CHAPTER VI.
THE RETREAT OF A CELEBRATED MAN, AND A VISIT TO A GREAT POET.
I ARRIVED in town, and drove at once to Gerald's house. It was notdifficult to find it, for in my young day it had been the residence ofthe Duke of------; and wealthy as I knew was the owner of the Devereuxlands, I was somewhat startled at the extent and the magnificence of hispalace. To my inexpressible disappointment, I found that Gerald had leftLondon a day or two before my arrival on a visit to a nobleman nearlyconnected with our family, and residing in the same county as that inwhich Devereux Court was situated. Since the fire, which had destroyedall of the old house but the one tower which I had considered aspeculiarly my own, Gerald, I heard, had always, in visiting his estates,taken up his abode at the mansion of one or other of his neighbours; andto Lord ------'s house I now resolved to repair. My journey was delayedfor a day or two, by accidentally seeing at the door of the hotel,to which I drove from Gerald's house, the favourite servant of LordBolingbroke.
This circumstance revived in me, at once, all my attachment to thatpersonage, and hearing he was at his country house, within a few milesfrom town, I resolved the next morning to visit him. It was not onlythat I contemplated with an eager yet a melancholy interest an interviewwith one whose blazing career I had long watched, and whose letters(for during the years we had been parted he wrote to me often) seemed totestify the same satiety of the triumphs and gauds of ambition which hadbrought something of wisdom to myself; it was not only that I wished tocommune with that Bolingbroke in retirement whom I had known the oracleof statesmen and the pride of courts; nor even that I loved the man,and was eager once more to embrace him. A fiercer and more active motiveurged me to visit one whose knowledge of all men and application oftheir various utilities were so remarkable, and who even in his presentpeace and retirement would not improbably be acquainted with the abodeof that unquiet and plotting ecclesiastic whom I now panted to discover,and whom Bolingbroke had of old often guided or employed.
When my carriage stopped at the statesman's door, I was informed thatLord Bolingbroke was at his farm. Farm! how oddly did that word soundin my ear, coupled as it was with the name of one so brilliant and sorestless!
I asked the servant to direct me where I should find him, and, followingthe directions, I proceeded to the search alone. It was a day towardsthe close of autumn, bright, soft, clear, and calm as the decline of avigorous and genial age. I walked slowly through a field robbed of itsgolden grain, and as I entered another I saw the object of my search. Hehad seemingly just given orders to a person in a labourer's dress, whowas quitting him, and with downcast eyes he was approaching towards me.I noted how slow and even was the pace which, once stately, yet rapidand irregular, had betrayed the haughty but wild character of his mind.He paused often, as if in thought, and I observed that once hestopped longer than usual, and seemed to gaze wistfully on the ground.Afterwards (when I had joined him) we passed that spot, and I remarked,with a secret smile, that it contained one of those little mounds inwhich that busy and herded tribe of the insect race, which have beenheld out to man's social state at once as a mockery and a model, heldtheir populous home. There seemed a latent moral in the pause and watchof the disappointed statesman by that mound, which afforded a clew tothe nature of his reflections.
He did not see me till I was close before him, and had called him by hisname, nor did he at first recognize me, for my garb was foreign, and myupper lip unshaven; and, as I said before, years had strangely alteredme; but when he did, he testified all the cordiality I had anticipated.I linked my arm in his, and we walked to and fro for hours, talking ofall that had passed since and before our parting, and feeling our heartswarm to each other as we talked.
"The last time I saw you," said he, "how widely did our hopes andobjects differ! Yours from my own: you seemingly had the vantage-ground,but it was an artificial eminence, and my level state, though itappeared less tempting, was more secure. I had just been disgraced bya misguided and ungrateful prince. I had already gone into a retirementwhere my only honours were proportioned to my fortitude in bearingcondemnation, and my only flatterer was the hope of finding a companionand a Mentor in myself. You, my friend, parted with life before you; andyou only relinquished the pursuit of Fortune at one court, to meet heradvances at another. Nearly ten years have flown since that time: mysituation is but little changed; I am returned, it is true, to my nativesoil, but not to a soil more indulgent to ambition and exertion than thescene of my exile. My sphere of action is still shut from me: _my mindis still banished_.* You return young in years, but full of successes.Have they brought you happiness, Devereux? or have you yet a temper toenvy my content?"
* I need scarcely remind the reader that Lord Bolingbroke, though he hadreceived a full pardon, was forbidden to resume his seat in the House ofLords.--ED.
"Alas!" said I, "who can bear too close a search beneath the mask androbe? Talk not of me now. It is ungracious for the fortunate torepine; and I reserve whatever may disquiet me within for your futureconsolation and advice. At present speak to me of yourself: you arehappy, then?"
"I am!" said Bolingbroke, emphatically. "Life seems to me to possess twotreasures: one glittering and precarious; the other of less rich a show,but of a more solid value. The one is Power, the other Virtue; and thereis this main difference between the two,--Power is intrusted to us as aloan ever required again, and with a terrible arrear of interest; Virtueobtained by us as a _boon_ which we can only lose through our own folly,when once it is acquired. In my youth I was caught by the former; hencemy errors and my misfortunes! In my declining years I have sought thelatter; hence my palliatives and my consolation. But you have not seenmy home, and _all_ its attractions," added Bolingbroke, with a smilewhich reminded me of his former self. "I will show them to you." And weturned our steps to the house.
As we walked thither I wondered to find how little melancholy was thechange Bolingbroke had undergone. Ten years, which bring man from hisprime to his decay, had indeed left their trace upon his stately form,and the still unrivalled beauty of his noble features; but the mannergained all that the form had lost. In his days of more noisy greatness,there had been something artificial and unquiet in the sparklingalternations he had loved to adopt. He had been too fond of changingwisdom by a quick turn into wit,--too fond of the affectation ofbordering the serious with the gay, business with pleasure. If this hadnot taken from the polish of his manner, it had diminished its dignityand given it the air of being assumed and insincere. Now all wasquiet, earnest, and impressive; there was tenderness even in what wasmelancholy: and if there yet lingered the affectation of blending theclassic character with his own, the character was more noble and theaffectation more unseen. But this manner was only the faint mirror of amind which, retaining much of its former mould, had been embellished andexalted by adversity, and which if it banished not its former faculties,had acquired a thousand new virtues to redeem them.
"You see," said my companion, pointing to the walls of the hall, whichwe had now entered, "the subject which at present occupies the greaterpart of my attention. I am meditating how to make the hall mostillustrative of its owner's pursuits. You see the desire of improving,of creating, and of associating the improvement and the creation withourselves, follows us banished men even to our seclusion. I think ofhaving those walls painted with the implements of husbandry, and throughpictures of spades and ploughshares to express my employments andtestify my content in them."
"Cincinnatus is a better model than Aristippus: confess it," said I,smiling. "But if the senators come hither to summon you to power, willyou resemble the Roman, not only in being found at your plough, but inyour reluctance to leave it, and your eagerness to return?"
"What shall I say to you?" replied Bolingbroke. "Will you play the cynicif I answer _no_? We _should not_ boast of despising power, when of useto others, but of being contented to live without it. This is the end ofmy philosophy! But let me present you to one whom I value more now tha
nI valued power at any time."
As he said this, Bolingbroke threw open the door of an apartment, andintroduced me to a lady with whom he had found that domestic happinessdenied him in his first marriage. The niece of Madame de Maintenon, thismost charming woman possessed all her aunt's wit, and far more thanall her aunt's beauty.* She was in weak health; but her vivacity wasextreme, and her conversation just what should be the conversation of awoman who shines without striving for it.
* T am not ashamed to say to you that I admire her more every hour of mylife.--Letter from Lord Bolingbroke to Swift.
Bolingbroke loved her to the last; and perhaps it is just to a manso celebrated for his gallantries to add that this beautiful andaccomplished woman seems to have admired and esteemed as much as sheloved him.--ED.
The business on which I was bound only allowed me to stay two days withBolingbroke, and this I stated at first, lest he should have dragged meover his farm.
"Well," said my host, after vainly endeavouring to induce me to promisea longer stay, "if you can only give us two days, I must write andexcuse myself to a great man with whom I was to dine to-day. Yet, if itwere not so inhospitable, I should like much to carry you with me to hishouse; for I own that I wish you to see my companions, and to learn thatif I still consult the oracles, they are less for the predictions offortune than as the inspirations of the god."
"Ah!" said Lady Bolingbroke, who spoke in French, "I know whom youallude to. Give him my homage, and assure him, when he next visits us,we will appoint six _dames du palais_ to receive and pet him."
Upon this I insisted upon accompanying Bolingbroke to the house of sofortunate a being, and he consented to my wish with feigned reluctance,but evident pleasure.
"And who," said I to Lady Bolingbroke, "is the happy object of so muchrespect?"
Lady Bolingbroke answered, laughing, that nothing was so pleasant assuspense, and that it would be cruel in her to deprive me of it; and weconversed with so much zest that it was not till Bolingbroke had leftthe room for some moments that I observed he was not present. I took theopportunity to remark that I was rejoiced to find him so happy and withsuch just cause for happiness.
"He is happy, though at times he is restless. How, chained to this oar,can he be otherwise?" answered Lady Bolingbroke, with a sigh; "but hisfriends," she added, "who most enjoy his retirement, must yet lament it.His genius is not wasted here, it is true: where could it be wasted?But who does not feel that it is employed in too confined a sphere? Andyet--" and I saw a tear start to her eye--"I, at least, ought not torepine. I should lose the best part of my happiness if there was nothingI could console him for."
"Believe me," said I, "I have known Bolingbroke in the zenith of hissuccess; but never knew him so worthy of congratulation as now!"
"Is that flattery to him or to me?" said Lady Bolingbroke, smilingarchly, for her smiles were quick successors to her tears.
"_Detur digniori_!" answered I; "but you must allow that, though it isa fine thing to have all that the world can give, it is still better togain something that the world cannot take away?"
"Are you also a philosopher?" cried Lady Bolingbroke, gayly. "Ah, poorme! In my youth, my portion was the cloister;* in my later years I ambanished to _the porch_! You have no conception, Monsieur Devereux, whatwise faces and profound maxims we have here, especially as all who cometo visit my lord think it necessary to quote Tully, and talk of solitudeas if it were a heaven! _Les pauvres bons gens_! they seem a littlesurprised when Henry receives them smilingly, begs them to construe theLatin, gives them good wine, and sends them back to London with faceshalf the length they were on their arrival. _Mais voici, Monsieur, lefermier philosophe!_"
* She was brought up at St. Cyr.--ED.
And Bolingbroke entering, I took my leave of this lively and interestinglady and entered his carriage.
As soon as we were seated, he pressed me for my reasons for refusing toprolong my visit. As I thought they would be more opportune after theexcursion of the day was over, and as, in truth, I was not eager torelate them, I begged to defer the narration till our return to hishouse at night, and then I directed the conversation into a new channel.
"My chief companion," said Bolingbroke, after describing to me hiscourse of life, "is the man you are about to visit. He has hisfrailties and infirmities,--and in saying that, I only imply that heis human,--but he is wise, reflective, generous, and affectionate; addthese qualities to a dazzling wit, and a genius deep, if not sublime,and what wonder that we forget something of vanity and something offretfulness,--effects rather of the frame than of the mind. The wonderonly is that, with a body the victim to every disease, crippled andimbecile from the cradle, his frailties should not be more numerous,and his care, his thoughts, and attentions not wholly limited to hisown complaints. For the sickly are almost of necessity selfish; and thatmind must have a vast share of benevolence which can always retainthe softness of charity and love for others, when pain and diseaseconstitute the morbid links that perpetually bind it to self. If thisgreat character is my chief companion, my chief correspondent is notless distinguished; in a word, no longer to keep you in suspense, Popeis my companion and Swift my correspondent."
"You are fortunate, but so also are they. Your letter informed me ofSwift's honourable exile in Ireland: how does he bear it?"
"Too feelingly: his disappointments turn his blood to acid. He said,characteristically enough, in one of his letters, that in fishing oncewhen he was a little boy, he felt a great fish at the end of his line,which he drew up almost to the ground, but it dropped in, and thedisappointment, he adds, vexes him to this day, and he believes it tobe the type of all his future disappointments:* it is wonderful howreluctantly a very active mind sinks into rest."
* In this letter Swift adds, "I should be ashamed to say this if you[Lord Bolingbroke] had not a spirit fitter to bear your own misfortunesthan I have to think of them;" and this is true. Nothing can be morestriking, or more honourable to Lord Bolingbroke, than the contrastbetween Swift's letters and that nobleman's upon the subject of theirmutual disappointments. I especially note the contrast, because it hasbeen so grievously the cant of Lord Bolingbroke's decriers to representhis affection for retirement as hollow, and his resignation in adversityas a boast rather than a fact. Now I will challenge any one _thoroughly_and dispassionately to examine what is left to us of the life of thisgreat man, and after having done so, to select from all modern historyan example of one who, in the prime of life and height of ambition,ever passed from a very active and exciting career into retirementand disgrace, and bore the change--long, bitter, and permanent as itwas--with a greater and more thoroughly sustained magnanimity than didLord Bolingbroke. He has been reproached for taking part in politicalcontests in the midst of his praises and "affected enjoyment" ofretirement; and this, made matter of reproach, is exactly the subject onwhich he seems to me the _most_ worthy of praise. For, putting asideall motives for action, on the purity of which men are generallyincredulous, as a hatred to ill government (an antipathy wonderfullystrong in wise men, and wonderfully weak in fools), the honestimpulse of the citizen, and the better and higher sentiment, to whichBolingbroke appeared peculiarly alive, of affection to mankind,--puttingthese utterly aside,--it must be owned that resignation is the morenoble in proportion as it is the less passive; that retirement is only amorbid selfishness if it prohibit exertions for others; that it is onlyreally dignified and noble when it is the shade whence issue the oraclesthat are to instruct mankind; and that retirement of this nature is thesole seclusion which a good and wise man will covet or commend. The veryphilosophy which makes such a man seek the _quiet_, makes him eschew the_inutility_ of the hermitage. Very little praiseworthy to me would haveseemed Lord Bolingbroke among his haymakers and ploughmen, if amonghaymakers and ploughmen he had looked with an indifferent eye upon aprofligate Minister and a venal parliament; very little interest in myeyes would have attached itself to his beans and vetches, had beans andvetches caused him to
forget that if he was happier in a farm, he couldbe more useful in a senate, and made him forego, in the sphere of abailiff, all care for re-entering that of a legislator.--ED.
"Yet why should retirement be rest? Do you recollect in the firstconversation we ever had together, we talked of Cowley? Do you recollecthow justly, and even sublimely, he has said, 'Cogitation is that whichdistinguishes the solitude of a God from that of a wild beast'?"
"It is finely said," answered Bolingbroke; "but Swift was born not forcogitation but action; for turbulent times, not for calm. He ceases tobe great directly he is still; and his bitterness at every vexation isso great that I have often thought, in listening to him, of the Abbe deCyran, who, attempting to throw nutshells out of the bars of his window,and constantly failing in the attempt, exclaimed in a paroxysm of rage,'Thus does Providence delight in frustrating my designs!'"
"But you are fallen from a far greater height of hope than Swift couldever have attained: you bear this change well, but not _I hope_ withouta struggle."
"You are right,--_not_ without a struggle; while corruption thrives, Iwill not be silent; while bad men govern, I will not be still."
In conversation of this sort passed the time, till we arrived at Pope'svilla.
We found the poet in his study,--indued, as some of his picturesrepresent him, in a long gown and a velvet cap. He received Bolingbrokewith great tenderness, and being, as he said, in robuster health than hehad enjoyed for months, he insisted on carrying us to his grotto. Iknow nothing more common to poets than a pride in what belongs to theirhouses; and perhaps to a man not ill-natured, there are few things morepleasant than indulging the little weaknesses of those we admire. We satdown in a small temple made entirely of shells; and whether it was thatthe Creative Genius gave an undue charm to the place, I know not: but asthe murmur of a rill, glassy as the Blandusian fountain, was caught, andre-given from side to side by a perpetual echo, and through an arcadeof trees, whose leaves, ever and anon, fell startingly to the groundbeneath the light touch of the autumn air; as you saw the sails on theriver pass and vanish, like the cares which breathe over the smoothglass of wisdom, but may not linger to dim it, it was not difficultto invest the place, humble as it was, with a classic interest, orto recall the loved retreats of the Roman bards, without smiling toofastidiously at the contrast.
"Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen, Within thy airy shell, By slow Meander's margin green, Or by the violet embroidered vale Where the lovelorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well; Sweet Echo, dost thou shun those haunts of yore, And in the dim caves of a northern shore Delight to dwell!"
"Let the compliment to you, Pope," said Bolingbroke, "atone for theprofanation of weaving three wretched lines of mine with those mostmusical notes of Milton."
"Ah!" said Pope, "would that you could give me a fitting inscription formy fount and grotto! The only one I can remember is hackneyed, and yetit has spoilt me, I fear, for all others.
"'Hujus Nympha loci, sacri custodia fontis Dormio dum blandae sentio murmur aquae; Parce meum, quisquis tanges cava marmora, somnum Rumpere; sive bibas, sive lavere, tace.'"*
* Thus very inadequately translated by Pope (see his Letter to EdwardBlount, Esq., descriptive of his grotto):--
"Nymph of the grot, these sacred springs I keep, And to the murmur of these waters sleep: Ah, spare my slumbers; gently tread the cave, And drink in silence, or in silence lave."
It is, however, quite impossible to convey to an unlearned reader theexquisite and spirit-like beauty of the Latin verses.--ED.
"We cannot hope to match it," said Bolingbroke, "though you know I valuemyself on these things. But tell me your news of Gay: is he growingwiser?"
"Not a whit; he is forever a dupe to the _spes credula_; always talkingof buying an annuity, that he may be independent, and always spending asfast as he earns, that he may appear munificent."
"Poor Gay! but he is a common example of the improvidence of his tribe,while you are an exception. Yet mark, Devereux, the inconsistency ofPope's thrift and carelessness: he sends a parcel of fruit to someladies with this note, 'Take care of the papers that wrap the apples,and return them safely; they are the only copies I have of one part ofthe Iliad.' Thus, you see, our economist saves his paper, and hazardshis epic!"
Pope, who is always flattered by an allusion to his negligence of fame,smiled slightly and answered, "What man, alas, ever profits by thelessons of his friends? How many exact rules has our good Dean of St.Patrick laid down for both of us; how angrily still does he chide us forour want of prudence and our love of good living! I intend, in answer tohis charges on the latter score, though I vouch, as I well may, for ourtemperance, to give him the reply of the sage to the foolish courtier--"
"What was that?" asked Bolingbroke.
"Why, the courtier saw the sage picking out the best dishes at table.'How,' said he with a sneer, 'are sages such epicures?'--'Do you think,Sir,' replied the wise man, reaching over the table to help himself, 'doyou think, Sir, that the Creator made the good things of this world onlyfor fools?'"
"How the Dean will pish and pull his wig when he reads yourillustration," said Bolingbroke, laughing. "We shall never agree in ourreasonings on that part of philosophy. Swift loves to go out of his wayto find privation or distress, and has no notion of Epicurean wisdom;for my part, I think the use of knowledge is to make us happier. I wouldcompare the mind to the beautiful statue of Love by Praxiteles. When itseyes were bandaged the countenance seemed grave and sad, but the momentyou removed the bandage the most serene and enchanting smile diffuseditself over the whole face."
So passed the morning till the hour of dinner, and this repast wasserved with an elegance and luxury which the sons of Apollo seldomcommand.* As the evening closed, our conversation fell upon friendship,and the increasing disposition towards it which comes with increasingyears. "Whilst my mind," said Bolingbroke, "shrinks more and more fromthe world, and feels in its independence less yearning to externalobjects, the ideas of friendship return oftener,--they busy me, theywarm me more. Is it that we grow more tender as the moment of our greatseparation approaches? or is it that they who are to live together inanother state (for friendship exists not but for the good) begin tofeel more strongly that divine sympathy which is to be the great bond oftheir future society?"**
* Pope seems to have been rather capricious in this respect; but ingeneral he must be considered open to the sarcasm of displaying thebounteous host to those who did not want a dinner, and the niggard tothose who did.--ED.
** This beautiful sentiment is to be found, with very slight alteration,in a letter from Bolingbroke to Swift.--ED.
While Bolingbroke was thus speaking, and Pope listened with all the loveand reverence which he evidently bore to his friend stamped upon hisworn but expressive countenance, I inly said, "Surely, the love betweenminds like these should live and last without the changes that ordinaryaffections feel! Who would not mourn for the strength of all human ties,if hereafter these are broken, and asperity succeed to friendship,or aversion to esteem? _I_, a wanderer, without heir to my memory andwealth, shall pass away, and my hasty and unmellowed fame will moulderwith my clay; but will the names of those whom I now behold ever falllanguidly on the ears of a future race, and will there not forever besome sympathy with their friendship, softer and warmer than admirationfor their fame?"
We left our celebrated host about two hours before midnight, andreturned to Dawley.
On our road thither I questioned Bolingbroke respecting Montreuil, andI found that, as I had surmised, he was able to give me some informationof that arch-schemer. Gerald's money and hereditary influence hadprocured tacit connivance at the Jesuit's residence in England, andMontreuil had for some years led a quiet and unoffending life in closeretirement. "Lately, however," said Bolingbroke, "I have learned thatthe old spirit has revived, and I accidentally heard three days ago,when conversing with one well informed on state m
atters, that thismost pure administration has discovered some plot or plots with whichMontreuil is connected; I believe he will be apprehended in a few days."
"And where lurks he?"
"He was, I heard, last seen in the neighbourhood of your brother'sproperty at Devereux Court, and I imagine it probable that he is stillin that neighbourhood."
This intelligence made me resolve to leave Dawley even earlier thanI had intended, and I signified to Lord Bolingbroke my intention ofquitting him by sunrise the next morning. He endeavoured in vain tocombat my resolution. I was too fearful lest Montreuil, hearing ofhis danger from the state, might baffle my vengeance by seeking someimpenetrable asylum, to wish to subject my meeting with him and withGerald, whose co-operation I desired, to any unnecessary delay. I tookleave of my host therefore that night, and ordered my carriage to be inreadiness by the first dawn of morning.