man and superman-第2章

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much　philosophically。　Our　vagabond　libertines　are　no　more
interesting　from　that　point　of　view　than　the　sailor　who　has　a
wife　in　every　port；　and　Byron's　hero　is；　after　all；　only　a
vagabond　libertine。　And　he　is　dumb：　he　does　not　discuss　himself
with　a　Sganarelle…Leporello　or　with　the　fathers　or　brothers　of
his　mistresses：　he　does　not　even；　like　Casanova；　tell　his　own
story。　In　fact　he　is　not　a　true　Don　Juan　at　all；　for　he　is　no
more　an　enemy　of　God　than　any　romantic　and　adventurous　young
sower　of　wild　oats。　Had　you　and　I　been　in　his　place　at　his　age；
who　knows　whether　we　might　not　have　done　as　he　did；　unless
indeed　your　fastidiousness　had　saved　you　from　the　empress
Catherine。　Byron　was　as　little　of　a　philosopher　as　Peter　the
Great：　both　were　instances　of　that　rare　and　useful；　but
unedifying　variation；　an　energetic　genius　born　without　the
prejudices　or　superstitions　of　his　contemporaries。　The　resultant
unscrupulous　freedom　of　thought　made　Byron　a　greater　poet　than
Wordsworth　just　as　it　made　Peter　a　greater　king　than　George　III；
but　as　it　was；　after　all；　only　a　negative　qualification；　it　did
not　prevent　Peter　from　being　an　appalling　blackguard　and　an
arrant　poltroon；　nor　did　it　enable　Byron　to　become　a　religious
force　like　Shelley。　Let　us；　then；　leave　Byron's　Don　Juan　out　of
account。　Mozart's　is　the　last　of　the　true　Don　Juans；　for　by　the
time　he　was　of　age；　his　cousin　Faust　had；　in　the　hands　of　Goethe；
taken　his　place　and　carried　both　his　warfare　and　his
reconciliation　with　the　gods　far　beyond　mere　lovemaking　into
politics；　high　art；　schemes　for　reclaiming　new　continents　from
the　ocean；　and　recognition　of　an　eternal　womanly　principle　in　the
universe。　Goethe's　Faust　and　Mozart's　Don　Juan　were　the　last
words　of　the　XVIII　century　on　the　subject；　and　by　the　time　the
polite　critics　of　the　XIX　century；　ignoring　William　Blake　as
superficially　as　the　XVIII　had　ignored　Hogarth　or　the　XVII
Bunyan；　had　got　past　the　Dickens…Macaulay　Dumas…Guizot　stage　and
the　Stendhal…Meredith…Turgenieff　stage；　and　were　confronted　with
philosophic　fiction　by　such　pens　as　Ibsen's　and　Tolstoy's；　Don
Juan　had　changed　his　sex　and　become　Dona　Juana；　breaking　out　of
the　Doll's　House　and　asserting　herself　as　an　individual　instead
of　a　mere　item　in　a　moral　pageant。

Now　it　is　all　very　well　for　you　at　the　beginning　of　the　XX
century　to　ask　me　for　a　Don　Juan　play；　but　you　will　see　from　the
foregoing　survey　that　Don　Juan　is　a　full　century　out　of　date　for
you　and　for　me；　and　if　there　are　millions　of　less　literate　people
who　are　still　in　the　eighteenth　century；　have　they　not　Moliere
and　Mozart；　upon　whose　art　no　human　hand　can　improve？　You　would
laugh　at　me　if　at　this　time　of　day　I　dealt　in　duels　and　ghosts
and　〃womanly〃　women。　As　to　mere　libertinism；　you　would　be　the
first　to　remind　me　that　the　Festin　de　Pierre　of　Moliere　is　not　a
play　for　amorists；　and　that　one　bar　of　the　voluptuous
sentimentality　of　Gounod　or　Bizet　would　appear　as　a　licentious
stain　on　the　score　of　Don　Giovanni。　Even　the　more　abstract　parts
of　the　Don　Juan　play　are　dilapidated　past　use：　for　instance；　Don
Juan's　supernatural　antagonist　hurled　those　who　refuse　to　repent
into　lakes　of　burning　brimstone；　there　to　be　tormented　by　devils
with　horns　and　tails。　Of　that　antagonist；　and　of　that　conception
of　repentance；　how　much　is　left　that　could　be　used　in　a　play　by
me　dedicated　to　you？　On　the　other　hand；　those　forces　of　middle
class　public　opinion　which　hardly　existed　for　a　Spanish　nobleman
in　the　days　of　the　first　Don　Juan；　are　now　triumphant　everywhere。
Civilized　society　is　one　huge　bourgeoisie：　no　nobleman　dares　now
shock　his　greengrocer。　The　women；　〃marchesane；　principesse；
cameriere；　cittadine〃　and　all；　are　become　equally　dangerous：　the
sex　is　aggressive；　powerful：　when　women　are　wronged　they　do　not
group　themselves　pathetically　to　sing　〃Protegga　il　giusto
cielo〃：　they　grasp　formidable　legal　and　social　weapons；　and
retaliate。　Political　parties　are　wrecked　and　public　careers
undone　by　a　single　indiscretion。　A　man　had　better　have　all　the
statues　in　London　to　supper　with　him；　ugly　as　they　are；　than　be
brought　to　the　bar　of　the　Nonconformist　Conscience　by　Donna
Elvira。　Excommunication　has　become　almost　as　serious　a　business
as　it　was　in　the　X　century。

As　a　result；　Man　is　no　longer；　like　Don　Juan；　victor　in　the　duel
of　sex。　Whether　he　has　ever　really　been　may　be　doubted：　at　all
events　the　enormous　superiority　of　Woman's　natural　position　in
this　matter　is　telling　with　greater　and　greater　force。　As　to
pulling　the　Nonconformist　Conscience　by　the　beard　as　Don　Juan
plucked　the　beard　of　the　Commandant's　statue　in　the　convent　of
San　Francisco；　that　is　out　of　the　question　nowadays：　prudence　and
good　manners　alike　forbid　it　to　a　hero　with　any　mind。　Besides；　it
is　Don　Juan's　own　beard　that　is　in　danger　of　plucking。　Far　from
relapsing　into　hypocrisy；　as　Sganarelle　feared；　he　has
unexpectedly　discovered　a　moral　in　his　immorality。　The　growing
recognition　of　his　new　point　of　view　is　heaping　responsibility　on
him。　His　former　jests　he　has　had　to　take　as　seriously　as　I　have
had　to　take　some　of　the　jests　of　Mr　W。　S。　Gilbert。　His
scepticism；　once　his　least　tolerated　quality；　has　now　triumphed
so　completely　that　he　can　no　longer　assert　himself　by　witty
negations；　and　must；　to　save　himself　from　cipherdom；　find　an
affirmative　position。　His　thousand　and　three　affairs　of
gallantry；　after　becoming；　at　most；　two　immature　intrigues
leading　to　sordid　and　prolonged　complications　and　humiliations；
have　been　discarded　altogether　as　unworthy　of　his　philosophic
dignity　and　compromising　to　his　newly　acknowledged　position　as
the　founder　of　a　school。　Instead　of　pretending　to　read　Ovid　he
does　actually　read　Schopenhaur　and　Nietzsche；　studies
Westermarck；　and　is　concerned　for　the　future　of　the　race　instead
of　for　the　freedom　of　his　own　instincts。　Thus　his　profligacy　and
his　dare…devil　airs　have　gone　the　way　of　his　sword　and　mandoline
into　the　rag　shop　of　anachronisms　and　superstitions。　In　fact；　he
is　now　more　Hamlet　than　Don　Juan；　for　though　the　lines　put　into
the　actor's　mouth　to　indicate　to　the　pit　that　Hamlet　is　a
philosopher　are　for　the　most　part　mere　harmonious　platitude
which；　with　a　little　debasement　of　the　word…music；　would　be
properer　to　Pecksniff；　yet　if　you　separate　the　real　hero；
inarticulate　and　unintelligible　to　himself　except　in　flashes　of
inspiration；　from　the　performer　who　has　to　talk　at　any　cost
through　five　acts；　and　if　you　also　do　what　you　must　always　do　in
Shakespear's　tragedies：　that　is；　dissect　out　the　absurd
sensational　incidents　and　physical　violences　of　the　borrowed
story　from　the　genuine　Shakespearian　tissue；　you　will　get　a　true
Promethean　foe　of　the　gods；　whose　instinctive　attitude　towards
women　much　resembles　that　to　which　Don　Juan　is　now　driven。　From
this　point　of　view　Hamlet　was　a　developed　Don　Juan　whom
Shakespear　palmed　off　as　a　reputable　man　just　as　he　palmed　poor
Macbeth　off　as　a　murderer。　To…day　the　palming　off　is　no　longer
necessary　（at　least　on　your　plane　and　mine）　because　Don　Juanism
is　no　longer　misunderstood　as　mere　Casanovism。　Don　Juan　himself
is　almost　ascetic　in　his　desire　to　avoid　that　misunderstanding；
and　so　my　attempt　to　bring　him　up　to　date　by　launching　him　as　a
modern　Englishman　into　a　modern　English　environment　has　produced
a　figure　superficially　quite　unlike　the　hero　of　Mozart。

And　yet　I　have　not　the　heart　to　disappoint　you　wholly　of　another
glimpse　of　the　Mozartian　dissoluto　punito　and　his　antagonist　the
statue。　I　feel　sure　you　would　like　to　know　more　of　that　statue
to　draw　him　out　when　he　is　off　duty；　so　to　speak。　To　gratify　you；
I　have　resorted　to　the　trick　of　the　strolling　theatrical　manager
who　advertizes　the　pantomime　of　Sinbad　the　Sailor　with　a　stock　of
second…hand　picture　posters　designed　for　Ali　Baba。　He　simply
thrusts　a　few　oil　jars　into　the　valley　of　diamonds；　and　so
fulfils　the　promise　held　out　by　the　hoardings　to　the　public　eye。
I　have　adapted　this　simple　device　to　our　occasion　by　thrusting
into　my　perfectly　modern　three…act　play　a　totally　extraneous　act
in　which　my　hero；　enchanted　by　the　air　of　the　Sierra；　has　a　dream
in　which　his　Mozartian　ancestor　appears　and　philosophizes　at
great　length　in　a　Shavio…Socratic　dialogue　with　the　lady；　the
statue；　and　the　devil。

But　this　pleasantry　is　not　the　essence　of　the　play。　Over　this
essence　I　have　no　control。　You　propound　a　certain　social
substance；　sexual　attraction　to　wit；　for　dramatic　distillation；
and　I　distil　it　for　you。　I　do　not　adulterate　the　product　with
aphrodisiacs　nor　dilute　it　with　romance　and　water；　for　I　am
merely　executing　your　commission；　not　producing　a　popular　play
for　the　market。　You　must　therefore　（unless；　like　most　wise　men；
you　read　the　play　first　and　the　preface　afterwards）　prepare
yourself　to　face　a　trumpery　story　of　modern　London　life；　a　life
in　which；　as　you　know；　the　ordinary　man's　main　business　is　to　get
means　to　keep　up　the　position　and　habits　of　a　gentleman；　and　the
ordinary　woman's　business　is　to　get　married。　In　9；999　cases　out
of　10；000；　you　can　count　on　their　doing　nothing；　whether　noble
or　base；　that　conflicts　with　these　ends；　and　that　assurance　is
what　you　rely　on　as　their　religion；　their　morality；　their
principles；　their　patriotism；　their　reputation；　their　honor　and
so　forth。

On　the　whole；　this　is　a　sensible　and　satisfactory　foundation　for
society。　Money　means　nourishment　and　marriage　means　children；　and
that　men　should　put　nourishment　first　and　women　children　first
is；　broadly　speaking；　the　law　of　Nature　and　not　the　dictate　of
personal　ambition。　The　secret　of　the　prosaic　man's　success；　such
as　it　is；　is　the　simplicity　with　which　he　pursues　these　ends：　the
secret　of　the　artistic　man's　failure；　such　as　that　is；　is　the
versatility　with　which　he　strays　in　all　directions　after
secondary　ideals。　The　artist　is　either　a　poet　or　a　scallawag：　as
poet；　he　cannot　see；　as　the　prosaic　man　does；　that　chivalry　is　at
bottom　only　romantic　suicide：　as　scallawag；　he　cannot　see　that　it
does　not　pay　to　spunge　and　beg　and　lie　and　brag　and　neglect　his
person。　Therefore　do　not　misunderstand　my　plain　statement　of　the
fundamental　constitution　of　London　society　as　an　Irishman's
reproach　to　your　nation。　From　the　day　I　first　set　foot　on　this
foreign　soil　I　knew　the　value　of　the　prosaic　qualities　of　which
Irishmen　teach　Englishmen　to　be　ashamed　as　well　as　I　knew　the
vanity　of　the　poetic　qualities　of　which　Englishmen　teach　Irishmen
to　be　proud。　For　the　Irishman　instinctively　disparages　the
quality　which　makes　the　Englishman　dangerous　to　him；　and　the
Englishman　instinctively　flatters　the　fault　that　makes　the
Irishman　harmless　and　amusing　to　him。　What　is　wrong　with　the
prosaic　Englishman　is　what　is　wrong　with　the　prosaic　men　of　all
countries：　stupidity。　The　vitality　which　places　nourishment　and
children　first；　heaven　and　hell　a　somewhat　remote　second；　and　the
health　of　society　as　an　organic　whole　nowhere；　may　muddle
successfully　through　the　comparatively　tribal　stages　of
gregariousness；　but　in　nineteenth　century　nations　and　twentieth
century　empires　the　determination　of　every　man　to　be　rich　at　all
costs；　and　of　every　woman　to　be　married　at　all　costs；　must；
without　a　highly