a miscellany of men-第10部分

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ing　like　the　gardener。　　Perhaps　that　is　the　meaning　of　the　trade　of　Adam。　　And　the　best　popular　words　for　rendering　the　real　idea　of　liberty　are　those　which　speak　of　man　as　a　creator。　　We　use　the　word　〃make〃　about　most　of　the　things　in　which　freedom　is　essential；　as　a　country　walk　or　a　friendship　or　a　love　affair。　　When　a　man　〃makes　his　way〃　through　a　wood　he　has　really　created；　he　has　built　a　road；　like　the　Romans。　　When　a　man　〃makes　a　friend；〃　he　makes　a　man。　　And　in　the　third　case　we　talk　of　a　man　〃making　love；〃　as　if　he　were　（as；　indeed；　he　is）　creating　new　masses　and　colours　of　that　flaming　material　an　awful　form　of　manufacture。　　In　its　primary　spiritual　sense；　liberty　is　the　god　in　man；　or；　if　you　like　the　word；　the　artist。

In　its　secondary　political　sense　liberty　is　the　living　influence　of　the　citizen　on　the　State　in　the　direction　of　moulding　or　deflecting　it。　　Men　are　the　only　creatures　that　evidently　possess　it。　　On　the　one　hand；　the　eagle　has　no　liberty；　he　only　has　loneliness。　　On　the　other　hand；　ants；　bees；　and　beavers　exhibit　the　highest　miracle　of　the　State　influencing　the　citizen；　but　no　perceptible　trace　of　the　citizen　influencing　the　State。　　You　may；　if　you　like；　call　the　ants　a　democracy　as　you　may　call　the　bees　a　despotism。　　But　I　fancy　that　the　architectural　ant　who　attempted　to　introduce　an　art　nouveau　style　of　ant…hill　would　have　a　career　as　curt　and　fruitless　as　the　celebrated　bee　who　wanted　to　swarm　alone。　　The　isolation　of　this　idea　in　humanity　is　akin　to　its　religious　character；　but　it　is　not　even　in　humanity　by　any　means　equally　distributed。　　The　idea　that　the　State　should　not　only　be　supported　by　its　children；　like　the　ant…hill；　but　should　be　constantly　criticised　and　reconstructed　by　them；　is　an　idea　stronger　in　Christendom　than　any　other　part　of　the　planet；　stronger　in　Western　than　Eastern　Europe。　And　touching　the　pure　idea　of　the　individual　being　free　to　speak　and　act　within　limits；　the　assertion　of　this　idea；　we　may　fairly　say；　has　been　the　peculiar　honour　of　our　own　country。　　For　my　part　I　greatly　prefer　the　Jingoism　of　Rule　Britannia　to　the　Imperialism　of　The　Recessional。　　I　have　no　objection　to　Britannia　ruling　the　waves。　　I　draw　the　line　when　she　begins　to　rule　the　dry　landand　such　damnably　dry　land　tooas　in　Africa。　　And　there　was　a　real　old　English　sincerity　in　the　vulgar　chorus　that　〃Britons　never　shall　be　slaves。〃　　We　had　no　equality　and　hardly　any　justice；　but　freedom　we　were　really　fond　of。　　And　I　think　just　now　it　is　worth　while　to　draw　attention　to　the　old　optimistic　prophecy　that　〃Britons　never　shall　be　slaves。〃

The　mere　love　of　liberty　has　never　been　at　a　lower　ebb　in　England　than　it　has　been　for　the　last　twenty　years。　　Never　before　has　it　been　so　easy　to　slip　small　Bills　through　Parliament　for　the　purpose　of　locking　people　up。　Never　was　it　so　easy　to　silence　awkward　questions；　or　to　protect　high…　placed　officials。　　Two　hundred　years　ago　we　turned　out　the　Stuarts　rather　than　endanger　the　Habeas　Corpus　Act。　　Two　years　ago　we　abolished　the　Habeas　Corpus　Act　rather　than　turn　out　the　Home　Secretary。　　We　passed　a　law　（which　is　now　in　force）　that　an　Englishman's　punishment　shall　not　depend　upon　judge　and　jury；　but　upon　the　governors　and　jailers　who　have　got　hold　of　him。　　But　this　is　not　the　only　case。　　The　scorn　of　liberty　is　in　the　air。　　A　newspaper　is　seized　by　the　police　in　Trafalgar　Square　without　a　word　of　accusation　or　explanation。　　The　Home　Secretary　says　that　in　his　opinion　the　police　are　very　nice　people；　and　there　is　an　end　of　the　matter。　　A　Member　of　Parliament　attempts　to　criticise　a　peerage。　The　Speaker　says　he　must　not　criticise　a　peerage；　and　there　the　matter　drops。

Political　liberty；　let　us　repeat；　consists　in　the　power　of　criticising　those　flexible　parts　of　the　State　which　constantly　require　reconsideration；　not　the　basis；　but　the　machinery。　　In　plainer　words；　it　means　the　power　of　saying　the　sort　of　things　that　a　decent　but　discontented　citizen　wants　to　say。　　He　does　not　want　to　spit　on　the　Bible；　or　to　run　about　without　clothes；　or　to　read　the　worst　page　in　Zola　from　the　pulpit　of　St。　　Paul's。　Therefore　the　forbidding　of　these　things　（whether　just　or　not）　is　only　tyranny　in　a　secondary　and　special　sense。　It　restrains　the　abnormal；　not　the　normal　man。　　But　the　normal　man；　the　decent　discontented　citizen；　does　want　to　protest　against　unfair　law　courts。　　He　does　want　to　expose　brutalities　of　the　police。　　He　does　want　to　make　game　of　a　vulgar　pawnbroker　who　is　made　a　Peer。　He　does　want　publicly　to　warn　people　against　unscrupulous　capitalists　and　suspicious　finance。　　If　he　is　run　in　for　doing　this　（as　he　will　be）　he　does　want　to　proclaim　the　character　or　known　prejudices　of　the　magistrate　who　tries　him。　　If　he　is　sent　to　prison　（as　he　will　be）　he　does　want　to　have　a　clear　and　civilised　sentence；　telling　him　when　he　will　come　out。　　And　these　are　literally　and　exactly　the　things　that　he　now　cannot　get。　　That　is　the　almost　cloying　humour　of　the　present　situation。　　I　can　say　abnormal　things　in　modern　magazines。　　It　is　the　normal　things　that　I　am　not　allowed　to　say。　　I　can　write　in　some　solemn　quarterly　an　elaborate　article　explaining　that　God　is　the　devil；　I　can　write　in　some　cultured　weekly　an　aesthetic　fancy　describing　how　I　should　like　to　eat　boiled　baby。　The　thing　I　must　not　write　is　rational　criticism　of　the　men　and　institutions　of　my　country。

The　present　condition　of　England　is　briefly　this：　That　no　Englishman　can　say　in　public　a　twentieth　part　of　what　he　says　in　private。　　One　cannot　say；　for　instance；　thatBut　I　am　afraid　I　must　leave　out　that　instance；　because　one　cannot　say　it。　　I　cannot　prove　my　casebecause　it　is　so　true。



THE　HYPOTHETICAL　HOUSEHOLDER


We　have　read　of　some　celebrated　philosopher　who　was　so　absent…minded　that　he　paid　a　call　at　his　own　house。　　My　own　absent…mindedness　is　extreme；　and　my　philosophy；　of　course；　is　the　marvel　of　men　and　angels。　　But　I　never　quite　managed　to　be　so　absent…minded　as　that。　　Some　yards　at　least　from　my　own　door；　something　vaguely　familiar　has　always　caught　my　eye；　and　thus　the　joke　has　been　spoiled。　　Of　course　I　have　quite　constantly　walked　into　another　man's　house；　thinking　it　was　my　own　house；　my　visits　became　almost　monotonous。　　But　walking　into　my　own　house　and　thinking　it　was　another　man's　house　is　a　flight　of　poetic　detachment　still　beyond　me。　Something　of　the　sensations　that　such　an　absent…minded　man　must　feel　I　really　felt　the　other　day；　and　very　pleasant　sensations　they　were。　　The　best　parts　of　every　proper　romance　are　the　first　chapter　and　the　last　chapter；　and　to　knock　at　a　strange　door　and　find　a　nice　wife　would　be　to　concentrate　the　beginning　and　end　of　all　romance。

Mine　was　a　milder　and　slighter　experience；　but　its　thrill　was　of　the　same　kind。　　For　I　strolled　through　a　place　I　had　imagined　quite　virgin　and　unvisited　（as　far　as　I　was　concerned）；　and　I　suddenly　found　I　was　treading　in　my　own　footprints；　and　the　footprints　were　nearly　twenty　years　old。

It　was　one　of　those　stretches　of　country　which　always　suggests　an　almost　unnatural　decay；　thickets　and　heaths　that　have　grown　out　of　what　were　once　great　gardens。　　Garden　flowers　still　grow　there　as　wild　flowers；　as　it　says　in　some　good　poetic　couplet　which　I　forget；　and　there　is　something　singularly　romantic　and　disastrous　about　seeing　things　that　were　so　long　a　human　property　and　care　fighting　for　their　own　hand　in　the　thicket。　　One　almost　expects　to　find　a　decayed　dog…kennel；　with　the　dog　evolved　into　a　wolf。

This　desolate　garden…land　had　been　even　in　my　youth　scrappily　planned　out　for　building。　　The　half…built　or　empty　houses　had　appeared　quite　threateningly　on　the　edge　of　this　heath　even　when　I　walked　over　it　years　ago　and　almost　as　a　boy。　　I　was　astonished　that　the　building　had　gone　no　farther；　I　suppose　somebody　went　bankrupt　and　somebody　else　disliked　building。　　But　I　remember；　especially　along　one　side　of　this　tangle　or　coppice；　that　there　had　once　been　a　row　of　half…built　houses。　　The　brick　of　which　they　were　built　was　a　sort　of　plain　pink；　everything　else　was　a　blinding　white；　the　houses　smoked　with　white　dust　and　white　sawdust；　and　on　many　of　the　windows　were　rubbed　those　round　rough　disks　of　white　which　always　delighted　me　as　a　child。　　They　looked　like　the　white　eyes　of　some　blind　giant。

I　could　see　the　crude；　parched　pink…and…white　villas　still；　though　I　had　not　thought　at　all　of　them　for　a　quarter　of　my　life；　and　had　not　thought　much　of　them　even　when　I　saw　them。　Then　I　was　an　idle；　but　eager　youth　walking　out　from　London；　now　I　was　a　most　reluctantly　busy　middle…aged　person；　coming　in　from　the　country。　　Youth；　I　think；　seems　farther　off　than　childhood；　for　it　made　itself　more　of　a　secret。　　Like　a　prenatal　picture；　distant；　tiny；　and　quite　distinct；　I　saw　this　heath　on　which　I　stood；　and　I　looked　around　for　the　string　of　bright；　half…baked　villas。　They　still　stood　there；　but　they　were　quite　russet　and　weather…stained；　as　if　they　had　stood　for　centuries。

I　remembered　exactly　what　I　had　done　on　that　day　long　ago。　　I　had　half　slid　on　a　miry　descent；　it　was　still　there；　a　little　lower　I　had　knocked　off　the　top　of　a　thistle；　the　thistles　had　not　been　discouraged；　but　were　still　growing。　　I　recalled　it　because　I　had　wondered　why　one　knocks　off　the　tops　of　thistles；　and　then　I　had　thought　of　Tarquin；　and　then　I　had　recited　most　of　Macaulay's　VIRGINIA　to　myself；　for　I　was　young。　　And　then　I　came　to　a　tattered　edge　where　the　very　tuft　had　whitened　with　the　sawdust　and　brick…dust　from　the　new　row　of　houses；　and　two　or　three　green　stars　of　dock　and　thistle　grew　spasmodically　about　the　blinding　road。

I　remembered　how　I　had　walked　up　this　new　one…sided　street　all　those　years　ago；　and　I　remembered　what　I　had　thought。　　I　thought　that　this　red　and　white　glaring　terrace　at　noon　was　really　more　creepy　and　more　lonesome　than　a　glimmering　churchyard　at　midnight。　　The　churchyard　could　only　be　full　of　the　ghosts　of　the　dead；　but　these　houses　were　full　of　the　ghosts　of　the　unborn。　　And　a　man　can　never　find　a　home　in　the　future　as　he　can　find　it　in　the　past。　　I　was　always　fascinated　by　that　mediaeval　notion　of　erecting　a　rudely　carpentered　stage　in　the　street；　and　acting　on　it　a　miracle　play　of　the　Holy　Family　or　the　Last　Judgment。　　And　I　thought　to　myself