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diff --git a/old/pgjr10.txt b/old/pgjr10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5d0c288 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/pgjr10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5968 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pages from a Journal with Other Papers +by Mark Rutherford + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Pages from a Journal with Other Papers + +Author: Mark Rutherford + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7053] +[This file was first posted on March 2, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PAGES FROM A JOURNAL *** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1901 T. Fisher Unwin edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + +PAGES FROM A JOURNAL, WITH OTHER PAPERS. + + + + +Contents: + A Visit to Carlyle in 1868 + Early Morning in January + March + June + August + The End of October + November + The Break-up of a Great Drought + Spinoza + Supplementary Note on the Devil + Injustice + Time Settles Controversies + Talking about our Troubles + Faith + Patience + An Apology + Belief, Unbelief, and Superstition + Judas Iscariot + Sir Walter Scott's Use of the Supernatural + September, 1798 + Some Notes on Milton + The Morality of Byron's Poetry. "The Corsair" + Byron, Goethe, and Mr. Matthew Arnold + A Sacrifice + The Aged Three + Conscience + The Governess's Story + James Forbes + Atonement + My Aunt Eleanor + Correspondence between George, Lucy, M.A., and Hermione Russell, B.A. + Mrs. Fairfax + + + +A VISIT TO CARLYLE IN 1868 + + + +On Saturday, the 22nd of March, 1868, my father and I called on Carlyle +at 5, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, with a message from one of his intimate +friends. + +We were asked upstairs at once, and found Carlyle at breakfast. The +room was large, well-lighted, a bright fire was burning, and the window +was open in order to secure complete ventilation. Opposite the +fireplace was a picture of Frederick the Great and his sister. There +were also other pictures which I had not time to examine. One of them +Carlyle pointed out. It was a portrait of the Elector of Saxony who +assisted Luther. The letters V.D.M.I.AE. ("Verbum Dei Manet in +AEternum") were round it. Everything in the room was in exact order, +there was no dust or confusion, and the books on the shelves were +arranged in perfect EVENNESS. I noticed that when Carlyle replaced a +book he took pains to get it level with the others. The furniture was +solid, neat, and I should think expensive. I showed him the letter he +had written to me eighteen years ago. It has been published by Mr. +Froude, but it will bear reprinting. The circumstances under which it +was written, not stated by Mr. Froude, were these. In 1850, when the +Latter-day Pamphlets appeared--how well I remember the eager journey to +the bookseller for each successive number!--almost all the reviews +united in a howl of execration, criticism so called. I, being young, +and owing so much to Carlyle, wrote to him, the first and almost the +only time I ever did anything of the kind, assuring him that there was +at least one person who believed in him. This was his answer:- + + +"CHELSEA, 9th March, 1850. + +"MY GOOD YOUNG FRIEND,--I am much obliged by the regard you entertain +for me; and do not blame your enthusiasm, which well enough beseems your +young years. If my books teach you anything, don't mind in the least +whether other people believe it or not; but do you for your own behoof +lay it to heart as a real acquisition you have made, more properly, as a +real message left with you, which YOU must set about fulfilling, +whatsoever others do! This is really all the counsel I can give you +about what you read in my books or those of others: PRACTISE what you +learn there; instantly and in all ways begin turning the belief into a +fact, and continue at that--till you get more and ever more beliefs, +with which also do the like. It is idle work otherwise to write books +or to read them. + +"And be not surprised that 'people have no sympathy with you'; that is +an accompaniment that will attend you all your days if you mean to lead +an earnest life. The 'people' could not save you with their 'sympathy' +if they had never so much of it to give; a man can and must save +himself, with or without their sympathy, as it may chance. + +"And may all good be with you, my kind young friend, and a heart stout +enough for this adventure you are upon; that is the best 'good' of all. + +"I remain, yours very sincerely, + +"T. CARLYLE." + + +Carlyle had forgotten this letter, but said, "It is undoubtedly mine. +It is what I have always believed . . . it has been so ever since I was +at college. I do not mean to say I was not loved there as warmly by +noble friends as ever man could be, but the world tumbled on me, and has +ever since then been tumbling on me rubbish, huge wagon-loads of +rubbish, thinking to smother me, and was surprised it did not smother +me--turned round with amazement and said, 'What, you alive yet?' . . . +While I was writing my Frederick my best friends, out of delicacy, did +not call. Those who came were those I did not want to come, and I saw +very few of them. I shook off everything to right and left. At last +the work would have killed me, and I was obliged to take to riding, +chiefly in the dark, about fourteen miles most days, plunging and +floundering on. I ought to have been younger to have undertaken such a +task. If they were to offer me all Prussia, all the solar system, I +would not write Frederick again. No bribe from God or man would tempt +me to do it." + +He was re-reading his Frederick, to correct it for the stereotyped +edition. "On the whole I think it is very well done. No man perhaps in +England could have done it better. If you write a book though now, you +must just pitch it out of window and say, 'Ho! all you jackasses, come +and trample on it and trample it into mud, or go on till you are +tired.'" He laughed heartily at this explosion. His laughter struck +me--humour controlling his wrath and in a sense ABOVE it, as if the +final word were by no means hatred or contempt, even for the jackass. " +. . . No piece of news of late years has gladdened me like the victory +of the Prussians over the Austrians. It was the triumph of Prussian +over French and Napoleonic influence. The Prussians were a valiant, +pious people, and it was a question which should have the most power in +Germany, they or Napoleon. The French are sunk in all kinds of filth. +Compare what the Prussians did with what we did in the Crimea. The +English people are an incredible people. They seem to think that it is +not necessary that a general should have the least knowledge of the art +of war. It is as if you had the stone, and should cry out to any +travelling tinker or blacksmith and say, 'Here, come here and cut me for +the stone,' and he WOULD cut you! Sir Charles Napier would have been a +great general if he had had the opportunity. He was much delighted with +Frederick. 'Frederick was a most extraordinary general,' said Sir +Charles, and on examination I found out that all that Sir Charles had +read of Frederick was a manual for Prussian officers, published by him +about 1760, telling them what to do on particular occasions. I was very +pleased at this admiration of Frederick by Sir Charles . . . + +"Sir John Bowring was one of your model men; men who go about imagining +themselves the models of all virtues, and they are models of something +very different. He was one of your patriots, and the Government to +quiet him sent him out to China. When he got there he went to war with +a third of the human race! He, the patriot, he who believed in the +greatest-happiness principle, immediately went to war with a third of +the human race!" (Great laughter from T.C.) "And so far as I can make +out he was all wrong. + +"The Frederick is being translated into German. It is being done by a +man whose name I have forgotten, but it was begun by one of the most +faithful friends I ever had, Neuberg. I could not work in the rooms in +the offices where lay the State papers I wanted to use, it brought on +such a headache, but Neuberg went there, and for six months worked all +day copying. He was taken ill, and a surgical operation was badly +performed, and then in that wild, black weather at the beginning of last +year, just after I came back from Mentone, the news came to me one night +he was dead." + +On leaving Carlyle shook hands with us both and said he was glad to have +seen us. "It was pleasant to have friends coming out of the dark in +this way." + +Perhaps a reflection or two which occurred to me after this interview +may not be out of place. Carlyle was perfectly frank, even to us of +whom he knew but little. He did not stand off or refuse to talk on any +but commonplace subjects. What was offered to us was his best. And yet +there is to be found in him a singular reserve, and those shallow +persons who taunt him with inconsistency because he makes so much of +silence, and yet talks so much, understand little or nothing of him. In +half a dozen pages one man may be guilty of shameless garrulity, and +another may be nobly reticent throughout a dozen volumes. Carlyle feels +the contradictions of the universe as keenly as any man can feel them. +He knows how easy it is to appear profound by putting anew the riddles +which nobody can answer; he knows how strong is the temptation towards +the insoluble. But upon these subjects he also knows how to hold his +tongue; he does not shriek in the streets, but he bows his head. He has +found no answer--he no more than the feeblest of us, and yet in his +inmost soul there is a shrine, and he worships. + +Carlyle is the champion of morals, ethics, law--call it what you like-- +of that which says we must not always do a thing because it is pleasant. +There are two great ethical parties in the world, and, in the main, but +two. One of them asserts the claims of the senses. Its doctrine is +seductive because it is so right. It is necessary that we should in a +measure believe it, in order that life may be sweet. But nature has +heavily weighted the scale in its favour; its acceptance requires no +effort. It is easily perverted and becomes a snare. In our day nearly +all genius has gone over to it, and preaching it is rather superfluous. +The other party affirms what has been the soul of all religions worth +having, that it is by repression and self-negation that men and States +live. + +It has been said that Carlyle is great because he is graphic, and he is +supposed to be summed up in "mere picturesqueness," the silliest of +verdicts. A man may be graphic in two ways. He may deal with his +subject from the outside, and by dint of using strong language may +"graphically" describe an execution or a drunken row in the streets. +But he may be graphic by ability to penetrate into essence, and to +express it in words which are worthy of it. What higher virtue than +this can we imagine in poet, artist, or prophet? + +Like all great men, Carlyle is infinitely tender. That was what struck +me as I sat and looked in his eyes, and the best portraits in some +degree confirm me. It is not worth while here to produce passages from +his books to prove my point, but I could easily do so, specially from +the Life of Sterling and the Cromwell. {10} Much of his fierceness is +an inverted tenderness. + +His greatest book is perhaps the Frederick, the biography of a hero +reduced more than once to such extremities that apparently nothing but +some miraculous intervention could save him, and who did not yield, but +struggled on and finally emerged victorious. When we consider +Frederick's position during the last part of the Seven Years' War, we +must admit that no man was ever in such desperate circumstances or +showed such uncrushable determination. It was as if the Destinies, in +order to teach us what human nature can do, had ordained that he who had +the most fortitude should also encounter the severest trial of it. Over +and over again Frederick would have been justified in acknowledging +defeat, and we should have said that he had done all that could be +expected even of such a temper as that with which he was endowed. If +the struggle of the will with the encompassing world is the stuff of +which epics are made, then no greater epic than that of Frederick has +been written in prose or verse, and it has the important advantage of +being true. It is interesting to note how attractive this primary +virtue of which Frederick is such a remarkable representative is to +Carlyle, how MORAL it is to him; and, indeed, is it not the sum and +substance of all morality? It should be noted also that it was due to +no religious motive: that it was bare, pure humanity. At times it is +difficult not to believe that Carlyle, notwithstanding his piety, loves +it all the more on that account. It is strange that an example so +salutary and stimulating to the poorest and meanest of us should be set +by an unbelieving king, and that my humdrum existence should be secretly +supported by "Frederick II. Roi de Prusse." + +* * * + +Soon after Carlyle died I went to Ecclefechan and stood by his grave. +It was not a day that I would have chosen for such an errand, for it was +cold, grey, and hard, and towards the afternoon it rained a slow, +persistent, wintry rain. The kirkyard in Ecclefechan was dismal and +depressing, but my thoughts were not there. I remembered what Carlyle +was to the young men of thirty or forty years ago, in the days of that +new birth, which was so strange a characteristic of the time. His books +were read with excitement, with tears of joy, on lonely hills, by the +seashore and in London streets, and the readers were thankful that it +was their privilege to live when he also was alive. All that excitement +has vanished, but those who knew what it was are the better for it. +Carlyle now is almost nothing, but his day will return, he will be put +in his place as one of the greatest souls who have been born amongst us, +and his message will be considered as perhaps the most important which +has ever been sent to us. This is what I thought as I stood in +Ecclefechan kirkyard, and as I lingered I almost doubted if Carlyle +COULD be dead. Was it possible that such as he could altogether die? +Some touch, some turn, I could not tell what or how, seemed all that was +necessary to enable me to see and to hear him. It was just as if I were +perplexed and baffled by a veil which prevented recognition of him, +although I was sure he was behind it. + + + +EARLY MORNING IN JANUARY + + + +A warm, still morning, with a clear sky and stars. At first the hills +were almost black, but, as the dawn ascended, they became dark green, of +a peculiarly delicate tint which is never seen in the daytime. The +quietude is profound, although a voice from an unseen fishing-boat can +now and then be heard. How strange the landscape seems! It is not a +variation of the old landscape; it is a new world. The half-moon rides +high in the sky, and near her is Jupiter. A little way further to the +left is Venus, and still further down is Mercury, rare apparition, just +perceptible where the deep blue of the night is yielding to the green +which foretells the sun. The east grows lighter; the birds begin to +stir in the bushes, and the cry of a gull rises from the base of the +cliff. The sea becomes responsive, and in a moment is overspread with +continually changing colour, partly that of the heavens above it and +partly self-contributed. With what slow, majestic pomp is the day +preceded, as though there had been no day before it and no other would +follow it! + + + +MARCH + + + +It is a bright day in March, with a gentle south-west wind. Sitting +still in the copse and facing the sun it strikes warm. It has already +mounted many degrees on its way to its summer height, and is regaining +its power. The clouds are soft, rounded, and spring-like, and the white +of the blackthorn is discernible here and there amidst the underwood. +The brooks are running full from winter rains but are not overflowing. +All over the wood which fills up the valley lies a thin, purplish mist, +harmonising with the purple bloom on the stems and branches. The buds +are ready to burst, there is a sense of movement, of waking after sleep; +the tremendous upward rush of life is almost felt. But how silent the +process is! There is no hurry for achievement, although so much has to +be done--such infinite intricacy to be unfolded and made perfect. The +little stream winding down the bottom turns and doubles on itself; a +dead leaf falls into it, is arrested by a twig, and lies there content. + + + +JUNE + + + +It is a quiet, warm day in June. The wind is westerly, but there is +only just enough of it to waft now and then a sound from the far-off +town, or the dull, subdued thunder of cannon-firing from ships or forts +distant some forty miles or more. Massive, white-bordered clouds, grey +underneath, sail overhead; there was heavy rain last night, and they are +lifting and breaking a little. Softly and slowly they go, and one of +them, darker than the rest, has descended in a mist of rain, blotting +out the ships. The surface of the water is paved curiously in green and +violet, and where the light lies on it scintillates like millions of +stars. The grass is not yet cut, and the showers have brought it up +knee-deep. Its gentle whisper is plainly heard, the most delicate of +all the voices in the world, and the meadow bends into billows, grey, +silvery, and green, when a breeze of sufficient strength sweeps across +it. The larks are so multitudinous that no distinct song can be caught, +and amidst the confused melody comes the note of the thrush and the +blackbird. A constant under-running accompaniment is just audible in +the hum of innumerable insects and the sharp buzz of flies darting past +the ear. Only those who live in the open air and watch the fields and +sea from hour to hour and day to day know what they are and what they +mean. The chance visitor, or he who looks now and then, never +understands them. While I have lain here, the clouds have risen, have +become more aerial, and more suffused with light; the horizon has become +better defined, and the yellow shingle beach is visible to its extremest +point clasping the bay in its arms. The bay itself is the tenderest +blue-green, and on the rolling plain which borders it lies intense +sunlight chequered with moving shadows which wander eastwards. The wind +has shifted a trifle, and comes straight up the Channel from the +illimitable ocean. + + + +AUGUST + + + +A few days ago it was very hot. Afterwards we had a thunderstorm, +followed by rain from the south-west. The wind has veered a point +northerly, and the barometer is rising. This morning at half-past five +the valley below was filled with white mist. Above it the tops of the +trees on the highest points emerged sharply distinct. It was +motionless, but gradually melted before the ascending sun, recalling +Plutarch's "scenes in the beautiful temple of the world which the gods +order at their own festivals, when we are initiated into their own +mysteries." Here was a divine mystery, with initiation for those who +cared for it. No priests were waiting, no ritual was necessary, the +service was simple--solitary adoration and perfect silence. + +As the day advances, masses of huge, heavy clouds appear. They are well +defined at the edges, and their intricate folds and depths are +brilliantly illuminated. The infinitude of the sky is not so impressive +when it is quite clear as when it contains and supports great clouds, +and large blue spaces are seen between them. On the hillsides the +fields here and there are yellow and the corn is in sheaves. The birds +are mostly dumb, the glory of the furze and broom has passed, but the +heather is in flower. The trees are dark, and even sombre, and, where +they are in masses, look as if they were in solemn consultation. A +fore-feeling of the end of summer steals upon me. Why cannot I banish +this anticipation? Why cannot I rest and take delight in what is before +me? If some beneficent god would but teach me how to take no thought +for the morrow, I would sacrifice to him all I possess. + + + +THE END OF OCTOBER + + + +It is the first south-westerly gale of the autumn. Its violence is +increasing every minute, although the rain has ceased for awhile. For +weeks sky and sea have been beautiful, but they have been tame. Now for +some unknown reason there is a complete change, and all the strength of +nature is awake. It is refreshing to be once more brought face to face +with her tremendous power, and to be reminded of the mystery of its +going and coming. It is soothing to feel so directly that man, +notwithstanding his science and pretentions, his subjugation of steam +and electricity, is as nothing compared with his Creator. The air has a +freshness and odour about it to which we have long been strangers. It +has been dry, and loaded with fine dust, but now it is deliciously wet +and clean. The wind during the summer has changed lightly through all +the points of the compass, but it has never brought any scent save that +of the land, nothing from a distance. Now it is charged with messages +from the ocean. + +The sky is not uniformly overcast, but is covered with long horizontal +folds of cloud, very dark below and a little lighter where they turn up +one into the other. They are incessantly modified by the storm, and +fragments are torn away from them which sweep overhead. The sea, looked +at from the height, shows white edges almost to the horizon, and +although the waves at a distance cannot be distinguished, the tossing of +a solitary vessel labouring to get round the point for shelter shows how +vast they are. The prevailing colour of the water is greyish-green, +passing into deep-blue, and perpetually shifting in tint. A quarter of +a mile away the breakers begin, and spread themselves in a white sheet +to the land. + +A couple of gulls rise from the base of the cliffs to a height of about +a hundred feet above them. They turn their heads to the south-west, and +hover like hawks, but without any visible movement of their wings. They +are followed by two more, who also poise themselves in the same way. +Presently all four mount higher, and again face the tempest. They do +not appear to defy it, nor even to exert themselves in resisting it. +What to us below is fierce opposition is to them a support and delight. +How these wonderful birds are able to accomplish this feat no +mathematician can tell us. After remaining stationary a few minutes, +they wheel round, once more ascend, and then without any effort go off +to sea directly in the teeth of the hurricane. + + + +NOVEMBER + + + +A November day at the end of the month--the country is left to those who +live in it. The scattered visitors who took lodgings in the summer in +the villages have all departed, and the recollection that they have been +here makes the solitude more complete. The woods in which they wandered +are impassable, for the rain has been heavy, and the dry, baked clay of +August has been turned into a slough a foot deep. The wind, what there +is of it, is from the south-west, soft, sweet and damp; the sky is +almost covered with bluish-grey clouds, which here and there give way +and permit a dim, watery gleam to float slowly over the distant +pastures. The grass for the most part is greyish-green, more grey than +green where it has not been mown, but on the rocky and broken ground +there is a colour like that of an emerald, and the low sun when it comes +out throws from the projections on the hillside long and beautifully +shaped shadows. Multitudes of gnats in these brief moments of sunshine +are seen playing in it. The leaves have not all fallen, down in the +hollow hardly any have gone, and the trees are still bossy, tinted with +the delicate yellowish-brown and brown of different stages of decay. +The hedges have been washed clean of the white dust; the roads have been +washed; a deep drain has just begun to trickle and on the meadows lie +little pools of the clearest rainwater, reflecting with added loveliness +any blue patch of the heavens disclosed above them. The birds are +silent save the jackdaws and the robin, who still sings his +recollections of the summer, or his anticipations of the spring, or +perhaps his pleasure in the late autumn. The finches are in flocks, and +whirl round in the air with graceful, shell-like convolutions as they +descend, part separating, for no reason apparently, and forming a second +flock which goes away over the copse. There is hardly any farm-work +going on, excepting in the ditches, which are being cleaned in readiness +for the overflow when the thirsty ground shall have sucked its fill. +Under a bank by the roadside a couple of men employed in carting stone +for road-mending are sitting on a sack eating their dinner. The roof of +the barn beyond them is brilliant with moss and lichens; it has not been +so vivid since last February. It is a delightful time. No demand is +made for ecstatic admiration; everything is at rest, nature has nothing +to do but to sleep and wait. + + + +THE BREAK-UP OF A GREAT DROUGHT + + + +For three months there had been hardly a drop of rain. The wind had +been almost continuously north-west, and from that to east. +Occasionally there were light airs from the south-west, and vapour rose, +but there was nothing in it; there was no true south-westerly breeze, +and in a few hours the weather-cock returned to the old quarter. Not +infrequently the clouds began to gather, and there was every sign that a +change was at hand. The barometer at these times fell gradually day +after day until at last it reached a point which generally brought +drenching storms, but none appeared, and then it began slowly to rise +again and we knew that our hopes were vain, and that a week at least +must elapse before it would regain its usual height and there might be a +chance of declining. At last the disappointment was so keen that the +instrument was removed. It was better not to watch it, but to hope for +a surprise. The grass became brown, and in many places was killed down +to the roots; there was no hay; myriads of swarming caterpillars +devoured the fruit trees; the brooks were all dry; water for cattle had +to be fetched from ponds and springs miles away; the roads were broken +up; the air was loaded with grit; and the beautiful green of the hedges +was choked with dust. Birds like the rook, which fed upon worms, were +nearly starved, and were driven far and wide for strange food. It was +pitiable to see them trying to pick the soil of the meadow as hard as a +rock. The everlasting glare was worse than the gloom of winter, and the +sense of universal parching thirst became so distressing that the house +was preferred to the fields. We were close to a water famine! The +Atlantic, the source of all life, was asleep, and what if it should +never wake! We know not its ways, it mocks all our science. Close to +us lies this great mystery, incomprehensible, and yet our very breath +depends upon it. Why should not the sweet tides of soft moist air cease +to stream in upon us? No reason could be given why every green herb and +living thing should not perish; no reason, save a faith which was blind. +For aught we KNEW, the ocean-begotten aerial current might forsake the +land and it might become a desert. + +One night grey bars appeared in the western sky, but they had too often +deluded us, and we did not believe in them. On this particular evening +they were a little heavier, and the window-cords were damp. The air +which came across the cliff was cool, and if we had dared to hope we +should have said it had a scent of the sea in it. At four o'clock in +the morning there was a noise of something beating against the panes-- +they were streaming! It was impossible to lie still, and I rose and +went out of doors. No creature was stirring, there was no sound save +that of the rain, but a busier time there had not been for many a long +month. Thousands of millions of blades of grass and corn were eagerly +drinking. For sixteen hours the downpour continued, and when it was +dusk I again went out. The watercourses by the side of the roads had a +little water in them, but not a drop had reached those at the edge of +the fields, so thirsty was the earth. The drought, thank God, was at an +end! + + + +SPINOZA + + + +Now that twenty years have passed since I began the study of Spinoza it +is good to find that he still holds his ground. Much in him remains +obscure, but there is enough which is sufficiently clear to give a +direction to thought and to modify action. To the professional +metaphysician Spinoza's work is already surpassed, and is absorbed in +subsequent systems. We are told to read him once because he is +historically interesting, and then we are supposed to have done with +him. But if "Spinozism," as it is called, is but a stage of development +there is something in Spinoza which can be superseded as little as the +Imitation of Christ or the Pilgrim's Progress, and it is this which +continues to draw men to him. Goethe never cared for set philosophical +systems. Very early in life he thought he had found out that they were +useless pieces of construction, but to the end of his days he clung to +Spinoza, and Philina, of all persons in the world, repeats one of the +finest sayings in the Ethic. So far as the metaphysicians are +carpenters, and there is much carpentering in most of them, Goethe was +right, and the larger part of their industry endures wind and weather +but for a short time. Spinoza's object was not to make a scheme of the +universe. He felt that the things on which men usually set their hearts +give no permanent satisfaction, and he cast about for some means by +which to secure "a joy continuous and supreme to all eternity." I +propose now, without attempting to connect or contrast Spinoza with +Descartes or the Germans, to name some of those thoughts in his books by +which he conceived he had attained his end. + +The sorrow of life is the rigidity of the material universe in which we +are placed. We are bound by physical laws, and there is a constant +pressure of matter-of-fact evidence to prove that we are nothing but +common and cheap products of the earth to which in a few moments or +years we return. Spinoza's chief aim is to free us from this sorrow, +and to free us from it by THINKING. The emphasis on this word is +important. He continually insists that a thing is not unreal because we +cannot imagine it. His own science, mathematics, affords him examples +of what MUST be, although we cannot picture it, and he believes that +true consolation lies in the region of that which cannot be imaged but +can be thought. + +Setting out on his quest, he lays hold at the very beginning on the idea +of Substance, which he afterwards identifies with the idea of God. "By +Substance I understand that which is in itself and is conceived through +itself; in other words, that, the conception of which does not need the +conception of another thing from which it must be formed." {34a} "By +God, I understand Being absolutely infinite, that is to say, substance +consisting of infinite attributes, each one of which expresses eternal +and infinite essence." {34b} "God, or substance consisting of infinite +attributes, each one of which expresses eternal and infinite essence, +necessarily exists." {34c} By the phrases "in itself" and "by itself," +we are to understand that this conception cannot be explained in other +terms. Substance must be posited, and there we must leave it. The +demonstration of the last-quoted proposition, the 11th, is elusive, and +I must pass it by, merely observing that the objection that no idea +involves existence, and that consequently the idea of God does not +involve it, is not a refutation of Spinoza, who might rejoin that it is +impossible not to affirm existence of God as the Ethic defines him. +Spinoza escapes one great theological difficulty. Directly we begin to +reflect we are dissatisfied with a material God, and the nobler +religions assert that God is a Spirit. But if He be a pure spirit +whence comes the material universe? To Spinoza pure spirit and pure +matter are mere artifices of the understanding. His God is the +Substance with infinite attributes of which thought and extension are +the two revealed to man, and he goes further, for he maintains that they +are one and the same thing viewed in different ways, inside and outside +of the same reality. The conception of God, strictly speaking, is not +incomprehensible, but it is not CIRCUM-prehensible; if it were it could +not be the true conception of Him. + +Spinoza declares that "the human mind possesses an adequate knowledge of +the eternal and infinite essence of God" {36}--not of God in His +completeness, but it is adequate. The demonstration of this proposition +is at first sight unsatisfactory, because we look for one which shall +enable us to form an image of God like that which we can form of a +triangle. But we cannot have "a knowledge of God as distinct as that +which we have of common notions, because we cannot imagine God as we can +bodies." "To your question," says Spinoza to Boxel, "whether I have as +clear an idea of God as I have of a triangle? I answer, Yes. But if +you ask me whether I have as clear an image of God as I have of a +triangle I shall say, No; for we cannot imagine God, but we can in a +measure understand Him. Here also, it is to be observed that I do not +say that I altogether know God, but that I understand some of His +attributes--not all, nor the greatest part, and it is clear that my +ignorance of very many does not prevent my knowledge of certain others. +When I learned the elements of Euclid, I very soon understood that the +three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, and I clearly +perceived this property of a triangle, although I was ignorant of many +others." {37a} + +"Individual things are nothing but affections or modes of God's +attributes, expressing those attributes in a certain and determinate +manner," {37b} and hence "the more we understand individual objects, the +more we understand God." {37c} + +The intellect of God in no way resembles the human intellect, for we +cannot conceive Him as proposing an end and considering the means to +attain it. "The intellect of God, in so far as it is conceived to +constitute His essence, is in truth the cause of things, both of their +essence and of their existence--a truth which seems to have been +understood by those who have maintained that God's intellect, will, and +power are one and the same thing." {37d} + +The whole of God is FACT, and Spinoza denies any reserve in Him of +something unexpressed. "The omnipotence of God has been actual from +eternity, and in the same actuality will remain to eternity," {38} not +of course in the sense that everything which exists has always existed +as we now know it, or that nothing will exist hereafter which does not +exist now, but that in God everything that has been, and will be, +eternally IS. + +The reader will perhaps ask, What has this theology to do with the "joy +continuous and supreme"? We shall presently meet with some deductions +which contribute to it, but it is not difficult to understand that +Spinoza, to use his own word, might call the truths set forth in these +propositions "blessed." Let a man once believe in that God of infinite +attributes of which thought and extension are those by which He +manifests Himself to us; let him see that the opposition between thought +and matter is fictitious; that his mind "is a part of the infinite +intellect of God"; that he is not a mere transient, outside interpreter +of the universe, but himself the soul or law, which is the universe, and +he will feel a relationship with infinity which will emancipate him. + +It is not true that in Spinoza's God there is so little that is positive +that it is not worth preserving. All Nature is in Him, and if the +objector is sincere he will confess that it is not the lack of contents +in the idea which is disappointing, but a lack of contents particularly +interesting to himself. + +The opposition between the mind and body of man as two diverse entities +ceases with that between thought and extension. It would be impossible +briefly to explain in all its fulness what Spinoza means by the +proposition: "The object of the idea constituting the human mind is a +body" {39}; it is sufficient here to say that, just as extension and +thought are one, considered in different aspects, so body and mind are +one. We shall find in the fifth part of the Ethic that Spinoza affirms +the eternity of the mind, though not perhaps in the way in which it is +usually believed. + +Following the order of the Ethic we now come to its more directly +ethical maxims. Spinoza denies the freedom commonly assigned to the +will, or perhaps it is more correct to say he denies that it is +intelligible. The will is determined by the intellect. The idea of the +triangle involves the affirmation or volition that its three angles are +equal to two right angles. If we understand what a triangle is we are +not "free" to believe that it contains more or less than two right +angles, nor to act as if it contained more or less than two. The only +real freedom of the mind is obedience to the reason, and the mind is +enslaved when it is under the dominion of the passions. "God does not +act from freedom of the will," {40a} and consequently "things could have +been produced by God in no other manner and in no other order than that +in which they have been produced." {40b} + +"If you will but reflect," Spinoza tells Boxel, "that indifference is +nothing but ignorance or doubt, and that a will always constant and in +all things determinate is a virtue and a necessary property of the +intellect, you will see that my words are entirely in accord with the +truth." {40c} To the same effect is a passage in a letter to +Blyenbergh, "Our liberty does not consist in a certain contingency nor +in a certain indifference, but in the manner of affirming or denying, so +that in proportion as we affirm or deny anything with less indifference, +are we the more free." {41a} So also to Schuller, "I call that thing +free which exists and acts solely from the necessity of its own nature: +I call that thing coerced which is determined to exist and to act in a +certain and determinate manner by another." {41b} With regard to this +definition it might be objected that the necessity does not lie solely +in the person who wills but is also in the object. The triangle as well +as the nature of man contains the necessity. What Spinoza means is that +the free man by the necessity of his nature is bound to assert the truth +of what follows from the definition of a triangle and that the stronger +he feels the necessity the more free he is. Hence it follows that the +wider the range of the intellect and the more imperative the necessity +which binds it, the larger is its freedom. + +In genuine freedom Spinoza rejoices. "The doctrine is of service in so +far as it teaches us that we do everything by the will of God alone, and +that we are partakers of the divine nature in proportion as our actions +become more and more perfect and we more and more understand God. This +doctrine, therefore, besides giving repose in every way to the soul, has +also this advantage, that it teaches us in what our highest happiness or +blessedness consists, namely, in the knowledge of God alone, by which we +are drawn to do those things only which love and piety persuade." {42a} +In other words, being part of the whole, the grandeur and office of the +whole are ours. We are anxious about what we call "personality," but in +truth there is nothing in it of any worth, and the less we care for it +the more "blessed" we are. + +"By the desire which springs from reason we follow good directly and +avoid evil indirectly" {42b}: our aim should be the good; in obtaining +that we are delivered from evil. To the same purpose is the conclusion +of the fifth book of the Ethic that "No one delights in blessedness +because he has restrained his affects, but, on the contrary, the power +of restraining his lusts springs from blessedness itself." {43a} This +is exactly what the Gospel says to the Law. + +Fear is not the motive of a free man to do what is good. "A free man +thinks of nothing less than of death, and his wisdom is not a meditation +upon death, but upon life." {43b} This is the celebrated sixty-seventh +proposition of the fourth part. If we examine the proof which directly +depends on the sixty-third proposition of the same part--"he who is led +by fear, and does what is good in order that he may avoid what is evil, +is not led by reason"--we shall see that Spinoza is referring to the +fear of the "evil" of hell-fire. + +All Spinoza's teaching with regard to the passions is a consequence of +what he believes of God and man. He will study the passions and not +curse them. He finds that by understanding them "we can bring it to +pass that we suffer less from them. We have, therefore, mainly to +strive to acquire a clear and distinct knowledge of each affect." {43c} +"If the human mind had none but adequate ideas it would form no notion +of evil." {44a} "The difference between a man who is led by affect or +opinion alone and one who is led by reason" is that "the former, whether +he wills it or not, does those things of which he is entirely ignorant, +but the latter does the will of no one but himself." {44b} THEY KNOW +NOT WHAT THEY DO. + +The direct influence of Spinoza's theology is also shown in his +treatment of pity, hatred, laughter, and contempt. "The man who has +properly understood that everything follows from the necessity of the +divine nature, and comes to pass according to the eternal laws and rules +of nature, will in truth discover nothing which is worthy of hatred, +laughter, or contempt, nor will he pity any one, but, so far as human +virtue is able, he will endeavour to DO WELL, as we say, and to +REJOICE." {44c} By pity is to be understood mere blind sympathy. The +good that we do by this pity with the eyes of the mind shut ought to be +done with them open. "He who lives according to the guidance of reason +strives as much as possible to repay the hatred, anger, or contempt of +others towards himself with love or generosity. . . . He who wishes to +avenge injuries by hating in return does indeed live miserably. But he +who, on the contrary, strives to drive out hatred by love, fights +joyfully and confidently, with equal ease resisting one man or a number +of men, and needing scarcely any assistance from fortune. Those whom he +conquers yield gladly, not from defect of strength, but from an increase +of it." {45a} + +"Joy is the passion by which the mind passes to a greater perfection: +sorrow, on the other hand, is the passion by which it passes to a less +perfection." {45b} "No God and no human being, except an envious one, +is delighted by my impotence or my trouble, or esteems as any virtue in +us tears, sighs, fears, and other things of this kind, which are signs +of mental impotence; on the contrary, the greater the joy with which we +are affected, the greater the perfection to which we pass thereby; that +is to say, the more do we necessarily partake of the divine nature." +{46} It would be difficult to find an account of joy and sorrow which +is closer to the facts than that which Spinoza gives. He lived amongst +people Roman Catholic and Protestant who worshipped sorrow. Sorrow was +the divinely decreed law of life and joy was merely a permitted +exception. He reversed this order and his claim to be considered in +this respect as one of the great revolutionary religious and moral +reformers has not been sufficiently recognised. It is remarkable that, +unlike other reformers, he has not contradicted error by an +exaggeration, which itself very soon stands in need of contradiction, +but by simple sanity which requires no correction. One reason for this +peculiarity is that the Ethic was the result of long meditation. It was +published posthumously and was discussed in draft for many years before +his death. Usually what we call our convictions are propositions which +we have not thoroughly examined in quietude, but notions which have just +come into our heads and are irreversible to us solely because we are +committed to them. Much may be urged against the Ethic and on behalf of +hatred, contempt, and sorrow. The "other side" may be produced +mechanically to almost every truth; the more easily, the more divine +that truth is, and against no truths is it producible with less genuine +mental effort than against those uttered by the founder of Christianity. +The question, however, if we are dealing with the New Testament, is not +whether the Sermon on the Mount can be turned inside out in a debating +society, but whether it does not represent better than anything which +the clever leader of the opposition can formulate the principle or +temper which should govern our conduct. + +There is a group of propositions in the last part of the Ethic, which, +although they are difficult, it may be well to notice, because they were +evidently regarded by Spinoza as helping him to the end he had in view. +The difficulty lies in a peculiar combination of religious ideas and +scientific form. These propositions are the following:- {47} + +"The mind can cause all the affections of the body or the images of +things to be related to the idea of God." + +"He who clearly and distinctly understands himself and his affects loves +God, and loves Him better the better he understands himself and his +affects." + +"This love to God above everything else ought to occupy the mind." + +"God is free from passions, nor is He affected with any affect of joy or +sorrow." + +"No one can hate God." + +"He who loves God cannot strive that God should love him in return." + +"This love to God cannot be defiled either by the effect of envy or +jealousy, but is the more strengthened the more people we imagine to be +connected with God by the same bond of love." + +The proof of the first of these propositions, using language somewhat +different from that of the text, is as follows:- There is no affection +of the body of which the mind cannot form some clear and distinct +conception, that is to say, of everything perceived it is capable of +forming a clear and adequate idea, not exhaustive, as Spinoza is careful +to warn us, but an idea not distorted by our personality, and one which +is in accordance with the thing itself, adequate as far as it goes. +Newton's perception that the moon perpetually falls to the earth by the +same numerical law under which a stone falls to it was an adequate +perception. "Therefore," continues the demonstration (quoting the +fifteenth proposition of the first part--"Whatever is, is in God, and +nothing can either be or be conceived without God"), "the mind can cause +all the affections of the body to be related to the idea of God." +Spinoza, having arrived at his adequate idea thus takes a further step +to the idea of God. What is perceived is not an isolated external +phenomenon. It is a reality in God: it IS God: there is nothing more +to be thought or said of God than the affirmation of such realities as +these. The "relation to the idea of God" means that in the affirmation +He is affirmed. "Nothing," that is to say, no reality "can be conceived +without God." + +But it is possible for the word "love" to be applied to the relationship +between man and God. He who has a clear and adequate perception passes +to greater perfection, and therefore rejoices. Joy, accompanied with +the idea of a cause, is love. By the fourteenth proposition this joy is +accompanied by the idea of God as its cause, and therefore love to God +follows. The demonstration seems formal, and we ask ourselves, What is +the actual emotion which Spinoza describes? It is not new to him, for +in the Short Treatise, which is an early sketch for the Ethic, he thus +writes:- "Hence it follows incontrovertibly that it is knowledge which +is the cause of love, so that when we learn to know God in this way, we +must necessarily unite ourselves to Him, for He cannot be known, nor can +he reveal Himself, save as that which is supremely great and good. In +this union alone, as we have already said, our happiness consists. I do +not say that we must know Him adequately; but it is sufficient for us, +in order to be united with Him, to know Him in a measure, for the +knowledge we have of the body is not of such a kind that we can know it +as it is or perfectly; and yet what a union! what love!" {50} + +Perhaps it may clear the ground a little if we observe that Spinoza +often avoids a negative by a positive statement. Here he may intend to +show us what the love of God is not, that it is not what it is described +in the popular religion to be. "The only love of God I know," we may +imagine him saying, "thus arises. The adequate perception is the +keenest of human joys for thereby I see God Himself. That which I see +is not a thing or a person, but nevertheless what I feel towards it can +be called by no other name than love. Although the object of this love +is not thing or person it is not indefinite, it is this only which is +definite; 'thing' and 'person' are abstract and unreal. There was a +love to God in Kepler's heart when the three laws were revealed to him. +If it was not love to God, what is love to Him?" + +To the eighteenth proposition, "No one can hate God," there is a +scholium which shows that the problem of pain which Spinoza has left +unsolved must have occurred to him. "But some may object that if we +understand God to be the cause of all things, we do for that very reason +consider Him to be the cause of sorrow. But I reply that in so far as +we understand the causes of sorrow, it ceases to be a passion (Prop. 3, +pt. 5), that is to say (Prop. 59, pt. 3) it ceases to be a sorrow; and +therefore in so far as we understand God to be the cause of sorrow do we +rejoice." The third proposition of the fifth part which he quotes +merely proves that in so far as we understand passion it ceases to be a +passion. He replies to those "who ask why God has not created all men +in such a manner that they might be controlled by the dictates of reason +alone," {52} "Because to Him material was not wanting for the creation +of everything, from the highest down to the very lowest grade of +perfection; or, to speak more properly, because the laws of His nature +were so ample that they sufficed for the production of everything which +can be conceived by an infinite intellect." Nevertheless of pain we +have no explanation. Pain is not lessened by understanding it, nor is +its mystery penetrated if we see that to God material could not have +been wanting for the creation of men or animals who have to endure it +all their lives. But if Spinoza is silent in the presence of pain, so +also is every religion and philosophy which the world has seen. Silence +is the only conclusion of the Book of Job, and patient fortitude in the +hope of future enlightenment is the conclusion of Christianity. + +It is a weak mistake, however, to put aside what religions and +philosophies tell us because it is insufficient. To Job it is not +revealed why suffering is apportioned so unequally or why it exists, but +the answer of the Almighty from the whirlwind he cannot dispute, and +although Spinoza has nothing more to say about pain than he says in the +passages just quoted and was certainly not exempt from it himself, it +may be impossible that any man should hate God. + +We now come to the final propositions of the Ethic, those in which +Spinoza declares his belief in the eternity of mind. The twenty-second +and twenty-third propositions of the fifth part are as follows:- + +"In God, nevertheless, there necessarily exists an idea which expresses +the essence of this or that human body under the form of eternity." + +"The human mind cannot be absolutely destroyed with the body, but +something of it remains which is eternal." + +The word "nevertheless" is a reference to the preceding proposition +which denies the continuity of memory or imagination excepting so long +as the body lasts. The demonstration of the twenty-third proposition is +not easy to grasp, but the substance of it is that although the mind is +the idea of the body, that is to say, the mind is body as thought and +body is thought as extension, the mind, or essence of the body, is not +completely destroyed with the body. It exists as an eternal idea, and +by an eternal necessity in God. Here again we must not think of that +personality which is nothing better than a material notion, an image +from the concrete applied to mind, but we must cling fast to thought, to +the thoughts which alone makes us what we ARE, and these, says Spinoza, +are in God and are not to be defined by time. They have always been and +always will be. The enunciation of the thirty-third proposition is, +"The intellectual love of God which arises from the third kind of +knowledge is eternal." The "third kind of knowledge" is that intuitive +science which "advances from an adequate idea of the formal essence of +certain attributes of God to the adequate knowledge of the essence of +things; {54} "No love except intellectual love is eternal," {55a} and +the scholium to this proposition adds, "If we look at the common opinion +of men, we shall see that they are indeed conscious of the eternity of +their minds, but they confound it with duration, and attribute it to +imagination or memory, which they believe remain after death." The +intellectual love of the mind towards God is the very "love with which +He loves Himself, not in so far as He is infinite, but in so far as He +can be manifested through the essence of the human mind, considered +under the form of eternity; that is to say, the intellectual love of the +mind towards God is part of the infinite love with which God loves +Himself." {55b} "Hence it follows that God, in so far as He loves +Himself, loves men, and consequently that the love of God towards men +and the intellectual love of the mind towards God are one and the same +thing." {55c} The more adequate ideas the mind forms "the less it +suffers from those affects which are evil, and the less it fears death" +because "the greater is that part which remains unharmed, and the less +consequently does it suffer from the affects." It is possible even "for +the human mind to be of such a nature that that part of it which we have +shown perishes with its body, in comparison with the part of it which +remains, is of no consequence." {56a} + +Spinoza, it is clear, holds that in some way--in what way he will not +venture to determine--the more our souls are possessed by the +intellectual love of God, the less is death to be dreaded, for the +smaller is that part of us which can die. Three parallel passages may +be appended. One will show that this was Spinoza's belief from early +years and the other two that it is not peculiar to him. "If the soul is +united with some other thing which is and remains unchangeable, it must +also remain unchangeable and permanent." {56b} "Further, this creative +reason does not at one time think, at another time not think [it thinks +eternally]: and when separated from the body it remains nothing but +what it essentially is: and thus it is alone immortal and eternal. Of +this unceasing work of thought, however, we retain no memory, because +this reason is unaffected by its objects; whereas the receptive, passive +intellect (which is affected) is perishable, and can really think +nothing without the support of the creative intellect." {57a} The third +quotation is from a great philosophic writer, but one to whom perhaps we +should not turn for such a coincidence. "I believe," said Pantagruel, +"that all intellectual souls are exempt from the scissors of Atropos. +They are all immortal." {57b} + +I have not tried to write an essay on Spinoza, for in writing an essay +there is a temptation to a consistency and completeness which are +contributed by the writer and are not to be found in his subject. The +warning must be reiterated that here as elsewhere we are too desirous, +both writers and readers, of clear definition where none is possible. +We do not stop where the object of our contemplation stops for our eyes. +For my own part I must say that there is much in Spinoza which is beyond +me, much which I cannot EXTEND, and much which, if it can be extended, +seems to involve contradiction. But I have also found his works +productive beyond those of almost any man I know of that acquiescentia +mentis which enables us to live. + + +SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE ON THE DEVIL + + +Spinoza denies the existence of the Devil, and says, in the Short +Treatise, that if he is the mere opposite of God and has nothing from +God, he is simply the Nothing. But if a philosophical doctrine be true, +it does not follow that as it stands it is applicable to practical +problems. For these a rule may have to be provided, which, although it +may not be inconsistent with the scientific theorem, differs from it in +form. The Devil is not an invention of priests for priestly purposes, +nor is he merely a hypothesis to account for facts, but he has been +forced upon us in order that we may be able to deal with them. Unless +we act as though there were an enemy to be resisted and chained, if we +fritter away differences of kind into differences of degree, we shall +make poor work of life. Spinoza himself assumes that other commands +than God's may be given to us, but that we are unhesitatingly to obey +His and His only. "Ad fidem ergo catholicam," he says, "ea solummodo +pertinent, quae erga Deum OBEDIENTIA absolute ponit." Consciousness +seems to testify to the presence of two mortal foes within us--one +Divine and the other diabolic--and perhaps the strongest evidence is not +the rebellion of the passions, but the picturing and the mental +processes which are almost entirely beyond our control, and often +greatly distress us. We look down upon them; they are not ours, and yet +they are ours, and we cry out with St. Paul against the law warring with +the law of our minds. Bunyan of course knows the practical problem and +the rule, and to him the Devil is not merely the tempter to crimes, but +the great Adversary. In the Holy War the chosen regiments of Diabolus +are the Doubters, and notwithstanding their theologic names, they +carried deadlier weapons than the theologic doubters of to-day. The +captain over the Grace-doubters was Captain Damnation; he over the +Felicity-doubters was Captain Past-hope, and his ancient-bearer was Mr. +Despair. The nature of the Doubters is "to put a question upon every +one of the truths of Emanuel, and their country is called the Land of +Doubting, and that land lieth off and furthest remote to the north +between the land of Darkness and that called the Valley of the Shadow of +Death." They are not children of the sun, and although they are not +sinners in the common sense of the word, those that were caught in +Mansoul were promptly executed. + +There is nothing to be done but to fight and wait for the superior help +which will come if we do what we can. Emanuel at first delayed his aid +in the great battle, and the first brunt was left to Captain Credence. +Presently, however, Emanuel appeared "with colours flying, trumpets +sounding, and the feet of his men scarce touched the ground; they hasted +with such celerity towards the captains that were engaged that . . . +there was not left so much as one Doubter alive, they lay spread upon +the ground dead men as one would spread dung on the land." The dead +were buried "lest the fumes and ill-favours that would arise from them +might infect the air and so annoy the famous town of Mansoul." But it +will be a fight to the end for Diabolus, and the lords of the pit +escaped. + +After Emanuel had finally occupied Mansoul he gave the citizens some +advice. The policy of Diabolus was "to make of their castle a +warehouse." Emanuel made it a fortress and a palace, and garrisoned the +town. "O my Mansoul," he said, "nourish my captains; make not my +captains sick, O Mansoul." + + + +INJUSTICE + + + +A notion, self-begotten in me, of the limitations of my friend is +answerable for the barrenness of my intercourse with him. I set him +down as hard; I speak to him as if he were hard and from that which is +hard in myself. Naturally I evoke only that which is hard, although +there may be fountains of tenderness in him of which I am altogether +unaware. It is far better in conversation not to regulate it according +to supposed capacities or tempers, which are generally those of some +fictitious being, but to be simply ourselves. We shall often find +unexpected and welcome response. + +Our estimates of persons, unless they are frequently revived by personal +intercourse, are apt to alter insensibly and to become untrue. They +acquire increased definiteness but they lose in comprehensiveness. + +Especially is this true of those who are dead. If I do not read a great +author for some time my mental abstract of him becomes summary and +false. I turn to him again, all summary judgments upon him become +impossible, and he partakes of infinitude. Writers, and people who are +in society and talk much are apt to be satisfied with an algebraic +symbol for a man of note, and their work is done not with him but with +x. + + + +TIME SETTLES CONTROVERSIES + + + +We ought to let Time have his own way in the settlement of our disputes. +It is a commonplace how much he is able to do with some of our troubles, +such as loss of friends or wealth; but we do not sufficiently estimate +his power to help our arguments. If I permit myself to dispute, I +always go beyond what is necessary for my purpose, and my continual +iteration and insistence do nothing but provoke opposition. Much better +would it be simply to state my case and leave it. To do more is not +only to distrust it, but to distrust that in my friend which is my best +ally, and will more surely assist me than all my vehemence. Sometimes-- +nay, often--it is better to say nothing, for there is a constant +tendency in Nature towards rectification, and her quiet protest and +persuasiveness are hindered by personal interference. If anybody very +dear to me were to fall into any heresy of belief or of conduct, I am +not sure that I ought to rebuke him, and that he would not sooner be +converted by observing my silent respect for him than by preaching to +him. + + + +TALKING ABOUT OUR TROUBLES + + + +We may talk about our troubles to those persons who can give us direct +help, but even in this case we ought as much as possible to come to a +provisional conclusion before consultation; to be perfectly clear to +ourselves within our own limits. Some people have a foolish trick of +applying for aid before they have done anything whatever to aid +themselves, and in fact try to talk themselves into perspicuity. The +only way in which they can think is by talking, and their speech +consequently is not the expression of opinion already and carefully +formed, but the manufacture of it. + +We may also tell our troubles to those who are suffering if we can +lessen their own. It may be a very great relief to them to know that +others have passed through trials equal to theirs and have survived. +There are obscure, nervous diseases, hypochondriac fancies, almost +uncontrollable impulses, which terrify by their apparent singularity. +If we could believe that they are common, the worst of the fear would +vanish. + +But, as a rule, we should be very careful for our own sake not to speak +much about what distresses us. Expression is apt to carry with it +exaggeration, and this exaggerated form becomes henceforth that under +which we represent our miseries to ourselves, so that they are thereby +increased. By reserve, on the other hand, they are diminished, for we +attach less importance to that which it was not worth while to mention. +Secrecy, in fact, may be our salvation. + +It is injurious to be always treated as if something were the matter +with us. It is health-giving to be dealt with as if we were healthy, +and the man who imagines his wits are failing becomes stronger and +sounder by being entrusted with a difficult problem than by all the +assurances of a doctor. + +They are poor creatures who are always craving for pity. If we are +sick, let us prefer conversation upon any subject rather than upon +ourselves. Let it turn on matters that lie outside the dark chamber, +upon the last new discovery, or the last new idea. So shall we seem +still to be linked to the living world. By perpetually asking for +sympathy an end is put to real friendship. The friend is afraid to +intrude anything which has no direct reference to the patient's +condition lest it should be thought irrelevant. No love even can long +endure without complaint, silent it may be, an invalid who is entirely +self-centred; and what an agony it is to know that we are tended simply +as a duty by those who are nearest to us, and that they will really be +relieved when we have departed! From this torture we may be saved if we +early apprentice ourselves to the art of self-suppression and sternly +apply the gag to eloquence upon our own woes. Nobody who really cares +for us will mind waiting on us even to the long-delayed last hour if we +endure in fortitude. + +There is no harm in confronting our disorders or misfortunes. On the +contrary, the attempt is wholesome. Much of what we dread is really due +to indistinctness of outline. If we have the courage to say to +ourselves, What IS this thing, then? let the worst come to the worst, +and what then? we shall frequently find that after all it is not so +terrible. What we have to do is to subdue tremulous, nervous, insane +fright. Fright is often prior to an object; that is to say, the fright +comes first and something is invented or discovered to account for it. +There are certain states of body and mind which are productive of +objectless fright, and the most ridiculous thing in the world is able to +provoke it to activity. It is perhaps not too much to say that any +calamity the moment it is apprehended by the reason alone loses nearly +all its power to disturb and unfix us. The conclusions which are so +alarming are not those of the reason, but, to use Spinoza's words, of +the "affects." + + + +FAITH + + + +Faith is nobly seen when a man, standing like Columbus upon the shore +with a dark, stormy Atlantic before him, resolves to sail, and although +week after week no land be visible, still believes and still sails on; +but it is nobler when there is no America as the goal of our venture, +but something which is unsubstantial, as, for example, self-control and +self-purification. It is curious, by the way, that discipline of this +kind should almost have disappeared. Possibly it is because religion is +now a matter of belief in certain propositions; but, whatever the cause +may be, we do not train ourselves day by day to become better as we +train ourselves to learn languages or science. To return from this +parenthesis, we say that when no applause nor even recognition is +expected, to proceed steadily and alone for its own sake in the work of +saving the soul is truer heroism than that which leads a martyr +cheerfully to the stake. + +Faith is at its best when we have to wrestle with despair, not only of +ourselves but of the Universe; when we strain our eyes and see nothing +but blackness. In the Gorgias Socrates maintains, not only that it is +always better to suffer injustice than to commit it, but that it is +better to be punished for injustice than to escape, and better to die +than to do wrong; and it is better not only because of the effect on +others but for our own sake. We are naturally led to ask what support a +righteous man unjustly condemned could find, supposing he were about to +be executed, if he had no faith in personal immortality and knew that +his martyrdom could not have the least effect for good. Imagine him, +for example, shut up in a dungeon and about to be strangled in it and +that not a single inquiry will be made about him--where will he look for +help? what hope will compose him? He may say that in a few hours he +will be asleep, and that nothing will then be of any consequence to him, +but that thought surely will hardly content him. He may reflect that he +at least prevents the evil which would be produced by his apostasy; and +very frequently in life, when we abstain from doing wrong, we have to be +satisfied with a negative result and with the simple absence (which +nobody notices) of some direct mischief, although the abstention may +cost more than positive well-doing. This too, however, is but cold +consolation when the cord is brought and the grave is already dug. + +It must be admitted that Reason cannot give any answer. Socrates, when +his reasoning comes to an end, often permits himself to tell a story. +"My dialectic," he seems to say, "is of no further use; but here is a +tale for you," and as he goes on with it we can see his satyr eyes gleam +with an intensity which shows that he did not consider he was inventing +a mere fable. That was the way in which he taught theology. Perhaps we +may find that something less than logic and more than a dream may be of +use to us. We may figure to ourselves that this universe of souls is +the manifold expression of the One, and that in this expression there is +a purpose which gives importance to all the means of which it avails +itself. Apparent failure may therefore be a success, for the mind which +has been developed into perfect virtue falls back into the One, having +served (by its achievements) the end of its existence. The potential in +the One has become actual, has become real, and the One is the richer +thereby. + + + +PATIENCE + + + +What is most to be envied in really religious people of the earlier type +is their intellectual and moral peace. They had obtained certain +convictions, a certain conception of the Universe, by which they could +live. Their horizon may have been encompassed with darkness; experience +sometimes contradicted their faith, but they trusted--nay, they knew-- +that the opposition was not real and that the truths were not to be +shaken. Their conduct was marked by a corresponding unity. They +determined once for all that there were rules which had to be obeyed, +and when any particular case arose it was not judged according to the +caprice of the moment, but by statute. + +We, on the other hand, can only doubt. So far as those subjects are +concerned on which we are most anxious to be informed, we are sure of +nothing. What we have to do is to accept the facts and wait. We must +take care not to deny beauty and love because we are forced also to +admit ugliness and hatred. Let us yield ourselves up utterly to the +magnificence and tenderness of the sunrise, though the East End of +London lies over the horizon. That very same Power, and it is no other, +which blasts a country with the cholera or drives the best of us to +madness has put the smile in a child's face and is the parent of Love. +It is curious, too, that the curse seems in no way to qualify the +blessing. The sweetness and majesty of Nature are so exquisite, so +pure, that when they are before us we cannot imagine they could be +better if they proceeded from an omnipotently merciful Being and no +pestilence had ever been known. We must not worry ourselves with +attempts at reconciliation. We must be satisfied with a hint here and +there, with a ray of sunshine at our feet, and we must do what we can to +make the best of what we possess. Hints and sunshine will not be +wanting, and science, which was once considered to be the enemy of +religion, is dissolving by its later discoveries the old gross +materialism, the source of so much despair. + +The conduct of life is more important than speculation, but the lives of +most of us are regulated by no principle whatever. We read our Bible, +Thomas a Kempis, and Bunyan, and we are persuaded that our salvation +lies in the perpetual struggle of the higher against the lower self, the +spirit against the flesh, and that the success of the flesh is +damnation. We take down Horace and Rabelais and we admit that the body +also has its claims. We have no power to dominate both sets of books, +and consequently they supersede one another alternately. Perhaps life +is too large for any code we can as yet frame, and the dissolution of +all codes, the fluid, unstable condition of which we complain, may be a +necessary antecedent of new and more lasting combinations. One thing is +certain, that there is not a single code now in existence which is not +false; that the graduation of the vices and virtues is wrong, and that +in the future it will be altered. We must not hand ourselves over to a +despotism with no Divine right, even if there be a risk of anarchy. In +the determination of our own action, and in our criticism of other +people, we must use the whole of ourselves and not mere fragments. If +we do this we need not fear. We may suppose we are in danger because +the stone tables of the Decalogue have gone to dust, but it is more +dangerous to attempt to control men by fictions. Better no chart +whatever than one which shows no actually existing perils, but warns us +against Scylla, Charybdis, and the Cyclops. If we are perfectly honest +with ourselves we shall not find it difficult to settle whether we ought +to do this or that particular thing, and we may be content. The new +legislation will come naturally at the appointed time, and it is not +impossible to live while it is on the way. + + + +AN APOLOGY + + + +In these latter days of anarchy and tumult, when there is no gospel of +faith or morals, when democracy seems bent on falsifying every +prediction of earlier democratic enthusiasts by developing worse dangers +to liberty than any which our forefathers had to encounter, and when the +misery of cities is so great, it appears absurd, not to say wrong, that +we should sit still and read books. I am ashamed when I go into my own +little room and open Milton or Shakespeare after looking at a newspaper +or walking through the streets of London. I feel that Milton and +Shakespeare are luxuries, and that I really belong to the class which +builds palaces for its pleasure, although men and women may be starving +on the roads. + +Nevertheless, if I were placed on a platform I should be obliged to say, +"My brethren, I plainly perceive the world is all wrong, but I cannot +see how it is to be set right," and I should descend the steps and go +home. There may be others who have a clearer perception than mine, and +who may be convinced that this way or that way lies regeneration. I do +not wish to discourage them; I wish them God-speed, but I cannot help +them nor become their disciple. Possibly I am doing nothing better than +devising excuses for lotus-eating, but here they are. + +To take up something merely because I am idle is useless. The message +must come to me, and with such urgency that I cannot help delivering it. +Nor is it of any use to attempt to give my natural thoughts a force +which is not inherent in them. + +The disease is often obvious, but the remedies are doubtful. The +accumulation of wealth in a few hands, generally by swindling, is +shocking, but if it were distributed to-morrow we should gain nothing. +The working man objects to the millionaire, but would gladly become a +millionaire himself, even if his million could be piled up in no other +way than by sweating thousands of his fellows. The usurpation of +government by the ignorant will bring disaster, but how in these days +could a wise man reign any longer than ignorance permitted him? The +everlasting veerings of the majority, without any reason meanwhile for +the change, show that, except on rare occasions of excitement, the +opinion of the voters is of no significance. But when we are asked what +substitute for elections can be proposed, none can be found. So with +the relationship between man and woman, the marriage laws and divorce. +The calculus has not been invented which can deal with such +complexities. We are in the same position as that in which Leverrier +and Adams would have been, if, observing the irregularities of Uranus, +which led to the discovery of Neptune, they had known nothing but the +first six books of Euclid and a little algebra. + +There has never been any reformation as yet without dogma and +supernaturalism. Ordinary people acknowledge no real reasons for virtue +except heaven and hell-fire. When heaven and hell-fire cease to +persuade, custom for a while is partly efficacious, but its strength +soon decays. Some good men, knowing the uselessness of rational means +to convert or to sustain their fellows, have clung to dogma with +hysterical energy, but without any genuine faith in it. They have +failed, for dogma cannot be successful unless it be the INEVITABLE +expression of the inward conviction. + +The voices now are so many and so contradictory that it is impossible to +hear any one of them distinctly, no matter what its claim on our +attention may be. The newspaper, the circulating library, the free +library, and the magazine are doing their best to prevent unity of +direction and the din and confusion of tongues beget a doubt whether +literature and the printing press have actually been such a blessing to +the race as enlightenment universally proclaims them to be. + +The great currents of human destiny seem more than ever to move by +forces which tend to no particular point. There is a drift, tremendous +and overpowering, due to nobody in particular, but to hundreds of +millions of small impulses. Achilles is dead, and the turn of the +Myrmidons has come. + + +"Myrmdons, race feconde +Myrmidons, +Enfin nous commandons: + +Jupiter livre le monde +Aux Myrmidons, aux Myrmidons. + +Voyant qu' Achille succombe, +Ses Myrmidons, hors des rangs, +Disent: Dansons sur sa tombe +Ses petits vont etre grands." + + +My last defence is that the Universe is an organic unity, and so subtle +and far-reaching are the invisible threads which pass from one part of +it to another that it is impossible to limit the effect which even an +insignificant life may have. "Were a single dust-atom destroyed, the +universe would collapse." + + +" . . . who of men can tell +That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell +To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail, +The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale, +The meadows runnels, runnels pebble-stones, +The seed its harvest, or the lute its tones, +Tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet +If human souls did never kiss and greet?" + + + +BELIEF, UNBELIEF, AND SUPERSTITION + + + +True belief is rare and difficult. There is no security that the +fictitious beliefs which have been obtained by no genuine mental +process, that is to say, are not vitally held, may not be discarded for +those which are exactly contrary. We flatter ourselves that we have +secured a method and freedom of thought which will not permit us to be +the victims of the absurdities of the Middle Ages, but, in fact, there +is no solid obstacle to our conversion to some new grotesque religion +more miraculous than Roman Catholicism. Modern scepticism, +distinguishing it from scholarly scepticism, is nothing but stupidity or +weakness. Few people like to confess outright that they do not believe +in a God, although the belief in a personal devil is considered to be a +sign of imbecility. Nevertheless, men, as a rule, have no ground for +believing in God a whit more respectable than for disbelief in a devil. +The devil is not seen nor is God seen. The work of the devil is as +obvious as that of God. Nay, as the devil is a limited personality, +belief in him is not encumbered with the perplexities which arise when +we attempt to apprehend the infinite Being. Belief may often be tested; +that is to say, we may be able to discover whether it is an active +belief or not by inquiring what disbelief it involves. So also the test +of disbelief is its correspondent belief. + +Superstition is a name generally given to a few only of those beliefs +for which it is imagined that there is no sufficient support, such as +the belief in ghosts, witches, and, if we are Protestants, in miracles +performed after a certain date. Why these particular beliefs have been +selected as solely deserving to be called superstitious it is not easy +to discover. If the name is to be extended to all beliefs which we have +not attempted to verify, it must include the largest part of those we +possess. We vote at elections as we are told to vote by the newspaper +which we happen to read, and our opinions upon a particular policy are +based upon no surer foundation than those of the Papist on the +authenticity of the lives of the Saints. + +Superstition is a matter of RELATIVE evidence. A thousand years ago it +was not so easy as it is now to obtain rigid demonstration in any +department except mathematics. Much that was necessarily the basis of +action was as incapable of proof as the story of St. George and the +Dragon, and consequently it is hardly fair to say that the dark ages +were more superstitious than our own. Nor does every belief, even in +supernatural objects, deserve the name of superstition. Suppose that +the light which struck down St. Paul on his journey to Damascus was due +to his own imagination, the belief that it came from Jesus enthroned in +the heavens was a sign of strength and not of weakness. Beliefs of this +kind, in so far as they exalt man, prove greatness and generosity, and +may be truer than the scepticism which is formally justified in +rejecting them. If Christ never rose from the dead, the women who +waited at the sepulchre were nearer to reality than the Sadducees, who +denied the resurrection. + +There is a half-belief, which we find in Virgil that is not +superstition, nor inconstancy, nor cowardice. A child-like faith in the +old creed is no longer possible, but it is equally impossible to +surrender it. I refer now not to those who select from it what they +think to be in accordance with their reason, and throw overboard the +remainder with no remorse, but rather to those who cannot endure to +touch with sacrilegious hands the ancient histories and doctrines which +have been the depositaries of so much that is eternal, and who dread +lest with the destruction of a story something precious should also be +destroyed. The so-called superstitious ages were not merely +transitionary. Our regret that they have departed is to be explained +not by a mere idealisation of the past, but by a conviction that truths +have been lost, or at least have been submerged. Perhaps some day they +may be recovered, and in some other form may again become our religion. + + + +JUDAS ISCARIOT--WHAT CAN BE SAID FOR HIM? + + + +Judas Iscariot has become to Christian people an object of horror more +loathsome than even the devil himself. The devil rebelled because he +could not brook subjection to the Son of God, a failing which was noble +compared with treachery to the Son of man. The hatred of Judas is not +altogether virtuous. We compound thereby for our neglect of Jesus and +His precepts: it is easier to establish our Christianity by cursing the +wretched servant than by following his Master. The heinousness also of +the crime in Gethsemane has been aggravated by the exaltation of Jesus +to the Redeemership of the world. All that can be known of Judas is +soon collected. He was chosen one of the twelve apostles, and received +their high commission to preach the kingdom of heaven, to heal the sick, +raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, and cast out devils. He was +appointed treasurer to the community. John in telling the story of the +anointing at Bethany says that he was a thief, but John also makes him +the sole objector to the waste of the ointment. According to the other +evangelists all the disciples objected. Since he remained in office it +could hardly have been known at the time of the visit to Bethany that he +was dishonest, nor could it have been known at any time to Matthew and +Mark, for they would not have lost the opportunity of adding such a +touch to the portrait. The probability, therefore, is that the robbery +of the bag is unhistorical. When the chief priests and scribes sought +how they might apprehend Jesus they made a bargain with Judas to deliver +Him to them for thirty pieces of silver. He was present at the Last +Supper but went and betrayed his Lord. A few hours afterwards, when he +found out that condemnation to death followed, he repented himself and +brought again the thirty pieces of silver to his employers, declared +that he had sinned in betraying innocent blood, cast down the money at +their feet, and went and hanged himself. + +This is all that is discoverable about Judas, and it has been considered +sufficient for a damnation deeper than any allotted to the worst of the +sons of Adam. Dante places him in the lowest round of the ninth or last +of the hellish circles, where he is eternally "champed" by Satan, +"bruised as with ponderous engine," his head within the diabolic jaws +and "plying the feet without." In the absence of a biography with +details, it is impossible to make out with accuracy what the real Judas +was. We can, however, by dispassionate examination of the facts +determine their sole import, and if we indulge in inferences we can +deduce those which are fairly probable. As Judas was treasurer, he must +have been trusted. He could hardly have been naturally covetous, for he +had given up in common with the other disciples much, if not all, to +follow Jesus. The thirty pieces of silver--some four or five pounds of +our money--could not have been considered by him as a sufficient bribe +for the ignominy of a treason which was to end in legal murder. He +ought perhaps to have been able to measure the ferocity of an +established ecclesiastical order and to have known what would have been +the consequence of handing over to it perfect, and therefore heretical, +sincerity and purity, but there is no evidence that he did know: nay, +we are distinctly informed, as we have just seen, that when he became +aware what was going to happen his sorrow for his wicked deed took a +very practical shape. + +We cannot allege with confidence that it was any permanent loss of +personal attachment to Jesus which brought about his defection. It came +when the belief in a theocracy near at hand filled the minds of the +disciples. These ignorant Galilean fishermen expected that in a very +short time they would sit on twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes of +Israel. The custodian of the bag, gifted with more common sense than +his colleagues, probably foresaw the danger of a collision with Rome, +and may have desired by a timely arrest to prevent an open revolt, which +would have meant immediate destruction of the whole band with women and +children. Can any position be imagined more irritating that that of a +careful man of business who is keeper of the purse for a company of +heedless enthusiasts professing complete indifference to the value of +money, misunderstanding the genius of their chief, and looking out every +morning for some sign in the clouds, a prophecy of their immediate +appointment as vicegerents of a power that would supersede the awful +majesty of the Imperial city? He may have been heated by a long series +of petty annoyances to such a degree that at last they may have ended in +rage and a sudden flinging loose of himself from the society. It is the +impulsive man who frequently suffers what appears to be inversion, and +Judas was impulsive exceedingly. Matthew, and Matthew only, says that +Judas asked for money from the chief priests. "What will ye give me, +and I will deliver Him unto you?" According to Mark, whose account of +the transaction is the same as Luke's, "Judas . . . went unto the chief +priests to betray Him unto them. And when they heard it, they were +glad, and promised to give him money." If the priests were the +tempters, a slight difference is established in favour of Judas, but +this we will neglect. The sin of taking money and joining in that last +meal in any case is black enough, although, as we have before pointed +out, Judas did not at the time know what the other side of the bargain +was. Admitting, however, everything that can fairly be urged against +him, all that can be affirmed with certainty is that we are in the +presence of strange and unaccountable inconsistency, and that an apostle +who had abandoned his home, who had followed Jesus for three years +amidst contempt and persecution, and who at last slew himself in self- +reproach, could be capable of committing the meanest of sins. Is the +co-existence of irreconcilable opposites in human nature anything new? +The story of Judas may be of some value if it reminds us that man is +incalculable, and that, although in theory, and no doubt in reality, he +is a unity, the point from which the divergent forces in him rise is +often infinitely beyond our exploration; a lesson not merely in +psychology but for our own guidance, a warning that side by side with +heroic virtues there may sleep in us not only detestable vices, but +vices by which those virtues are contradicted and even for the time +annihilated. The mode of betrayal, with a kiss, has justly excited +loathing, but it is totally unintelligible. Why should he have taken +the trouble to be so base when the movement of a finger would have +sufficed? Why was any sign necessary to indicate one who was so well +known? The supposition that the devil compelled him to superfluous +villainy in order that he might be secured with greater certainty and +tortured with greater subtlety is one that can hardly be entertained +except by theologians. It is equally difficult to understand why Jesus +submitted to such an insult, and why Peter should not have smitten down +its perpetrator. Peter was able to draw his sword, and it would have +been safer and more natural to kill Judas than to cut off the ear of the +high priest's servant. John, who shows a special dislike to Judas, +knows nothing of the kiss. According to John, Jesus asked the soldiers +whom they sought, and then stepped boldly forward and declared Himself. +"Judas," adds John, "was standing with them." As John took such +particular notice of what happened, the absence of the kiss in his +account can hardly have been accidental. It is a sound maxim in +criticism that what is simply difficult of explanation is likely to be +authentic. An awkward reading in a manuscript is to be preferred to one +which is easier. But an historical improbability, especially if no +corroboration of it is to be found in a better authority, may be set +aside, and in this case we are justified in neglecting the kiss. +Whatever may have been the exact shade of darkness in the crime of +Judas, it was avenged with singular swiftness, and he himself was the +avenger. He did not slink away quietly and poison himself in a ditch. +He boldly encountered the sacred college, confessed his sin and the +innocence of the man they were about to crucify. Compared with these +pious miscreants who had no scruples about corrupting one of the +disciples, but shuddered at the thought of putting back into the +treasury the money they had taken from it, Judas becomes noble. His +remorse is so unendurable that it drives him to suicide. + +If a record could be kept of those who have abjured Jesus through love +of gold, through fear of the world or of the scribes and Pharisees, we +should find many who are considered quite respectable, or have even been +canonised, and who, nevertheless, much more worthily than Iscariot, are +entitled to "champing" by the jaws of Sathanas. Not a single scrap from +Judas himself has reached us. He underwent no trial, and is condemned +without plea or excuse on his own behalf, and with no cross-examination +of the evidence. No witnesses have been called to his character. What +would his friends at Kerioth have said for him? What would Jesus have +said? If He had met Judas with the halter in his hand would He not have +stopped him? Ah! I can see the Divine touch on the shoulder, the +passionate prostration of the repentant in the dust, the hands gently +lifting him, the forgiveness because he knew not what he did, and the +seal of a kiss indeed from the sacred lips. + + + +SIR WALTER SCOTT'S USE OF THE SUPERNATURAL IN THE "BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR" + + + +The supernatural machinery in Sir Walter Scott's Monastery is generally +and, no doubt, correctly, set down as a mistake. Sir Walter fails, not +because the White Lady of Avenel is a miracle, but because being +miraculous, she is made to do what sometimes is not worthy of her. +This, however, is not always true, for nothing can be finer than the +change in Halbert Glendinning after he has seen the spirit, and the +great master himself has never drawn a nobler stroke than that in which +he describes the effect which intercourse with her has had upon Mary. +Halbert, on the morning of the duel between himself and Sir Piercie +Shafton, is trying to persuade her that he intends no harm, and that he +and Sir Piercie are going on a hunting expedition. "Say not thus," said +the maiden, interrupting him, "say not thus to me. Others thou may'st +deceive, but me thou can'st not. There has been that in me from the +earliest youth which fraud flies from, and which imposture cannot +deceive." The transforming influence of the Lady is here just what it +should be, and the consequence is that she becomes a reality. + +But it is in the Bride of Lammermoor more particularly that the use of +the supernatural is not only blameless but indispensable. We begin to +rise to it in that scene in which the Master of Ravenswood meets Alice. +"Begone from among them," she says, "and if God has destined vengeance +on the oppressor's house, do not you be the instrument. . . . If you +remain here, her destruction or yours, or that of both, will be the +inevitable consequence of her misplaced attachment." A little further +on, with great art, Scott having duly prepared us by what has preceded, +adds intensity and colour. He apologises for the "tinge of +superstition," but, not believing, he evidently believes, and we justly +surrender ourselves to him. The Master of Ravenswood after the insult +received from Lady Ashton wanders round the Mermaiden's Well on his way +to Wolf's Crag and sees the wraith of Alice. Scott makes horse as well +as man afraid so that we may not immediately dismiss the apparition as a +mere ordinary product of excitement. Alice at that moment was dying, +and had "prayed powerfully that she might see her master's son and renew +her warning." Observe the difference between this and any vulgar ghost +story. From the very first we feel that the Superior Powers are against +this match, and that it will be cursed. The beginning of the curse lies +far back in the hereditary temper of the Ravenswoods, in the intrigues +of the Ashtons, and in the feuds of the times. When Love intervenes we +discover in an instant that he is not sent by the gods to bring peace, +but that he is the awful instrument of destruction. The spectral +appearance of Alice at the hour of her departure, on the very spot "on +which Lucy Ashton had reclined listening to the fatal tale of woe . . . +holding up her shrivelled hand as if to prevent his coming more near," +is necessary in order to intimate that the interdict is pronounced not +by a mortal human being but by a dread, supernal authority. + + + +SEPTEMBER, 1798. "THE LYRICAL BALLADS." + + + +The year 1798 was a year of great excitement: England was alone in the +struggle against Buonaparte; the mutiny at the Nore had only just been +quelled: the 3 per cent. Consols had been marked at 49 or 50; the +Gazettes were occupied with accounts of bloody captures of French ships; +Ireland may be said to have been in rebellion, and horrible murders were +committed there; the King sent a message to Parliament telling it that +an invasion might be expected and that it was to be assisted by +"incendiaries" at home; and the Archbishop of Canterbury and eleven +bishops passed a resolution declaring that if the French should land, or +a dangerous insurrection should break out, it would be the duty of the +clergy to take up arms against an enemy whom the Bishop of Rochester +described as "instigated by that desperate malignity against the Faith +he has abandoned, which in all ages has marked the horrible character of +the vile apostate." + +In the midst of this raving political excitement three human beings were +to be found who although they were certainly not unmoved by it, were +able to detach themselves from it when they pleased, and to seclude +themselves in a privacy impenetrable even to an echo of the tumult +around them. + +In April or May, 1798, the Nightingale was written, and these are the +sights and sounds which were then in young Coleridge's eyes and ears:- + + +"No cloud, no relique of the sunken day +Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip +Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. +Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge! +You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, +But hear no murmuring: it flows silently, +O'er its soft bed of verdure. All is still, +A balmy night! and tho' the stars be dim, +Yet let us think upon the vernal showers +That gladden the green earth, and we shall find +A pleasure in the dimness of the stars." + + +We happen also to have Dorothy Wordsworth's journal for April and May. +Here are a few extracts from it:- + + +April 6th.--"Went a part of the way home with Coleridge. . . . The +spring still advancing very slowly. The horse-chestnuts budding, and +the hedgerows beginning to look green, but nothing fully expanded." + +April 9th.--"Walked to Stowey . . . The sloe in blossom, the hawthorns +green, the larches in the park changed from black to green in two or +three days. Met Coleridge in returning." + +April 12th.--" . . . The spring advances rapidly, multitudes of +primroses, dog-violets, periwinkles, stitchwort." + +April 27th.--"Coleridge breakfasted and drank tea, strolled in the wood +in the morning, went with him in the evening through the wood, +afterwards walked on the hills: the moon; a many-coloured sea and sky." + +May 6th, Sunday.--"Expected the painter {101} and Coleridge. A rainy +morning--very pleasant in the evening. Met Coleridge as we were walking +out. Went with him to Stowey; heard the nightingale; saw a glow-worm." + + +What was it which these three young people (for Dorothy certainly must +be included as one of its authors) proposed to achieve by their book? +Coleridge, in the Biographia Literaria, says (vol. ii. c. 1): "During +the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were neighbours, our +conversations turned frequently on the two cardinal points of poetry, +the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence +to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of novelty +by the modifying colours of imagination. The sudden charm, which +accidents of light and shade, which moonlight or sunset diffused over a +known and familiar landscape, appeared to represent the practicability +of combining both. These are the poetry of nature. The thought +suggested itself--(to which of us I do not recollect)--that a series of +poems might be composed of two sorts. In the one, the agents and +incidents were to be, in part at least, supernatural; and the excellence +aimed at was to consist in the interesting of the affections by the +dramatic truth of such emotions, as would naturally accompany such +situations, supposing them real. And real in this sense they have been +to every human being who, from whatever source of delusion, has at any +time believed himself under supernatural agency. For the second class, +subjects were to be chosen from ordinary life; the characters and +incidents were to be such as will be found in every village and its +vicinity, where there is a meditative and feeling mind to seek after +them, or to notice them, when they present themselves. + +"In this idea originated the plan of the LYRICAL BALLADS; in which it +was agreed, that my endeavours should be directed to persons and +characters supernatural, or at least romantic; yet so as to transfer +from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth +sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing +suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith. +Mr. Wordsworth, on the other hand, was to propose to himself as his +object, to give the charm of novelty to things of everyday and to excite +a feeling ANALOGOUS TO THE SUPERNATURAL, {103} by awakening the mind's +attention to the lethargy of custom, and directing it to the loveliness +and the wonders of the world before us; an inexhaustible treasure, but +for which, in consequence of the film of familiarity and selfish +solicitude we have eyes, yet see not, ears that hear not, and hearts +that neither feel nor understand. + +"With this view I wrote THE ANCIENT MARINER, and was preparing, among +other poems, THE DARK LADIE and the CHRISTABEL, in which I should have +more nearly have realised my ideal, than I had done in my first +attempt." + +Coleridge, when he wrote to Cottle offering him the Lyrical Ballads, +affirms that "the volumes offered to you are, to a certain degree, ONE +WORK IN KIND" {104a} (Reminiscences, p. 179); and Wordsworth declares, +"I should not, however, have requested this assistance, had I not +believed that the poems of my Friend would in a great measure HAVE THE +SAME TENDENCY AS MY OWN, {104b} and that though there would be found a +difference, there would be found no discordance in the colours of our +style; as our opinions on the subject of poetry do almost entirely +coincide" (Preface to Lyrical Ballads, 1800). + +It is a point carefully to be borne in mind that we have the explicit +and contemporary authority of both poets that their aim was the same. + +There are difficulties in the way of believing that The Ancient Mariner +was written for the Lyrical Ballads. It was planned in 1797 and was +originally intended for a magazine. Nevertheless, it may be asserted +that the purpose of The Ancient Mariner and of Christabel (which was +originally intended for the Ballads) was, as their author said, TRUTH, +living truth. He was the last man in the world to care for a story +simply as a chain of events with no significance, and in these poems the +supernatural, by interpenetration with human emotions, comes closer to +us than an event of daily life. In return the emotions themselves, by +means of the supernatural expression, gain intensity. The texture is so +subtly interwoven that it is difficult to illustrate the point by +example, but take the following lines:- + + +"Alone, alone, all, all alone, +Alone on a wide wide sea! +And never a saint took pity on +My soul in agony. + +The many men, so beautiful! +And they all dead did lie: +And a thousand thousand slimy things +Lived on; and so did I. + +* * * * + +The self-same moment I could pray: +And from my neck so free +The Albatross fell off, and sank +Like lead into the sea. + +* * * * + +And the hay was white with silent light +Till rising from the same, +Full many shapes, that shadows were, +In crimson colours came. + +A little distance from the prow +Those crimson shadows were: +I turned my eyes upon the deck - +Oh, Christ! what saw I there! + +Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, +And, by the holy rood! +A man all light, a seraph-man, +On every corse there stood." + + +Coleridge's marginal gloss to these last stanzas is "The angelic spirits +leave the dead bodies, and appear in their own forms of light." + +Once more from Christabel:- + + +"The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone, +She nothing sees--no sight but one! +The maid, devoid of guile and sin, +I know not how, in fearful wise, +So deeply had she drunken in +That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, +That all her features were resigned +To this sole image in her mind: +And passively did imitate +That look of dull and treacherous hate." + + +What Wordsworth intended we have already heard from Coleridge, and +Wordsworth confirms him. It was, says the Preface of 1802, "to present +ordinary things to the mind in an unusual way." In Wordsworth the +miraculous inherent in the commonplace, but obscured by "the film of +familiarity," is restored to it. This translation is effected by the +imagination, which is not fancy nor dreaming, as Wordsworth is careful +to warn us, but that power by which we see things as they are. The +authors of The Ancient Mariner and Simon Lee are justified in claiming a +common object. It is to prove that the metaphysical in Shakespeare's +sense of the word interpenetrates the physical, and serves to make us +see and feel it. + +Poetry, if it is to be good for anything, must help us to live. It is +to this we come at last in our criticism, and if it does not help us to +live it may as well disappear, no matter what its fine qualities may be. +The help to live, however, that is most wanted is not remedies against +great sorrows. The chief obstacle to the enjoyment of life is its +dulness and the weariness which invades us because there is nothing to +be seen or done of any particular value. If the supernatural becomes +natural and the natural becomes supernatural, the world regains its +splendour and charm. Lines may be drawn from their predecessors to +Coleridge and the Wordsworths, but the work they did was distinctly +original, and renewed proof was given of the folly of despair even when +fertility seems to be exhausted. There is always a hidden conduit open +into an unknown region whence at any moment streams may rush and renew +the desert with foliage and flowers. + +The reviews which followed the publication of the Lyrical Ballads were +nearly all unfavourable. Even Southey discovered nothing in The Ancient +Mariner but "a Dutch attempt at German sublimity." A certain learned +pig thought it "the strangest story of a cock and bull that he ever saw +on paper," and not a single critic, not even the one or two who had any +praise to offer, discerned the secret of the book. The publisher was so +alarmed that he hastily sold his stock. Nevertheless Coleridge, +Wordsworth, and his sister quietly went off to Germany without the least +disturbance of their faith, and the Ballads are alive to this day. + + + +SOME NOTES ON MILTON + + + +Much of the criticism on Milton, if not hostile, is apologetic, and it +is considered quite correct to say we "do not care" for him. Partly +this indifference is due to his Nonconformity. The "superior" +Englishman who makes a jest of the doctrines and ministers of the +Established Church always pays homage to it because it is RESPECTABLE, +and sneers at Dissent. Another reason why Milton does not take his +proper place is that his theme is a theology which for most people is no +longer vital. A religious poem if it is to be deeply felt must embody a +living faith. The great poems of antiquity are precious to us in +proportion to our acceptance, now, as fact, of what they tell us about +heaven and earth. There are only a few persons at present who perceive +that in substance the account which was given in the seventeenth century +of the relation between man and God is immortal and worthy of epic +treatment. A thousand years hence a much better estimate of Milton will +be possible than that which can be formed to-day. We attribute to him +mechanic construction in dead material because it is dead to ourselves. +Even Mr. Ruskin who was far too great not to recognise in part at least +Milton's claims, says that "Milton's account of the most important event +in his whole system of the universe, the fall of the angels, is +evidently unbelievable to himself; and the more so, that it is wholly +founded on, and in a great part spoiled and degraded from, Hesiod's +account of the decisive war of the younger gods with the Titans. The +rest of his poem is a picturesque drama, in which every artifice of +invention is visibly and consciously employed; not a single fact being +for an instant conceived as tenable by any living faith" (Sesame and +Lilies, section iii.). + +Mr. Mark Pattison, quoting part of this passage, remarks with justice, +"on the contrary, we shall not rightly apprehend either the poetry or +the character of the poet until we feel that throughout Paradise Lost, +as in Paradise Regained and Samson, Milton felt himself to be standing +on the sure ground of fact and reality" (English Men of Letters--Milton, +p. 186, ed. 1879). + +St. Jude for ages had been sufficient authority for the angelic revolt, +and in a sense it was a reasonable dogma, for although it did not +explain the mystery of the origin of evil it pushed it a step further +backwards, and without such a revolt the Christian scheme does not well +hold together. So also with the entrance of the devil into the serpent. +It is not expressly taught in any passage of the canonical Scriptures, +but to the Church and to Milton it was as indisputable as the presence +of sin in the world. Milton, I repeat, BELIEVED in the framework of his +poem, and unless we can concede this to him we ought not to attempt to +criticise him. He was impelled to turn his religion into poetry in +order to bring it closer to him. The religion of every Christian if it +is real is a poem. He pictures a background of Holy Land scenery, and +he creates a Jesus who continually converses with him and reveals to him +much more than is found in the fragmentary details of the Gospels. When +Milton goes beyond his documents he does not imagine for the purpose of +filling up: the additions are expression. + +Milton belonged to that order of poets whom the finite does not satisfy. +Like Wordsworth, but more eminently, he was "powerfully affected" only +by that "which is conversant with or turns upon infinity," and man is to +him a being with such a relationship to infinity that Heaven and Hell +contend over him. Every touch which sets forth the eternal glory of +Heaven and the scarcely subordinate power of Hell magnifies him. +Johnson, whose judgment on Milton is unsatisfactory because he will not +deliver himself sufficiently to beauty which he must have recognised, +nevertheless says of the Paradise Lost, that "its end is to raise the +thoughts above sublunary cares," and this is true. The other great epic +poems worthy to be compared with Milton's, the Iliad, Odyssey, AEneid, +and Divine Comedy, all agree in representing man as an object of the +deepest solicitude to the gods or God. Milton's conception of God is +higher than Homer's, Virgil's, or Dante's, but the care of the Miltonic +God for his offspring is greater, and the profound truth unaffected by +Copernican discoveries and common to all these poets is therefore more +impressive in Milton than in the others. + +There is nothing which the most gifted of men can create that is not +mixed up with earth, and Milton, too, works it up with his gold. The +weakness of the Paradise Lost is not, as Johnson affirms, its lack of +human interest, for the Prometheus Bound has just as little, nor is +Johnson's objection worth anything that the angels are sometimes +corporeal and at other times independent of material laws. Spirits +could not be represented to a human mind unless they were in a measure +subject to the conditions of time and space. The principal defect in +Paradise Lost is the justification which the Almighty gives of the +creation of man with a liability to fall. It would have been better if +Milton had contented himself with telling the story of the Satanic +insurrection, of its suppression, of its author's revenge, of the +expulsion from Paradise, and the promise of a Redeemer. But he wanted +to "justify the ways of God to man," and in order to do this he thought +it was necessary to show that man must be endowed with freedom of will, +and consequently could not be directly preserved from yielding to the +assaults of Satan. + +Paradise Regained comes, perhaps, closer to us than Paradise Lost +because its temptations are more nearly our own, and every amplification +which Milton introduces is designed to make them more completely ours +than they seem to be in the New Testament. It has often been urged +against Paradise Regained that Jesus recovered Paradise for man by the +Atonement and not merely by resistance to the devil's wiles, but +inasmuch as Paradise was lost by the devil's triumph through human +weakness it is natural that Paradise Regained should present the triumph +of the Redeemer's strength. It is this victory which proves Jesus to be +the Son of God and consequently able to save us. + +He who has now become incarnated for our redemption is that same Messiah +who, when He rode forth against the angelic rebels, + + + "into terror chang'd +His count'nance too severe to be beheld, +And full of wrath bent on his enemies." + + +It is He who + + + "on his impious foes right onward drove, +Gloomy as night:" + + +whose right hand grasped + + + "ten thousand thunders, which he sent +Before him, such as in their souls infix'd +Plagues." +(P. L. vi. 824-38.) + + +Now as Son of Man he is confronted with that same Archangel, and he +conquers by "strong sufferance." He comes with no fourfold visage of a +charioteer flashing thick flames, no eye which glares lightning, no +victory eagle-winged and quiver near her with three-bolted thunder +stored, but in "weakness," and with this he is to "overcome satanic +strength." + +Milton sees in the temptation to turn the stones into bread a devilish +incitement to use miraculous powers and not to trust the Heavenly +Father. + + +"Why dost thou then suggest to me distrust, +Knowing who I am, as I know who thou art?" +(P. R. i. 355-6.) + + +Finding his enemy steadfast, Satan disappears, + + + "bowing low +His gray dissimulation," +(P. R. i. 497-8.) + + +and calls to council his peers. He disregards the proposal of Belial to +attempt the seduction of Jesus with women. If he is vulnerable it will +be to objects + + + "such as have more shew +Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise, +Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wreck'd; +Or that which only seems to satisfy +Lawful desires of Nature, not beyond." +(P. R. ii. 226-30.) + + +The former appeal is first of all renewed. "Tell me," says Satan, + + + "'if food were now before thee set +Would'st thou not eat?' 'Thereafter as I like +The giver,' answered Jesus." +(P. R. ii. 320-22.) + + +A banquet is laid, and Satan invites Jesus to partake of it. + + +"What doubts the Son of God to sit and eat? +These are not fruits forbidd'n." +(P. R. ii. 368-9.) + + +But Jesus refuses to touch the devil's meat - + + +"Thy pompous delicacies I contemn, +And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles." +(P. R. ii. 390-1.) + + +So they were, for at a word + + +"Both table and provision vanish'd quite, +With sound of harpies' wings and talons heard." +(P. R. ii. 402-3.) + + +If but one grain of that enchanted food had been eaten, or one drop of +that enchanted liquor had been drunk, there would have been no Cross, no +Resurrection, no salvation for humanity. + +The temptation on the mountain is expanded by Milton through the close +of the second book, the whole of the third and part of the fourth. It +is a temptation of peculiar strength because it is addressed to an +aspiration which Jesus has acknowledged. + + + "Yet this not all +To which my spirit aspir'd: victorious deeds +Flam'd in my heart, heroic acts." +(P. R. i. 214-16.) + + +But he denies that the glory of mob-applause is worth anything. + + + "What is glory but the blaze of fame, +The people's praise, if always praise unmixt? +And what the people but a herd confus'd, +A miscellaneous rabble, who extol +Things vulgar, and, well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise?" +(P. R. iii. 47-51.) + + +To the Jesus of the New Testament this answer is, in a measure, +inappropriate. He would not have called the people "a herd confus'd, a +miscellaneous rabble." But although inappropriate it is Miltonic. The +devil then tries the Saviour with a more subtle lure, an appeal to duty. + + +"If kingdom move thee not, let move thee zeal +And duty; zeal and duty are not slow; +But on occasion's forelock watchful wait. +They themselves rather are occasion best, +Zeal of thy father's house, duty to free +Thy country from her heathen servitude." +(P. R. iii. 171-6.) + + +But zeal and duty, the endeavour to hurry that which cannot and must not +be hurried may be a suggestion from hell. + + +"If of my reign prophetic writ hath told +That it shall never end, so when begin +The Father in His purpose hath decreed." +(P. R. iii. 184-6.) + + +Acquiescence, a conviction of the uselessness of individual or organised +effort to anticipate what only slow evolution can bring, is +characteristic of increasing years, and was likely enough to be the +temper of Milton when he had seen the failure of the effort to make +actual on earth the kingdom of Heaven. The temptation is developed in +such a way that every point supposed to be weak is attacked. "You may +be what you claim to be," insinuates the devil, "but are rustic." + + +"Thy life hath yet been private, most part spent +At home, scarce view'd the Galilean towns, +And once a year Jerusalem." +(P. R. iii. 232-4.) + + +Experience and alliances are plausibly urged as indispensable for +success. But Jesus knew that the sum total of a man's power for good is +precisely what of good there is in him and that if it be expressed even +in the simplest form, all its strength is put forth and its office is +fulfilled. To suppose that it can be augmented by machinery is a +foolish delusion. The + + + "projects deep +Of enemies, of aids, battles and leagues, +Plausible to the world" +(P. R. iii. 395-3.) + + +are to the Founder of the kingdom not of this world "worth naught." +Another side of the mountain is tried. Rome is presented with Tiberius +at Capreae. Could it possibly be anything but a noble deed to + + + "expel this monster from his throne +Now made a sty, and in his place ascending, +A victor people free from servile yoke!" +(P. R. iv. 100-102.) + + +"AND WITH MY HELP THOU MAY'ST." With the devil's help and not without +can this glorious revolution be achieved! "For him," is the Divine +reply, "I was not sent." The attack is then directly pressed. + + +"The kingdoms of the world, to thee I give; +For, giv'n to me, I give to whom I please, +No trifle; yet with this reserve, not else, +On this condition, if thou wilt fall down +And worship me as thy superior lord." +(P. R. iv. 163-7.) + + +This, then, is the drift and meaning of it all. The answer is taken +verbally from the gospel. + + + "'Thou shalt worship +The Lord thy God, and only Him shalt serve.'" +(P. R. iv. 176-7.) + + +That is to say, Thou shalt submit thyself to God's commands and God's +methods and thou shalt submit thyself to NO OTHER. + +Omitting the Athenian and philosophic episode, which is unnecessary and +a little unworthy even of the Christian poet, we encounter not an +amplification of the Gospel story but an interpolation which is entirely +Milton's own. Night gathers and a new assault is delivered in darkness. +Jesus wakes in the storm which rages round Him. The diabolic hostility +is open and avowed and He hears the howls and shrieks of the infernals. +He cannot banish them though He is so far master of Himself that He is +able to sit "unappall'd in calm and sinless peace." He has to endure +the hellish threats and tumult through the long black hours + + + "till morning fair +Came forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray, +Who with her radiant finger still'd the roar +Of thunder, chas'd the clouds, and laid the winds, +And grisly spectres, which the Fiend had rais'd +To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire. +But now the sun with more effectual beams +Had cheer'd the face of earth, and dri'd the wet +From drooping plant, or dropping tree; the birds, +Who all things now beheld more fresh and green, +After a night of storm so ruinous, +Clear'd up their choicest notes in bush and spray +To gratulate the sweet return of morn." +(P. R. iv. 426-38.) + + +There is nothing perhaps in Paradise Lost which possesses the peculiar +quality of this passage, nothing which like these verses brings into the +eyes the tears which cannot be repressed when a profound experience is +set to music. + +The temptation on the pinnacle occupies but a few lines only of the +poem. Hitherto Satan admits that Jesus had conquered, but he had done +no more than any wise and good man could do. + + +"Now show thy progeny; if not to stand, +Cast thyself down; safely, if Son of God; +For it is written, 'He will give command +Concerning thee to His angels; in their hands +They shall uplift thee, lest at any time +Thou chance to dash thy foot against a stone.'" +(P. R. iv. 554-9.) + + +The promise of Divine aid is made in mockery. + + +"To whom thus Jesus: 'Also it is written, +Tempt not the Lord thy God.' He said, and stood: +But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell." +(P. R. iv. 560-2.) + + +It is not meant, "thou shalt not tempt ME," but rather, "it is not +permitted me to tempt God." In this extreme case Jesus depends on God's +protection. This is the devil's final defeat and the seraphic company +for which our great Example had refused to ask instantly surrounds and +receives him. Angelic quires + + + "the Son of God, our Saviour meek, +Sung victor, and from heavenly feast refresh't, +Brought on His way with joy; He unobserv'd, +Home to His mother's house private return'd." +(P. R. iv. 636-9.) + + +Warton wished to expunge this passage, considering it an unworthy +conclusion. It is to be hoped that there are many readers of Milton who +are able to see what is the value of these four lines, particularly of +the last. + +It is hardly necessary to say more in order to show how peculiarly +Milton is endowed with that quality which is possessed by all great +poets--the power to keep in contact with the soul of man. + + + +THE MORALITY OF BYRON'S POETRY. "THE CORSAIR." + + + +[This is an abstract of an essay four times as long written many years +ago. Although so much has been struck out, the substance is unaltered, +and the conclusion is valid for the author now as then.] + +Byron above almost all other poets, at least in our day, has been set +down as immoral. In reality he is moral, using the word in its proper +sense, and he is so, not only in detached passages, but in the general +drift of most of his poetry. We will take as an example "The Corsair." + +Conrad is not a debauched buccaneer. He was not - + + + "by Nature sent +To lead the guilty--guilt's worst instrument." + + +He had been betrayed by misplaced confidence. + + +"Doom'd by his very virtues for a dupe, +He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill, +And not the traitors who betray'd him still; +Nor deem'd that gifts bestow'd on better men +Had left him joy, and means to give again, +Fear'd--shunn'd--belied--ere youth had lost her force, +He hated man too much to feel remorse, +And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call, +To pay the injuries of some on all." + + +Conrad was not, and could not be, mean and selfish. A selfish Conrad +would be an absurdity. His motives are not gross - + + + "he shuns the grosser joys of sense, +"His mind seems nourished by that abstinence." + + +He is protected by a charm against undistinguishing lust - + + +"Though fairest captives daily met his eye, +He shunn'd, nor sought, but coldly pass'd them by;" + + +and even Gulnare, his deliverer, fails to seduce him. + +Mr. Ruskin observes that Byron makes much of courage. It is Conrad, the +leader, who undertakes the dangerous errand of surprising Seyd; it is he +who determines to save the harem. His courage is not the mere +excitement of battle. When he is captured - + + +"A conqueror's more than captive's air is seen," + + +and he is not insensible to all fear. + + +"Each has some fear, and he who least betrays, +The only hypocrite deserving praise. + +* * * * * + +One thought alone he could not--dared not meet-- +'Oh, how these tidings will Medora greet?'" + + +Gulnare announces his doom to him, hut he is calm. He cannot stoop even +to pray. He has deserted his Maker, and it would be baseness now to +prostrate himself before Him. + + +"I have no thought to mock his throne with prayer +Wrung from the coward crouching of despair; +It is enough--I breathe--and I can bear." + + +He has no martyr-hope with which to console himself; his endurance is of +the finest order--simple, sheer resolution, a resolve that with no +reward, he will never disgrace himself. He knows what it is + + +"To count the hours that struggle to thine end, +With not a friend to animate, and tell +To other ears that death became thee well," + + +but he does not break down. + +Gulnare tries to persuade him that the only way by which he can save +himself from tortures and impalement is by the assassination of Seyd, +but he refuses to accept the terms - + + +"Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life" - + + +and dismisses her. When she has done the deed and he sees the single +spot of blood upon her, he, the Corsair, is unmanned as he had never +been in battle, prison, or by consciousness of guilt. + + +"But ne'er from strife--captivity--remorse-- +From all his feelings in their inmost force-- +So thrill'd--so shudder'd every creeping vein, +As now they froze before that purple stain. +That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak, +Had banish'd all the beauty from her cheek!" + + +The Corsair's misanthropy had not destroyed him. Small creatures alone +are wholly converted into spite and scepticism by disappointment and +repulse. Those who are larger avenge themselves by devotion. Conrad's +love for Medora was intensified and exalted by his hatred of the world. + + +"Yes, it was Love--unchangeable--unchanged, +Felt but for one from whom he never ranged;" + + +and she was worthy of him, the woman who could sing - + + +"Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, +Lonely and lost to light for evermore, +Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, +Then trembles into silence as before. + +There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp +Burns the slow flame, eternal--but unseen; +Which not the darkness of despair can damp, +Though vain its ray as it had never been." + + +He finds Medora dead, and - + + + "his mother's softness crept +To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept." + + +If his crimes and love could be weighed in a celestial balance, weight +being apportioned to the rarity and value of the love, which would +descend? + +The points indicated in Conrad's character are not many, but they are +sufficient for its delineation, and it is a moral character. We must, +of course, get rid of the notion that the relative magnitude of the +virtues and vices according to the priest or society is authentic. A +reversion to the natural or divine scale has been almost the sole duty +preached to us by every prophet. If we could incorporate Conrad with +ourselves we should find that the greater part of what is worst in us +would be neutralised. The sins of which we are ashamed, the dirty, +despicable sins, Conrad could not have committed; and in these latter +days they are perhaps the most injurious. + +We do not understand how moral it is to yield unreservedly to +enthusiasm, to the impression which great objects would fain make upon +us, and to embody that impression in worthy language. It is rare to +meet now even with young people who will abandon themselves to a heroic +emotion, or who, if they really feel it, do not try to belittle it in +expression. Byron's poetry, above most, tempts and almost compels +surrender to that which is beyond the commonplace self. + +It is not true that "The Corsair" is insincere. He who hears a note of +insincerity in Conrad and Medora may have ears, but they must be those +of the translated Bottom who was proud of having "a reasonable good ear +in music." Byron's romance has been such a power exactly because men +felt that it was not fiction and that his was one of the strongest minds +of his day. He was incapable of toying with the creatures of the fancy +which had no relationship with himself and through himself with +humanity. + +A word as to Byron's hold upon the people. He was able to obtain a +hearing from ordinary men and women, who knew nothing even of +Shakespeare, save what they had seen at the theatre. Modern poetry is +the luxury of a small cultivated class. We may say what we like of +popularity, and if it be purchased by condescension to popular silliness +it is nothing. But Byron secured access to thousands of readers in +England and on the Continent by strength and loveliness, a feat seldom +equalled and never perhaps surpassed. The present writer's father, a +compositor in a dingy printing office, repeated verses from "Childe +Harold" at the case. Still more remarkable, Byron reached one of this +writer's friends, an officer in the Navy, of the ancient stamp; and the +attraction, both to printer and lieutenant, lay in nothing lower than +that which was best in him. It is surely a service sufficient to +compensate for many more faults than can be charged against him that +wherever there was any latent poetic dissatisfaction with the vulgarity +and meanness of ordinary life he gave it expression, and that he has +awakened in the PEOPLE lofty emotions which, without him, would have +slept. The cultivated critics, and the refined persons who have +schrecklich viel gelesen, are not competent to estimate the debt we owe +to Byron. + + + +BYRON, GOETHE, AND MR. MATTHEW ARNOLD + + + +(Reprinted, with corrections, by permission from the "Contemporary +Review," August, 1881.) + +Mr. Matthew Arnold has lately published a remarkable essay {133} upon +Lord Byron. Mr. Arnold's theory about Byron is, that he is neither +artist nor thinker--that "he has no light, cannot lead us from the past +to the future;" "the moment he reflects, he is a child;" "as a poet he +has no fine and exact sense for word and structure and rhythm; he has +not the artist's nature and gifts." The excellence of Byron mainly +consists in his "sincerity and strength;" in his rhetorical power; in +his "irreconcilable revolt and battle" against the political and social +order of things in which he lived. "Byron threw himself upon poetry as +his organ; and in poetry his topics were not Queen Mab, and the Witch of +the Atlas, and the Sensitive Plant, they were the upholders of the old +order, George the Third and Lord Castlereagh and the Duke of Wellington +and Southey, and they were the canters and tramplers of the great world, +and they were his enemies and himself." + +Mr. Arnold appeals to Goethe as an authority in his favour. In order, +therefore, that English people may know what Goethe thought about Byron +I have collected some of the principal criticisms upon him which I can +find in Goethe's works. The text upon which Mr. Arnold enlarges is the +remark just quoted which Goethe made about Byron to Eckermann: "so bald +er reflectirt ist er ein Kind"--AS SOON AS HE REFLECTS HE IS A CHILD. + +Goethe, it is true, did say this; but the interpretation of the saying +depends upon the context, which Mr. Arnold omits. I give the whole +passage, quoting from Oxenford's translation of the Eckermann +Conversations, vol. i. p. 198 (edition 1850):- + + +"'Lord Byron,' said Eckermann, 'is no wiser when he takes 'Faust' to +pieces and thinks you found one thing here, the other there.' 'The +greater part of those fine things cited by Lord Byron,' Goethe replied, +'I have never even read; much less did I think of them when I was +writing "Faust." But Lord Byron is only great as a poet; as soon as he +reflects he is a child. He knows not how to help himself against the +stupid attacks of the same kind made upon him by his own countrymen. He +ought to have expressed himself more strongly against them. 'What is +there is mine,' he should have said, 'and whether I got it from a book +or from life is of no consequence; the only point is, whether I have +made a right use of it.' Walter Scott used a scene from my 'Egmont,' +and he had a right to do so; and because he did it well, he deserves +praise.'" + +Goethe certainly does not mean that Byron was unable to reflect in the +sense in which Mr. Arnold interprets the word. What was really meant we +shall see in a moment. + +We will, however, continue the quotations from the Eckermann:- + + +"We see how the inadequate dogmas of the Church work upon a free mind +like Byron's and how by such a piece ('Cain') he struggles to get rid of +a doctrine which has been forced upon him" (vol. i. p. 129). + +"The world to him was transparent, and he could paint by way of +anticipation" (vol. i. p. 140). + +"That which I call invention I never saw in any one in the world to a +greater degree than in him" (vol. i. p. 205). + +"Lord Byron is to be regarded as a man, as an Englishman, and as a great +talent. His good qualities belong chiefly to the man, his bad to the +Englishman and the peer, his talent is incommensurable. All Englishmen +are, as such, without reflection properly so-called; distractions and +party-spirit will not permit them to perfect themselves in quiet. But +they are great as practical men. Thus, Lord Byron could never attain +reflection on himself, and on this account his maxims in general are not +successful. . . . But where he will create, he always succeeds; and we +may truly say that, with him, inspiration supplies the place of +reflection. He was always obliged to go on poetizing, and then +everything that came from the man, especially from his heart, was +excellent. He produced his best things, as women do pretty children, +without thinking about it, or knowing how it was done. He is a great +talent, a born talent, and I never saw the true poetical power greater +in any man than in him. In the apprehension of external objects, and a +clear penetration into past situations, he is quite as great as +Shakespeare. But as a pure individuality, Shakespeare is his superior" +(vol. i. p. 209). + +We see now what Goethe means by "reflection." It is the faculty of +self-separation, or conscious CONSIDERATION, a faculty which would have +enabled Byron, as it enabled Goethe, to reply successfully to a charge +of plagiarism. It is not thought in its widest sense, nor creation, and +it has not much to do with the production of poems of the highest order- +-the poems that is to say, which are written by the impersonal thought. + +But again-- + +"The English may think of Byron as they please; but this is certain, +that they can show no poet who is to be compared to him. He is +different from all the others, and for the most part, greater" (vol. i. +p. 290). + +This passage is one which Mr. Arnold quotes, and he strives to diminish +its importance by translating der ihm zu vergleichen ware, by "who is +his parallel," and maintains that Goethe "was not so much thinking of +the strict rank, as poetry, of Byron's production; he was thinking of +that wonderful personality of Byron which so enters into his poetry." +It is just possible; but if Goethe did think this, he used words which +are misleading, and if the phrase der ihm zu vergleichen ware simply +indicates parallelism, it has no point, for in that sense it might have +been applied to Scott or to Southey. + +"I have read once more Byron's 'Deformed Transformed,' and must say that +to me his talent appears greater than ever. His devil was suggested by +my Mephistopheles; but it is no imitation--it is thoroughly new and +original; close, genuine, and spirited. There are no weak passages--not +a place where you could put the head of a pin, where you do not find +INVENTION AND THOUGHT [italics mine]. Were it not for his +hypochondriacal negative turn, he would be as great as Shakespeare and +the ancients" (vol. i. p. 294). + +Eckermann expressed his surprise. "Yes," said Goethe, "you may believe +me, I have studied him anew and am confirmed in this opinion." The +position which Byron occupies in the Second Part of "Faust" is well +known. Eckermann talked to Goethe about it, and Goethe said, "I could +not make use of any man as the representative of the modern poetical era +except him, who undoubtedly is to be regarded as the greatest genius of +our century" (vol. i. p. 425). Mr. Arnold translates this word "genius" +by "talent." The word in the original is TALENT, and I will not dispute +with so accomplished a German scholar as Mr. Arnold as to what is the +precise meaning of TALENT. In both the English translations of +Eckermann the word is rendered "genius," and after the comparison +between Byron, Shakespeare, and the ancients just quoted, we can hardly +admit that Goethe meant to distinguish scientifically between the two +orders of intellect and to assign the lower to Byron. + +But, last of all, I will translate Goethe's criticism upon "Cain." So +far as I know, it has not yet appeared in English. It is to be found in +the Stuttgart and Tubingen edition of Goethe, 1840, vol. xxxiii. p. 157. +Some portions which are immaterial I have omitted:- + +"After I had listened to the strangest things about this work for almost +a year, I at last took it myself in hand, and it excited in me +astonishment and admiration; an effect which will produce in the mind +which is simply susceptible, everything good, beautiful, and great. . . +. The poet who, surpassing the limit of all our conceptions, has +penetrated with burning spiritual vision the past and present, and +consequently the future, has now subdued new regions under his limitless +talent, but what he will accomplish therein can be predicted by no human +being. His procedure, however, we can nevertheless in a measure more +closely determine. He adheres to the letter of the Biblical tradition, +for he allows the first pair of human beings to exchange their original +purity and innocence for a guilt mysterious in its origin; the +punishment which is its consequence descending upon all posterity. The +monstrous burden of such an event he lays upon the shoulders of Cain as +the representative of a wretched humanity, plunged for no fault of its +own into the depths of misery. + +"To this primitive son of man, bowed down and heavily burdened, death, +which as yet he has not seen, is an especial trouble; and although he +may desire the end of his present distress, it seems still more hateful +to exchange it for a condition altogether unknown. Hence we already see +that the full weight of a dogmatic system, explaining, mediating, yet +always in conflict with itself, just as it still for ever occupies us, +was imposed on the first miserable son of man. These contradictions, +which are not strange to human nature, possessed his mind, and could not +be brought to rest, either through the divinely-given gentleness of his +father and brother, or the loving and alleviating co-operation of his +sister-wife. In order to sharpen them to the point of impossibility of +endurance, Satan comes upon the scene, a mighty and misleading spirit, +who begins by unsettling him morally, and then conducts him miraculously +through all worlds, causing him to see the past as overwhelmingly vast, +the present as small and of no account, and the future as full of +foreboding and void of consolation. + +"So he turns back to his own family, more excited, but not worse than +before; and finding in the family circle everything as he has left it, +the urgency of Abel, who wishes to make him offer a sacrifice, becomes +altogether insupportable. More say we not, excepting that the +motivation of the scene in which Abel perishes is of the rarest +excellence, and what follows is equally great and priceless. There now +lies Abel! That now is Death--there was so much talk about it, and man +knows about it as little as he did before. + +"We must not forget, that through the whole piece there runs a kind of +presentiment of a Saviour, so that the poet at this point, as well as in +all others, has known how to bring himself near to the ideas by which we +explain things, and to our modes of faith. + +"Of the scene with the parents, in which Eve at last curses the +speechless Cain, which our western neighbour lifts into such striking +prominence, there remains nothing more for us to say: we have to +approach the conclusion with astonishment and reverence. + +"With regard to this conclusion, an intelligent and fair friend, related +to us through esteem for Byron, has asserted that everything religious +and moral in the world was put into the last three words of the piece." +{143} + +We have now heard enough from Goethe to prove that Mr. Arnold's +interpretation of "so bald er reflectirt ist er ein Kind" is not +Goethe's interpretation of Byron. It is to be remembered that Goethe +was not a youth overcome by Mr. Arnold's "vogue" when he read Byron. He +was a singularly self-possessed old man. + +Many persons will be inclined to think that Goethe, so far from putting +Byron on a lower level than that usually assigned to him, has over- +praised him, and will question the "burning spiritual vision" which the +great German believed the great Englishman to possess. But if we +consider what Goethe calls the "motivation" of Cain; if we reflect on +what the poet has put into the legend; on the exploration of the +universe with Lucifer as a guide; on its result, on the mode in which +the death of Abel is reached; on the doom of the murderer--the limitless +wilderness henceforth and no rest; on the fidelity of Adah, who, with +the true instinct of love, separates between the man and the crime; on +the majesty of the principal character, who stands before us as the +representative of the insurgence of the human intellect, so that, if we +know him, we know a whole literature; if we meditate hereon, we shall +say that Goethe has not exaggerated. It is the same with the rest of +Byron's dramas. Over and above the beauty of detached passages, there +is in each one of them a large and universal meaning, or rather meaning +within meaning, precisely the same for no reader, but none the less +certain, and as inexhaustible as the meanings of Nature. This is one +reason why the wisdom of a selection from Byron is so doubtful. The +worth of "Cain," of "Sardanapalus," of "Manfred," of "Marino Faliero," +is the worth of an outlook over the sea; and we cannot take a sample of +the scene from a cliff by putting a pint of water into a bottle. But +Byron's critics and the compilers tell us of failures, which ought not +to survive, and that we are doing a kindness to him if we suppress these +and exhibit him at his best. No man who seriously cares for Byron will +assent to this doctrine. We want to know the whole of him, his weakness +as well as his strength; for the one is not intelligible without the +other. A human being is an indivisible unity, and his weakness IS his +strength, and his strength IS his weakness. + +It is not my object now, however, to justify what Mr. Arnold calls the +Byronic "superstition." I hope I could justify a good part of it, but +this is not the opportunity. I cannot resist, however, saying a word by +way of conclusion on the manner in which Byron has fulfilled what seems +to me one of the chief offices of the poet. Mr. Arnold, although he is +so dissatisfied with Byron because he "cannot reflect," would probably +in another mood admit that "reflections" are not what we demand of a +poet. We do not ask of him a rhymed book of proverbs. He should rather +be the articulation of what in Nature is great but inarticulate. In him +the thunder, the sea, the peace of morning, the joy of youth, the rush +of passion, the calm of old age, should find words, and men should +through him become aware of the unrecognised wealth of existence. Byron +had the power above most poets of acting as a kind of tongue to Nature. +His descriptions are on everybody's lips, and it is superfluous to quote +them. He represented things not as if they were aloof from him, but as +if they were the concrete embodiment of his soul. The woods, the wilds, +the waters of Nature are to him - + + +"the intense +Reply of HERS to our intelligence." + + +His success is equally marked when he portrays men or women whose +character attracts him. Take, for example, the girl in "The Island":- + + +"The sunborn blood suffused her neck, and threw +O'er her clear nutbrown skin a lucid hue, +Like coral reddening through the darken'd wave, +Which draws the diver to the crimson cave. +Such was this daughter of the southern seas, +HERSELF A BILLOW IN HER ENERGIES. + +* * * * * + +Her smiles and tears had pass'd, as light winds pass +O'er lakes to ruffle, not destroy, their glass, +WHOSE DEPTHS UNSEARCH'D, AND FOUNTAINS FROM THE HILL, +RESTORE THEIR SURFACE, IN ITSELF SO STILL." + + +Passages like these might be quoted without end from Byron, and they +explain why he is and must be amongst the immortals. He may have been +careless in expression; he may have been a barbarian and not a e?f???, +as Mr. Matthew Arnold affirms, but he was GREAT. This is the word which +describes him. He was a mass of living energy, and therefore he is +sanative. Energy, power, is the one thing after which we pine in this +sickly age. We do not want carefully and consciously constructed poems +of mosaic. Strength is what we need and what will heal us. Strength is +true morality, and true beauty. It is the strength in Byron that +falsifies the accusation of affectation and posing, which is brought +against him. All that is meant by affectation and posing was a mere +surface trick. The real man, Byron, and his poems are perfectly +unconscious, as unconscious as the wind. The books which have lived and +always will live have this unconsciousness in them, and what is +manufactured, self-centred, and self-contemplative will perish. The +world's literature is the work of men, who, to use Byron's own words - + + +"Strip off this fond and false identity;" + + +who are lost in their object, who write because they cannot help it, +imperfectly or perfectly, as the case may be, and who do not sit down to +fit in this thing and that thing from a commonplace book. Many +novelists there are who know their art better than Charlotte Bronte, but +she, like Byron--and there are more points of resemblance between them +than might at first be supposed--is imperishable because she speaks +under overwhelming pressure, self-annihilated, we may say, while the +spirit breathes through her. The Byron "vogue" will never pass so long +as men and women are men and women. Mr. Arnold and the critics may +remind us of his imperfections of form, but Goethe is right after all, +for not since Shakespeare have we had any one der ihm zu vergleichen +ware. + + + +A SACRIFICE + + + +A fatal plague devastated the city. The god had said that it would +continue to rage until atonement for a crime had been offered by the +sacrifice of a man. He was to be perfect in body; he must not desire to +die because he no longer loved life, or because he wished for fame. A +statue must not be erected to his memory; no poem must be composed for +him; his name must not appear in the city's records. + +A few volunteers presented themselves, but none of them satisfied all +the conditions. At last a young man came who had served as the model +for the image of the god in his temple. There was no question, +therefore, of soundness of limb, and when he underwent the form of +examination no spot nor blemish was found on him. The priest asked him +whether he was in trouble, and especially whether he was disappointed in +love. He said he was in no trouble; that he was betrothed to a girl to +whom he was devoted, and that they had intended to be married that +month. "I am," he declared, "the happiest man in the city." The priest +doubted and watched him that evening, but he saw him walking side by +side with this girl, and the two were joyous as a youth and a maiden +ought to be in the height of their passion. She sat down and sang to +him he played to her, and they embraced one another tenderly at parting. + +The next morning was the day on which he was to be slain. There was an +altar in front of the temple, and a great crowd assembled, ranked round +the open space. At the appointed hour the priest appeared, and with him +was the youth, holding his beloved by the hand, but she was blindfolded. +He let go her hand, knelt down, and in a moment the sacrificial knife +was drawn across his throat. His body was placed upon the wood, and the +priest was about to kindle it when a flash from heaven struck it into a +blaze with such heat that when the fire dropped no trace of the victim +remained. The girl, too, had disappeared, and was never seen again. + +In accordance with the god's decree, no statue was erected, no poem was +composed, and no entry was made in the city records. But tradition did +not forget that the saviour of the city was he who survived in the great +image on which the name of the god was inscribed. + + + +THE AGED TREE + + + +An aged tree, whose companions had gone, having still a little sap in +its bark and a few leaves which grew therefrom, prayed it might see yet +another spring. Its prayer was granted: and spring came, but the old +tree had no leaves save one or two near the ground, and a great fungus +fixed itself on its trunk. It had a dull life in its roots, but not +enough to know that its moss and fungus were not foliage. It stood +there, an unlovely mass of decay, when the young trees were all +bursting. "That rotten thing," said the master, "ought to have been cut +down long ago." + + + +CONSCIENCE + + + +"Conscience," said I, "her conscience would have told her." + +"Yes," said my father. "The strongest amongst the many objections to +the Roman Catholic doctrine of confession is that it weakens our +dependence on the conscience. If we seek for an external command to do +what ought to be done in obedience to that inward monitor, whose voice +is always clear if we will but listen, its authority will gradually be +lost, and in the end it will cease to speak." + +"Conscience," said my grandmother musingly (turning to my father). "You +will remember Phyllis Eyre? She was one of my best friends, and it is +now two years since she died, unmarried. She was once governess to the +children of Sir Robert Walsh, but remained in the house as companion to +Lady Walsh long after her pupils had grown up. She was, in fact, more +than a companion, for Lady Walsh trusted her and loved her. She was by +birth a lady; she had been well educated, and, like her mistress, she +was devoutly and evangelically pious. She was also very handsome, and +this you may well believe, for, as you know, she was handsome as an old +woman, stately and erect, with beautiful, undimmed eyes. When Evelina +Walsh, the eldest daughter, was about one and twenty, Charles Fysshe, +the young heir to the Fysshe property, came to stay with her brother, +and Phyllis soon discovered, or thought she discovered, that he was in +love with Evelina. He seemed to court her society, and paid her +attentions which could be explained on one hypothesis only. Phyllis was +delighted, for the match in every way was most suitable, and must +gladden the hearts of Evelina's parents. The young man would one day be +the possessor of twenty thousand acres; he had already taken a position +in the county, and his soul was believed to be touched with Divine +grace. Evelina certainly was in love with him, and Phyllis was not +backward in urging his claims. She congratulated herself, and with +justice, that if the marriage should ever take place, it would be +acknowledged that she had had a hand in it. It might even be doubted +whether Evelina, without Phyllis's approval, would have permitted +herself to indulge her passion, for she was by nature diffident, and so +beset with reasons for and against when she had to make up her mind on +any important matter, that a decision was always most difficult to her. + +"Charles stayed for about six weeks, and was then called home. He +promised that he would pay another visit of a week in the autumn, when +Sir Robert was to entertain the Lord Lieutenant and there were to be +grand doings at the Hall. Conversation naturally turned upon him during +his absence, and Phyllis, as usual, was warm in his praise. One +evening, after she had reached her own room and had lain down to sleep, +a strange apparition surprised her. It was something more than a +suspicion that she herself loved Charles. She strove to rid herself of +this intrusion: she called to mind the difference in their rank; that +she was five years his senior, and that if she yielded she would be +guilty of treachery to Evelina. It was all in vain; the more she +resisted the more vividly did his image present itself, and she was +greatly distressed. What was the meaning of this outbreak of emotion, +not altogether spiritual, of this loss of self-possession, such as she +had never known before? Her usual remedies against evil thoughts failed +her, and, worst of all, there was the constant suggestion that these +particular thoughts were not evil. Hitherto, when temptation had +attacked her, she was sure whence it came, but she was not sure now. It +might be an interposition of Providence, but how would it appear to +Evelina? I myself, my dears, have generally found that to resist the +devil is not difficult if I am quite certain that the creature before me +is the devil, but it does tax my wits sometimes to find out if he is +really the enemy or not. When Apollyon met Christian he was not in +doubt for an instant, for the monster was hideous to behold: he had +scales like a fish, wings like a dragon, feet like a bear, out of his +belly came fire and smoke, and his mouth was as the mouth of a lion. +After some parleying he cast his dreadful dart, but Christian, without +more ado, put up his shield, drew his sword, and presently triumphed. +If Satan had turned himself, from his head to his ankles, into a man, +and had walked by Christian's side, and had talked with him, and had +agreed with him in everything he had to say, the bear's claws might have +peeped out, but Christian, instead of fighting, would have begun to +argue with himself whether the evidence of the face or the foot was the +stronger. He would have been just as likely to trust the face, and in a +few moments he would have been snapped up and carried off to hell. To +go on with my story: the night wore on in sophistry and struggle, and +no inner light dawned with the sun. Phyllis was much agitated, for in +the afternoon Charles was to return, and although amidst the crowd of +visitors she might be overlooked, she could not help seeing him. She +did see him, but did not speak to him. He sat next to Evelina at +dinner, who was happy and expectant. The next day there was a grand +meet of the hounds, and almost all the party disappeared. Phyllis +pleaded a headache, and obtained permission to stay at home. It was a +lovely morning in November, without a movement in the air, calm and +cloudless, one of those mornings not uncommon when the year begins to +die. She went into the woods at the outer edge of the park, and had +scarcely entered them, when lo! to her astonishment, there was Charles. +She could not avoid him, and he came up to her. + +"'Why, Miss Eyre, what are you doing here?' + +"'I had a headache; I could not go with the others, and came out for a +stroll.' + +"'I, too, was not very well, and have been left behind.' + +"They walked together side by side. + +"'I wanted to speak to you, Miss Eyre. I wonder if you have suspected +anything lately.' + +"'Suspected? I do not quite comprehend: you are very vague.' + +"'Well, must I be more explicit? Have you fancied that I care more for +somebody you know than I care for all the world besides? I suppose you +have not, for I thought it better to hide as much as possible what I +felt.' + +"'I should be telling an untruth if I were to say I do not understand +you, and I trust you will pardon me if I tell you that a girl more +worthy of you than Evelina, and one more likely to make you happy, I +have never seen.' + +"'Gracious God! what have I done? what a mistake! Miss Eyre, it is you +I mean; it is you I love.' + +"There was not an instant's hesitation. + +"'Sir, I thank you, but I can answer at once. NEVER can I be yours. +That decision is irrevocable. I admire you, but cannot love you.' + +"She parted from him abruptly, but no sooner had she left him than she +was confounded, and wondered who or what it was which gave that answer. +She wavered, and thought of going back, but she did not. Later on in +the day she heard that Charles had gone home, summoned by sudden +business. Two years afterwards his engagement with Evelina was +announced, and in three years they were married. It was not what I +should call a happy marriage, although they never quarrelled and had +five children. To the day of her death Phyllis was not sure whether she +had done right or wrong, nor am I." + + + +THE GOVERNESS'S STORY + + + +In the year 1850 I was living as governess in the small watering-place +S., on the south coast of England. Amongst my friends was a young +doctor, B., who had recently come to the town. He had not bought a +practice, but his family was known to one or two of the principal +inhabitants, and he had begun to do well. He deserved his success, for +he was skilful, frank, and gentle, and he did not affect that mystery +which in his elder colleagues was already suspected to be nothing but +ignorance. He was one of the early graduates of the University of +London, and representative of the new school of medical science, relying +not so much upon drugs as upon diet and regimen. I was one of his first +patients. I had a severe illness lasting for nearly three months; he +watched over me carefully and cured me. As I grew better he began to +talk on other matters than my health when he visited me. We found that +we were both interested in the same books: he lent me his and I lent +him mine. It is almost impossible, I should think, for a young man and +a young woman to be friends and nothing more, and I confess that my +sympathy with him in his admiration of the Elizabethan poets, and my +gratitude to him for my recovery passed into affection. I am sure also +that he felt affection for me. He became confidential, and told me all +his history and troubles. There was one peculiarity in his conversation +which was new to me: he never talked down to me, and he was not afraid +at times to discuss subjects that in the society to which I had been +accustomed were prohibited. Not a word that was improper ever escaped +his lips, but he treated me in a measure as if I were a man, and I was +flattered that he should put me on a level with himself. It is true +that sometimes I fancied he was so unreserved with me because he was +sure he was quite safe, for I was poor. and although I was not ugly I +was not handsome. However, on the whole, I was very happy in his +society, and there was more than a chance that I should become his wife. + +After six months of our acquaintanceship had passed, M., an old +schoolfellow of mine, took lodgings near me for the summer. She was a +remarkable girl. If she was not beautiful, she was better-looking than +I was, and she possessed a something, I know not what, more powerful +than beauty to fascinate men. Perhaps it was her unconstrained +naturalness. In walking, sitting, standing--whatever she did--her +movements and attitudes were not impeded or unduly masked by artificial +restrictions. I should not have called her profound, but what she said +upon the commonest subjects was interesting, because it was so entirely +her own. If she disliked a neighbour, she almost always disliked her +for a reason which we saw, directly it was pointed out to us, to be +just, but it was generally one which had not been given before. Her +talk upon matters externally trivial was thus much more to me than many +discourses upon the most important topics. On moral questions she +expressed herself without any regard to prejudices. She did not +controvert the authenticity of the ordinary standards, but nevertheless +behaved as if she herself were her only law. The people in R., her +little native borough, considered her to be dangerous, and I myself was +once or twice weak enough to wonder that she held on a straight course +with so little help from authority, forgetting that its support, in so +far as it possesses any vital strength, is derived from the same +internal source which supplied strength to her. + +When she came to S. she was unwell, and consulted my friend B. He did +not at first quite like attending her, and she reported to me with great +laughter how she had been told that he had made some inquiries about her +from one of her neighbours at home with whom he happened to be +acquainted, and how he had manoeuvred in his visits to get the servants +or the landlady into the room. I met him soon afterwards, and he +informed me that he had a new patient. When he heard that I knew her--I +did not say how much I knew--he became inquisitive, and at last, after +much beating about the bush, knitting his eyebrows and lowering his +voice, he asked me whether I was aware that she was not quite--quite +ABOVE SUSPICION! My goodness, how I flamed up! I defended her with +vehemence: I exaggerated her prudence and her modesty; I declared, what +was the simple truth, that she was the last person in the world against +whom such a scandalous insinuation should be directed, and that she was +singularly inaccessible to vulgar temptation. I added that +notwithstanding her seeming lawlessness she was not only remarkably +sensitive to any accusation of bad manners, but that upon certain +matters she could not endure even a joke. The only quarrel I remember +to have had with her was when I lapsed into some commonplace jest about +her intimacy with a music-master who gave her lessons. The way in which +she took that jest I shall never forget. If I had made it to any other +woman, I should have passed on, unconscious of anything inconsistent +with myself, but she in an instant made me aware with hardly half a +dozen words that I had disgraced myself. I was ashamed, not so much +because I had done what was in the abstract wrong, but because it was +something which was not in keeping with my real character. I hope it +will not be thought that I am prosing if I take this opportunity of +saying that the laws peculiar to each of us are those which we are at +the least pains to discover and those which we are most prone to +neglect. We think we have done our duty when we have kept the +commandments common to all of us, but we may perhaps have disgracefully +neglected it. + +Oh, how that afternoon with B. burnt itself into my memory for ever! I +was sitting on my little sofa with books piled round me. He removed a +few of the books, and I removed the others. He sat down beside me, and, +taking my hand, said he hoped I had forgiven him, and that I would +remember that in such a little place he was obliged to be very careful, +and to be quite sure of his patients, if they were women. He trusted I +should believe that there was no other person IN THE WORLD (the emphasis +on that word!) to whom he would have ventured to impart such a secret. +I was appeased, especially when, after a few minutes' silence, he took +my hand and kissed it, the first and last kiss. He said nothing +further, and departed. The next time I saw him he was more than usually +deferential, more than ever desirous to come closer to me, and I thought +the final word must soon be spoken. + +M. remained in S. till far into the autumn, but I did not see much of +her. My work had begun again. B. continued to call on me as my health +was not quite re-established. We had agreed to read the same author at +the same time, in order that we might discuss him together whilst our +impressions were still fresh. Somehow his interest in these readings +began to flag; he informed me presently that I had now almost, entirely +recovered, and weeks often passed without meeting him. One afternoon I +was surprised to find M. in my room when I returned from a walk with my +pupils. She had been waiting for me nearly half an hour, and I could +not at first conjecture the reason. Gradually she drew the conversation +towards B. and at last asked me what I thought of him. Instantly I saw +what had happened. What I imagined was once mine had been stolen, +stolen perhaps unconsciously, but nevertheless stolen, my sole treasure. +She was rich, she had a father and mother, she had many friends and +would certainly have been married had she never seen B. I, as I have +said, was almost penniless; I was an orphan, with few friends; he was my +first love, and I knew he would be my last. + +I was condemned, I foresaw, henceforth to solitude, and that most +terrible of all calamities, heart-starvation. What B. had said about M. +came into my mind and rose to my lips. I knew, or thought I knew, that +if I revealed it to her she would be so angry that she would cast him +off. Probably I was mistaken, but in my despair the impulse to disclose +it was almost irresistible. I struggled against it, however, and when +she pressed me, I praised him and strove in my praise to be sincere. +Whether it was something in my tone, quite unintentional, I know not, +but she stopped me almost in the middle of a sentence and said she +believed I had kept something back which I did not wish her to hear; +that she was certain he had talked to me about her, and that she wished +to know what he had said. I protested he had never uttered a word which +could be interpreted as disparaging her, and she seemed to be content. +She kissed me a little more vehemently than usual, and went away. We +ought always, I suppose, to be glad when other people are happy, but God +knows that sometimes it is very difficult to be so, and that their +happiness is hard to bear. + +The Elizabethan studies had now altogether come to an end. In about a +couple of months I heard that M. and B. were engaged. M. went home, and +B. moved into a larger town. In a twelvemonth the marriage took place, +and M. wrote to me after her wedding trip. I replied, but she never +wrote again. I heard that she had said that I had laid myself out to +catch B. and that she was afraid that in so doing I had hinted there was +something against her. I heard also that B. had discouraged his wife's +correspondence with me, no other reason being given than that he would +rather the acquaintanceship should be dropped. The interpretation of +this reason by those to whom it was given can be guessed. Did he fear +lest I should boast of what I had been to him or should repeat his +calumny? Ah, he little knew me if he dreamed that such treachery was +possible to me! + +I remained at the vicarage for three years. The children grew up and I +was obliged to leave, but I continued to teach in different families +till I was about five-and-forty. After five-and-forty I could not +obtain another situation, and I had to support myself by letting +apartments at Brighton. My strength is now failing; I cannot look after +my servant properly, nor wait upon my lodgers myself. Those who have to +get their living by a lodging-house know what this means and what the +end will be. I have occasionally again wished I could have seen my way +partially to explain myself to M., and have thought it hard to die +misrepresented, but I am glad I have not spoken. I should have +disturbed her peace, and I care nothing about justification or +misrepresentation now. With eternity so near, what does it matter? + + +INSCRIPTION ON THE ENVELOPE. + + +"TO MY NIECE JUDITH,--You have been so kind to your aunt, the only human +being, at last, who was left to love her, that she could not refrain +from telling you the one passage in her history which is of any +importance or interest." + + + +JAMES FORBES + + + +"It is all a lie, and it is hard to believe that people who preach it do +not know it to be a lie." + +So said James Forbes to Elizabeth Castleton, the young woman to whom he +was engaged. She was the daughter of a clergyman, and James, who had +been brought up at Rugby and Oxford, was now in his last year at a +London hospital, and was going to be a doctor. + +"I am sure my father does not know it to be a lie, and I do not myself +know it to be a lie." + +"I was not thinking of your father, but of the clergy generally, and you +DO know it to be a lie." + +"It is not true of my brother, and, excepting my father and brother, you +have not been in company with parsons, as you call them, for half an +hour in your life." + +"Do you mean to tell me you have any doubts about this discredited +rubbish?" + +"If I have I would rather not speak about them now. Jim, dear Jim, let +us drop the subject and talk of something else." + +He was walking by her side, with his hands in his coat pockets. She +drew out one of his hands; he did not return the pressure, and presently +released himself. + +"I thought you were to be my intellectual companion. I have heard you +say yourself that a marriage which is not a marriage of mind is no +marriage." + +"But, Jim, is there nothing in the world to think about but this?" + +"There is nothing so important. Are we to be dumb all our lives about +what you say is religion?" + +They separated and soon afterwards the engagement was broken off. Jim +had really loved Elizabeth, but at that time he was furious against what +he called "creeds." He waited for three or four years till he had +secured a fair practice, and then married a clever and handsome young +woman who wrote poems, and had captivated him by telling him a witty +story from Heine. Elizabeth never married. + +Thirty years passed, and Jim, now a famous physician, had to go a long +distance down the Great Western Railway to attend a consultation. At +Bath an elderly lady entered the carriage carrying a handbag with the +initials "E. C." upon it. She sat in the seat farthest away from him on +the opposite side, and looked at him steadfastly. He also looked at +her, but no word was spoken for a minute. He then crossed over, fell on +his knees, and buried his head with passionate sobbing on her knees. +She put her hands on him and her tears fell. + +"Five years," at last he said; "I may live five years with care. She +has left me. I will give up everything and go abroad with you. Five +years; it is not much, but it will be something, everything. I shall +die with your face over me." + +The train was slackening speed for Bristol; she bent down and kissed +him. + +"Dearest Jim," she whispered, "I have waited a long time, but I was sure +we should come together again at last. It is enough." + +"You will go with me, then?" + +Again she kissed him. "It must not be." + +Before he could reply the train was stopping at the platform, and a +gentleman with a lady appeared at the door. Miss Castleton stepped out +and was at once driven away in a carriage with her companions. + +He lived three years and then died almost suddenly of the disease which +he had foreseen would kill him. He had no children, but few relatives, +and his attendant was a hospital nurse. But the day before his death a +lady appeared who announced herself as a family friend, and the nurse +was superseded. It was Elizabeth: she came to his bedside, and he +recognised her. + +"Not till this morning," she said, "did I hear you were ill." + +"Happy," he cried, "though I die to-night." + +Soon afterwards--it was about sundown--he became unconscious; she sat +there alone with him till the morning broke, and then he passed away, +and she closed his eyes. + + + +ATONEMENT + + + +"You ask me how I lost my foot? You I see that dog?"--an unattractive +beast lying before the fire--"well, when I tell you how I came by him +you will know how I lost it;" and he then related the following story:- + +I was in Westmoreland with my wife and children for a holiday and we had +brought our dog with us, for we knew he would be unhappy with the +strangers to whom we had let our house. The weather was very wet and +our lodgings were not comfortable; we were kept indoors for days +together, and my temper, always irritable, became worse. My wife never +resisted me when I was in these moods and the absence of opposition +provoked me all the more. Had she stood up against me and told me I +ought to be ashamed of myself it would have been better for me. One +afternoon everything seemed to go wrong. A score of petty vexations, +not one of which was of any moment, worked me up to desperation. I +threw my book across the room, to the astonishment of my children, and +determined to go out, although it was raining hard. My dog, a brown +retriever, was lying on the mat just outside the door, and I nearly fell +over him. "God damn you!" said I, and kicked him. He howled with pain, +but, although he was the best of house-dogs and would have brought down +any thief who came near him, he did not growl at me, and quietly +followed me. I am not squeamish, but I was frightened directly the oath +had escaped my lips. I felt as if I had created something horrible +which I could not annihilate, and that it would wait for me and do me +some mischief. The dog kept closely to my heels for about a mile and I +could not make him go on in front. Usually the least word of +encouragement or even the mere mention of his name would send him +scampering with delight in advance. I began to think of something else, +but in about a quarter of an hour I looked round and found he was not +behind me. I whistled and called, but he did not come. In a renewed +rage, which increased with every step I took, I turned back to seek him. +Suddenly I came upon him lying dead by the roadside. Never shall I +forget that shock--the reproach, the appeal of that poor lifeless +animal! I stroked him, I kissed him, I whispered his name in his ear, +but it was all in vain. I lifted up his beautiful broad paw which he +was wont to lay on my knee, I held it between my hands, and when I let +it go it fell heavily to the ground. I could not carry him home, and +with bitter tears and a kind of dread I drew him aside a little way up +the hill behind a rock. I went to my lodgings, returned towards dusk +with a spade, dug his grave in a lonely spot near the bottom of a +waterfall where he would never be disturbed, and there I buried him, +reverently smoothing the turf over him. What a night that was for me! +I was haunted incessantly by the vivid image of the dead body and by the +terror which accompanies a great crime. I had repaid all his devotion +with horrible cruelty. I had repented, but he would never know it. It +was not the dog only which I had slain; I had slain Divine faithfulness +and love. That GOD DAMN YOU sounded perpetually in my ears. The +Almighty had registered and executed the curse, but it had fallen upon +the murderer and not on the victim. When I rose in the morning I +distinctly felt the blow of the kick in my foot, and the sensation +lasted all day. For weeks I was in a miserable condition. A separate +consciousness seemed to establish itself in this foot; there was nothing +to be seen and no pain, but there was a dull sort of pressure of which I +could not rid myself. If I slept I dreamed of the dog, and generally +dreamed I was caressing him, waking up to the dreadful truth of the +corpse on the path in the rain. I got it into my head--for I was half- +crazy--that only by some expiation I should be restored to health and +peace; but how to make any expiation I could not tell. Unhappy is the +wretch who longs to atone for a sin and no atonement is prescribed to +him! + +One night I was coming home late and heard the cry of "Fire!" I ran +down the street and found a house in flames. The fire-escape was at the +window, and had rescued a man, his wife and child. Every living +creature was safe, I was told, save a dog in the front room on the +ground-floor. I pushed the people aside, rushed in, half-blinded with +smoke, and found him. I could not escape by the passage, and dropped +out of the window into the area with him in my arms. I fell heavily on +THAT foot, and when I was helped up the steps I could not put it to the +ground. "You may have him for your pains," said his owner to me; "he is +a useless cur. I wouldn't have ventured the singeing of a hair for +him." "May I?" I replied, with an eagerness which must have seemed very +strange. He was indeed not worth half a crown, but I drew him closely +to me and took him into the cab. I was in great agony, and when the +surgeon came it was discovered that my ankle was badly fractured. An +attempt was made to set it, but in the end it was decided that the foot +must be amputated. I rejoiced when I heard the news, and on the day on +which the operation was performed I was calm and even cheerful. Our own +doctor who came with the surgeon told him I had "a highly nervous +temperament," and both of them were amazed at my fortitude. The dog is +a mongrel, as you see, but he loves me, and if you were to offer me ten +thousand golden guineas I would not part with him. + + + +LETTERS FROM MY AUNT ELEANOR {180} TO HER DAUGHTER SOPHIA, AND A +FRAGMENT FROM MY AUNT'S DIARY. + + + +January 31, 1837. + +My Dearest Child,--It is now a month since your father died. It was a +sore trial to me that you should have broken down, and that you could +not be here when he was laid in his grave, but I would not for worlds +have allowed you to make the journey. I am glad I forced you away. The +doctor said he would not answer for the consequences unless you were +removed. But I must not talk, not even to you. I will write again +soon. + +Your most affectionate mother, + +ELEANOR CHARTERIS. + + +February 5, 1837. + +I have been alone in the library from morning to night every day. How +foolish all the books look! There is nothing in them which can do me +any good. He is NOT: what is there which can alter that fact? Had he +died later I could have borne it better. I am only fifty years old, and +may have long to wait. I always knew I loved him devotedly; now I see +how much I depended on him. I had become so knit up with him that I +imagined his strength to be mine. His support was so continuous and so +soft that I was unconscious of it. How clear-headed and resolute he was +in difficulty and danger! You do not remember the great fire? We were +waked up out of our sleep; the flames spread rapidly; a mob filled the +street, shouting and breaking open doors. The man in charge of the +engines lost his head, but your father was perfectly cool. He got on +horseback, directed two or three friends to do the same; they galloped +into the town and drove the crowd away. He controlled all the +operations and saved many lives and many thousands of pounds. Is there +any happiness in the world like that of the woman who hangs on such a +husband? + + +February 10, 1837. + +I feel as if my heart would break if I do not see you, but I cannot come +to your Aunt's house just now. She is very kind, but she would be +unbearable to me. Have patience: the sea air is doing you good; you +will soon be able to walk, and then you can return. O, to feel your +head upon my neck! I have many friends, but I have always needed a +human being to whom I was everything. To your father I believe I was +everything, and that thought was perpetual heaven to me. My love for +him did not make me neglect other people. On the contrary, it gave them +their proper value. Without it I should have put them by. When a man +is dying for want of water he cares for nothing around him. Satisfy his +thirst, and he can then enjoy other pleasures. I was his first love, he +was my first, and we were lovers to the end. I know the world would be +dark to you also were I to leave it. Perhaps it is wicked of me to +rejoice that you would suffer so keenly. I cannot tell how much of me +is pure love and how much of me is selfishness. I remember my uncle's +death. For ten days or so afterwards everybody in the house looked +solemn, and occasionally there was a tear, but at the end of a fortnight +there was smiling and at the end of a month there was laughter. I was +but a child then, but I thought much about the ease and speed with which +the gap left by death was closed. + + +February 20, 1837. + +In a fortnight you will be here? The doctor really believes you will be +able to travel? I am glad you can get out and taste the sea air. I +count the hours which must pass till I see you. A short week, and then- +-"the day after to-morrow, and the day after to-morrow of that day," and +so I shall be able to reach forward to the Monday. It is strange that +the nearer Monday comes the more impatient I am. + + +March 3, 1837. + +With what sickening fear I opened your letter! I was sure it contained +some dreadful news. You have decided not to come till Wednesday, +because your cousin Tom can accompany you on that day. I KNOW you are +quite right. It is so much better, as you are not strong, that Tom +should look after you, and it would be absurd that you should make the +journey two days before him. I should have reproved you seriously if +you had done anything so foolish. But those two days are hard to bear. +I shall not meet you at the coach, nor shall I be downstairs. Go +straight to the library; I shall be there by myself. + + +DIARY. + +January 1, 1838.--Three days ago she died. Henceforth there is no +living creature to whom my existence is of any real importance. +Crippled as she was, she could never have married. I might have held +her as long as she lived. She could have expected no love but mine. +God forgive me! Perhaps I did unconsciously rejoice in that disabled +limb because it kept her closer to me. Now He has taken her from me. I +may have been wicked, but has He no mercy? "I would speak to the +Almighty, and I desire to reason with God." An answer in anger could +better be borne than this impregnable silence. + + +January 3rd.--A day of snow and bitter wind. There were very few at the +grave, and I should have been better pleased if there had been none. +What claim had they to be there? I have come home alone, and they no +doubt are comforting themselves with the reflection that it is all over +except the half-mourning. Her death makes me hate them. Mr. Maxwell, +our rector, told me when my child was ill to remember that I had no +right to her. "Right!" what did he mean by that stupid word? How +trouble tries words! All I can say is that from her birth I had owned +her, and that now, when I want her most, I am dispossessed. "Self, +self"--I know the reply, but it is unjust, for I would have stood up +cheerfully to be shot if I could have saved her pain. Doubly unjust, +for my passion for her was a blessing to her as well as to me. + + +January 6th.--Henceforth I suppose I shall have to play with people, to +pretend to take an interest in their clothes and their parties, or, with +the superior sort, to discuss politics or books. I care nothing for +their rags or their gossip, for Lord Melbourne, Sir Robert Peel, or Mr. +James Montgomery. I must learn how to take the tip of a finger instead +of a hand, and to accept with gratitude comfits when I hunger for bread- +-I, who have known--but I dare say nothing even to myself of my hours +with him--I, who have heard Sophy cry out in the night for me; I, who +have held her hand and have prayed by her bedside. + + +January 10th.--I must be still. I have learned this lesson before--that +speech even to myself does harm. If I admit no conversation nor debate +with myself, I certainly will not admit the chatter of outsiders. Mr. +Maxwell called again to-day. "Not a syllable on that subject," said I +when he began in the usual strain. He then suggested that as this house +was too large for me, and must have what he called "melancholy +associations," I should move. He had suggested this before, when my +husband died. How can I leave the home to which I was brought as a +bride? how can I endure the thought that strangers are in our room, or +in that other room where Sophy lay? Mr. Maxwell would think it +sacrilege to turn his church into an inn, and it is a worse sacrilege to +me to permit the profanation of the sanctuary which has been consecrated +by Love and Death. I do not know what might happen to me if I were to +leave. I have been what I am through shadowy nothings which other +people despise. To me they are realities and a law. I shall stay where +I am. "A villa," forsooth, on the outskirts of the town! My existence +would be fractured: it will at least preserve its continuity here. +Across the square I can see the house in which I was born, and I can +watch the shadow of the church in the afternoon slowly crossing the +churchyard. The townsfolk stand in the street and go up and down it +just as they did forty years ago--not the same persons, but in a sense +the same people. My brother will call me extravagant if I remain here. +He buys a horse and does not consider it extravagant, and my money is +not wasted if I spend it in the only way in which it is of any value to +me. + + +January 12th.--I had thought I could be dumb, but I cannot. My sorrow +comes in rushes. I lift up my head above the waves for an instant, and +immediately I am overwhelmed--"all Thy waves and Thy billows have gone +over me." My nights are a terror to me, and I fear for my reason. That +last grip of Sophy's hand is distinctly on mine now, palpable as the +pressure of a fleshly hand could be. It is strange that without any +external circumstances to account for it, she and I often thought the +same things at the same moment. She seemed to know instinctively what +was passing in my mind, so that I was afraid to harbour any unworthy +thought, feeling sure that she would detect it. Blood of my blood was +she. She said "goodbye" to me with perfect clearness, and in a quarter +of an hour she had gone. In that quarter of an hour there could not be +the extinction of so much. Such a creature as Sophy could not +instantaneously NOT BE. I cannot believe it, but still the volume of my +life here is closed, the story is at an end; what remains will be +nothing but a few notes on what has gone before. + + +January 21st.--I went to church to-day for the first time since the +funeral. Mr. Maxwell preached a dull, doctrinal sermon. Whilst my +husband and Sophy lived, I was a regular attendant at church, and never +thought of disputing anything I heard. It did not make much impression +on me, but I accepted it, and if I had been asked whether I believed it, +I should have said, "Certainly." But now a new standard of belief has +been set up in me, and the word "belief" has a different meaning. + + +February 3rd.--Whenever I saw anything beautiful I always asked Tom or +Sophy to look. Now I ask nobody. Early this morning, after the storm +in the night, the sky cleared, and I went out about dawn through the +garden up to the top of the orchard and watched the disappearance of the +night in the west. The loveliness of that silent conquest was +unsurpassable. Eighteen months ago I should have run indoors and have +dragged Tom and Sophy back with me. I saw it alone now, and although +the promise in the slow transformation of darkness to azure moved me to +tears, I felt it was no promise for me. + + +March 1st.--Nothing that is PRESCRIBED does me any good. I cannot leave +off going to church, but the support I want I must find out for myself. +Perhaps if I had been born two hundred years ago, I might have been +caught by some strong enthusiastic organisation and have been a private +in a great army. A miserable time is this when each man has to grope +his way unassisted, and all the incalculable toil of founders of +churches goes for little or nothing. . . . I do not pray for any more +pleasure: I ask only for strength to endure, till I can lie down and +rest. I have had more rapture in a day than my neighbours and relations +have had in all their lives. Tom once said to me that he would sooner +have had twenty-four hours with me as his wife than youth and manhood +with any other woman he ever knew. He said that, not when we were first +married, but a score of years afterwards. I remember the place and the +hour. It was in the garden one morning in July, just before breakfast. +It was a burning day, and massive white clouds were forming themselves +on the horizon. The storm on that day was the heaviest I recollect, and +the lightning struck one of our chimneys and dashed it through the roof. +His passion was informed with intellect, and his intellect glowed with +passion. There was nothing in him merely animal or merely rational. . . +. To endure, to endure! Can there be any endurance without a motive? +I have no motive. + + +March 10th.--My sister and my brother-in-law came to-day and I wished +them away. Now that my husband is dead I discover that the frequent +visitors to our house came to see him and not me. There must be +something in me which prevents people, especially women, from being +really intimate with me. To be able to make friends is a talent which I +do not possess, and if those who call on me are prompted by kindness +only, I would rather be without them. The only attraction towards me +which I value is that which is irresistible. Perhaps I am wrong, and +ought to accept with thankfulness whatever is left to me if it has any +savour of goodness in it. I have no right to compare and to reject. . . +I provide myself with little maxims, and a breath comes and sweeps them +away. What is permanent behind these little flickerings is black night: +that is the real background of my life. + + +April 24th.--I have been to London, and on Easter Sunday I went to High +Mass at a Roman Catholic Church. I was obliged to leave, for I was +overpowered and hysterical. Were I to go often my reason might be +drowned, and I might become a devotee. And yet I do not think I should. +If I could prostrate myself at a shrine I should want an answer. When I +came out into the open air I saw again the PLAINNESS of the world: the +skies, the sea, the fields are not in accord with incense or gorgeous +ceremonies. Incense and ceremonies are beyond the facts, and to the +facts we must cleave, no matter how poor and thin they may be. + + +May 5th.--If I am ill, I shall depend entirely on paid service. God +grant I may die suddenly and not linger in imbecility. So much of me is +dead that what is left is not worth preserving. Nearly everything I +have done all my life has been done for love. I shall now have to act +for duty's sake. It is an entire reconstruction of myself, the +insertion of a new motive. I do not much believe in duty, nor, if I +read my New Testament aright, did the Apostle Paul. For Jesus he would +do anything. That sacred face would have drawn me whither the Law would +never have driven me. + + +May 7th.--It is painful to me to be so completely set aside. When Tom +was alive I was in the midst of the current of affairs. Few men, except +Maxwell, come to the house now. My property is in the hands of +trustees. Tom continually consulted me in business matters. I have +nothing to look after except my house, and I sit at my window and see +the stream of life pass without touching me. I cannot take up work +merely for the sake of taking it up. Nobody would value it, nor would +it content me. How I used to pity my husband's uncle, Captain +Charteris! He had been a sailor; he had fought the French; he had been +in imminent danger of shipwreck, and from his youth upwards perpetual +demands had been made upon his resources and courage. At fifty he +retired, a strong, active man; and having a religious turn, he helped +the curate with school-treats and visiting. He pined away and died in +five years. The bank goes on. I have my dividends, but not a word +reaches me about it. + + +October 10th.--Five months, I see, have passed since I made an entry in +my diary. What a day this is! The turf is once more soft, the trees +and hedges are washed, the leaves are turning yellow and are ready to +fall. I have been sitting in the garden alone, reading the forty-ninth +chapter of Genesis. I must copy the closing verses. It does me good to +write them. + +"And Jacob charged them, and said unto them, I am to be gathered unto my +people: bury me with my fathers in the cave that is in the field of +Ephron the Hittite, in the cave that is in the field of Machpelah, which +is before Mamre, in the land of Canaan, which Abraham bought with the +field of Ephron the Hittite for a possession of a burying-place. There +they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac and +Rebekah his wife; and there I buried Leah. The purchase of the field +and of the cave that is therein was from the children of Heth. And when +Jacob had made an end of commanding his sons, he gathered up his feet +into the bed, and yielded up the ghost, and was gathered unto his +people." There is no distress here: he gathers up his feet and +departs. Perhaps our wild longings are unnatural, and yet it seems but +nature NOT to be content with what contented the patriarch. Anyhow, +wherever and whatever my husband and Sophy are I shall be. This at +least is beyond dispute. + + +October 12th.--I do not wish to forget past joys, but I must simply +remember them and not try to paint them. I must cut short any yearning +for them. + + +October 20th.--We do not say the same things to ourselves with +sufficient frequency. In these days of book-reading fifty fine thoughts +come into our heads in a day, and the next morning are forgotten. Not +one of them becomes a religion. In the Bible how few the thoughts are, +and how incessantly they are repeated! If my life could be controlled +by two or three divine ideas, I would burn my library. I often feel +that I would sooner be a Levitical priest, supposing I believed in my +office, than be familiar with all these great men whose works are +stacked around me. + + +October 22nd.--Sometimes, especially at night, the thought not only that +I personally have lost Tom and Sophy, but that the exquisite fabric of +these relationships, so intricate, so delicate, so highly organised, +could be cast aside, to all appearance so wastefully, is almost +unendurable. . . . I went up to the moor on the top of the hill this +morning, where I could see, far away, the river broaden and lose itself +in the Atlantic. I lay on the heather looking through it and listening +to it. + + +October 23rd.--The 131st Psalm came into my mind when I was on the moor +again. "Neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too +high for me. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that +is weaned of its mother: my soul is even as a weaned child." + + +October 28th--Tom once said to me that reasoning is often a bad guide +for us, and that loyalty to the silent Leader is true wisdom. Wesley, +when he was in trouble, asked himself "whether he should fight against +it by thinking, or by not thinking of it," and a wise man told him "to +be still and go on." A certain blind instinct seems to carry me +forward. What is it? an indication of a purpose I do not comprehend? an +order given by the Commander-in-Chief which is to be obeyed although the +strategy is not understood? + + +November 3rd.--Palmer, my maid, who has been with me ever since I began +to keep house, was very good-looking at one-and-twenty. When she had +been engaged to be married about a twelvemonth, she burned her face and +the burn left a bad scar. Her lover found excuses for breaking off the +engagement. He must have been a scoundrel, and I should like to have +had him whipped with wire. She was very fond of him. She had an offer +of marriage ten years afterwards, but she refused. I believe she feared +lest the scar, seen every day, would make her husband loathe her. Her +case is worse than mine, for she never knew such delights as mine. + +She has subsisted on mere friendliness and civility. "Oh," it is +suggested at once to me, "you are more sensitive than she is." How dare +I say that? How hateful is the assumption of superior sensitiveness as +an excuse for want of endurance! + + +November 4th.--Ellen Charteris, my husband's cousin, belongs to a Roman +Catholic branch of the family, and is an abbess. I remember saying to +her that I wondered that she and her nuns could spend such useless +lives. She replied that although she and all good Catholics believe in +the atonement of Christ, they also believe that works of piety in excess +of what may be demanded of us, even if they are done in secret, are a +set-off against the sins of the world. In this form the doctrine has +not much to commend itself to me, and it is assumed that the nuns' works +are pious. But in a sense it is true. "The very hairs of your head are +all numbered." The fall of a grain of dust is recorded. + +November 7th--A kind of peace occasionally visits me. It is not the +indifference begotten of time, for my husband and my child are nearer +and dearer than ever to me. I care not to analyse it. I return to my +patriarch. With Joseph before him, the father, who had refused to be +comforted when he thought his son was dead, gathered up his feet into +the bed and slept. + + + +CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN GEORGE LUCY M.A., AND HIS GODCHILD, HERMIONE +RUSSELL, B.A. + + + +My Dear Hermione,--I have sent you my little volume of verse +translations into English, and you will find appended a few attempts at +Latin and Greek renderings of favourite English poems. You must tell me +what you think of them, and you must not spare a single blunder or +inelegance. I do not expect any reviews, and if there should be none it +will not matter, for I proposed to myself nothing more than my own +amusement and that of my friends. I would rather have thoroughly good +criticism from you than a notice, even if it were laudatory, from a +magazine or a newspaper. You have worked hard at your Latin and Greek +since we read Homer and Virgil, and you have had better instruction than +I had at Winchester. These trifles were published about three months +ago, but I purposely did not send you a copy then. You are enjoying +your holiday deep in the country, and may be inclined to pardon that +incurable old idler, your godfather and former tutor, for a waste of +time which perhaps you would not forgive when you are teaching in +London. Verse-making is out of fashion now. Goodbye. I should like to +spend a week with you wandering through those Devonshire lanes if I +could carry my two rooms with me and stick them in a field. + +Affectionately, +G. L. + + +My Dear Godfather,--The little Musae came safely. My love to you for +them, and for the pretty inscription. I positively refuse to say a +single syllable on your scholarship. I have deserted my Latin and +Greek, and they were never good enough to justify me in criticising +yours. I have latterly turned my attention to Logic, History, and Moral +Philosophy, and with the help of my degree I have obtained a situation +as teacher of these sciences. I confess I do not regret the change. +They are certainly of supreme importance. There is something to be +learned about them from Latin and Greek authors, but this can be +obtained more easily from modern writers or translations than by the +laborious study of the originals. Do not suppose I am no longer +sensible to the charm of classical art. It is wonderful, but I have +come to the conclusion that the time spent on the classics, both here +and in Germany, is mostly thrown away. Take even Homer. I admit the +greatness of the Iliad and the Odyssey, but do tell me, my dear +godfather, whether in this nineteenth century, when scores of urgent +social problems are pressing for solution, our young people ought to +give themselves up to a study of ancient legends? What, however, are +Horace, Catullus, and Ovid compared with Homer? Much in them is +pernicious, and there is hardly anything in them which helps us to live. +Besides, we have surely enough in Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, and +Milton, to say nothing of the poets of this century, to satisfy the +imagination of anybody. Boys spend years over the Metamorphoses or the +story of the wars of AEneas, and enter life with no knowledge of the +simplest facts of psychology. I look forward to a time not far distant, +I hope, when our whole paedagogic system will be remodelled. Greek and +Latin will then occupy the place which Assyrian or Egyptian hieroglyphic +occupies now, and children will be directly prepared for the duties +which await them. + +I have in preparation a book which I expect soon to publish, entitled +Positive Education. It will appear anonymously, for society being +constituted as it is, I am afraid that my name on the title-page would +prevent me from finding employment. My object is to show how the moral +fabric can be built up without the aid of theology or metaphysics. I +profess no hostility to either, but as educational instruments I believe +them to be useless. I begin with Logic as the foundation of all +science, and then advance by easy steps (a) to the laws of external +nature commencing with number, and (b) to the rules of conduct, reasons +being given for them, with History and Biography as illustrations. One +modern foreign language, to be learned as thoroughly as it is possible +to learn it in this country, will be included. I desire to banish all +magic in school training. Everything taught shall be understood. It is +easier, and in some respects more advantageous, not to explain, but the +mischief of habituating children to bow to the unmeaning is so great +that I would face any inconvenience in order to get rid of it. All +kinds of objections, some of them of great weight, may be urged against +me, but the question is on which side do they preponderate? Is it no +objection to our present system that the simple laws most necessary to +society should be grounded on something which is unintelligible, that we +should be brought up in ignorance of any valid obligation to obey moral +precepts, that we should be unable to give any account of the commonest +physical phenomena, that we should never even notice them, that we +should be unaware, for example, of the nightly change in the position of +planets and stars, and that we should nevertheless busy ourselves with +niceties of expression in a dead tongue, and with tales about Jupiter +and Juno? For what glorious results may we not look when children from +their earliest years learn that which is essential, but which now, alas! +is picked up unmethodically and by chance? I cannot help saying all +this to you, for your Musae arrived just as my youngest brother came +home from Winchester. He was delighted with it, for he is able to write +very fair Latin and Greek. That boy is nearly eighteen. He does not +know why the tides rise and fall, and has never heard that there has +been any controversy as to the basis of ethics. + +Your affectionate godchild, +HERMIONE. + + +My Dear Hermione,--Your letter was something like a knock-down blow. I +am sorry you have abandoned your old friends, and I felt that you +intended to rebuke me for trifling. A great deal of what you say I am +sure is true, but I cannot write about it. Whether Greek and Latin +ought to be generally taught I am unable to decide. I am glad I learned +them. My apology for my little Musae must be that it is too late to +attempt to alter the habits in which I was brought up. Remember, my +dear child, that I am an old bachelor with seventy years behind me last +Christmas, and remember also my natural limits. I am not so old, +nevertheless, that I cannot wish you God-speed in all your undertakings. + +Your affectionate godfather, +G. L. + + +My Dear Godfather,--What a blunderer I am! What deplorable want of +tact! If I wanted your opinion on classical education or my scheme I +surely might have found a better opportunity for requesting it. It is +always the way with me. I get a thing into my head, and out it comes at +the most unseasonable moment. It is almost as important that what is +said should be relevant as that it should be true. Well, the mistake is +made, and I cannot unmake it. I will not trouble you with another +syllable--directly at any rate--about Latin and Greek, but I do want to +know what you think about the exclusion of theology and metaphysics from +the education of the young. I must have DEBATE, so that before +publication my ideas may become clear and objections may be anticipated. +I cannot discuss the matter with my father. You were at college with +him, and you will remember his love for Aristotle, who, as I think, has +enslaved him. If I may say so without offence, you are not a +philosopher. You are more likely, therefore, to give a sound, +unprofessional opinion. You have never had much to do with children, +but this does not matter; in fact, it is rather an advantage, for actual +children would have distorted your judgment. What has theology done? +It is only half-believed, and its rewards and punishments are too remote +to be of practical service. They are not seen when they are most +required. As to metaphysics, its propositions are too loose. They may +with equal ease be affirmed or denied. Conduct cannot be controlled by +what is shadowy and uncertain. We have been brought up on theology and +metaphysics for centuries, and we are still at daggers drawn upon +matters of life and death. We are as warlike as ever, and not a single +social problem has been settled by bishops or professors. I wish to try +a more direct and, as I believe, a more efficient method. I wish to see +what the effect will be of teaching children from their infancy the +lesson that morality and the enjoyment of life are identical; that if, +for example, they lie, they lose. I should urge this on them +perpetually, until at last, by association, lying would become +impossible. Restraint which is exercised in accordance with rational +principles, inasmuch as it proceeds from Nature, must be more +efficacious than an external prohibition. So with other virtues. I +should deduce most of them in the same way. If I could not, I should +let them go, assured that we could do without them. Now, my dear +godfather, do open out to me, and don't put me off. + +Your affectionate godchild, +HERMIONE. + + +My Dear Hermione,--You terrify me. These matters are really not in my +way. I have never been able to tackle big questions. Unhappily for me, +all questions nowadays are big. I do not see many people, as you know, +and potter about in my garden from morning to night, but Mrs. Lindsay +occasionally brings down her friends from London, and the subjects of +conversation are so immense that I am bewildered. I admit that some +people are too rich and others are too poor, and that if I could give +you a vote you should have one, and that boys and girls might be better +taught, but upon Socialism, Enfranchisement of Women, and Educational +Reform, I have not a word to say. Is not this very unsatisfactory? +Nobody is more willing to admit it than I am. It is so disappointing in +talking to myself or to others to stop short of generalisation and to be +obliged to confess that SOMETIMES IT IS AND SOMETIMES IT IS NOT. I +bless my stars that I am not a politician or a newspaper writer. When I +was young these great matters, at least in our village, were not such +common property as they are now. A man, even if he was a scholar, +thought he had done his duty by living an honest and peaceable life. He +was justified if he was kind to his neighbours and amused himself with +his bees and flowers. He had no desire to be remembered for any +achievement, and was content to be buried with a few tears and then to +be forgotten. All Mrs. Lindsay's folk want to do something outside +their own houses or parishes which shall make their names immortal. . . +. I was interrupted by a tremendous thunderstorm and hail. That +wonderful rose-bush which, you will recollect, stood on the left-hand +side of the garden door, has been stripped just as if it had been +scourged with whips. If you have done, quite done with the Orelli you +borrowed about two years ago, please let me have it. Why could you not +bring it? Mrs. Lindsay was saying only the other day how glad she +should be if you would stay with her for a fortnight before you return +to town. + +Your affectionate godfather, +G. L. + + +My Dear Godfather,--I have sent back the Orelli. How I should love to +come and to wander about the meadows with you by the river or sit in the +boat with you under the willows. But I cannot, for I have promised to +speak at a Woman's Temperance Meeting next week, and in the week +following I am going to read a paper called "An Educational Experiment," +before our Ethical Society. This, I think, will be interesting. I have +placed my pupils in difficult historical positions, and have made them +tell me what they would have done, giving the reasons. I am thus +enabled to detect any weakness and to strengthen character on that side. +Most of the girls are embarrassed by the conflict of motives, and I have +to impress upon them the necessity in life of disregarding those which +are of less importance and of prompt action on the stronger. I have +classified my results in tables, so that it may be seen at a glance what +impulses are most generally operative. + +But to go back to your letter. I will not have you shuffle. You can +say so much if you like. Talk to me just as you did when we last sat +under the cedar-tree. I MUST know your mind about theology and +metaphysics. + +Your affectionate godchild, +HERMIONE. + + +My Dear Hermione,--I am sorry you could not come. I am sorry that what +people call a "cause" should have kept you away. If any of your friends +had been ill; if it had been a dog or a cat, I should not have cared so +much. You are dreadful! Theology and metaphysics! I do not understand +what they are as formal sciences. Everything seems to me theological +and metaphysical. What Shakespeare says now and then carries me further +than anything I have read in the system-books into which I have looked. +I cannot take up a few propositions, bind them into faggots, and say, +"This is theology, and that is metaphysics." There is much "discourse +of God" in a May blossom, and my admiration of it is "beyond nature," +but I am not sure upon this latter point, for I do not know in the least +what f?s?? or Nature is. We love justice and generosity, and hate +injustice and meanness, but the origin of virtue, the life of the soul, +is as much beyond me as the origin of life in a plant or animal, and I +do not bother myself with trying to find it out. I do feel, however, +that justice and generosity have somehow a higher authority than I or +any human being can give them, and if I had children of my own this is +what I should try, not exactly to teach them, but to breathe into them. +I really, my dear child, dare not attempt an essay on the influence +which priests and professors have had upon the world, nor am I quite +clear that "shadowy" and "uncertain" mean the same thing. All ultimate +facts in a sense are shadowy, but they are not uncertain. When you try +to pinch them between your fingers they seem unsubstantial, but they are +very real. Are you sure that you yourself stand on solid granite? + +Your affectionate godfather, +G. L. + + +My Dear Godfather,--You are most disappointing and evasive. I gave up +the discussion on Latin and Greek, but I did and do want your reply to a +most simple question. If you had to teach children--you surely can +imagine yourself in such a position--would you teach them WHAT ARE +GENERALLY KNOWN AS THEOLOGY AND METAPHYSICS?--excuse the emphasis. You +have an answer, I am certain, and you may just as well give it me. I +know that you had rather, or affect you had rather, talk about Catullus, +but I also know that you think upon serious subjects sometimes. These +matters cannot now be put aside. We live in a world in which certain +problems are forced upon us and we are compelled to come to some +conclusion upon them. I cannot shut myself up and determine that I will +have no opinion upon Education or Socialism or Women's Rights. The fact +that these questions are here is plain proof that it is my duty not to +ignore them. You hate large generalisations, but how can we exist +without them? They may never be entirely true, but they are +indispensable, and, if you never commit yourself to any, you are much +more likely to be practically wrong than if you use them. + +Take, for example, the Local Veto. I admitted in my speech that there +is much to be urged against it. It might act harshly, and it is quite +true that poor men in large towns cannot spend their evenings in their +filthy homes; but I MUST be for it or against it, and I am +enthusiastically for it, because on the whole it will do good. So with +Socialism. The evils of Capitalism are so monstrous that any remedy is +better than none. Socialism may not be the direct course: it may be a +tremendously awkward tack, but it is only by tacking that we get along. +So with positive education, but I have enlarged upon this already. What +a sermon to my dear godfather! Forgive me, but you will have to take +sides, and do, please, be a little more definite about my book. + +Your affectionate godchild, +HERMIONE. + + +My Dear Hermione,--I haven't written for some time, for I was unwell for +nearly a month. The doctor has given me physic, but my age is really +the mischief, and it is incurable. I caught cold through sitting out of +doors after dinner with the rector, a good fellow if he would not smoke +on my port. To smoke on good port is a sin. He knows my infirmity, +that I cannot sit still long, and he excuses my attendance at church. +Would you believe it? When I was very bad, and thought I might die, I +read Horace again, whom you detest. I often wonder what he really +thought upon many things when he looked out on the + + + taciturna noctis +signa." + + +Justice is not often done to him. He saw a long way, but he did not +make believe he saw beyond his limit, and was content with it. A rare +virtue is intellectual content! + + +"Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi +Finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios +Tentaris numeros." + + +The rector was telling me about Tom Pavenham's wedding. He has married +Margaret Loxley, as you may perhaps have seen in the paper I sent you. +Mrs. Loxley, her mother, was a Barfield, and old Pavenham, when he was a +youth, fell in love with her. She was also in love with him. He was +well-to-do, and farmed about seven hundred acres, but he was not thought +good enough by the elder Barfields, who lived in what was called a park. +They would not hear of the match. She was sent to France, and he went +to Buenos Ayres. After some years had passed he married out there, and +she married. His wife died when her first child, a boy, was born. +Loxley also died, leaving his wife with an only daughter. Pavenham +retired from business in South America, and came back with his son to +his native village, where he meant to spend the rest of his days. Tom +and Margaret were at once desperately smitten with one another. The +father and mother have kept their own flame alive, and I believe it is +as bright as it ever was. It is delightful to see them together. They +called on me with the children after the betrothal. He was so courteous +and attentive to her, and she seemed to bask in his obvious affection. +I noticed how they looked at one another and smiled happily as the boy +and girl wandered off together towards the filbert walk. The rector +told me that he was talking to old Pavenham one evening, and said to +him: "Jem, aren't you sometimes sad when you think of what ought to +have happened?" His voice shook a bit as he replied gently: "God be +thanked for what we have! Besides, it has all come to pass in Tom and +Margaret." + +You must not be angry with me if I say nothing more about Positive +Education. It is a great strain on me to talk upon such matters, and +when I do I always feel afterwards that I have said much which is mere +words. That is a sure test; I must obey my daemon. I wish I could give +you what you want for what you have given me; but when do we get what we +want in exchange for what we give? Our trafficking is a clumsy barter. +A man sells me a sheep, and I pay him in return with my grandfather's +old sextant. This is not quite true for you and me. Love is given and +love is returned. A Dieu--not adieu. Remember that the world is very +big, and that there may be room in it for a few creatures like + +Your affectionate godfather, +G. L. + + + +MRS. FAIRFAX + + + +The town of Langborough in 1839 had not been much disturbed since the +beginning of the preceding century. The new houses were nearly all of +them built to replace others which had fallen into decay; there were no +drains; the drinking-water came from pumps; the low fever killed thirty +or forty people every autumn; the Moot Hall still stood in the middle of +the High Street; the newspaper came but once a week; nobody read any +books; and the Saturday market and the annual fair were the only events +in public local history. Langborough, being seventy miles from London +and eight from the main coach-road, had but little communication with +the outside world. Its inhabitants intermarried without crossing from +other stocks, and men determined their choice mainly by equality of +fortune and rank. The shape of the nose and lips and colour of the eyes +may have had some influence in masculine selection, but not much: the +doctor took the lawyer's daughter, the draper took the grocer's, and the +carpenter took the blacksmith's. Husbands and wives, as a rule, lived +comfortably with one another; there was no reason why they should +quarrel. The air of the place was sleepy; the men attended to their +business, and the women were entirely apart, minding their household +affairs and taking tea with one another. In Langborough, dozing as it +had dozed since the days of Queen Anne, it was almost impossible that +any woman should differ so much from another that she could be the cause +of passionate preference. + +One day in the spring of 1839 Langborough was stirred to its depths. No +such excitement had been felt in the town since the run upon the bank in +1825, when one of the partners went up to London, brought down ten +thousand pounds in gold with him by the mail, and was met at Thaxton +cross-roads by a post-chaise, which was guarded into Langborough by +three men with pistols. A circular printed in London was received on +that spring day in 1839 by all the respectable ladies in the town +stating that a Mrs. Fairfax was about to begin business in Ferry Street +as a dressmaker. She had taken the only house to be let in Ferry +Street. It was a cottage with a front and back sitting-room, and +belonged to an old lady in Lincoln, who inherited it from her brother, +who once lived in it but had been dead forty years. Before a week had +gone by four-fifths of the population of Langborough had re-inspected +it. The front room was the shop, and in the window was a lay-figure +attired in an evening robe of rose-coloured silk, the like of which for +style and fit no native lady had ever seen. Underneath it was a card-- +"Mrs. Fairfax, Milliner and Dressmaker." The circular stated that Mrs. +Fairfax could provide materials or would make up those brought to her by +her customers. + +Great was the debate which followed this unexpected apparition. Who +Mrs. Fairfax was could not be discovered. Her furniture and the lay- +figure had come by the waggon, and the only information the driver could +give was that he was directed at the "George and Blue Boar" in Holborn +to fetch them from Great Ormond Street. After much discussion it was +agreed that Mrs. Bingham, the wife of the wine merchant, should call on +Mrs. Fairfax and inquire the price of a gown. Mrs. Bingham was at the +head of society in Langborough, and had the reputation of being very +clever. It was hoped, and indeed fully expected, that she would be able +to penetrate the mystery. She went, opened the door, a little bell +sounded, and Mrs. Fairfax presented herself. Mrs. Bingham's eyes fell +at once upon Mrs. Fairfax's dress. It was black, with no ornament, and +constructed with an accuracy and grace which proved at once to Mrs. +Bingham that its maker was mistress of her art. Mrs. Bingham, although +she could not entirely desert the linendraper's wife, whose husband was +a good customer for brandy, had some of her clothes made in London when +she stayed with her sister in town, and, to use her own phrase, "knew +what was what." + +"Mrs. Fairfax?" + +A bow. + +"Will you please tell me what a gown would cost made somewhat like that +in the window?" + +"For yourself, madam?" + +"Yes." + +"Pardon me; I am afraid that colour would not suit you." + +Mrs. Bingham was a stout woman with a ruddy complexion. + +"One colour costs no more than another?" + +"No, madam: twelve guineas; that silk is expensive. Will you not take +a seat?" + +"I am afraid you will find twelve guineas too much for anybody here. +Have you nothing cheaper?" + +Mrs. Fairfax produced some patterns and fashion-plates. + +"I suppose the gown in the window is your own make?" + +"My own make and design." + +"Then you are not beginning business?" + +"I hope I may say that I thoroughly understand it." + +The door leading into the back parlour opened, and a little girl about +nine or ten years old entered. + +"Mother, I want--" + +Mrs. Fairfax, without saying a word, gently led the child into the +parlour again. + +"Dear me, what a pretty little girl! Is that yours?" + +"Yes, she is mine." + +Mrs. Bingham noticed that Mrs. Fairfax did not wear a widow's cap, and +that she had a wedding-ring on her finger. + +"You will find it rather lonely here. Have you been accustomed to +solitude?" + +"Yes. That silk, now, would suit you admirably. With less ornament it +would be ten guineas." + +"Thank you: I must not be so extravagant at present. May I look at +something which will do for walking? You would not, I suppose, make a +walking-dress for Langborough exactly as you would have made it in +London?" + +"If you mean for walking about the roads here, it would differ slightly +from one which would be suitable for London." + +"Will you show me what you have usually made for town?" + +"This is what is worn now." + +Mrs. Bingham was baffled but not defeated. She gave an order for a +walking-dress, and hoped that Mrs. Fairfax might be more communicative. + +"Have you any introductions here?" + +"None whatever." + +"It is rather a risk if you are unknown." + +"Perhaps you have been exempt from risks: some people are obliged +constantly to encounter them." + +"'Exempt,' 'encounter,"' thought Mrs. Bingham: "she must have been to a +good school." + +"When will you be ready to try on?" + +"On Friday," and Mrs. Fairfax opened the door. + +As Mrs. Bingham went out she noticed a French book lying on a side +table. + +The day following was Sunday, and Mrs. Fairfax and her daughter were at +church. They sat at the back, and all the congregation turned on +entering, looked at them, and thought about them during the service. +They went out as soon as it was over, but Mrs. Harrop, wife of the +ironmonger, and Mrs. Cobb, wife of the coal merchant, escaped with equal +promptitude and were close behind them. + +"There isn't a crease in that body," said Mrs. Harrop. + +On Monday Mrs. Bingham was at the post-office. She took care to be +there at the dinner hour, when the postmaster's wife generally came to +the counter. + +"A newcomer, Mrs. Carter. Have you seen Mrs. Fairfax?" + +"Once or twice, ma'am." + +"Has she many letters?" + +The door between the office and the parlour was open. + +"I've no doubt she will have, ma'am, if her business succeeds." + +"I wonder where she lived before she came here. It is curious, isn't +it, that nobody knows her? Did you ever notice how her letters are +stamped?" + +"Can't say as I have, ma'am." + +Mrs. Carter shut the parlour door. "The smell of those onions," she +whispered to her husband, "blows right in here." She then altered her +tone a trifle. + +"One of 'em, Mrs. Bingham, had the Portsmouth postmark on it; but this +is in the strictest confidence, and I should never dream of letting it +out to anybody but you, but I don't mind you, because I know you won't +repeat it, and if my husband was to hear me he'd be in a fearful rage, +for there was a dreadful row when I told Lady Caroline at Thaxton Manor +about the letters Miss Margaret was getting, and it was found out that +it was me as told her, and some gentleman in London wrote to the +Postmaster-General about it." + +"You may depend upon me, Mrs. Carter." Mrs. Bingham considered she had +completely satisfied her conscience when she imposed an oath of secrecy +on Mrs. Harrop, who was also self-exonerated when she had imposed a +similar oath on Mrs. Cobb. + +A fortnight after the visit to the post-office there was a tea-party. +Mrs. Harrop, Mrs. Cobb, Mrs. Sweeting, the grocer's wife, and Miss +Tarrant, an elderly lady, living on a small annuity, but most genteel, +were invited to Mrs. Bingham's. They began to talk of Mrs. Fairfax +directly they had tasted the hot buttered toast. They had before them +the following facts: the carrier's deposition that the goods came from +Great Ormond Street; the lay-figure and what it wore; Mrs. Fairfax's +prices; the little girl; the wedding-ring but no widow's weeds; the +Portsmouth postmark; the French book; Mrs. Bingham's new gown, and +lastly--a piece of information contributed by Mrs. Sweeting and +considered to be of great importance, as we shall see presently--that +Mrs. Fairfax bought her coffee whole and ground it herself. On these +facts, nine in all, the ladies had to construct--it was imperative that +they should construct it--an explanation of Mrs. Fairfax, and it must be +confessed that they were not worse equipped than many a picturesque and +successful historian. At the request of the company, Mrs. Bingham went +upstairs and put on the gown. + +"Do you mind coming to the window, Mrs. Bingham?" asked Mrs. Harrop. + +Mrs. Bingham rose and went to the window. Her guests also rose. She +held her arms down and then held them up, and was surveyed from every +point of the compass. + +"I thought it was a pucker, but it's only the shadow," observed Mrs. +Harrop. + +Mrs. Cobb stroked the body and shook the skirt. Not a single +depreciatory criticism was ventured. Excepting the wearer, nobody +present had seen such a masterpiece. But although for half a lifetime +we may have beheld nothing better than an imperfect actual, we recognise +instantly the superiority and glory of the realised Ideal when it is +presented to us. Mrs. Harrop, Mrs. Cobb, Mrs. Sweeting, and Miss +Tarrant became suddenly aware of possibilities of which they had not +hitherto dreamed. Mrs. Swanley, the linendraper's wife, was degraded +and deposed. + +"She must have learned that in London," said Mrs. Harrop. + +"London! my dear Mrs. Harrop," replied Mrs. Bingham, "I know London +pretty well, and how things are cut there. I told you there was a +French book on the table. Take my word for it, she has lived in Paris. +She MUST have lived there." + +"Where is Great Ormond Street, Mrs. Bingham?" inquired Mrs. Sweeting. + +"A great many foreigners live there; it is somewhere near Leicester +Square." + +Mrs. Bingham knew nothing about the street, but having just concluded a +residence in Paris from the French book, that conclusion led at once to +a further conclusion, clear as noonday, as to the quality of the people +who inhabited Great Ormond Street, and consequently to the final +deduction of its locality. + +"Did you not say, Mrs. Sweeting, that she buys her coffee whole?" added +Mrs. Bingham, as if inspiration had flashed into her. "If you want +additional proof that she is French, there it is." + +"Portsmouth," mused Mrs. Cobb. "You say, Mrs. Bingham, there are a good +many officers there. Let me see--1815--it's twenty-four years ago since +the battle. A captain may have picked her up in Paris. I'll be bound +that, if she ever was married, she was married when she was sixteen or +seventeen. They are always obliged to marry those French girls when +they are nothing but chits, I've been told--those of them, least-ways, +that don't live with men without being married. That would make her +about forty, and then he found her out and left her, and she went back +to Paris and learned dressmaking." + +"But he writes to her from Portsmouth," said Mrs. Bingham, who had not +been told that the solitary letter from Portsmouth was addressed in a +man's handwriting. + +"He may not have broken with her altogether," replied Mrs. Cobb. "If he +isn't a downright brute he'll want to hear about his daughter." + +"Well," said Mrs. Sweeting, twitching her eyes as she was wont to do +when she was about to give an opinion which she knew would disturb any +of her friends, "you may talk as you like, but the last thing Swanley +made for me looked as if it had been to the wash and hung on me to dry. +French or English, captain or no captain, I shall go to Mrs. Fairfax. +Her character's got nothing to do with her cut. Suppose she IS +divorced; judging from that body of yours, Mrs. Bingham, I shan't have +to send back a pelisse half a dozen times to get it altered. When it +comes to that you get sick of the thing, and may just as well give it +away." + +Mrs. Sweeting occupied the lowest rank in this particular section of +Langborough society. As a grocer Mr. Sweeting was not quite on a level +with the coal dealer, who was a merchant, nor with the ironmonger, who +repaired ploughs, and he was certainly below Mr. Bingham. Miss Tarrant, +never having been "connected with trade"--her father was chief clerk in +the bank--considered herself superior to all her acquaintances, but her +very small income prevented her from claiming her superiority so +effectively as she desired. + +"Mrs. Sweeting," she said, "I am surprised at you! You do not consider +what the moral effect on the lower orders of patronising a female of +this kind will be, probably an abandoned woman. The child, no doubt, +was not born in wedlock. We are sinners ourselves if we support +sinners." + +"Miss Tarrant," retorted Mrs. Sweeting, "I'm the respectable mother of +five children, and I don't want any sermons on sin except in church. If +it wasn't a sin of Swanley to charge me three guineas for that pelisse, +and wouldn't take it back, I don't know what sin." + +Mrs. Bingham, although she was accustomed to tea-table disputes, and +even enjoyed them, was a little afraid of Mrs. Sweeting's tongue, and +thought it politic to interfere. + +"I agree with you entirely, Mrs. Sweeting, about the inferiority of Mrs. +Swanley to this newcomer, but we must consider Miss Tarrant's position +in the parish and her responsibilities. She is no doubt right from her +point of view." + +So the conversation ended, but Mrs. Fairfax's biography, which was to be +published under authority in Langborough, was now rounded off and +complete. She was a Parisian, father and mother unknown, was found in +Paris in 1815 by Captain Fairfax, who, by her intrigues and threats of +exposure, was forced into a marriage with her. A few years afterwards +he had grounds for a divorce, but not wishing a scandal, consented to a +compromise and voluntary separation. He left one child in her custody, +as it showed signs of resemblance to its mother, to whom he gave a small +monthly allowance. She had been apprenticed as a dressmaker in Paris, +had returned thither in order to master her trade, and then came back to +England. In a very little time, so clever was she that she learned to +speak English fluently, although, as Mrs. Bingham at once noticed, the +French accent was very perceptible. It was a good, intelligible, +working theory, and that was all that was wanted. This was Mrs. Fairfax +so far as her female neighbours were concerned. To the men in +Langborough she was what she was to the women, but with a difference. +When she went to Mr. Sweeting's shop to order her groceries, Mr. +Sweeting, notwithstanding the canonical legend of her life, served her +himself, and was much entangled by her dark hair, and was drawn down by +it into a most polite bow. Mr. Cobb, who had a little cabin of an +office in his coal-yard, hastened back to it from superintending the +discharge of a lighter, when Mrs. Fairfax called to pay her little bill, +actually took off his hat, begged her to be seated, and hoped she did +not find the last lot of coals dusty. He was now unloading some of the +best Wallsend that ever came up the river, and would take care that the +next half ton should not have an ounce of small in it. + +"You'll find it chilly where you are living, ma'am, but it isn't damp, +that's one comfort. The bottom of your street is damp, and down here in +a flood anything like what we had fourteen years ago, we are nearly +drowned. If you'll step outside with me I'll show you how high the +water rose." He opened the door, and Mrs. Fairfax thought it courteous +not to refuse. He walked to the back of his cabin bareheaded, although +the morning was cold, and pointed out to her the white paint mark on the +wall. She, dropped her receipted bill in the black mud and stooped to +pick it up. Mr. Cobb plunged after it and wiped it carefully on his +silk pocket-handkerchief. Mrs. Cobb's bay window commanded the whole +length of the coal-yard. In this bay window she always sat and worked +and nodded to the customers, or gossiped with them as they passed. She +turned her back on Mrs. Fairfax both when she entered the yard and when +she left it, but watched her carefully. Mr. Cobb came into dinner, but +his wife bided her time, knowing that, as he took snuff, the +handkerchief would be used. It was very provoking, he was absent- +minded, and forgot his usual pinch before he sat down to his meal. For +three-quarters of an hour his wife was afflicted with painfully uneasy +impatience, and found it very difficult to reply to Mr. Cobb's +occasional remarks. At last the cheese was finished, the snuff-box +appeared, and after it the handkerchief. + +"A pretty mess that handkerchief is in, Cobb." She always called him +simply "Cobb." + +"Yes, it was an a-a-accident. I must have a clean one. I didn't think +it was so dirty." + +"The washing of your snuffy handkerchiefs costs quite enough as it is, +Cobb, without using them in that way." + +"What way?" said Mr. Cobb weakly. + +"Oh, I saw it all, going out without your hat and standing there like a +silly fool cleaning that bit of paper. I wonder what the lightermen +thought of you." + +It will already have been noticed that the question what other people +thought was always the test which was put in Langborough whenever +anything was done or anything happened not in accordance with the usual +routine, and Mrs. Cobb struck at her husband's conscience by referring +him to his lightermen. She continued - + +"And you know what she is as well as I do, and if she'd been respectable +you'd have been rude to her, as you generally are." + +"You bought that last new gown of her, and you never had one as fitted +you so well." + +"What's that got to do with it? You may be sure I knew my place when I +went there. Fit? Yes, it did fit; them sort of women, it stands to +reason, are just the women to fit you." + +Mr. Cobb was silent. He was a mild man, and he knew by much experience +how unprofitable controversy with Mrs. Cobb was. He could not forget +Mrs. Fairfax's stooping figure when she was about to pick up the bill. +She caused in all the Langborough males an unaccustomed quivering and +warmth, the same in each, physical, perhaps, but salutary, for the +monotony of life was relieved thereby and a deference and even a grace +were begotten which did not usually distinguish Langborough manners. +Not one of Mrs. Fairfax's admirers, however, could say that she showed +any desire for conversation with him, nor could any direct evidence be +obtained as to what she thought of things in general. There was, to be +sure, the French book, and there were other circumstances already +mentioned from which suspicion or certainty (suspicion, as we have seen, +passing immediately into certainty in Langborough) of infidelity or +disreputable conduct followed, but no corroborating word from her could +be adduced. She attended to her business, accepted orders with thanks +and smiles, talked about the weather and the accident to the coach, was +punctual in her attendance at church, calm and inscrutable as the +Sphinx. The attendance at church was, of course, set down to "business +considerations," and was held to be quite consistent with the scepticism +and loose morality deducible from the French book and the unground +coffee. + + +In speaking of the male creatures of the town we have left out Dr. +Midleton. He was forty-eight years old, and had been rector twenty +years. He had obtained high mathematical honours at Cambridge, and +became a tutor in a grammar school, but was soon presented by his +college with the living of Langborough. He was tall, spare, clean- +shaven, grey-eyed, dark-haired, thin-faced, his lips were curved and +compressed, and he stooped slightly. He was a widower with no children, +and the Rectory was efficiently kept in order by an aged housekeeper. +Tractarianism had not arisen in 1839, but he was High Church and an +enemy to all kinds of fanaticism, apt to be satirical, even in his +sermons, on the right of private judgment to interpret texts as it +pleased in ignorance of Hebrew and Greek. He was respected and feared +more than any other man in the parish. He had a great library, and had +taken up archaeology as a hobby. He knew the history of every church in +the county, and more about the Langborough records than was known by the +town clerk. He was chairman of a Board of Governors charged with the +administration of wealthy trust for alms and schools. When he first +took office he found that this trust was controlled almost entirely by a +man named Jackson, a local solicitor, whose salary as clerk was 400 +pounds a year and who had a large private practice. The alms were +allotted to serve political purposes, and the headmaster of the school +enjoyed a salary of 800 pounds a year for teaching forty boys, of whom +twenty were boarders. Mr. Midleton--he was Mr. Midleton then--very soon +determined to alter this state of things. Jackson went about sneering +at the newcomer who was going to turn the place upside down, and having +been accustomed to interfere in the debates in the Board-room, +interrupted the Rector at the third or fourth meeting. + +"You'll get yourself in a mess if you do that, Mr. Chairman." + +"Mr. Jackson," replied the Rector, rising slowly, "it may perhaps save +trouble if I remind you now, once for all, that I am chairman and you +are the clerk. Mr. Bingham, you were about to speak." + +It was Dr. Midleton who obtained the new Act of Parliament remodelling +the trust, whereby a much larger portion of its funds was devoted to +education. Jackson died, partly from drink and partly from spite and +vexation, and the headmaster was pensioned. The Rector was not popular +with the middle class. He was not fond of paying visits, but he never +neglected his duty, and by the poor was almost beloved, for he was +careless and intimate in his talk with them and generous to real +distress. Everybody admired his courage. The cholera in 1831 was very +bad in Langborough, and the people were in a panic at the new disease, +which was fatal in many cases within six hours after the first attack. +The Rector through that dark time was untouched by the contagious dread +which overpowered his parishioners, and his presence carried confidence +and health. On the worst day, sultry, stifling, with no sun, an +indescribable terror crept abroad, and Mr. Cobb, standing at his gate, +was overcome by it. In five minutes he had heard of two deaths, and he +began to feel what were called "premonitory symptoms." He carried a +brandy flask in his pocket, brandy being then considered a remedy, and +he drank freely, but imagined himself worse. He was about to rush +indoors and tell Mrs. Cobb to send for the surgeon, when the Rector +passed. + +"Ah, Mr. Cobb! I was just about to call on you; glad to see you looking +so well when there's so much sickness. We shall want you on the School +Committee this evening," and then he explained some business which was +to be discussed. Mr. Cobb afterwards was fond of telling the story of +this interview. + +"Would you believe it?" said he. "He spoke to me about nothing much but +the trust, but somehow my stomach seemed quieter at once. The sinking-- +just HERE, you know--was dreadful before he came up, and the brandy was +no good. It was a something in his way that did it." + +Dr. Midleton was obliged to call on Mrs. Fairfax as a newcomer. He +found Mrs. Harrop there, and Mrs. Fairfax asked him to step into the +back parlour, into which no one in Langborough had hitherto been +admitted. Gowns were tried on in the shop, the door being bolted and +the blind drawn. Dr. Midleton found four little shelves of books on the +cupboard by the side of the fireplace. Some were French, but most of +them were English. Although it was such a small collection, his book- +lover's instinct compelled him to look at it. His eyes fell upon a +Religio Medici, and he opened it hastily. On the fly-leaf was written +"Mary Leighton, from R. L." He had just time, before its owner entered, +to replace it and to muse for an instant. + +"Richard Leighton of Trinity: it is not a common name, but it cannot be +he--have lost sight of him for years; heard he was married, and came to +no good." + +He was able to watch her for a minute as she stood by the table giving +some directions to her child, who was sent on an errand. In that minute +he saw her as she had not been seen by anybody in Langborough. To Mrs. +Bingham and her friends Mrs. Fairfax was the substratum of a body and +skirt, with the inestimable advantage over a substratum of cane and +padding that a scandalous history of it could be invented and believed. +To Langborough men, married and single, she was a member of "the sex," +as women were called in those days, who possessed in a remarkable degree +the power of exciting that quivering and warmth we have already +observed. Dr. Midleton saw before him a lady, tall but delicately +built, with handsome face and dark brown hair just streaked with grey, +and he saw also diffused over every feature a light which in her eyes, +forward-looking and earnest, became concentrated into a vivid, steady +flame. The few words she spoke to her daughter were sharply cut, a +delightful contrast in his ear to the dialect to which he was +accustomed, distinguished by its universal vowel and suppression of the +consonants. How he inwardly rejoiced to hear the sound of the second +"t" in the word "distinct," when she told her little messenger that Mr. +Cobb had been "distinctly" ordered to send the coals yesterday. He +remained standing until the child had gone. + +"Pray be seated," she said. She went to the fireplace, leaned on the +mantelpiece, and poked the fire. The attitude struck him. She was +about to put some coals in the grate, but he interfered with an "Allow +me," and performed the office for her. She thanked him simply, and sat +down opposite to him, facing the light. She began the conversation. + +"It is good of you to call on me; calling on people, especially on +newcomers must be an unpleasant part of a clergyman's duty." + +"It is so, madam, sometimes--there are not many newcomers." + +"It is an advantage in your profession that you must generally be +governed by duty. It is often easier to do what we are obliged to do, +even if it be disagreeable, than to choose our path by our likes and +dislikes." + +The bell rang, and Mrs. Fairfax went into the shop. + +"Who can she be?" said the Doctor to himself. Such an experience as +this he had not known since he had been rector. Langborough did not +deal in ideas. It was content to affirm that Miss Tarrant now and then +gave herself airs, that Mrs. Sweeting had a way of her own, that Mr. +Cobb lacked spirit and was downtrodden by his wife. + +She returned and sat down again. + +"You know nobody in these parts, Mrs. Fairfax?" + +"Nobody." + +"Yours is a bold venture, is it not?" + +"It is--certainly. A good many plans were projected, of which this was +one, and there were equal difficulties in the way of all. When that is +the case we may almost as well draw lots." + +"Ah, that is what I often say to some of the weaker sort among my +parishioners. I said it to poor Cobb the other day. He did not know +whether he should do this or do that. 'It doesn't matter much,' said I, +'what you do, but do something. DO it, with all your strength.'" + +The Doctor was thoroughly Tory, and he slid away to his favourite +doctrine. + +"Our ancestors, madam, were not such fools as we often take them to be. +They consulted the sortes or lots, and at the last election--we have a +potwalloping constituency here--three parts of the voters would have +done better if they had trusted to the toss-up of a penny instead of +their reason." + +Mrs. Fairfax leaned back in her chair. Dr. Midleton noticed her +wedding-ring, and also a handsome sapphire ring. She spoke rather +slowly and meditatively. + +"Life is so complicated; so few of the consequences of many actions of +the greatest moment can be foreseen, that the belief in the lot is not +unnatural." + +"You have some books, I see--Sir Thomas Browne." He took down the +volume. + +"Leighton! Leighton! how odd! Was it Richard Leighton?" + +"Yes." + +"Really; and you knew him?" + +"He was a friend of my brother." + +"Do you know what has become of him? He was at Cambridge with me, but +was younger." + +"I have not seen him for some time. Do you mind if I open the window a +little?" + +"Certainly not." + +She stood at the window for a moment, looking out on the garden, with +her hand on the top of the sash. The Doctor had turned his chair a +little and his eyes were fixed on her there with her uplifted arm. A +picture which belonged to his father instantly came back to him. He +recollected it so well. It represented a woman watching a young man in +a courtyard who is just mounting his horse. We are every now and then +reminded of pictures by a group, an attitude, or the arrangement of a +landscape which, thereby, acquires a new charm. + +Suddenly the shop bell rang again, and Mrs. Fairfax's little girl rushed +into the parlour. She had fallen down and cut her wrist terribly with a +piece of a bottle containing some harts-horn which she had to buy at the +druggist's on her way home from Mr. Cobb's. The blood flowed freely, +but Mrs. Fairfax, unbewildered, put her thumb firmly on the wrist just +above the wound and instructed the doctor how to use his pocket- +handkerchief as a tourniquet. As he was tying it, although such careful +attention to the operation was necessary, he noticed Mrs. Fairfax's +hands, and he almost forgot himself and the accident. + +"There is glass in the wrist," she said. "Will you kindly fetch the +surgeon? I do not like to leave." + +He went at once, and fortunately met him in his gig. + +On the third day after the mishap Dr. Midleton thought he ought to +inquire after the child. The glass had been extracted and she was doing +well. Her mother was at work in the back-parlour. She made no apology +for her occupation, but laid down her tools. + +"Pray go on, madam." + +"Certainly not. I am afraid I might make a mistake with my scissors if +I were to listen to you; or, worse, if I were to pay attention to them I +should not pay attention to you." + +He smiled. "It is an art, I should think, which requires not only much +attention but practice." + +She evaded the implied question. "It is difficult to fit, but it is +more difficult to please." + +"That is true in my own profession." + +"But you are not obliged to please." + +"No, not obliged, I am happy to say. If my parishioners do not hear the +truth I have no excuse. It must be rather trying to the temper of a +lady like yourself to humour the caprices of the vulgar." + +"No; they are my customers, and even if they are unpleasant they are so +not to me personally but to their servant, who ceases to be their +servant when she ceases to be employed upon their clothes." + +"You are a philosopher, madam; that sentiment is worthy of Epictetus." + +"I have read Epictetus in Mrs. Carter's translation." + +"You have read Epictetus? That is remarkable! I should think no other +woman in the county has read him." He leaned forward a little and his +face was lighted up. "I have a library, madam, a large library; I +should like to show it to you, if--if it can be managed without +difficulty." + +"It will give me great pleasure to see it some day. It must be a +delightful solace to you in a town like this, in which I daresay you +have but few friends. I suppose, though, you visit a good deal?" + +"No; I do not visit much. I differ from my brother Sinclair in the next +parish. He is always visiting. What is the consequence?--gossip and, +as I conceive, a loss of dignity and self-respect. I will go wherever +there is trouble or wherever I am wanted, but I will not go anywhere for +idle talk." + +"I think you are right. A priest should not make himself cheap and +common. He should be representative of sacred interests superior to the +ordinary interests of life." + +"I am grateful to you, madam, very grateful to you for these +observations. They are as just as they are unusual. I sincerely hope +that we--" But there was a knock at the door. + +"Come in." It was Mrs. Harrop. "Your bell rang, Mrs. Fairfax, but +maybe you didn't hear it as you were engaged in conversation. Good +morning, Dr. Midleton. I hope I don't intrude?" + +"No, you do not." + +He bowed to the ladies, and as he went out, the parlour-door being open, +he moved the outer door backwards and forwards. + +"It would be as well, Mrs. Fairfax, to have a bell hung there which +would act properly." + +"I don't know quite what Dr. Midleton means," said Mrs. Harrop when he +had gone. "The bell did ring, loud enough for most people to have heard +it, and I waited ever so long." + +He walked down the street with his customary firm step, and met Mr. +Bingham who stopped him, half smiling and not quite at his ease. + +"We are sorry, Doctor, you did not give Hutchings your vote for the +almshouse last Thursday; we expected you would have gone with us." + +"You expected? Why?" + +"Well, you see, sir, Hutchings has always worked hard for our side." + +"I am astonished, Mr. Bingham, that you should suppose that I will ever +consent to divert the funds of a trust for party purposes." + +Mr. Bingham, although he had just determined to give the Doctor a bit of +his mind, felt his strength depart from him. His sentences lacked power +to stand upright and fell sprawling. "No offence, Doctor, I merely +wanted you to know--not so much my own views--difficulty to keep our +friends together. Short--you know Tom Short--was saying to me he was +afraid--" + +"Pay no attention to fools. Good morning." + +The Doctor came in that night from a vestry meeting to which he went +after dinner. The clock was striking nine, the chimes played their +tune, and as the last note sounded the housekeeper and servants filed +into the study for prayers. Prayers over they rose and went out, and he +sat down. His habits were becoming fixed and for some years he had +always read in the evening the friends of his youth. No sermon was +composed then; no ecclesiastical literature was studied. Pope and Swift +were favourites and, curiously enough, Lord Byron. His case is not +uncommon, for it often happens that men who are forced into reserve or +opposition preserve a secret, youthful, poetic passion and are even kept +alive by it. On this particular evening, however, Pope, Byron, and +Swift remained on his shelves. He meditated. + +"A wedding-ring on her finger; no widow's weeds; he may nevertheless be +dead--I believe I heard he was--and she has discontinued that frightful +disfigurement. Leighton had the thickest crop of black hair I ever saw +on a man: what thick, black hair that child has! A lady; a reader of +books; nobody to be compared with her here." At this point he rose and +walked about the room for a quarter of an hour. He sat down again and +took up an important paper about the Trust. He had forgotten it and it +was to be discussed the next day. His eyes wandered over it but he paid +no attention to it; and somewhat disgusted with himself he went to bed. + +Mrs. Fairfax had happened to tell him that she was fond of walking soon +after breakfast before she opened her shop, and generally preferred the +lane on the west side of the Common. From his house the direct road to +the lane lay down the High Street, but about a fortnight after that +evening in his study he found himself one morning in Deadman's Rents, a +narrow, dirty alley which led to the east side of the Common. Deadman's +Rents was inhabited by men who worked in brickyards and coalyards, who +did odd jobs, and by washerwomen and charwomen. It contained also three +beershops. The dwellers in the Rents were much surprised to see the +Doctor amongst them at that early hour, and conjectured he must have +come on a professional errand. Every one of the Deadman ladies who was +at her door--and they were generally at their doors in the daytime-- +vigilantly watched him. He went straight through the Rents to the +Common, whereupon Mrs. Wiggins, who supported herself by the sale of +firewood, jam, pickles, and peppermints, was particularly disturbed and +was obliged to go over to the "Kicking Donkey," partly to communicate +what she had seen and partly to ward off by half a quartern of rum the +sinking which always threatened her when she was in any way agitated. +When he reached the common it struck him that for the first time in his +life he had gone a roundabout way to escape being seen. Some people +naturally take to side-streets; he, on the contrary, preferred the High +Street; it was his quarter-deck and he paraded it like a captain. "Was +he doing wrong?" he said to himself. Certainly not; he desired a little +intelligent conversation and there was no need to tell everybody what he +wanted. It was unfortunate, nevertheless, that it was necessary to go +through Deadman's Rents in order to get it. He soon saw Mrs. Fairfax +and her little girl in front of him. He overtook her, and she showed no +surprise at seeing him. + +"I have been thinking," said he, "about what you told me"--this was a +reference to an interview not recorded. "I am annoyed that Mrs. Harrop +should have been impertinent to you." + +"You need not be annoyed. The import of a word is not fixed. If +anything annoying is said to me, I always ask myself what it means--not +to me but to the speaker. Besides, as I have told you before, shop +insolence is nothing." + +"You may be justified in not resenting it, but Mrs. Harrop cannot be +excused. I am not surprised to find that she can use such language, but +I am astonished that she should use it to you. It shows an utter lack +of perception. Your Epictetus has been studied to some purpose." + +"I have quite forgotten him. I do not recollect books, but I never +forget the lessons taught me by my own trade." + +"You have had much trouble?" + +"I have had my share: probably not in excess. It is difficult for +anybody to know whether his suffering is excessive: there is no means +of measuring it with that of others." + +"Have you no friends with whom you can share it?" + +"I have known but one woman intimately, and she is now dead. I have +known two or three men whom I esteemed, but close friendship between a +woman and a man, unless he is her husband, as a rule is impossible." + +"Do you really think so?" + +"I am certain of it. I am speaking now of a friendship which would +justify a demand for sympathy with real sorrows." + +They continued their walk in silence for the next two or three minutes. + +"We are now near the end of the lane. I must turn and go back." + +"I will go with you." + +"Thank you: I should detain you: I have to make a call on business at +the White House. Good morning." + +They parted. + +Dr. Midleton presently met Mrs. Jenkins of Deadman's Rents, who was +going to the White House to do a day's washing. A few steps further he +met Mr. Harrop in his gig, who overtook Mrs. Fairfax. Thus it came to +pass that Deadman's Rents and the High Street knew before nightfall that +Dr. Midleton and Mrs. Fairfax had been seen on the Common that morning. +Mrs. Jenkins protested, that "if she was to be burnt alive with fuz- +faggits and brimstone, nothink but what she witnessed with her own eyes +should pass her lips, whatsomever she might think, and although they +were a-walkin'--him with his arm round her waist--she did NOT see him a- +kissin' of her--how could she when they were a hundred yards off?" + +The Doctor prolonged his stroll and reached home about half-past eleven. +A third of his life had been spent in Langborough. He remembered the +day he came and the unpacking of his books. They lined the walls of his +room, some of them rare, all of them his friends. Nobody in Langborough +had ever asked him to lend a single volume. The solitary scholar never +forsook his studies, but at times he sighed over them and they seemed a +little vain. They were not entirely without external effect, for Pope +and Swift in disguise often spoke to the vestry or the governors, and +the Doctor's manners even in the shops were moulded by his intercourse +with the classic dead. Their names, however, in Langborough were almost +unknown. He had now become hardened by constant unsympathetic contact. +Suddenly a stranger had appeared who was an inhabitant of his own world +and talked his own tongue. The prospect of genuine intercourse +disclosed itself. None but those who have felt it can imagine the +relief, the joyous expansion, which follow the discovery after long +years of imprisonment with decent people of a person before whom it is +unnecessary to stifle what we most care to express. No wonder he was +excited! + +But the stranger was a woman. He meditated much that morning on her +singular aptitude for reflection, but he presently began to dream over +figure, hair, eyes, hands. A picture in the most vivid colours painted +itself before him, and he could not close his eyes to it. He was +distressed to find himself the victim of this unaccustomed tyranny. He +did not know that it is impossible for a man to love a woman's soul +without loving her body. There is no such thing as a spiritual love +apart from a corporeal love, the one celestial and the other earthly, +and the spiritual love begets a passion peculiar in its intensity. He +was happily diverted by Mr. Bingham, who called about a coming contested +election for the governorships. + +Next week there was another tea-party at Mrs. Cobb's. The ladies were +in high spirits, for a subject of conversation was assured. If there +had been an inquest, or a marriage, or a highway robbery before one of +these parties, or if the contents of a will had just been made known, or +still better, if any scandal had just come to light, the guests were +always cheerful. Now, of course, the topic was Dr. Midleton and Mrs. +Fairfax. + +"When I found him in that back parlour," said Mrs. Harrop, "I thought he +wasn't there to pay the usual call. Somehow it didn't seem as if he was +like a clergyman. I felt quite queer: it came over me all of a sudden. +And then we know he's been there once or twice since." + +"I don't wonder at your feeling queer, Mrs. Harrop," quoth Mrs. Cobb. +"I'm sure I should have fainted; and what brazen boldness to walk out +together on the Common at nine o'clock in the morning. That girl who +brought in the tea--it's my belief that a young man goes after her--but +even they wouldn't demean themselves to be seen at it just after +breakfast." + +"You don't mean to say as your Deborah encourages a man, Mrs. Cobb! I +don't know what we are a-comin' to. You've always been so particular, +and she seemed so respectable. I AM sorry." + +Mrs. Cobb did not quite relish Mrs. Harrop's pity. + +"You may be sure, Mrs. Harrop, she was respectable when I took her, and +if she isn't I shan't keep her. I AM particular, more so than most +folk, and I don't mind who knows it." Mrs. Cobb threw back her cap +strings. The denial that she minded who knew it may not appear +relevant, but desiring to be spiteful she could not at the moment find a +better way of showing her spite than by declaring her indifference to +the publication of her virtues. If there was no venom in the substance +of the declaration there was much in the manner of it. Mrs. Bingham +brought back the conversation to the point. + +"I suppose you've heard what Mrs. Jenkins says? Your husband also, Mrs. +Harrop, met them both." + +"Yes he did. He was not quite in time to see as much as Mrs. Jenkins +saw, and I'm glad he didn't. I shouldn't have felt comfortable if I'd +known he had. A clergyman, too! it is shocking. A nice business, this, +for the Dissenters." + +"Well," said Mrs. Bingham, "what are we to do? I had thought of going +to her and giving her a bit of my mind, but she has got that yellow gown +to make. What is your opinion, Miss Tarrant?" + +"I would not degrade myself, Mrs. Bingham, by any expostulations with +her. I would have nothing more to do with her. Could you not relieve +her of the unfinished gown? Mrs. Swanley, I am sure, under the +circumstances would be only too happy to complete it for you." + +"Mrs. Swanley cannot come near her. I should look ridiculous in her +body and one of Swanley's skirts." + +"As to the Doctor," continued Miss Tarrant, "I wonder that he can expect +to maintain any authority in matters of religion if he marries a +dressmaker of that stamp. It would be impossible even if her character +were unimpeachable. I am astonished, if he wishes to enter into the +matrimonial state, that he does not seek some one who would be able to +support him in his position and offer him the sympathy which a man who +has had a University education might justifiably demand." + +Mrs. Sweeting had hitherto listened in silence. Miss Tarrant provoked +her. + +"It's all a fuss about nothing, that's my opinion. What has she done +that you know to be wrong? And as to the Doctor, he's got a right to +please himself. I'm surprised at you, Miss Tarrant, for YOU'VE always +stuck for him through thick and thin. As for that Mrs. Jenkins, I'll +take my Bible oath that the last time she washed for me she stunk of gin +enough to poison me, and went away with two bits of soap in her pocket. +You may credit what she says: _I_ don't, and never demean myself to +listen to her." + +The ladies came to no conclusion. Mrs. Bingham said that she had +suggested a round robin to Dr. Midleton, but that her husband decidedly +"discountenanced the proposal." Within a fortnight the election of +governors was to take place. There was always a fight at these +elections, and this year the Radicals had a strong list. The Doctor, +whose term of office had expired, was the most prominent of the Tory and +Church candidates, and never doubted his success. He was ignorant of +all the gossip about him. One day in that fortnight he might have been +seen in Ferry Street. He went into Mrs. Fairfax's shop and was invited +as before into the back parlour. + +"I have brought you a basket of pears, and the book I promised you, the +Utopia." He sat down. "I am afraid you will think my visits too +frequent." + +"They are not too frequent for me: they may be for yourself." + +"Ah! since I last entered your house I have not seen any books excepting +my own. You hardly know what life in Langborough is like." + +"Does nobody take any interest in archaeology?" + +"Nobody within five miles. Sinclair cares nothing about it: he is Low +Church, as I have told you." + +"Why does that prevent his caring about it?" + +"Being Low Church he is narrow-minded, or, perhaps it would be more +correct to say, being narrow-minded he is Low Church. He is an +indifferent scholar, and occupies himself with his religious fancies and +those of his flock. He can reign supreme there. He is not troubled in +that department by the difficulties of learning and is not exposed to +criticism or contradiction." + +"I suppose it is a fact of the greatest importance to him that he and +his parishioners have souls to be saved, and that in comparison with +that fact others are immaterial." + +"We all believe we have souls to be saved. Having set forth God's way +of saving them we have done all we ought to do. God's way is not +sufficient for Sinclair. He enlarges it out of his own head, and +instructs his silly, ignorant friends to do the same. He will not be +satisfied with what God and the Church tell him." + +"God and the Church, according to Dr. Midleton's account, have not been +very effective in Langborough." + +"They hear from me, madam, all I am commissioned to say, and if they do +not attend I cannot help it" + +"I have read your paper in the Archaeological Transactions on the +history of Langborough Abbey. It excited my imagination, which is never +excited in reading ordinary histories. In your essay I am in company +with the men who actually lived in the time of Henry the Second and +Henry the Eighth. I went over the ruins again, and found them much more +beautiful after I understood something about them." + +"Yes: exactly what I have said a hundred times: knowledge is +indispensable." + +"If you had not pointed it out, I should never have noticed the Early +English doorway in the Chapter-house, so distinct in style from the +Refectory." + +"You noticed the brackets of that doorway: you noticed the quatrefoils +in the head? The Refectory is later by three centuries, and is +exquisite, but is not equal to the Chapter-house." + +"Yes, I noticed the brackets and quatrefoils particularly. If knowledge +is not necessary in order that we may admire, its natural tendency is to +deepen our admiration. Without it we pass over so much. In my own +small way I have noticed how my slight botanical knowledge of flowers by +the mere attention involved increases my wonder at their loveliness." + +There was the usual interruption by the shop-bell. How he hated that +bell! Mrs. Fairfax answered it, closing the parlour door. The customer +was Mrs. Bingham. + +"I will not disturb you now, Mrs. Fairfax. I was going to say something +about the black trimming you recommended. I really think red would suit +me better, but, never mind, I will call again as I saw the Doctor come +in. He is rather a frequent visitor." + +"Not frequent: he comes occasionally. We are both interested in a +subject which I believe is not much studied in Langborough." + +"Dear me! not dressmaking?" + +"No, madam, archaeology." + +Mrs. Bingham went out once more discomfited, and Mrs. Fairfax returned +to the parlour. + +"I am sure I am taking up too much of your time," said the Doctor, "but +I cannot tell you what a privilege it is to spend a few minutes with a +lady like yourself." + +Mrs. Fairfax was silent for a minute. + +"Mrs. Bingham has been here, and I think I ought to tell you that she +has made some significant remarks about you. Forgive me if I suggest +that we should partially, at any rate, discontinue our intercourse. I +should be most unhappy if your friendship with me were to do you any +harm." + +The Doctor rose in a passion, planting his stick on the floor. + +"When the cackling of the geese or the braying of the asses on +Langborough Common prevent my crossing it, then, and not till then, will +my course be determined by Mrs. Bingham and her colleagues." + +He sat down again with his elbow on the arm of the chair and half +shading his eyes with his hand. His whole manner altered. Not a trace +of the rector remained in him: the decisiveness vanished from his +voice; it became musical, low, and hesitating. It was as if some angel +had touched him, and had suddenly converted all his strength into +tenderness, a transformation not impossible, for strength is tenderness +and tenderness is strength. + +"I shall be forty-nine years old next birthday," he said. "Never until +now have I been sure that I loved a woman. I was married when I was +twenty-five. I had seen two or three girls whom I thought I could love, +and at last chose one. It was the arbitrary selection of a weary will. +My wife died within two years of her marriage. After her death I was +thrown in the way of women who attracted me, but I wavered. If I made +up my mind at night, I shrank back in the morning. I thought my +irresolution was mere cowardice. It was not so. It was a warning that +the time had not come. I resolved at last that there was to be no +change in my life, that I would resign myself to my lot, expect no +affection, and do the duty blindly which had been imposed upon me. But +a miracle has been wrought, and I have a perfectly clear direction: +with you for the first time in my life I am SURE. You have known what +it is to be in a fog, unable to tell which way to turn, and all at once +the cold, wet mist was lifted, the sun came out, the fields were lighted +up, the sea revealed itself to the horizon, and your road lay straight +before you stretching over the hill. I will not shame myself by +apologies that I am no longer young. My love has remained with me. It +is a passion for you, and it is a reverence for a mind to which it will +be a perpetual joy to submit." + +"God pardon me," she said after a moment's pause, "for having drawn you +to this! I did not mean it. If you knew all you would forgive me. It +cannot, cannot be! Leave me." He hesitated. "Leave me, leave me at +once!" she cried. + +He rose, she took his right hand in both of hers: there was one look +straight into his eyes from her own which were filling with tears, a +half sob, her hands after one more grasp fell, and he found that he had +left the house. He went home. How strange it is to return to a +familiar chamber after a great event has happened! On his desk lay a +volume of Cicero's letters. The fire had not been touched and was +almost out: the door leading to the garden was open: the self of two +hours before seemed to confront him. When the tumult in him began to +subside he was struck by the groundlessness of his double assumption +that Mrs. Fairfax was Mrs. Leighton and that she was free. He had made +no inquiry. He had noticed the wedding-ring, and he had come to some +conclusion about it which was supported by no evidence. Doubtless she +could not be his: her husband was still alive. At last the hour for +which unconsciously he had been waiting had struck, and his true self, +he not having known hitherto what it was, had been declared. But it was +all for nothing. It was as if some autumn-blooming plant had put forth +on a sunny October morning the flower of the year, and had been +instantaneously blasted and cut down to the root. The plant might +revive next spring, but there could be no revival for him. There could +be nothing now before him but that same dull duty, duty to the dull, +duty without enthusiasm. He had no example for his consolation. The +Bible is the record of heroic suffering: there is no story there of a +martyrdom to monotony and life-weariness. He was a pious man, but loved +prescription and form: he loved to think of himself as a member of the +great Catholic Church and not as an isolated individual, and he found +more relief in praying the prayers which millions had before him than in +extempore effusion; humbly trusting that what he was seeking in +consecrated petitions was all that he really needed. "In proportion as +your prayers are peculiar," he once told his congregation in a course of +sermons on Dissent, "they are worthless." There was nothing, though, in +the prayer-book which met his case. He was in no danger from +temptation, nor had he trespassed. He was not in want of his daily +bread, and although he desired like all good men to see the Kingdom of +God, the advent of that celestial kingdom which had for an instant been +disclosed to him was for ever impossible. + +The servant announced Mrs. Sweeting, who was asked to come in. + +"Sit down, Mrs. Sweeting. What can I do for you?" + +"Well, sir, perhaps you may remember--and if you don't, I do--how you +helped my husband in that dreadful year 1825. I shall never forget that +act of yours, Dr. Midleton, and I'd stick up for you if Mrs. Bingham and +Mrs. Harrop and Mrs. Cobb and Miss Tarrant were to swear against you and +you a-standing in the dock. As for that Miss Tarrant, there's that a- +rankling in her that makes her worse than any of them, and if you don't +know what it is, being too modest, forgive me for saying so, I do." + +"But what's the matter, Mrs. Sweeting?" + +"Matter, sir! Why, I can hardly bring it out, seeing that I'm only the +wife of a tradesman, but one thing I will say as I ain't like the +serpent in Genesis, a-crawling about on its belly and spitting poison +and biting people by their heels." + +"You have not yet told me what is wrong." + +"Dr. Midleton, you shall have it, but recollect I come here as your +friend: leastways I hope you'll forgive me if I call myself so, for if +you were ill and you were to hold up your finger for me not another soul +should come near you night nor day till you were well again or it had +pleased God Almighty to take you to Himself. Dr. Midleton, there's a +conspiracy." + +"A what?" + +"A conspiracy: that's right, I believe. You are acquainted with Mrs. +Fairfax. To make a long and a short of it, they say you are always +going there, more than you ought, leastways unless you mean to marry +her, and that she's only a dressmaker, and nobody knows where she comes +from, and they ain't open and free: they won't come and tell you +themselves; but you'll be turned out at the election the day after to- +morrow." + +"But what do you say yourself?" + +"Me, Dr. Midleton? Why, I've spoke up pretty plainly. I told Mrs. Cobb +it would be a good thing if you were married, provided you wouldn't be +trod upon as some people's husbands are, and I was pretty well sure you +never would be, and that you knew a lady when you saw her better than +most folk; and as for her being a dressmaker what's that got to do with +it?" + +"You are too well acquainted with me, Mrs. Sweeting, to suppose I should +condescend to notice this contemptible stuff or alter my course to +please all Langborough. Why did you take the trouble to report it to +me?" + +"Because, sir, I wouldn't for the world you should think I was mixed up +with them; and if my husband doesn't vote for you my name isn't +Sweeting." + +"I am much obliged to you. I see your motives: you are straightforward +and I respect you." + +Mrs. Sweeting thanked him and departed. His first feeling was wrath. +Never was there a man less likely to be cowed. He put on his hat and +walked to his committee-room, where he found Mr. Bingham. + +"No doubt, I suppose, Mr. Bingham?" + +"Don't know, Doctor; the Radicals have got a strong candidate in Jem +Casey. Some of our people will turn, I'm afraid, and split their +votes." + +"Split votes! with a fellow like that! How can there be any splitting +between an honest man and a rascal?" + +"There shouldn't be, sir, but--" Mr. Bingham hesitated--"I suppose there +may be personal considerations." + +"Personal considerations! what do you mean? Let us have no more of +these Langborough tricks. Out with it, Bingham! Who are the persons +and what are the considerations?" + +"I really can't say, Doctor, but perhaps you may not be as popular as +you were. You've--" but Mr. Bingham's strength again completely failed +him, and he took a sudden turn--"You've taken a decided line lately at +several of our meetings." + +The Doctor looked steadily at Mr. Bingham, who felt that every corner of +his pitiful soul was visible. + +"The line I have taken you have generally supported. That is not what +you mean. If I am defeated I shall be defeated by equivocating +cowardice, and I shall consider myself honoured." + +The Doctor strode out of the room. He knew now that he was the common +property of the town, and that every tongue was wagging about him and a +woman, but he was defiant. The next morning he saw painted in white +paint on his own wall - + + +"My dearly beloved, for all you're so bold, +To-morrow you'll find you're left out in the cold; +And, Doctor, the reason you need not to ax, +It's because of a dressmaker--Mrs. F---fax." + + +He was going out just as the gardener was about to obliterate the +inscription. + +"Leave it, Robert, leave it; let the filthy scoundrels perpetuate their +own disgrace." + +The result of the election was curious. Two of the Church candidates +were returned at the top of the poll. Jem Casey came next. Dr. +Midleton and the other two Radical and Dissenting candidates were +defeated. There were between seventy and eighty plumpers for the two +successful Churchmen, and about five-and-twenty split votes for them and +Casey, who had distinguished himself by his coarse attacks on the +Doctor. Mr. Bingham had a bad cold, and did not vote. On the following +Sunday the church was fuller than usual. The Doctor preached on behalf +of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. He did not allude +directly to any of the events of the preceding week, but at the close of +his sermon he said--"It has been frequently objected that we ought not +to spend money on missions to the heathen abroad as there is such a +field of labour at home. The answer to that objection is that there is +more hope of the heathen than of many of our countrymen. This has been +a nominally Christian land for centuries, but even now many deadly sins +are not considered sinful, and it is an easier task to save the savage +than to convince those, for example, whose tongue, to use the words of +the apostle, is set on fire of hell, that they are in danger of +damnation. I hope, therefore, my brethren, that you will give +liberally." + +On Monday Langborough was amazed to find Mrs. Fairfax's shop closed. +She had left the town. She had taken a post-chaise on Saturday and had +met the up-mail at Thaxton cross-roads. Her scanty furniture had +disappeared. The carrier could but inform Langborough that he had +orders to deliver her goods at Great Ormond Street whence he brought +them. Mrs. Bingham went to London shortly afterwards and called at +Great Ormond Street to inquire for Mrs. Fairfax. Nobody of that name +lived there, and the door was somewhat abruptly shut in her face. She +came back convinced that Mrs. Fairfax was what Mrs. Cobb called "a bad +lot." + +"Do you believe," said she, "that a woman who gives a false name can be +respectable? We want no further proof." + +Nobody wanted further proof. No Langborough lady needed any proof if a +reputation was to be blasted. + +"It's an alibi," said Mrs. Harrop. "That's what Tom Cranch the poacher +did, and he was hung." + +"An alias, I believe, is the correct term," said Miss Tarrant. "It +means the assumption of a name which is not your own, a most +discreditable device, one to which actresses and women to whose +occupation I can only allude, uniformly resort. How thankful we ought +to be that our respected Rector's eyes must now be opened and that he +has escaped the snare! It was impossible that he could be permanently +attracted by vice and vulgarity. It is singular how much more acute a +woman's perception often is than a man's. I saw through this creature +at once." + + +Eighteen months passed. The doctor one day was unpacking a book he had +bought at Peterborough. Inside the brown paper was a copy of the +Stamford Mercury, a journal which had a wide circulation in the +Midlands. He generally read it, but he must have omitted to see this +number. His eye fell on the following announcement--"On the 24th June +last, Richard Leighton, aged 44 years." The notice was late, for the +date of the paper was the 18th November. The next afternoon he was in +London. He had been to Great Ormond Street before and had inquired for +Mrs. Fairfax, but could find no trace of her. He now called again. + +"You will remember," he said, "my inquiry about Mrs. Fairfax: can you +tell me anything about Mrs. Leighton?" He put his hand in his pocket +and pulled out five shillings. + +"She isn't here: she went away when her husband died." + +"He died abroad?" + +"Yes." + +"Where has she gone?" + +"Don't know quite: her friends wouldn't have anything to do with her. +She said she was going to Plymouth. She had heard of something in the +dressmaking line there." + +He handed over his five shillings, procured a substitute for next +Sunday, and went to Plymouth. He wandered through the streets but could +see no dressmaker's shop which looked as if it had recently changed +hands. He walked backwards and forwards on the Hoe in the evening: the +Eddystone light glimmered far away on the horizon; and the dim hope +arose in him that it might be a prophecy of success, but his hope was +vain. It came into his mind that it was not likely that she would be +there after dusk, and he remembered her preference for early exercise. +The first morning was a failure, but on the second--it was sunny and +warm--he saw her sitting on a bench facing the sea. He went up +unobserved and sat down. She did not turn towards him till he said +"Mrs. Leighton!" She started and recognised him. Little was spoken as +they walked home to her lodgings, a small private house. On her way she +called at a large shop where she was employed and obtained leave of +absence until after dinner. + +"At last!" said the doctor when the door was shut. + +She stood gazing in silence at the dull red cinder of the dying fire. + +"You put the advertisement in the Stamford Mercury?" he said. + +"Yes." + +"I did not see it until a day or two ago." + +"I had better tell you at once. My husband, whom you knew, was +convicted of forgery, and died at Botany Bay." Her eyes still watched +the red cinders. + +The Doctor's countenance showed no surprise, for no news could have had +any power over the emotion which mastered him. The long, slow years +were fulfilled. Long and slow and the fulfilment late, but the joy it +brought was the greater. Youthful passion is sweet, but it is not +sweeter than the discovery when we begin to count the years which are +left to us, and to fear there will be nothing in them better than in +those which preceded them that for us also love is reserved. + +Mrs. Leighton was obliged to go back to her work in the afternoon, but +she gave notice that night to leave in a week. + +In a couple of months Langborough was astounded at the news of the +Rector's marriage with a Mrs. Leighton whom nobody in Langborough knew. +The advertisement in the Stamford Mercury said that the lady was the +widow of Richard Leighton, Esq., and eldest daughter of the late +Marmaduke Sutton, Esq. Langborough spared no pains to discover who she +was. Mrs. Bingham found out that the Suttons were a Devonshire family, +and she ascertained from an Exeter friend that Mr. Marmaduke Sutton was +the son of an Honourable, and that Mrs. Leighton was consequently a +high-born lady. She had married as her first husband a man who had done +well at Cambridge, but who took to gambling and drink, and treated her +with such brutality that they separated. At last he forged a signature +and was transported. What became of his wife afterwards was not known. +Langborough was not only greatly moved by this intelligence, but was +much perplexed. Miss Tarrant's estimate of the Doctor was once more +reversed. She was decidedly of opinion that the marriage was a scandal. +A woman who had consented to link herself with such a reprobate as the +convict must have been from the beginning could not herself have +possessed any reputation. Living apart, too, was next door to divorce, +and who could associate with a creature who had been divorced? No doubt +she was physically seductive, and the doctor had fallen a victim to her +snares. Miss Tarrant, if she had not known so well what men are, would +never have dreamed that Dr. Midleton, a scholar and a divine, could +surrender to corporeal attractions. She declared that she could no +longer expect any profit from his ministrations, and that she should +leave the parish. Miss Tarrant's friends, however, did not go quite so +far, and Mrs. Harrop confessed to Mrs. Cobb that "she for one wouldn't +lay it down like Medes and Persians, that we should have nothing to do +with a woman because her husband had made a fool of himself. I'm not a +Mede nor a Persian, Mrs. Cobb. I say let us wait and see what she is +like." + +Mrs. Bingham was of the same mind. She dwelt much to herself on the +fact that Mrs. Midleton's great-grandfather must have been a lord. She +secretly hoped that as a wine merchant's wife she might obtain admission +into a "sphere," as she called it, from which the other ladies in the +town might be excluded. Mrs. Bingham already foretasted the bliss of an +invitation to the rectory to meet Lady Caroline from Thaxton Manor; she +already foretasted the greater bliss of not meeting her intimate friends +there, and that most exquisite conceivable bliss of telling them +afterwards all about the party. + +Mrs. Midleton and her husband returned on a Saturday afternoon. The +road from Thaxton cross-roads did not lie through the town: the +carriage was closed and nobody saw her. When they came to the rectory +the Doctor pointed to the verse in white paint on the wall, "It shall be +taken out," he said, "before to-morrow morning: to-morrow is Sunday." +He was expected to preach on that day and the church was crammed a +quarter of an hour before the service began. At five minutes to eleven +a lady and child entered and walked to the rector's pew. The +congregation was stupefied with amazement. Mouths were agape, a hum of +exclamations arose, and people on the further side of the church stood +up. + +It was Mrs. Fairfax! Nobody had conjectured that she and Mrs. Leighton +were the same person. It was unimaginable that a dressmaker should have +had near ancestors in the peerage. It was more than a year and a half +since she left the town. Mrs. Carter was able to say that not a single +letter had been addressed to her, and she was almost forgotten. + +A few days afterwards Mrs. Sweeting had a little note requesting her to +take tea with the Rector and his wife. Nobody was asked to meet her. +Mrs. Bingham had called the day before, and had been extremely +apologetic. + +"I am afraid, Mrs. Midleton, you must have thought me sometimes very +rude to you." + +To which Mrs. Midleton replied graciously, "I am sure if you had been it +would have been quite excusable." + +"Extremely kind of you to say so, Mrs. Midleton." + +Mrs. Cobb also called. "I'll just let her see," said Mrs. Cobb to +herself; and she put on a gown which Mrs. Midleton as Mrs. Fairfax had +made for her. + +"You'll remember this gown, Mrs. Midleton?" + +"Perfectly well. It is not quite a fit on the shoulders. If you will +let me have it back again it will give me great pleasure to alter it for +you." + +By degrees, however, Mrs. Midleton came to be loved by many people in +Langborough. Mr. Sweeting not long afterwards died in debt, and Mrs. +Sweeting, the old housekeeper being also dead, was taken into the +rectory as her successor, and became Mrs. Midleton's trusted friend. + + + +Footnotes: + +{10} Since 1868 the Reminiscences and his Life have been published +which put this estimate of him beyond all doubt. It is much to be +regretted that a certain theory, a certain irresistible tendency to +arrange facts so as to prove preconceived notions, a tendency more +dangerous and unhistorical even than direct suppression of the truth or +invention of what is not true, should have ruined Carlyle's biography. +Professor Norton's edition of the Reminiscences should be compared with +Mr. Froude's. + +{34a} Ethic pt. 1, def. 3. + +{34b} Ibid., pt. 1, def. 6. + +{34c} Ibid., pt. 1, prop. 11. + +{36} Ethic, pt. 2, prop. 47. + +{37a} Letter 56 (Van Vloten and Land's ed.). + +{37b} Ethic, pt. 1, coroll. prop. 25. + +{37c} Ibid., pt. 5, prop. 24. + +{37d} Ibid., pt. 1, schol. to prop. 17. + +{38} Ethic, pt. 1, schol. to prop. 17. + +{39} Ethic, pt. 2, prop. 13. + +{40a} Ethic, pt. 1, coroll. 1, prop. 32. + +{40b} Ibid., pt. 1, prop. 33. + +{40c} Letter 56 + +{41a} Letter 21. + +{41b} Letter 58. + +{42a} Ethic, pt. 2, schol. prop. 49. + +{42b} Ibid., pt. 4, coroll. prop. 63. + +{43a} Ethic, pt. 5, or pp. 42. + +{43b} "Agis being asked on a time how a man might continue free all his +life; he answered, 'By despising death.'" (Plutarch's "Morals." +Laconic Apophthegms.) + +{43c} Ethic, pt. 5, schol. prop. 4. + +{44a} Ethic, pt. 4, coroll. prop. 64. + +{44b} Ibid., pt. 4, schol. prop. 66. + +{44c} Ibid., pt. 4, schol. prop. 50. + +{45a} Ethic, pt. 4, prop. 46 and schol. + +{45b} Ibid., pt. 3, schol. prop. 11. + +{46} Ethic, pt. 4, schol. prop. 45. + +{47} Ethic, pt. 5, props. 14-20. + +{50} Short Treatise, pt. 2, chap. 22. + +{52} Ethic, pt. 1, Appendix. + +{54} Ethic, pt. 2, schol. 2, prop. 40. + +{55a} Ethic, pt. 5, coroll. prop. 34. + +{55b} Ibid., pt. 5, prop. 36. + +{55c} Ibid., pt. 5, prop. 36, coroll. + +{56a} Ethic, pt. 5, prop. 38. + +{56b} Short Treatise, pt. 2, chap. 23. + +{57a} Aristotle's Psychology (Wallace's translation), p. 161. + +{57b} Rabelais, Pantagruel, book 4, chap. 27. + +{101} Hazlitt. + +{103} Italics mine.--M. R. + +{104a} Italics mine.--M. R. + +{104b} Italics mine.--M. R. + +{133} Poetry of Byron chosen and arranged by Matthew Arnold--1881. + +{143} "Adah.--Peace be with him (Abel). +Cain.--But with ME!" + +{180} My aunt Eleanor was thought to be a bit of a pagan by the +evangelical part of our family. My mother when speaking of her to me +used to say, "Your heathen aunt." She was well-educated, but the better +part of her education she received abroad after her engagement, which +took place when she was eighteen years old. She was the only member of +our family in the upper middle class. Her husband was Thomas Charteris, +junior partner in a bank. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, PAGES FROM A JOURNAL *** + +This file should be named pgjr10.txt or pgjr10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, pgjr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, pgjr10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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