essays on life, art and science-第4部分

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money；　passing　in　and　out　with　one　another　in　any　order　we　like；　but
still　link　to　link　and　touch　to　touch。　　If　there　is　failure　anywhere
in　respect　of　opinion；　skill；　power；　or　money；　either　as　regards
quantity　or　quality；　the　chain　can　be　no　stronger　than　its　weakest
link；　and　the　turtle　and　the　clinching　argument　will　fly　asunder。
Of　course；　if　there　is　an　initial　failure　in　connection；　through
defect　in　any　member　of　the　chain；　or　of　connection　between　the
links；　it　will　no　more　be　attempted　to　bring　the　turtle　and　the
clinching　argument　together；　than　it　will　to　chain　up　a　dog　with　two
pieces　of　broken　chain　that　are　disconnected。　　The　contact
throughout　must　be　conceived　as　absolute；　and　yet　perfect　contact　is
inconceivable　by　us；　for　on　becoming　perfect　it　ceases　to　be
contact；　and　becomes　essential；　once　for　all　inseverable；　identity。
The　most　absolute　contact　short　of　this　is　still　contact　by　courtesy
only。　　So　here；　as　everywhere　else；　Eurydice　glides　off　as　we　are
about　to　grasp　her。　　We　can　see　nothing　face　to　face；　our　utmost
seeing　is　but　a　fumbling　of　blind　finger…ends　in　an　overcrowded
pocket。

Presently　my　own　blind　finger…ends　fished　up　the　conclusion；　that　as
I　had　neither　time　nor　money　to　spend　on　perfecting　the　chain　that
would　put　me　in　full　spiritual　contact　with　Mr。　Sweeting's　turtles；
I　had　better　leave　them　to　complete　their　education　at　some　one
else's　expense　rather　than　mine；　so　I　walked　on　towards　the　Bank。
As　I　did　so　it　struck　me　how　continually　we　are　met　by　this　melting
of　one　existence　into　another。　　The　limits　of　the　body　seem　well
defined　enough　as　definitions　go；　but　definitions　seldom　go　far。
What；　for　example；　can　seem　more　distinct　from　a　man　than　his　banker
or　his　solicitor？　　Yet　these　are　commonly　so　much　parts　of　him　that
he　can　no　more　cut　them　off　and　grow　new　ones；　than　he　can　grow　new
legs　or　arms；　neither　must　he　wound　his　solicitor；　a　wound　in　the
solicitor　is　a　very　serious　thing。　　As　for　his　bankfailure　of　his
bank's　action　may　be　as　fatal　to　a　man　as　failure　of　his　heart。　　I
have　said　nothing　about　the　medical　or　spiritual　adviser；　but　most
men　grow　into　the　society　that　surrounds　them　by　the　help　of　these
four　main　tap…roots；　and　not　only　into　the　world　of　humanity；　but
into　the　universe　at　large。　　We　can；　indeed；　grow　butchers；　bakers；
and　greengrocers；　almost　ad　libitum；　but　these　are　low　developments；
and　correspond　to　skin；　hair；　or　finger…nails。　　Those　of　us　again
who　are　not　highly　enough　organised　to　have　grown　a　solicitor　or
banker　can　generally　repair　the　loss　of　whatever　social　organisation
they　may　possess　as　freely　as　lizards　are　said　to　grow　new　tails；
but　this　with　the　higher　social；　as　well　as　organic；　developments　is
only　possible　to　a　very　limited　extent。

The　doctrine　of　metempsychosis；　or　transmigration　of　soulsa
doctrine　to　which　the　foregoing　considerations　are　for　the　most　part
easy　corollariescrops　up　no　matter　in　what　direction　we　allow　our
thoughts　to　wander。　　And　we　meet　instances　of　transmigration　of　body
as　well　as　of　soul。　　I　do　not　mean　that　both　body　and　soul　have
transmigrated　together；　far　from　it；　but　that；　as　we　can　often
recognise　a　transmigrated　mind　in　an　alien　body；　so　we　not　less
often　see　a　body　that　is　clearly　only　a　transmigration；　linked　on　to
some　one　else's　new　and　alien　soul。　　We　meet　people　every　day　whose
bodies　are　evidently　those　of　men　and　women　long　dead；　but　whose
appearance　we　know　through　their　portraits。　　We　see　them　going　about
in　omnibuses；　railway　carriages；　and　in　all　public　places。　　The
cards　have　been　shuffled；　and　they　have　drawn　fresh　lots　in　life　and
nationalities；　but　any　one　fairly　well　up　in　mediaeval　and　last
century　portraiture　knows　them　at　a　glance。

Going　down　once　towards　Italy　I　saw　a　young　man　in　the　train　whom　I
recognised；　only　he　seemed　to　have　got　younger。　　He　was　with　a
friend；　and　his　face　was　in　continual　play；　but　for　some　little　time
I　puzzled　in　vain　to　recollect　where　it　was　that　I　had　seen　him
before。　　All　of　a　sudden　I　remembered　he　was　King　Francis　I。　of
France。　　I　had　hitherto　thought　the　face　of　this　king　impossible；
but　when　I　saw　it　in　play　I　understood　it。　　His　great　contemporary
Henry　VIII。　keeps　a　restaurant　in　Oxford　Street。　　Falstaff　drove　one
of　the　St。　Gothard　diligences　for　many　years；　and　only　retired　when
the　railway　was　opened。　　Titian　once　made　me　a　pair　of　boots　at
Vicenza；　and　not　very　good　ones。　　At　Modena　I　had　my　hair　cut　by　a
young　man　whom　I　perceived　to　be　Raffaelle。　　The　model　who　sat　to
him　for　his　celebrated　Madonnas　is　first　lady　in　a　confectionery
establishment　at　Montreal。　　She　has　a　little　motherly　pimple　on　the
left　side　of　her　nose　that　is　misleading　at　first；　but　on
examination　she　is　readily　recognised；　probably　Raffaelle's　model
had　the　pimple　too；　but　Raffaelle　left　it　outas　he　would。

Handel；　of　course；　is　Madame　Patey。　　Give　Madame　Patey　Handel's　wig
and　clothes；　and　there　would　be　no　telling　her　from　Handel。　　It　is
not　only　that　the　features　and　the　shape　of　the　head　are　the　same；
but　there　is　a　certain　imperiousness　of　expression　and　attitude
about　Handel　which　he　hardly　attempts　to　conceal　in　Madame　Patey。
It　is　a　curious　coincidence　that　he　should　continue　to　be　such　an
incomparable　renderer　of　his　own　music。　　Pope　Julius　II。　was　the
late　Mr。　Darwin。　　Rameses　II。　is　a　blind　woman　now；　and　stands　in
Holborn；　holding　a　tin　mug。　　I　never　could　understand　why　I　always
found　myself　humming　〃They　oppressed　them　with　burthens〃　when　I
passed　her；　till　one　day　I　was　looking　in　Mr。　Spooner's　window　in
the　Strand；　and　saw　a　photograph　of　Rameses　II。　　Mary　Queen　of　Scots
wears　surgical　boots　and　is　subject　to　fits；　near　the　Horse　Shoe　in
Tottenham　Court　Road。

Michael　Angelo　is　a　commissionaire；　I　saw　him　on　board　the　Glen
Rosa；　which　used　to　run　every　day　from　London　to　Clacton…on…Sea　and
back。　　It　gave　me　quite　a　turn　when　I　saw　him　coming　down　the　stairs
from　the　upper　deck；　with　his　bronzed　face；　flattened　nose；　and　with
the　familiar　bar　upon　his　forehead。　　I　never　liked　Michael　Angelo；
and　never　shall；　but　I　am　afraid　of　him；　and　was　near　trying　to　hide
when　I　saw　him　coming　towards　me。　　He　had　not　got　his
commissionaire's　uniform　on；　and　I　did　not　know　he　was　one　till　I
met　him　a　month　or　so　later　in　the　Strand。　　When　we　got　to　Blackwall
the　music　struck　up　and　people　began　to　dance。　　I　never　saw　a　man
dance　so　much　in　my　life。　　He　did　not　miss　a　dance　all　the　way　to
Clacton；　nor　all　the　way　back　again；　and　when　not　dancing　he　was
flirting　and　cracking　jokes。　　I　could　hardly　believe　my　eyes　when　I
reflected　that　this　man　had　painted　the　famous　〃Last　Judgment；〃　and
had　made　all　those　statues。

Dante　is；　or　was　a　year　or　two　ago；　a　waiter　at　Brissago　on　the　Lago
Maggiore；　only　he　is　better…tempered…looking；　and　has　a　more
intellectual　expression。　　He　gave　me　his　ideas　upon　beauty：　　〃Tutto
ch'　e　vero　e　bello；〃　he　exclaimed；　with　all　his　old　self…confidence。
I　am　not　afraid　of　Dante。　　I　know　people　by　their　friends；　and　he
went　about　with　Virgil；　so　I　said　with　some　severity；　〃No；　Dante；　il
naso　della　Signora　Robinson　e　vero；　ma　non　e　bello〃；　and　he　admitted
I　was　right。　　Beatrice's　name　is　Towler；　she　is　waitress　at　a　small
inn　in　German　Switzerland。　　I　used　to　sit　at　my　window　and　hear
people　call　〃Towler；　Towler；　Towler；〃　fifty　times　in　a　forenoon。
She　was　the　exact　antithesis　to　Abra；　Abra；　if　I　remember；　used　to
come　before　they　called　her　name；　but　no　matter　how　often　they
called　Towler；　every　one　came　before　she　did。　　I　suppose　they　spelt
her　name　Taula；　but　to　me　it　sounded　Towler；　I　never；　however；　met
any　one　else　with　this　name。　　She　was　a　sweet；　artless　little　hussy；
who　made　me　play　the　piano　to　her；　and　she　said　it　was　lovely。　　Of
course　I　only　played　my　own　compositions；　so　I　believed　her；　and　it
all　went　off　very　nicely。　　I　thought　it　might　save　trouble　if　I　did
not　tell　her　who　she　really　was；　so　I　said　nothing　about　it。

I　met　Socrates　once。　　He　was　my　muleteer　on　an　excursion　which　I
will　not　name；　for　fear　it　should　identify　the　man。　　The　moment　I
saw　my　guide　I　knew　he　was　somebody；　but　for　the　life　of　me　I　could
not　remember　who。　　All　of　a　sudden　it　flashed　across　me　that　he　was
Socrates。　　He　talked　enough　for　six；　but　it　was　all　in　dialetto；　so
I　could　not　understand　him；　nor；　when　I　had　discovered　who　he　was；
did　I　much　try　to　do　so。　　He　was　a　good　creature；　a　trifle　given　to
stealing　fruit　and　vegetables；　but　an　amiable　man　enough。　　He　had
had　a　long　day　with　his　mule　and　me；　and　he　only　asked　me　five
francs。　　I　gave　him　ten；　for　I　pitied　his　poor　old　patched　boots；
and　there　was　a　meekness　about　him　that　touched　me。　　〃And　now；
Socrates；〃　said　I　at　parting；　〃we　go　on　our　several　ways；　you　to
steal　tomatoes；　I　to　filch　ideas　from　other　people；　for　the　rest
which　of　these　two　roads　will　be　the　better　going；　our　father　which
is　in　heaven　knows；　but　we　know　not。〃

I　have　never　seen　Mendelssohn；　but　there　is　a　fresco　of　him　on　the
terrace；　or　open…air　dining…room；　of　an　inn　at　Chiavenna。　　He　is　not
called　Mendelssohn；　but　I　knew　him　by　his　legs。　　He　is　in　the
costume　of　a　dandy　of　some　five…and…fo