The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 06 (of 12)Hazlitt, William
General
The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 06 (of 12)
Hazlitt, William
English essays -- 19th century
Danger is a good teacher, and makes apt scholars. So are disgrace,
defeat, exposure to immediate scorn and laughter. There is no
opportunity in such cases for self-delusion, no idling time away, no
being off your guard (or you must take the consequences)—neither is
there any room for humour or caprice or prejudice. If the Indian Juggler
were to play tricks in throwing up the three case-knives, which keep
their positions like the leaves of a crocus in the air, he would cut his
fingers. I can make a very bad antithesis without cutting my fingers.
The tact of style is more ambiguous than that of double-edged
instruments. If the Juggler were told that by flinging himself under the
wheels of the Juggernaut, when the idol issues forth on a gaudy day, he
would immediately be transported into Paradise, he might believe it, and
nobody could disprove it. So the Brahmins may say what they please on
that subject, may build up dogmas and mysteries without end, and not be
detected: but their ingenious countryman cannot persuade the frequenters
of the Olympic Theatre that he performs a number of astonishing feats
without actually giving proofs of what he says.—There is then in this
sort of manual dexterity, first a gradual aptitude acquired to a given
exertion of muscular power, from constant repetition, and in the next
place, an exact knowledge how much is still wanting and necessary to be
supplied. The obvious test is to increase the effort or nicety of the
operation, and still to find it come true. The muscles ply instinctively
to the dictates of habit. Certain movements and impressions of the hand
and eye, having been repeated together an infinite number of times, are
unconsciously but unavoidably cemented into closer and closer union; the
limbs require little more than to be put in motion for them to follow a
regular track with ease and certainty; so that the mere intention of the
will acts mathematically, like touching the spring of a machine, and you
come with Locksley in Ivanhoe, in shooting at a mark, ‘to allow for the
wind.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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