a miscellany of men-第9部分

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ed　（with　a　hideous　sense　of　fun）　as　that　of　having　no　visible　means　of　subsistence。

The　last　possibility；　of　course；　is　that　upon　which　all　human　beings　would　fall　back　if　they　were　sinking　in　a　swamp　or　impaled　on　a　spike　or　deserted　on　an　island。　　It　is　that　of　calling　out　for　pity　to　the　passer…　by。　　That　retreat　was　perceived；　and　that　retreat　was　cut　off。　　A　man　in　England　can　be　sent　to　prison　for　asking　another　man　for　help　in　the　name　of　God。

You　have　done　all　these　things；　and　by　so　doing　you　have　forced　the　poor　to　serve　the　rich；　and　to　serve　them　on　the　terms　of　the　rich。　　They　have　still　one　weapon　left　against　the　extremes　of　insult　and　unfairness：　that　weapon　is　their　numbers　and　the　necessity　of　those　numbers　to　the　working　of　that　vast　and　slavish　machine。　　And　because　they　still　had　this　last　retreat　（which　we　call　the　Strike）；　because　this　retreat　was　also　perceived；　there　was　talk　of　this　retreat　being　also　cut　off。　　Whereupon　the　workmen　became　suddenly　and　violently　angry；　and　struck　at　your　Boards　and　Committees　here；　there；　and　wherever　they　could。　　And　you　opened　on　them　the　eyes　of　owls；　and　said；　〃It　must　be　the　sunshine。〃　You　could　only　go　on　saying；　〃The　sun；　the　sun。〃　　That　was　what　the　man　in　Ibsen　said；　when　he　had　lost　his　wits。



THE　WRONG　INCENDIARY


I　stood　looking　at　the　Coronation　ProcessionI　mean　the　one　in　Beaconsfield；　not　the　rather　elephantine　imitation　of　it　which；　I　believe；　had　some　success　in　Londonand　I　was　seriously　impressed。　　Most　of　my　life　is　passed　in　discovering　with　a　deathly　surprise　that　I　was　quite　right。　Never　before　have　I　realised　how　right　I　was　in　maintaining　that　the　small　area　expresses　the　real　patriotism：　the　smaller　the　field　the　taller　the　tower。　　There　were　things　in　our　local　procession　that　did　not　（one　might　even　reverently　say；　could　not）　occur　in　the　London　procession。　One　of　the　most　prominent　citizens　in　our　procession　（for　instance）　had　his　face　blacked。　　Another　rode　on　a　pony　which　wore　pink　and　blue　trousers。　　I　was　not　present　at　the　Metropolitan　affair；　and　therefore　my　assertion　is　subject　to　such　correction　as　the　eyewitness　may　always　offer　to　the　absentee。　But　I　believe　with　some　firmness　that　no　such　features　occurred　in　the　London　pageant。

But　it　is　not　of　the　local　celebration　that　I　would　speak；　but　of　something　that　occurred　before　it。　In　the　field　beyond　the　end　of　my　garden　the　materials　for　a　bonfire　had　been　heaped；　a　hill　of　every　kind　of　rubbish　and　refuse　and　things　that　nobody　wants；　broken　chairs；　dead　trees；　rags；　shavings；　newspapers；　new　religions；　in　pamphlet　form；　reports　of　the　Eugenic　Congress；　and　so　on。　　All　this　refuse；　material　and　mental；　it　was　our　purpose　to　purify　and　change　to　holy　flame　on　the　day　when　the　King　was　crowned。　　The　following　is　an　account　of　the　rather　strange　thing　that　really　happened。　I　do　not　know　whether　it　was　any　sort　of　symbol；　but　I　narrate　it　just　as　it　befell。

In　the　middle　of　the　night　I　woke　up　slowly　and　listened　to　what　I　supposed　to　be　the　heavy　crunching　of　a　cart…wheel　along　a　road　of　loose　stones。　　Then　it　grew　louder；　and　I　thought　somebody　was　shooting　out　cartloads　of　stones；　then　it　seemed　as　if　the　shock　was　breaking　big　stones　into　pieces。　　Then　I　realised　that　under　this　sound　there　was　also　a　strange；　sleepy；　almost　inaudible　roar；　and　that　on　top　of　it　every　now　and　then　came　pigmy　pops　like　a　battle　of　penny　pistols。　　Then　I　knew　what　it　was。　　I　went　to　the　window；　and　a　great　firelight　flung　across　two　meadows　smote　me　where　I　stood。　　〃Oh；　my　holy　aunt；〃　I　thought；　〃they've　mistaken　the　Coronation　Day。〃

And　yet　when　I　eyed　the　transfigured　scene　it　did　not　seem　exactly　like　a　bonfire　or　any　ritual　illumination。　　It　was　too　chaotic；　and　too　close　to　the　houses　of　the　town。　　All　one　side　of　a　cottage　was　painted　pink　with　the　giant　brush　of　flame；　the　next　side；　by　contrast；　was　painted　as　black　as　tar。　　Along　the　front　of　this　ran　a　blackening　rim　or　rampart　edged　with　a　restless　red　ribbon　that　danced　and　doubled　and　devoured　like　a　scarlet　snake；　and　beyond　it　was　nothing　but　a　deathly　fulness　of　light。

I　put　on　some　clothes　and　went　down　the　road；　all　the　dull　or　startling　noises　in　that　din　of　burning　growing　louder　and　louder　as　I　walked。　　The　heaviest　sound　was　that　of　an　incessant　cracking　and　crunching；　as　if　some　giant　with　teeth　of　stone　was　breaking　up　the　bones　of　the　world。　　I　had　not　yet　come　within　sight　of　the　real　heart　and　habitat　of　the　fire；　but　the　strong　red　light；　like　an　unnatural　midnight　sunset；　powdered　the　grayest　grass　with　gold　and　flushed　the　few　tall　trees　up　to　the　last　fingers　of　their　foliage。　　Behind　them　the　night　was　black　and　cavernous；　and　one　could　only　trace　faintly　the　ashen　horizon　beyond　the　dark　and　magic　Wilton　Woods。　　As　I　went；　a　workman　on　a　bicycle　shot　a　rood　past　me；　then　staggered　from　his　machine　and　shouted　to　me　to　tell　him　where　the　fire　was。　　I　answered　that　I　was　going　to　see；　but　thought　it　was　the　cottages　by　the　wood…yard。　　He　said；　〃My　God！〃　　and　vanished。

A　little　farther　on　I　found　grass　and　pavement　soaking　and　flooded；　and　the　red　and　yellow　flames　repainted　in　pools　and　puddles。　　Beyond　were　dim　huddles　of　people　and　a　small　distant　voice　shouting　out　orders。　　The　fire…engines　were　at　work。　　I　went　on　among　the　red　reflections；　which　seemed　like　subterranean　fires；　I　had　a　singular　sensation　of　being　in　a　very　important　dream。　　Oddly　enough；　this　was　increased　when　I　found　that　most　of　my　friends　and　neighbours　were　entangled　in　the　crowd。　　Only　in　dreams　do　we　see　familiar　faces　so　vividly　against　a　black　background　of　midnight。　　I　was　glad　to　find　（for　the　workman　cyclist's　sake）　that　the　fire　was　not　in　the　houses　by　the　wood…yard；　but　in　the　wood…yard　itself。　There　was　no　fear　for　human　life；　and　the　thing　was　seemingly　accidental；　though　there　were　the　usual　ugly　whispers　about　rivalry　and　revenge。　But　for　all　that　I　could　not　shake　off　my　dream…drugged　soul　a　swollen；　tragic；　portentous　sort　of　sensation；　that　it　all　had　something　to　do　with　the　crowning　of　the　English　King；　and　the　glory　or　the　end　of　England。　　It　was　not　till　I　saw　the　puddles　and　the　ashes　in　broad　daylight　next　morning　that　I　was　fundamentally　certain　that　my　midnight　adventure　had　not　happened　outside　this　world。

But　I　was　more　arrogant　than　the　ancient　Emperors　Pharaoh　or　Nebuchadnezzar；　for　I　attempted　to　interpret　my　own　dream。　　The　fire　was　feeding　upon　solid　stacks　of　unused　beech　or　pine；　gray　and　white　piles　of　virgin　wood。　　It　was　an　orgy　of　mere　waste；　thousands　of　good　things　were　being　killed　before　they　had　ever　existed。　　Doors；　tables；　walking…　sticks；　wheelbarrows；　wooden　swords　for　boys；　Dutch　dolls　for　girls　I　could　hear　the　cry　of　each　uncreated　thing　as　it　expired　in　the　flames。　And　then　I　thought　of　that　other　noble　tower　of　needless　things　that　stood　in　the　field　beyond　my　garden；　the　bonfire；　the　mountain　of　vanities；　that　is　meant　for　burning；　and　how　it　stood　dark　and　lonely　in　the　meadow；　and　the　birds　hopped　on　its　corners　and　the　dew　touched　and　spangled　its　twigs。　　And　I　remembered　that　there　are　two　kinds　of　fires；　the　Bad　Fire　and　the　Good　Fire　the　last　must　surely　be　the　meaning　of　Bonfire。　　And　the　paradox　is　that　the　Good　Fire　is　made　of　bad　things；　of　things　that　we　do　not　want；　but　the　Bad　Fire　is　made　of　good　things；　of　things　that　we　do　want；　like　all　that　wealth　of　wood　that　might　have　made　dolls　and　chairs　and　tables；　but　was　only　making　a　hueless　ash。

And　then　I　saw；　in　my　vision；　that　just　as　there　are　two　fires；　so　there　are　two　revolutions。　　And　I　saw　that　the　whole　mad　modern　world　is　a　race　between　them。　　Which　will　happen　firstthe　revolution　in　which　bad　things　shall　perish；　or　that　other　revolution；　in　which　good　things　shall　perish　also？　　One　is　the　riot　that　all　good　men；　even　the　most　conservative；　really　dream　of；　when　the　sneer　shall　be　struck　from　the　face　of　the　well…fed；　when　the　wine　of　honour　shall　be　poured　down　the　throat　of　despair；　when　we　shall；　so　far　as　to　the　sons　of　flesh　is　possible；　take　tyranny　and　usury　and　public　treason　and　bind　them　into　bundles　and　burn　them。　　And　the　other　is　the　disruption　that　may　come　prematurely；　negatively；　and　suddenly　in　the　night；　like　the　fire　in　my　little　town。

It　may　come　because　the　mere　strain　of　modern　life　is　unbearable；　and　in　it　even　the　things　that　men　do　desire　may　break　down；　marriage　and　fair　ownership　and　worship　and　the　mysterious　worth　of　man。　　The　two　revolutions；　white　and　black；　are　racing　each　other　like　two　railway　trains；　I　cannot　guess　the　issue。。。but　even　as　I　thought　of　it；　the　tallest　turret　of　the　timber　stooped　and　faltered　and　came　down　in　a　cataract　of　noises。　　And　the　fire；　finding　passage；　went　up　with　a　spout　like　a　fountain。　　It　stood　far　up　among　the　stars　for　an　instant；　a　blazing　pillar　of　brass　fit　for　a　pagan　conqueror；　so　high　that　one　could　fancy　it　visible　away　among　the　goblin　trees　of　Burnham　or　along　the　terraces　of　the　Chiltern　Hills。



THE　FREE　MAN


The　idea　of　liberty　has　ultimately　a　religious　root；　that　is　why　men　find　it　so　easy　to　die　for　and　so　difficult　to　define。　　It　refers　finally　to　the　fact　that；　while　the　oyster　and　the　palm　tree　have　to　save　their　lives　by　law；　man　has　to　save　his　soul　by　choice。　　Ruskin　rebuked　Coleridge　for　praising　freedom；　and　said　that　no　man　would　wish　the　sun　to　be　free。　　It　seems　enough　to　answer　that　no　man　would　wish　to　be　the　sun。　　Speaking　as　a　Liberal；　I　have　much　more　sympathy　with　the　idea　of　Joshua　stopping　the　sun　in　heaven　than　with　the　idea　of　Ruskin　trotting　his　daily　round　in　imitation　of　its　regularity。　　Joshua　was　a　Radical；　and　his　astronomical　act　was　distinctly　revolutionary。　　For　all　revolution　is　the　mastering　of　matter　by　the　spirit　of　man；　the　emergence　of　that　human　authority　within　us　which；　in　the　noble　words　of　Sir　Thomas　Browne；　〃owes　no　homage　unto　the　sun。〃

Generally；　the　moral　substance　of　liberty　is　this：　that　man　is　not　meant　merely　to　receive　good　laws；　good　food：　or　good　conditions；　like　a　tree　in　a　garden；　but　is　meant　to　take　a　certain　princely　pleasure　in　selecting　and　shaping　like　the　gardener。　　Perhaps　that　is　the　meaning　of　the　trade　of　Adam。　　And　the　best　popular　word