a miscellany of men-第22部分

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ckintoshes。　　It　is　like　moving　in　a　world　of　mirrors。

And　indeed　this　is　the　last　and　not　the　least　gracious　of　the　casual　works　of　magic　wrought　by　rain：　that　while　it　decreases　light；　yet　it　doubles　it。　　If　it　dims　the　sky；　it　brightens　the　earth。　　It　gives　the　roads　（to　the　sympathetic　eye）　something　of　the　beauty　of　Venice。　Shallow　lakes　of　water　reiterate　every　detail　of　earth　and　sky；　we　dwell　in　a　double　universe。　　Sometimes　walking　upon　bare　and　lustrous　pave…　ments；　wet　under　numerous　lamps；　a　man　seems　a　black　blot　on　all　that　golden　looking…glass；　and　could　fancy　he　was　flying　in　a　yellow　sky。　　But　wherever　trees　and　towns　hang　head　downwards　in　a　pigmy　puddle；　the　sense　of　Celestial　topsy…turvydom　is　the　same。　　This　bright；　wet；　dazzling　confusion　of　shape　and　shadow；　of　reality　and　reflection；　will　appeal　strongly　to　any　one　with　the　transcendental　instinct　about　this　dreamy　and　dual　life　of　ours。　　It　will　always　give　a　man　the　strange　sense　of　looking　down　at　the　skies。



THE　FALSE　PHOTOGRAPHER


When；　as　lately；　events　have　happened　that　seem　（to　the　fancy；　at　least）　to　test　if　not　stagger　the　force　of　official　government；　it　is　amusing　to　ask　oneself　what　is　the　real　weakness　of　civilisation；　ours　especially；　when　it　contends　with　the　one　lawless　man。　　I　was　reminded　of　one　weakness　this　morning　in　turning　over　an　old　drawerful　of　pictures。

This　weakness　in　civilisation　is　best　expressed　by　saying　that　it　cares　more　for　science　than　for　truth。　　It　prides　itself　on　its　〃methods〃　more　than　its　results；　it　is　satisfied　with　precision；　discipline；　good　communications；　rather　than　with　the　sense　of　reality。　　But　there　are　precise　falsehoods　as　well　as　precise　facts。　　Discipline　may　only　mean　a　hundred　men　making　the　same　mistake　at　the　same　minute。　　And　good　communications　may　in　practice　be　very　like　those　evil　communications　which　are　said　to　corrupt　good　manners。　　Broadly；　we　have　reached　a　〃scientific　age；〃　which　wants　to　know　whether　the　train　is　in　the　time…　table；　but　not　whether　the　train　is　in　the　station。　　I　take　one　instance　in　our　police　inquiries　that　I　happen　to　have　come　across：　the　case　of　photography。

Some　years　ago　a　poet　of　considerable　genius　tragically　disappeared；　and　the　authorities　or　the　newspapers　circulated　a　photograph　of　him；　so　that　he　might　be　identified。　　The　photograph；　as　I　remember　it；　depicted　or　suggested　a　handsome；　haughty；　and　somewhat　pallid　man　with　his　head　thrown　back；　with　long　distinguished　features；　colourless　thin　hair　and　slight　moustache；　and　though　conveyed　merely　by　the　head　and　shoulders；　a　definite　impression　of　height。　　If　I　had　gone　by　that　photograph　I　should　have　gone　about　looking　for　a　long　soldierly　but　listless　man；　with　a　profile　rather　like　the　Duke　of　Connaught's。

Only；　as　it　happened；　I　knew　the　poet　personally；　I　had　seen　him　a　great　many　times；　and　he　had　an　appearance　that　nobody　could　possibly　forget；　if　seen　only　once。　　He　had　the　mark　of　those　dark　and　passionate　Westland　Scotch；　who　before　Burns　and　after　have　given　many　such　dark　eyes　and　dark　emotions　to　the　world。　　But　in　him　the　unmistakable　strain；　Gaelic　or　whatever　it　is；　was　accentuated　almost　to　oddity；　and　he　looked　like　some　swarthy　elf。　　He　was　small；　with　a　big　head　and　a　crescent　of　coal…　black　hair　round　the　back　of　a　vast　dome　of　baldness。　　Immediately　under　his　eyes　his　cheekbones　had　so　high　a　colour　that　they　might　have　been　painted　scarlet；　three　black　tufts；　two　on　the　upper　lip　and　one　under　the　lower；　seemed　to　touch　up　the　face　with　the　fierce　moustaches　of　Mephistopheles。　　His　eyes　had　that　〃dancing　madness〃　in　them　which　Stevenson　saw　in　the　Gaelic　eyes　of　Alan　Breck；　but　he　sometimes　distorted　the　expression　by　screwing　a　monstrous　monocle　into　one　of　them。　A　man　more　unmistakable　would　have　been　hard　to　find。　　You　could　have　picked　him　out　in　any　crowdso　long　as　you　had　not　seen　his　photograph。

But　in　this　scientific　picture　of　him　twenty　causes；　accidental　and　conventional；　had　combined　to　obliterate　him　altogether。　　The　limits　of　photography　forbade　the　strong　and　almost　melodramatic　colouring　of　cheek　and　eyebrow。　　The　accident　of　the　lighting　took　nearly　all　the　darkness　out　of　the　hair　and　made　him　look　almost　like　a　fair　man。　　The　framing　and　limitation　of　the　shoulders　made　him　look　like　a　big　man；　and　the　devastating　bore　of　being　photographed　when　you　want　to　write　poetry　made　him　look　like　a　lazy　man。　　Holding　his　head　back；　as　people　do　when　they　are　being　photographed　（or　shot）；　but　as　he　certainly　never　held　it　normally；　accidentally　concealed　the　bald　dome　that　dominated　his　slight　figure。　　Here　we　have　a　clockwork　picture；　begun　and　finished　by　a　button　and　a　box　of　chemicals；　from　which　every　projecting　feature　has　been　more　delicately　and　dexterously　omitted　than　they　could　have　been　by　the　most　namby…pamby　flatterer；　painting　in　the　weakest　water…colours；　on　the　smoothest　ivory。

I　happen　to　possess　a　book　of　Mr。　Max　Beerbohm's　caricatures；　one　of　which　depicts　the　unfortunate　poet　in　question。　　To　say　it　represents　an　utterly　incredible　hobgoblin　is　to　express　in　faint　and　inadequate　language　the　license　of　its　sprawling　lines。　　The　authorities　thought　it　strictly　safe　and　scientific　to　circulate　the　poet's　photograph。　　They　would　have　clapped　me　in　an　asylum　if　I　had　asked　them　to　circulate　Max's　caricature。　　But　the　caricature　would　have　been　far　more　likely　to　find　the　man。

This　is　a　small　but　exact　symbol　of　the　failure　of　scientific　civilisation。　　It　is　so　satisfied　in　knowing　it　has　a　photograph　of　a　man　that　it　never　asks　whether　it　has　a　likeness　of　him。　　Thus　declarations；　seemingly　most　detailed；　have　flashed　along　the　wires　of　the　world　ever　since　I　was　a　boy。　　We　were　told　that　in　some　row　Boer　policemen　had　shot　an　Englishman；　a　British　subject；　an　English　citizen。　　A　long　time　afterwards　we　were　quite　casually　informed　that　the　English　citizen　was　quite　black。　　Well；　it　makes　no　difference　to　the　moral　question；　black　men　should　be　shot　on　the　same　ethical　principles　as　white　men。　　But　it　makes　one　distrust　scientific　communications　which　permitted　so　startling　an　alteration　of　the　photograph。　　I　am　sorry　we　got　hold　of　a　photographic　negative　in　which　a　black　man　came　out　white。　　Later　we　were　told　that　an　Englishman　had　fought　for　the　Boers　against　his　own　flag；　which　would　have　been　a　disgusting　thing　to　do。　　Later；　it　was　admitted　that　he　was　an　Irishman；　which　is　exactly　as　different　as　if　he　had　been　a　Pole。　　Common　sense；　with　all　the　facts　before　it；　does　see　that　black　is　not　white；　and　that　a　nation　that　has　never　submitted　has　a　right　to　moral　independence。　　But　why　does　it　so　seldom　have　all　the　facts　before　it？　　Why　are　the　big　aggressive　features；　such　as　blackness　or　the　Celtic　wrath；　always　left　out　in　such　official　communications；　as　they　were　left　out　in　the　photograph？　　My　friend　the　poet　had　hair　as　black　as　an　African　and　eyes　as　fierce　as　an　Irishman；　why　does　our　civilisation　drop　all　four　of　the　facts？　　Its　error　is　to　omit　the　arresting　thingwhich　might　really　arrest　the　criminal。　　It　strikes　first　the　chilling　note　of　science；　demanding　a　man　〃above　the　middle　height；　chin　shaven；　with　gray　moustache；〃　etc。；　which　might　mean　Mr。　Balfour　or　Sir　Redvers　Buller。　It　does　not　seize　the　first　fact　of　impression；　as　that　a　man　is　obviously　a　sailor　or　a　Jew　or　a　drunkard　or　a　gentleman　or　a　nigger　or　an　albino　or　a　prize…fighter　or　an　imbecile　or　an　American。　　These　are　the　realities　by　which　the　people　really　recognise　each　other。　　They　are　almost　always　left　out　of　the　inquiry。；



THE　SULTAN


There　is　one　deep　defect　in　our　extension　of　cosmopolitan　and　Imperial　cultures。　　That　is；　that　in　most　human　things　if　you　spread　your　butter　far　you　spread　it　thin。　　But　there　is　an　odder　fact　yet：　rooted　in　something　dark　and　irrational　in　human　nature。　　That　is；　that　when　you　find　your　butter　thin；　you　begin　to　spread　it。　　And　it　is　just　when　you　find　your　ideas　wearing　thin　in　your　own　mind　that　you　begin　to　spread　them　among　your　fellow…creatures。　　It　is　a　paradox；　but　not　my　paradox。　There　are　numerous　cases　in　history；　but　I　think　the　strongest　case　is　this。　　That　we　have　Imperialism　in　all　our　clubs　at　the　very　time　when　we　have　Orientalism　in　all　our　drawing…rooms。

I　mean　that　the　colonial　ideal　of　such　men　as　Cecil　Rhodes　did　not　arise　out　of　any　fresh　creative　idea　of　the　Western　genius；　it　was　a　fad；　and　like　most　fads　an　imitation。　　For　what　was　wrong　with　Rhodes　was　not　that；　like　Cromwell　or　Hildebrand；　he　made　huge　mistakes；　nor　even　that　he　committed　great　crimes。　　It　was　that　he　committed　these　crimes　and　errors　in　order　to　spread　certain　ideas。　　And　when　one　asked　for　the　ideas　they　could　not　be　found。　　Cromwell　stood　for　Calvinism；　Hildebrand　for　Catholicism：　but　Rhodes　had　no　principles　whatever　to　give　to　the　world。　He　had　only　a　hasty　but　elaborate　machinery　for　spreading　the　principles　that　he　hadn't　got。　　What　he　called　his　ideals　were　the　dregs　of　a　Darwinism　which　had　already　grown　not　only　stagnant；　but　poisonous。　　That　the　fittest　must　survive；　and　that　any　one　like　himself　must　be　the　fittest；　that　the　weakest　must　go　to　the　wall；　and　that　any　one　he　could　not　understand　must　be　the　weakest；　that　was　the　philosophy　which　he　lumberingly　believed　through　life；　like　many　another　agnostic　old　bachelor　of　the　Victorian　era。　　All　his　views　on　religion　（reverently　quoted　in　the　Review　of　Reviews）　were　simply　the　stalest　ideas　of　his　time。　　It　was　not　his　fault；　poor　fellow；　that　he　called　a　high　hill　somewhere　in　South　Africa　〃his　church。〃　　It　was　not　his　fault；　I　mean；　that　he　could　not　see　that　a　church　all　to　oneself　is　not　a　church　at　all。　It　is　a　madman's　cell。　　It　was　not　his　fault　that　he　〃figured　out　that　God　meant　as　much　of　the　planet　to　be　Anglo…Saxon　as　possible。〃　　Many　evolutionists　much　wiser　had　〃figured　out〃　things　even　more　babyish。　　He　was　an　honest　and　humble　recipient　of　the　plodding　popular　science　of　his　time；　he　spread　no　ideas　that　any　cockney　clerk　in　Streatham　could　not　have　spread　for　him。　　But　it　was　exactly　because　he　had　no　ideas　to　spread　that　he　invoked　slaughter；　violated　justice；　and　ruined　republics　to　spread　them。

But　the　case　is　even　stron