《Four Years》第13章

e　all　the　jockeys　vain　attempts　to　sin；　as　well　as　all　the　adventures　of　the　clergyman；　who　became　very　sinful　indeed；　but　it　ended　happily；　for　when　the　jockey　died　the　cardinal　virtues　returned　to　the　clergyman。　i　think　he　would　talk　to　any　audience　that　offered；　one　audience　being　the　same　as　another　in　his　eyes；　and　itmay　have　been　for　this　reason　that　my　father　called　him　unambitious。　when　he　was　a　young　man　he　had　befriended　a　reformed　thief　and　had　asked　the　grateful　thief　to　take　him　round　the　thieves　quarters　of　london。
the　thief；　however；　hurried　him　away　from　the　worst　saying；　another　minute　and　they　would　have　found　you　out。　if　they　were　not　the　stupidest　men　in　london；　they　had　done　so　already。　ellis　had　gone　through　a　no　doubt　romantic　and　witty　account　of　all　the　houses　he　had　robbed；　and　all　the　throats　he　had　cut　in　one　short　life。
his　conversation　would　often　pass　out　of　my　prehension；　or　indeed　i　think　of　any　mans；　into　a　labyrinth　of　abstraction　and　subtilty；　and　then　suddenly　return　with　some　verbal　conceit　or　turn　of　wit。　the　mind　is　known　to　attain；　in　certain　conditions　of　trance；　a　quickness　so　extraordinary　that　we　are　pelled　at　times　to　imagine　a　condition　of　unendurable　intellectual　intensity；　from　which　we　are　saved　by　the　merciful　stupidity　of　the　body；　&　i　think　that　the　mind　of　edwin　ellis　was　constantly　upon　the　edge　of　trance。　once　we　were　discussing　the　symbolism　of　sex；　in　the　philosophy　of　blake；　and　had　been　in　disagreement　all　the　afternoon。　i　began　talking　with　a　new　sense　of　conviction；　and　after　a　moment　ellis；　who　was　at　his　easel；　threw　down　his　brush　and　said　that　he　had　just　seen　the　same　explanation　in　a　series　of　symbolic　visions。　in　another　moment；
he　said；　i　should　have　been　off。　we　went　into　the　open　air　and　walked　up　and　down　to　get　rid　of　that　feeling；　but　presently　we　came　in　again　and　i　began　again　my　explanation；　ellis　lying　upon　the　sofa。　i　had　been　talking　some　time　when　mrs。　ellis　came　into　the　room　and　said：　why　are　you　sitting　in　the　dark？　ellis　answered；　but　we　are　not；　and　then　added　in　a　voice　of　wonder；　i　thought　the　lamp　was　lit　and　that　i　was　sitting　up；　and　i　find　i　am　in　the　dark　and　lying　down。　i　had　seen　a　flicker　of　light　over　the　ceiling；　but　had　thought　it　a　reflection　from　some　light　outside　the　house；　which　may　have　been　the　case。
。。。！
Four　YearsXV
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i　had　already　met　most　of　the　poets　of　my　generation。　i　had　said；　soon　after　the　publication　of　the　wanderings　of　usheen；　to　the　editor　of　a　series　of　shilling　reprints；　who　had　set　me　to　pile　tales　of　the　irish　fairies；　i　am　growing　jealous　of　other　poets；　and　we　will　all　grow　jealous　of　each　other　unless　we　know　each　other　and　so　feel　a　share　in　each　others　triumph。　he　was　a　welshman；　lately　a　mining　engineer；　ernest　rhys；　a　writer　of　welsh　translations　and　original　poems　that　have　often　moved　me　greatly　though　i　can　think　of　no　one　else　who　has　read　them。　he　was　seven　or　eight　years　older　than　myself　and　through　his　work　as　editor　knew　everybody　who　would　pile　a　book　for　seven　or　eight　pounds。　between　us　we　founded　the　rhymers　club　which　for　some　years　was　to　meet　every　night　in　an　upper　room　with　a　sanded　floor　in　an　ancient　eating　house　in　the　strand　called　the　cheshire　cheese。　lionel　johnson；　ernest　dowson；　victor　plarr；　ernest　radford；　john　davidson；　richard　le　gallienne；　t。　w。　rolleston；　selwyn　image　and　two　men　of　an　older　generation；　edwin　ellis　and　john　todhunter；　came　constantly　for　a　time；　arthur　symons　and　herbert　home　less　constantly；　while　william　watson　joined　but　never　came　and　francis　thompson　came　once　but　never　joined；　and　sometimes；　if　we　met　in　a　private　house；　which　we　did　occasionally；　oscar　wilde　came。　it　had　been　useless　to　invite　him　to　the　cheshire　cheese　for　he　hated　bohemia。　olive　schreiner；　he　said　once　to　me；　is　staying　in　the　east　end　because　that　is　the　only　place　where　people　do　not　wear　masks　upon　their　faces；　but　i　have　told　her　that　i　live　in　the　west　end　because　nothing　in　life　interests　me　but　the　mask。
we　read　our　poems　to　one　another　and　talked　criticism　and　drank　a　little　wine。　i　sometimes　say　when　i　speak　of　the　club；　we　had　such　and　such　ideas；　such　and　such　a　quarrel　with　the　great　victorians；　we　set　before　us　such　and　such　aims；　as　though　we　had　many　philosophical　ideas。　i　say　this　because　i　am　ashamed　to　admit　that　i　had　these　ideas　and　that　whenever　i　began　to　talk　of　them　a　gloomy　silence　fell　upon　the　room。　a　young　irish　poet；　who　wrote　excellently　but　had　the　worst　manners；　was　to　say　a　few　years　later；　you　do　not　talk　like　a　poet；　you　talk　like　a　man　of　letters；　and　if　all　the　rhymers　had　not　been　polite；　if　most　of　them　had　not　been　to　oxford　or　cambridge；　they　would　have　said　the　same　thing。　i　was　full　of　thought；　often　very　abstract　thought；　longing　all　the　while　to　be　full　of　images；　because　i　had　gone　to　the　art　school　instead　of　a　university。
yet　even　if　i　had　gone　to　a　university；　and　learned　all　the　classical　foundations　of　english　literature　and　english　culture；　all　that　great　erudition　which；　once　accepted；　frees　the　mind　from　restlessness；　i　should　have　had　to　give　up　my　irish　subject　matter；　or　attempt　to　found　a　new　tradition。　lacking　sufficient　recognisedprecedent　i　must　needs　find　out　some　reason　for　all　i　did。　i　knew　almost　from　the　start　that　to　overflow　with　reasons　was　to　be　not　quite　well？born；　and　when　i　could　i　hid　them；　as　men　hide　a　disagreeable　ancestry；　and　that　there　was　no　help　for　it；　seeing　that　my　country　was　not　born　at　all。　i　was　of　those　doomed　to　imperfect　achievement；　and　under　a　curse；　as　it　were；　like　some　race　of　birds　pelled　to　spend　the　time；　needed　for　the　making　of　the　nest；　in　argument　as　to　the　convenience　of　moss　and　twig　and　lichen。　le　gallienne　and　davidson；　and　even　symons；　were　provincial　at　their　setting　out；　but　their　provincialism　was　curable；　mine　incurable；　while　the　one　conviction　shared　by　all　the　younger　men；　but　principally　by　johnson　and　horne；　who　imposed　their　personalities　upon　us；　was　an　opposition　to　all　ideas；　all　generalisations　that　can　be　explained　and　debated。　e。。。　fresh　from　paris　would　sometimes　say？？we　are　concerned　with　nothing　but　impressions；