On Nothing & Kindred Subjects Part 16

"Having heard you," he said, "it is my advice to you, drawn from a long experience of men, to enter the legal profession, and, having entered it, to supplement your income with writing occasional articles for the more dignified organs of the Press. But if this prospect does not attract you (and, indeed, there are many whom it has repelled) I would offer you as an alternative that you should produce slowly, at about the rate of one in every two years, short books compact of irony, yet having running through them like a twisted thread up and down, emerging, hidden, and re-emerging in the stuff of your writing, a memory of those early cert.i.tudes and even of pa.s.sion for those earlier revelations."

When the Older Man had said this he sat silent for a few moments and then added gravely, "But I must warn you that for such a career you need an acc.u.mulated capital of at least 30,000."

The Young Man was not comforted by advice of this sort, and was determined to make a kind of war upon the doctrine which seemed to underlie it. He said in effect that if he could not be restored to the pristine condition which he felt to be slipping from him he would as lief stop living.

On hearing this second statement the Older Man became extremely grave.

"Young Man," said he, "Young Man, consider well what you are saying!

The poet Shakespeare in his most remarkable effort, which, I need hardly tell you, is the tragedy of _Hamlet, or the Prince of Denmark,_ has remarked that the thousand doors of death stand open. I may be misquoting the words, and if I am I do so boldly and without fear, for any fool with a book at his elbow can get the words right and yet not understand their meaning. Let me a.s.sure you that the doors of death are not so simply hinged, and that any determination to force them involves the destruction of much more than these light though divine memories of which you speak; they involve, indeed, the destruction of the very soul which conceives them. And let me a.s.sure you, not upon my own experience, but upon that of those who have drowned themselves imperfectly, who have enlisted in really dangerous wars, or who have fired revolvers at themselves in a twisted fas.h.i.+on with their right hands, that, quite apart from that evil to the soul of which I speak, the evil to the mere body in such experiments is so considerable that a man would rather go to the dentist than experience them.... You will forgive me," he added earnestly, "for speaking in this gay manner upon an important philosophical subject, but long hours of work at the earning of my living force me to some relaxation towards the end of the day, and I cannot restrain a frivolous spirit even in the discussion of such fundamental things.... No, do not, as you put it, 'stop living.' It hurts, and no one has the least conception of whether it is a remedy. What is more, the life in front of you will prove, after a few years, as entertaining as the life which you are rapidly leaving."

The Young Man caught on to this last phrase, and said, "What do you mean by 'entertaining'?"

"I intend," said the Older Man, "to keep my advice to you in the note to which I think such advice should be set. I will not burden it with anything awful, nor weight an imperfect diction with absolute verities in which I do indeed believe, but which would be altogether out of place at this hour of the evening. I will not deny that from eleven till one, and especially if one be delivering an historical, or, better still, a theological lecture, one can without loss of dignity allude to the permanent truth, the permanent beauty, and the permanent security without which human life wreathes up like mist and is at the best futile, at the worst tortured. But you must remember that you have come to me suddenly with a most important question, after dinner, that I have but just completed an essay upon the economic effect of the development of the Manchurian coalfields, and that (what is more important) all this talk began in a certain key, and that to change one's key is among the most difficult of creative actions.... No, Young Man, I shall not venture upon the true reply to your question."

On hearing this answer the Young Man began to curse and to swear and to say that he had looked everywhere for help and had never found it; that he was minded to live his own life and to see what would come of it; that he thought the Older Man knew nothing of what he was talking about, but was wrapping it all up in words; that he had clearly recognised in the Older Man's intolerable prolixity several cliches or ready-made phrases; that he hoped on reaching the Older Man's age he would not have been so utterly winnowed of all substance as to talk so aimlessly; and finally that he prayed G.o.d for a personal development more full of justice, of life, and of stuff than that which the Older Man appeared to have suffered or enjoyed.

On hearing these words the Older Man leapt to his feet (which was not an easy thing for him to do) and as one overjoyed grasped the Younger Man by the hand, though the latter very much resented such antics on the part of Age.

"That is it! That is it!" cried the Older Man, looking now far too old for his years. "If I have summoned up in you that spirit I have not done ill! Get you forward in that mood and when you come to my time of life you will be as rotund and hopeful a fellow as I am myself."

But having heard these words the Young Man left him in disgust.

The Older Man, considering all these things as he looked into the fire when he was alone, earnestly desired that he could have told the Young Man the exact truth, have printed it, and have produced a proper Gospel. But considering the mountains of impossibility that lay in the way of such public action, he sighed deeply and took to the more indirect method. He turned to his work and continued to perform his own duty before G.o.d and for the help of mankind. This, on that evening, was for him a review upon the interpretation of the word _haga_ in the Domesday Inquest. This kept him up till a quarter past one, and as he had to take a train to Newcastle at eight next morning it is probable that much will be forgiven him when things are cleared.

ON THE DEPARTURE OF A GUEST

_C'est ma Jeunesse qui s'en va.

Adieu! la tres gente compagne-- Oncques ne suis moins gai pour ca (C'est ma Jeunesse qui s'en va) Et lon-lon-laire, et lon-lon-la Peut-etre perd's; peut-etre gagne.

C'est ma Jeunesse qui s'en va._

(From the Author's MSS. In the library of the Abbey of Theleme.)

Host: Well, Youth, I see you are about to leave me, and since it is in the terms of your service by no means to exceed a certain period in my house, I must make up my mind to bid you farewell.

Youth: Indeed, I would stay if I could; but the matter lies as you know in other hands, and I may not stay.

Host: I trust, dear Youth, that you have found all comfortable while you were my guest, that the air has suited you and the company?

Youth: I thank you, I have never enjoyed a visit more; you may say that I have been most unusually happy.

Host: Then let me ring for the servant who shall bring down your things.

Youth: I thank you civilly! I have brought them down already--see, they are here. I have but two, one very large bag and this other small one.

Host: Why, you have not locked the small one! See it gapes!

Youth (_somewhat embarra.s.sed_): My dear Host ... to tell the truth ... I usually put it off till the end of my visits ... but the truth ... to tell the truth, my luggage is of two kinds.

Host: I do not see why that need so greatly confuse you.

Youth (_still more embarra.s.sed_): But you see--the fact is--I stay with people so long that--well, that very often they forget which things are mine and which belong to the house ... And--well, the truth is that I have to take away with me a number of things which ... which, in a word, you may possibly have thought your own.

Host (_coldly_): Oh!

Youth (_eagerly_): Pray do not think the worse of me--you know how strict are my orders.

Host (_sadly_): Yes, I know; you will plead that Master of yours, and no doubt you are right.... But tell me, Youth, what are those things?

Youth: They fill this big bag. But I am not so ungracious as you think. See, in this little bag, which I have purposely left open, are a number of things properly mine, yet of which I am allowed to make gifts to those with whom I lingered--you shall choose among them, or if you will, you shall have them all.

Host: Well, first tell me what you have packed in the big bag and mean to take away.

Youth: I will open it and let you see. (_He unlocks it and pulls the things out_.) I fear they are familiar to you.

Host: Oh! Youth! Youth! Must you take away all of these? Why, you are taking away, as it were, my very self! Here is the love of women, as deep and changeable as an opal; and here is carelessness that looks like a shower of pearls. And here I see--Oh! Youth, for shame!--you are taking away that silken stuff which used to wrap up the whole and which you once told me had no name, but which lent to everything it held plenitude and satisfaction. Without it surely pleasures are not all themselves. Leave me that at least.

Youth: No, I must take it, for it is not yours, though from courtesy I forbore to tell you so till now. These also go: Facility, the ointment; Sleep, the drug; Full Laughter, that tolerated all follies. It was the only musical thing in the house. And I must take--yes, I fear I must take Verse.

HOST: Then there is nothing left!

YOUTH: Oh! yes! See this little open bag which you may choose from!

Feel it!

HOST (_lifting it_): Certainly it is very heavy, but it rattles and is uncertain.

YOUTH: That is because it is made up of divers things having no similarity; and you may take all or leave all, or choose as you will. Here (_holding up a clout_) is Ambition: Will you have that?...

HOST (_doubtfully_): I cannot tell.... It has been mine and yet ... without those other things....

YOUTH (_cheerfully_): Very well, I will leave it. You shall decide on it a few years hence. Then, here is the perfume Pride.

Will you have that?

HOST: No; I will have none of it. It is false and corrupt, and only yesterday I was for throwing it out of window to sweeten the air in my room.

YOUTH: So far you have chosen well; now pray choose more.

HOST: I will have this--and this--and this. I will take Health (_takes it out of the bag_), not that it is of much use to me without those other things, but I have grown used to it. Then I will take this (_takes out a plain steel purse and chain_), which is the tradition of my family, and which I desire to leave to my son. I must have it cleaned. Then I will take this (_pulls out a trinket_), which is the Sense of Form and Colour. I am told it is of less value later on, but it is a pleasant ornament ... And so, Youth, goodbye.

Youth (_with a mysterious smile_): Wait--I have something else for you (_he feels in his ticket pocket_); no less a thing (_he feels again in his watch pocket_) than (_he looks a trifle anxious and feels in his waistcoat pockets_) a promise from my Master, signed and sealed, to give you back all I take and more in Immortality! (_He feels in his handkerchief pocket._)

Host: Oh! Youth!

Youth (_still feeling_): Do not thank me! It is my Master you should thank. (_Frowns_.) Dear me! I hope I have not lost it!

(_Feels in his trousers pockets._)