know whether you are shaved or not. Perhaps I am mixing +up being shaved and being saved; my democratic sympathies have +always led me to drop my 'h's.' In another moment I may suggest +that goats represent the lost because goats have long beards. +This is growing altogether too allegorical. + +"Nevertheless," I added, as I paid the bill, "I have really been +profoundly interested in what you told me about the New Shaving. +Have you ever heard of a thing called the New theology?" + +He smiled and said that he had not. + + +XXIII + +The Toy Theatre + +There is only one reason why all grown-up people do not play with toys; +and it is a fair reason. The reason is that playing with toys +takes so very much more time and trouble than anything else. +Playing as children mean playing is the most serious thing in the world; +and as soon as we have small duties or small sorrows we have to +abandon to some extent so enormous and ambitious a plan of life. +We have enough strength for politics and commerce and art and philosophy; +we have not enough strength for play. This is a truth which every one +will recognize who, as a child, has ever played with anything at all; +any one who has played with bricks, any one who has played with dolls, +any one who has played with tin soldiers. My journalistic work, +which earns money, is not pursued with such awful persistency as that +work which earned nothing. + +. . . . . + +Take the case of bricks. If you publish a book to-morrow +in twelve volumes (it would be just like you) on "The Theory +and Practice of European Architecture," your work may be laborious, +but it is fundamentally frivolous. It is not serious as the work +of a child piling one brick on the other is serious; for the simple +reason that if your book is a bad book no one will ever be able +ultimately and entirely to prove to you that it is a bad book. +Whereas if his balance of bricks is a bad balance of bricks, +it will simply tumble down. And if I know anything of children, +he will set to work solemnly and sadly to build it up again. +Whereas, if I know anything of authors, nothing would induce you +to write your book again, or even to think of it again if you +could help it. + +Take the case of dolls. It is much easier to care for an educational +cause than to care for a doll. It is as easy to write an article on +education as to write an article on toffee or tramcars or anything else. +But it is almost as difficult to look after a doll as to look after +a child. The little girls that I meet in the little streets of Battersea +worship their dolls in a way that reminds one not so much of play +as idolatry. In some cases the love and care of the artistic symbol +has actually become more important than the human reality which it was, +I suppose, originally meant to symbolize. + +I remember a Battersea little girl who wheeled her large baby sister +stuffed into a doll's perambulator. When questioned on this course of +conduct, she replied: "I haven't got a dolly, and Baby is pretending +to be my dolly." Nature was indeed imitating art. First a doll had +been a substitute for a child; afterwards a child was a mere substitute +for a doll. But that opens other matters; the point is here that such +devotion takes up most of the brain and most of the life; much as if +it were really the thing which it is supposed to symbolize. The point +is that the man writing on motherhood is merely an educationalist; +the child playing with a doll is a mother. + +Take the case of soldiers. A man writing an article on military strategy +is simply a man writing an article; a horrid sight. But a boy making a +campaign with tin soldiers is like a General making a campaign with live +soldiers. He must to the limit of his juvenile powers think about the +thing; whereas the war correspondent need not think at all. I remember +a war correspondent who remarked after the capture of Methuen: "This +renewed activity on the part of Delarey is probably due to his being +short of stores." The same military critic had mentioned a few +paragraphs before that Delarey was being hard pressed by a column which +was pursuing him under the command of Methuen. Methuen chased Delarey; +and Delarey's activity was due to his being short of stores. +Otherwise he would have stood quite still while he was chased. +I run after Jones with a hatchet, and if he turns round and tries +to get rid of me the only possible explanation is that he has +a very small balance at his bankers. I cannot believe that any boy +playing at soldiers would be as idiotic as this. But then any one +playing at anything has to be serious. Whereas, as I have only too +good reason to know, if you are writing an article you can say anything +that comes into your head. + +. . . . . + +Broadly, then, what keeps adults from joining in children's +games is, generally speaking, not that they have no pleasure +in them; it is simply that they have no leisure for them. +It is that they cannot afford the expenditure of toil +and time and consideration for so grand and grave a scheme. +I have been myself attempting for some time past to complete +a play in a small toy theatre, the sort of toy theatre +that used to be called Penny Plain and Twopence Coloured; +only that I drew and coloured the figures and scenes myself. +Hence I was free from the degrading obligation of having to pay +either a penny or twopence; I only had to pay a shilling a sheet +for good cardboard and a shilling a box for bad water colours. +The kind of miniature stage I mean is probably familiar to every one; +it is never more than a development of the stage which Skelt +made and Stevenson celebrated. + +But though I have worked much harder at the toy theatre than I +ever worked at any tale or article, I cannot finish it; the work +seems too heavy for me. I have to break off and betake myself +to lighter employments; such as the biographies of great men. +The play of "St. George and the Dragon," over which I have burnt +the midnight oil (you must colour the thing by lamplight because +that is how it will be seen), still lacks most conspicuously, +alas! two wings of the Sultan's Palace, and also some comprehensible +and workable way of getting up the curtain. + +All this gives me a feeling touching the real meaning of immortality. +In this world we cannot have pure pleasure. This is partly because +pure pleasure would be dangerous to us and to our neighbours. +But it is partly because pure pleasure is a great deal too much trouble. +If I am ever in any other and better world, I hope that I shall have +enough time to play with nothing but toy theatres; and I hope that I +shall have enough divine and superhuman energy to act at least one play +in them without a hitch. + +. . . . . + +Meanwhile the philosophy of toy theatres is worth any one's +consideration. All the essential morals which modern men need +to learn could be deduced from this toy. Artistically considered, +it reminds us of the main principle of art, the principle which +is in most danger of being forgotten in our time. I mean the fact +that art consists of limitation; the fact that art is limitation. +Art does not consist in expanding things. Art consists of cutting +things down, as I cut down with a pair of scissors my very ugly +figures of St. George and the Dragon. Plato, who liked definite +ideas, would like my cardboard dragon; for though the creature has +few other artistic merits he is at least dragonish. The modern +philosopher, who likes infinity, is quite welcome to a sheet of +the plain cardboard. The most artistic thing about the theatrical +art is the fact that the spectator looks at the whole thing through +a window. This is true even of theatres inferior to my own; even at +the Court Theatre or His Majesty's you are looking through a window; +an unusually large window. But the advantage of the small +theatre exactly is that you are looking through a small window. +Has not every one noticed how sweet and startling any +landscape looks when seen through an arch? This strong, +square shape, this shutting off of everything else is not +only an assistance to beauty; it is the essential of beauty. +The most beautiful part of every picture is the frame. + +This especially is true of the toy theatre; that, by reducing +the scale of events it can introduce much larger events. +Because it is small it could easily represent the earthquake in Jamaica. +Because it is small it could easily represent the Day of Judgment. +Exactly in so far as it is limited, so far it could play easily +with falling cities or with falling stars. Meanwhile the big +theatres are obliged to be economical because they are big. +When we have understood this fact we shall have understood something +of the reason why the world has always been first inspired by +small nationalities. The vast Greek philosophy could fit easier +into the small city of Athens than into the immense Empire of Persia. +In the narrow streets of Florence Dante felt that there was room +for Purgatory and Heaven and Hell. He would have been stifled +by the British Empire. Great empires are necessarily prosaic; +for it is beyond human power to act a great poem upon so great a scale. +You can only represent very big ideas in very small spaces. +My toy theatre is as philosophical as the drama of Athens. + + +XXIV + +A Tragedy of Twopence + +My relations with the readers of this page have been +long and pleasant, but--perhaps for that very reason-- +I feel that the time has come when I ought to confess +the one great crime of my life. It happened a long time ago; +but it is not uncommon for a belated burst of remorse +to reveal such dark episodes long after they have occurred. +It has nothing to do with the orgies of the Anti-Puritan League. +That body is so offensively respectable that a newspaper, +in describing it the other day, referred to my friend +Mr. Edgar Jepson as Canon Edgar Jepson; and it is believed +that similar titles are intended for all of us. No; it is +not by the conduct of Archbishop Crane, of Dean Chesterton, +of the Rev. James Douglas, of Monsignor Bland, and even of that +fine and virile old ecclesiastic, Cardinal Nesbit, that I wish +(or rather, am driven by my conscience) to make this declaration. +The crime was committed in solitude and without accomplices. +Alone I did it. Let me, with the characteristic thirst +of penitents to get the worst of the confession over, state it +first of all in its most dreadful and indefensible form. +There is at the present moment in a town in Germany (unless he +has died of rage on discovering his wrong), a restaurant-keeper +to whom I still owe twopence. I last left his open-air restaurant +knowing that I owed him twopence. I carried it away under his +nose, despite the fact that the nose was a decidedly Jewish one. +I have never paid him, and it is highly improbable that I ever shall. +How did this villainy come to occur in a life which has been, +generally speaking, deficient in the dexterity necessary for fraud? +The story is as follows--and it has a moral, though there +may not be room for that. + +. . . . . + +It is a fair general rule for those travelling on the Continent that +the easiest way of talking in a foreign language is to talk philosophy. +The most difficult kind of talking is to talk about common necessities. +The reason is obvious. The names of common necessities vary completely +with each nation and are generally somewhat odd and quaint. +How, for instance, could a Frenchman suppose that a coalbox would +be called a "scuttle"? If he has ever seen the word scuttle +it has been in the Jingo Press, where the "policy of scuttle" +is used whenever we give up something to a small Power like Liberals, +instead of giving up everything to a great Power, like Imperialists. +What Englishman in Germany would be poet enough to guess that the Germans +call a glove a "hand-shoe." Nations name their necessities by nicknames, +so to speak. They call their tubs and stools by quaint, elvish, +and almost affectionate names, as if they were their own children! +But any one can argue about abstract things in a foreign language who has +ever got as far as Exercise IV. in a primer. For as soon as he can +put a sentence together at all he finds that the words used in abstract +or philosophical discussions are almost the same in all nations. +They are the same, for the simple reason that they all come +from the things that were the roots of our common civilisation. +From Christianity, from the Roman Empire, from the mediaeval Church, +or the French Revolution. "Nation," "citizen," "religion," "philosophy," +"authority," "the Republic," words like these are nearly the same +in all the countries in which we travel. Restrain, therefore, +your exuberant admiration for the young man who can argue with six +French atheists when he first lands at Dieppe. Even I can do that. +But very likely the same young man does not know the French for a +shoe-horn. But to this generalisation there are three great exceptions. +(1) In the case of countries that are not European at all, and have +never had our civic conceptions, or the old Latin scholarship. +I do not pretend that the Patagonian phrase for "citizenship" +at once leaps to the mind, or that a Dyak's word for "the Republic" +has been familiar to me from the nursery. (2) In the case of Germany, +where, although the principle does apply to many words such as "nation" +and "philosophy," it does not apply so generally, because Germany +has had a special and deliberate policy of encouraging the purely +German part of its language. (3) In the case where one does not know +any of the language at all, as is generally the case with me. + +. . . . . + +Such at least was my situation on the dark day on which I committed +my crime. Two of the exceptional conditions which I have mentioned +were combined. I was walking about a German town, and I knew no German. +I knew, however, two or three of those great and solemn words which +hold our European civilisation together--one of which is "cigar." +As it was a hot and dreamy day, I sat down at a table in a sort +of beer-garden, and ordered a cigar and a pot of lager. I drank the +lager, and paid for it. I smoked the cigar, forgot to pay for it, +and walked away, gazing rapturously at the royal outline of the +Taunus mountains. After about ten minutes, I suddenly remembered +that I had not paid for the cigar. I went back to the place of +refreshment, and put down the money. But the proprietor also had +forgotten the cigar, and he merely said guttural things in a tone +of query, asking me, I suppose, what I wanted. I said "cigar," and +he gave me a cigar. I endeavoured while putting down the money to +wave away the cigar with gestures of refusal. He thought that my +rejection was of the nature of a condemnation of that particular cigar, +and brought me another. I whirled my arms like a windmill, +seeking to convey by the sweeping universality of my gesture +that my rejection was a rejection of cigars in general, +not of that particular article. He mistook this for the ordinary +impatience of common men, and rushed forward, his hands +filled with miscellaneous cigars, pressing them upon me. +In desperation I tried other kinds of pantomime, but the more +cigars I refused the more and more rare and precious cigars +were brought out of the deeps and recesses of the establishment. +I tried in vain to think of a way of conveying to him the fact +that I had already had the cigar. I imitated the action +of a citizen smoking, knocking off and throwing away a cigar. +The watchful proprietor only thought I was rehearsing +(as in an ecstasy of anticipation) the joys of the cigar +he was going to give me. At last I retired baffled: +he would not take the money and leave the cigars alone. +So that this restaurant-keeper (in whose face a love of money +shone like the sun at noonday) flatly and firmly refused +to receive the twopence that I certainly owed him; and I took +that twopence of his away with me and rioted on it for months. +I hope that on the last day the angels will break the truth +very gently to that unhappy man. + +. . . . . + +This is the true and exact account of the Great Cigar Fraud, +and the moral of it is this--that civilisation is founded +upon abstractions. The idea of debt is one which cannot be conveyed +by physical motions at all, because it is an abstract idea. +And civilisation obviously would be nothing without debt. +So when hard-headed fellows who study scientific sociology +(which does not exist) come and tell you that civilisation +is material or indifferent to the abstract, just ask yourselves +how many of the things that make up our Society, the Law, +or the Stocks and Shares, or the National Debt, you would be +able to convey with your face and your ten fingers by grinning +and gesticulating to a German innkeeper. + + +XXV + +A Cab Ride Across Country + +Sown somewhere far off in the shallow dales of Hertfordshire there +lies a village of great beauty, and I doubt not of admirable virtue, +but of eccentric and unbalanced literary taste, which asked the present +writer to come down to it on Sunday afternoon and give an address. + +Now it was very difficult to get down to it at all on Sunday afternoon, +owing to the indescribable state into which our national laws +and customs have fallen in connection with the seventh day. +It is not Puritanism; it is simply anarchy. I should have some +sympathy with the Jewish Sabbath, if it were a Jewish Sabbath, +and that for three reasons; first, that religion is an intrinsically +sympathetic thing; second, that I cannot conceive any religion +worth calling a religion without a fixed and material observance; +and third, that the particular observance of sitting still and doing +no work is one that suits my temperament down to the ground. + +But the absurdity of the modern English convention is that it +does not let a man sit still; it only perpetually trips him +up when it has forced him to walk about. Our Sabbatarianism +does not forbid us to ask a man in Battersea to come and talk +in Hertfordshire; it only prevents his getting there. +I can understand that a deity might be worshipped with joys, +with flowers, and fireworks in the old European style. +I can understand that a deity might be worshipped with sorrows. +But I cannot imagine any deity being worshipped with inconveniences. +Let the good Moslem go to Mecca, or let him abide in his tent, +according to his feelings for religious symbols. But surely Allah +cannot see anything particularly dignified in his servant being +misled by the time-table, finding that the old Mecca express is +not running, missing his connection at Bagdad, or having to wait +three hours in a small side station outside Damascus. + +So it was with me on this occasion. I found there was no telegraph +service at all to this place; I found there was only one weak +thread of train-service. Now if this had been the authority +of real English religion, I should have submitted to it at once. +If I believed that the telegraph clerk could not send the telegram +because he was at that moment rigid in an ecstasy of prayer, +I should think all telegrams unimportant in comparison. +If I could believe that railway porters when relieved from their +duties rushed with passion to the nearest place of worship, +I should say that all lectures and everything else ought +to give way to such a consideration. I should not complain +if the national faith forbade me to make any appointments +of labour or self-expression on the Sabbath. But, as it is, +it only tells me that I may very probably keep the Sabbath +by not keeping the appointment. + +. . . . . + +But I must resume the real details of my tale. I found that there +was only one train in the whole of that Sunday by which I could +even get within several hours or several miles of the time or place. +I therefore went to the telephone, which is one of my +favourite toys, and down which I have shouted many valuable, +but prematurely arrested, monologues upon art and morals. +I remember a mild shock of surprise when I discovered that one +could use the telephone on Sunday; I did not expect it to be +cut off, but I expected it to buzz more than on ordinary days, +to the advancement of our national religion. Through this instrument, +in fewer words than usual, and with a comparative economy of epigram, +I ordered a taxi-cab to take me to the railway station. +I have not a word to say in general either against telephones +or taxi-cabs; they seem to me two of the purest and most +poetic of the creations of modern scientific civilisation. +Unfortunately, when the taxi-cab started, it did exactly +what modern scientific civilisation has done--it broke down. +The result of this was that when I arrived at King's Cross my +only train was gone; there was a Sabbath calm in the station, +a calm in the eyes of the porters, and in my breast, if calm +at all, if any calm, a calm despair. + +There was not, however, very much calm of any sort in my +breast on first making the discovery; and it was turned +to blinding horror when I learnt that I could not even send +a telegram to the organisers of the meeting. To leave +my entertainers in the lurch was sufficiently exasperating; +to leave them without any intimation was simply low. +I reasoned with the official. I said: "Do you really mean +to say that if my brother were dying and my mother in this place, +I could not communicate with her?" He was a man of literal +and laborious mind; he asked me if my brother was dying. +I answered that he was in excellent and even offensive health, +but that I was inquiring upon a question of principle. +What would happen if England were invaded, or if I +alone knew how to turn aside a comet or an earthquake. +He waved away these hypotheses in the most irresponsible spirit, +but he was quite certain that telegrams could not reach this +particular village. Then something exploded in me; that element +of the outrageous which is the mother of all adventures sprang +up ungovernable, and I decided that I would not be a cad merely +because some of my remote ancestors had been Calvinists. +I would keep my appointment if I lost all my money and all my wits. +I went out into the quiet London street, where my quiet London +cab was still waiting for its fare in the cold misty morning. +I placed myself comfortably in the London cab and told the London +driver to drive me to the other end of Hertfordshire. +And he did. + +. . . . . + +I shall not forget that drive. It was doubtful weather, even in +a motor-cab, the thing was possible with any consideration for the driver, +not to speak of some slight consideration for the people in the road. +I urged the driver to eat and drink something before he started, +but he said (with I know not what pride of profession or delicate +sense of adventure) that he would rather do it when we arrived-- +if we ever did. I was by no means so delicate; I bought +a varied selection of pork-pies at a little shop that was open +(why was that shop open?--it is all a mystery), and ate them +as we went along. The beginning was sombre and irritating. +I was annoyed, not with people, but with things, like a baby; +with the motor for breaking down and with Sunday for being Sunday. +And the sight of the northern slums expanded and ennobled, but did +not decrease, my gloom: Whitechapel has an Oriental gaudiness +in its squalor; Battersea and Camberwell have an indescribable +bustle of democracy; but the poor parts of North London . . . well, +perhaps I saw them wrongly under that ashen morning and on +that foolish errand. + +It was one of those days which more than once this year broke +the retreat of winter; a winter day that began too late to be spring. +We were already clear of the obstructing crowds and quickening our pace +through a borderland of market gardens and isolated public-houses, +when the grey showed golden patches and a good light began +to glitter on everything. The cab went quicker and quicker. +The open land whirled wider and wider; but I did not lose my sense of +being battled with and thwarted that I had felt in the thronged slums. +Rather the feeling increased, because of the great difficulty +of space and time. The faster went the car, the fiercer and thicker +I felt the fight. + +The whole landscape seemed charging at me--and just missing me. +The tall, shining grass went by like showers of arrows; +the very trees seemed like lances hurled at my heart, and shaving +it by a hair's breadth. Across some vast, smooth valley I saw +a beech-tree by the white road stand up little and defiant. +It grew bigger and bigger with blinding rapidity. It charged me +like a tilting knight, seemed to hack at my head, and pass by. +Sometimes when we went round a curve of road, the effect was yet +more awful. It seemed as if some tree or windmill swung round +to smite like a boomerang. The sun by this time was a blazing fact; +and I saw that all Nature is chivalrous and militant. +We do wrong to seek peace in Nature; we should rather seek +the nobler sort of war; and see all the trees as green banners. + +. . . . . + +I gave my address, arriving just when everybody was deciding to leave. +When my cab came reeling into the market-place they decided, +with evident disappointment, to remain. Over the lecture I draw +a veil. When I came back home I was called to the telephone, +and a meek voice expressed regret for the failure of the motor-cab, +and even said something about any reasonable payment. +"Whom can I pay for my own superb experience? What is +the usual charge for seeing the clouds shattered by the sun? +What is the market price of a tree blue on the sky-line +and then blinding white in the sun? Mention your price for +that windmill that stood behind the hollyhocks in the garden. +Let me pay you for . . ." Here it was, I think, that we +were cut off. + + +XXVI + +The Two Noises + +For three days and three nights the sea had charged England +as Napoleon charged her at Waterloo. The phrase is instinctive, +because away to the last grey line of the sea there was only the look +of galloping squadrons, impetuous, but with a common purpose. +The sea came on like cavalry, and when it touched the shore it +opened the blazing eyes and deafening tongues of the artillery. +I saw the worst assault at night on a seaside parade where the sea +smote on the doors of England with the hammers of earthquake, +and a white smoke went up into the black heavens. There one +could thoroughly realise what an awful thing a wave really is. +I talk like other people about the rushing swiftness of a wave. +But the horrible thing about a wave is its hideous slowness. +It lifts its load of water laboriously: in that style at once +slow and slippery in which a Titan might lift a load of rock +and then let it slip at last to be shattered into shock of dust. +In front of me that night the waves were not like water: +they were like falling city walls. The breaker rose first as if it +did not wish to attack the earth; it wished only to attack the stars. +For a time it stood up in the air as naturally as a tower; then it went +a little wrong in its outline, like a tower that might some day fall. +When it fell it was as if a powder magazine blew up. + +. . . . . + +I have never seen such a sea. All the time there blew across +the land one of those stiff and throttling winds that one can +lean up against like a wall. One expected anything to be blown +out of shape at any instant; the lamp-post to be snapped +like a green stalk, the tree to be whirled away like a straw. +I myself should certainly have been blown out of shape if I had +possessed any shape to be blown out of; for I walked along the edge +of the stone embankment above the black and battering sea and could +not rid myself of the idea that it was an invasion of England. +But as I walked along this edge I was somewhat surprised +to find that as I neared a certain spot another noise mingled +with the ceaseless cannonade of the sea. + +Somewhere at the back, in some pleasure ground or casino +or place of entertainment, an undaunted brass band was playing +against the cosmic uproar. I do not know what band it was. +Judging from the boisterous British Imperialism of most +of the airs it played, I should think it was a German band. +But there was no doubt about its energy, and when I came quite +close under it it really drowned the storm. It was playing such +things as "Tommy Atkins" and "You Can Depend on Young Australia," +and many others of which I do not know the words, but I should +think they would be "John, Pat, and Mac, With the Union Jack," +or that fine though unwritten poem, "Wait till the Bull Dog +gets a bite of you." Now, I for one detest Imperialism, +but I have a great deal of sympathy with Jingoism. +And there seemed something so touching about this unbroken +and innocent bragging under the brutal menace of Nature +that it made, if I may so put it, two tunes in my mind. +It is so obvious and so jolly to be optimistic about England, +especially when you are an optimist--and an Englishman. +But through all that glorious brass came the voice +of the invasion, the undertone of that awful sea. +I did a foolish thing. As I could not express my meaning +in an article, I tried to express it in a poem--a bad one. +You can call it what you like. It might be called "Doubt," +or "Brighton." It might be called "The Patriot," or yet +again "The German Band." I would call it "The Two Voices," +but that title has been taken for a grossly inferior poem. +This is how it began-- + + "They say the sun is on your knees + A lamp to light your lands from harm, + They say you turn the seven seas + To little brooks about your farm. + I hear the sea and the new song + that calls you empress all day long. + + "(O fallen and fouled! O you that lie + Dying in swamps--you shall not die, + Your rich have secrets, and stronge lust, + Your poor are chased about like dust, + Emptied of anger and surprise-- + And God has gone out of their eyes, + Your cohorts break--your captains lie, + I say to you, you shall not die.)" + +Then I revived a little, remembering that after all there +is an English country that the Imperialists have never found. +The British Empire may annex what it likes, it will never annex England. +It has not even discovered the island, let alone conquered it. +I took up the two tunes again with a greater sympathy for the first-- + + "I know the bright baptismal rains, + I love your tender troubled skies, + I know your little climbing lanes, + Are peering into Paradise, + From open hearth to orchard cool, + How bountiful and beautiful. + + "(O throttled and without a cry, + O strangled and stabbed, you shall not die, + The frightful word is on your walls, + The east sea to the west sea calls, + The stars are dying in the sky, + You shall not die; you shall not die.)" + +Then the two great noises grew deafening together, the noise of the +peril of England and the louder noise of the placidity of England. +It is their fault if the last verse was written a little rudely +and at random-- + + "I see you how you smile in state + Straight from the Peak to Plymouth Bar, + You need not tell me you are great, + I know how more than great you are. + I know what William Shakespeare was, + I have seen Gainsborough and the grass. + + "(O given to believe a lie, + O my mad mother, do do not die, + Whose eyes turn all ways but within, + Whose sin is innocence of sin, + Whose eyes, blinded with beams at noon, + Can see the motes upon the moon, + You shall your lover still pursue. + To what last madhouse shelters you + I will uphold you, even I. + You that are dead. You shall not die.)" + +But the sea would not stop for me any more than for Canute; +and as for the German band, that would not stop for anybody. + + +XXVII + +Some Policemen and a Moral + +The other day I was nearly arrested by two excited policemen in a wood +in Yorkshire. I was on a holiday, and was engaged in that rich and +intricate mass of pleasures, duties, and discoveries which for the keeping +off of the profane, we disguise by the exoteric name of Nothing. +At the moment in question I was throwing a big Swedish knife at +a tree, practising (alas, without success) that useful trick of +knife-throwing by which men murder each other in Stevenson's romances. + +Suddenly the forest was full of two policemen; there was something +about their appearance in and relation to the greenwood that +reminded me, I know not how, of some happy Elizabethan comedy. +They asked what the knife was, who I was, why I was throwing it, +what my address was, trade, religion, opinions on the Japanese war, +name of favourite cat, and so on. They also said I was damaging the tree; +which was, I am sorry to say, not true, because I could not hit it. +The peculiar philosophical importance, however, of the incident was this. +After some half-hour's animated conversation, the exhibition of +an envelope, an unfinished poem, which was read with great care, and, +I trust, with some profit, and one or two other subtle detective strokes, +the elder of the two knights became convinced that I really was what I +professed to be, that I was a journalist, that I was on the DAILY NEWS +(this was the real stroke; they were shaken with a terror common +to all tyrants), that I lived in a particular place as stated, +and that I was stopping with particular people in Yorkshire, +who happened to be wealthy and well-known in the neighbourhood. + +In fact the leading constable became so genial and complimentary +at last that he ended up by representing himself as a reader +of my work. And when that was said, everything was settled. +They acquitted me and let me pass. + +"But," I said, "what of this mangled tree? It was to the rescue +of that Dryad, tethered to the earth, that you rushed like +knight-errants. You, the higher humanitarians, are not deceived +by the seeming stillness of the green things, a stillness like +the stillness of the cataract, a headlong and crashing silence. +You know that a tree is but a creature tied to the ground by one leg. +You will not let assassins with their Swedish daggers shed the green +blood of such a being. But if so, why am I not in custody; +where are my gyves? Produce, from some portion of your persons, +my mouldy straw and my grated window. The facts of which I have just +convinced you, that my name is Chesterton, that I am a journalist, +that I am living with the well-known and philanthropic Mr. Blank +of Ilkley, cannot have anything to do with the question of whether +I have been guilty of cruelty to vegetables. The tree is none +the less damaged even though it may reflect with a dark pride that it +was wounded by a gentleman connected with the Liberal press. +Wounds in the bark do not more rapidly close up because they are +inflicted by people who are stopping with Mr. Blank of Ilkley. +That tree, the ruin of its former self, the wreck of what was once +a giant of the forest, now splintered and laid low by the brute +superiority of a Swedish knife, that tragedy, constable, cannot be wiped +out even by stopping for several months more with some wealthy person. +It is incredible that you have no legal claim to arrest +even the most august and fashionable persons on this charge. +For if so, why did you interfere with me at all?" + +I made the later and larger part of this speech to the silent wood, +for the two policemen had vanished almost as quickly as they came. +It is very possible, of course, that they were fairies. +In that case the somewhat illogical character of their view +of crime, law, and personal responsibility would find a bright +and elfish explanation; perhaps if I had lingered in the glade +till moonrise I might have seen rings of tiny policemen +dancing on the sward; or running about with glow-worm belts, +arresting grasshoppers for damaging blades of grass. +But taking the bolder hypothesis, that they really were policemen, +I find myself in a certain difficulty. I was certainly +accused of something which was either an offence or was not. +I was let off because I proved I was a guest at a big house. +The inference seems painfully clear; either it is not +a proof of infamy to throw a knife about in a lonely wood, +or else it is a proof of innocence to know a rich man. +Suppose a very poor person, poorer even than a journalist, +a navvy or unskilled labourer, tramping in search of work, +often changing his lodgings, often, perhaps, failing in his rent. +Suppose he had been intoxicated with the green gaiety +of the ancient wood. Suppose he had thrown knives at trees +and could give no description of a dwelling-place except +that he had been fired out of the last. As I walked home +through a cloudy and purple twilight I wondered how he would +have got on. + +Moral. We English are always boasting that we are very illogical; +there is no great harm in that. There is no subtle spiritual evil +in the fact that people always brag about their vices; it is when they +begin to brag about their virtues that they become insufferable. +But there is this to be said, that illogicality in your constitution +or your legal methods may become very dangerous if there happens to be +some great national vice or national temptation which many take advantage +of the chaos. Similarly, a drunkard ought to have strict rules and hours; +a temperate man may obey his instincts. + +Take some absurd anomaly in the British law--the fact, for instance, +that a man ceasing to be an M. P. has to become Steward of the +Chiltern Hundreds, an office which I believe was intended originally +to keep down some wild robbers near Chiltern, wherever that is. +Obviously this kind of illogicality does not matter very much, +for the simple reason that there is no great temptation to take +advantage of it. Men retiring from Parliament do not have any +furious impulse to hunt robbers in the hills. But if there were +a real danger that wise, white-haired, venerable politicians taking +leave of public life would desire to do this (if, for instance, +there were any money in it), then clearly, if we went on saying +that the illogicality did not matter, when (as a matter of fact) +Sir Michael Hicks-Beach was hanging Chiltern shop-keepers every day +and taking their property, we should be very silly. The illogicality +would matter, for it would have become an excuse for indulgence. +It is only the very good who can live riotous lives. + +Now this is exactly what is present in cases of police investigation +such as the one narrated above. There enters into such things a great +national sin, a far greater sin than drink--the habit of respecting a +gentleman. Snobbishness has, like drink, a kind of grand poetry. +And snobbishness has this peculiar and devilish quality of evil, +that it is rampant among very kindly people, with open hearts +and houses. But it is our great English vice; to be watched +more fiercely than small-pox. If a man wished to hear the worst +and wickedest thing in England summed up in casual English words, +he would not find it in any foul oaths or ribald quarrelling. +He would find it in the fact that the best kind of working man, +when he wishes to praise any one, calls him "a gentleman." +It never occurs to him that he might as well call him "a marquis," +or "a privy councillor"--that he is simply naming a rank or class, +not a phrase for a good man. And this perennial temptation to a +shameful admiration, must, and, I think, does, constantly come +in and distort and poison our police methods. + +In this case we must be logical and exact; for we have to keep watch +upon ourselves. The power of wealth, and that power at its vilest, +is increasing in the modern world. A very good and just people, +without this temptation, might not need, perhaps, to make clear rules and +systems to guard themselves against the power of our great financiers. +But that is because a very just people would have shot them long ago, +from mere native good feeling. + + +XXVIII + +The Lion + +In the town of Belfort I take a chair and I sit down in the street. We +talk in a cant phrase of the Man in the Street, but the Frenchman is the +man in the street. Things quite central for him are connected with these +lamp-posts and pavements; everything from his meals to his martyrdoms. +When first an Englishman looks at a French town or village his +first feeling is simply that it is uglier than an English town +or village; when he looks again he sees that this comparative +absence of the picturesque is chiefly expressed in the plain, +precipitous frontage of the houses standing up hard and flat +out of the street like the cardboard houses in a pantomime-- +a hard angularity allied perhaps to the harshness of French logic. +When he looks a third time he sees quite simply that it is all because +the houses have no front gardens. The vague English spirit loves to have +the entrance to its house softened by bushes and broken by steps. +It likes to have a little anteroom of hedges half in the house +and half out of it; a green room in a double sense. The Frenchman +desires no such little pathetic ramparts or halting places, for the +street itself is a thing natural and familiar to him. + +. . . . . + +The French have no front gardens; but the street is every man's +front garden. There are trees in the street, and sometimes fountains. +The street is the Frenchman's tavern, for he drinks in the street. +It is his dining-room, for he dines in the street. It is his +British Museum, for the statues and monuments in French streets are not, +as with us, of the worst, but of the best, art of the country, +and they are often actually as historical as the Pyramids. +The street again is the Frenchman's Parliament, for France has +never taken its Chamber of Deputies so seriously as we take our House +of Commons, and the quibbles of mere elected nonentities in an official +room seem feeble to a people whose fathers have heard the voice +of Desmoulins like a trumpet under open heaven, or Victor Hugo +shouting from his carriage amid the wreck of the second Republic. +And as the Frenchman drinks in the street and dines in the street +so also he fights in the street and dies in the street, so that +the street can never be commonplace to him. + +Take, for instance, such a simple object as a lamp-post. In London +a lamp-post is a comic thing. We think of the intoxicated +gentleman embracing it, and recalling ancient friendship. +But in Paris a lamp-post is a tragic thing. For we think +of tyrants hanged on it, and of an end of the world. There is, +or was, a bitter Republican paper in Paris called LA LANTERNE. +How funny it would be if there were a Progressive paper in England +called THE LAMP POST! We have said, then, that the Frenchman is the man +in the street; that he can dine in the street, and die in the street. +And if I ever pass through Paris and find him going to bed in the street, +I shall say that he is still true to the genius of his civilisation. +All that is good and all that is evil in France is alike connected +with this open-air element. French democracy and French indecency +are alike part of the desire to have everything out of doors. +Compared to a cafe, a public-house is a private house. + +. . . . . + +There were two reasons why all these fancies should float through +the mind in the streets of this especial town of Belfort. +First of all, it lies close upon the boundary of France and Germany, +and boundaries are the most beautiful things in the world. +To love anything is to love its boundaries; thus children will always +play on the edge of anything. They build castles on the edge +of the sea, and can only be restrained by public proclamation +and private violence from walking on the edge of the grass. +For when we have come to the end of a thing we have come +to the beginning of it. + +Hence this town seemed all the more French for being on the very margin +of Germany, and although there were many German touches in the place-- +German names, larger pots of beer, and enormous theatrical barmaids +dressed up in outrageous imitation of Alsatian peasants--yet the fixed +French colour seemed all the stronger for these specks of something else. +All day long and all night long troops of dusty, swarthy, scornful little +soldiers went plodding through the streets with an air of stubborn +disgust, for German soldiers look as if they despised you, but French +soldiers as if they despised you and themselves even more than you. +It is a part, I suppose, of the realism of the nation which has made +it good at war and science and other things in which what is necessary +is combined with what is nasty. And the soldiers and the civilians +alike had most of them cropped hair, and that curious kind of head +which to an Englishman looks almost brutal, the kind that we call +a bullet-head. Indeed, we are speaking very appropriately when we call +it a bullet-head, for in intellectual history the heads of Frenchmen +have been bullets--yes, and explosive bullets. + +. . . . . + +But there was a second reason why in this place one should think +particularly of the open-air politics and the open-air art +of the French. For this town of Belfort is famous for one of +the most typical and powerful of the public monuments of France. +From the cafe table at which I sit I can see the hill beyond the town +on which hangs the high and flat-faced citadel, pierced with +many windows, and warmed in the evening light. On the steep +hill below it is a huge stone lion, itself as large as a hill. +It is hacked out of the rock with a sort of gigantic impression. +No trivial attempt has been made to make it like a common statue; +no attempt to carve the mane into curls, or to distinguish +the monster minutely from the earth out of which he rises, +shaking the world. The face of the lion has something of the bold +conventionality of Assyrian art. The mane of the lion is left +like a shapeless cloud of tempest, as if it might literally +be said of him that God had clothed his neck with thunder. +Even at this distance the thing looks vast, and in some +sense prehistoric. Yet it was carved only a little while ago. +It commemorates the fact that this town was never taken +by the Germans through all the terrible year, but only laid +down its arms at last at the command of its own Government. +But the spirit of it has been in this land from the beginning-- +the spirit of something defiant and almost defeated. + +As I leave this place and take the railway into Germany the news comes +thicker and thicker up the streets that Southern France is in a flame, +and that there perhaps will be fought out finally the awful modern battle +of the rich and poor. And as I pass into quieter places for the last +sign of France on the sky-line, I see the Lion of Belfort stand at bay, +the last sight of that great people which has never been at peace. + + +XXIX + +Humanity: an Interlude + +Except for some fine works of art, which seem to be there by accident, +the City of Brussels is like a bad Paris, a Paris with everything noble +cut out, and everything nasty left in. No one can understand Paris +and its history who does not understand that its fierceness is the balance +and justification of its frivolity. It is called a city of pleasure; +but it may also very specially be called a city of pain. The crown of +roses is also a crown of thorns. Its people are too prone to hurt others, +but quite ready also to hurt themselves. They are martyrs for religion, +they are martyrs for irreligion; they are even martyrs for immorality. +For the indecency of many of their books and papers is not of the sort +which charms and seduces, but of the sort that horrifies and hurts; +they are torturing themselves. They lash their own patriotism into life +with the same whips which most men use to lash foreigners to silence. +The enemies of France can never give an account of her infamy or decay +which does not seem insipid and even polite compared with the things which +the Nationalists of France say about their own nation. They taunt and +torment themselves; sometimes they even deliberately oppress themselves. +Thus, when the mob of Paris could make a Government to please itself, +it made a sort of sublime tyranny to order itself about. The spirit is +the same from the Crusades or St. Bartholomew to the apotheosis of Zola. +The old religionists tortured men physically for a moral truth. +The new realists torture men morally for a physical truth. + +Now Brussels is Paris without this constant purification of pain. +Its indecencies are not regrettable incidents in an +everlasting revolution. It has none of the things which make good +Frenchmen love Paris; it has only the things which make unspeakable +Englishmen love it. It has the part which is cosmopolitan-- +and narrows; not the part which is Parisian--and universal. +You can find there (as commonly happens in modern centres) +the worst things of all nations--the DAILY MAIL from England, +the cheap philosophies from Germany, the loose novels of France, +and the drinks of America. But there is no English broad fun, +no German kindly ceremony, no American exhilaration, and, +above all, no French tradition of fighting for an idea. +Though all the boulevards look like Parisian boulevards, +though all the shops look like Parisian shops, you cannot look +at them steadily for two minutes without feeling the full +distance between, let us say, King Leopold and fighters +like Clemenceau and Deroulede. + +. . . . . + +For all these reasons, and many more, when I had got into Brussels I began +to make all necessary arrangements for getting out of it again; and I +had impulsively got into a tram which seemed to be going out of the city. +In this tram there were two men talking; one was a little man with a +black French beard; the other was a baldish man with bushy whiskers, +like the financial foreign count in a three-act farce. And about the time +that we reached the suburb of the city, and the traffic grew thinner, +and the noises more few, I began to hear what they were saying. +Though they spoke French quickly, their words were fairly easy to follow, +because they were all long words. Anybody can understand long words +because they have in them all the lucidity of Latin. + +The man with the black beard said: "It must that we have the Progress." + +The man with the whiskers parried this smartly by saying: +"It must also that we have the Consolidation International." + +This is a sort of discussion which I like myself, so I listened +with some care, and I think I picked up the thread of it. +One of the Belgians was a Little Belgian, as we speak +of a Little Englander. The other was a Belgian Imperialist, +for though Belgium is not quite strong enough to be altogether +a nation, she is quite strong enough to be an empire. +Being a nation means standing up to your equals, whereas being +an empire only means kicking your inferiors. The man with whiskers +was the Imperialist, and he was saying: "The science, behold there +the new guide of humanity." + +And the man with the beard answered him: "It does not suffice to +have progress in the science; one must have it also in the sentiment +of the human justice." + +This remark I applauded, as if at a public meeting, but they were much +too keen on their argument to hear me. The views I have often heard in +England, but never uttered so lucidly, and certainly never so fast. +Though Belgian by nation they must both have been essentially French. +Whiskers was great on education, which, it seems, is on +the march. All the world goes to make itself instructed. +It must that the more instructed enlighten the less instructed. +Eh, well then, the European must impose upon the savage the science +and the light. Also (apparently) he must impose himself on +the savage while he is about it. To-day one travelled quickly. +The science had changed all. For our fathers, they were +religious, and (what was worse) dead. To-day humanity had +electricity to the hand; the machines came from triumphing; +all the lines and limits of the globe effaced themselves. +Soon there would not be but the great Empires and confederations, +guided by the science, always the science. + +Here Whiskers stopped an instant for breath; and the man with +the sentiment for human justice had "la parole" off him in a flash. +Without doubt Humanity was on the march, but towards the sentiments, +the ideal, the methods moral and pacific. Humanity directed itself +towards Humanity. For your wars and empires on behalf of civilisation, +what were they in effect? The war, was it not itself an affair of the +barbarism? The Empires were they not things savage? The Humanity had +passed all that; she was now intellectual. Tolstoy had refined all +human souls with the sentiments the most delicate and just. Man was +become a spirit; the wings pushed. . . . + +. . . . . + +At this important point of evolution the tram came to a jerky stoppage; +and staring around I found, to my stunned consternation, that it +was almost dark, that I was far away from Brussels, that I could not +dream of getting back to dinner; in short, that through the clinging +fascination of this great controversy on Humanity and its recent complete +alteration by science or Tolstoy, I had landed myself Heaven knows where. +I dropped hastily from the suburban tram and let it go on without me. + +I was alone in the flat fields out of sight of the city. +On one side of the road was one of those small, thin woods +which are common in all countries, but of which, by a coincidence, +the mystical painters of Flanders were very fond. The night was +closing in with cloudy purple and grey; there was one ribbon of silver, +the last rag of the sunset. Through the wood went one little path, +and somehow it suggested that it might lead to some sign of life-- +there was no other sign of life on the horizon. I went along it, +and soon sank into a sort of dancing twilight of all those tiny trees. +There is something subtle and bewildering about that sort of frail +and fantastic wood. A forest of big trees seems like a bodily barrier; +but somehow that mist of thin lines seems like a spiritual barrier. +It is as if one were caught in a fairy cloud or could not pass a phantom. +When I had well lost the last gleam of the high road a curious +and definite feeling came upon me. Now I suddenly felt something +much more practical and extraordinary--the absence of humanity: +inhuman loneliness. Of course, there was nothing really lost +in my state; but the mood may hit one anywhere. I wanted men-- +any men; and I felt our awful alliance over all the globe. +And at last, when I had walked for what seemed a long time, I saw +a light too near the earth to mean anything except the image of God. + +I came out on a clear space and a low, long cottage, the door +of which was open, but was blocked by a big grey horse, +who seemed to prefer to eat with his head inside the sitting-room. +I got past him, and found he was being fed by a young man +who was sitting down and drinking beer inside, and who saluted +me with heavy rustic courtesy, but in a strange tongue. +The room was full of staring faces like owls, and these I +traced at length as belonging to about six small children. +Their father was still working in the fields, but their mother +rose when I entered. She smiled, but she and all the rest +spoke some rude language, Flamand, I suppose; so that we +had to be kind to each other by signs. She fetched me beer, +and pointed out my way with her finger; and I drew a picture +to please the children; and as it was a picture of two men +hitting each other with swords, it pleased them very much. +Then I gave a Belgian penny to each child, for as I said on chance +in French, "It must be that we have the economic equality." +But they had never heard of economic equality, while all +Battersea workmen have heard of economic equality, though it +is true that they haven't got it. + +I found my way back to the city, and some time afterwards I actually +saw in the street my two men talking, no doubt still saying, +one that Science had changed all in Humanity, and the other that +Humanity was now pushing the wings of the purely intellectual. +But for me Humanity was hooked on to an accidental picture. +I thought of a low and lonely house in the flats, behind a veil +or film of slight trees, a man breaking the ground as men have +broken from the first morning, and a huge grey horse champing +his food within a foot of a child's head, as in the stable +where Christ was born. + + +XXX + +The Little Birds Who Won't Sing + +On my last morning on the Flemish coast, when I knew that +in a few hours I should be in England, my eye fell upon one +of the details of Gothic carving of which Flanders is full. +I do not know whether the thing is old, though it was certainly +knocked about and indecipherable, but at least it was certainly +in the style and tradition of the early Middle Ages. +It seemed to represent men bending themselves (not to say +twisting themselves) to certain primary employments. +Some seemed to be sailors tugging at ropes; others, I think, +were reaping; others were energetically pouring something +into something else. This is entirely characteristic of +the pictures and carvings of the early thirteenth century, +perhaps the most purely vigorous time in all history. +The great Greeks preferred to carve their gods and heroes +doing nothing. Splendid and philosophic as their composure +is there is always about it something that marks the master +of many slaves. But if there was one thing the early +mediaevals liked it was representing people doing something-- +hunting or hawking, or rowing boats, or treading grapes, +or making shoes, or cooking something in a pot. "Quicquid agunt +homines, votum, timor, ira voluptas." (I quote from memory.) +The Middle Ages is full of that spirit in all its monuments and +manuscripts. Chaucer retains it in his jolly insistence on +everybody's type of trade and toil. It was the earliest and +youngest resurrection of Europe, the time when social order was +strengthening, but had not yet become oppressive; the time when +religious faiths were strong, but had not yet been exasperated. +For this reason the whole effect of Greek and Gothic carving is +different. The figures in the Elgin marbles, though often reining +their steeds for an instant in the air, seem frozen for ever +at that perfect instant. But a mass of mediaeval carving +seems actually a sort of bustle or hubbub in stone. +Sometimes one cannot help feeling that the groups actually +move and mix, and the whole front of a great cathedral has +the hum of a huge hive. + +. . . . . + +But about these particular figures there was a peculiarity +of which I could not be sure. Those of them that had any heads +had very curious heads, and it seemed to me that they had their +mouths open. Whether or no this really meant anything or was +an accident of nascent art I do not know; but in the course +of wondering I recalled to my mind the fact that singing was +connected with many of the tasks there suggested, that there +were songs for reapers and songs for sailors hauling ropes. +I was still thinking about this small problem when I walked +along the pier at Ostend; and I heard some sailors uttering +a measured shout as they laboured, and I remembered that sailors +still sing in chorus while they work, and even sing different +songs according to what part of their work they are doing. +And a little while afterwards, when my sea journey was over, the sight +of men working in the English fields reminded me again that there +are still songs for harvest and for many agricultural routines. +And I suddenly wondered why if this were so it should be +quite unknown, for any modern trade to have a ritual poetry. +How did people come to chant rude poems while pulling certain +ropes or gathering certain fruit, and why did nobody do +anything of the kind while producing any of the modern things? +Why is a modern newspaper never printed by people singing in chorus? +Why do shopmen seldom, if ever, sing? + +. . . . . + +If reapers sing while reaping, why should not auditors sing while +auditing and bankers while banking? If there are songs for all +the separate things that have to be done in a boat, why are there +not songs for all the separate things that have to be done in a bank? +As the train from Dover flew through the Kentish gardens, +I tried to write a few songs suitable for commercial gentlemen. +Thus, the work of bank clerks when casting up columns might begin +with a thundering chorus in praise of Simple Addition. + +"Up my lads and lift the ledgers, sleep and ease are o'er. +Hear the Stars of Morning shouting: 'Two and Two are four.' +Though the creeds and realms are reeling, though the sophists roar, +Though we weep and pawn our watches, Two and Two are Four." + +"There's a run upon the Bank--Stand away! For the Manager's +a crank and the Secretary drank, + and the Upper Tooting Bank + Turns to bay! +Stand close: there is a run On the Bank. Of our ship, our royal one, +let the ringing legend run, + that she fired with every gun + Ere she sank." + +. . . . . + +And as I came into the cloud of London I met a friend of mine +who actually is in a bank, and submitted these suggestions +in rhyme to him for use among his colleagues. But he was not +very hopeful about the matter. It was not (he assured me) +that he underrated the verses, or in any sense lamented their +lack of polish. No; it was rather, he felt, an indefinable +something in the very atmosphere of the society in which we +live that makes it spiritually difficult to sing in banks. +And I think he must be right; though the matter is very mysterious. +I may observe here that I think there must be some mistake in +the calculations of the Socialists. They put down all our distress, +not to a moral tone, but to the chaos of private enterprise. +Now, banks are private; but post-offices are Socialistic: +therefore I naturally expected that the post-office would fall into +the collectivist idea of a chorus. Judge of my surprise when the +lady in my local post-office (whom I urged to sing) dismissed the +idea with far more coldness than the bank clerk had done. She +seemed indeed, to be in a considerably greater state of depression +than he. Should any one suppose that this was the effect of the +verses themselves, it is only fair to say that the specimen verse +of the Post-Office Hymn ran thus: + +"O'er London our letters are shaken like snow, + Our wires o'er the world like the thunderbolts go. + The news that may marry a maiden in Sark, + Or kill an old lady in Finsbury Park." + +Chorus (with a swing of joy and energy): + +"Or kill an old lady in Finsbury Park." + +And the more I thought about the matter the more painfully +certain it seemed that the most important and typical modern +things could not be done with a chorus. One could not, +for instance, be a great financier and sing; because the +essence of being a great financier is that you keep quiet. +You could not even in many modern circles be a public man +and sing; because in those circles the essence of being +a public man is that you do nearly everything in private. +Nobody would imagine a chorus of money-lenders. Every one +knows the story of the solicitors' corps of volunteers who, +when the Colonel on the battlefield cried "Charge!" all said +simultaneously, "Six-and-eightpence." Men can sing while +charging in a military, but hardly in a legal sense. And at +the end of my reflections I had really got no further than +the sub-conscious feeling of my friend the bank-clerk--that +there is something spiritually suffocating about our life; +not about our laws merely, but about our life. Bank-clerks +are without songs, not because they are poor, but because +they are sad. Sailors are much poorer. As I passed homewards +I passed a little tin building of some religious sort, which +was shaken with shouting as a trumpet is torn with its own +tongue. THEY were singing anyhow; and I had for an instant +a fancy I had often had before: that with us the super-human +is the only place where you can find the human. Human nature +is hunted and has fled into sanctuary. + + +XXXI + +The Riddle of the Ivy + +More than a month ago, when I was leaving London for a holiday, +a friend walked into my flat in Battersea and found me surrounded +with half-packed luggage. + +"You seem to be off on your travels," he said. "Where are you going?" + +With a strap between my teeth I replied, "To Battersea." + +"The wit of your remark," he said, "wholly escapes me." + +"I am going to Battersea," I repeated, "to Battersea via Paris, Belfort, +Heidelberg, and Frankfort. My remark contained no wit. It contained +simply the truth. I am going to wander over the whole world until once +more I find Battersea. Somewhere in the seas of sunset or of sunrise, +somewhere in the ultimate archipelago of the earth, there is one little +island which I wish to find: an island with low green hills and great +white cliffs. Travellers tell me that it is called England (Scotch +travellers tell me that it is called Britain), and there is a rumour +that somewhere in the heart of it there is a beautiful place called +Battersea." + +"I suppose it is unnecessary to tell you," said my friend, +with an air of intellectual comparison, "that this is Battersea?" + +"It is quite unnecessary," I said, "and it is spiritually untrue. +I cannot see any Battersea here; I cannot see any London or +any England. I cannot see that door. I cannot see that chair: +because a cloud of sleep and custom has come across my eyes. +The only way to get back to them is to go somewhere else; and that +is the real object of travel and the real pleasure of holidays. +Do you suppose that I go to France in order to see France? Do you suppose +that I go to Germany in order to see Germany? I shall enjoy them both; +but it is not them that I am seeking. I am seeking Battersea. +The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; +it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land. +Now I warn you that this Gladstone bag is compact and heavy, +and that if you utter that word 'paradox' I shall hurl it at your head. +I did not make the world, and I did not make it paradoxical. +It is not my fault, it is the truth, that the only way to go +to England is to go away from it." + +But when, after only a month's travelling, I did come back +to England, I was startled to find that I had told the exact truth. +England did break on me at once beautifully new and beautifully old. +To land at Dover is the right way to approach England (most things +that are hackneyed are right), for then you see first the full, +soft gardens of Kent, which are, perhaps, an exaggeration, +but still a typical exaggeration, of the rich rusticity of England. +As it happened, also, a fellow-traveller with whom I had fallen +into conversation felt the same freshness, though for another cause. +She was an American lady who had seen Europe, and had +never yet seen England, and she expressed her enthusiasm +in that simple and splendid way which is natural to Americans, +who are the most idealistic people in the whole world. +Their only danger is that the idealist can easily become the idolator. +And the American has become so idealistic that he even idealises money. +But (to quote a very able writer of American short stories) +that is another story. + +"I have never been in England before," said the American lady, +"yet it is so pretty that I feel as if I have been away from it +for a long time." + +"So you have," I said; "you have been away for three hundred years." + +"What a lot of ivy you have," she said. "It covers the churches +and it buries the houses. We have ivy; but I have never seen it +grow like that." + +"I am interested to hear it," I replied, "for I am making a little +list of all the things that are really better in England. +Even a month on the Continent, combined with intelligence, +will teach you that there are many things that are better abroad. +All the things that the DAILY MAIL calls English are better abroad. +But there are things entirely English and entirely good. +Kippers, for instance, and Free Trade, and front gardens, +and individual liberty, and the Elizabethan drama, and hansom cabs, +and cricket, and Mr. Will Crooks. Above all, there is the happy +and holy custom of eating a heavy breakfast. I cannot imagine that +Shakespeare began the day with rolls and coffee, like a Frenchman +or a German. Surely he began with bacon or bloaters. In fact, a +light bursts upon me; for the first time I see the real meaning of +Mrs. Gallup and the Great Cipher. It is merely a mistake in the +matter of a capital letter. I withdraw my objections; I accept +everything; bacon did write Shakespeare." + +"I cannot look at anything but the ivy," she said, +"it looks so comfortable." + +While she looked at the ivy I opened for the first time for many +weeks an English newspaper, and I read a speech of Mr. Balfour +in which he said that the House of Lords ought to be preserved +because it represented something in the nature of permanent public +opinion of England, above the ebb and flow of the parties. +Now Mr. Balfour is a perfectly sincere patriot, a man who, from his +own point of view, thinks long and seriously about the public needs, +and he is, moreover, a man of entirely exceptionable intellectual power. +But alas, in spite of all this, when I had read that speech I +thought with a heavy heart that there was one more thing that I had +to add to the list of the specially English things, such as kippers +and cricket; I had to add the specially English kind of humbug. +In France things are attacked and defended for what they are. +The Catholic Church is attacked because it is Catholic, +and defended because it is Catholic. The Republic is defended +because it is Republican, and attacked because it is Republican. +But here is the ablest of English politicians consoling everybody +by telling them that the House of Lords is not really the House +of Lords, but something quite different, that the foolish accidental +peers whom he meets every night are in some mysterious way experts +upon the psychology of the democracy; that if you want to know +what the very poor want you must ask the very rich, and that if you +want the truth about Hoxton, you must ask for it at Hatfield. +If the Conservative defender of the House of Lords were a logical +French politician he would simply be a liar. But being an English +politician he is simply a poet. The English love of believing that +all is as it should be, the English optimism combined with the strong +English imagination, is too much even for the obvious facts. +In a cold, scientific sense, of course, Mr. Balfour knows that nearly +all the Lords who are not Lords by accident are Lords by bribery. +He knows, and (as Mr. Belloc excellently said) everybody in Parliament +knows the very names of the peers who have purchased their peerages. +But the glamour of comfort, the pleasure of reassuring himself +and reassuring others, is too strong for this original knowledge; +at last it fades from him, and he sincerely and earnestly +calls on Englishmen to join with him in admiring an august and +public-spirited Senate, having wholly forgotten that the Senate +really consists of idiots whom he has himself despised; +and adventurers whom he has himself ennobled. + +"Your ivy is so beautifully soft and thick," said the American lady, +"it seems to cover almost everything. It must be the most poetical +thing in England." + +"It is very beautiful," I said, "and, as you say, it is very English. +Charles Dickens, who was almost more English than England, +wrote one of his rare poems about the beauty of ivy. +Yes, by all means let us admire the ivy, so deep, so warm, +so full of a genial gloom and a grotesque tenderness. +Let us admire the ivy; and let us pray to God in His mercy +that it may not kill the tree." + + +XXXII + +The Travellers in State + +The other day, to my great astonishment, I caught a train; it was +a train going into the Eastern Counties, and I only just caught it. +And while I was running along the train (amid general admiration) +I noticed that there were a quite peculiar and unusual number of +carriages marked "Engaged." On five, six, seven, eight, nine carriages +was pasted the little notice: at five, six, seven, eight, nine windows +were big bland men staring out in the conscious pride of possession. +Their bodies seemed more than usually impenetrable, their faces more +than usual placid. It could not be the Derby, if only for the minor +reasons that it was the opposite direction and the wrong day. +It could hardly be the King. It could hardly be the French President. +For, though these distinguished persons naturally like to be private +for three hours, they are at least public for three minutes. +A crowd can gather to see them step into the train; and there was no +crowd here, or any police ceremonial. + +Who were those awful persons, who occupied more of the train +than a bricklayer's beanfeast, and yet were more fastidious +and delicate than the King's own suite? Who were these that +were larger than a mob, yet more mysterious than a monarch? +Was it possible that instead of our Royal House visiting the Tsar, +he was really visiting us? Or does the House of Lords +have a breakfast? I waited and wondered until the train +slowed down at some station in the direction of Cambridge. +Then the large, impenetrable men got out, and after them +got out the distinguished holders of the engaged seats. +They were all dressed decorously in one colour; they had neatly +cropped hair; and they were chained together. + +I looked across the carriage at its only other occupant, and our +eyes met. He was a small, tired-looking man, and, as I afterwards learnt, +a native of Cambridge; by the look of him, some working tradesman there, +such as a journeyman tailor or a small clock-mender. In order to make +conversation I said I wondered where the convicts were going. +His mouth twitched with the instinctive irony of our poor, and he said: +"I don't s'pose they're goin' on an 'oliday at the seaside with little +spades and pails." I was naturally delighted, and, pursuing the same vein +of literary invention, I suggested that perhaps dons were taken down +to Cambridge chained together like this. And as he lived in Cambridge, +and had seen several dons, he was pleased with such a scheme. Then when +we had ceased to laugh, we suddenly became quite silent; and the bleak, +grey eyes of the little man grew sadder and emptier than an open sea. +I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking the same, because all +modern sophists are only sophists, and there is such a thing as mankind. +Then at last (and it fell in as exactly as the right last note of a tune +one is trying to remember) he said: "Well, I s'pose we 'ave to do it." +And in those three things, his first speech and his silence and his +second speech, there were all the three great fundamental facts of +the English democracy, its profound sense of humour, its profound sense +of pathos, and its profound sense of helplessness. + +. . . . . + +It cannot be too often repeated that all real democracy is an attempt +(like that of a jolly hostess) to bring the shy people out. +For every practical purpose of a political state, for every practical +purpose of a tea-party, he that abaseth himself must be exalted. +At a tea-party it is equally obvious that he that exalteth +himself must be abased, if possible without bodily violence. +Now people talk of democracy as being coarse and turbulent: +it is a self-evident error in mere history. Aristocracy is the thing +that is always coarse and turbulent: for it means appealing to the +self-confident people. Democracy means appealing to the different +people. Democracy means getting those people to vote who would never +have the cheek to govern: and (according to Christian ethics) the +precise people who ought to govern are the people who have not the +cheek to do it. There is a strong example of this truth in my friend +in the train. The only two types we hear of in this argument about crime +and punishment are two very rare and abnormal types. + +We hear of the stark sentimentalist, who talks as if there were no +problem at all: as if physical kindness would cure everything: +as if one need only pat Nero and stroke Ivan the Terrible. +This mere belief in bodily humanitarianism is not sentimental; +it is simply snobbish. For if comfort gives men virtue, +the comfortable classes ought to be virtuous--which is absurd. +Then, again, we do hear of the yet weaker and more watery +type of sentimentalists: I mean the sentimentalist who says, +with a sort of splutter, "Flog the brutes!" or who tells you +with innocent obscenity "what he would do" with a certain man-- +always supposing the man's hands were tied. + +This is the more effeminate type of the two; but both are weak +and unbalanced. And it is only these two types, the sentimental +humanitarian and the sentimental brutalitarian, whom one hears +in the modern babel. Yet you very rarely meet either of them +in a train. You never meet anyone else in a controversy. +The man you meet in a train is like this man that I met: +he is emotionally decent, only he is intellectually doubtful. +So far from luxuriating in the loathsome things that could +be "done" to criminals, he feels bitterly how much better it +would be if nothing need be done. But something must be done. +"I s'pose we 'ave to do it." In short, he is simply a sane man, +and of a sane man there is only one safe definition. He is a man +who can have tragedy in his heart and comedy in his head. + +. . . . . + +Now the real difficulty of discussing decently this problem +of the proper treatment of criminals is that both parties +discuss the matter without any direct human feeling. +The denouncers of wrong are as cold as the organisers of wrong. +Humanitarianism is as hard as inhumanity. + +Let me take one practical instance. I think the flogging +arranged in our modern prisons is a filthy torture; all its +scientific paraphernalia, the photographing, the medical attendance, +prove that it goes to the last foul limit of the boot and rack. +The cat is simply the rack without any of its intellectual reasons. +Holding this view strongly, I open the ordinary humanitarian books or +papers and I find a phrase like this, "The lash is a relic of barbarism." +So is the plough. So is the fishing net. So is the horn or +the staff or the fire lit in winter. What an inexpressibly feeble +phrase for anything one wants to attack--a relic of barbarism! +It is as if a man walked naked down the street to-morrow, +and we said that his clothes were not quite in the latest fashion. +There is nothing particularly nasty about being a relic of barbarism. +Man is a relic of barbarism. Civilisation is a relic of barbarism. + +But torture is not a relic of barbarism at all. In actuality it is simply +a relic of sin; but in comparative history it may well be called a relic +of civilisation. It has always been most artistic and elaborate when +everything else was most artistic and elaborate. Thus it was detailed +exquisite in the late Roman Empire, in the complex and gorgeous sixteenth +century, in the centralised French monarchy a hundred years before the +Revolution, and in the great Chinese civilisation to this day. This is, +first and last, the frightful thing we must remember. In so far as we +grow instructed and refined we are not (in any sense whatever) naturally +moving away from torture. We may be moving towards torture. We must know +what we are doing, if we are to avoid the enormous secret cruelty which +has crowned every historic civilisation. + +The train moves more swiftly through the sunny English fields. +They have taken the prisoners away, and I do not know what they +have done with them. + + +XXXIII + +The Prehistoric Railway Station + +A railway station is an admirable place, although Ruskin did not +think so; he did not think so because he himself was even more +modern than the railway station. He did not think so because +he was himself feverish, irritable, and snorting like an engine. +He could not value the ancient silence of the railway station. + +"In a railway station," he said, "you are in a hurry, +and therefore, miserable"; but you need not be either unless +you are as modern as Ruskin. The true philosopher does not +think of coming just in time for his train except as a bet +or a joke. + +The only way of catching a train I have ever discovered is to be +late for the one before. Do this, and you will find in a railway +station much of the quietude and consolation of a cathedral. +It has many of the characteristics of a great ecclesiastical building; +it has vast arches, void spaces, coloured lights, and, above all, +it has recurrence or ritual. It is dedicated to the celebration +of water and fire the two prime elements of all human ceremonial. +Lastly, a station resembles the old religions rather than the new +religions in this point, that people go there. In connection +with this it should also be remembered that all popular places, +all sites, actually used by the people, tend to retain the best +routine of antiquity very much more than any localities or machines +used by any privileged class. Things are not altered so quickly +or completely by common people as they are by fashionable people. +Ruskin could have found more memories of the Middle Ages in the +Underground Railway than in the grand hotels outside the stations. +The great palaces of pleasure which the rich build in London all have +brazen and vulgar names. Their names are either snobbish, like the +Hotel Cecil, or (worse still) cosmopolitan like the Hotel Metropole. +But when I go in a third-class carriage from the nearest circle station +to Battersea to the nearest circle station to the DAILY NEWS, the names +of the stations are one long litany of solemn and saintly memories. +Leaving Victoria I come to a park belonging especially to St. James +the Apostle; thence I go to Westminster Bridge, whose very name alludes +to the awful Abbey; Charing Cross holds up the symbol of Christendom; +the next station is called a Temple; and Blackfriars remembers +the mediaeval dream of a Brotherhood. + +If you wish to find the past preserved, follow the million +feet of the crowd. At the worst the uneducated only wear +down old things by sheer walking. But the educated kick them +down out of sheer culture. + +I feel all this profoundly as I wander about the empty +railway station, where I have no business of any kind. +I have extracted a vast number of chocolates from automatic machines; +I have obtained cigarettes, toffee, scent, and other things +that I dislike by the same machinery; I have weighed myself, +with sublime results; and this sense, not only of the +healthiness of popular things, but of their essential +antiquity and permanence, is still in possession of my mind. +I wander up to the bookstall, and my faith survives even +the wild spectacle of modern literature and journalism. +Even in the crudest and most clamorous aspects of the newspaper +world I still prefer the popular to the proud and fastidious. +If I had to choose between taking in the DAILY MAIL and taking +in the TIMES (the dilemma reminds one of a nightmare), I should +certainly cry out with the whole of my being for the DAILY MAIL. +Even mere bigness preached in a frivolous way is not so +irritating as mere meanness preached in a big and solemn way. +People buy the DAILY MAIL, but they do not believe in it. +They do believe in the TIMES, and (apparently) they do not buy it. +But the more the output of paper upon the modern world is +actually studied, the more it will be found to be in all its +essentials ancient and human, like the name of Charing Cross. +Linger for two or three hours at a station bookstall (as I am doing), +and you will find that it gradually takes on the grandeur +and historic allusiveness of the Vatican or Bodleian Library. +The novelty is all superficial; the tradition is all interior +and profound. The DAILY MAIL has new editions, but never a new idea. +Everything in a newspaper that is not the old human love +of altar or fatherland is the old human love of gossip. +Modern writers have often made game of the old chronicles +because they chiefly record accidents and prodigies; a church +struck by lightning, or a calf with six legs. They do not seem +to realise that this old barbaric history is the same as new +democratic journalism. It is not that the savage chronicle has +disappeared. It is merely that the savage chronicle now appears +every morning. + +As I moved thus mildly and vaguely in front of the bookstall, my eye +caught a sudden and scarlet title that for the moment staggered me. +On the outside of a book I saw written in large letters, "Get On +or Get Out." The title of the book recalled to me with a sudden +revolt and reaction all that does seem unquestionably new and nasty; +it reminded me that there was in the world of to-day that utterly +idiotic thing, a worship of success; a thing that only means surpassing +anybody in anything; a thing that may mean being the most successful +person in running away from a battle; a thing that may mean being +the most successfully sleepy of the whole row of sleeping men. +When I saw those words the silence and sanctity of the railway station +were for the moment shadowed. Here, I thought, there is at any rate +something anarchic and violent and vile. This title, at any rate, +means the most disgusting individualism of this individualistic world. +In the fury of my bitterness and passion I actually bought the book, +thereby ensuring that my enemy would get some of my money. I opened it +prepared to find some brutality, some blasphemy, which would really be +an exception to the general silence and sanctity of the railway station. +I was prepared to find something in the book that was as infamous +as its title. + +I was disappointed. There was nothing at all corresponding +to the furious decisiveness of the remarks on the cover. +After reading it carefully I could not discover whether +I was really to get on or to get out; but I had a vague +feeling that I should prefer to get out. A considerable part +of the book, particularly towards the end, was concerned +with a detailed description of the life of Napoleon Bonaparte. +Undoubtedly Napoleon got on. He also got out. But I could not +discover in any way how the details of his life given here were +supposed to help a person aiming at success. One anecdote described +how Napoleon always wiped his pen on his knee-breeches. I suppose +the moral is: always wipe your pen on your knee-breeches, and you +will win the battle of Wagram. Another story told that he let loose +a gazelle among the ladies of his Court. Clearly the brutal practical +inference is--loose a gazelle among the ladies of your acquaintance, +and you will be Emperor of the French. Get on with a gazelle or get +out. The book entirely reconciled me to the soft twilight of the +station. Then I suddenly saw that there was a symbolic division +which might be paralleled from biology. Brave men are vertebrates; +they have their softness on the surface and their toughness +in the middle. But these modern cowards are all crustaceans; +their hardness is all on the cover and their softness is inside. +But the softness is there; everything in this twilight +temple is soft. + + +XXXIV + +The Diabolist + +Every now and then I have introduced into my essays an element +of truth. Things that really happened have been mentioned, +such as meeting President Kruger or being thrown out of a cab. +What I have now to relate really happened; yet there was no +element in it of practical politics or of personal danger. +It was simply a quiet conversation which I had with another man. +But that quiet conversation was by far the most terrible thing +that has ever happened to me in my life. It happened so long +ago that I cannot be certain of the exact words of the dialogue, +only of its main questions and answers; but there is one sentence +in it for which I can answer absolutely and word for word. +It was a sentence so awful that I could not forget it if I would. +It was the last sentence spoken; and it was not spoken to me. + +The thing befell me in the days when I was at an art school. +An art school is different from almost all other schools or +colleges in this respect: that, being of new and crude creation +and of lax discipline, it presents a specially strong contrast +between the industrious and the idle. People at an art school +either do an atrocious amount of work or do no work at all. +I belonged, along with other charming people, to the latter class; +and this threw me often into the society of men who were very +different from myself, and who were idle for reasons very different +from mine. I was idle because I was very much occupied; +I was engaged about that time in discovering, to my own +extreme and lasting astonishment, that I was not an atheist. +But there were others also at loose ends who were engaged in +discovering what Carlyle called (I think with needless delicacy) +the fact that ginger is hot in the mouth. + +I value that time, in short, because it made me acquainted with a good +representative number of blackguards. In this connection there are +two very curious things which the critic of human life may observe. +The first is the fact that there is one real difference between men +and women; that women prefer to talk in twos, while men prefer to talk +in threes. The second is that when you find (as you often do) +three young cads and idiots going about together and getting drunk +together every day you generally find that one of the three cads and +idiots is (for some extraordinary reason) not a cad and not an idiot. +In these small groups devoted to a drivelling dissipation there is +almost always one man who seems to have condescended to his company; +one man who, while he can talk a foul triviality with his fellows, +can also talk politics with a Socialist, or philosophy with a Catholic. + +It was just such a man whom I came to know well. It was strange, +perhaps, that he liked his dirty, drunken society; it was stranger +still, perhaps, that he liked my society. For hours of the day he +would talk with me about Milton or Gothic architecture; for hours +of the night he would go where I have no wish to follow him, even +in speculation. He was a man with a long, ironical face, and close +and red hair; he was by class a gentleman, and could walk like one, +but preferred, for some reason, to walk like a groom carrying two +pails. He looked like a sort of Super-jockey; as if some archangel +had gone on the Turf. And I shall never forget the half-hour in +which he and I argued about real things for the first and the last +time. + +. . . . . + +Along the front of the big building of which our school +was a part ran a huge slope of stone steps, higher, I think, +than those that lead up to St. Paul's Cathedral. On a black +wintry evening he and I were wandering on these cold heights, +which seemed as dreary as a pyramid under the stars. +The one thing visible below us in the blackness was a burning +and blowing fire; for some gardener (I suppose) was burning +something in the grounds, and from time to time the red sparks went +whirling past us like a swarm of scarlet insects in the dark. +Above us also it was gloom; but if one stared long enough +at that upper darkness, one saw vertical stripes of grey +in the black and then became conscious of the colossal facade +of the Doric building, phantasmal, yet filling the sky, as if +Heaven were still filled with the gigantic ghost of Paganism. + +. . . . . + +The man asked me abruptly why I was becoming orthodox. Until he said +it, I really had not known that I was; but the moment he had said it +I knew it to be literally true. And the process had been so long and +full that I answered him at once out of existing stores of explanation. + +"I am becoming orthodox," I said, "because I have come, rightly or +wrongly, after stretching my brain till it bursts, to the old belief +that heresy is worse even than sin. An error is more menacing than a +crime, for an error begets crimes. An Imperialist is worse than a +pirate. For an Imperialist keeps a school for pirates; he teaches +piracy disinterestedly and without an adequate salary. +A Free Lover is worse than a profligate. For a profligate is +serious and reckless even in his shortest love; while a Free Lover +is cautious and irresponsible even in his longest devotion. +I hate modern doubt because it is dangerous." + +"You mean dangerous to morality," he said in a voice of wonderful +gentleness. "I expect you are right. But why do you care about morality?" + +I glanced at his face quickly. He had thrust out his neck as he had +a trick of doing; and so brought his face abruptly into the light +of the bonfire from below, like a face in the footlights. +His long chin and high cheek-bones were lit up infernally from underneath; +so that he looked like a fiend staring down into the flaming pit. +I had an unmeaning sense of being tempted in a wilderness; +and even as I paused a burst of red sparks broke past. + +"Aren't those sparks splendid?" I said. + +"Yes," he replied. + +"That is all that I ask you to admit," said I. "Give me +those few red specks and I will deduce Christian morality. +Once I thought like you, that one's pleasure in a flying +spark was a thing that could come and go with that spark. +Once I thought that the delight was as free as the fire. +Once I thought that red star we see was alone in space. +But now I know that the red star is only on the apex +of an invisible pyramid of virtues. That red fire is only +the flower on a stalk of living habits, which you cannot see. +Only because your mother made you say 'Thank you' for a bun +are you now able to thank Nature or chaos for those red stars +of an instant or for the white stars of all time. Only because you +were humble before fireworks on the fifth of November do you now +enjoy any fireworks that you chance to see. You only like them +being red because you were told about the blood of the martyrs; +you only like them being bright because brightness is a glory. +That flame flowered out of virtues, and it will fade with virtues. +Seduce a woman, and that spark will be less bright. +Shed blood, and that spark will be less red. Be really bad, +and they will be to you like the spots on a wall-paper." + +He had a horrible fairness of the intellect that made me despair of +his soul. A common, harmless atheist would have denied that religion +produced humility or humility a simple joy: but he admitted both. +He only said, "But shall I not find in evil a life of its own? +Granted that for every woman I ruin one of those red sparks will go out: +will not the expanding pleasure of ruin . . ." + +"Do you see that fire ?" I asked. "If we had a real fighting democracy, +some one would burn you in it; like the devil-worshipper that you are." + +"Perhaps," he said, in his tired, fair way. "Only what you call +evil I call good." + +He went down the great steps alone, and I felt as if I wanted +the steps swept and cleaned. I followed later, and as I went to find +my hat in the low, dark passage where it hung, I suddenly heard his +voice again, but the words were inaudible. I stopped, startled: +then I heard the voice of one of the vilest of his associates saying, +"Nobody can possibly know." And then I heard those two or three +words which I remember in every syllable and cannot forget. +I heard the Diabolist say, "I tell you I have done everything else. +If I do that I shan't know the difference between right and wrong." +I rushed out without daring to pause; and as I passed the fire I +did not know whether it was hell or the furious love of God. + +I have since heard that he died: it may be said, I think, +that he committed suicide; though he did it with tools of pleasure, +not with tools of pain. God help him, I know the road he went; +but I have never known, or even dared to think, what was that place +at which he stopped and refrained. + + +XXXV + +A Glimpse of My Country + +Whatever is it that we are all looking for? I fancy that it is +really quite close. When I was a boy I had a fancy that Heaven +or Fairyland or whatever I called it, was immediately behind my +own back, and that this was why I could never manage to see it, +however often I twisted and turned to take it by surprise. +I had a notion of a man perpetually spinning round on one foot +like a teetotum in the effort to find that world behind his back +which continually fled from him. Perhaps this is why the world +goes round. Perhaps the world is always trying to look over +its shoulder and catch up the world which always escapes it, +yet without which it cannot be itself. + +In any case, as I have said, I think that we must always conceive +of that which is the goal of all our endeavours as something which is +in some strange way near. Science boasts of the distance of its stars; +of the terrific remoteness of the things of which it has to speak. +But poetry and religion always insist upon the proximity, the almost +menacing closeness of the things with which they are concerned. +Always the Kingdom of Heaven is "At Hand"; and Looking-glass Land is +only through the looking-glass. So I for one should never be astonished +if the next twist of a street led me to the heart of that maze in +which all the mystics are lost. I should not be at all surprised if I +turned one corner in Fleet Street and saw a yet queerer-looking lamp; +I should not be surprised if I turned a third corner and found +myself in Elfland. + +I should not be surprised at this; but I was surprised the other day +at something more surprising. I took a turn out of Fleet Street +and found myself in England. + +. . . . . + +The singular shock experienced perhaps requires explanation. +In the darkest or the most inadequate moments of England there +is one thing that should always be remembered about the very +nature of our country. It may be shortly stated by saying that +England is not such a fool as it looks. The types of England, +the externals of England, always misrepresent the country. +England is an oligarchical country, and it prefers that its +oligarchy should be inferior to itself. + +The speaking in the House of Commons, for instance, is not only worse +than the speaking was, it is worse than the speaking is, in all or +almost all other places in small debating clubs or casual dinners. +Our countrymen probably prefer this solemn futility in the higher +places of the national life. It may be a strange sight to see +the blind leading the blind; but England provides a stranger. +England shows us the blind leading the people who can see. +And this again is an under-statement of the case. For the English +political aristocrats not only speak worse than many other people; +they speak worse than themselves. The ignorance of statesmen is +like the ignorance of judges, an artificial and affected thing. +If you have the good fortune really to talk with a statesman, you will +be constantly startled with his saying quite intelligent things. +It makes one nervous at first. And I have never been sufficiently +intimate with such a man to ask him why it was a rule of his life +in Parliament to appear sillier than he was. + +It is the same with the voters. The average man votes below himself; +he votes with half a mind or with a hundredth part of one. +A man ought to vote with the whole of himself as he worships +or gets married. A man ought to vote with his head and heart, +his soul and stomach, his eye for faces and his ear for music; +also (when sufficiently provoked) with his hands and feet. +If he has ever seen a fine sunset, the crimson colour of it +should creep into his vote. If he has ever heard splendid songs, +they should be in his ears when he makes the mystical cross. +But as it is, the difficulty with English democracy at all +elections is that it is something less than itself. The question +is not so much whether only a minority of the electorate votes. +The point is that only a minority of the voter votes. + +. . . . . + +This is the tragedy of England; you cannot judge it by its foremost men. +Its types do not typify. And on the occasion of which I speak +I found this to be so especially of that old intelligent middle +class which I had imagined had almost vanished from the world. +It seemed to me that all the main representatives of the middle +class had gone off in one direction or in the other; they had either +set out in pursuit of the Smart Set or they had set out in pursuit +of the Simple Life. I cannot say which I dislike more myself; +the people in question are welcome to have either of them, or, as is +more likely, to have both, in hideous alternations of disease and cure. +But all the prominent men who plainly represent the middle class have +adopted either the single eye-glass of Mr Chamberlain or the single +eye of Mr. Bernard Shaw. + +The old class that I mean has no representative. Its food was plentiful; +but it had no show. Its food was plain; but it had no fads. +It was serious about politics; and when it spoke in public it +committed the solecism of trying to speak well. I thought that +this old earnest political England had practically disappeared. +And as I say, I took one turn out of Fleet Street and I found +a room full of it. + +. . . . . + +At the top of the room was a chair in which Johnson had sat. The club +was a club in which Wilkes had spoken, in a time when even the +ne'er-do-weel was virile. But all these things by themselves might be +merely archaism. The extraordinary thing was that this hall had all +the hubbub, the sincerity, the anger, the oratory of the eighteenth +century. The members of this club were of all shades of opinion, yet +there was not one speech which gave me that jar of unreality which I +often have in listening to the ablest men uttering my own opinion. +The Toryism of this club was like the Toryism of Johnson, +a Toryism that could use humour and appealed to humanity. +The democracy of this club was like the democracy of Wilkes, +a democracy that can speak epigrams and fight duels; +a democracy that can face things out and endure slander; +the democracy of Wilkes, or, rather, the democracy of Fox. + +One thing especially filled my soul with the soul of my fathers. +Each man speaking, whether he spoke well or ill, spoke as +well as he could from sheer fury against the other man. +This is the greatest of our modern descents, that nowadays a man +does not become more rhetorical as he becomes more sincere. +An eighteenth-century speaker, when he got really and honestly furious, +looked for big words with which to crush his adversary. +The new speaker looks for small words to crush him with. +He looks for little facts and little sneers. In a modern speech +the rhetoric is put into the merely formal part, the opening +to which nobody listens. But when Mr. Chamberlain, or a Moderate, +or one of the harder kind of Socialists, becomes really sincere, +he becomes Cockney. "The destiny of the Empire," or "The destiny +of humanity," do well enough for mere ornamental preliminaries, +but when the man becomes angry and honest, then it is a snarl, +"Where do we come in?" or "It's your money they want." + +The men in this eighteenth-century club were entirely different; +they were quite eighteenth century. Each one rose to his feet +quivering with passion, and tried to destroy his opponent, +not with sniggering, but actually with eloquence. I was arguing +with them about Home Rule; at the end I told them why the English +aristocracy really disliked an Irish Parliament; because it would +be like their club. + +. . . . . + +I came out again into Fleet Street at night, and by a dim lamp I +saw pasted up some tawdry nonsense about Wastrels and how London +was rising against something that London had hardly heard of. +Then I suddenly saw, as in one obvious picture, that the modern world +is an immense and tumultuous ocean, full of monstrous and living things. +And I saw that across the top of it is spread a thin, a very thin, +sheet of ice, of wicked wealth and of lying journalism. + +And as I stood there in the darkness I could almost fancy that I +heard it crack. + + +XXXVI + +A Somewhat Improbable Story + +I cannot remember whether this tale is true or not. If I read +it through very carefully I have a suspicion that I should come +to the conclusion that it is not. But, unfortunately, I cannot read +it through very carefully, because, you see, it is not written yet. +The image and the idea of it clung to me through a great part +of my boyhood; I may have dreamt it before I could talk; or told it +to myself before I could read; or read it before I could remember. +On the whole, however, I am certain that I did not read it, +for children have very clear memories about things like that; +and of the books which I was really fond I can still remember, +not only the shape and bulk and binding, but even the position +of the printed words on many of the pages. On the whole, I incline +to the opinion that it happened to me before I was born. + +. . . . . + +At any rate, let us tell the story now with all the advantages +of the atmosphere that has clung to it. You may suppose me, +for the sake of argument, sitting at lunch in one of those quick-lunch +restaurants in the City where men take their food so fast that it +has none of the quality of food, and take their half-hour's +vacation so fast that it has none of the qualities of leisure; +to hurry through one's leisure is the most unbusiness-like of actions. +They all wore tall shiny hats as if they could not lose an instant +even to hang them on a peg, and they all had one eye a little off, +hypnotised by the huge eye of the clock. In short, they were the slaves +of the modern bondage, you could hear their fetters clanking. +Each was, in fact, bound by a chain; the heaviest chain ever tied +to a man--it is called a watch-chain. + +Now, among these there entered and sat down opposite to me a man +who almost immediately opened an uninterrupted monologue. +He was like all the other men in dress, yet he was startlingly +opposite to them in all manner. He wore a high shiny hat +and a long frock coat, but he wore them as such solemn things +were meant to be worn; he wore the silk hat as if it were a mitre, +and the frock coat as if it were the ephod of a high priest. +He not only hung his hat up on the peg, but he seemed +(such was his stateliness) almost to ask permission of the hat +for doing so, and to apologise to the peg for making use of it. +When he had sat down on a wooden chair with the air of one +considering its feelings and given a sort of slight stoop +or bow to the wooden table itself, as if it were an altar, +I could not help some comment springing to my lips. +For the man was a big, sanguine-faced, prosperous-looking man, +and yet he treated everything with a care that almost +amounted to nervousness. + +For the sake of saying something to express my interest I said, +"This furniture is fairly solid; but, of course, people do treat +it much too carelessly." + +As I looked up doubtfully my eye caught his, and was fixed +as his was fixed in an apocalyptic stare. I had thought him +ordinary as he entered, save for his strange, cautious manner; +but if the other people had seen him then they would have screamed +and emptied the room. They did not see him, and they went on making +a clatter with their forks, and a murmur with their conversation. +But the man's face was the face of a maniac. + +"Did you mean anything particular by that remark?" he asked at last, +and the blood crawled back slowly into his face. + +"Nothing whatever," I answered. "One does not mean anything here; +it spoils people's digestions." + +He limped back and wiped his broad forehead with a big handkerchief; +and yet there seemed to be a sort of regret in his relief. + +"I thought perhaps," he said in a low voice, "that another of them +had gone wrong." + +"If you mean another digestion gone wrong," I said, "I never heard +of one here that went right. This is the heart of the Empire, +and the other organs are in an equally bad way." + +"No, I mean another street gone wrong," and he said heavily +and quietly, "but as I suppose that doesn't explain much to you, +I think I shall have to tell you the story. I do so with all +the less responsibility, because I know you won't believe it. +For forty years of my life I invariably left my office, which is +in Leadenhall Street, at half-past five in the afternoon, taking with +me an umbrella in the right hand and a bag in the left hand. +For forty years two months and four days I passed out of the side +office door, walked down the street on the left-hand side, +took the first turning to the left and the third to the right, +from where I bought an evening paper, followed the road on +the right-hand side round two obtuse angles, and came out just +outside a Metropolitan station, where I took a train home. +For forty years two months and four days I fulfilled this course +by accumulated habit: it was not a long street that I traversed, +and it took me about four and a half minutes to do it. +After forty years two months and four days, on the fifth day I +went out in the same manner, with my umbrella in the right hand +and my bag in the left, and I began to notice that walking along +the familiar street tired me somewhat more than usual; and when I +turned it I was convinced that I had turned down the wrong one. +For now the street shot up quite a steep slant, such as one +only sees in the hilly parts of London, and in this part +there were no hills at all. Yet it was not the wrong street; +the name written on it was the same; the shuttered shops were +the same; the lamp-posts and the whole look of the perspective +was the same; only it was tilted upwards like a lid. +Forgetting any trouble about breathlessness or fatigue I ran +furiously forward, and reached the second of my accustomed turnings, +which ought to bring me almost within sight of the station. +And as I turned that corner I nearly fell on the pavement. +For now the street went up straight in front of my face like a steep +staircase or the side of a pyramid. There was not for miles +round that place so much as a slope like that of Ludgate Hill. +And this was a slope like that of the Matterhorn. The whole +street had lifted itself like a single wave, and yet every speck +and detail of it was the same, and I saw in the high distance, +as at the top of an Alpine pass, picked out in pink letters +the name over my paper shop. + +"I ran on and on blindly now, passing all the shops and coming to a +part of the road where there was a long grey row of private houses. +I had, I know not why, an irrational feeling that I was a long +iron bridge in empty space. An impulse seized me, and I pulled up +the iron trap of a coal-hole. Looking down through it I saw empty +space and the stairs. + +"When I looked up again a man was standing in his front garden, having +apparently come out of his house; he was leaning over the railings and +gazing at me. We were all alone on that nightmare road; his face was +in shadow; his dress was dark and ordinary; but when I saw him standing +so perfectly still I knew somehow that he was not of this world. +And the stars behind his head were larger and fiercer than ought +to be endured by the eyes of men. + +"'If you are a kind angel,' I said, 'or a wise devil, or have anything +in common with mankind, tell me what is this street possessed of devils.' + +"After a long silence he said, 'What do you say that it is?' + +"'It is Bumpton Street, of course,' I snapped. 'It goes to Oldgate +Station.' + +"'Yes,' he admitted gravely; 'it goes there sometimes. Just now, however, +it is going to heaven.' + +"'To heaven?' I said. 'Why?' + +"'It is going to heaven for justice,' he replied. 'You must have treated +it badly. Remember always that there is one thing that cannot be endured +by anybody or anything. That one unendurable thing is to be overworked +and also neglected. For instance, you can overwork women--everybody does. +But you can't neglect women--I defy you to. At the same time, +you can neglect tramps and gypsies and all the apparent refuse of the +State so long as you do not overwork it. But no beast of the field, no +horse, no dog can endure long to be asked to do more than his work and +yet have less than his honour. It is the same with streets. You have +worked this street to death, and yet you have never remembered its +existence. If you had a healthy democracy, even of pagans, they would +have hung this street with garlands and given it the name of a god. +Then it would have gone quietly. But at last the street has grown tired +of your tireless insolence; and it is bucking and rearing its head to +heaven. Have you never sat on a bucking horse?' + +"I looked at the long grey street, and for a moment it seemed to me +to be exactly like the long grey neck of a horse flung up to heaven. +But in a moment my sanity returned, and I said, 'But this +is all nonsense. Streets go to the place they have to go. +A street must always go to its end.' + +"'Why do you think so of a street?' he asked, standing very still. + +"'Because I have always seen it do the same thing,' I replied, +in reasonable anger. 'Day after day, year after year, it has always +gone to Oldgate Station; day after . . .' + +"I stopped, for he had flung up his head with the fury +of the road in revolt. + +"'And you?' he cried terribly. 'What do you think the road thinks +of you? Does the road think you are alive? Are you alive? +Day after day, year after year, you have gone to Oldgate Station. . . .' +Since then I have respected the things called inanimate." + +And bowing slightly to the mustard-pot, the man in +the restaurant withdrew. + + +XXXVII + +The Shop Of Ghosts + +Nearly all the best and most precious things in the universe you can +get for a halfpenny. I make an exception, of course, of the sun, +the moon, the earth, people, stars, thunderstorms, and such trifles. +You can get them for nothing. Also I make an exception of another thing, +which I am not allowed to mention in this paper, and of which +the lowest price is a penny halfpenny. But the general principle +will be at once apparent. In the street behind me, for instance, +you can now get a ride on an electric tram for a halfpenny. +To be on an electric tram is to be on a flying castle in a fairy tale. +You can get quite a large number of brightly coloured sweets for +a halfpenny. Also you can get the chance of reading this article +for a halfpenny; along, of course, with other and irrelevant matter. + +But if you want to see what a vast and bewildering array +of valuable things you can get at a halfpenny each you +should do as I was doing last night. I was gluing my nose +against the glass of a very small and dimly lit toy shop +in one of the greyest and leanest of the streets of Battersea. +But dim as was that square of light, it was filled (as a +child once said to me) with all the colours God ever made. +Those toys of the poor were like the children who buy them; +they were all dirty; but they were all bright. For my part, +I think brightness more important than cleanliness; since +the first is of the soul, and the second of the body. You +must excuse me; I am a democrat; I know I am out of fashion +in the modern world. + +. . . . . + +As I looked at that palace of pigmy wonders, at small green omnibuses, +at small blue elephants, at small black dolls, and small red +Noah's arks, I must have fallen into some sort of unnatural trance. +That lit shop-window became like the brilliantly lit +stage when one is watching some highly coloured comedy. +I forgot the grey houses and the grimy people behind me as one +forgets the dark galleries and the dim crowds at a theatre. +It seemed as if the little objects behind the glass were small, +not because they were toys, but because they were objects far away. +The green omnibus was really a green omnibus, a green Bayswater omnibus, +passing across some huge desert on its ordinary way to Bayswater. +The blue elephant was no longer blue with paint; he was blue +with distance. The black doll was really a negro relieved against +passionate tropic foliage in the land where every weed is flaming +and only man is black. The red Noah's ark was really the enormous +ship of earthly salvation riding on the rain-swollen sea, +red in the first morning of hope. + +Every one, I suppose, knows such stunning instants of abstraction, +such brilliant blanks in the mind. In such moments one can see the +face of one's own best friend as an unmeaning pattern of spectacles +or moustaches. They are commonly marked by the two signs of the +slowness of their growth and the suddenness of their termination. +The return to real thinking is often as abrupt as bumping into a man. +Very often indeed (in my case) it is bumping into a man. +But in any case the awakening is always emphatic and, +generally speaking, it is always complete. Now, in this case, +I did come back with a shock of sanity to the consciousness +that I was, after all, only staring into a dingy little toy-shop; +but in some strange way the mental cure did not seem to be final. +There was still in my mind an unmanageable something that told +me that I had strayed into some odd atmosphere, or that I +had already done some odd thing. I felt as if I had worked +a miracle or committed a sin. It was as if I had at any rate, +stepped across some border in the soul. + +To shake off this dangerous and dreamy sense I went into the shop +and tried to buy wooden soldiers. The man in the shop was very old +and broken, with confused white hair covering his head and half +his face, hair so startlingly white that it looked almost artificial. +Yet though he was senile and even sick, there was nothing of suffering +in his eyes; he looked rather as if he were gradually falling +asleep in a not unkindly decay. He gave me the wooden soldiers, +but when I put down the money he did not at first seem to see it; +then he blinked at it feebly, and then he pushed it feebly away. + +"No, no," he said vaguely. "I never have. I never have. +We are rather old-fashioned here." + +"Not taking money," I replied, "seems to me more like an uncommonly +new fashion than an old one." + +"I never have," said the old man, blinking and blowing his nose; +"I've always given presents. I'm too old to stop." + +"Good heavens!" I said. "What can you mean? Why, you might +be Father Christmas." + +"I am Father Christmas," he said apologetically, and blew +his nose again. + +The lamps could not have been lighted yet in the street outside. +At any rate, I could see nothing against the darkness but the shining +shop-window. There were no sounds of steps or voices in the street; +I might have strayed into some new and sunless world. +But something had cut the chords of common sense, and I could +not feel even surprise except sleepily. Something made me say, +"You look ill, Father Christmas." + +"I am dying," he said. + +I did not speak, and it was he who spoke again. + +"All the new people have left my shop. I cannot understand it. +They seem to object to me on such curious and inconsistent +sort of grounds, these scientific men, and these innovators. +They say that I give people superstitions and make them too visionary; +they say I give people sausages and make them too coarse. +They say my heavenly parts are too heavenly; they say my earthly +parts are too earthly; I don't know what they want, I'm sure. +How can heavenly things be too heavenly, or earthly things +too earthly? How can one be too good, or too jolly? +I don't understand. But I understand one thing well enough. +These modern people are living and I am dead." + +"You may be dead," I replied. "You ought to know. +But as for what they are doing, do not call it living." + +. . . . . + +A silence fell suddenly between us which I somehow expected +to be unbroken. But it had not fallen for more than a few +seconds when, in the utter stillness, I distinctly heard +a very rapid step coming nearer and nearer along the street. +The next moment a figure flung itself into the shop and stood +framed in the doorway. He wore a large white hat tilted back +as if in impatience; he had tight black old-fashioned pantaloons, +a gaudy old-fashioned stock and waistcoat, and an old fantastic coat. +He had large, wide-open, luminous eyes like those of an arresting actor; +he had a pale, nervous face, and a fringe of beard. He took in the +shop and the old man in a look that seemed literally a flash and +uttered the exclamation of a man utterly staggered. + +"Good lord!" he cried out; "it can't be you! It isn't you! +I came to ask where your grave was." + +"I'm not dead yet, Mr. Dickens," said the old gentleman, with a +feeble smile; "but I'm dying," he hastened to add reassuringly. + +"But, dash it all, you were dying in my time," said Mr. Charles Dickens +with animation; "and you don't look a day older." + +"I've felt like this for a long time," said Father Christmas. + +Mr. Dickens turned his back and put his head out of the door +into the darkness. + +"Dick," he roared at the top of his voice; "he's still alive." + +. . . . . + +Another shadow darkened the doorway, and a much larger and more +full-blooded gentleman in an enormous periwig came in, fanning his +flushed face with a military hat of the cut of Queen Anne. +He carried his head well back like a soldier, and his hot face +had even a look of arrogance, which was suddenly contradicted +by his eyes, which were literally as humble as a dog's. His sword +made a great clatter, as if the shop were too small for it. + +"Indeed," said Sir Richard Steele, "'tis a most prodigious matter, +for the man was dying when I wrote about Sir Roger de Coverley +and his Christmas Day." + +My senses were growing dimmer and the room darker. +It seemed to be filled with newcomers. + +"It hath ever been understood," said a burly man, who carried +his head humorously and obstinately a little on one side--I think +he was Ben Jonson--"It hath ever been understood, consule Jacobo, +under our King James and her late Majesty, that such good and hearty +customs were fallen sick, and like to pass from the world. +This grey beard most surely was no lustier when I knew him than now." + +And I also thought I heard a green-clad man, like Robin Hood, +say in some mixed Norman French, "But I saw the man dying." + +"I have felt like this a long time," said Father Christmas, +in his feeble way again. + +Mr. Charles Dickens suddenly leant across to him. + +"Since when?" he asked. "Since you were born?" + +"Yes," said the old man, and sank shaking into a chair. +"I have been always dying." + +Mr. Dickens took off his hat with a flourish like a man calling +a mob to rise. + +"I understand it now," he cried, "you will never die." + + +XXXVIII + +The Ballade of a Strange Town + +My friend and I, in fooling about Flanders, fell into a fixed +affection for the town of Mechlin or Malines. Our rest there +was so restful that we almost felt it as a home, and hardly +strayed out of it. + +We sat day after day in the market-place, under little trees +growing in wooden tubs, and looked up at the noble converging lines +of the Cathedral tower, from which the three riders from Ghent, +in the poem, heard the bell which told them they were not too late. +But we took as much pleasure in the people, in the little boys +with open, flat Flemish faces and fur collars round their necks, +making them look like burgomasters; or the women, whose prim, +oval faces, hair strained tightly off the temples, and mouths +at once hard, meek, and humorous, exactly reproduced the late +mediaeval faces in Memling and Van Eyck. + +But one afternoon, as it happened, my friend rose from under his +little tree, and pointing to a sort of toy train that was puffing smoke +in one corner of the clear square, suggested that we should go by it. +We got into the little train, which was meant really to take +the peasants and their vegetables to and fro from their fields +beyond the town, and the official came round to give us tickets. +We asked him what place we should get to if we paid fivepence. +The Belgians are not a romantic people, and he asked us (with a +lamentable mixture of Flemish coarseness and French rationalism) +where we wanted to go. + +We explained that we wanted to go to fairyland, and the only +question was whether we could get there for fivepence. +At last, after a great deal of international misunderstanding +(for he spoke French in the Flemish and we in the English manner), +he told us that fivepence would take us to a place which I +have never seen written down, but which when spoken sounded +like the word "Waterloo" pronounced by an intoxicated patriot; +I think it was Waerlowe. + +We clasped our hands and said it was the place we had been seeking +from boyhood, and when we had got there we descended with promptitude. + +For a moment I had a horrible fear that it really was the field +of Waterloo; but I was comforted by remembering that it was +in quite a different part of Belgium. It was a cross-roads, +with one cottage at the corner, a perspective of tall trees like +Hobbema's "Avenue," and beyond only the infinite flat chess-board +of the little fields. It was the scene of peace and prosperity; +but I must confess that my friend's first action was to ask +the man when there would be another train back to Mechlin. +The man stated that there would be a train back in exactly one hour. +We walked up the avenue, and when we were nearly half an hour's +walk away it began to rain. + +. . . . . + +We arrived back at the cross-roads sodden and dripping, and, +finding the train waiting, climbed into it with some relief. +The officer on this train could speak nothing but Flemish, +but he understood the name Mechlin, and indicated that when we came +to Mechlin Station he would put us down, which, after the right +interval of time, he did. + +We got down, under a steady downpour, evidently on the edge of Mechlin, +though the features could not easily be recognised through the grey +screen of the rain. I do not generally agree with those who find rain +depressing. A shower-bath is not depressing; it is rather startling. +And if it is exciting when a man throws a pail of water over you, +why should it not also be exciting when the gods throw many pails? +But on this soaking afternoon, whether it was the dull sky-line +of the Netherlands or the fact that we were returning home without +any adventure, I really did think things a trifle dreary. +As soon as we could creep under the shelter of a street +we turned into a little cafe, kept by one woman. She was incredibly +old, and she spoke no French. There we drank black coffee and what +was called "cognac fine." "Cognac fine" were the only two French +words used in the establishment, and they were not true. At least, +the fineness (perhaps by its very ethereal delicacy) escaped me. +After a little my friend, who was more restless than I, +got up and went out, to see if the rain had stopped and if we +could at once stroll back to our hotel by the station. +I sat finishing my coffee in a colourless mood, and listening +to the unremitting rain. + +. . . . . + +Suddenly the door burst open, and my friend appeared, transfigured +and frantic. + +"Get up!" he cried, waving his hands wildly. "Get up! We're in the +wrong town! We're not in Mechlin at all. Mechlin is ten miles, +twenty miles off--God knows what! We're somewhere near Antwerp." + +"What!" I cried, leaping from my seat, and sending the furniture flying. +"Then all is well, after all! Poetry only hid her face +for an instant behind a cloud. Positively for a moment I +was feeling depressed because we were in the right town. +But if we are in the wrong town--why, we have our adventure after all! +If we are in the wrong town, we are in the right place." + +I rushed out into the rain, and my friend followed me somewhat +more grimly. We discovered we were in a town called Lierre, +which seemed to consist chiefly of bankrupt pastry cooks, +who sold lemonade. + +"This is the peak of our whole poetic progress!" I cried +enthusiastically. "We must do something, something sacramental +and commemorative! We cannot sacrifice an ox, and it would be +a bore to build a temple. Let us write a poem." + +With but slight encouragement, I took out an old envelope +and one of those pencils that turn bright violet in water. +There was plenty of water about, and the violet ran down +the paper, symbolising the rich purple of that romantic hour. +I began, choosing the form of an old French ballade; +it is the easiest because it is the most restricted-- + + "Can Man to Mount Olympus rise, + And fancy Primrose Hill the scene? + Can a man walk in Paradise + And think he is in Turnham Green? + And could I take you for Malines, + Not knowing the nobler thing you were? + O Pearl of all the plain, and queen, + The lovely city of Lierre. + + "Through memory's mist in glimmering guise + Shall shine your streets of sloppy sheen. + And wet shall grow my dreaming eyes, + To think how wet my boots have been + Now if I die or shoot a Dean----" + +Here I broke off to ask my friend whether he thought it +expressed a more wild calamity to shoot a Dean or to be a Dean. +But he only turned up his coat collar, and I felt that for him +the muse had folded her wings. I rewrote-- + + "Now if I die a Rural Dean, + Or rob a bank I do not care, + Or turn a Tory. I have seen + The lovely city of Lierre." + +"The next line," I resumed, warming to it; but my friend interrupted me. + +"The next line," he said somewhat harshly, "will be a railway line. +We can get back to Mechlin from here, I find, though we +have to change twice. I dare say I should think this jolly +romantic but for the weather. Adventure is the champagne +of life, but I prefer my champagne and my adventures dry. +Here is the station." + +. . . . . + +We did not speak again until we had left Lierre, in its sacred +cloud of rain, and were coming to Mechlin, under a clearer sky, +that even made one think of stars. Then I leant forward and said +to my friend in a low voice--"I have found out everything. +We have come to the wrong star." + +He stared his query, and I went on eagerly: "That is what makes life +at once so splendid and so strange. We are in the wrong world. +When I thought that was the right town, it bored me; when I knew it +was wrong, I was happy. So the false optimism, the modern happiness, +tires us because it tells us we fit into this world. The true +happiness is that we don't fit. We come from somewhere else. +We have lost our way." + +He silently nodded, staring out of the window, but whether I had impressed +or only fatigued him I could not tell. "This," I added, "is suggested +in the last verse of a fine poem you have grossly neglected-- + + "'Happy is he and more than wise + Who sees with wondering eyes and clean + The world through all the grey disguise + Of sleep and custom in between. + Yes; we may pass the heavenly screen, + But shall we know when we are there? + Who know not what these dead stones mean, + The lovely city of Lierre.'" + +Here the train stopped abruptly. And from Mechlin church steeple +we heard the half-chime: and Joris broke silence with "No bally +HORS D'OEUVRES for me: I shall get on to something solid at once." + + L'Envoy + + Prince, wide your Empire spreads, I ween, + Yet happier is that moistened Mayor, + Who drinks her cognac far from fine, + The lovely city of Lierre. + + +XXXIX + +The Mystery of a Pageant + +Once upon a time, it seems centuries ago, I was prevailed on to take +a small part in one of those historical processions or pageants +which happened to be fashionable in or about the year 1909. +And since I tend, like all who are growing old, to re-enter +the remote past as a paradise or playground, I disinter a memory +which may serve to stand among those memories of small but strange +incidents with which I have sometimes filled this column. +The thing has really some of the dark qualities of a detective-story; +though I suppose that Sherlock Holmes himself could hardly unravel +it now, when the scent is so old and cold and most of the actors, +doubtless, long dead. + +This old pageant included a series of figures from the eighteenth century, +and I was told that I was just like Dr. Johnson. Seeing that Dr. Johnson +was heavily seamed with small-pox, had a waistcoat all over gravy, +snorted and rolled as he walked, and was probably the ugliest man +in London, I mention this identification as a fact and not as a vaunt. +I had nothing to do with the arrangement; and such fleeting suggestions +as I made were not taken so seriously as they might have been. +I requested that a row of posts be erected across the lawn, so that I +might touch all of them but one, and then go back and touch that. +Failing this, I felt that the least they could do was to have +twenty-five cups of tea stationed at regular intervals along +the course, each held by a Mrs. Thrale in full costume. +My best constructive suggestion was the most harshly rejected of all. +In front of me in the procession walked the great Bishop Berkeley, +the man who turned the tables on the early materialists by maintaining +that matter itself possibly does not exist. Dr. Johnson, +you will remember, did not like such bottomless fancies as Berkeley's, +and kicked a stone with his foot, saying, "I refute him so!" +Now (as I pointed out) kicking a stone would not make the metaphysical +quarrel quite clear; besides, it would hurt. But how picturesque +and perfect it would be if I moved across the ground in the symbolic +attitude of kicking Bishop Berkeley! How complete an allegoric group; +the great transcendentalist walking with his head among the stars, +but behind him the avenging realist pede claudo, with uplifted foot. +But I must not take up space with these forgotten frivolities; +we old men grow too garrulous in talking of the distant past. + +This story scarcely concerns me either in my real or my +assumed character. Suffice it to say that the procession took place +at night in a large garden and by torchlight (so remote is the date), +that the garden was crowded with Puritans, monks, and men-at-arms, +and especially with early Celtic saints smoking pipes, +and with elegant Renaissance gentlemen talking Cockney. +Suffice it to say, or rather it is needless to say, that I got lost. +I wandered away into some dim corner of that dim shrubbery, +where there was nothing to do except tumbling over tent ropes, +and I began almost to feel like my prototype, and to share his +horror of solitude and hatred of a country life. + +In this detachment and dilemma I saw another man in a white wig +advancing across this forsaken stretch of lawn; a tall, lean man, +who stooped in his long black robes like a stooping eagle. +When I thought he would pass me, he stopped before my face, +and said, "Dr. Johnson, I think. I am Paley." + +"Sir," I said, "you used to guide men to the beginnings of Christianity. +If you can guide me now to wherever this infernal thing begins you +will perform a yet higher and harder function." + +His costume and style were so perfect that for the instant I really +thought he was a ghost. He took no notice of my flippancy, but, +turning his black-robed back on me, led me through verdurous glooms +and winding mossy ways, until we came out into the glare of gaslight +and laughing men in masquerade, and I could easily laugh at myself. + +And there, you will say, was an end of the matter. I am +(you will say) naturally obtuse, cowardly, and mentally deficient. +I was, moreover, unused to pageants; I felt frightened in the dark +and took a man for a spectre whom, in the light, I could recognise +as a modern gentleman in a masquerade dress. No; far from it. +That spectral person was my first introduction to a special incident +which has never been explained and which still lays its finger +on my nerve. + +I mixed with the men of the eighteenth century; and we fooled +as one does at a fancy-dress ball. There was Burke as large as life +and a great deal better looking. There was Cowper much larger +than life; he ought to have been a little man in a night-cap, +with a cat under one arm and a spaniel under the other. +As it was, he was a magnificent person, and looked more +like the Master of Ballantrae than Cowper. I persuaded him +at last to the night-cap, but never, alas, to the cat and dog. +When I came the next night Burke was still the same beautiful +improvement upon himself; Cowper was still weeping for his dog +and cat and would not be comforted; Bishop Berkeley was still waiting +to be kicked in the interests of philosophy. In short, I met all +my old friends but one. Where was Paley? I had been mystically +moved by the man's presence; I was moved more by his absence. +At last I saw advancing towards us across the twilight garden +a little man with a large book and a bright attractive face. +When he came near enough he said, in a small, clear voice, "I'm Paley." +The thing was quite natural, of course; the man was ill and had +sent a substitute. Yet somehow the contrast was a shock. + +By the next night I had grown quite friendly with my four +or five colleagues; I had discovered what is called a mutual +friend with Berkeley and several points of difference with Burke. +Cowper, I think it was, who introduced me to a friend of his, +a fresh face, square and sturdy, framed in a white wig. +"This," he explained, "is my friend So-and-So. He's Paley." +I looked round at all the faces by this time fixed and familiar; +I studied them; I counted them; then I bowed to the third Paley +as one bows to necessity. So far the thing was all within +the limits of coincidence. It certainly seemed odd that this +one particular cleric should be so varying and elusive. +It was singular that Paley, alone among men, should swell and +shrink and alter like a phantom, while all else remained solid. +But the thing was explicable; two men had been ill and there +was an end of it; only I went again the next night, and a +clear-coloured elegant youth with powdered hair bounded up to me, +and told me with boyish excitement that he was Paley. + +For the next twenty-four hours I remained in the mental condition +of the modern world. I mean the condition in which all natural +explanations have broken down and no supernatural explanation has +been established. My bewilderment had reached to boredom when I +found myself once more in the colour and clatter of the pageant, +and I was all the more pleased because I met an old school-fellow, +and we mutually recognised each other under our heavy clothes +and hoary wigs. We talked about all those great things for which +literature is too small and only life large enough; red-hot memories +and those gigantic details which make up the characters of men. +I heard all about the friends he had lost sight of and those he had +kept in sight; I heard about his profession, and asked at last +how he came into the pageant. + +"The fact is," he said, "a friend of mine asked me, just for to-night, +to act a chap called Paley; I don't know who he was. . . ." + +"No, by thunder!" I said, "nor does anyone." + +This was the last blow, and the next night passed like a dream. +I scarcely noticed the slender, sprightly, and entirely new figure +which fell into the ranks in the place of Paley, so many times deceased. +What could it mean? Why was the giddy Paley unfaithful among +the faithful found? Did these perpetual changes prove the popularity +or the unpopularity of being Paley? Was it that no human being +could support being Paley for one night and live till morning? +Or was it that the gates were crowded with eager throngs of the British +public thirsting to be Paley, who could only be let in one at a time? +Or is there some ancient vendetta against Paley? Does some secret +society of Deists still assassinate any one who adopts the name? + +I cannot conjecture further about this true tale of mystery; +and that for two reasons. First, the story is so true +that I have had to put a lie into it. Every word of this +narrative is veracious, except the one word Paley. +And second, because I have got to go into the next room +and dress up as Dr. Johnson. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, TREMENDOUS TRIFLES *** + +This file should be named 7trtr10.txt or 7trtr10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7trtr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7trtr10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +http://gutenberg.net or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext05 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext05 + +Or /etext04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, +91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + + PROJECT GUTENBERG LITERARY ARCHIVE FOUNDATION + 809 North 1500 West + Salt Lake City, UT 84116 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + |