I cannot finish the letter I meant for my Christmas Fors; and must
print merely the begun fragment—and such uncrystalline termination must
now happen to all my work, more or less, (and more and more, rather
than less,) as it expands in range. As I stated in last letter, I have
now seven books in the press at once—and any one of them enough to take
up all the remainder of my life. ‘Love’s Meinie,’ for instance, (Love’s
Many, or Serving Company,) was meant to become a study of British
birds, which would have been occasionally useful in museums, carried
out with a care in plume drawing which I learned in many a day’s work
from Albert Durer; and with which, in such light as the days give me, I
think it still my duty to do all I can towards completion of the six
essays prepared for my Oxford schools:—but even the third of these, on
the Chough, though already written and in type, is at pause because I
can’t get the engravings for it finished, and the rest—merely torment
me in other work with the thousand things flitting in my mind, like
sea-birds for whom there are no sands to settle upon.
‘Ariadne’ is nearer its close; but the Appendix is a mass of loose
notes which need a very sewing machine to bring together—and any one of
these that I take in hand leads me into ashamed censorship of the
imperfection of all I have been able to say about engraving; and then,
if I take up my Bewick, or return to my old Turner vignettes, I put my
Appendix off again—‘till next month,’ and so on.
‘Proserpina’ will, I hope, take better and more harmonious form; but it
grows under my hands, and needs most careful thought. For it claims
nothing less than complete modification of existing botanical
nomenclature, for popular use; and in connection with ‘Deucalion’ and
the recast ‘Elements of Drawing,’ is meant to found a system of
education in Natural History, the conception of which I have reached
only by thirty years of labour, and the realization of which can only
be many a year after I am at rest. And yet none of this work can be
done but as a kind of play, irregularly, and as the humour comes upon
me. For if I set myself at it gravely, there is too much to be dealt
with; my mind gets fatigued in half an hour, and no good can be done;
the only way in which any advance can be made is by keeping my mornings
entirely quiet, and free of care, by opening of letters or newspapers;
and then by letting myself follow any thread of thought or point of
inquiry that chances to occur first, and writing as the thoughts
come,—whatever their disorder; all their connection and co-operation
being dependent on the real harmony of my purpose, and the consistency
of the ascertainable facts, which are the only ones I teach; and I can
no more, now, polish or neatly arrange my work than I can guide it. So
this fragment must stand as it was written, and end,—because I have no
time to say more.
Cowley Rectory, 27th October, 1875.
My Christmas letter this year, since we are now definitely begun with
our schooling, may most fitly be on the subject, already opened in Fors
12th, of the Three Wise Men.
‘Three wise men of Gotham,’ I had nearly written; the remembrance of
the very worst pantomime I ever saw, having, from the mere
intolerableness of its stupidity, so fastened itself in my memory that
I can’t now get rid of the ring in my ears, unless I carefully say,
‘Magi,’ instead of ‘wise men.’
Such, practically, is the principal effect of the Sacred Art employed
by England, in the festivity of her God’s birthday, upon the minds of
her innocent children, like me, who would fain see something magical
and pretty on the occasion—if the good angels would bring it us, and
our nurses, and mammas, and governesses would allow us to believe in
magic, or in wisdom, any more.
You would not believe, if they wanted you, I suppose, you wise men of
the west? You are sure that no real magicians ever existed; no real
witches—no real prophets;—that an Egyptian necromancer was only a
clever little Mr. Faraday, given to juggling; and the witch of Endor,
only a Jewish Mrs. Somerville amusing herself with a practical joke on
Saul; and that when Elisha made the axe swim, he had prepared the
handle on the sly—with aluminium? And you think that in this blessed
nineteenth century—though there isn’t a merchant, from Dan to
Beersheba, too honest to cheat, there is not a priest nor a prophet,
from Dan to Beersheba, but he is too dull to juggle?
You may think, for what I care, what you please in such matters, if
indeed you choose to go on through all your lives thinking, instead of
ascertaining. But, for my own part, there are a few things concerning
Magi and their doings which I have personally discovered, by laborious
work among real magi. Some of those things I am going to tell you
to-day, positively, and with entire and incontrovertible knowledge of
them,—as you and your children will one day find every word of my
direct statements in ‘Fors Clavigera’ to be; and fastened, each with
its nail in its sure place.
A. In the first place, then, concerning stars in the east. You can’t
see the loveliest which appear there naturally,—the Morning Star,
namely, and his fellows,—unless you get up in the morning.
B. If you resolve thus always, so far as may be in your own power, to
see the loveliest which are there naturally, you will soon come to see
them in a supernatural manner, with a quite—properly
so-called—‘miraculous’ or ‘wonderful’ light which will be a light in
your spirit, not in your eyes. And you will hear, with your spirit, the
Morning Star and his fellows sing together; also, you will hear the
sons of God shouting together for joy with them; particularly the
little ones,—sparrows, greenfinches, linnets, and the like.
C. You will, by persevering in the practice, gradually discover that it
is a pleasant thing to see stars in the luminous east; to watch them
fade as they rise; to hear their Master say, Let there be light—and
there is light; to see the world made, that day, at the word; and
creation, instant by instant, of divine forms out of darkness.
D. At six o’clock, or some approximate hour, you will perceive with
precision that the Firm over the way, or round the corner, of the
United Grand Steam Percussion and Corrosion Company, Limited, (Offices
London, Paris, and New York,) issues its counter-order, Let there be
darkness; and that the Master of Creation not only at once submits to
this order, by fulfilling the constant laws He has ordained concerning
smoke,—but farther, supernaturally or miraculously, enforces the order
by sending a poisonous black wind, also from the east, of an entirely
corrosive, deadly, and horrible quality, with which, from him that hath
not, He takes away also that light he hath; and changes the sky during
what remains of the day,—on the average now three days out of five,
[81]—into a mere dome of ashes, differing only by their enduring frown
and slow pestilence from the passing darkness and showering death of
Pompeii.
E. If, nevertheless, you persevere diligently in seeing what stars you
can in the early morning, and use what is left you of light wisely, you
will gradually discover that the United Grand Steam Percussion and
Corrosion Company is a company of thieves; and that you yourself are an
ass, for letting them steal your money, and your light, at once. And
that there is standing order from the Maker of Light, and Filler of
pockets, that the company shall not be thieves, but honest men; and
that you yourself shall not be an ass, but a Magus.
F. If you remind the company of this law, they will tell you that
people “didn’t know everything down in Judee,” that nobody ever made
the world; and that nobody but the company knows it.
But if you enforce upon yourself the commandment not to be an ass, and
verily resolve to be so no more, then—hear the word of God, spoken to
you by the only merchant city that ever set herself to live wholly by
His law. [82]
“I willed, and sense was given to me.
I prayed, and the Spirit of Wisdom was given to me.
I set her before Kingdoms and Homes,
And held riches nothing, in comparison of her.”
That is to say,—If you would have her to dwell with you, you must set
her before kingdoms;—(as, for instance, at Sheffield, you must not
think to be kings of cutlery, and let nobody else in the round world
make a knife but you;)—you must set her before homes; that is to say,
you must not sit comfortably enjoying your own fireside, and think you
provide for everybody if you provide for that:—and as for riches—you
are only to prefer wisdom,—think her, of two good things, the best,
when she is matched with kingdoms and homes; but you are to esteem
riches—nothing in comparison of her. Not so much as mention shall be
made “of coral, nor of pearls, for the price of wisdom is above
rubies.”
You have not had the chance, you think, probably, of making any
particular mention of coral, or pearls, or rubies? Your betters, the
Squires and the Clergy, have kept, if not the coral, at least the
pearls, for their own wives’ necks, and the rubies for their own
mitres; and have generously accorded to you heavenly things,—wisdom,
namely, concentrated in your responses to Catechism. I find St. George,
on the contrary, to be minded that you shall at least know what these
earthly goods are, in order to your despising them in a sensible
manner;—for you can’t despise them if you know nothing about them.
I am going, under His orders, therefore, to give you some topazes of
Ethiopia,—(at least, of the Ural mountains, where the topazes are just
as good,)—and all manner of coral, that you may know what co-operative
societies are working, to make your babies their rattles and necklaces,
without any steam to help them, under the deep sea, and in its foam;
also, out of the Tay, the fairest river of the British Isles, we will
fetch some pearls that nobody shall have drawn short breath for: and,
indeed, all the things that Solomon in his wisdom sent his ships to
Tarshish for,—gold, and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks,—you
shall see in their perfection, and have as much of as St. George thinks
good for you: (only remember, in order to see an ape in perfection, you
must not be an ape yourself, whatever Mr. Darwin may say; but must
admire, without imitating their prehensile activities, nor fancy that
you can lay hold on to the branches of the tree of life with your tails
instead of your hands, as you have been practising lately).
And, in the meantime, I must stop writing, because I’ve to draw a
peacock’s breast-feather, and paint as much of it as I can without
having heaven to dip my brush in. And when you have seen what it is,
you shall despise it—if you can—for heaven itself. But for nothing
less!
My fragment does not quite end here; but in its following statements of
plans for the Sheffield Museum, anticipates more than I think Atropos
would approve; besides getting more figurative and metaphysical than
you would care to read after your Christmas dinner. But here is a piece
of inquiry into the origin of all riches, Solomon’s and our own, which
I wrote in May, 1873, for the ‘Contemporary Review,’ and which, as it
sums much of what I may have too vaguely and figuratively stated in my
letters, may advisably close their series for this year.
It was written chiefly in reply to an article by Mr. Greg, defending
the luxury of the rich as harmless, or even beneficent to the poor. Mr.
Greg had, on his part, been reproving Mr. Goldwin Smith—who had spoken
of a rich man as consuming the means of living of the poor. And Mr.
Greg pointed out how beneficially for the poor, in a thousand channels,
the rich man spent what he had got.
Whereupon I ventured myself to inquire, “How he got it?” and the paper
went on thus,—‘Which is indeed the first of all questions to be asked
when the economical relations of any man with his neighbour are to be
examined.
Dick Turpin is blamed—suppose—by some plain-minded person, for
consuming the means of other people’s living. “Nay,” says Dick to the
plain-minded person, “observe how beneficently and pleasantly I spend
whatever I get!”
“Yes, Dick,” persists the plain-minded person, “but how do you get it?”
“The question,” says Dick, “is insidious, and irrelevant.”
Do not let it be supposed that I mean to assert any irregularity or
impropriety in Dick’s profession—I merely assert the necessity for Mr.
Greg’s examination, if he would be master of his subject, of the manner
of Gain in every case, as well as the manner of Expenditure. Such
accounts must always be accurately rendered in a well-regulated
society.
“Le lieutenant adressa la parole au capitaine, et lui dit qu’il venait
d’enlever ces mannequins, remplis de sucre, de cannelle, d’amandes, et
de raisins secs, à un épicier de Bénavente. Après qu’il eut rendu
compte de son expédition au bureau, les dépouilles de l’épicier furent
portées dans l’office. Alors il ne fut plus question que de se réjouir;
je débutai par le buffet, que je parai de plusieurs bouteilles de ce
bon vin que le Seigneur Rolando m’avoit vanté.”
Mr. Greg strictly confines himself to an examination of the benefits
conferred on the public by this so agreeable festivity; but he must not
be surprised or indignant that some inquiry should be made as to the
resulting condition of the épicier de Bénavente.
And it is all the more necessary that such inquiry be instituted, when
the captain of the expedition is a minion, not of the moon, but of the
sun; and dazzling, therefore, to all beholders. “It is heaven which
dictates what I ought to do upon this occasion,” [83] says Henry of
Navarre; “my retreat out of this city, before I have made myself master
of it, will be the retreat of my soul out of my body. Accordingly, all
the quarter which still held out, we forced,” says M. de Rosny; “after
which the inhabitants, finding themselves no longer able to resist,
laid down their arms, and the city was given up to plunder. My good
fortune threw a small iron chest in my way, in which I found about four
thousand gold crowns.”
I cannot doubt that the Baron’s expenditure of this sum would be in the
highest degree advantageous to France, and to the Protestant religion.
But complete economical science must study the effect of its
abstraction on the immediate prosperity of the town of Cahors; and even
beyond this—the mode of its former acquisition by the town itself,
which perhaps, in the economies of the nether world, may have delegated
some of its citizens to the seventh circle.
And the most curious points, in the modes of study pursued by modern
economical science, are, that while it always waives this question of
ways and means with respect to rich persons, it studiously pushes it in
the case of poor ones; and while it asserts the consumption of such an
article of luxury as wine (to take that which Mr. Greg himself
instances) to be economically expedient, when the wine is drunk by
persons who are not thirsty, it asserts the same consumption to be
altogether inexpedient, when the privilege is extended to those who
are. Thus Mr. Greg dismisses, at page 618, with compassionate disdain,
the extremely vulgar notion “that a man who drinks a bottle of
champagne worth five shillings, while his neighbour is in want of
actual food, is in some way wronging his neighbour;” and yet Mr. Greg
himself, at page 624, evidently remains under the equally vulgar
impression that the twenty-four millions of much thirstier persons who
spend fifteen per cent. of their incomes in drink and tobacco, are
wronging their neighbours by that expenditure.
It cannot, surely, be the difference in degree of refinement between
malt liquor and champagne which causes Mr. Greg’s conviction that there
is moral delinquency and economical error in the latter case, but none
in the former; if that be all, I can relieve him from his embarrassment
by putting the cases in more parallel form. A clergyman writes to me,
in distress of mind, because the able-bodied labourers who come begging
to him in winter, drink port wine out of buckets in summer. Of course
Mr. Greg’s logical mind will at once admit (as a consequence of his own
very just argumentum ad hominem in page 617) that the consumption of
port wine out of buckets must be as much a benefit to society in
general as the consumption of champagne out of bottles; and yet,
curiously enough, I am certain he will feel my question, “Where does
the drinker get the means for his drinking?” more relevant in the case
of the imbibers of port than in that of the imbibers of champagne. And
although Mr. Greg proceeds, with that lofty contempt for the dictates
of nature and Christianity which radical economists cannot but feel, to
observe (p. 618) that “while the natural man and the Christian would
have the champagne drinker forego his bottle, and give the value of it
to the famishing wretch beside him, the radical economist would condemn
such behaviour as distinctly criminal and pernicious,” he would
scarcely, I think, carry out with the same triumphant confidence the
conclusions of the unnatural man and the Anti-Christian with respect to
the labourer as well as the idler; and declare that while the extremely
simple persons who still believe in the laws of nature, and the mercy
of God, would have the port-drinker forego his bucket, and give the
value of it to the famishing wife and child beside him, “the radical
economist would condemn such behaviour as distinctly criminal and
pernicious.”
Mr. Greg has it indeed in his power to reply that it is proper to
economize for the sake of one’s own wife and children, but not for the
sake of anybody else’s. But since, according to another exponent of the
principles of Radical Economy, in the ‘Cornhill Magazine,’ a
well-conducted agricultural labourer must not marry till he is
forty-five, his economies, if any, in early life, must be as offensive
to Mr. Greg, on the score of their abstract humanity, as those of the
richest bachelor about town.
There is another short sentence in this same page 618, of which it is
difficult to overrate the accidental significance.
The superficial observer, says Mr. Greg, “recollects a text which he
heard in his youth, but of which he never considered the precise
applicability—‘He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath
none.’”
The assumptions that no educated Englishman can ever have heard that
text except in his youth, and that those who are old enough to remember
having heard it, “never considered its precise applicability,” are
surely rash, in the treatment of a scientific subject. I can assure Mr.
Greg that a few grey-headed votaries of the creed of Christendom still
read—though perhaps under their breath—the words which early
associations have made precious to them; and that in the bygone days,
when that Sermon on the Mount was still listened to with respect by
many not illiterate persons, its meaning was not only considered, but
very deliberately acted upon. Even the readers of the ‘Contemporary
Review’ may perhaps have some pleasure in retreating from the sunshine
of contemporary science, for a few quiet moments, into the shadows of
that of the past; and hearing in the following extracts from two
letters of Scott’s (the first describing the manner of life of his
mother, whose death it announces to a friend; the second, anticipating
the verdict of the future on the management of his estate by a Scottish
nobleman) what relations between rich and poor were possible, when
philosophers had not yet even lisped in the sweet numbers of Radical
Sociology.
“She was a strict economist, which she said enabled her to be liberal;
out of her little income of about £300 a year, she bestowed at least a
third in well-chosen charities, and with the rest, lived like a
gentlewoman, and even with hospitality more general than seemed to suit
her age; yet I could never prevail on her to accept of any assistance.
You cannot conceive how affecting it was to me to see the little
preparations of presents which she had assorted for the New Year, for
she was a great observer of the old fashions of her period—and to think
that the kind heart was cold which delighted in all these arts of
kindly affection.”
“The Duke is one of those retired and high-spirited men who will never
be known until the world asks what became of the huge oak that grew on
the brow of the hill, and sheltered such an extent of ground. During
the late distress, though his own immense rents remained in arrears,
and though I know he was pinched for money, as all men were, but more
especially the possessors of entailed estates, he absented himself from
London in order to pay, with ease to himself, the labourers employed on
his various estates. These amounted (for I have often seen the roll and
helped to check it) to nine hundred and fifty men, working at day
wages, each of whom on a moderate average might maintain three persons,
since the single men have mothers, sisters, and aged or very young
relations to protect and assist. Indeed it is wonderful how much even a
small sum, comparatively, will do in supporting the Scottish labourer,
who in his natural state is perhaps one of the best, most intelligent,
and kind-hearted of human beings; and in truth I have limited my other
habits of expense very much since I fell into the habit of employing
mine honest people. I wish you could have seen about a hundred
children, being almost entirely supported by their fathers’ or
brothers’ labour, come down yesterday to dance to the pipes, and get a
piece of cake and bannock, and pence apiece (no very deadly largess) in
honour of hogmanay. I declare to you, my dear friend, that when I
thought the poor fellows who kept these children so neat, and well
taught, and well behaved, were slaving the whole day for eighteen-pence
or twenty-pence at most, I was ashamed of their gratitude, and of their
becks and bows. But after all, one does what one can, and it is better
twenty families should be comfortable according to their wishes and
habits, than that half that number should be raised above their
situation.”
I must pray Mr. Greg farther to observe, if he has condescended to
glance at these remains of almost prehistoric thought, that although
the modern philosopher will never have reason to blush for any man’s
gratitude, and has totally abandoned the romantic idea of making even
so much as one family comfortable according to their wishes and habits,
the alternative suggested by Scott, that half “the number should be
raised above their situation,” may become a very inconvenient one if
the doctrines of Modern Equality and competition should render the
other half desirous of parallel promotion.
It is now just sixteen years since Mr. Greg’s present philosophy of
Expenditure was expressed with great precision by the Common Councilmen
of New York, in their report on the commercial crisis of 1857, [84] in
the following terms:—
“Another erroneous idea is that luxurious living, extravagant dressing,
splendid turn-outs, and fine houses, are the cause of distress to a
nation. No more erroneous impression could exist. Every extravagance
that the man of 100,000 or 1,000,000 dollars indulges in, adds to the
means, the support, the wealth of ten or a hundred who had little or
nothing else but their labour, their intellect, or their taste. If a
man of 1,000,000 dollars spends principal and interest in ten years,
and finds himself beggared at the end of that time, he has actually
made a hundred who have catered to his extravagance, employers or
employed, so much richer by the division of his wealth. He may be
ruined, but the nation is better off and richer, for one hundred minds
and hands, with 10,000 dollars apiece, are far more productive than one
with the whole.”
Now that is precisely the view also taken of the matter by a large
number of Radical Economists in England as well as America; only they
feel that the time, however short, which the rich gentleman takes to
divide his property among them in his own way, is practically wasted;
and even worse, because the methods which the gentleman himself is
likely to adopt for the depression of his fortune will not, in all
probability, be conducive to the elevation of his character. It
appears, therefore, on moral as well as economical grounds, desirable
that the division and distribution should at once be summarily
effected; and the only point still open to discussion in the views of
the Common Councilmen is to what degree of minuteness they would think
it advisable to carry the subsequent subdivision.
I do not suppose, however, that this is the conclusion which Mr. Greg
is desirous that the general Anti-Christian public should adopt; and in
that case, as I see by his paper in the last number of the
‘Contemporary,’ that he considers the Christian life itself virtually
impossible, may I recommend his examination of the manners of the
Pre-Christian? For I can certify him that this important subject, of
which he has only himself imperfectly investigated one side, had been
thoroughly investigated on all sides, at least seven hundred years
before Christ; and from that day to this, all men of wit, sense, and
feeling have held precisely the same views on the subjects of economy
and charity in all nations under the sun. It is of no consequence
whether Mr. Greg chooses the experience of Bœotia, Lombardy, or
Yorkshire, nor whether he studies the relation of each day to its
labour under Hesiod, Virgil, or Sydney Smith. But it is desirable that
at least he should acquaint himself with the opinions of some of these
persons, as well as with those of the Common Councilmen of New York;
for though a man of superior sagacity may be pardoned for thinking,
with the friends of Job, that Wisdom will die with him, it can only be
through neglect of the existing opportunities of general culture that
he remains distinctly under the impression that she was born with him.
It may perhaps be well that, in conclusion, I should state briefly the
causes and terms of the economical crisis of our own day, which has
been the subject of the debate between Mr. Goldwin Smith and Mr. Greg.
No man ever became, or can become, largely rich merely by labour and
economy. All large fortunes (putting treasure-trove and gambling out of
consideration) are founded either on occupation of land, usury, or
taxation of labour. Whether openly or occultly, the landlord,
money-lender, and capital-holding employer, gather into their
possession a certain quantity of the means of existence which other
people produce by the labour of their hands. The effect of this impost
upon the condition of life of the tenant, borrower, and workman, is the
first point to be studied;—the results, that is to say, of the mode in
which Captain Roland fills his purse.
Secondly, we have to study the effects of the mode in which Captain
Roland empties his purse. The landlord, usurer, or labour-master, does
not, and cannot, himself consume all the means of life he collects. He
gives them to other persons, whom he employs in his own behalf—growers
of champagne; jockeys; footmen; jewellers; builders; painters;
musicians; and the like. The diversion of the labour of these persons
from the production of food to the production of articles of luxury is
very frequently, and, at the present day, very grievously, a cause of
famine. But when the luxuries are produced, it becomes a quite separate
question who is to have them, and whether the landlord and capitalist
are entirely to monopolize the music, the painting, the architecture,
the hand-service, the horse-service, and the sparkling champagne of the
world.
And it is gradually, in these days, becoming manifest to the tenants,
borrowers, and labourers, that instead of paying these large sums into
the hands of the landlords, lenders, and employers, that they may
purchase music, painting, etc.; the tenants, borrowers, and workers,
had better buy a little music and painting for themselves! That, for
instance, instead of the capitalist-employer’s paying three hundred
pounds for a full-length portrait of himself, in the attitude of
investing his capital, the united workmen had better themselves pay the
three hundred pounds into the hands of the ingenious artist, for a
painting, in the antiquated manner of Lionardo or Raphael, of some
subject more religiously or historically interesting to them; and
placed where they can always see it. And again, instead of paying three
hundred pounds to the obliging landlord, that he may buy a box at the
opera with it, whence to study the refinements of music and dancing,
the tenants are beginning to think that they may as well keep their
rents partly to themselves, and therewith pay some Wandering Willie to
fiddle at their own doors; or bid some grey-haired minstrel
“Tune, to please a peasant’s ear,
The harp a king had loved to hear.”
And similarly the dwellers in the hut of the field, and garret of the
city, are beginning to think that, instead of paying half-a-crown for
the loan of half a fireplace, they had better keep their half-crown in
their pockets till they can buy for themselves a whole one.
These are the views which are gaining ground among the poor; and it is
entirely vain to endeavour to repress them by equivocations. They are
founded on eternal laws; and although their recognition will long be
refused, and their promulgation, resisted as it will be, partly by
force, partly by falsehood, can only take place through incalculable
confusion and misery, recognized they must be eventually; and with
these three ultimate results:—that the usurer’s trade will be abolished
utterly;—that the employer will be paid justly for his superintendence
of labour, but not for his capital; and the landlord paid for his
superintendence of the cultivation of land, when he is able to direct
it wisely;—that both he, and the employer of mechanical labour, will be
recognized as beloved masters, if they deserve love, and as noble
guides when they are capable of giving discreet guidance; but neither
will be permitted to establish themselves any more as senseless
conduits, through which the strength and riches of their native land
are to be poured into the cup of the fornication of its Babylonian
‘City of the Plain.’
So ends my article, and enough said for 1875, I think. And I wish you a
merry Christmas, my masters; and honest ways of winning your meat and
pudding.