tea-table talk-第14章

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fice。　　The　world　as　a　whole　has　gained　by　community；　will　attain　its　goal　only　through　community。　　From　the　nomadic　savage　by　the　winding　road　of　citizenship　we　have　advanced　far。　　The　way　winds　upward　still；　hidden　from　us　by　the　mists；　but　along　its　tortuous　course　lies　our　track　into　the　Promised　Land。　　Not　the　development　of　the　individualthat　is　his　own　concernbut　the　uplifting　of　the　race　would　appear　to　be　the　law。　　The　lonely　great　ones；　they　are　the　shepherds　of　the　flockthe　servants；　not　the　masters　of　the　world。　　Moses　shall　die　and　be　buried　in　the　wilderness；　seeing　only　from　afar　the　resting…place　of　man's　tired　feet。　　It　is　unfortunate　that　the　Ha'penny　Joker　and　its　kind　should　have　so　many　readers。　Maybe　it　teaches　those　to　read　who　otherwise　would　never　read　at　all。　　We　are　impatient；　forgetting　that　the　coming　and　going　of　our　generations　are　but　as　the　swinging　of　the　pendulum　of　Nature's　clock。　　Yesterday　we　booked　our　seats　for　gladiatorial　shows；　for　the　burning　of　Christians；　our　windows　for　Newgate　hangings。　　Even　the　musical　farce　is　an　improvement　upon　thatat　least；　from　the　humanitarian　point　of　view。〃

〃In　the　Southern　States　of　America；〃　observed　the　Philosopher；　sticking　to　his　guns；　〃they　run　excursion　trains　to　lynching　exhibitions。　　The　bull…fight　is　spreading　to　France；　and　English　newspapers　are　advocating　the　reintroduction　of　bear…baiting　and　cock…fighting。　　Are　we　not　moving　in　a　circle？〃

〃The　road　winds；　as　I　have　allowed；〃　returned　the　Minor　Poet；　〃the　gradient　is　somewhat　steep。　　Just　now；　maybe；　we　are　traversing　a　backward　curve。　　I　gain　my　faith　by　pausing　now　and　then　to　look　behind。　　I　see　the　weary　way　with　many　a　downward　sweep。　　But　we　are　climbing；　my　friend；　we　are　climbing。〃

〃But　to　such　a　very　dismal　goal；　according　to　your　theory；〃　grumbled　the　Old　Maid。　　〃I　should　hate　to　feel　myself　an　insect　in　a　hive；　my　little　round　of　duties　apportioned　to　me；　my　every　action　regulated　by　a　fixed　law；　my　place　assigned　to　me；　my　very　food　and　drink；　I　suppose；　apportioned　to　me。　　Do　think　of　something　more　cheerful。〃

The　Minor　Poet　laughed。　　〃My　dear　lady；〃　he　replied；　〃it　is　too　late。　　The　thing　is　already　done。　　The　hive　already　covers　us；　the　cells　are　in　building。　　Who　leads　his　own　life？　　Who　is　master　of　himself？　　What　can　you　do　but　live　according　to　your　income　in；　I　am　sure；　a　very　charming　little　cell；　buzz　about　your　little　world　with　your　cheerful；　kindly　song；　helping　these　your　fellow　insects　here；　doing　day　by　day　the　useful　offices　apportioned　to　you　by　your　temperament　and　means；　seeing　the　same　faces；　treading　ever　the　same　narrow　circle？　　Why　do　I　write　poetry？　　I　am　not　to　blame。　　I　must　live。　　It　is　the　only　thing　I　can　do。　　Why　does　one　man　live　and　die　upon　the　treeless　rocks　of　Iceland；　another　labour　in　the　vineyards　of　the　Apennines？　　Why　does　one　woman　make　matches；　ride　in　a　van　to　Epping　Forest；　drink　gin；　and　change　hats　with　her　lover　on　the　homeward　journey；　another　pant　through　a　dinner…party　and　half　a　dozen　receptions　every　night　from　March　to　June；　rush　from　country　house　to　fashionable　Continental　resort　from　July　to　February；　dress　as　she　is　instructed　by　her　milliner；　say　the　smart　things　that　are　expected　of　her？　　Who　would　be　a　sweep　or　a　chaperon；　were　all　roads　free？　　Who　is　it　succeeds　in　escaping　the　law　of　the　hive？　　The　loafer；　the　tramp。　　On　the　other　hand；　who　is　the　man　we　respect　and　envy？　　The　man　who　works　for　the　community；　the　public…spirited　man；　as　we　call　him；　the　unselfish　man；　the　man　who　labours　for　the　labour's　sake　and　not　for　the　profit；　devoting　his　days　and　nights　to　learning　Nature's　secrets；　to　acquiring　knowledge　useful　to　the　race。　　Is　he　not　the　happiest；　the　man　who　has　conquered　his　own　sordid　desires；　who　gives　himself　to　the　public　good？　　The　hive　was　founded　in　dark　days　before　man　knew；　it　has　been　built　according　to　false　laws。　　This　man　will　have　a　cell　bigger　than　any　other　cell；　all　the　other　little　men　shall　envy　him；　a　thousand　fellow…crawling　mites　shall　slave　for　him；　wear　out　their　lives　in　wretchedness　for　him　and　him　alone；　all　their　honey　they　shall　bring　to　him；　he　shall　gorge　while　they　shall　starve。　　Of　what　use？　　He　has　slept　no　sounder　in　his　foolishly　fanciful　cell。　　Sleep　is　to　tired　eyes；　not　to　silken　coverlets。　　We　dream　in　Seven　Dials　as　in　Park　Lane。　　His　stomach；　distend　it　as　he　willit　is　very　smallresents　being　distended。　　The　store　of　honey　rots。　　The　hive　was　conceived　in　the　dark　days　of　ignorance；　stupidity；　brutality。　　A　new　hive　shall　arise。〃

〃I　had　no　idea；〃　said　the　Woman　of　the　World；　〃you　were　a　Socialist。〃

〃Nor　had　I；〃　agreed　the　Minor　Poet；　〃before　I　began　talking。〃

〃And　next　Wednesday；〃　laughed　the　Woman　of　the　World；　〃you　will　be　arguing　in　favour　of　individualism。〃

〃Very　likely；〃　agreed　the　Minor　Poet。　　〃'The　deep　moans　round　with　many　voices。'〃

〃I'll　take　another　cup　of　tea；〃　said　the　Philosopher。







End