Four Years-第5章

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s　told　by　one　of　them；　on　a　night　when　i　had　done　perhaps　more　than　my　share　of　the　talking；　that　i　had　talked　more　nonsense　in　one　evening　than　he　had　heard　in　the　whole　course　of　his　past　life。　i　had　merely　preferred　parnell；　then　at　the　height　of　his　career；　to　michael　davitt　who　had　wrecked　his　irish　influence　by　international　politics。　we　sat　round　a　long　unpolished　and　unpainted　trestle　table　of　new　wood　in　a　room　where　hung　rossettis　pomegranate；　a　portrait　of　mrs。　morris；　and　where　one　wall　and　part　of　the　ceiling　were　covered　by　a　great　persian　carpet。　morris　had　said　somewhere　or　other　that　carpets　were　meant　for　people　who　took　their　shoes　off　when　they　entered　a　house；　and　were　most　in　place　upon　a　tent　floor。　i　was　a　little　disappointed　in　the　house；　for　morris　was　an　old　man　content　at　last　to　gather　beautiful　things　rather　than　to　arrange　a　beautiful　house。　i　saw　the　drawing？room　once　or　twice　and　there　alone　all　my　sense　of　decoration；　founded　upon　the　background　of　rossettis　pictures；　was　satisfied　by　a　big　cupboard　painted　with　a　scene　from　chaucer　by　burne　jones；　but　even　there　were　objects；　perhaps　a　chair　or　a　little　table；　that　seemed　accidental；　bought　hurriedly　perhaps；　and　with　little　thought；　to　make　wife　or　daughter　fortable。　i　had　read　as　a　boy　in　books　belonging　to　my　father；　the　third　volume　of　the　earthly　paradise　and　the　defence　of　guinevere；　which　pleased　me　less；　but　had　not　opened　either　for　a　long　time。　the　man　who　never　laughed　again　had　seemed　the　most　wonderful　of　tales　till　my　father　had　accused　me　of　preferring　morris　to　keats；　got　angry　about　it　and　put　me　altogether　out　of　countenance。　he　had　spoiled　my　pleasure；　for　now　i　questioned　while　i　read　and　at　last　ceased　to　read；　nor　had　morris　written　as　yet　those　prose　romances　that　became；　after　his　death；　so　great　a　joy　that　they　were　the　only　books　i　was　ever　to　read　slowly　that　i　might　not　e　too　quickly　to　the　end。　it　wasnow　morris　himself　that　stirred　my　interest；　and　i　took　to　him　first　because　of　some　little　tricks　of　speech　and　body　that　reminded　me　of　my　old　grandfather　in　sligo；　but　soon　discovered　his　spontaneity　and　joy　and　made　him　my　chief　of　men。　to？day　i　do　not　set　his　poetry　very　high；　but　for　an　odd　altogether　wonderful　line；　or　thought；　and　yet；　if　some　angel　offered　me　the　choice；　i　would　choose　to　live　his　life；　poetry　and　all；　rather　than　my　own　or　any　other　mans。　a　reproduction　of　his　portrait　by　watts　hangs　over　my　mantlepiece　with　henleys；　and　those　of　other　friends。　its　grave　wide？open　eyes；　like　the　eyes　of　some　dreaming　beast；　remind　me　of　the　open　eyes　of　titians　ariosto；　while　the　broad　vigorous　body　suggests　a　mind　that　has　no　need　of　the　intellect　to　remain　sane；　though　it　give　itself　to　every　phantasy；　the　dreamer　of　the　middle　ages。　it　is　the　fool　of　fairy　。。。　wide　and　wild　as　a　hill；　the　resolute　european　image　that　yet　half　remembers　buddhas　motionless　meditation；　and　has　no　trait　in　mon　with　the　wavering；　lean　image　of　hungry　speculation；　that　cannot　but　fill　the　minds　eye　because　of　certain　famous　hamlets　of　our　stage。　shakespeare　himself　foreshadowed　a　symbolic　change；　that　shows　a　change　in　the　whole　temperament　of　the　world；　for　though　he　called　his　hamlet　fat；　and　scant　of　breath；　he　thrust　between　his　fingers　agile　rapier　and　dagger。

the　dream　world　of　morris　was　as　much　the　antithesis　of　daily　life　as　with　other　men　of　genius；　but　he　was　never　conscious　of　the　antithesis　and　so　knew　nothing　of　intellectual　suffering。　his　intellect；　unexhausted　by　speculation　or　casuistry；　was　wholly　at　the　service　of　hand　and　eye；　and　whatever　he　pleased　he　did　with　an　unheard　of　ease　and　simplicity；　and　if　style　and　vocabulary　were　at　times　monotonous；　he　could　not　have　made　them　otherwise　without　ceasing　to　be　himself。　instead　of　the　language　of　chaucer　and　shakespeare；　its　warp　fresh　from　field　and　market；　if　the　woof　were　learned；　his　age　offered　him　a　speech；　exhausted　from　abstraction；　that　only　returned　to　its　full　vitality　when　written　learnedly　and　slowly。　the　roots　of　his　antithetical　dream　were　visible　enough：　a　never　idle　man　of　great　physical　strength　and　extremely　irascible？？did　he　not　fling　a　badly　baked　plum　pudding　through　the　window　upon　xmas　day？？？a　man　more　joyous　than　any　intellectual　man　of　our　world；　called　himself　the　idle　singer　of　an　empty　day　created　new　forms　of　melancholy；　and　faint　persons；　like　the　knights　&　ladies　of　burne　jones；　who　are　never；　no；　not　once　in　forty　volumes；　put　out　of　temper。　a　blunderer；　who　had　said　to　the　only　unconverted　man　at　a　socialist　picnic　in　dublin；　to　prove　that　equality　came　easy；　i　was　brought　up　a　gentleman　and　now；　as　you　can　see；　associate　with　all　sorts；　and　left　wounds　thereby　that　rankled　after　twenty　years；　a　man　of　whom　i　have　heard　it　said　he　is　always　afraid　that　he　is　doing　something　wrong；　and　generally　is；　wrote　long　stories　with　apparently　no　other　object　than　that　his　persons　might　show　one　another；　through　situations　of　poignant　difficulty；　the　most　exquisite　tact。

he　did　not　project；　like　henley　or　like　wilde；　an　image　of　himself；　because；　having　all　his　imagination　set　on　making　and　doing；　he　had　little　self？knowledge。　he　imagined　instead　new　conditions　of　making　and　doing；　and；　in　the　teeth　of　those　scientific　generalisations　that　cowed　my　boyhood；　i　can　see　some　like　imagining　in　every　great　change；　believing　that　the　first　flying　fish　leaped；　not　because　it　sought　adaptation　to　the　air；　but　out　of　horror　of　the　sea。

。。！



Four　YearsX


soon　after　i　began　to　attend　the　lectures；　a　french　class　was　started　in　the　old　coach？house　for　certain　young　socialists　who　planned　a　tour　in　france；　and　i　joined　it　and　was　for　a　time　a　model　student　constantly　encouraged　by　the　pliments　of　the　old　french　mistress。　i　told　my　father　of　the　class；　and　he　asked　me　to　get　my　sisters　admitted。　i　made　difficulties　and　put　off　speaking　of　the　matter；　for　i　knew　that　the　new　and　admirable　self　i　was　making　would　turn；　under　family　eyes；　into　plain　rag　doll。　how　could　i　pretend　to　be　industrious；　and　even　carry　dramatization　to　the　point　of　learning　my　lessons；　when　my　sisters　were　there　and　knew　that　i　was　nothing　of　the　kind？　but　i　had　no　argument　i　could　use　and　my　sisters　were　admitted。　they　said　nothing　unkind；　so　far　as　i　can　remember；　but　in　a　week　or　two　i　was　my　old　procrastinating　idle　self　and　had　soon　left　the　class　altogether。　my　elder　sister　stayed　on　and　became　an　embroideress　under　miss　may　morris；　and　the　hangings　round　morriss　big　bed　at　kelmscott　house；　oxfordshire；　with　their　verses　about　lying　happily　in　bed　when　all　birds　sing　in　the　town　of　the　tree；　were　from　her　needle　though　not　from　her　design。　she　worked　for　the　first　few　months　at　kelmscott　house；　hammersmith；　and　in　my　imagination　icannot　always　separate　what　i　saw　and　heard　from　her　report；　or　indeed　from　the　report　of　that　tribe　or　guild　who　looked　up　to　morris　as　to　some　worshipped　mediaeval　king。　he　had　no　need　for　other　people。　i　doubt　if　their　marriage　or　death　made　him　sad　or　glad；　and　yet　no　man　i　have　known　was　so　well　loved；　you　saw　him　producing　everywhere　organisation　and　beauty；　seeming；　almost　in　the　same　instant；　helpless　and　triumphant；　and　people　loved　him　as　children　are　loved。　people　much　in　his　neighbourhood　became　gradually　occupied　with　him；　or　about　his　affairs；　and　without　any　wish　on　his　part；　as　simple　people　bee　occupied　with　children。　i　remember　a　man　who　was　proud　and　pleased　because　he　had　distracted　morris　thoughts　from　an　attack　of　gout　by　leading　the　conversation　delicately　to　the　hated　name　of　milton。　he　began　at　swinburne。

oh；　swinburne；　said　morris；　is　a　rhetorician；　my　masters　have　been　keats　and　chaucer　for　they　make　pictures。　does　not　milton　make　pictures？　asked　my　informant。　no；　was　the　answer；　dante　makes　pictures；　but　milton；　though　he　had　a　great　earnest　mind；　expressed　himself　as　a　rhetorician。　great　earnest　mind；

sounded　strange　to　me　and　i　doubt　not　that　were　his　questioner　not　a　simple　man；　morris　had　been　more　violent。　another　day　the　same　man　started　by　praising　chaucer；　but　the　gout　was　worse　and　morris　cursed　chaucer　for　destroying　the　english　language　with　foreign　words。

he　had　few　detachable　phrases　and　i　can　remember　little　of　his　speech；　which　many　thought　the　best　of　all　good　talk；　except　that　it　matched　his　burly　body　and　seemed　within　definite　boundaries　inexhaustible　in　fact　and　expression。　he　alone　of　all　the　men　i　have　known　seemed　guided　by　some　beast？like　instinct　and　never　ate　strange　meat。　balzac！　balzac！　he　said　to　me　once；　oh；　that　was　the　man　the　french　bourgeoisie　read　so　much　a　few　years　ago。　i　can　remember　him　at　supper　praising　wine：　why　do　people　say　it　is　prosaic　to　be　inspired　by　wine？　has　it　not　been　made　by　the　sunlight　and　the　sap？　and　his　dispraising　houses　decorated　by　himself：　do　you　suppose　i　like　that　kind　of　house？　i　would　like　a　house　like　a　big　barn；　where　one　ate　in　one　corner；　cooked　in　another　corner；　slept　in　the　third　corner　&　in　the　fourth　received　ones　friends；　and　his　plaining　of　ruskins　objection　to　the　underground　railway：　if　you　must　have　a　railway　the　best　thing　you　can　do　with　it　is　to　put　it　in　a　tube　with　a　cork　at　each　end。　i　remember　too　that　when　i　asked