heretics-第43章

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writers　of　the　old　countries。　　Of　course　they　do　feel　the　mystery



of　the　wilderness；　the　mystery　of　the　bush；　for　all　simple　and　honest



men　feel　this　in　Melbourne；　or　Margate；　or　South　St。　Pancras。



But　when　they　write　most　sincerely　and　most　successfully；　it　is　not



with　a　background　of　the　mystery　of　the　bush；　but　with　a　background；



expressed　or　assumed；　of　our　own　romantic　cockney　civilization。



What　really　moves　their　souls　with　a　kindly　terror　is　not　the　mystery



of　the　wilderness；　but　the　Mystery　of　a　Hansom　Cab。







Of　course　there　are　some　exceptions　to　this　generalization。



The　one　really　arresting　exception　is　Olive　Schreiner；　and　she



is　quite　as　certainly　an　exception　that　proves　the　rule。



Olive　Schreiner　is　a　fierce；　brilliant；　and　realistic　novelist；



but　she　is　all　this　precisely　because　she　is　not　English　at　all。



Her　tribal　kinship　is　with　the　country　of　Teniers　and　Maarten　Maartens



that　is；　with　a　country　of　realists。　　Her　literary　kinship　is　with



the　pessimistic　fiction　of　the　continent；　with　the　novelists　whose



very　pity　is　cruel。　　Olive　Schreiner　is　the　one　English　colonial　who　is



not　conventional；　for　the　simple　reason　that　South　Africa　is　the　one



English　colony　which　is　not　English；　and　probably　never　will　be。



And；　of　course；　there　are　individual　exceptions　in　a　minor　way。



I　remember　in　particular　some　Australian　tales　by　Mr。　McIlwain



which　were　really　able　and　effective；　and　which；　for　that　reason；



I　suppose；　are　not　presented　to　the　public　with　blasts　of　a　trumpet。



But　my　general　contention　if　put　before　any　one　with　a　love



of　letters；　will　not　be　disputed　if　it　is　understood。　　It　is　not



the　truth　that　the　colonial　civilization　as　a　whole　is　giving　us；



or　shows　any　signs　of　giving　us；　a　literature　which　will　startle



and　renovate　our　own。　　It　may　be　a　very　good　thing　for　us　to　have



an　affectionate　illusion　in　the　matter；　that　is　quite　another　affair。



The　colonies　may　have　given　England　a　new　emotion；　I　only　say



that　they　have　not　given　the　world　a　new　book。







Touching　these　English　colonies；　I　do　not　wish　to　be　misunderstood。



I　do　not　say　of　them　or　of　America　that　they　have　not　a　future；



or　that　they　will　not　be　great　nations。　　I　merely　deny　the　whole



established　modern　expression　about　them。　　I　deny　that　they　are　〃destined〃



to　a　future。　　I　deny　that　they　are　〃destined〃　to　be　great　nations。



I　deny　（of　course）　that　any　human　thing　is　destined　to　be　anything。



All　the　absurd　physical　metaphors；　such　as　youth　and　age；



living　and　dying；　are；　when　applied　to　nations；　but　pseudo…scientific



attempts　to　conceal　from　men　the　awful　liberty　of　their　lonely　souls。







In　the　case　of　America；　indeed；　a　warning　to　this　effect　is　instant



and　essential。　　America；　of　course；　like　every　other　human　thing；



can　in　spiritual　sense　live　or　die　as　much　as　it　chooses。



But　at　the　present　moment　the　matter　which　America　has　very　seriously



to　consider　is　not　how　near　it　is　to　its　birth　and　beginning；



but　how　near　it　may　be　to　its　end。　　It　is　only　a　verbal　question



whether　the　American　civilization　is　young；　it　may　become



a　very　practical　and　urgent　question　whether　it　is　dying。



When　once　we　have　cast　aside；　as　we　inevitably　have　after　a



moment's　thought；　the　fanciful　physical　metaphor　involved　in　the　word



〃youth；〃　what　serious　evidence　have　we　that　America　is　a　fresh



force　and　not　a　stale　one？　　It　has　a　great　many　people；　like　China；



it　has　a　great　deal　of　money；　like　defeated　Carthage　or　dying　Venice。



It　is　full　of　bustle　and　excitability；　like　Athens　after　its　ruin；



and　all　the　Greek　cities　in　their　decline。　　It　is　fond　of　new　things；



but　the　old　are　always　fond　of　new　things。　　Young　men　read　chronicles；



but　old　men　read　newspapers。　　It　admires　strength　and　good　looks；



it　admires　a　big　and　barbaric　beauty　in　its　women；　for　instance；



but　so　did　Rome　when　the　Goth　was　at　the　gates。　　All　these　are



things　quite　compatible　with　fundamental　tedium　and　decay。



There　are　three　main　shapes　or　symbols　in　which　a　nation　can　show



itself　essentially　glad　and　greatby　the　heroic　in　government；



by　the　heroic　in　arms；　and　by　the　heroic　in　art。　　Beyond　government；



which　is；　as　it　were；　the　very　shape　and　body　of　a　nation；



the　most　significant　thing　about　any　citizen　is　his　artistic



attitude　towards　a　holiday　and　his　moral　attitude　towards　a　fight



that　is；　his　way　of　accepting　life　and　his　way　of　accepting　death。







Subjected　to　these　eternal　tests；　America　does　not　appear　by　any　means



as　particularly　fresh　or　untouched。　　She　appears　with　all　the　weakness



and　weariness　of　modern　England　or　of　any　other　Western　power。



In　her　politics　she　has　broken　up　exactly　as　England　has　broken　up；



into　a　bewildering　opportunism　and　insincerity。　　In　the　matter　of　war



and　the　national　attitude　towards　war；　her　resemblance　to　England



is　even　more　manifest　and　melancholy。　　It　may　be　said　with　rough



accuracy　that　there　are　three　stages　in　the　life　of　a　strong　people。



First；　it　is　a　small　power；　and　fights　small　powers。　　Then　it　is



a　great　power；　and　fights　great　powers。　　Then　it　is　a　great　power；



and　fights　small　powers；　but　pretends　that　they　are　great　powers；



in　order　to　rekindle　the　ashes　of　its　ancient　emotion　and　vanity。



After　that；　the　next　step　is　to　become　a　small　power　itself。



England　exhibited　this　symptom　of　decadence　very　badly　in　the　war　with



the　Transvaal；　but　America　exhibited　it　worse　in　the　war　with　Spain。



There　was　exhibited　more　sharply　and　absurdly　than　anywhere



else　the　ironic　contrast　between　the　very　careless　choice



of　a　strong　line　and　the　very　careful　choice　of　a　weak　enemy。



America　added　to　all　her　other　late　Roman　or　Byzantine　elements



the　element　of　the　Caracallan　triumph；　the　triumph　over　nobody。







But　when　we　come　to　the　last　test　of　nationality；　the　test　of　art



and　letters；　the　case　is　almost　terrible。　　The　English　colonies



have　produced　no　great　artists；　and　that　fact　may　prove　that　they



are　still　full　of　silent　possibilities　and　reserve　force。



But　America　has　produced　great　artists。　　And　that　fact　most　certainly



proves　that　she　is　full　of　a　fine　futility　and　the　end　of　all　things。



Whatever　the　American　men　of　genius　are；　they　are　not　young　gods



making　a　young　world。　　Is　the　art　of　Whistler　a　brave；　barbaric　art；



happy　and　headlong？　　Does　Mr。　Henry　James　infect　us　with　the　spirit



of　a　schoolboy？　　No；　the　colonies　have　not　spoken；　and　they　are　safe。



Their　silence　may　be　the　silence　of　the　unborn。　　But　out　of　America



has　come　a　sweet　and　startling　cry；　as　unmistakable　as　the　cry



of　a　dying　man。















XIX　Slum　Novelists　and　the　Slums











Odd　ideas　are　entertained　in　our　time　about　the　real　nature　of　the　doctrine



of　human　fraternity。　　The　real　doctrine　is　something　which　we　do　not；



with　all　our　modern　humanitarianism；　very　clearly　understand；



much　less　very　closely　practise。　　There　is　nothing；　for　instance；



particularly　undemocratic　about　kicking　your　butler　downstairs。



It　may　be　wrong；　but　it　is　not　unfraternal。　　In　a　certain　sense；



the　blow　or　kick　may　be　considered　as　a　confession　of　equality：



you　are　meeting　your　butler　body　to　body；　you　are　almost　according



him　the　privilege　of　the　duel。　　There　is　nothing；　undemocratic；



though　there　may　be　something　unreasonable；　in　expecting　a　great　deal



from　the　butler；　and　being　filled　with　a　kind　of　frenzy　of　surprise



when　he　falls　short　of　the　divine　stature。　　The　thing　which　is



really　undemocratic　and　unfraternal　is　not　to　expect　the　butler



to　be　more　or　less　divine。　　The　t