essays on life, art and science-第2章

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surprising　how　few　volumes　comply　with　them　satisfactorily；
moreover；　being　perhaps　too　sensitively　conscientious；　I　allowed
another　consideration　to　influence　me；　and　was　sincerely　anxious　not
to　take　a　book　which　would　be　in　constant　use　for　reference　by
readers；　more　especially　as；　if　I　did　this；　I　might　find　myself
disturbed　by　the　officials。

For　weeks　I　made　experiments　upon　sundry　poetical　and　philosophical
works；　whose　names　I　have　forgotten；　but　could　not　succeed　in
finding　my　ideal　desk；　until　at　length；　more　by　luck　than　cunning；　I
happened　to　light　upon　Frost's　〃Lives　of　Eminent　Christians；〃　which
I　had　no　sooner　tried　than　I　discovered　it　to　be　the　very　perfection
and　ne　plus　ultra　of　everything　that　a　book　should　be。　　It　lived　in
Case　No。　2008；　and　I　accordingly　took　at　once　to　sitting　in　Row　B；
where　for　the　last　dozen　years　or　so　I　have　sat　ever　since。

The　first　thing　I　have　done　whenever　I　went　to　the　Museum　has　been
to　take　down　Frost's　〃Lives　of　Eminent　Christians〃　and　carry　it　to
my　seat。　　It　is　not　the　custom　of　modern　writers　to　refer　to　the
works　to　which　they　are　most　deeply　indebted；　and　I　have　never；　that
I　remember；　mentioned　it　by　name　before；　but　it　is　to　this　book
alone　that　I　have　looked　for　support　during　many　years　of　literary
labour；　and　it　is　round　this　to　me　invaluable　volume　that　all　my　own
have　page　by　page　grown　up。　　There　is　none　in　the　Museum　to　which　I
have　been　under　anything　like　such　constant　obligation；　none　which　I
can　so　ill　spare；　and　none　which　I　would　choose　so　readily　if　I　were
allowed　to　select　one　single　volume　and　keep　it　for　my　own。

On　finding　myself　asked　for　a　contribution　to　the　Universal　Review；
I　went；　as　I　have　explained；　to　the　Museum；　and　presently　repaired
to　bookcase　No。　2008　to　get　my　favourite　volume。　　Alas！　it　was　in
the　room　no　longer。　　It　was　not　in　use；　for　its　place　was　filled　up
already；　besides；　no　one　ever　used　it　but　myself。　　Whether　the　ghost
of　the　late　Mr。　Frost　has　been　so　eminently　unchristian　as　to
interfere；　or　whether　the　authorities　have　removed　the　book　in
ignorance　of　the　steady　demand　which　there　has　been　for　it　on　the
part　of　at　least　one　reader；　are　points　I　cannot　determine。　　All　I
know　is　that　the　book　is　gone；　and　I　feel　as　Wordsworth　is　generally
supposed　to　have　felt　when　he　became　aware　that　Lucy　was　in　her
grave；　and　exclaimed　so　emphatically　that　this　would　make　a
considerable　difference　to　him；　or　words　to　that　effect。

Now　I　think　of　it；　Frost's　〃Lives　of　Eminent　Christians〃　was　very
like　Lucy。　　The　one　resided　at　Dovedale　in　Derbyshire；　the　other　in
Great　Russell　Street；　Bloomsbury。　　I　admit　that　I　do　not　see　the
resemblance　here　at　this　moment；　but　if　I　try　to　develop　my
perception　I　shall　doubtless　ere　long　find　a　marvellously　striking
one。　　In　other　respects；　however；　than　mere　local　habitat　the
likeness　is　obvious。　　Lucy　was　not　particularly　attractive　either
inside　or　outno　more　was　Frost's　〃Lives　of　Eminent　Christians〃；
there　were　few　to　praise　her；　and　of　those　few　still　fewer　could
bring　themselves　to　like　her；　indeed；　Wordsworth　himself　seems　to
have　been　the　only　person　who　thought　much　about　her　one　way　or　the
other。　　In　like　manner；　I　believe　I　was　the　only　reader　who　thought
much　one　way　or　the　other　about　Frost's　〃Lives　of　Eminent
Christians；〃　but　this　in　itself　was　one　of　the　attractions　of　the
book；　and　as　for　the　grief　we　respectively　felt　and　feel；　I　believe
my　own　to　be　as　deep　as　Wordsworth's；　if　not　more　so。

I　said　above；　〃as　Wordsworth　is　generally　supposed　to　have　felt〃；
for　any　one　imbued　with　the　spirit　of　modern　science　will　read
Wordsworth's　poem　with　different　eyes　from　those　of　a　mere　literary
critic。　　He　will　note　that　Wordsworth　is　most　careful　not　to　explain
the　nature　of　the　difference　which　the　death　of　Lucy　will　occasion
to　him。　　He　tells　us　that　there　will　be　a　difference；　but　there　the
matter　ends。　　The　superficial　reader　takes　it　that　he　was　very　sorry
she　was　dead；　it　is；　of　course；　possible　that　he　may　have　actually
been　so；　but　he　has　not　said　this。　　On　the　contrary；　he　has　hinted
plainly　that　she　was　ugly；　and　generally　disliked；　she　was　only　like
a　violet　when　she　was　half…hidden　from　the　view；　and　only　fair　as　a
star　when　there　were　so　few　stars　out　that　it　was　practically
impossible　to　make　an　invidious　comparison。　　If　there　were　as　many
as　even　two　stars　the　likeness　was　felt　to　be　at　an　end。　　If
Wordsworth　had　imprudently　promised　to　marry　this　young　person
during　a　time　when　he　had　been　unusually　long　in　keeping　to　good
resolutions；　and　had　afterwards　seen　some　one　whom　he　liked　better；
then　Lucy's　death　would　undoubtedly　have　made　a　considerable
difference　to　him；　and　this　is　all　that　he　has　ever　said　that　it
would　do。　　What　right　have　we　to　put　glosses　upon　the　masterly
reticence　of　a　poet；　and　credit　him　with　feelings　possibly　the　very
reverse　of　those　he　actually　entertained？

Sometimes；　indeed；　I　have　been　inclined　to　think　that　a　mystery　is
being　hinted　at　more　dark　than　any　critic　has　suspected。　　I　do　not
happen　to　possess　a　copy　of　the　poem；　but　the　writer；　if　I　am　not
mistaken；　says　that　〃few　could　know　when　Lucy　ceased　to　be。〃
〃Ceased　to　be〃　is　a　suspiciously　euphemistic　expression；　and　the
words　〃few　could　know〃　are　not　applicable　to　the　ordinary　peaceful
death　of　a　domestic　servant　such　as　Lucy　appears　to　have　been。　　No
matter　how　obscure　the　deceased；　any　number　of　people　commonly　can
know　the　day　and　hour　of　his　or　her　demise；　whereas　in　this　case　we
are　expressly　told　it　would　be　impossible　for　them　to　do　so。
Wordsworth　was　nothing　if　not　accurate；　and　would　not　have　said　that
few　could　know；　but　that　few　actually　did　know；　unless　he　was　aware
of　circumstances　that　precluded　all　but　those　implicated　in　the
crime　of　her　death　from　knowing　the　precise　moment　of　its
occurrence。　　If　Lucy　was　the　kind　of　person　not　obscurely　pourtrayed
in　the　poem；　if　Wordsworth　had　murdered　her；　either　by　cutting　her
throat　or　smothering　her；　in　concert；　perhaps；　with　his　friends
Southey　and　Coleridge；　and　if　he　had　thus　found　himself　released
from　an　engagement　which　had　become　irksome　to　him；　or　possibly　from
the　threat　of　an　action　for　breach　of　promise；　then　there　is　not　a
syllable　in　the　poem　with　which　he　crowns　his　crime　that　is　not
alive　with　meaning。　　On　any　other　supposition　to　the　general　reader
it　is　unintelligible。

We　cannot　be　too　guarded　in　the　interpretations　we　put　upon　the
words　of　great　poets。　　Take　the　young　lady　who　never　loved　the　dear
gazelleand　I　don't　believe　she　did；　we　are　apt　to　think　that　Moore
intended　us　to　see　in　this　creation　of　his　fancy　a　sweet；　amiable；
but　most　unfortunate　young　woman；　whereas　all　he　has　told　us　about
her　points　to　an　exactly　opposite　conclusion。　　In　reality；　he　wished
us　to　see　a　young　lady　who　had　been　an　habitual　complainer　from　her
earliest　childhood；　whose　plants　had　always　died　as　soon　as　she
bought　them；　while　those　belonging　to　her　neighbours　had　flourished。
The　inference　is　obvious；　nor　can　we　reasonably　doubt　that　Moore
intended　us　to　draw　it；　if　her　plants　were　the　very　first　to　fade
away；　she　was　evidently　the　very　first　to　neglect　or　otherwise
maltreat　them。　　She　did　not　give　them　enough　water；　or　left　the　door
of　her　fern…ease　open　when　she　was　cooking　her　dinner　at　the　gas
stove；　or　kept　them　too　near　the　paraffin　oil；　or　other　like　folly；
and　as　for　her　temper；　see　what　the　gazelles　did；　as　long　as　they
did　not　know　her　〃well；〃　they　could　just　manage　to　exist；　but　when
they　got　to　understand　her　real　character；　one　after　another　felt
that　death　was　the　only　course　open　to　it；　and　accordingly　died
rather　than　live　with　such　a　mistress。　　True；　the　young　lady　herself
said　the　gazelles　loved　her；　but　disagreeable　people　are　apt　to
think　themselves　amiable；　and　in　view　of　the　course　invariably　taken
by　the　gazelles　themselves　any　one　accustomed　to　weigh　evidence　will
hold　that　she　was　probably　mistaken。

I　must；　however；　return　to　Frost's　〃Lives　of　Eminent　Christians。〃　　I
will　leave　none　of　the　ambiguity　about　my　words　in　which　Moore　and
Wordsworth　seem　to　have　delighted。　　I　am　very　sorry　the　bo