the angel and the author-第3部分

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nature　of　mana　little　thing　that　Zeus　approves　of；　one　feels　sure。　　
The　daemon　within　me　says　taxes　don't　really　matter。〃

Maybe　the　paterfamilias　of　the　period；　who　did　the　paying；　worried　
about　new　sandals　for　the　children；　his　wife　insisting　she　hadn't　a　
frock　fit　to　be　seen　in　at　the　amphitheatre；　that；　if　there　was　one　
thing　in　the　world　she　fancied；　it　was　seeing　a　Christian　eaten　by　a　
lion；　but　now　she　supposed　the　children　would　have　to　go　without　her；　
found　that　philosophy　came　to　his　aid　less　readily。

〃Bother　these　barbarians；〃　Marcus　Aurelius　may　have　been　tempted；　in　
an　unphilosophical　moment；　to　exclaim；　〃I　do　wish　they　would　not　burn　
these　poor　people's　houses　over　their　heads；　toss　the　babies　about　on　
spears；　and　carry　off　the　older　children　into　slavery。　　Why　don't　
they　behave　themselves？〃

But　philosophy　in　Marcus　Aurelius　would　eventually　triumph　over　
passing　fretfulness。

〃But　how　foolish　of　me　to　be　angry　with　them；〃　he　would　argue　with　
himself。　　〃One　is　not　vexed　with　the　fig…tree　for　yielding　figs；　with　
the　cucumber　for　being　bitter！　　One　must　expect　barbarians　to　behave　
barbariously。〃

Marcus　Aurelius　would　proceed　to　slaughter　the　barbarians；　and　then　
forgive　them。　　We　can　most　of　us　forgive　our　brother　his　
transgressions；　having　once　got　even　with　him。　　In　a　tiny　Swiss　
village；　behind　the　angle　of　the　school…house　wall；　I　came　across　a　
maiden　crying　bitterly；　her　head　resting　on　her　arm。　　I　asked　her　
what　had　happened。　　Between　her　sobs　she　explained　that　a　school　
companion；　a　little　lad　about　her　own　age；　having　snatched　her　hat　
from　her　head；　was　at　that　moment　playing　football　with　it　the　other　
side　of　the　wall。　　I　attempted　to　console　her　with　philosophy。　　I　
pointed　out　to　her　that　boys　would　be　boysthat　to　expect　from　them　
at　that　age　reverence　for　feminine　headgear　was　to　seek　what　was　not　
conformable　with　the　nature　of　boy。　　But　she　appeared　to　have　no　
philosophy　in　her。　　She　said　he　was　a　horrid　boy；　and　that　she　hated　
him。　　It　transpired　it　was　a　hat　she　rather　fancied　herself　in。　　He　
peeped　round　the　corner　while　we　were　talking；　the　hat　in　his　hand。　　
He　held　it　out　to　her；　but　she　took　no　notice　of　him。　　I　gathered　the　
incident　was　closed；　and　went　my　way；　but　turned　a　few　steps　further　
on；　curious　to　witness　the　end。　　Step　by　step　he　approached　nearer；　
looking　a　little　ashamed　of　himself；　but　still　she　wept；　her　face　
hidden　in　her　arm。

He　was　not　expecting　it：　　to　all　seeming　she　stood　there　the　
personification　of　the　grief　that　is　not　to　be　comforted；　oblivious　
to　all　surroundings。　　Incautiously　he　took　another　step。　　In　an　
instant　she　had　〃landed〃　him　over　the　head　with　a　long　narrow　wooden　
box　containing；　one　supposes；　pencils　and　pens。　　He　must　have　been　a　
hard…headed　youngster；　the　sound　of　the　compact　echoed　through　the　
valley。　　I　met　her　again　on　my　way　back。

〃Hat　much　damaged？〃　I　inquired。

〃Oh；　no；〃　she　answered；　smiling；　〃besides；　it　was　only　an　old　hat。　　
I've　got　a　better　one　for　Sundays。〃

I　often　feel　philosophical　myself；　generally　over　a　good　cigar　after　
a　satisfactory　dinner。　　At　such　times　I　open　my　Marcus　Aurelius；　my　
pocket　Epicurus；　my　translation　of　Plato's　〃Republic。〃　　At　such　times　
I　agree　with　them。　　Man　troubles　himself　too　much　about　the　
unessential。　　Let　us　cultivate　serenity。　　Nothing　can　happen　to　us　
that　we　have　not　been　constituted　by　Nature　to　sustain。　　That　foolish　
farm　labourer；　on　his　precarious　wage　of　twelve　shillings　a　week：　　
let　him　dwell　rather　on　the　mercies　he　enjoys。　　Is　he　not　spared　all　
anxiety　concerning　safe　investment　of　capital　yielding　four　per　
cent。？　　Is　not　the　sunrise　and　the　sunset　for　him　also？　　Many　of　us　
never　see　the　sunrise。　　So　many　of　our　so…termed　poorer　brethen　are　
privileged　rarely　to　miss　that　early　morning　festival。　　Let　the　
daemon　within　them　rejoice。　　Why　should　he　fret　when　the　children　cry　
for　bread？　　Is　it　not　in　the　nature　of　things　that　the　children　of　
the　poor　should　cry　for　bread？　　The　gods　in　their　wisdom　have　
arranged　it　thus。　　Let　the　daemon　within　him　reflect　upon　the　
advantage　to　the　community　of　cheap　labour。　　Let　the　farm　labourer　
contemplate　the　universal　good。



CHAPTER　III



＇Literature　and　the　Middle　Classes。＇

I　am　sorry　to　be　compelled　to　cast　a　slur　upon　the　Literary　
profession；　but　observation　shows　me　that　it　still　contains　within　
its　ranks　writers　born　and　bred　in；　and　moving　amidstif；　without　
offence；　one　may　put　it　bluntlya　purely　middle…class　environment：　　
men　and　women　to　whom　Park　Lane　will　never　be　anything　than　the　
shortest　route　between　Notting　Hill　and　the　Strand；　to　whom　Debrett's　
Peerage　gilt…edged　and　bound　in　red；　a　tasteful…looking　volume
ever　has　been　and　ever　will　remain　a　drawing…room　ornament　and　not　a　
social　necessity。　　Now　what　is　to　become　of　these　writersof　us；　if　
for　the　moment　I　may　be　allowed　to　speak　as　representative　of　this　
rapidly…diminishing　yet　nevertheless　still　numerous　section　of　the　
world　of　Art　and　Letters？　　Formerly；　provided　we　were　masters　of　
style；　possessed　imagination　and　insight；　understood　human　nature；　
had　sympathy　with　and　knowledge　of　life；　and　could　express　ourselves　
with　humour　and　distinction；　our　pathway　was；　comparatively　speaking；　
free　from　obstacle。　　We　drew　from　the　middle…class　life　around　us；　
passed　it　through　our　own　middle…class　individuality；　and　presented　
it　to　a　public　composed　of　middle…class　readers。

But　the　middle…class　public；　for　purposes　of　Art；　has　practically　
disappeared。　　The　social　strata　from　which　George　Eliot　and　Dickens　
drew　their　characters　no　longer　interests　the　great　B。　P。　Hetty　
Sorrell；　Little　Em'ly；　would　be　pronounced　〃provincial；〃　a　Deronda　or　
a　Wilfer　Family　ignored　as　〃suburban。〃

I　confess　that　personally　the　terms　〃provincial〃　and　〃suburban；〃　as　
epithets　of　reproach；　have　always　puzzled　me。　　I　never　met　anyone　
more　severe　on　what　she　termed　the　〃suburban　note〃　in　literature　than　
a　thin　lady　who　lived　in　a　semi…detached　villa　in　a　by…street　of　
Hammersmith。　　Is　Art　merely　a　question　of　geography；　and　if　so　what　
is　the　exact　limit？　　Is　it　the　four…mile　cab　radius　from　Charing　
Cross？　　Is　the　cheesemonger　of　Tottenham　Court　Road　of　necessity　a　
man　of　taste；　and　the　Oxford　professor　of　necessity　a　Philistine？　　I　
want　to　understand　this　thing。　　I　once　hazarded　the　direct　question　
to　a　critical　friend：

〃You　say　a　book　is　suburban；〃　I　put　it　to　him；　〃and　there　is　an　end　
to　the　matter。　　But　what　do　you　mean　by　suburban？〃

〃Well；〃　he　replied；　〃I　mean　it　is　the　sort　of　book　likely　to　appeal　
to　the　class　that　inhabits　the　suburbs。〃　　He　lived　himself　in　
Chancery　Lane。

＇May　a　man　of　intelligence　live；　say；　in　Surbiton？＇

〃But　there　is　Jones；　the　editor　of　The　Evening　Gentleman；〃　I　argued；　
〃he　lives　at　Surbiton。　　It　is　just　twelve　miles　from　Waterloo。　　He　
comes　up　every　morning　by　the　eight…fifteen　and　returns　again　by　the　
five…ten。　　Would　you　say　that　a　book　is　bound　to　be　bad　because　it　
appeals　to　Jones？　　Then　again；　take　Tomlinson：　　he　lives；　as　you　are　
well　aware；　at　Forest　Gate　which　is　Epping　way；　and　entertains　you　on　
Kakemonos　whenever　you　call　upon　him。　　You　know　what　I　mean；　of　
course。　　I　think　'Kakemono'　is　right。　　They　are　long　things；　they　
look　like　coloured　hieroglyphics　printed　on　brown　paper。　　He　gets　
behind　them　and　holds　them　up　above　his　head　on　the　end　of　a　stick　so　
that　you　can　see　the　whole　of　them　at　once；　and　he　tells　you　the　name　
of　the　Japanese　artist　who　painted　them　in　the　year　1500　B。C。；　and　
what　it　is　all　about。　　He　shows　them　to　you　by　the　hour　and　forgets　
to　give　you　dinner。　　There　isn't　an　easy　chair　in　the　house。　　To　put　
it　vulgarly；　what　is　wrong　with　Tomlinson　from　a　high　art　point　of　
view？

〃There's　a　man　I　know　who　lives　in　Birmingham：　　you　must　have　heard　
of　him。　　He　is　the　great　collector　of　Eighteenth　Century　caricatures；　
the　Rowlandson　and　Gilray　school　of　things。　　I　don't　call　them　
artistic　myself；　they　make　me　ill　to　look　at　them；　but　people　who　
understand　Art　rave　about　them。　　Why　can't　a　man　be　artistic　who　has　
got　a　cottage　in　the　country？〃

〃You　don't　understand　me；〃　retorted　my　critical　friend；　a　little　
irritably；　as　I　thought。

〃I　admit　it；〃　I　returned。　　〃It　is　what　I　am　trying　to　do。〃

〃Of　course　artistic　people　live　in　the　suburbs；〃　he　admitted。　　〃But　
they　are　not　of　the　suburbs。〃

〃Though　they　may　dwell　in　Wimbledon　or　Hornsey；〃　I　suggested；　〃they　
sing　with　the　Scotch　bard：　　'My　heart　is　in　the　South…West　postal　
district。　　My　heart　is　not　here。'〃

〃You　can　put　it　that　way　if　you　like；〃　he　growled。

〃I　will；　if　you　have　no　objection；〃　I　agreed。　　〃It　makes　life　easier　
for　those　of　us　with　limited　incomes。〃

The　modern　novel　takes　care；　however；　to　avoid　all　doubt　upon　the　
subject。　　Its　personages；　one　and　all；　reside　within　the　half…mile　
square　lying　between　Bond　Street　and　the　Parka　neighbourhood　that　
would　appear　to　be　somewhat　densely　populated。　　True；　a　year　or　two　
ago　there　appeared　a　fairly　successful　novel　the　heroine　of　which　
resided　in　Onslow　Gardens。　　An　eminent　critic　observed　of　it　that：　　
〃It　fell　short　only　by　a　little　way　of　being　a　serious　contribution　
to　English　literature。〃　　Consultation　with　the　keeper　of　the　cabman's　
shelter　at　Hyde　Park　Corner　suggested　to　me　that　the　〃little　way〃　the　
critic　had　in　mind　measures　exactly　eleven　hundred　yards。　　When　the　
nobility　and　gentry　of　the　modern　novel　do　leave　London　they　do　not　
go　into　the　provinces：　　to　do　that　would　be　vulgar。　　They　make　
straight　for　〃Barchester　Towers；〃　or　what　the　Duke　calls　〃his　little　
place　up　north〃localities；　one　presumes；　suspended　somewhere　in　
mid…air。

In　every　social　circle　exist　great　souls　with　yearnings　towards　
higher　things。　　Even　among　the　labouring　classes　one　meets　with　
naturally　refined　natures；　gentlemanly　persons　to　whom　the　loom　and　
the　plough　will　always　appear　low；　whose　natural　desire　is　towards　
the　dignities　and　graces　of　the　servants'　hall。　　So　in　Grub　Street　we　
can　always　reckon　upon　the　superior　writer　whose　temperament　will　
prompt　him　to　make　respectful　study