the angel and the author-第2章

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Where　the　real　poor　creep　I　fear　there　is　no　room　for　Lady　
Bountiful's　fine　coach。　　The　ways　are　very　narrowwide　enough　only　
for　little　Sister　Pity；　stealing　softly。

I　put　it　to　my　friend；　the　curate：

〃But　if　all　this　charity　is；　as　you　say；　so　useless；　if　it　touches　
but　the　fringe；　if　it　makes　the　evil　worse；　what　would　you　do？〃

＇And　questions　a　Man　of　Thought＇

〃I　would　substitute　Justice；〃　he　answered；　〃there　would　be　no　need　
for　Charity。〃

　
　　〃But　it　is　so　delightful　to　give；〃　I　answered。

〃Yes；〃　he　agreed。　　〃It　is　better　to　give　than　to　receive。　　I　was　
thinking　of　the　receiver。　　And　my　ideal　is　a　long　way　off。　　We　shall　
have　to　work　towards　it　slowly。〃



CHAPTER　II



＇Philosophy　and　the　Daemon＇

Philosophy；　it　has　been　said；　is　the　art　of　bearing　other　people's　
troubles。　　The　truest　philosopher　I　ever　heard　of　was　a　woman。　　She　
was　brought　into　the　London　Hospital　suffering　from　a　poisoned　leg。　　
The　house　surgeon　made　a　hurried　examination。　　He　was　a　man　of　blunt　
speech。

〃It　will　have　to　come　off；〃　he　told　her。

〃What；　not　all　of　it？〃

〃The　whole　of　it；　I　am　sorry　to　say；〃　growled　the　house　surgeon。

〃Nothing　else　for　it？〃

〃No　other　chance　for　you　whatever；〃　explained　the　house　surgeon。

〃Ah；　well；　thank　Gawd　it's　not　my　'ead；〃　observed　the　lady。

The　poor　have　a　great　advantage　over　us　better…off　folk。　　Providence　
provides　them　with　many　opportunities　for　the　practice　of　philosophy。　　
I　was　present　at　a　〃high　tea〃　given　last　winter　by　charitable　folk　to　
a　party　of　char…women。　　After　the　tables　were　cleared　we　sought　to　
amuse　them。　　One　young　lady；　who　was　proud　of　herself　as　a　palmist；　
set　out　to　study　their　〃lines。〃　　At　sight　of　the　first　toil…worn　hand　
she　took　hold　of　her　sympathetic　face　grew　sad。

〃There　is　a　great　trouble　coming　to　you；〃　she　informed　the　ancient　
dame。

The　placid…featured　dame　looked　up　and　smiled：

〃What；　only　one；　my　dear？〃

〃Yes；　only　one；〃　asserted　the　kind　fortune…teller；　much　pleased；　
〃after　that　all　goes　smoothly。〃

〃Ah；〃　murmured　the　old　dame；　quite　cheerfully；　〃we　was　all　of　us　a　
short…lived　family。〃

Our　skins　harden　to　the　blows　of　Fate。　　I　was　lunching　one　Wednesday　
with　a　friend　in　the　country。　　His　son　and　heir；　aged　twelve；　entered　
and　took　his　seat　at　the　table。

〃Well；〃　said　his　father；　〃and　how　did　we　get　on　at　school　today？〃

〃Oh；　all　right；〃　answered　the　youngster；　settling　himself　down　to　his　
dinner　with　evident　appetite。

〃Nobody　caned？〃　demanded　his　father；　withas　I　noticeda　sly　
twinkle　in　his　eye。

〃No；〃　replied　young　hopeful；　after　reflection；　〃no；　I　don't　think　
so；〃　adding　as　an　afterthought；　as　he　tucked　into　beef　and　potatoes；　
〃'cepting；　o'　course；　me。〃

＇When　the　Daemon　will　not　work＇

It　is　a　simple　science；　philosophy。　　The　idea　is　that　it　never　
matters　what　happens　to　you　provided　you　don't　mind　it。　　The　weak　
point　in　the　argument　is　that　nine　times　out　of　ten　you　can't　help　
minding　it。

〃No　misfortune　can　harm　me；〃　says　Marcus　Aurelius；　〃without　the　
consent　of　the　daemon　within　me。〃

The　trouble　is　our　daemon　cannot　always　be　relied　upon。　　So　often　he　
does　not　seem　up　to　his　work。

〃You've　been　a　naughty　boy；　and　I'm　going　to　whip　you；〃　said　nurse　to　
a　four…year…old　criminal。

〃You　tant；〃　retorted　the　young　ruffian；　gripping　with　both　hands　the　
chair　that　he　was　occupying；　〃I'se　sittin'　on　it。〃

His　daemon　was；　no　doubt；　resolved　that　misfortune；　as　personified　by　
nurse；　should　not　hurt　him。　　The　misfortune；　alas！　proved　stronger　
than　the　daemon；　and　misfortune；　he　found　did　hurt　him。

The　toothache　cannot　hurt　us　so　long　as　the　daemon　within　us　（that　is　
to　say；　our　will　power）　holds　on　to　the　chair　and　says　it　can't。　　
But；　sooner　or　later；　the　daemon　lets　go；　and　then　we　howl。　　One　sees　
the　idea：　　in　theory　it　is　excellent。　　One　makes　believe。　　Your　bank　
has　suddenly　stopped　payment。　　You　say　to　yourself。

〃This　does　not　really　matter。〃

Your　butcher　and　your　baker　say　it　does；　and　insist　on　making　a　row　
in　the　passage。

You　fill　yourself　up　with　gooseberry　wine。　　You　tell　yourself　it　is　
seasoned　champagne。　　Your　liver　next　morning　says　it　is　not。

The　daemon　within　us　means　well；　but　forgets　it　is　not　the　only　thing　
there。　　A　man　I　knew　was　an　enthusiast　on　vegetarianism。　　He　argued　
that　if　the　poor　would　adopt　a　vegetarian　diet　the　problem　of　
existence　would　be　simpler　for　them；　and　maybe　he　was　right。　　So　one　
day　he　assembled　some　twenty　poor　lads　for　the　purpose　of　introducing　
to　them　a　vegetarian　lunch。　　He　begged　them　to　believe　that　lentil　
beans　were　steaks；　that　cauliflowers　were　chops。　　As　a　third　course　
he　placed　before　them　a　mixture　of　carrots　and　savoury　herbs；　and　
urged　them　to　imagine　they　were　eating　saveloys。

〃Now；　you　all　like　saveloys；〃　he　said；　addressing　them；　〃and　the　
palate　is　but　the　creature　of　the　imagination。　　Say　to　yourselves；　'I　
am　eating　saveloys；'　and　for　all　practical　purposes　these　things　will　
be　saveloys。〃

Some　of　the　lads　professed　to　have　done　it；　but　one　disappointed…
looking　youth　confessed　to　failure。

〃But　how　can　you　be　sure　it　was　not　a　saveloy？〃　the　host　persisted。

〃Because；〃　explained　the　boy；　〃I　haven't　got　the　stomach…ache。〃

It　appeared　that　saveloys；　although　a　dish　of　which　he　was　fond；　
invariably　and　immediately　disagreed　with　him。　　If　only　we　were　all　
daemon　and　nothing　else　philosophy　would　be　easier。　　Unfortunately；　
there　is　more　of　us。

Another　argument　much　approved　by　philosophy　is　that　nothing　matters；　
because　a　hundred　years　hence；　say；　at　the　outside；　we　shall　be　dead。　　
What　we　really　want　is　a　philosophy　that　will　enable　us　to　get　along　
while　we　are　still　alive。　　I　am　not　worrying　about　my　centenary；　I　am　
worrying　about　next　quarter…day。　　I　feel　that　if　other　people　would　
only　go　away；　and　leave　meincome…tax　collectors；　critics；　men　who　
come　round　about　the　gas；　all　those　sort　of　peopleI　could　be　a　
philosopher　myself。　　I　am　willing　enough　to　make　believe　that　nothing　
matters；　but　they　are　not。　　They　say　it　is　going　to　be　cut　off；　and　
talk　about　judgment　summonses。　　I　tell　them　it　won't　trouble　any　of　
us　a　hundred　years　hence。　　They　answer　they　are　not　talking　of　a　
hundred　years　hence；　but　of　this　thing　that　was　due　last　April　
twelvemonth。　　They　won't　listen　to　my　daemon。　　He　does　not　interest　
them。　　Nor；　to　be　candid；　does　it　comfort　myself　very　much；　this　
philosophical　reflection　that　a　hundred　years　later　on　I'll　be　sure　
to　be　deadthat　is；　with　ordinary　luck。　　What　bucks　me　up　much　more　
is　the　hope　that　they　will　be　dead。　　Besides；　in　a　hundred　years　
things　may　have　improved。　　I　may　not　want　to　be　dead。　　If　I　were　sure　
of　being　dead　next　morning；　before　their　threat　of　cutting　off　that　
water　or　that　gas　could　by　any　possibility　be　carried　out；　before　
that　judgment　summons　they　are　bragging　about　could　be　made　
returnable；　I　mightI　don't　say　I　shouldbe　amused；　thinking　how　I　
was　going　to　dish　them。　　The　wife　of　a　very　wicked　man　visited　him　
one　evening　in　prison；　and　found　him　enjoying　a　supper　of　toasted　
cheese。

〃How　foolish　of　you；　Edward；〃　argued　the　fond　lady；　〃to　be　eating　
toasted　cheese　for　supper。　　You　know　it　always　affects　your　liver。　　
All　day　long　to…morrow　you　will　be　complaining。〃

〃No；　I　shan't；〃　interrupted　Edward；　〃not　so　foolish　as　you　think　me。　　
They　are　going　to　hang　me　to…morrowearly。〃

There　is　a　passage　in　Marcus　Aurelius　that　used　to　puzzle　me　until　I　
hit　upon　the　solution。　　A　foot…note　says　the　meaning　is　obscure。　　
Myself；　I　had　gathered　this　before　I　read　the　foot…note。　　What　it　is　
all　about　I　defy　any　human　being　to　explain。　　It　might　mean　anything；　
it　might　mean　nothing。　　The　majority　of　students　incline　to　the　
latter　theory；　though　a　minority　maintain　there　is　a　meaning；　if　only　
it　could　be　discovered。　　My　own　conviction　is　that　once　in　his　life　
Marcus　Aurelius　had　a　real　good　time。　　He　came　home　feeling　pleased　
with　himself　without　knowing　quite　why。

〃I　will　write　it　down；〃　he　said　to　himself；　〃now；　while　it　is　fresh　
in　my　mind。〃

It　seemed　to　him　the　most　wonderful　thing　that　anybody　had　ever　said。　　
Maybe　he　shed　a　tear　or　two；　thinking　of　all　the　good　he　was　doing；　
and　later　on　went　suddenly　to　sleep。　　In　the　morning　he　had　forgotten　
all　about　it；　and　by　accident　it　got　mixed　up　with　the　rest　of　the　
book。　　That　is　the　only　explanation　that　seems　to　me　possible；　and　it　
comforts　me。

We　are　none　of　us　philosophers　all　the　time。

Philosophy　is　the　science　of　suffering　the　inevitable；　which　most　of　
us　contrive　to　accomplish　without　the　aid　of　philosophy。　　Marcus　
Aurelius　was　an　Emperor　of　Rome；　and　Diogenes　was　a　bachelor　living　
rent　free。　　I　want　the　philosophy　of　the　bank　clerk　married　on　thirty　
shillings　a　week；　of　the　farm　labourer　bringing　up　a　family　of　eight　
on　a　precarious　wage　of　twelve　shillings。　　The　troubles　of　Marcus　
Aurelius　were　chiefly　those　of　other　people。

〃Taxes　will　have　to　go　up；　I　am　afraid；〃　no　doubt　he　often　sighed。　　
〃But；　after　all；　what　are　taxes？　　A　thing　in　conformity　with　the　
nature　of　mana　little　thing　that　Zeus　approves　of；　one　feels　sure。　　
The　daemon　within　me　says　taxes　don't　really　matter。〃

Maybe　the　paterfamilias　of　the　period；　who　did　the　paying；　worried　
about　new　sandals　for　the　children；　his　wife　insisting　she　hadn't　a　
frock　fit　to　be　seen　in　at　the　amphitheatre；　that；　if　there　was　one　
thing　in　the　world　she　fancied；　it　was　seeing　a　Christian　eaten　by　a　
lion；　but　now　she　supposed　the　children　would　have　to　go　without　her；　
found　that　philosophy　came　to　his　aid　less　readily。

〃Bother　these　barbarians；〃　Marcus　Aurelius　may　have　been　tempted；　in　
an　unphilosophical　moment；　to　exclaim；　〃I　do　wish　they　would　not　burn　
these　poor　people's　houses　over　their　heads；　toss　the　babies　about　on　
spears；　and　carry　off　the　older　children　into　slavery。　　Why　don't　
they　behave　themselves？〃

But　philosophy　in　Marcus　Aurelius　would　eventually　triumph　over　
passing　fretfulness。

〃But　how　foolish　of　me　to　be　angry　with　them；〃　he　would　argue　with　
himself。　　〃One　is　not　vexed　with　the　fig…tree　for　yielding　figs；　with　
the　cucumber　for　being　bitter！　　One　must　expect　barbarians　to　behave　
barbariously。〃

Marcus　Aurelius　would　proceed　to　slaughter　the　barbarians；　and　then　
forgive　them。　　We　can　most　of　us　forgive　our　brother　his　
transgressions；　having　once　got　even　with　him。　　In　a　tiny　Swiss　
village；　behind　the　angle　of　the　school…house　wall；　I　came　across　a　
maiden　crying　bitterly；　her　head　resting　on　her　arm。　　I　asked　her　
what　had　happened。　　Between　her　sobs　she　explained　that　a　school　
companion；　a　little　lad　about　her　own　age；　having　snatched　her　hat　
from　her　head；　was　at　that　moment　playing　football　with　it　the　other　
side　of　the　wall。　　I　attempted　to　console　her　with　philosophy。　　I　
pointed　out　to　her　that　boys　would　be　boysthat　to　expect　from　them　
at　that　age　reverence　for　feminine　headgear　was　to　seek　what　was　not　
conformable　with　the　nature　of　boy。　　But　she　appeared　to　have　no　
philosophy　in　her。　　She　said　he　was　a　horrid　boy；　and　that　she　hated　
him。　　It　transpired　it　was　a　hat　she　rather　fancied　herself