CHAPTER IV.
AN EPISODE.--THE SON OF THE GREATEST MAN WHO (ONE ONLY EXCEPTED) _EVERROSE TO A THRONE_, BUT BY NO MEANS OF THE GREATEST MAN (SAVE ONE) WHO_EVER EXISTED_.
BEFORE sunrise the next morning I had commenced my return to London. Ihad previously intrusted to the _locum tenens_ of the sage Desmarais,the royal gift, and (singular conjunction!) poor Ponto, my uncle's dog.Here let me pause, as I shall have no other opportunity to mention him,to record the fate of the canine bequest. He accompanied me some yearsafterwards to France, and he died there in extreme age. I shed tearsas I saw the last relic of my poor uncle expire, and I was not consoledeven though he was buried in the garden of the gallant Villars, andimmortalized by an epitaph from the pen of the courtly Chaulieu.
Leaving my horse to select his own pace, I surrendered myself toreflection upon the strange alteration that had taken place in myfortunes. There did not, in my own mind, rest a doubt but that somevillany had been practised with respect to the will. My uncle's constantand unvarying favour towards me; the unequivocal expressions he himselffrom time to time had dropped indicative of his future intentions on mybehalf; the easy and natural manner in which he had seemed to consider,as a thing of course, my heritage and succession to his estates; all,coupled with his own frank and kindly character, so little disposedto raise hopes which he meant to disappoint, might alone have beensufficient to arouse my suspicions at a devise so contrary to all pastexperience of the testator. But when to these were linked the boldtemper and the daring intellect of my brother, joined to his personalhatred to myself; his close intimacy with Montreuil, whom I believedcapable of the darkest designs; the sudden and evidently concealedappearance of the latter on the day my uncle died; the agitation andpaleness of the attorney; the enormous advantages accruing to Gerald,and to no one else, from the terms of the devise: when these were allunited into one focus of evidence, they appeared to me to leave no doubtof the forgery of the testament and the crime of Gerald. Nor was thereanything in my brother's bearing and manner calculated to abate mysuspicions. His agitation was real; his surprise might have beenfeigned; his offer of assistance in investigation was an unmeaningbravado; his conduct to myself testified his continued ill-will towardsme,--an ill-will which might possibly have instigated him in the fraudscarcely less than the whispers of interest and cupidity.
But while this was the natural and indelible impression on my mind,I could not disguise from myself the extreme difficulty I shouldexperience in resisting my brother's claim. So far as my utter want ofall legal knowledge would allow me to decide, I could perceive nothingin the will itself which would admit of a lawyer's successful cavil: myreasons for suspicion, so conclusive to myself, would seem nugatory toa judge. My uncle was known as a humourist; and prove that a man differsfrom others in one thing, and the world will believe that he differsfrom them in a thousand. His favour to me would be, in the popular eye,only an eccentricity, and the unlooked-for disposition of his will onlya caprice. Possession, too, gave Gerald a proverbial vantage-ground,which my whole life might be wasted in contesting; while his command ofan immense wealth might, more than probably, exhaust my spirit by delay,and my fortune by expenses. Precious prerogative of law, to reverse theattribute of the Almighty! to fill the _rich_ with good things, but tosend the poor empty away! _In corruptissima republica plurimoeleges_. Legislation perplexed is synonymous with crime unpunished,--areflection, by the way, I should never have made, if I had never had alaw-suit: sufferers are ever reformers.
Revolving, then, these anxious and unpleasing thoughts, interrupted, attimes, by regrets of a purer and less selfish nature for the friend Ihad lost, and wandering, at others, to the brighter anticipations ofrejoining Isora, and drinking from her eyes my comfort for the past andmy hope for the future, I continued and concluded my day's travel.
The next day, on resuming my journey, and on feeling the time approachthat would bring me to Isora, something like joy became the mostprevalent feeling in my mind. So true it is that misfortunes littleaffect us so long as we have some ulterior object, which, by arousinghope, steals us from affliction. Alas! the pang of a moment becomesintolerable when we know of nothing _beyond_ the moment which it soothesus to anticipate! Happiness lives in the light of the future: attack thepresent; she defies you! darken the future, and you destroy her!
It was a beautiful morning: through the vapours, which rolled slowlyaway beneath his beams, the sun broke gloriously forth; and over woodand hill, and the low plains, which, covered with golden corn, stretchedimmediately before me, his smile lay in stillness, but in joy. And everfrom out the brake and the scattered copse, which at frequent intervalsbeset the road, the merry birds sent a fitful and glad music to minglewith the sweets and freshness of the air.
I had accomplished the greater part of my journey, and had entered intoa more wooded and garden-like description of country, when I perceivedan old man, in a kind of low chaise, vainly endeavouring to hold in alittle but spirited horse, which had taken alarm at some object on theroad, and was running away with its driver. The age of the gentlemanand the lightness of the chaise gave me some alarm for the safety of thedriver; so, tying my own horse to a gate, lest the sound of his hoofsmight only increase the speed and fear of the fugitive, I ran with aswift and noiseless step along the other side of the hedge and, comingout into the road just before the pony's head, I succeeded in arrestinghim, at a rather critical spot and moment. The old gentleman very soonrecovered his alarm; and, returning me many thanks for my interference,requested me to accompany him to his house, which he said was two orthree miles distant.
Though I had no desire to be delayed in my journey for the mere sake ofseeing an old gentleman's house, I thought my new acquaintance's safetyrequired me, at least, to offer to act as his charioteer till we reachedhis house. To my secret vexation at that time, though I afterwardsthought the petty inconvenience was amply repaid by a conference witha very singular and once noted character, the offer was accepted.Surrendering my own steed to the care of a ragged boy, who promised tolead it with equal judgment and zeal, I entered the little car, and,keeping a firm hand and constant eye on the reins, brought the offendingquadruped into a very equable and sedate pace.
"Poor Bob," said the old gentleman, apostrophizing his horse; "poor Bob,like thy betters, thou knowest the weak hand from the strong; and whenthou art not held in by power, thou wilt chafe against love; so thatthou renewest in my mind the remembrance of its favourite maxim, namely,'The only preventive to rebellion is restraint!'"
"Your observation, Sir," said I, rather struck by this address, "makesvery little in favour of the more generous feelings by which we oughtto be actuated. It is a base mind which always requires the bit andbridle."
"It is, Sir," answered the old gentleman; "I allow it: but, though Ihave some love for human nature, I have no respect for it; and while Ipity its infirmities, I cannot but confess them."
"Methinks, Sir," replied I, "that you have uttered in that short speechmore sound philosophy than I have heard for months. There is wisdom innot thinking too loftily of human clay, and benevolence in not judgingit too harshly, and something, too, of magnanimity in this moderation;for we seldom contemn mankind till they have hurt us, and when they havehurt us, we seldom do anything but detest them for the injury."
"You speak shrewdly; Sir, for one so young," returned the old man,looking hard at me; "and I will be sworn you have suffered some cares;for we never begin to think till we are a little afraid to hope."
I sighed as I answered, "There are some men, I fancy, to whomconstitution supplies the office of care; who, naturally melancholy,become easily addicted to reflection, and reflection is a soil whichsoon repays us for whatever trouble we bestow upon its culture."
"True, Sir!" said my companion; and there was a pause. The old gentlemanresumed: "We are not far from my home now (or rather my temporaryresidence, for my proper and general home is at Cheshunt, inHertfordshire); and, as the day is scarcely half spent, I trust you
willnot object to partake of a hermit's fare. Nay, nay, no excuse: Iassure you that I am not a gossip in general, or a liberal dispenserof invitations; and I think, if you refuse me now, you will hereafterregret it."
My curiosity was rather excited by this threat; and, reflecting that myhorse required a short rest, I subdued my impatience to return to town,and accepted the invitation. We came presently to a house of moderatesize, and rather antique fashion. This, the old man informed me, was hispresent abode. A servant, almost as old as his master, came to the door,and, giving his arm to my host, led him, for he was rather lame andotherwise infirm, across a small hall into a long low apartment. Ifollowed.
A miniature of Oliver Cromwell, placed over the chimney-piece, forciblyarrested my attention.
"It is the only portrait of the Protector I ever saw," said I, "whichimpresses on me the certainty of a likeness; that resolute gloomybrow,--that stubborn lip,--that heavy, yet not stolid expression,--allseem to warrant a resemblance to that singular and fortunate man, towhom folly appears to have been as great an instrument of successas wisdom, and who rose to the supreme power perhaps no less from apitiable fanaticism than an admirable genius. So true is it that greatmen often soar to their height by qualities the least obvious to thespectator, and (to stoop to a low comparison) resemble that animal* inwhich a common ligament supplies the place and possesses the property ofwings."
* The flying squirrel.
The old man smiled very slightly as I made this remark. "If this betrue," said he, with an impressive tone, "though we may wonder lessat the talents of the Protector, we must be more indulgent to hischaracter, nor condemn him for insincerity when at heart he himself wasdeceived."
"It is in that light," said I, "that I have always viewed his conduct.And though myself, by prejudice, a Cavalier and a Tory, I own thatCromwell (hypocrite as he is esteemed) appears to me as much to haveexceeded his royal antagonist and victim in the virtue of sincerity, ashe did in the grandeur of his genius and the profound consistency of hisambition."
"Sir," said my host, with a warmth that astonished me, "you seem tohave known that man, so justly do you judge him. Yes," said he, aftera pause, "yes, perhaps no one ever so varnished to his own breast hisdesigns; no one, so covetous of glory, was ever so duped by conscience;no one ever rose to such a height through so few acts that seemed tohimself worthy of remorse."
At this part of our conversation, the servant, entering, announceddinner. We adjourned to another room, and partook of a homely yet notuninviting repast. When men are pleased with each other, conversationsoon gets beyond the ordinary surfaces to talk; and an exchange ofdeeper opinions was speedily effected by what old Barnes* quaintlyenough terms, "The gentleman-usher of all knowledge,--Sermocination!"
* In the "Gerania."
It was a pretty, though small room, where we dined; and I observedthat in this apartment, as in the other into which I had been at firstushered, there were several books scattered about, in that confusion andnumber which show that they have become to their owner both the choicestluxury and the least dispensable necessary. So, during dinner-time, wetalked principally upon books, and I observed that those which myhost seemed to know the best were of the elegant and poetical order ofphilosophers, who, more fascinating than deep, preach up the blessingsof a solitude which is useless, and a content which, deprived ofpassion, excitement, and energy, would, if it could ever exist, only bea dignified name for vegetation.
"So," said he, "when, the dinner being removed, we were left alone withthat substitute for all society,--wine! "so you are going to town: infour hours more you will be in that great focus of noise, falsehood,hollow joy, and real sorrow. Do you know that I have become so weddedto the country that I cannot but consider all those who leave it for theturbulent city, in the same light, half wondering, half compassionating,as that in which the ancients regarded the hardy adventurers who leftthe safe land and their happy homes, voluntarily to expose themselves ina frail vessel to the dangers of an uncertain sea? Here, when I lookout on the green fields and the blue sky, the quiet herds basking in thesunshine or scattered over the unpolluted plains, I cannot but exclaimwith Pliny, 'This is the true Movoetov!' this is the source whence flowinspiration to the mind and tranquillity to the heart! And in my loveof Nature--more confiding and constant than ever is the love we bear towomen--I cry with the tender and sweet Tibullus,--
"'Ego composito securus acervo Despiciam dites, despiciamque famem.'"*
* "Satisfied with my little hoard, I can despise wealth, and fear nothunger."
"These," said I, "are the sentiments we all (perhaps the most restlessof us the most passionately) at times experience. But there is in ourhearts some secret but irresistible principle that impels us, as arolling circle, onward, onward, in the great orbit of our destiny; nordo we find a respite until the wheels on which we move are broken--atthe tomb."
"Yet," said my host, "the internal principle you speak of can bearrested before the grave,--at least stilled and impeded. You will smileincredulously, perhaps (for I see you do not know who I am), when I tellyou that I might once have been a monarch, and that obscurity seemedto me more enviable than empire; I resigned the occasion: the tide offortune rolled onward, and left me safe but solitary and forsaken uponthe dry land. If you wonder at my choice, you will wonder still morewhen I tell you that I have never repented it."
Greatly surprised, and even startled, I heard my host make this strangeavowal. "Forgive me," said I, "but you have powerfully excited myinterest; dare I inquire from whose experience I am now deriving alesson?"
"Not yet," said my host, smiling, "not till our conversation is over,and you have bid the old anchorite adieu, in all probability forever:you will then know that you have conversed with a man, perhaps moreuniversally neglected and contemned than any of his contemporaries.Yes," he continued, "yes, I resigned power, and I got no praise for mymoderation, but contempt for my folly; no human being would believethat I could have relinquished that treasure through a disregard forits possession which others would only have relinquished through anincapacity to retain it; and that which, had they seen it recorded inan ancient history, men would have regarded as the height of philosophy,they despised when acted under their eyes, as the extremest abasement ofimbecility. Yet I compare my lot with that of the great man whom Iwas expected to equal in ambition, and to whose grandeur I might havesucceeded; and am convinced that in this retreat I am more to be enviedthan he in the plenitude of his power and the height of his renown; yetis not happiness the aim of wisdom? if my choice is happier than his, isit not wiser?"
"Alas," thought I, "the wisest men seldom have the loftiest genius,and perhaps happiness is granted rather to mediocrity of mind than tomediocrity of circumstance;" but I did not give so uncourteous a replyto my host an audible utterance; on the contrary, "I do not doubt," saidI, as I rose to depart, "the wisdom of a choice which has brought youself-gratulation. And it has been said by a man both great and good, aman to whose mind was open the lore of the closet and the experience ofcourts that, in wisdom or in folly, 'the only difference between one manand another, is whether a man governs his passions or his passions him.'According to this rule, which indeed is a classic and a golden aphorism,Alexander, on the throne of Persia, might have been an idiot to Diogenesin his tub. And now, Sir, in wishing you farewell, let me again craveyour indulgence to my curiosity."
"Not yet, not yet," answered my host; and he led me once more intothe other room. While they were preparing my horse, we renewed ourconversation. To the best of my recollection, we talked about Plato; butI had now become so impatient to rejoin Isora that I did not accord tomy worthy host the patient attention I had hitherto given him. When Itook leave of him he blessed me, and placed a piece of paper in my hand;"Do not open this," said he, "till you are at least two miles hence;your curiosity will then be satisfied. If ever you travel this roadagain, or if ever you pass by Cheshunt, pause and see if the oldphilosopher is dead. Adieu!"
And so
we parted.
You may be sure that I had not passed the appointed distance of twomiles very far, when I opened the paper and read the following words:--
Perhaps, young stranger, at some future period of a life, which Iventure to foretell will be adventurous and eventful, it may afford youa matter for reflection, or a resting-spot for a moral, to remember thatyou have seen, in old age and obscurity, the son of him who shook anempire, avenged a people, and obtained a throne, only to be the victimof his own passions and the dupe of his own reason. I repeat now thequestion I before put to you,--Was the fate of the great Protectorfairer than that of the despised and forgotten
RICHARD CROMWELL?
"So," thought I, "it is indeed with the son of the greatest rulerEngland, or perhaps, in modern times, Europe has ever produced, that Ihave held this conversation upon content! Yes, perhaps your fate is moreto be envied than that of your illustrious father; but who _would_ envyit more? Strange that while we pretend that happiness is the object ofall desire, happiness is the last thing which we covet. Love and wealthand pleasure and honour,--these are the roads which we take so longthat, accustomed to the mere travel, we forget that it was firstundertaken not for the course but the goal; and in the commoninfatuation which pervades all our race, we make the toil the meed, andin following the means forsake the end."
I never saw my host again; very shortly afterwards he died:* I and Fate,which had marked with so strong a separation the lives of the father andthe son, united in that death--as its greatest, so its only universalblessing--the philosopher and the recluse with the warrior and thechief!
* Richard Cromwell died in 1712--ED.