heretics- 第5部分

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