tea-table talk(茶桌上的谈话)-第16节
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we have advanced far。 The way winds upward still； hidden from us by
the mists； but along its tortuous course lies our track into the Promised
Land。 Not the development of the individualthat is his own concern
but the uplifting of the race would appear to be the law。 The lonely great
ones； they are the shepherds of the flockthe servants； not the masters of
the world。 Moses shall die and be buried in the wilderness； seeing only
from afar the resting…place of man's tired feet。 It is unfortunate that the
Ha'penny Joker and its kind should have so many readers。 Maybe it
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teaches those to read who otherwise would never read at all。 We are
impatient； forgetting that the coming and going of our generations are but
as the swinging of the pendulum of Nature's clock。 Yesterday we booked
our seats for gladiatorial shows； for the burning of Christians； our
windows for Newgate hangings。 Even the musical farce is an
improvement upon thatat least； from the humanitarian point of view。〃
〃In the Southern States of America；〃 observed the Philosopher；
sticking to his guns； 〃they run excursion trains to lynching exhibitions。
The bull…fight is spreading to France； and English newspapers are
advocating the reintroduction of bear…baiting and cock…fighting。 Are we
not moving in a circle？〃
〃The road winds； as I have allowed；〃 returned the Minor Poet； 〃the
gradient is somewhat steep。 Just now； maybe； we are traversing a
backward curve。 I gain my faith by pausing now and then to look behind。
I see the weary way with many a downward sweep。 But we are climbing；
my friend； we are climbing。〃
〃But to such a very dismal goal； according to your theory；〃 grumbled
the Old Maid。 〃I should hate to feel myself an insect in a hive； my little
round of duties apportioned to me； my every action regulated by a fixed
law； my place assigned to me； my very food and drink； I suppose；
apportioned to me。 Do think of something more cheerful。〃
The Minor Poet laughed。 〃My dear lady；〃 he replied； 〃it is too late。
The thing is already done。 The hive already covers us； the cells are in
building。 Who leads his own life？ Who is master of himself？ What
can you do but live according to your income in； I am sure； a very
charming little cell； buzz about your little world with your cheerful； kindly
song； helping these your fellow insects here； doing day by day the useful
offices apportioned to you by your temperament and means； seeing the
same faces； treading ever the same narrow circle？ Why do I write poetry？
I am not to blame。 I must live。 It is the only thing I can do。 Why does
one man live and die upon the treeless rocks of Iceland； another labour in
the vineyards of the Apennines？ Why does one woman make matches；
ride in a van to Epping Forest； drink gin； and change hats with her lover
on the homeward journey； another pant through a dinner…party and half a
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dozen receptions every night from March to June； rush from country house
to fashionable Continental resort from July to February； dress as she is
instructed by her milliner； say the smart things that are expected of her？
Who would be a sweep or a chaperon； were all roads free？ Who is it
succeeds in escaping the law of the hive？ The loafer； the tramp。 On the
other hand； who is the man we respect and envy？ The man who works
for the community； the public…spirited man； as we call him； the unselfish
man； the man who labours for the labour's sake and not for the profit；
devoting his days and nights to learning Nature's secrets； to acquiring
knowledge useful to the race。 Is he not the happiest； the man who has
conquered his own sordid desires； who gives himself to the public good？
The hive was founded in dark days before man knew； it has been built
according to false laws。 This man will have a cell bigger than any other
cell； all the other little men shall envy him； a thousand fellow…crawling
mites shall slave for him； wear out their lives in wretchedness for him and
him alone； all their honey they shall bring to him； he shall gorge while
they shall starve。 Of what use？ He has slept no sounder in his foolishly
fanciful cell。 Sleep is to tired eyes； not to silken coverlets。 We dream in
Seven Dials as in Park Lane。 His stomach； distend it as he willit is very
smallresents being distended。 The store of honey rots。 The hive was
conceived in the dark days of ignorance； stupidity； brutality。 A new hive
shall arise。〃
〃I had no idea；〃 said the Woman of the World； 〃you were a Socialist。〃
〃Nor had I；〃 agreed the Minor Poet； 〃before I began talking。〃
〃And next Wednesday；〃 laughed the Woman of the World； 〃you will be
arguing in favour of individualism。〃
〃Very likely；〃 agreed the Minor Poet。 〃'The deep moans round with
many voices。'〃
〃I'll take another cup of tea；〃 said the Philosopher。
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