a miscellany of men-第11部分

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t；　and　acting　on　it　a　miracle　play　of　the　Holy　Family　or　the　Last　Judgment。　　And　I　thought　to　myself　that　each　of　these　glaring；　gaping；　new　jerry…built　boxes　was　indeed　a　rickety　stage　erected　for　the　acting　of　a　real　miracle　play；　that　human　family　that　is　almost　the　holy　one；　and　that　human　death　that　is　near　to　the　last　judgment。

For　some　foolish　reason　the　last　house　but　one　in　that　imperfect　row　especially　haunted　me　with　its　hollow　grin　and　empty　window…eyes。　Something　in　the　shape　of　this　brick…and…mortar　skeleton　was　attractive；　and　there　being　no　workmen　about；　I　strolled　into　it　for　curiosity　and　solitude。　　I　gave；　with　all　the　sky…deep　gravity　of　youth；　a　benediction　upon　the　man　who　was　going　to　live　there。　　I　even　remember　that　for　the　convenience　of　meditation　I　called　him　James　Harrogate。

As　I　reflected　it　crawled　back　into　my　memory　that　I　had　mildly　played　the　fool　in　that　house　on　that　distant　day。　　I　had　some　red　chalk　in　my　pocket；　I　think；　and　I　wrote　things　on　the　unpapered　plaster　walls；　things　addressed　to　Mr。　Harrogate。　　A　dim　memory　told　me　that　I　had　written　up　in　what　I　supposed　to　be　the　dining…room：

　　James　Harrogate；　thank　God　for　meat；　　　Then　eat　and　eat　and　eat　and　eat；

or　something　of　that　kind。　　I　faintly　feel　that　some　longer　lyric　was　scrawled　on　the　walls　of　what　looked　like　a　bedroom；　something　beginning：

　　When　laying　what　you　call　your　head；　　　O　Harrogate；　upon　your　bed；

and　there　all　my　memory　dislimns　and　decays。　　But　I　could　still　see　quite　vividly　the　plain　plastered　walls　and　the　rude；　irregular　writing；　and　the　places　where　the　red　chalk　broke。　　I　could　see　them；　I　mean；　in　memory；　for　when　I　came　down　that　road　again　after　a　sixth　of　a　century　the　house　was　very　different。

I　had　seen　it　before　at　noon；　and　now　I　found　it　in　the　dusk。　　But　its　windows　glowed　with　lights　of　many　artificial　sorts；　one　of　its　low　square　windows　stood　open；　from　this　there　escaped　up　the　road　a　stream　of　lamplight　and　a　stream　of　singing。　　Some　sort　of　girl；　at　least；　was　standing　at　some　sort　of　piano；　and　singing　a　song　of　healthy　sentimentalism　in　that　house　where　long　ago　my　blessing　had　died　on　the　wind　and　my　poems　been　covered　up　by　the　wallpaper。　I　stood　outside　that　lamplit　house　at　dusk　full　of　those　thoughts　that　I　shall　never　express　if　I　live　to　be　a　million　any　better　than　I　expressed　them　in　red　chalk　upon　the　wall。　　But　after　I　had　hovered　a　little；　and　was　about　to　withdraw；　a　mad　impulse　seized　me。　　I　rang　the　bell。　　I　said　in　distinct　accents　to　a　very　smart　suburban　maid；　〃Does　Mr。　James　Harrogate　live　here？〃

She　said　he　didn't；　but　that　she　would　inquire；　in　case　I　was　looking　for　him　in　the　neighbourhood；　but　I　excused　her　from　such　exertion。　　I　had　one　moment's　impulse　to　look　for　him　all　over　the　world；　and　then　decided　not　to　look　for　him　at　all。



THE　PRIEST　OF　SPRING


The　sun　has　strengthened　and　the　air　softened　just　before　Easter　Day。　But　it　is　a　troubled　brightness　which　has　a　breath　not　only　of　novelty　but　of　revolution；　There　are　two　great　armies　of　the　human　intellect　who　will　fight　till　the　end　on　this　vital　point；　whether　Easter　is　to　be　congratulated　on　fitting　in　with　the　Springor　the　Spring　on　fitting　in　with　Easter。

The　only　two　things　that　can　satisfy　the　soul　are　a　person　and　a　story；　and　even　a　story　must　be　about　a　person。　　There　are　indeed　very　voluptuous　appetites　and　enjoyments　in　mere　abstractions　like　mathematics；　logic；　or　chess。　　But　these　mere　pleasures　of　the　mind　are　like　mere　pleasures　of　the　body。　　That　is；　they　are　mere　pleasures；　though　they　may　be　gigantic　pleasures；　they　can　never　by　a　mere　increase　of　themselves　amount　to　happiness。　　A　man　just　about　to　be　hanged　may　enjoy　his　breakfast；　especially　if　it　be　his　favourite　breakfast；　and　in　the　same　way　he　may　enjoy　an　argument　with　the　chaplain　about　heresy；　especially　if　it　is　his　favourite　heresy。　　But　whether　he　can　enjoy　either　of　them　does　not　depend　on　either　of　them；　it　depends　upon　his　spiritual　attitude　towards　a　subsequent　event。　　And　that　event　is　really　interesting　to　the　soul；　because　it　is　the　end　of　a　story　and　（as　some　hold）　the　end　of　a　person。

Now　it　is　this　simple　truth　which；　like　many　others；　is　too　simple　for　our　scientists　to　see。　　This　is　where　they　go　wrong；　not　only　about　true　religion；　but　about　false　religions　too；　so　that　their　account　of　mythology　is　more　mythical　than　the　myth　itself。　　I　do　not　confine　myself　to　saying　that　they　are　quite　incorrect　when　they　state　（for　instance）　that　Christ　was　a　legend　of　dying　and　reviving　vegetation；　like　Adonis　or　Persephone。　　I　say　that　even　if　Adonis　was　a　god　of　vegetation；　they　have　got　the　whole　notion　of　him　wrong。　　Nobody；　to　begin　with；　is　sufficiently　interested　in　decaying　vegetables；　as　such；　to　make　any　particular　mystery　or　disguise　about　them；　and　certainly　not　enough　to　disguise　them　under　the　image　of　a　very　handsome　young　man；　which　is　a　vastly　more　interesting　thing。　　If　Adonis　was　connected　with　the　fall　of　leaves　in　autumn　and　the　return　of　flowers　in　spring；　the　process　of　thought　was　quite　different。　　It　is　a　process　of　thought　which　springs　up　spontaneously　in　all　children　and　young　artists；　it　springs　up　spontaneously　in　all　healthy　societies。　　It　is　very　difficult　to　explain　in　a　diseased　society。

The　brain　of　man　is　subject　to　short　and　strange　snatches　of　sleep。　　A　cloud　seals　the　city　of　reason　or　rests　upon　the　sea　of　imagination；　a　dream　that　darkens　as　much；　whether　it　is　a　nightmare　of　atheism　or　a　day…　dream　of　idolatry。　　And　just　as　we　have　all　sprung　from　sleep　with　a　start　and　found　ourselves　saying　some　sentence　that　has　no　meaning；　save　in　the　mad　tongues　of　the　midnight；　so　the　human　mind　starts　from　its　trances　of　stupidity　with　some　complete　phrase　upon　its　lips；　a　complete　phrase　which　is　a　complete　folly。　　Unfortunately　it　is　not　like　the　dream　sentence；　generally　forgotten　in　the　putting　on　of　boots　or　the　putting　in　of　breakfast。　　This　senseless　aphorism；　invented　when　man's　mind　was　asleep；　still　hangs　on　his　tongue　and　entangles　all　his　relations　to　rational　and　daylight　things。　　All　our　controversies　are　confused　by　certain　kinds　of　phrases　which　are　not　merely　untrue；　but　were　always　unmeaning；　which　are　not　merely　inapplicable；　but　were　always　intrinsically　useless。　　We　recognise　them　wherever　a　man　talks　of　〃the　survival　of　the　fittest；〃　meaning　only　the　survival　of　the　survivors；　or　wherever　a　man　says　that　the　rich　〃have　a　stake　in　the　country；〃　as　if　the　poor　could　not　suffer　from　misgovernment　or　military　defeat；　or　where　a　man　talks　about　〃going　on　towards　Progress；〃　which　only　means　going　on　towards　going　on；　or　when　a　man　talks　about　〃government　by　the　wise　few；〃　as　if　they　could　be　picked　out　by　their　pantaloons。　　〃The　wise　few〃　must　mean　either　the　few　whom　the　foolish　think　wise　or　the　very　foolish　who　think　themselves　wise。

There　is　one　piece　of　nonsense　that　modern　people　still　find　themselves　saying；　even　after　they　are　more　or　less　awake；　by　which　I　am　particularly　irritated。　　It　arose　in　the　popularised　science　of　the　nineteenth　century；　especially　in　connection　with　the　study　of　myths　and　religions。　　The　fragment　of　gibberish　to　which　I　refer　generally　takes　the　form　of　saying　〃This　god　or　hero　really　represents　the　sun。〃　　Or　〃Apollo　killing　the　Python　MEANS　that　the　summer　drives　out　the　winter。〃　Or　〃The　King　dying　in　a　western　battle　is　a　SYMBOL　of　the　sun　setting　in　the　west。〃　　Now　I　should　really　have　thought　that　even　the　skeptical　professors；　whose　skulls　are　as　shallow　as　frying…pans；　might　have　reflected　that　human　beings　never　think　or　feel　like　this。　　Consider　what　is　involved　in　this　supposition。　　It　presumes　that　primitive　man　went　out　for　a　walk　and　saw　with　great　interest　a　big　burning　spot　on　the　sky。　　He　then　said　to　primitive　woman；　〃My　dear；　we　had　better　keep　this　quiet。　We　mustn't　let　it　get　about。　　The　children　and　the　slaves　are　so　very　sharp。　　They　might　discover　the　sun　any　day；　unless　we　are　very　careful。　So　we　won't　call　it　'the　sun；'　but　I　will　draw　a　picture　of　a　man　killing　a　snake；　and　whenever　I　do　that　you　will　know　what　I　mean。　　The　sun　doesn't　look　at　all　like　a　man　killing　a　snake；　so　nobody　can　possibly　know。　　It　will　be　a　little　secret　between　us；　and　while　the　slaves　and　the　children　fancy　I　am　quite　excited　with　a　grand　tale　Of　a　writhing　dragon　and　a　wrestling　demigod；　I　shall　really　MEAN　this　delicious　little　discovery；　that　there　is　a　round　yellow　disc　up　in　the　air。〃　　One　does　not　need　to　know　much　mythology　to　know　that　this　is　a　myth。　　It　is　commonly　called　the　Solar　Myth。

Quite　plainly；　of　course；　the　case　was　just　the　other　way。　　The　god　was　never　a　symbol　or　hieroglyph　representing　the　sun。　　The　sun　was　a　hieroglyph　representing　the　god。　　Primitive　man　（with　whom　my　friend　Dombey　is　no　doubt　well　acquainted）　went　out　with　his　head　full　of　gods　and　heroes；　because　that　is　the　chief　use　of　having　a　head。　　Then　he　saw　the　sun　in　some　glorious　crisis　of　the　dominance　of　noon　on　the　distress　of　nightfall；　and　he'　said；　〃That　is　how　the　face　of　the　god　would　shine　when　he　had　slain　the　dragon；〃　or　〃That　is　how　the　whole　world　would　bleed　to　westward；　if　the　god　were　slain　at　last。〃

No　human　being　was　ever　really　so　unnatural　as　to　worship　Nature。　　No　man；　however　indulgent　（as　I　am）　to　corpulency；　ever　worshipped　a　man　as　round　as　the　sun　or　a　woman　as　round　as　the　moon。　　No　man；　however　attracted　to　an　artistic　attenuation；　ever　really　believed　that　the　Dryad　was　as　lean　and　stiff　as　the　tree。　　We　human　beings　have　never　worshipped　Nature；　and　indeed；　the　reason　is　very　simple。　　It　is　that　all　human　beings　are　superhuman　beings。　　We　have　printed　our　own　image　upon　Nature；　as　God　has　printed　His　image　upon　us。　　We　have　told　the　enormous　sun　to　stand　still；　we　have　fixed　him　on　our　shields；　caring　no　more　for　a　star　than　for　a　starfish。　　And　when　there　were　powers　of　Nature　we　could　not　for　the　time　control；　we　have　conceived　great　beings　in　human　shape　controlling　them。　Jupiter　does　not　mean　thunder。　　Thunder　means　the　march　and　victory　of　Jupiter。　　Neptune　does　not　mean　the　sea；　the　sea　is　his；　and　he　made　it。　　In　other　words；　what　the　savage　really　said　about　the　sea　was；　〃Only　my