Towards the end of his life there were few persons with whom Snarley
would hold converse, for his contempt of the human race was
immeasurable. There was Mrs. Abel at the Rectory, whom he adored; there
were the Perrymans, whom he loved; and there was myself, whom he
tolerated. There was also his old wife, whom he treated as part of
himself, neither better nor worse. With other human beings--saving only
the children--his intercourse was limited as far as possible to
interjectory grunts and snarls--whence his name.
It was in an old quarry among the western hills, on a bleak January day
not long before his death, that I met Snarley Bob and heard him
discourse of the everlasting stars. The quarry was the place in which to
find Snarley most at his ease. In the little room of his cottage he
could hardly be persuaded to speak; the confined space made him
restless; and, as often as not, if a question were asked him he would
seem not to hear it, and would presently get up, walk out of the door,
and return when it pleased him. "He do be growing terrible
absent-minded," his wife would often say in these latter days. "I'm
a'most afraid sometimes as he may be took in a fit." But in the old
quarry he was another man. The open spaces of the sky seemed to bring
him to himself.
Many a time on a summer day I have watched Mrs. Abel's horse bearing its
rider up the steep slope that led to the quarry, and more than once have
I gone thither myself only to find that she had forestalled my hopes of
an interview. "Snarley Bob," she used to say to me, with a frank
disregard for my own feelings--"Snarley Bob is the one man in the world
whom I have found worth talking to."
The feature in Snarley's appearance that no one could fail to see, or,
having seen, forget, was the extraordinary width between the eyes. It
was commonly said that he had the power of seeing people behind his
back. And so doubtless he had, but the thing was no miracle. It was a
consequence of the position of his eyes, which, like those of a horse,
were as much at the side of his head as they were in front.
Snarley's manner of speech was peculiar. Hoarse and hesitating at first,
as though the physical act were difficult, and rising now and then into
the characteristic snarl, his voice would presently sink into a deep and
resonant note and flow freely onward in a tone of subdued emphasis that
was exceedingly impressive. Holding, as he did, that words are among the
least important things of life, Snarley was nevertheless the master of
an unforced manner of utterance more convincing by its quiet
indifference to effect than all the preternatural pomposities of the
pulpit and the high-pitched logic of the schools. I have often thought
that any Cause or Doctrine which could get itself expressed in Snarley's
tones would be in a fair way to conquer the world. Fortunately for the
world, however, it is not every Cause, nor every Doctrine, which would
lend itself to expression in that manner.
Seated on a heap of broken road metal, with a doubled sack between his
person and the stones, and with his short pipe stuck out at right angles
to his profile, so that he could see what was going on in the bowl,
Snarley Bob discoursed, at intervals, as follows:
"Yes, sir, there's things about the stars that fair knocks you silly to
think on. And, what's more, you can't think on 'em, leastways to no good
purpose, until they _have_ knocked you silly. Why, what's the good of
tellin' a man that it's ninety-three millions o' miles between the earth
and the sun? There's lots o' folks as knows that; but there's not one in
ten thousand as knows what it means. You gets no forrader wi' lookin' at
the figures in a book. You must thin yourself out, and make your body
lighter than air, and stretch and stretch at yourself until you gets the
sun and planets, floatin' like, in the middle o' your mind. Then you
begins to get hold on it. Or what's the good o' sayin' that Saturn has
rings and nine moons? You must go to one o' them moons, and see Saturn
half fillin' the sky, wi' his rings cuttin' the heavens from top to
bottom, all coloured wi' crimson and gold--then you begins to stagger at
it. That's why I say you can't think o' these things till they've
knocked you silly. Now there's Sir Robert Ball--it's knocked him silly,
I can tell you. I knowed that when I went to his lecture, by the
pictures he showed us, and I sez to myself, 'Bob,' I sez, 'that's a man
worth listenin' to.'
"You're right, sir. I wouldn't pay the least attention to anything you
might say about the stars unless you'd told me that it knocked you silly
to think on 'em. No, and I wouldn't talk to you about 'em either. You
wouldn't understand.
"And, as you were sayin', it isn't easy to get them big things the right
way up. When things gets beyond a certain bigness you don't know which
way up they are; and as like as not they're standin' on their heads when
you think they're standin' on their heels. That's the way with the
stars. They all want lookin' at t'other way up from what most people
looks at 'em. And perhaps it's a good thing they looks at 'em the wrong
way; becos if they looked at 'em the right way it would scare 'em out o'
their wits, especially the women--same as it does my missis when she
hears me and Mrs. Abel talkin'. Always exceptin' Mrs. Abel; you can't
scare her; and she sees most things right way up, that she does!
"But when it comes to the stars, you want to be a bit of a _medium_
before you can get at 'em. Oh yes, I've been a medium in my time, more
than I care to think of, and I could be a medium again to-morrow, if I
wanted to. But them's the only sort of folks as can see things from both
ends. Most folks only look at things from one end--and that as often as
not the wrong un. Mediums looks from both ends; and, if they're good at
it, they soon find out which end's right. You see, some on 'em--like me,
for instance--can throw 'emselves out o' 'emselves, in a manner o'
speaking, so that they can see their own bodies, just as if they was
miles away, same as I can see that man walking on the Deadborough Road.
"Well, I've often done it, and many's the story I could tell of things
I've seen by day and night; but it wasn't till I went to hear Sir Robert
Ball as the grand idea came to me. 'Why not throw yerself into the
stars, Bob?' I sez to myself. And, by gum, sir, I did it that very
night. How I did it I don't know; I won't say as there weren't a drop o'
drink in it; but the minute I'd _got through_, I felt as I'd stretched
out wonderful and, blessed if I didn't find myself standin' wi' millions
of other spirits, right in the middle o' Saturn's rings. And the things
I see there I couldn't tell you, no, not if you was to give me a
thousand pounds. Talk o' spirits! I tell you there was millions on 'em!
And the lights and the colours--oh, but it's no good talkin'! I looked
back and wanted to know where the earth was, and there I see it,
dwindled to a speck o' light.
"Now you can understand why I keeps my mouth shut. Do you think I'm
going to talk of them things to a lot o' folks that's got no more sense
nor swine? Not me! And what else is there that's worth talking on? Who's
goin' to make a fuss and go blatherin' about this and that, when you
know the whole earth's no bigger nor a pea? My eyes! if some o' these
'ere talkin' politicians knowed half o' what I know, they'd stop their
blowin' pretty quick.
"There's our parson--and he's a good man, though not half good enough
for _her_--why, you might as well talk to a babby three months old! If I
told him, he'd only think I was crazy; and like as not he'd send for old
Doctor Kenyon to come up and feel my head, same as they did wi' Shepherd
Toller, Clun Downs way, before they put him in the asylum. I sometimes
says to my missis that it's a good thing I'm a poor man wi' nowt but a
flock o' sheep to look after. For don't you see, sir, when once you've
got hold o' the bigness o' things it's all one--flocks o' sheep and
nations o' men? If I were King o' England, or Prime Minister, or any
sort o' great man, knowing what I know, I'd only think I were a bigger
humbug nor the rest. I couldn't keep it up. But bein' only a shepherd,
I've got nothing to keep up, and I'm thankful I haven't.
"I allus knows when folks has got things wrong end up by the amount they
talks. When you get 'em the right way you don't _want_ to talk on 'em,
except it may be to one or two, like Mrs. Abel, as got 'em the same way
as yourself. So when you hear folks jawin', you can allus tell what's
the matter wi' 'em.
"There's old Shoemaker Hankin at Deadborough. Know him? Well, did you
ever hear such a blatherin' old fool? 'All these things you're mad on,
Snarley,' he sez to me one day, 'are nowt but matter and force.' 'Matter
and force,' I sez; 'what's them?' And then he lets on for half a' hour
trying to tell me all about matter and force. When he'd done I sez, 'Tom
Hankin, there's more sense in one o' them old shoes than there is in
your silly 'ead. You've got things all wrong end up, and you're just
baain' at 'em like a' old sheep!' 'How can you prove it?' he sez. 'I
know it,' I sez, 'by the row you makes.' It's a sure sign, sir; you take
my word for it.
"Then there's all these parsons preaching away Sunday after Sunday. Why,
doesn't it stand to sense that if they'd got things right way up, there
they'd be, and that 'ud be the end on it? And it's because they're all
wrong that they've got to go on jawin' to persuade people they're right.
One day I was in Parson Abel's study. 'What's all them books about?' I
sez. 'Religion, most on 'em,' sez he. 'Well,' I sez, 'if the folks as
wrote 'em had got things right way up they wouldn't 'a needed to 'a
wrote so many books.'
"Then, agen, there's that professor as comes fishin' in summer. 'Mr.
Dellanow,' he sez to me one day, 'I take a great interest in yer.'
'That's a darned sight more'n I take in you,' I sez, for if there's one
thing as puts my bristles up it's bein' told as folks takes a' interest
in me. 'Well,' he sez, for he wasn't easy to offend, 'I want to 'ave a
talk.' 'What about?' I sez. 'I want to talk about the stars and the
space as they're floatin' in.' 'Has space ever knocked yer silly?' I
sez. 'Yes,' he sez, 'in a manner o' speakin' it has.' 'No,' I sez, 'it
hasn't, because if it had you wouldn't want to talk about it.' Well,
there was no stoppin' 'im, and at last he gets it out that space is just
a way we have o' lookin' at things. I know'd well enough what he meant,
though I could see as he were puttin' it wrong way up. When he'd done I
sez, 'That's all right. But suppose space wasn't a way folks have o'
lookin' at things, but something else, what difference would that make?'
'I don't see what you mean,' he sez. 'That's because you don't see what
you mean yerself,' I sez. 'You're just like the rest on 'em--talkin'
about things you've never seen, but only heard other folks talkin'
about. You're in the same box wi' Shoemaker Hankin and the parsons and
all the lot on 'em. What's the good o' jawin' about space when you've
never been there yourself? I have. I've seen more space in one minute
than you've ever heard talk on since you were born. Don't tell me! If
you could see what I've seen you'd never say another word about space as
long as yer lived.'
"But you was askin' what bein' a medium has got to do wi' knowin' about
the stars. More than some folks think. They're two roads leadin' to the
same place. Both on 'em are ways o' gettin' to the right end of things.
What's wrong wi' the mediums is that they haven't got _line_ enough.
They only manage to get just outside their own skins; but what's wanted
is to get right on to the edge of the world and then look back. That's
what the stars teaches you to do; and when you've done it--my word! it
turns yer clean inside out!
"There's lots of nonsense in mediums; but there's no nonsense in the
stars. And it's the stars that's goin' to knock the nonsense out o' the
mediums, you mark my word! I found that out, for, as I was tellin' you,
I used to be one myself, and am one now, for the matter o' that.
"Now you listen to what I'm goin' to tell you. There's lots o' spirits
about: but they don't talk, at least not as a rule, and they don't want
to talk; and when the mediums make 'em talk, they're liars! Spirits has
better ways o' doin' things than talkin' on 'em. That's what you finds
out when you gives yourself a long line and gets out to the edge o' the
world. Then you looks back, and you sees that the whole thing's alive.
It looks you straight in the face; and you can see it thinkin' and
smilin' and frownin' and doin' things, just as I can see you at this
minute. Do you think the stars can't understand one another? They can do
it a sight better than you and me can. And they do it without speakin' a
word. That, I tell you, is what you _sees_ when you lets your line out
to the edge!
"And when you've seen it you don't bother any more wi' makin' the
spirits rap on tables and such like. What's the sense o' tryin' to find
out whether you'll be a spirit after you're dead when you know there's
nothing else anywhere? But it's no good talkin'. If you're not a bit of
a medium yourself you'll never understand--no, not if I was to go on
talkin' till both on us are frozen to death. And I reckon you're pretty
cold already--you look it. Come down the hill wi' me, and I'll get my
missis to make yer a cup o' hot tea."
"SNARLEYCHOLOGY"