essays on life, art and science-第12章

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for　fear　of　offending。　　They　are　as　stuffed　birds　or　beasts　in　a
Museum；　serviceable　no　doubt　from　a　scientific　standpoint；　but　with
no　vivid　or　vivifying　hold　upon　us。　　They　seem　to　be　alive；　but　are
not。　　I　am　speaking　of　those　who　do　actually　live　in　us；　and　move　us
to　higher　achievements　though　they　be　long　dead；　whose　life　thrusts
out　our　own　and　overrides　it。　　I　speak　of　those　who　draw　us　ever
more　towards　them　from　youth　to　age；　and　to　think　of　whom　is　to　feel
at　once　that　we　are　in　the　hands　of　those　we　love；　and　whom　we　would
most　wish　to　resemble。　　What　is　the　secret　of　the　hold　that　these
people　have　upon　us？　　Is　it　not　that　while；　conventionally　speaking；
alive；　they　most　merged　their　lives　in；　and　were　in　fullest
communion　with　those　among　whom　they　lived？　　They　found　their　lives
in　losing　them。　　We　never　love　the　memory　of　any　one　unless　we　feel
that　he　or　she　was　himself　or　herself　a　lover。

I　have　seen　it　urged；　again；　in　querulous　accents；　that　the　so…
called　immortality　even　of　the　most　immortal　is　not　for　ever。　　I　see
a　passage　to　this　effect　in　a　book　that　is　making　a　stir　as　I　write。
I　will　quote　it。　　The　writer　says：…


〃So；　it　seems　to　me；　is　the　immortality　we　so　glibly　predicate　of
departed　artists。　　If　they　survive　at　all；　it　is　but　a　shadowy　life
they　live；　moving　on　through　the　gradations　of　slow　decay　to　distant
but　inevitable　death。　　They　can　no　longer；　as　heretofore；　speak
directly　to　the　hearts　of　their　fellow…men；　evoking　their　tears　or
laughter；　and　all　the　pleasures；　be　they　sad　or　merry；　of　which
imagination　holds　the　secret。　　Driven　from　the　marketplace　they
become　first　the　companions　of　the　student；　then　the　victims　of　the
specialist。　　He　who　would　still　hold　familiar　intercourse　with　them
must　train　himself　to　penetrate　the　veil　which　in　ever…thickening
folds　conceals　them　from　the　ordinary　gaze；　he　must　catch　the　tone
of　a　vanished　society；　he　must　move　in　a　circle　of　alien
associations；　he　must　think　in　a　language　not　his　own。〃　｛5｝


This　is　crying　for　the　moon；　or　rather　pretending　to　cry　for　it；　for
the　writer　is　obviously　insincere。　　I　see　the　Saturday　Review　says
the　passage　I　have　just　quoted　〃reaches　almost　to　poetry；〃　and
indeed　I　find　many　blank　verses　in　it；　some　of　them　very　aggressive。
No　prose　is　free　from　an　occasional　blank　verse；　and　a　good　writer
will　not　go　hunting　over　his　work　to　rout　them　out；　but　nine　or　ten
in　little　more　than　as　many　lines　is　indeed　reaching　too　near　to
poetry　for　good　prose。　　This；　however；　is　a　trifle；　and　might　pass
if　the　tone　of　the　writer　was　not　so　obviously　that　of　cheap
pessimism。　　I　know　not　which　is　cheapest；　pessimism　or　optimism。
One　forces　lights；　the　other　darks；　both　are　equally　untrue　to　good
art；　and　equally　sure　of　their　effect　with　the　groundlings。　　The　one
extenuates；　the　other　sets　down　in　malice。　　The　first　is　the　more
amiable　lie；　but　both　are　lies；　and　are　known　to　be　so　by　those　who
utter　them。　　Talk　about　catching　the　tone　of　a　vanished　society　to
understand　Rembrandt　or　Giovanni　Bellini！　　It's　nonsensethe　folds
do　not　thicken　in　front　of　these　men；　we　understand　them　as　well　as
those　among　whom　they　went　about　in　the　flesh；　and　perhaps　better。
Homer　and　Shakespeare　speak　to　us　probably　far　more　effectually　than
they　did　to　the　men　of　their　own　time；　and　most　likely　we　have　them
at　their　best。　　I　cannot　think　that　Shakespeare　talked　better　than
we　hear　him　now　in　〃Hamlet〃　or　〃Henry　the　Fourth〃；　like　enough　he
would　have　been　found　a　very　disappointing　person　in　a　drawing…room。
People　stamp　themselves　on　their　work；　if　they　have　not　done　so　they
are　naught；　if　they　have　we　have　them；　and　for　the　most　part　they
stamp　themselves　deeper　in　their　work　than　on　their　talk。　　No　doubt
Shakespeare　and　Handel　will　be　one　day　clean　forgotten；　as　though
they　had　never　been　born。　　The　world　will　in　the　end　die；　mortality
therefore　itself　is　not　immortal；　and　when　death　dies　the　life　of
these　men　will　die　with　itbut　not　sooner。　　It　is　enough　that　they
should　live　within　us　and　move　us　for　many　ages　as　they　have　and
will。　　Such　immortality；　therefore；　as　some　men　and　women　are　born
to；　achieve；　or　have　thrust　upon　them；　is　a　practical　if　not　a
technical　immortality；　and　he　who　would　have　more　let　him　have
nothing。

I　see　I　have　drifted　into　speaking　rather　of　how　to　make　the　best　of
death　than　of　life；　but　who　can　speak　of　life　without　his　thoughts
turning　instantly　to　that　which　is　beyond　it？　　He　or　she　who　has
made　the　best　of　the　life　after　death　has　made　the　best　of　the　life
before　it；　who　cares　one　straw　for　any　such　chances　and　changes　as
will　commonly　befall　him　here　if　he　is　upheld　by　the　full　and
certain　hope　of　everlasting　life　in　the　affections　of　those　that
shall　come　after？　　If　the　life　after　death　is　happy　in　the　hearts　of
others；　it　matters　little　how　unhappy　was　the　life　before　it。

And　now　I　leave　my　subject；　not　without　misgiving　that　I　shall　have
disappointed　you。　　But　for　the　great　attention　which　is　being　paid
to　the　work　from　which　I　have　quoted　above；　I　should　not　have
thought　it　well　to　insist　on　points　with　which　you　are；　I　doubt　not；
as　fully　impressed　as　I　am：　　but　that　book　weakens　the　sanctions　of
natural　religion；　and　minimises　the　comfort　which　it　affords　us；
while　it　does　more　to　undermine　than　to　support　the　foundations　of
what　is　commonly　called　belief。　　Therefore　I　was　glad　to　embrace
this　opportunity　of　protesting。　　Otherwise　I　should　not　have　been　so
serious　on　a　matter　that　transcends　all　seriousness。　　Lord
Beaconsfield　cut　it　shorter　with　more　effect。　　When　asked　to　give　a
rule　of　life　for　the　son　of　a　friend　he　said；　〃Do　not　let　him　try
and　find　out　who　wrote　the　letters　of　Junius。〃　　Pressed　for　further
counsel　he　added；　〃Nor　yet　who　was　the　man　in　the　iron　mask〃and　he
would　say　no　more。　　Don't　bore　people。　　And　yet　I　am　by　no　means
sure　that　a　good　many　people　do　not　think　themselves　ill…used　unless
he　who　addresses　them　has　thoroughly　well　bored　themespecially　if
they　have　paid　any　money　for　hearing　him。　　My　great　namesake　said；
〃Surely　the　pleasure　is　as　great　of　being　cheated　as　to　cheat；〃　and
great　as　the　pleasure　both　of　cheating　and　boring　undoubtedly　is；　I
believe　he　was　right。　　So　I　remember　a　poem　which　came　out　some
thirty　years　ago　in　Punch；　about　a　young　lady　who　went　forth　in
quest　to　〃Some　burden　make　or　burden　bear；　but　which　she　did　not
greatly　care；　oh　Miserie。〃　　So；　again；　all　the　holy　men　and　women
who　in　the　Middle　Ages　professed　to　have　discovered　how　to　make　the
best　of　life　took　care　that　being　bored；　if　not　cheated；　should　have
a　large　place　in　their　programme。　　Still　there　are　limits；　and　I
close　not　without　fear　that　I　may　have　exceeded　them。



THE　SANCTUARY　OF　MONTRIGONE　｛6｝



The　only　place　in　the　Valsesia；　except　Varallo；　where　I　at　present
suspect　the　presence　of　Tabachetti　｛7｝　is　at　Montrigone；　a　little…
known　sanctuary　dedicated　to　St。　Anne；　about　three…quarters　of　a
mile　south　of　Borgo…Sesia　station。　　The　situation　is；　of　course；
lovely；　but　the　sanctuary　does　not　offer　any　features　of
architectural　interest。　　The　sacristan　told　me　it　was　founded　in
1631；　and　in　1644　Giovanni　d'Enrico；　while　engaged　in　superintending
and　completing　the　work　undertaken　here　by　himself　and　Giacomo
Ferro；　fell　ill　and　died。　　I　do　not　know　whether　or　no　there　was　an
earlier　sanctuary　on　the　same　site；　but　was　told　it　was　built　on　the
demolition　of　a　stronghold　belonging　to　the　Counts　of　Biandrate。

The　incidents　which　it　illustrates　are　treated　with　even　more　than
the　homeliness　usual　in　works　of　this　description　when　not　dealing
with　such　solemn　events　as　the　death　and　passion　of　Christ。　　Except
when　these　subjects　were　being　represented；　something　of　the
latitude；　and　even　humour；　allowed　in　the　old　mystery　plays　was
permitted；　doubtless　from　a　desire　to　render　the　work　more
attractive　to　the　peasants；　who　were　the　most　numerous　and　most
important　pilgrims。　　It　is　not　until　faith　begins　to　be　weak　that　it
fears　an　occasionally　lighter　treatment　of　semi…sacred　subjects；　and
it　is　impossible　to　convey　an　accurate　idea　of　the　spirit　prevailing
at　this　ha