e performances of old classics but did not create （he disliked modern drama for its sterility of speech； and perhaps ignored it） and that we would create nothing if we did not give all our thoughts to ireland。
yet in ireland he loved only what was wild in its people； and in the grey and wintry sides of many glens。 all the rest； all that one reasoned over； fought for； read of in leading articles； all that came from education； all that came down from young ireland？？though for this he had not lacked a little sympathy？？first wakened in him perhaps that irony which runs through all he wrote； but once awakened； he made it turn its face upon the whole of life。 the women quarrelling in the cave would not have amused him； if something in his nature had not looked out on most disputes； even those wherein he himself took sides； with a mischievous wisdom。 he told me once that when he lived in some peasants house； he tried to make those about him forget that he was there； and it is certain that he was silent in any crowded room。 it is possible that low vitality helped him to be observant and contemplative； and made him dislike； even in solitude； those thoughts which unite us to others； much as we all dislike； when fatigue or illness has sharpened the nerves； hoardings covered with advertisements； the fronts of big theatres； big london hotels； and all architecture which has been made to impress the crowd。 what blindness did for homer； lameness for hephaestus； asceticism for any saint you will； bad health did for him by making him ask no more of life than that it should keep him living； and above all perhaps by concentrating his imagination upon one thought； health itself。 i think that all noble things are the result of warfare； great nations and classes； of warfare in the visible world； great poetry and philosophy； of invisible warfare； the division of a mind within itself； a victory； the sacrifice of a man to himself。 i am certain that my friends noble art； so full of passion and heroic beauty； is the victory of a man who in poverty and sickness created from the delight of expression； and in the contemplation that is born of the minute and delicate arrangement of images； happiness； and health of mind。 some early poems have a morbid melancholy； and he himself spoke of early work he had destroyed as morbid； for as yet the craftmanship was not fine enough to bring the artists joy which is of one substance with that of sanctity。 in one poem he waits at some street corner for a friend； a woman perhaps； and while he waits and gradually understands that nobody is ing； sees two funerals and shivers at the future； and in another written on his 25th birthday； he wonders if the 25 years to e shall be as evil as those gone by。 later on； he can see himself as but a part of the spectacle of the world and mix into all he sees that flavour of extravagance； or of humour； or of philosophy； that makes one understand that he contemplates even his own death as if it were anothers； and finds in his own destiny but as it were a projection through a burning glass of that general to men。 there is in the creative joy an acceptance of what life brings； because we have understood the beauty of what it brings； or a hatred of death for what it takes away； which arouses within us； through some sympathy perhaps with all other men； an energy so noble； so powerful； that we laugh aloud and mock； in the terror or the sweetness of our exaltation； at death and oblivion。
in no modern writer that has written of irish life before him； except it may be miss edgeworth in castle rackrent； was there anything to change a mans thought about the world or stir his moral nature； for they but play with pictures； persons； and events； that whether well or ill observed are but an amusement for the mind where it escapes from meditation； a childs show that makes the fables of his art as significant by contrast as some procession painted on an egyptian wall； for in these fables； an intelligence； on which the tragedy of the world had been thrust in so few years； that life had no time to brew her sleepy drug； has spoken of the moods that are the expression of its wisdom。 all minds that have a wisdom e of tragic reality seem morbid to those that are accustomed to writers who have not faced reality at all； just as the saints； with that obscure night of the soul； which fell so certainly that they numbered it among spiritual states； one among other ascending steps； seem morbid to the rationalist and the old？fashioned protestant controversialist。 the thought of journalists； like that of the irish novelists； is neither healthy nor unhealthy； for it has not risen to that state where either is possible； nor should we call it happy； for who would have sought happiness； if happiness were not the supreme attainment of man； in heroic toils； in the cell of the ascetic； or imagined it above the cheerful newspapers； above the clouds？
。。。！
Synge And The Ireland Of His TimeVIII
小说
not that synge brought out of the struggle with himself any definite philosophy； for philosophy in the mon meaning of the word is created out of an anxiety for sympathy or obedience； and he was that rare； that distinguished； that most noble thing； which of all things still of the world is nearest to being sufficient to itself； the pure artist。 sir philip sidney plains of those who could hear sweet tunes （by which he understands could look upon his lady） and not be stirred to ravishing delight。
or if they do delight therein； yet are so closed with wit； as with sententious lips to set a title vain on it； oh let them hear these sacred tunes； and learn in wonders schools to be； in things past bonds of wit； fools if they be not fools！
ireland for three generations has been like those churlish logicians。 everything is argued over； everything has to take its trial before the dull sense and the hasty judgment； and the character of the nation has so changed that it hardly keeps but among country people； or where some family tradition is still stubborn； those lineaments that made borrow cry out as he came from among the irish monks； his friends and entertainers for all his spanish bible scattering； oh； ireland； mother of the bravest soldiers and of the most beautiful women！
it was as i believe； to seek that old ireland which took its mould from the duellists and scholars of the 18th century and from generations older still； that synge returned again and again to aran； to kerry； and to the wild blaskets。
。。
Synge And The Ireland Of His TimeIX
when i got up this morning he writes； after he had been a long time in innismaan； i found that the people had gone to mass and latched the kitchen door from the outside； so that i could not open it to give myself light。
i sat for nearly an hour beside the fire with a curious feeling that i should be quite alone in this little cottage。 i am so used to sitting here with the people that i have never felt the room before as a place where any man might live and work by himself。 after a while as i waited； with just light enough from the chimney to let me see the rafters and the greyness of the walls； i became indescribably mournful； for i felt that this little corner on the face of the world； and the people who live in it； have a peace and dignity from which we are shut for ever。 this life； which he describes elsewhere as the most primitive left in europe； satisfied some necessity of his nature。 before i met him in paris he had wandered over much of europe； listening to stories in the black forest； making friends with servants and with poor people； and this from an aesthetic interest； for he had gathered no statistics； had no money to give； and cared nothing for the wrongs of the poor； being content to pay for the pleasure of eye and ear with a tune upon the fiddle。 he did not love them the better because they were poor and miserable； and it was only when he found innismaan and the blaskets； where there is neither riches nor poverty； neither what he calls the nullity of the rich nor the squalor of the poor that his writing lost its old morbid brooding； that he found his genius and his peace。 here were men and women who under the weight of their necessity lived； as the artist lives； in the presence of death and childhood； and the great affections and the orgiastic moment when life outleaps its limits； and who； as it is always with those who have refused or escaped the trivial and the temporary； had dignity and good manners where manners mattered。 here above all was silence from all our great orator took delight in； from formidable men； from moral indignation； from the sciolist who is never sad； from all in modern life that would destroy the arts； and here； to take a thought from another playwright of our school； he could love time as only women and great artists do and need never sell it。
。。
Synge And The Ireland Of His TimeX
生小说＿网
as i read the aran islands right through for the first time since he showed it me in manuscript； i e to understand how much knowledge of the real life of ireland went to the creation of a world which is yet as fantastic as the spain of cervantes。 here is the story of the playboy； of the shadow of the glen； here is the