Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1908-01-04


People were not individuals, they
were parts of picture of blurred de-
tails. / spoke to this or that part of
the composition. and voices answered
me. What the voices meant, how the
spot they came from looked (what
expression was on the speakers face,
as the cant phrase has it, were ques-
tions for intuition to answer. l lived
in a world OF vague suggestion. l
got almost more information from
the touch Of mans hands than from
the look of his eyes. And yet 1 knew
the general meaning of faces quite
we'll when they were near me-bet-
ter, perhaps, than l do now. Lon
don! You can imagine what London
was like, evening London above all.
1t swan in a haze of romance, Won
derful masses of cab, bus and man,
aglow with diffused light, loomed out
of mist and vanished into it. Chatter
of unseen feet echoed up to my very
ears. Life was perpetual surprise,
an adventure. Who knew what faces
would suddenly take form out of the
void?
/ put on the glasses and looked at
the opticians young man and beheld
that he was wrinkled.
Horribly wrinkled. He was all
wrinkles. His face was nothing but
innumerable ugly lines and splotches.
Expression there was none that l
could focus-lines and splotches were
all that could be seen.
Would l keep them on? Or should
he put them in the case? The lines
punched themselves up into hideous
questioning creases.
l would keep them on so as to get
used to them, muttered, subcon-
so.1Gc of complete loathing.
The oblivioas young man agreed.
''Yes, you'd better sive your eyes
bit of practice before you stcrt
reading, sir. Good evening, sir"
with more creases).
l stepped out stupidity into the
street, shying at the doorpost, into
the concentrated glare of electric
lights that danced and flashed on the
lenses of my spectacles.
After a moment or two of dazzle
began to see. To see with terrible
distinctness. The eyes began to ac-
cept this new universe. So awfully
new! There was no background
now, no picture, no atmosphere. Iso-
lated men and things to the furthest
limit of vision stood out, rounded,
0NrF nd a1yNn h
eyes on three sides of them. There
was no street of soft-blending shad-
ow and CLEAN; there were only
houses, lamp-posts, electric globes,
vehicles, passengers. There were no
men, only hats, coats, trousers, boots,
Jerking ridiculously. No faces
only features-and when they got
nearer, labyrinths of CHASTITY twitch-
ing lines. No concrete thing at all
only irrelevant details of things
which the painful vision kept pur-
suing with more and more minute
ness.
And yet my eyes had feeling of
pride--pride that they could see so
far, that these dots of men slouch-
Ing under lamppost before the Man
sion House should vibrate so clear
an image to Cornhill. They began,
with something of an effort, to dis
regard these insistent neighboring in
dividuals and to shoot off into vast
perspectives, to daily with details
hundreds of yards away. This was
much larger world l had got If it
would only adjust itself, would be-
having. But as yet it was so pur-
poseless; every object was detached
from its fellows. The old harmony
was gone. Things no longer fitted
in. Details thrust themselves upon
me. lost glance at the soul of
the passer through watching the
twitch of his lips.
Then the faces began to simplify,
lines assumed their proper subordi-
nation. l perceived men still had
expressions l perceived that they
had eyes, fearful eyes, thousands of
eyes, surrounding me, looking at me.
I was betrayed. I felt utterly en-
barrassed almost 1 blushed at this
infinite critical inspection. Every
button and stitch of me knew itself
for laughter l felt that my hat
was too small, my hair too long, that
my boots were unpublished. hastened
to re-hat, clip and polish myself.
l had come out of my chrysalis
For the first time l was nakedly
within handstrike Of the world.
The novelty was interesting. One
was afraid of it all, but attracted by
It. In this world one was in constant
danger of attack. A militant world.
Every man away down the street
walked with his hand on his sword
hilt. A brief fit of shivering, and my
spirit rose to the challenge of it,
I walked the pavement thrilling to
the glance of these innumerable
Identities.
Nothing has altered. The objects
look at are just the same. My eyes
are the same. Only now two little
pieces of convex pebble are fixed be-
tween the eyes and the objects. One
takes off the spectacles and ex-
amines them for a solution to the
mystery. Absurd! What easy vic
tins are our senses of their instru-
ments!
1t makes one uneasy. Tangible
matter ceases to be the steadfast
thing we had imagined 1t. How can
l be sure that what these pebbles
show me is truer than my old vision?
A little difference in the curving Of
the lens, and 10! another universe.
How can be sure that both of them
nra nnt nnlta nntrma2 What L. the