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impose on him a mission at once too great and too mean for him。 He
is a dreamer； and he is called upon to act。 He has the nature of
the poet； and he is asked to grapple with the common complexity of
cause and effect； with life in its practical realisation； of which
he knows nothing； not with life in its ideal essence； of which he
knows so much。 He has no conception of what to do； and his folly
is to feign folly。 Brutus used madness as a cloak to conceal the
sword of his purpose； the dagger of his will； but the Hamlet
madness is a mere mask for the hiding of weakness。 In the making
of fancies and jests he sees a chance of delay。 He keeps playing
with action as an artist plays with a theory。 He makes himself the
spy of his proper actions； and listening to his own words knows
them to be but 'words； words； words。' Instead of trying to be the
hero of his own history； he seeks to be the spectator of his own
tragedy。 He disbelieves in everything； including himself； and yet
his doubt helps him not； as it comes not from scepticism but from a
divided will。
Of all this Guildenstern and Rosencrantz realise nothing。 They bow
and smirk and smile； and what the one says the other echoes with
sickliest intonation。 When； at last； by means of the play within
the play； and the puppets in their dalliance； Hamlet 'catches the
conscience' of the King； and drives the wretched man in terror from
his throne； Guildenstern and Rosencrantz see no more in his conduct
than a rather painful breach of Court etiquette。 That is as far as
they can attain to in 'the contemplation of the spectacle of life
with appropriate emotions。' They are close to his very secret and
know nothing of it。 Nor would there be any use in telling them。
They are the little cups that can hold so much and no more。
Towards the close it is suggested that； caught in a cunning spring
set for another； they have met； or may meet； with a violent and
sudden death。 But a tragic ending of this kind； though touched by
Hamlet's humour with something of the surprise and justice of
comedy； is really not for such as they。 They never die。 Horatio；
who in order to 'report Hamlet and his cause aright to the
unsatisfied；'
'Absents him from felicity a while；
And in this harsh world draws his breath in pain；'
dies； but Guildenstern and Rosencrantz are as immortal as Angelo
and Tartuffe； and should rank with them。 They are what modern life
has contributed to the antique ideal of friendship。 He who writes
a new DE AMICITIA must find a niche for them； and praise them in
Tusculan prose。 They are types fixed for all time。 To censure
them would show 'a lack of appreciation。' They are merely out of
their sphere： that is all。 In sublimity of soul there is no
contagion。 High thoughts and high emotions are by their very
existence isolated。
I am to be released； if all goes well with me； towards the end of
May； and hope to go at once to some little sea…side village abroad
with R… and M…。
The sea； as Euripides says in one of his plays about Iphigeneia；
washes away the stains and wounds of the world。
I hope to be at least a month with my friends； and to gain peace
and balance； and a less troubled heart； and a sweeter mood。 I have
a strange longing for the great simple primeval things； such as the
sea； to me no less of a mother than the Earth。 It seems to me that
we all look at Nature too much； and live with her too little。 I
discern great sanity in the Greek attitude。 They never chattered
about sunsets； or discussed whether the shadows on the grass were
really mauve or not。 But they saw that the sea was for the
swimmer； and the sand for the feet of the runner。 They loved the
trees for the shadow that they cast； and the forest for its silence
at noon。 The vineyard…dresser wreathed his hair with ivy that he
might keep off the rays of the sun as he stooped over the young
shoots； and for the artist and the athlete； the two types that
Greece gave us； they plaited with garlands the leaves of the bitter
laurel and of the wild parsley； which else had been of no service
to men。
We call ours a utilitarian age； and we do not know the uses of any
single thing。 We have forgotten that water can cleanse； and fire
purify； and that the Earth is mother to us all。 As a consequence
our art is of the moon and plays with shadows； while Greek art is
of the sun and deals directly with things。 I feel sure that in
elemental forces there is purification； and I want to go back to
them and live in their presence。
Of course to one so modern as I am； 'Enfant de mon siecle；' merely
to look at the world will be always lovely。 I tremble with
pleasure when I think that on the very day of my leaving prison
both the laburnum and the lilac will be blooming in the gardens；
and that I shall see the wind stir into restless beauty the swaying
gold of the one； and make the other toss the pale purple of its
plumes； so that all the air shall be Arabia for me。 Linnaeus fell
on his knees and wept for joy when he saw for the first time the
long heath of some English upland made yellow with the tawny
aromatic brooms of the common furze； and I know that for me； to
whom flowers are part of desire； there are tears waiting in the
petals of some rose。 It has always been so with me from my
boyhood。 There is not a single colour hidden away in the chalice
of a flower； or the curve of a shell； to which； by some subtle
sympathy with the very soul of things； my nature does not answer。
Like Gautier； I have always been one of those 'pour qui le monde
visible existe。'
Still； I am conscious now that behind all this beauty； satisfying
though it may be； there is some spirit hidden of which the painted
forms and shapes are but modes of manifestation； and it is with
this spirit that I desire to become in harmony。 I have grown tired
of the articulate utterances of men and things。 The Mystical in
Art； the Mystical in Life； the Mystical in Nature this is what I am
looking for。 It is absolutely necessary for me to find it
somewhere。
All trials are trials for one's life； just as all sentences are
sentences of death； and three times have I been tried。 The first
time I left the box to be arrested； the second time to be led back
to the house of detention； the third time to pass into a prison for
two years。 Society； as we have constituted it； will have no place
for me； has none to offer； but Nature； whose sweet rains fall on
unjust and just alike； will have clefts in the rocks where I may
hide； and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed。
She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the
darkness without stumbling； and send the wind over my footprints so
that none may track me to my hurt： she will cleanse me in great
waters； and with bitter herbs ma