millions—spatter of their brains And writhing of their bowels and so forth, In that bewildering entanglement 460 Of horrible eventualities Past calculation to the end of time! Can I mistake for some clear word of God (Which were my ample warrant for it all) His puff of hazy instinct, idle talk, "The State, that's I," quack-nonsense about crowns, And (when one beats the man to his last hold) A vague idea of setting things to rights, Policing people efficaciously, More to their profit, most of all to his own; 470 The whole to end that dismallest of ends By an Austrian marriage, cant to us the Church, And resurrection of the old regime? Would I, who hope to live a dozen years, Fight Austerlitz for reasons such and such? No: for, concede me but the merest chance Doubt may be wrong—there's judgment, life to come With just that chance, I dare not. Doubt proves right? This present life is all?—you offer me Its dozen noisy years, without a chance 480 That wedding an archduchess, wearing lace, And getting called by divers new-coined names, Will drive off ugly thoughts and let me dine, Sleep, read and chat in quiet as I like! Therefore I will not. Take another case; Fit up the cabin yet another way. What say you to the poets? shall we write Hamlet, Othello—make the world our own, Without a risk to run of either sort? I can't!—to put the strongest reason first. 490 "But try," you urge, "the trying shall suffice; The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!" Spare my self-knowledge—there's no fooling me! If I prefer remaining my poor self, I say so not in self-dispraise but praise. If I'm a Shakespeare, let the well alone; Why should I try to be what now I am? If I'm no Shakespeare, as too probable— His power and consciousness and self-delight 500 And all we want in common, shall I find— Trying forever? while on points of taste Wherewith, to speak it humbly, he and I Are dowered alike—I'll ask you, I or he, Which in our two lives realizes most? Much, he imagined—somewhat, I possess. He had the imagination; stick to that! Let him say, "In the face of my soul's works Your world is worthless and I touch it not Lest I should wrong them"—I'll withdraw my plea. 510 But does he say so? look upon his life! Himself, who only can, gives judgment there. He leaves his towers and gorgeous palaces To build the trimmest house
Prev.
Back
Top