Tracks Of A Rolling Stone - Henry J. Coke (novels in english .TXT) 📗

Paper And Fewer Newspapers,  And Also

That Speakers Find Sentimental Humanity An Inexhaustible Fund

For Political Capital.  The Excess Of Emotional Attributes In

Man Over His Reasoning Powers Must,  One Would Think,  Have

Been At Least As Great In Times Past As It Is Now.  Yet It Is

Doubtful Whether It Showed Itself Then So Conspicuously As It

Does At Present.  Compare The Elizabethan Age With Our Own. 

What Would Be Said Now Of The Piratical Deeds Of Such Men As

Frobisher,  Raleigh,  Gilbert,  And Richard Greville?  Suppose

Lord Roberts Had Sent Word To President Kruger That If Four

English Soldiers,  Imprisoned At Pretoria,  Were Molested,  He

Would Execute 2,000 Boers And Send Him Their Heads?  The

Clap-Trap Cry Of 'Barbaric Methods' Would Have Gone Forth To

Some Purpose; It Would Have Carried Every Constituency In The

Country.  Yet This Is What Drake Did When Four English

Sailors Were Captured By The Spaniards,  And Imprisoned By The

Spanish Viceroy In Mexico.

 

Take The Elizabethan Drama,  And Compare It With Ours.  What

Should We Think Of Our Best Dramatist If,  In One Of His

Tragedies,  A Man's Eyes Were Plucked Out On The Stage,  And If

He That Did It Exclaimed As He Trampled On Them,  'Out,  Vile

Jelly! Where Is Thy Lustre Now?' Or Of A Titus Andronicus

Cutting Two Throats,  While His Daughter ''Tween Her Stumps

Doth Hold A Basin To Receive Their Blood'?

 

'Humanity,' Says Taine,  Speaking Of These Times,  'Is As Much

Lacking As Decency.  Blood,  Suffering,  Does Not Move Them.'

 

Heaven Forbid That We Should Return To Such Brutality!  I

Cite These Passages Merely To Show How Times Are Changed; And

To Suggest That With The Change There Is A Decided Loss Of

Manliness.  Are Men More Virtuous,  Do They Love Honour More, 

Are They More Chivalrous,  Than The Miltons,  The Lovelaces, 

The Sidneys Of The Past?  Are The Women Chaster Or More

Gentle?  No; There Is More Puritanism,  But Not More True

Piety.  It Is Only The Outside Of The Cup And The Platter

That Are Made Clean,  The Inward Part Is Just As Full Of

Wickedness,  And All The Worse For Its Hysterical

Fastidiousness.

 

To What Do We Owe This Tendency?  Are We Degenerating Morally

As Well As Physically?  Consider The Physical Side Of The

Question.  Fifty Years Ago The Standard Height For Admission

To The Army Was Five Feet Six Inches.  It Is Now Lowered To

Five Feet.  Within The Last Ten Years The Increase In The

Urban Population Has Been Nearly Three And A Half Millions. 

Within The Same Period The Increase In The Rural Population

Is Less Than A Quarter Of One Million.  Three Out Of Five

Recruits For The Army Are Rejected; A Large Proportion Of

Them Because Their Teeth Are Gone Or Decayed.  Do These 

Chapter 36 Pg 197

Figures Need Comment?  Can You Look For Sound Minds In Such

Unsound Bodies?  Can You Look For Manliness,  For Self-

Respect,  And Self-Control,  Or Anything But Animalistic

Sentimentality?

 

It Is Not The Character Of Our Drama Or Of Our Works Of

Fiction That Promotes And Fosters This Propensity; But May It

Not Be That The Enormous Increase In The Number Of Theatres, 

And The Prodigious Supply Of Novels,  May Have A Share In It, 

By Their Exorbitant Appeal To The Emotional,  And Hence

Neurotic,  Elements Of Our Nature?  If Such Considerations

Apply Mainly To Dwellers In Overcrowded Towns,  There Is Yet

Another Cause Which May Operate On Those More Favoured,  - The

Vast Increase In Wealth And Luxury.  Wherever These Have

Grown To Excess,  Whether In Babylon,  Or Nineveh,  Or Thebes, 

Or Alexandria,  Or Rome,  They Have Been The Symptoms Of

Decadence,  And Forerunners Of The Nation's Collapse.

 

Let Us Be Humane,  Let Us Abhor The Horrors Of War,  And Strain

Our Utmost Energies To Avert Them.  But We Might As Well

Forbid The Use Of Surgical Instruments As The Weapons That

Are Most Destructive In Warfare.  If A Limb Is Rotting With

Gangrene,  Shall It Not Be Cut Away?  So If The Passions Which

Occasion Wars Are Inherent In Human Nature,  We Must Face The

Evil Stout-Heartedly; And,  For One,  I Humbly Question Whether

Any Abolition Of Dum-Dum Bullets Or Other Attempts To

Mitigate This Disgrace To Humanity,  Do,  In The End,  More Good

Than Harm.

 

It Is Elsewhere That We Must Look For Deliverance,  - To The

Overwhelming Power Of Better Educated Peoples; To Closer

Intercourse Between The Nations; To The Conviction That,  From

The Most Selfish Point Of View Even,  Peace Is The Only Path

To Prosperity; To The Restraint Of The Baser Press Which,  For

Mere Pelf,  Spurs The Passions Of The Multitude Instead Of

Curbing Them; And,  Finally,  To Deliverance From The 'All-

Potent Wills Of Little Fathers By Divine Right,' And From The

Ignoble Ambition Of Bullet-Headed Uncles And Brothers And

Cousins - A Curse From Which England,  Thank The Gods! Is,  And

Let Us Hope,  Ever Will Be,  Free.  But There Are More

Countries Than One That Are Not So - Just Now; And The World

May Ere Long Have To Pay The Bitter Penalty.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 37 Pg 198

 

It Is Curious If One Lives Long Enough To Watch The Change Of

Taste In Books.  I Have No Lending-Library Statistics At

Hand,  But Judging By The Reading Of Young People,  Or Of Those

Who Read Merely For Their Amusement,  The Authors They

Patronise Are Nearly All Living Or Very Recent.  What We Old

Stagers Esteemed As Classical In Fiction And Belles-Lettres

Are Sealed Books To The Present Generation.  It Is An

Exception,  For Instance,  To Meet With A Young Man Or Young

Woman Who Has Read Walter Scott.  Perhaps Balzac's Reason Is

The True One.  Scott,  Says He,  'Est Sans Passion; Il

L'ignore,  Ou Peut-Etre Lui Etait-Elle Interdite Par Les

Moeurs Hypocrites De Son Pays.  Pour Lui La Femme Est Le

Devoir Incarne.  A De Rares Exceptions Pres,  Ses Heroines

Sont Absolument Les Memes ... La Femme Porte Le Desordre Dans

La Societe Par La Passion.  La Passion A Des Accidents

Infinis.  Peignez Donc Les Passions,  Vous Aurez Les Sources

Immenses Dont S'est Prive Ce Grand Genie Pour Etre Lu Dans

Toutes Les Familles De La Prude Angleterre.'  Does Not

Thackeray Lament That Since Fielding No Novelist Has Dared To

Face The National Affectation Of Prudery?  No English Author

Who Valued His Reputation Would Venture To Write As Anatole

France Writes,  Even If He Could.  Yet I Pity The Man Who Does

Not Delight In The Genius That Created M. Bergeret.

 

A Well-Known Author Said To Me The Other Day,  He Did Not

Believe That Thackeray Himself Would Be Popular Were He

Writing Now For The First Time - Not Because Of His Freedom, 

But Because The Public Taste Has Altered.  No Present Age Can

Predict Immortality For The Works Of Its Day; Yet To Say That

What Is Intrinsically Good Is Good For All Time Is But A

Truism.  The Misfortune Is That Much Of The Best In

Literature Shares The Fate Of The Best Of Ancient Monuments

And Noble Cities; The Cumulative Rubbish Of Ages Buries Their

Splendours,  Till We Know Not Where To Find Them.  The Day May

Come When The Most Valuable Service Of The Man Of Letters

Will Be To Unearth The Lost Treasures And Display Them, 

Rather Than Add His Grain Of Dust To The Ever-Increasing

Middens.

 

Is Carlyle Forgotten Yet,  I Wonder?  How Much Did My

Contemporaries Owe To Him In Their Youth?  How Readily We

Followed A Leader So Sure Of Himself,  So Certain Of His Own

Evangel.  What An Aid To Strength To Be Assured That The True

Hero Is The Morally Strong Man.  One Does Not Criticise What

One Loves; One Didn't Look Too Closely Into The Doctrine

That,  Might Is Right,  For Somehow He Managed To Persuade Us

That Right Makes The Might - That The Strong Man Is The Man

Who,  For The Most Part,  Does Act Rightly.  He Is Not Over-

Patient With Human Frailty,  To Be Sure,  And Is Apt,  As

Herbert Spencer Found,  To Fling About His Scorn Rather

Recklessly.  One Fancies Sometimes That He Has More Respect

For A Genuine Bad Man Than For A Sham Good One.  In Fact,  His

'Eternal Verities' Come Pretty Much To The Same As Darwin's 

Chapter 37 Pg 199

'Law Of The Advancement Of All Organic Bodies'; 'Let The

Strong Live,  And The Weakest Die.'  He Had No Objection To

Seeing 'The Young Cuckoo Ejecting Its Foster-Brothers,  Or

Ants Making Slaves.'  But He Atones For All This By His

Hatred Of Cant And Hypocrisy.  It Is For His Manliness That

We Love Him,  For His Honesty,  For His Indifference To Any

Mortal's Approval Save That Of Thomas Carlyle.  He Convinces

Us That Right Thinking Is Good,  But That Right Doing Is Much

Better.  And So It Is That He Does Honour To Men Of Action

Like His Beloved Oliver,  And Fritz,  - Neither Of Them

Paragons Of Wisdom Or Of Goodness,  But Men Of Doughty Deeds.

 

Just About This Time I Narrowly Missed A Longed-For Chance Of

Meeting This Hero Of My Penates.  Lady Ashburton - Carlyle's

Lady Ashburton - Knowing My Admiration,  Kindly Invited Me To

The Grange,  While He Was There.  The House Was Full - Mainly

Of Ministers Or Ex-Ministers,  - Cornewall Lewis,  Sir Charles

Wood,  Sir James Graham,  Albany Fonblanque,  Mr. Ellice,  And

Charles Buller - Carlyle's Only Pupil; But The Great Man

Himself Had Left An Hour Before I Got There.  I Often Met Him

Afterwards,  But Never To Make His Acquaintance.  Of Course,  I

Knew Nothing Of His Special Friendship For Lady Ashburton, 

Which We Are Told Was Not Altogether Shared By Mrs. Carlyle;

But I Well Remember The Interest Which Lady Ashburton Seemed

To Take In His Praise,  How My Enthusiasm Seemed To Please

Her,  And How Carlyle And His Works Were Topics She Was Never

Tired Of Discussing.

 

The South Western Line To Alresford Was Not Then Made,  And I

Had To Post Part Of The Way From London To The Grange.  My

Chaise Companion Was A Man Very Well Known In 'Society'; And

Though Not Remarkably Popular,  Was Not Altogether

Undistinguished,  As The Following Little Tale Will Attest. 

Frederick Byng,  One Of The Torrington Branch Of The Byngs, 

Was Chiefly Famous For His Sobriquet 'The Poodle'; This He

Owed To No Special Merit Of His Own,  But Simply To The

Accident Of His Thick Curly Head Of Hair.  Some,  Who Spoke

Feelingly Of The Man,  Used To Declare That He Had Fulfilled

The Promises Of His Youth.  What Happened To Him Then May

Perhaps Justify The Opinion.

 

The Young Poodle Was Addicted To Practical Jokes - As Usual, 

More Amusing To The Player Than To The Playee.  One Of His

Victims Happened To Be Beau Brummell,  Who,