I think this is evidence conclusive, for the man who talks to himself
habitually never hears himself. His words are only the echo of his
thoughts, and they correspond so perfectly that, like a chord in music,
there is no dissonance. It was thus with the art student I saw copying a
picture at the Tate Gallery. "Ah, a little more blue," he said, as he
turned from the original to his own canvas, and a little later: "Yes, that
line wants better drawing." Several people stood by watching his work and
smiling at his uttered thoughts. He alone was unconscious that he had
spoken.
There are, it is true, cases in which the conscious and unconscious states
seem to mingle--in which the intentional word and the unintentional come
out almost in the same breath. It was so with Thomas Landseer, the father
of Sir Edwin. He was one day visiting an artist, and inspecting his work.
"Ah, very nice, indeed!" he said to his friend. "Excellent colour;
excellent!" Then, as if all around him had vanished, and he was alone with
himself, he added: "Poor chap, he thinks he can paint!"
And this instance shows that whether the habit is a mental weakness or only
a physical defect it is capable of extremely awkward consequences, as in
the case of the banker who was ruined by unwittingly revealing his secrets
while walking in the street.
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