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is different。 One can realise a thing in a single moment； but one
loses it in the long hours that follow with leaden feet。 It is so
difficult to keep 'heights that the soul is competent to gain。' We
think in eternity； but we move slowly through time； and how slowly
time goes with us who lie in prison I need not tell again； nor of
the weariness and despair that creep back into one's cell； and into
the cell of one's heart； with such strange insistence that one has；
as it were； to garnish and sweep one's house for their coming； as
for an unwelcome guest； or a bitter master； or a slave whose slave
it is one's chance or choice to be。
And； though at present my friends may find it a hard thing to
believe； it is true none the less； that for them living in freedom
and idleness and comfort it is more easy to learn the lessons of
humility than it is for me； who begin the day by going down on my
knees and washing the floor of my cell。 For prison life with its
endless privations and restrictions makes one rebellious。 The most
terrible thing about it is not that it breaks one's hearthearts
are made to be brokenbut that it turns one's heart to stone。 One
sometimes feels that it is only with a front of brass and a lip of
scorn that one can get through the day at all。 And he who is in a
state of rebellion cannot receive grace； to use the phrase of which
the Church is so fondso rightly fond； I dare sayfor in life as
in art the mood of rebellion closes up the channels of the soul； and
shuts out the airs of heaven。 Yet I must learn these lessons here；
if I am to learn them anywhere； and must be filled with joy if my
feet are on the right road and my face set towards 'the gate which
is called beautiful；' though I may fall many times in the mire and
often in the mist go astray。
This New Life； as through my love of Dante I like sometimes to call
it； is of course no new life at all； but simply the continuance； by
means of development； and evolution； of my former life。 I remember
when I was at Oxford saying to one of my friends as we were
strolling round Magdalen's narrow bird…haunted walks one morning in
the year before I took my degree； that I wanted to eat of the fruit
of all the trees in the garden of the world； and that I was going
out into the world with that passion in my soul。 And so； indeed； I
went out； and so I lived。 My only mistake was that I confined
myself so exclusively to the trees of what seemed to me the sun…lit
side of the garden； and shunned the other side for its shadow and
its gloom。 Failure； disgrace； poverty； sorrow； despair； suffering；
tears even； the broken words that come from lips in pain； remorse
that makes one walk on thorns； conscience that condemns； self…
abasement that punishes； the misery that puts ashes on its head； the
anguish that chooses sack…cloth for its raiment and into its own
drink puts gall：… all these were things of which I was afraid。 And
as I had determined to know nothing of them； I was forced to taste
each of them in turn； to feed on them； to have for a season； indeed；
no other food at all。
I don't regret for a single moment having lived for pleasure。 I did
it to the full； as one should do everything that one does。 There
was no pleasure I did not experience。 I threw the pearl of my soul
into a cup of wine。 I went down the primrose path to the sound of
flutes。 I lived on honeycomb。 But to have continued the same life
would have been wrong because it would have been limiting。 I had to
pass on。 The other half of the garden had its secrets for me also。…
…De Profundis
THE GRAND ROMANTIC
it is when he deals with a sinner that Christ is most romantic； in
the sense of most real。 The world had always loved the saint as
being the nearest possible approach to the perfection of God。
Christ； through some divine instinct in him； seems to have always
loved the sinner as being the nearest possible approach to the
perfection of man。 His primary desire was not to reform people； any
more than his primary desire was to a relieve suffering。 To turn an
interesting thief into a tedious honest man was not his aim。 He
would have thought little of the Prisoners' Aid Society and other
modern movements of the kind。 The conversion of a publican into a
Pharisee would not have seemed to him a great achievement。 But in a
manner not yet understood of the world he regarded sin and suffering
as being in themselves beautiful holy things and modes of
perfection。
It seems a very dangerous idea。 It isall great ideas are
dangerous。 That it was Christ's creed admits of no doubt。 That it
is the true creed I don't doubt myself。
Of course the sinner must repent。 But why？ Simply because
otherwise he would be unable to realise what he had done。 The
moment of repentance is the moment of initiation。 More than that：
it is the means by which one alters one's past。 The Greeks thought
that impossible。 They often say in their Gnomic aphorisms； 'Even
the Gods cannot alter the past。' Christ showed that the commonest
sinner could do it； that it was the one thing he could do。 Christ；
had he been asked； would have saidI feel quite certain about it
that the moment the prodigal son fell on his knees and wept； he made
his having wasted his substance with harlots； his swine…herding and
hungering for the husks they ate； beautiful and holy moments in his
life。 It is difficult for most people to grasp the idea。 I dare
say one has to go to prison to understand it。 If so； it may be
worth while going to prison。
There is something so unique about Christ。 Of course just as there
are false dawns before the dawn itself； and winter days so full of
sudden sunlight that they will cheat the wise crocus into
squandering its gold before its time； and make some foolish bird
call to its mate to build on barren boughs； so there were Christians
before Christ。 For that we should be grateful。 The unfortunate
thing is that there have been none since。 I make one exception； St。
Francis of Assisi。 But then God had given him at his birth the soul
of a poet； as he himself when quite young had in mystical marriage
taken poverty as his bride： and with the soul of a poet and the
body of a beggar he found the way to perfection not difficult。 He
understood Christ； and so he became like him。 We do not require the
Liber Conformitatum to teach us that the life of St。 Francis was the
true Imitatio Christi； a poem compared to which the book of that
name is merely prose。
Indeed； that is the charm about Christ； when all is said： he is
just like a work of art。 He does not really teach one anything； but
by being brought into his presence one becomes something。 And
everybody is predestined to his presence。 Once at least in his life
each man walks with Christ to Emmaus。De Profundis
CLAPHAM JUNCTION
My lot has been one of public infamy； of long imprisonment； of
misery； of ruin； of disgrace； but I am not worthy of itnot yet； at
any rate。 I remember that I used to say that I thought I could bear
a real tragedy if it came to me with purple pall and a mask of noble
sorrow； but that the dreadful thing about modernity was that it put
tragedy into the raiment of comedy； so that the great realities
seemed commonplace or grotesque or lacking in style。 It is quite
true about modernity。 It has probably always been true about actual
life。 It is said that all martyrdoms seemed mean to the looker on。
The nineteenth century is no exception to the rule。
Everything about my tragedy has been hideous； mean； repellent；
lacking in style； our very dress makes us grotesque。 We are the
zanies of sorrow。 We are clowns whose hearts are broken。 We are
specially designed to appeal to the sense of humour。 On November
13th； 1895； I was brought down here from London。 From two o'clock
till half…past two on that day I had to stand on the centre platform
of Clapham Junction in convict dress； and handcuffed； for the world
to look at。 I had been taken out of the hospital ward without a
moment's notice being given to me。 Of all possible objects I was
the most grotesque。 When people saw me they laughed。 Each train as
it came up swelled the audience。 Nothing could exceed their
amusement。 That was； of course； before they knew who I was。 As
soon as they had been informed they laughed still more。 For half an
hour I stood there in the grey November rain surrounded by a jeering
mob。De Profundis
THE BROKEN RESOLUTION
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；