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The Rhythm of Life and Other Essays
dulness in their future！ To the eye that has reluctantly discovered this
truththat the vulgarised are not UNcivilised； and that there is no growth
for themit does not look like a future at all。 More ballad…concerts； more
quaint English； more robustious barytone songs； more piecemeal pictures；
more anxious decoration； more colonial poetry； more young nations with
withered traditions。 Yet it is before this prospect that the provincial
overseas lifts up his voice in a boast or a promise common enough among
the incapable young； but pardonable only in senility。 He promises the
world a literature； an art； that shall be new because his forest is untracked
and his town just built。 But what the newness is to be he cannot tell。
Certain words were dreadful once in the mouth of desperate old age。
Dreadful and pitiable as the threat of an impotent king； what shall we
name them when they are the promise of an impotent people？ 'I will do
such things： what they are yet I know not。'
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A REMEMBRANCE
When the memories of two or three persons now upon earth shall be
rolled up and sealed with their records within them； there will be no
remembrance left open； except this； of a man whose silence seems better
worth interpreting than the speech of many another。 Of himself he has
left no vestiges。 It was a common reproach against him that he never
acknowledged the obligation to any kind of restlessness。 The kingdom of
heaven suffereth violence； but as he did none there was nothing for it but
that the kingdom of heaven should yield to his leisure。 The delicate； the
abstinent； the reticent graces were his in the heroic degree。 Where shall I
find a pen fastidious enough to define and limit and enforce so many
significant negatives？ Words seem to offend by too much assertion； and
to check the suggestions of his reserve。 That reserve was life… long。
Loving literature； he never lifted a pen except to write a letter。 He was
not inarticulate； he was only silent。 He had an exquisite style from which
to refrain。 The things he abstained from were all exquisite。 They were
brought from far to undergo his judgment； if haply he might have selected
them。 Things ignoble never approached near enough for his refusal； they
had not with him so much as that negative connexion。 If I had to equip
an author I should ask no better than to arm him and invest him with
precisely the riches that were renounced by the man whose intellect； by
integrity； had become a presence…chamber。
It was by holding session among so many implicit safeguards that he
taught； rather than by precepts。 Few were these in his speech； but his
personality made laws for me。 It was a subtle education； for it persuaded
insensibly to a conception of my own。 How； if he would not define；
could I know what things were and what were not worthy of his gentle and
implacable judgment？ I must needs judge them for myself； yet he
constrained me in the judging。 Within that constraint and under that
stimulus； which seemed to touch the ultimate springs of thoughts before
they sprang； I began to discern all things in literature and in lifein the
chastity of letters and in the honour of lifethat I was bound to love。 Not
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The Rhythm of Life and Other Essays
the things of one character only； but excellent things of every character。
There was no tyranny in such a method。 His idleness justified itself by
the liberality it permitted to his taste。 Never having made his love of
letters further a secondary purpose； never having bound the literary
geniusthat delicate Arielto any kind of servitude； never having so much
as permitted himself a prejudice whereby some of his delights should be
stinted while others were indulged beyond the sanctions of modest reason；
he barely tolerated his own preferences； which lay somewhat on the hither
side of full effectiveness of style。 These the range of his reading
confessed by certain exclusions。 Nevertheless it was not of deficiencies
that he was patient： he did but respect the power of pause； and he
disliked violence chiefly because violence is apt to confess its own limits。
Perhaps； indeed； his own fine negatives made him only the more sensible
of any lack of those literary qualities that are bound in their full
complement to hold themselves at the disposal of the consummate author
to stand and wait； if they may do no more。
Men said that he led a DILETTANTE life。 They reproached him
with the selflessness that made him somewhat languid。 Others； they
seemed to aver； were amateurs at this art or that； he was an amateur at
living。 So it was； in the sense that he never grasped at happiness； and
that many of the things he had held slipped from his disinterested hands。
So it was； too； in this unintended sense； he loved life。 How should he not
have loved a life that his living made honourable？ How should he not
have loved all arts； in which his choice was delicate； liberal； instructed；
studious； docile； austere？ An amateur man he might have been called；
too； because he was not discomposed by his own experiences； or shaken
by the discovery which life brings to us…that the negative quality of which
Buddhism seems to accuse all good is partaken by our happiness。 He had
always prayed temperate prayers and harboured probable wishes。 His
sensibility was extreme； but his thought was generalised。 When he had
joy he tempered it not in the common way by meditation upon the general
sorrow but by a recollection of the general pleasure。 It was his finest
distinction to d