the way of all flesh-第48节

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does　among　ourselves？

〃This　is　a　venturesome　question　considering　the　verdict　now
generally　given　for　over　two　thousand　years；　nor　should　I　have
permitted　myself　to　ask　it　if　it　had　not　been　suggested　to　me　by　one
whose　reputation　stands　as　high；　and　has　been　sanctioned　for　as　long
time　as　those　of　the　tragedians　themselves；　I　mean　by　Aristophanes。

〃Numbers；　weight　of　authority；　and　time；　have　conspired　to　place
Aristophanes　on　as　high　a　literary　pinnacle　as　any　ancient　writer；
with　the　exception　perhaps　of　Homer；　but　he　makes　no　secret　of
heartily　hating　Euripides　and　Sophocles；　and　I　strongly　suspect　only
praises　AEschylus　that　he　may　run　down　the　other　two　with　greater
impunity。　　For　after　all　there　is　no　such　difference　between
AEschylus　and　his　successors　as　will　render　the　former　very　good　and
the　latter　very　bad；　and　the　thrusts　at　AEschylus　which　Aristophanes
puts　into　the　mouth　of　Euripides　go　home　too　well　to　have　been
written　by　an　admirer。

〃It　may　be　observed　that　while　Euripides　accuses　AEschylus　of　being
'pomp…bundle…worded；'　which　I　suppose　means　bombastic　and　given　to
rodomontade；　AEschylus　retorts　on　Euripides　that　he　is　a　'gossip
gleaner；　a　describer　of　beggars；　and　a　rag…stitcher；'　from　which　it
may　be　inferred　that　he　was　truer　to　the　life　of　his　own　times　than
AEschylus　was。　　It　happens；　however；　that　a　faithful　rendering　of
contemporary　life　is　the　very　quality　which　gives　its　most　permanent
interest　to　any　work　of　fiction；　whether　in　literature　or　painting；
and　it　is　a　not　unnatural　consequence　that　while　only　seven　plays　by
AEschylus；　and　the　same　number　by　Sophocles；　have　come　down　to　us；
we　have　no　fewer　than　nineteen　by　Euripides。

〃This；　however；　is　a　digression；　the　question　before　us　is　whether
Aristophanes　really　liked　AEschylus　or　only　pretended　to　do　so。　　It
must　be　remembered　that　the　claims　of　AEschylus；　Sophocles　and
Euripides；　to　the　foremost　place　amongst　tragedians　were　held　to　be
as　incontrovertible　as　those　of　Dante；　Petrarch；　Tasso　and　Ariosto
to　be　the　greatest　of　Italian　poets；　are　held　among　the　Italians　of
to…day。　　If　we　can　fancy　some　witty；　genial　writer；　we　will　say　in
Florence；　finding　himself　bored　by　all　the　poets　I　have　named；　we
can　yet　believe　he　would　be　unwilling　to　admit　that　he　disliked　them
without　exception。　　He　would　prefer　to　think　he　could　see　something
at　any　rate　in　Dante；　whom　he　could　idealise　more　easily；　inasmuch
as　he　was　more　remote；　in　order　to　carry　his　countrymen　the　farther
with　him；　he　would　endeavour　to　meet　them　more　than　was　consistent
with　his　own　instincts。　　Without　some　such　palliation　as　admiration
for　one；　at　any　rate；　of　the　tragedians；　it　would　be　almost　as
dangerous　for　Aristophanes　to　attack　them　as　it　would　be　for　an
Englishman　now　to　say　that　he　did　not　think　very　much　of　the
Elizabethan　dramatists。　　Yet　which　of　us　in　his　heart　likes　any　of
the　Elizabethan　dramatists　except　Shakespeare？　　Are　they　in　reality
anything　else　than　literary　Struldbrugs？

〃I　conclude　upon　the　whole　that　Aristophanes　did　not　like　any　of　the
tragedians；　yet　no　one　will　deny　that　this　keen；　witty；　outspoken
writer　was　as　good　a　judge　of　literary　value；　and　as　able　to　see　any
beauties　that　the　tragic　dramas　contained　as　nine…tenths；　at　any
rate；　of　ourselves。　　He　had；　moreover；　the　advantage　of　thoroughly
understanding　the　standpoint　from　which　the　tragedians　expected
their　work　to　be　judged；　and　what　was　his　conclusion？　　Briefly　it
was　little　else　than　this；　that　they　were　a　fraud　or　something　very
like　it。　　For　my　own　part　I　cordially　agree　with　him。　　I　am　free　to
confess　that　with　the　exception　perhaps　of　some　of　the　Psalms　of
David　I　know　no　writings　which　seem　so　little　to　deserve　their
reputation。　　I　do　not　know　that　I　should　particularly　mind　my
sisters　reading　them；　but　I　will　take　good　care　never　to　read　them
myself。〃


This　last　bit　about　the　Psalms　was　awful；　and　there　was　a　great
fight　with　the　editor　as　to　whether　or　no　it　should　be　allowed　to
stand。　　Ernest　himself　was　frightened　at　it；　but　he　had　once　heard
someone　say　that　the　Psalms　were　many　of　them　very　poor；　and　on
looking　at　them　more　closely；　after　he　had　been　told　this；　he　found
that　there　could　hardly　be　two　opinions　on　the　subject。　　So　he
caught　up　the　remark　and　reproduced　it　as　his　own；　concluding　that
these　psalms　had　probably　never　been　written　by　David　at　all；　but
had　got　in　among　the　others　by　mistake。

The　essay；　perhaps　on　account　of　the　passage　about　the　Psalms；
created　quite　a　sensation；　and　on　the　whole　was　well　received。
Ernest's　friends　praised　it　more　highly　than　it　deserved；　and　he　was
himself　very　proud　of　it；　but　he　dared　not　show　it　at　Battersby。　　He
knew　also　that　he　was　now　at　the　end　of　his　tether；　this　was　his　one
idea　（I　feel　sure　he　had　caught　more　than　half　of　it　from　other
people）；　and　now　he　had　not　another　thing　left　to　write　about。　　He
found　himself　cursed　with　a　small　reputation　which　seemed　to　him
much　bigger　than　it　was；　and　a　consciousness　that　he　could　never
keep　it　up。　　Before　many　days　were　over　he　felt　his　unfortunate
essay　to　be　a　white　elephant　to　him；　which　he　must　feed　by　hurrying
into　all　sorts　of　frantic　attempts　to　cap　his　triumph；　and；　as　may
be　imagined；　these　attempts　were　failures。

He　did　not　understand　that　if　he　waited　and　listened　and　observed；
another　idea　of　some　kind　would　probably　occur　to　him　some　day；　and
that　the　development　of　this　would　in　its　turn　suggest　still　further
ones。　　He　did　not　yet　know　that　the　very　worst　way　of　getting　hold
of　ideas　is　to　go　hunting　expressly　after　them。　　The　way　to　get　them
is　to　study　something　of　which　one　is　fond；　and　to　note　down
whatever　crosses　one's　mind　in　reference　to　it；　either　during　study
or　relaxation；　in　a　little　note…book　kept　always　in　the　waistcoat
pocket。　　Ernest　has　come　to　know　all　about　this　now；　but　it　took　him
a　long　time　to　find　it　out；　for　this　is　not　the　kind　of　thing　that
is　taught　at　schools　and　universities。

Nor　yet　did　he　know　that　ideas；　no　less　than　the　living　beings　in
whose　minds　they　arise；　must　be　begotten　by　parents　not　very　unlike
themselves；　the　most　original　still　differing　but　slightly　from　the
parents　that　have　given　rise　to　them。　　Life　is　like　a　fugue；
everything　must　grow　out　of　the　subject　and　there　must　be　nothing
new。　　Nor；　again；　did　he　see　how　hard　it　is　to　say　where　one　idea
ends　and　another　begins；　nor　yet　how　closely　this　is　paralleled　in
the　difficulty　of　saying　where　a　life　begins　or　ends；　or　an　action
or　indeed　anything；　there　being　an　unity　in　spite　of　infinite
multitude；　and　an　infinite　multitude　in　spite　of　unity。　　He　thought
that　ideas　came　into　clever　people's　heads　by　a　kind　of　spontaneous
germination；　without　parentage　in　the　thoughts　of　others　or　the
course　of　observation；　for　as　yet　he　believed　in　genius；　of　which　he
well　knew　that　he　had　none；　if　it　was　the　fine　frenzied　thing　he
thought　it　was。

Not　very　long　before　this　he　had　come　of　age；　and　Theobald　had
handed　him　over　his　money；　which　amounted　now　to　5000　pounds；　it　was
invested　to　bring　in　5　pounds　per　cent　and　gave　him　therefore　an
income　of　250　pounds　a　year。　　He　did　not；　however；　realise　the　fact
（he　could　realise　nothing　so　foreign　to　his　experience）　that　he　was
independent　of　his　father　till　a　long　time　afterwards；　nor　did
Theobald　make　any　difference　in　his　manner　towards　him。　　So　strong
was　the　hold　which　habit　and　association　held　over　both　father　and
son；　that　the　one　considered　he　had　as　good　a　right　as　ever　to
dictate；　and　the　other　that　he　had　as　little　right　as　ever　to
gainsay。

During　his　last　year　at　Cambridge　he　overworked　himself　through　this
very　blind　deference　to　his　father's　wishes；　for　there　was　no　reason
why　he　should　take　more　than　a　poll　degree　except　that　his　father
laid　such　stress　upon　his　taking　honours。　　He　became　so　ill；　indeed；
that　it　was　doubtful　how　far　he　would　be　able　to　go　in　for　his
degree　at　all；　but　he　managed　to　do　so；　and　when　the　list　came　out
was　found　to　be　placed　higher　than　either　he　or　anyone　else
expected；　being　among　the　first　three　or　four　senior　optimes；　and　a
few　weeks　later；　in　the　lower　half　of　the　second　class　of　the
Classical　Tripos。　　Ill　as　he　was　when　he　got　home；　Theobald　made　him
go　over　all　the　examination　papers　with　him；　and　in　fact　reproduce
as　nearly　as　possible　the　replies　that　he　had　sent　in。　　So　little
kick　had　he　in　him；　and　so　deep　was　the　groove　into　which　he　had
got；　that　while　at　home　he　spent　several　hours　a　day　in　continuing
his　classical　and　mathematical　studies　as　though　he　had　not　yet
taken　his　degree。



CHAPTER　XLVII



Ernest　returned　to　Cambridge　for　the　May　term　of　1858；　on　the　plea
of　reading　for　ordination；　with　which　he　was　now　face　to　face；　and
much　nearer　than　he　liked。　　Up　to　this　time；　though　not　religiously
inclined；　he　had　never　doubted　the　truth　of　anything　that　had　been
told　him　about　Christianity。　　He　had　never　seen　anyone　who　doubted；
nor　read　anything　that　raised　a　suspicion　in　his　mind　as　to　the
historical　character　of　the　miracles　recorded　in　the　Old　and　New
Testaments。

It　must　be　remembered　that　the　year　1858　was　the　last　of