a miscellany of men-第7部分

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se　countries　is　modern　England。

Now　here　is　an　actual　instance；　a　small　ease　of　how　our　social　conscience　really　works：　tame　in　spirit；　wild　in　result；　blank　in　realisation；　a　thing　without　the　light　of　mind　in　it。　　I　take　this　paragraph　from　a　daily　paper　：…　〃At　Epping；　yesterday；　Thomas　Woolbourne；　a　Lambourne　labourer；　and　his　wife　were　summoned　for　neglecting　their　five　children。　Dr。　Alpin　said　he　was　invited　by　the　inspector　of　the　N。S。P。C。C。　　to　visit　defendants'　cottage。　　Both　the　cottage　and　the　children　were　dirty。　The　children　looked　exceedingly　well　in　health；　but　the　conditions　would　be　serious　in　case　of　illness。　Defendants　were　stated　to　be　sober。　　The　man　was　discharged。　　The　woman；　who　said　she　was　hampered　by　the　cottage　having　no　water　supply　and　that　she　was　ill；　was　sentenced　to　six　weeks'　imprisonment。　　The　sentence　caused　surprise；　and　the　woman　was　removed　crying；　'Lord　save　me！　　'〃

I　know　no　name　for　this　but　Chinese。　　It　calls　up　the　mental　picture　of　some　archaic　and　changeless　Eastern　Court；　in　which　men　with　dried　faces　and　stiff　ceremonial　costumes　perform　some　atrocious　cruelty　to　the　accompaniment　of　formal　proverbs　and　sentences　of　which　the　very　meaning　has　been　forgotten。　　In　both　cases　the　only　thing　in　the　whole　farrago　that　can　be　called　real　is　the　wrong。　　If　we　apply　the　lightest　touch　of　reason　to　the　whole　Epping　prosecution　it　dissolves　into　nothing。

I　here　challenge　any　person　in　his　five　wits　to　tell　me　what　that　woman　was　sent　to　prison　for。　Either　it　was　for　being　poor；　or　it　was　for　being　ill。　　Nobody　could　suggest；　nobody　will　suggest；　nobody；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　did　suggest；　that　she　had　committed　any　other　crime。　　The　doctor　was　called　in　by　a　Society　for　the　Prevention　of　Cruelty　to　Children。　Was　this　woman　guilty　of　cruelty　to　children？　　Not　in　the　least。　　Did　the　doctor　say　she　was　guilty　of　cruelty　to　children？　　Not　in　the　least。　　Was　these　any　evidence　even　remotely　bearing　on　the　sin　of　cruelty？　　Not　a　rap。　　The　worse　that　the　doctor　could　work　himself　up　to　saying　was　that　though　the　children　were　〃exceedingly〃　well；　the　conditions　would　be　serious　in　case　of　illness。　　If　the　doctor　will　tell　me　any　conditions　that　would　be　comic　in　case　of　illness；　I　shall　attach　more　weight　to　his　argument。

Now　this　is　the　worst　effect　of　modern　worry。　　The　mad　doctor　has　gone　mad。　　He　is　literally　and　practically　mad；　and　still　he　is　quite　literally　and　practically　a　doctor。　　The　only　question　is　the　old　one；　Quis　docebit　ipsum　doctorem？　　Now　cruelty　to　children　is　an　utterly　unnatural　thing；　instinctively　accursed　of　earth　and　heaven。　　But　neglect　of　children　is　a　natural　thing；　like　neglect　of　any　other　duty；　it　is　a　mere　difference　of　degree　that　divides　extending　arms　and　legs　in　calisthenics　and　extending　them　on　the　rack。　　It　is　a　mere　difference　of　degree　that　separates　any　operation　from　any　torture。　　The　thumb…screw　can　easily　be　called　Manicure。　　Being　pulled　about　by　wild　horses　can　easily　be　called　Massage。　　The　modern　problem　is　not　so　much　what　people　will　endure　as　what　they　will　not　endure。　　But　I　fear　I　interrupt。。。。　The　boiling　oil　is　boiling；　and　the　Tenth　Mandarin　is　already　reciting　the　〃Seventeen　Serious　Principles　and　the　Fifty…three　Virtues　of　the　Sacred　Emperor。〃



THE　ENCHANTED　MAN


When　I　arrived　to　see　the　performance　of　the　Buckinghamshire　Players；　who　acted　Miss　Gertrude　Robins's　POT　LUCK　at　Naphill　a　short　time　ago；　it　is　the　distressing；　if　scarcely　surprising；　truth　that　I　entered　very　late。　This　would　have　mattered　little；　I　hope；　to　any　one；　but　that　late　comers　had　to　be　forced　into　front　seats。　　For　a　real　popular　English　audience　always　insists　on　crowding　in　the　back　part　of　the　hall；　and　（as　I　have　found　in　many　an　election）　will　endure　the　most　unendurable　taunts　rather　than　come　forward。　　The　English　are　a　modest　people；　that　is　why　they　are　entirely　ruled　and　run　by　the　few　of　them　that　happen　to　be　immodest。　　In　theatrical　affairs　the　fact　is　strangely　notable；　and　in　most　playhouses　we　find　the　bored　people　in　front　and　the　eager　people　behind。

As　far　as　the　performance　went　I　was　quite　the　reverse　of　a　bored　person；　but　I　may　have　been　a　boring　person；　especially　as　I　was　thus　required　to　sit　in　the　seats　of　the　scornful。　　It　will　be　a　happy　day　in　the　dramatic　world　when　all　ladies　have　to　take　off　their　hats　and　all　critics　have　to　take　off　their　heads。　　The　people　behind　will　have　a　chance　then。　　And　as　it　happens；　in　this　case；　I　had　not　so　much　taken　off　my　head　as　lost　it。　I　had　lost　it　on　the　road；　on　that　strange　journey　that　was　the　cause　of　my　coming　in　late。　　I　have　a　troubled　recollection　of　having　seen　a　very　good　play　and　made　a　very　bad　speech；　I　have　a　cloudy　recollection　of　talking　to　all　sorts　of　nice　people　afterwards；　but　talking　to　them　jerkily　and　with　half　a　head；　as　a　man　talks　when　he　has　one　eye　on　a　clock。

And　the　truth　is　that　I　had　one　eye　on　an　ancient　and　timeless　clock；　hung　uselessly　in　heaven；　whose　very　name　has　passed　into　a　figure　for　such　bemused　folly。　　In　the　true　sense　of　an　ancient　phrase；　I　was　moonstruck。　　A　lunar　landscape　a　scene　of　winter　moonlight　had　inexplicably　got　in　between　me　and　all　other　scenes。　　If　any　one　had　asked　me　I　could　not　have　said　what　it　was；　I　cannot　say　now。　　Nothing　had　occurred　to　me；　except　the　breakdown　of　a　hired　motor　on　the　ridge　of　a　hill。　　It　was　not　an　adventure；　it　was　a　vision。

I　had　started　in　wintry　twilight　from　my　own　door；　and　hired　a　small　car　that　found　its　way　across　the　hills　towards　Naphill。　　But　as　night　blackened　and　frost　brightened　and　hardened　it　I　found　the　way　increasingly　difficult；　especially　as　the　way　was　an　incessant　ascent。　Whenever　we　topped　a　road　like　a　staircase　it　was　only　to　turn　into　a　yet　steeper　road　like　a　ladder。

At　last；　when　I　began　to　fancy　that　I　was　spirally　climbing　the　Tower　of　Babel　in　a　dream；　I　was　brought　to　fact　by　alarming　noises；　stoppage；　and　the　driver　saying　that　〃it　couldn't　be　done。〃　　I　got　out　of　the　car　and　suddenly　forgot　that　I　had　ever　been　in　it。

From　the　edge　of　that　abrupt　steep　I　saw　something　indescribable；　which　I　am　now　going　to　describe。　　When　Mr。　Joseph　Chamberlain　delivered　his　great　patriotic　speech　on　the　inferiority　of　England　to　the　Dutch　parts　of　South　Africa；　he　made　use　of　the　expression　〃the　illimitable　veldt。〃　The　word　〃veldt〃　is　Dutch；　and　the　word　〃illimitable〃　is　Double　Dutch。　But　the　meditative　statesman　probably　meant　that　the　new　plains　gave　him　a　sense　of　largeness　and　dreariness　which　he　had　never　found　in　England。　Well；　if　he　never　found　it　in　England　it　was　because　he　never　looked　for　it　in　England。　　In　England　there　is　an　illimitable　number　of　illimitable　veldts。　　I　saw　six　or　seven　separate　eternities　in　cresting　as　many　different　hills。　　One　cannot　find　anything　more　infinite　than　a　finite　horizon；　free　and　lonely　and　innocent。　　The　Dutch　veldt　may　be　a　little　more　desolate　than　Birmingham。　　But　I　am　sure　it　is　not　so　desolate　as　that　English　hill　was；　almost　within　a　cannon…shot　of　High　Wycombe。

I　looked　across　a　vast　and　voiceless　valley　straight　at　the　moon；　as　if　at　a　round　mirror。　　It　may　have　been　the　blue　moon　of　the　proverb；　for　on　that　freezing　night　the　very　moon　seemed　blue　with　cold。　　A　deathly　frost　fastened　every　branch　and　blade　to　its　place。　　The　sinking　and　softening　forests；　powdered　with　a　gray　frost；　fell　away　underneath　me　into　an　abyss　which　seemed　unfathomable。　　One　fancied　the　world　was　soundless　only　because　it　was　bottomless：　it　seemed　as　if　all　songs　and　cries　had　been　swallowed　in　some　unresisting　stillness　under　the　roots　of　the　hills。　I　could　fancy　that　if　I　shouted　there　would　be　no　echo；　that　if　I　hurled　huge　stones　there　would　be　no　noise　of　reply。　　A　dumb　devil　had　bewitched　the　landscape：　but　that　again　does　not　express　the　best　or　worst　of　it。　　All　those　hoary　and　frosted　forests　expressed　something　so　inhuman　that　it　has　no　human　name。　　A　horror　of　unconsciousness　lay　on　them；　that　is　the　nearest　phrase　I　know。　　It　was　as　if　one　were　looking　at　the　back　of　the　world；　and　the　world　did　not　know　it。　　I　had　taken　the　universe　in　the　rear。　　I　was　behind　the　scenes。　　I　was　eavesdropping　upon　an　unconscious　creation。

I　shall　not　express　what　the　place　expressed。　　I　am　not　even　sure　that　it　is　a　thing　that　ought　to　be　expressed。　　There　was　something　heathen　about　its　union　of　beauty　and　death；　sorrow　seemed　to　glitter；　as　it　does　in　some　of　the　great　pagan　poems。　　I　understood　one　of　the　thousand　poetical　phrases　of　the　populace；　〃a　God…forsaken　place。〃　　Yet　something　was　present　there；　and　I　could　not　yet　find　the　key　to　my　fixed　impression。　Then　suddenly　I　remembered　the　right　word。　　It　was　an　enchanted　place。　It　had　been　put　to　sleep。　　In　a　flash　I　remembered　all　the　fairy…tales　about　princes　turned　to　marble　and　princesses　changed　to　snow。　　We　were　in　a　land　where　none　could　strive　or　cry　out；　a　white　nightmare。　　The　moon　looked　at　me　across　the　valley　like　the　enormous　eye　of　a　hypnotist；　the　one　white　eye　of　the　world。

There　was　never　a　better　play　than　POT　LUCK；　for　it　tells　a　tale　with　a　point　and　a　tale　that　might　happen　any　day　among　English　peasants。　There　were　never　better　actors　than　the　local　Buckinghamshire　Players：　for　they　were　acting　their　own　life　with　just　that　rise　into　exaggeration　which　is　the　transition　from　life　to　art。　　But　all　the　time　I　was　mesmerised　by　the　moon；　I　saw　all　these　men　and　women　as　enchanted　things。　　The　poacher　shot　pheasants；　the　policeman　tracked　pheasants；　the　wife　hid　pheasants；　they　were　all　（especially　the　policeman）　as　true　as　death。　　But　there　was　something　more　true　to　death　than　true　to　life　about　it　all：　the　figures　were　frozen　with　a　magic　frost　of　sleep　or　fear　or　custom　such　as　does　not　cramp　the　movements　of　the　poor　men　of　other　lands。　　I　looked　at　the　poacher　and　the　policeman　and　the　gun；　then　at　the　gun　and　the　policeman　and　the　poacher；　and　I　could　find　no　name　for　the　fancy　that　haunted　and　escaped　me。　　The　poacher　believed　in　the　Game　Laws　as　much　as　the　policeman。　　The　poacher's　wife　not　only　believed　in　the　Game　Laws；　but　protected　them　as　well　as　him。　　She　got　a　promise　from　her　husband　that　he　would　never　shoot　another　pheasant。　　Whether　he　ke