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money； passing in and out with one another in any order we like； but
still link to link and touch to touch。 If there is failure anywhere
in respect of opinion； skill； power； or money； either as regards
quantity or quality； the chain can be no stronger than its weakest
link； and the turtle and the clinching argument will fly asunder。
Of course； if there is an initial failure in connection； through
defect in any member of the chain； or of connection between the
links； it will no more be attempted to bring the turtle and the
clinching argument together； than it will to chain up a dog with two
pieces of broken chain that are disconnected。 The contact
throughout must be conceived as absolute； and yet perfect contact is
inconceivable by us； for on becoming perfect it ceases to be
contact； and becomes essential； once for all inseverable； identity。
The most absolute contact short of this is still contact by courtesy
only。 So here； as everywhere else； Eurydice glides off as we are
about to grasp her。 We can see nothing face to face； our utmost
seeing is but a fumbling of blind finger…ends in an overcrowded
pocket。
Presently my own blind finger…ends fished up the conclusion； that as
I had neither time nor money to spend on perfecting the chain that
would put me in full spiritual contact with Mr。 Sweeting's turtles；
I had better leave them to complete their education at some one
else's expense rather than mine； so I walked on towards the Bank。
As I did so it struck me how continually we are met by this melting
of one existence into another。 The limits of the body seem well
defined enough as definitions go； but definitions seldom go far。
What； for example； can seem more distinct from a man than his banker
or his solicitor？ Yet these are commonly so much parts of him that
he can no more cut them off and grow new ones； than he can grow new
legs or arms； neither must he wound his solicitor； a wound in the
solicitor is a very serious thing。 As for his bankfailure of his
bank's action may be as fatal to a man as failure of his heart。 I
have said nothing about the medical or spiritual adviser； but most
men grow into the society that surrounds them by the help of these
four main tap…roots； and not only into the world of humanity； but
into the universe at large。 We can； indeed； grow butchers； bakers；
and greengrocers； almost ad libitum； but these are low developments；
and correspond to skin； hair； or finger…nails。 Those of us again
who are not highly enough organised to have grown a solicitor or
banker can generally repair the loss of whatever social organisation
they may possess as freely as lizards are said to grow new tails；
but this with the higher social； as well as organic； developments is
only possible to a very limited extent。
The doctrine of metempsychosis； or transmigration of soulsa
doctrine to which the foregoing considerations are for the most part
easy corollariescrops up no matter in what direction we allow our
thoughts to wander。 And we meet instances of transmigration of body
as well as of soul。 I do not mean that both body and soul have
transmigrated together； far from it； but that； as we can often
recognise a transmigrated mind in an alien body； so we not less
often see a body that is clearly only a transmigration； linked on to
some one else's new and alien soul。 We meet people every day whose
bodies are evidently those of men and women long dead； but whose
appearance we know through their portraits。 We see them going about
in omnibuses； railway carriages； and in all public places。 The
cards have been shuffled； and they have drawn fresh lots in life and
nationalities； but any one fairly well up in mediaeval and last
century portraiture knows them at a glance。
Going down once towards Italy I saw a young man in the train whom I
recognised； only he seemed to have got younger。 He was with a
friend； and his face was in continual play； but for some little time
I puzzled in vain to recollect where it was that I had seen him
before。 All of a sudden I remembered he was King Francis I。 of
France。 I had hitherto thought the face of this king impossible；
but when I saw it in play I understood it。 His great contemporary
Henry VIII。 keeps a restaurant in Oxford Street。 Falstaff drove one
of the St。 Gothard diligences for many years； and only retired when
the railway was opened。 Titian once made me a pair of boots at
Vicenza； and not very good ones。 At Modena I had my hair cut by a
young man whom I perceived to be Raffaelle。 The model who sat to
him for his celebrated Madonnas is first lady in a confectionery
establishment at Montreal。 She has a little motherly pimple on the
left side of her nose that is misleading at first； but on
examination she is readily recognised； probably Raffaelle's model
had the pimple too； but Raffaelle left it outas he would。
Handel； of course； is Madame Patey。 Give Madame Patey Handel's wig
and clothes； and there would be no telling her from Handel。 It is
not only that the features and the shape of the head are the same；
but there is a certain imperiousness of expression and attitude
about Handel which he hardly attempts to conceal in Madame Patey。
It is a curious coincidence that he should continue to be such an
incomparable renderer of his own music。 Pope Julius II。 was the
late Mr。 Darwin。 Rameses II。 is a blind woman now； and stands in
Holborn； holding a tin mug。 I never could understand why I always
found myself humming 〃They oppressed them with burthens〃 when I
passed her； till one day I was looking in Mr。 Spooner's window in
the Strand； and saw a photograph of Rameses II。 Mary Queen of Scots
wears surgical boots and is subject to fits； near the Horse Shoe in
Tottenham Court Road。
Michael Angelo is a commissionaire； I saw him on board the Glen
Rosa； which used to run every day from London to Clacton…on…Sea and
back。 It gave me quite a turn when I saw him coming down the stairs
from the upper deck； with his bronzed face； flattened nose； and with
the familiar bar upon his forehead。 I never liked Michael Angelo；
and never shall； but I am afraid of him； and was near trying to hide
when I saw him coming towards me。 He had not got his
commissionaire's uniform on； and I did not know he was one till I
met him a month or so later in the Strand。 When we got to Blackwall
the music struck up and people began to dance。 I never saw a man
dance so much in my life。 He did not miss a dance all the way to
Clacton； nor all the way back again； and when not dancing he was
flirting and cracking jokes。 I could hardly believe my eyes when I
reflected that this man had painted the famous 〃Last Judgment；〃 and
had made all those statues。
Dante is； or was a year or two ago； a waiter at Brissago on the Lago
Maggiore； only he is better…tempered…looking； and has a more
intellectual expression。 He gave me his ideas upon beauty： 〃Tutto
ch' e vero e bello；〃 he exclaimed； with all his old self…confidence。
I am not afraid of Dante。 I know people by their friends； and he
went about with Virgil； so I said with some severity； 〃No； Dante； il
naso della Signora Robinson e vero； ma non e bello〃； and he admitted
I was right。 Beatrice's name is Towler； she is waitress at a small
inn in German Switzerland。 I used to sit at my window and hear
people call 〃Towler； Towler； Towler；〃 fifty times in a forenoon。
She was the exact antithesis to Abra； Abra； if I remember； used to
come before they called her name； but no matter how often they
called Towler； every one came before she did。 I suppose they spelt
her name Taula； but to me it sounded Towler； I never； however； met
any one else with this name。 She was a sweet； artless little hussy；
who made me play the piano to her； and she said it was lovely。 Of
course I only played my own compositions； so I believed her； and it
all went off very nicely。 I thought it might save trouble if I did
not tell her who she really was； so I said nothing about it。
I met Socrates once。 He was my muleteer on an excursion which I
will not name； for fear it should identify the man。 The moment I
saw my guide I knew he was somebody； but for the life of me I could
not remember who。 All of a sudden it flashed across me that he was
Socrates。 He talked enough for six； but it was all in dialetto； so
I could not understand him； nor； when I had discovered who he was；
did I much try to do so。 He was a good creature； a trifle given to
stealing fruit and vegetables； but an amiable man enough。 He had
had a long day with his mule and me； and he only asked me five
francs。 I gave him ten； for I pitied his poor old patched boots；
and there was a meekness about him that touched me。 〃And now；
Socrates；〃 said I at parting； 〃we go on our several ways； you to
steal tomatoes； I to filch ideas from other people； for the rest
which of these two roads will be the better going； our father which
is in heaven knows； but we know not。〃
I have never seen Mendelssohn； but there is a fresco of him on the
terrace； or open…air dining…room； of an inn at Chiavenna。 He is not
called Mendelssohn； but I knew him by his legs。 He is in the
costume of a dandy of some five…and…fo