The Crock of Gold | Page 6

no new truth has
come to me. All that I have read lately I knew before; all that I have
thought has been but a recapitulation of old and wearisome ideas. There
is no longer an horizon before my eves. Space has narrowed to the
petty dimen- sions of my thumb. Time is the tick of a clock. Good and
evil are two peas in the one pod. My wife's face is the same for ever. I
want to play with the children, and yet I do not want to. Your
conversation with me, brother, is like the droning of a bee in a dark cell.
The pine trees take root and grow and die.--It's all bosh. Good-bye."
His friend replied:
"Brother, these are weighty reflections, and I do clearly perceive that
the time has come for you to stop. I might observe, not in order to
combat your views, but merely to continue an interesting conversation,
that there are still some knowledges which you have not assimilated
--you do not yet know how to play the tambourine, nor how to be nice
to your wife, nor how to get up first in the morning and cook the
breakfast. Have you learned how to smoke strong tobacco as I do? or
can you dance in the moonlight with a woman of the Shee? To
understand the theory which underlies all things is not sufficient. It has
occurred to me, brother, that wisdom may not be the end of everything.
Goodness and kindliness are, perhaps, beyond wisdom. Is it not
possible that the ultimate end is gaiety and music and a dance of joy?

Wisdom is the oldest of all things. Wisdom is all head and no heart.
Behold, brother, you are being crushed under the weight of your head.
You are dying of old age while you are yet a child."
"Brother," replied the other Philosopher, "your voice is like the droning
of a bee in a dark cell. If in my latter days I am reduced to playing on
the tambourine and running after a hag in the moonlight, and cooking
your breakfast in the grey morning, then it is indeed time that I should
die. Good-bye, brother."
So saying, the Philosopher arose and removed all the furniture to the
sides of the room so that there was a clear space left in the centre. He
then took off his boots and his coat, and standing on his toes he
commenced to gyrate with extraordinary rapidity. In a few moments his
movements became steady and swift, and a sound came from him like
the humming of a swift saw; this sound grew deeper and deeper, and at
last continuous, so that the room was filled with a thrilling noise. In a
quarter of an hour the movement began to noticeably slacken. In
another three minutes it was quite slow. In two more minutes he grew
visible again as a body, and then he wobbled to and fro, and at last
dropped in a heap on the floor. He was quite dead, and on his face was
an expression of serene beatitude.
"God be with you, brother," said the remaining Philosopher, and he lit
his pipe, focused his vision on the extreme tip of his nose, and began to
meditate profoundly on the aphorism whether the good is the all or the
all is the good. In another moment he would have become oblivious of
the room, the company, and the corpse, but the Grey Woman of Dun
Gortin shattered his meditation by a demand for advice as to what
should next be done. The Philosopher, with an effort, detached his eyes
from his nose and his mind from his maxim.
"Chaos," said he, "is the first condition. Order is the first law.
Continuity is the first reflection. Quietude is the first happiness. Our
brother is dead--bury him." So saying, he returned his eyes to his nose,
and his mind to his maxim, and lapsed to a profound reflection wherein
nothing sat perched on insubstantiality, and the Spirit of Artifice
goggled at the puzzle.

The Grey Woman of Dun Gortin took a pinch of snuff from her box
and raised the keen over her husband:
"You were my husband and you are dead.
It is wisdom that has killed you.
If you had listened to my wisdom instead of to your own you would
still be a trouble to me and I would still be happy.
Women are stronger than men--they do not die of wisdom.
They are better than men because they do not seek wisdom.
They are wiser than men because they know less and understand more.
I had fourteen hundred maledictions, my little store, and by a trick you
stole them and left me empty.
You stole my wisdom