heretics-第5部分
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When Byron divided humanity into the bores and bored； he omitted
to notice that the higher qualities exist entirely in the bores；
the lower qualities in the bored； among whom he counted himself。
The bore； by his starry enthusiasm； his solemn happiness； may；
in some sense； have proved himself poetical。 The bored has certainly
proved himself prosaic。
We might； no doubt； find it a nuisance to count all the blades of grass
or all the leaves of the trees； but this would not be because of our
boldness or gaiety； but because of our lack of boldness and gaiety。
The bore would go onward； bold and gay； and find the blades of
grass as splendid as the swords of an army。 The bore is stronger
and more joyous than we are； he is a demigodnay； he is a god。
For it is the gods who do not tire of the iteration of things；
to them the nightfall is always new； and the last rose as red
as the first。
The sense that everything is poetical is a thing solid and absolute；
it is not a mere matter of phraseology or persuasion。 It is not
merely true； it is ascertainable。 Men may be challenged to deny it；
men may be challenged to mention anything that is not a matter of poetry。
I remember a long time ago a sensible sub…editor coming up to me
with a book in his hand； called 〃Mr。 Smith；〃 or 〃The Smith Family；〃
or some such thing。 He said； 〃Well； you won't get any of your damned
mysticism out of this；〃 or words to that effect。 I am happy to say
that I undeceived him； but the victory was too obvious and easy。
In most cases the name is unpoetical； although the fact is poetical。
In the case of Smith； the name is so poetical that it must
be an arduous and heroic matter for the man to live up to it。
The name of Smith is the name of the one trade that even kings respected；
it could claim half the glory of that arma virumque which all
epics acclaimed。 The spirit of the smithy is so close to the spirit
of song that it has mixed in a million poems； and every blacksmith
is a harmonious blacksmith。
Even the village children feel that in some dim way the smith
is poetic； as the grocer and the cobbler are not poetic；
when they feast on the dancing sparks and deafening blows in
the cavern of that creative violence。 The brute repose of Nature；
the passionate cunning of man； the strongest of earthly metals；
the wierdest of earthly elements； the unconquerable iron subdued
by its only conqueror； the wheel and the ploughshare； the sword and
the steam…hammer； the arraying of armies and the whole legend of arms；
all these things are written； briefly indeed； but quite legibly；
on the visiting…card of Mr。 Smith。 Yet our novelists call their
hero 〃Aylmer Valence；〃 which means nothing； or 〃Vernon Raymond；〃
which means nothing； when it is in their power to give him
this sacred name of Smiththis name made of iron and flame。
It would be very natural if a certain hauteur； a certain carriage
of the head； a certain curl of the lip； distinguished every
one whose name is Smith。 Perhaps it does； I trust so。
Whoever else are parvenus； the Smiths are not parvenus。
From the darkest dawn of history this clan has gone forth to battle；
its trophies are on every hand； its name is everywhere；
it is older than the nations； and its sign is the Hammer of Thor。
But as I also remarked； it is not quite the usual case。
It is common enough that common things should be poetical；
it is not so common that common names should be poetical。
In most cases it is the name that is the obstacle。
A great many people talk as if this claim of ours； that all things
are poetical； were a mere literary ingenuity； a play on words。
Precisely the contrary is true。 It is the idea that some things are
not poetical which is literary； which is a mere product of words。
The word 〃signal…box〃 is unpoetical。 But the thing signal…box is
not unpoetical； it is a place where men； in an agony of vigilance；
light blood…red and sea…green fires to keep other men from death。
That is the plain； genuine description of what it is； the prose only
comes in with what it is called。 The word 〃pillar…box〃 is unpoetical。
But the thing pillar…box is not unpoetical； it is the place
to which friends and lovers commit their messages； conscious that
when they have done so they are sacred； and not to be touched；
not only by others； but even （religious touch！） by themselves。
That red turret is one of the last of the temples。 Posting a letter and
getting married are among the few things left that are entirely romantic；
for to be entirely romantic a thing must be irrevocable。
We think a pillar…box prosaic； because there is no rhyme to it。
We think a pillar…box unpoetical； because we have never seen it
in a poem。 But the bold fact is entirely on the side of poetry。
A signal…box is only called a signal…box； it is a house of life and death。
A pillar…box is only called a pillar…box； it is a sanctuary of
human words。 If you think the name of 〃Smith〃 prosaic； it is not
because you are practical and sensible； it is because you are too much
affected with literary refinements。 The name shouts poetry at you。
If you think of it otherwise； it is because you are steeped and
sodden with verbal reminiscences； because you remember everything
in Punch or Comic Cuts about Mr。 Smith being drunk or Mr。 Smith
being henpecked。 All these things were given to you poetical。
It is only by a long and elaborate process of literary effort
that you have made them prosaic。
Now； the first and fairest thing to say about Rudyard Kipling
is that he has borne a brilliant part in thus recovering the lost
provinces of poetry。 He has not been frightened by that brutal
materialistic air which clings only to words； he has pierced through
to the romantic； imaginative matter of the things themselves。
He has perceived the significance and philosophy of steam and of slang。
Steam may be； if you like； a dirty by…product of science。
Slang may be； if you like； a dirty by…product of language。
But at least he has been among the few who saw the divine parentage of
these things； and knew that where there is smoke there is firethat is；
that wherever there is the foulest of things； there also is the purest。
Above all； he has had something to say； a definite view of things to utter；
and that always means that a man is fearless and faces everything。
For the moment we have a view of the universe； we possess it。
Now； the message of Rudyard Kipling； that upon which he has
really concentrated； is the only thing worth worrying about
in him or in any other man。 He has often written bad poetry；
like Wordsworth。 He has often said silly things； like Plato。
He has often given way to mere political hysteria； like Gladstone。
But no one can reasonably doubt that he means steadily and sincerely
to say something； and the only serious question is； What is that
which he has tried to say？ Perhaps the best way of stating this
fairly will be to begin with that element which has been most insisted
by himself and by his opponentsI mean his interest in militarism。
But when we are seeking for the real merits of a man it is unwise
to go to his enemies； and much more foolish to go to himself。
Now； Mr。 Kipling is certainly wrong in his worship of militarism；
but his opponents are； generally speaking； quite as wrong as he。
The evil of militarism is not that it shows certain men to be fierce
and haughty and excessively warlike。 The evil of militarism is that it
shows most men to be tame and timid and excessively peaceable。
The professional soldier gains more and more power as the general
courage of a community declines。 Thus the Pretorian guard became
more and more important in Rome as Rome became more and more
luxurious and feeble。 The military man gains the civil power
in proportion as the civilian loses the military virtues。
And as it was in ancient Rome so it is in contemporary Europe。
There never was a time when nations were more militarist。
There never was a time when men were less brave。 All ages and all epics
have sung of arms and the man； but we have effected simultaneously
the deterioration of the man and the fantastic perfection of the arms。
Militarism demonstrated the decadence of Rome； and it demonstrates
the decadence of Prussia。
And unconsciously Mr。 Kipling has proved this； and proved it admirably。
For in so far as his work is earnestly understood the military trade
does not by any means emerge as the most important or attractive。
He has not written so well about soldiers as he has about
railway men or bridge builders； or even journalists。
The fact is that what attracts Mr。 Kipling to militarism
is not the idea of courage； but the idea of discipline。
There was far more courage to the square mile in the Middle Ages；
when no king had a standing army； but every man had a bow or sword。
But the fascination of the standing army upon Mr。 Kipling is
not courage； which scarcely interests him； but discipline； which is；
when all is said and done； his primary theme。 The modern army
is not a miracle of courage； it has not enough opportunities；
owing to the cowardice of everybody else。 But it is really
a miracle of organization； and that is the truly Kiplingite ideal。
Kipling's subject is not that valour which properly belongs to war；
but that interdependence and efficiency which belon
