My strength is not enough to fulfil my desire; if I had the strength of
the ocean, and of the earth, the burning vigour of the sun implanted in
my limbs, it would hardly suffice to gratify the measureless desire of
life which possesses me. I have often walked the day long over the
sward, and, compelled to pause, at length, in my weariness, I was full
of the same eagerness with which I started. The sinews would obey no
longer, but the will was the same. My frame could never take the
violent exertion my heart demanded. Labour of body was like meat and
drink to me. Over the open hills, up the steep ascents, mile after
mile, there was deep enjoyment in the long-drawn breath, the spring of
the foot, in the act of rapid movement. Never have I had enough of it;
I wearied long before I was satisfied, and weariness did not bring a
cessation of desire; the thirst was still there.
I rowed, I used the axe, I split tree-trunks with wedges; my arms
tired, but my spirit remained fresh and chafed against the physical
weariness. My arms were not strong enough to satisfy me with the axe,
or wedges, or oars. There was delight in the moment, but it was not
enough. I swam, and what is more delicious than swimming? It is
exercise and luxury at once. But I could not swim far enough; I was
always dissatisfied with myself on leaving the water. Nature has not
given me a great frame, and had it done so I should still have longed
for more. I was out of doors all day, and often half the night; still I
wanted more sunshine, more air, the hours were too short. I feel this
even more now than in the violence of early youth: the hours are too
short, the day should be sixty hours long. Slumber, too, is abbreviated
and restricted; forty hours of night and sleep would not be too much.
So little can be accomplished in the longest summer day, so little rest
and new force is accumulated in a short eight hours of sleep.
I live by the sea now; I can see nothing of it in a day; why, I do but
get a breath of it, and the sun sinks before I have well begun to
think. Life is so little and so mean. I dream sometimes backwards of
the ancient times. If I could have the bow of Ninus, and the earth full
of wild bulls and lions, to hunt them down, there would be rest in
that. To shoot with a gun is nothing; a mere touch discharges it. Give
me a bow, that I may enjoy the delight of feeling myself draw the
string and the strong wood bending, that I may see the rush of the
arrow, and the broad head bury itself deep in shaggy hide. Give me an
iron mace that I may crush the savage beast and hammer him down. A
spear to thrust through with, so that I may feel the long blade enter
and the push of the shaft. The unwearied strength of Ninus to hunt
unceasingly in the fierce sun. Still I should desire greater strength
and a stouter bow, wilder creatures to combat. The intense life of the
senses, there is never enough for them. I envy Semiramis; I would have
been ten times Semiramis. I envy Nero, because of the great concourse
of beauty he saw. I should like to be loved by every beautiful woman on
earth, from the swart Nubian to the white and divine Greek.
Wine is pleasant and meat refreshing; but though I own with absolute
honesty that I like them, these are the least of all. Of these two only
have I ever had enough. The vehemence of exertion, the vehemence of the
spear, the vehemence of sunlight and life, the insatiate desire of
insatiate Semiramis, the still more insatiate desire of love, divine
and beautiful, the uncontrollable adoration of beauty, these—these:
give me these in greater abundance than was ever known to man or woman.
The strength of Hercules, the fulness of the senses, the richness of
life, would not in the least impair my desire of soul-life. On the
reverse, with every stronger beat of the pulse my desire of soul-life
would expand. So it has ever been with me; in hard exercise, in
sensuous pleasure, in the embrace of the sunlight, even in the drinking
of a glass of wine, my heart has been lifted the higher towards
perfection of soul. Fulness of physical life causes a deeper desire of
soul-life.
Let me be physically perfect, in shape, vigour, and movement. My frame,
naturally slender, will not respond to labour, and increase in
proportion to effort, nor will exposure harden a delicate skin. It
disappoints me so far, but my spirit rises with the effort, and my
thought opens. This is the only profit of frost, the pleasure of
winter, to conquer cold, and to feel braced and strengthened by that
whose province it is to wither and destroy, making of cold, life’s
enemy, life’s renewer. The black north wind hardens the resolution as
steel is tempered in ice-water. It is a sensual joy, as sensuous as the
warm embrace of the sunlight, but fulness of physical life ever brings
to me a more eager desire of soul-life.
Splendid it is to feel the boat rise to the roller, or forced through
by the sail to shear the foam aside like a share; splendid to undulate
as the chest lies on the wave, swimming, the brimming ocean round: then
I know and feel its deep strong tide, its immense fulness, and the sun
glowing over; splendid to climb the steep green hill: in these I feel
myself, I drink the exquisite joy of the senses, and my soul lifts
itself with them. It is beautiful even to watch a fine horse gallop,
the long stride, the rush of the wind as he passes—my heart beats
quicker to the thud of the hoofs, and I feel his strength. Gladly would
I have the strength of the Tartar stallion roaming the wild steppe;
that very strength, what vehemence of soul-thought would accompany it.
But I should like it, too, for itself. For I believe, with all my
heart, in the body and the flesh, and believe that it should be
increased and made more beautiful by every means. I believe—I do more
than think—I believe it to be a sacred duty, incumbent upon every one,
man and woman, to add to and encourage their physical life, by
exercise, and in every manner. A sacred duty each towards himself, and
each towards the whole of the human race. Each one of us should do some
little part for the physical good of the race—health, strength, vigour.
There is no harm therein to the soul: on the contrary, those who stunt
their physical life are most certainly stunting their souls.
I believe all manner of asceticism to be the vilest blasphemy—blasphemy
towards the whole of the human race. I believe in the flesh and the
body, which is worthy of worship—to see a perfect human body unveiled
causes a sense of worship. The ascetics are the only persons who are
impure. Increase of physical beauty is attended by increase of soul
beauty. The soul is the high even by gazing on beauty. Let me be
fleshly perfect.
It is in myself that I desire increase, profit, and exaltation of body,
mind, and soul. The surroundings, the clothes, the dwelling, the social
status, the circumstances are to me utterly indifferent. Let the floor
of the room be bare, let the furniture be a plank table, the bed a mere
pallet. Let the house be plain and simple, but in the midst of air and
light. These are enough—a cave would be enough; in a warmer climate the
open air would suffice. Let me be furnished in myself with health,
safety, strength, the perfection of physical existence; let my mind be
furnished with highest thoughts of soul-life. Let me be in myself
myself fully. The pageantry of power, the still more foolish pageantry
of wealth, the senseless precedence of place; words fail me to express
my utter contempt for such pleasure or such ambitions. Let me be in
myself myself fully, and those I love equally so.
It is enough to lie on the sward in the shadow of green boughs, to
listen to the songs of summer, to drink in the sunlight, the air, the
flowers, the sky, the beauty of all. Or upon the hill-tops to watch the
white clouds rising over the curved hill-lines, their shadows
descending the slope. Or on the beach to listen to the sweet sigh as
the smooth sea runs up and recedes. It is lying beside the immortals,
in-drawing the life of the ocean, the earth, and the sun.
I want to be always in company with these, with earth, and sun, and
sea, and stars by night. The pettiness of house-life—chairs and
tables—and the pettiness of observances, the petty necessity of useless
labour, useless because productive of nothing, chafe me the year
through. I want to be always in company with the sun, and sea, and
earth. These, and the stars by night, are my natural companions. My
heart looks back and sympathises with all the joy and life of ancient
time. With the circling dance burned in still attitude on the vase;
with the chase and the hunter eagerly pursuing, whose javelin trembles
to be thrown; with the extreme fury of feeling, the whirl of joy in the
warriors from Marathon to the last battle of Rome, not with the
slaughter, but with the passion—the life in the passion; with the
garlands and the flowers; with all the breathing busts that have panted
beneath the sun. O beautiful human life! Tears come in my eyes as I
think of it. So beautiful, so inexpressibly beautiful!
So deep is the passion of life that, if it were possible to live again,
it must be exquisite to die pushing the eager breast against the sword.
In the flush of strength to face the sharp pain joyously, and laugh in
the last glance of the sun—if only to live again, now on earth, were
possible. So subtle is the chord of life that sometimes to watch troops
marching in rhythmic order, undulating along the column as the feet are
lifted, brings tears in my eyes. Yet could I have in my own heart all
the passion, the love and joy, burned in the breasts that have panted,
breathing deeply, since the hour of Ilion, yet still I should desire
more. How willingly I would strew the paths of all with flowers; how
beautiful a delight to make the world joyous! The song should never be
silent, the dance never still, the laugh should sound like water which
runs for ever.
I would submit to a severe discipline, and to go without many things
cheerfully, for the good and happiness of the human race in the future.
Each one of us should do something, however small, towards that great
end. At the present time the labour of our predecessors in this
country, in all other countries of the earth, is entirely wasted. We
live—that is, we snatch an existence—and our works become nothing. The
piling up of fortunes, the building of cities, the establishment of
immense commerce, ends in a cipher. These objects are so outside my
idea that I cannot understand them, and look upon the struggle in
amazement. Not even the pressure of poverty can force upon me an
understanding of, and sympathy with, these things. It is the human
being as the human being of whom I think. That the human being as the
human being, nude—apart altogether from money, clothing, houses,
properties—should enjoy greater health, strength, safety, beauty, and
happiness, I would gladly agree to a discipline like that of Sparta.
The Spartan method did produce the finest race of men, and Sparta was
famous in antiquity for the most beautiful women. So far, therefore, it
fits exactly to my ideas.
No science of modern times has yet discovered a plan to meet the
requirements of the millions who live now, no plan by which they might
attain similar physical proportion. Some increase of longevity, some
slight improvement in the general health is promised, and these are
great things, but far, far beneath the ideal. Probably the whole mode
of thought of the nations must be altered before physical progress is
possible. Not while money, furniture, affected show and the pageantry
of wealth are the ambitions of the multitude can the multitude become
ideal in form. When the ambition of the multitude is fixed on the ideal
of form and beauty, then that ideal will become immediately possible,
and a marked advance towards it could be made in three generations.
Glad, indeed, should I be to discover something that would help towards
this end.
How pleasant it would be each day to think, To-day I have done
something that will tend to render future generations more happy. The
very thought would make this hour sweeter. It is absolutely necessary
that something of this kind should be discovered. First, we must lay
down the axiom that as yet nothing has been found; we have nothing to
start with; all has to be begun afresh. All courses or methods of human
life have hitherto been failures. Some course of life is needed based
on things that are, irrespective of tradition. The physical ideal must
be kept steadily in view.