CHAPTER XLIII.
Veteres revocavit artes.--Horace.
Since I came hither I have heard strange news.--King Lear.
Two days after my long conversation with Tyrrell, I called againupon that worthy. To my great surprise he had left Cheltenham. I thenstrolled to Vincent: I found him lolling on his sofa, surrounded, asusual, with books and papers.
"Come in, Pelham," said he, as I hesitated at the threshold--"come in. Ihave been delighting myself with Plato all the morning; I scarcely knowwhat it is that enchants us so much with the ancients. I rather believe,with Schlegel, that it is that air of perfect repose--the stillness ofa deep soul, which rests over their writings. Whatever would appearcommon-place amongst us, has with them I know not what of sublimity andpathos. Triteness seems the profundity of truth--wildness the daring ofa luxuriant imagination. The fact is, that in spite of every fault, yousee through all the traces of original thought; there is a contemplativegrandeur in their sentiments, which seems to have nothing borrowedin its meaning or its dress. Take, for instance, this fragment ofMimnermus, on the shortness of life,--what subject can seem moretame?--what less striking than the feelings he expresses?--and yet,throughout every line, there is a melancholy depth and tenderness, whichit is impossible to define. Of all English writers who partake themost of this spirit of conveying interest and strength to sentiments,subjects, and language, neither novel in themselves, nor adorned intheir arrangement, I know none that equal Byron; it is indeed the chiefbeauty of that extraordinary poet. Examine Childe Harold accurately,and you will be surprised to discover how very little of real depth ornovelty there often is in the reflections which seem most deep and new.You are enchained by the vague but powerful beauty of the style; thestrong impress of originality which breathes throughout. Like the oracleof Dodona, he makes the forest his tablets, and writes his inspirationsupon the leaves of the trees: but the source of that inspiration youcannot tell; it is neither the truth nor the beauty of his sayingswhich you admire, though you fancy that it is: it is the mystery whichaccompanies them."
"Pray," said I, stretching myself listlessly on the opposite sofa toVincent, "do you not imagine that one great cause of this spirit ofwhich you speak, and which seems to be nothing more than a thoughtfulmethod of expressing all things, even to trifles, was the greatloneliness to which the ancient poets and philosophers were attached? Ithink (though I have not your talent for quoting) that Cicero callsthe consideratio naturae, the pabulum animi; and the mind which, insolitude, is confined necessarily to a few objects, meditates moreclosely upon those it embraces: the habit of this meditation entersand pervades the system, and whatever afterwards emanates from itis tinctured with the thoughtful and contemplative colours it hasreceived."
"Heus Domine!" cried Vincent: "how long have you learnt to read Cicero,and talk about the mind?"
"Ah," said I, "I am perhaps less ignorant than I affect to be: it is nowmy object to be a dandy; hereafter I may aspire to be an orator--a wit,a scholar, or a Vincent. You will see then that there have been manyodd quarters of an hour in my life less unprofitably wasted than youimagine."
Vincent rose in a sort of nervous excitement, and then reseatinghimself, fixed his dark bright eyes steadfastly upon me for somemoments; his countenance all the while assuming a higher and graverexpression than I had ever before seen it wear.
"Pelham," said he, at last, "it is for the sake of moments like these,when your better nature flashes out, that I have sought your society andyour friendship. I, too, am not wholly what I appear: the world mayyet see that Halifax was not the only statesman whom the pursuits ofliterature had only formed the better for the labours of business.Meanwhile, let me pass for the pedant, and the bookworm: like a sturdieradventurer than myself, 'I bide my time.'--Pelham--this will be a busysession! shall you prepare for it?"
"Nay," answered I, relapsing into my usual tone of languid affectation;"I shall have too much to do in attending to Stultz, and Nugee, andTattersall and Baxter, and a hundred other occupiers of spare time.Remember, this is my first season in London since my majority."
Vincent took up the newspaper with evident chagrin; however, he wastoo theoretically the man of the world, long to shew his displeasure."Parr--Parr--again," said he; "how they stuff the journals with thatname. God knows, I venerate learning as much as any man; but I respectit for its uses, and not for itself. However, I will not quarrel withhis reputation--it is but for a day. Literary men, who leave nothing buttheir name to posterity, have but a short twilight of posthumous renown.Apropos, do you know my pun upon Parr and the Major?"
"Not I," said I, "Majora canamus!"
"Why, Parr and I, and two or three more were dining once at poorT. M--'s, the author of 'The Indian Antiquities.'Major--, a greattraveller, entered into a dispute with Parr about Babylon; the Doctorgot into a violent passion, and poured out such a heap of quotations onhis unfortunate antagonist, that the latter, stunned by the clamour, andterrified by the Greek, was obliged to succumb. Parr turned triumphantlyto me: 'What is your opinion, my lord,' said he; 'who is in the right?'
"Adversis major--par secundis," answered I.
"Vincent," I said, after I had expressed sufficient admiration at hispun--"Vincent, I begin to be weary of this life; I shall accordinglypack up my books and myself, and go to Malvern Wells, to live quietlytill I think it time for London. After to-day, you will, therefore, seeme no more."
"I cannot," answered Vincent, "contravene so laudable a purpose, howeverI may be the loser." And after a short and desultory conversation, Ileft him once more to the tranquil enjoyment of his Plato. That eveningI went to Malvern, and there I remained in a monotonous state ofexistence, dividing my time equally between my mind and my body, andforming myself into that state of contemplative reflection, which wasthe object of Vincent's admiration in the writings of the ancients.
Just when I was on the point of leaving my retreat, I received anintelligence which most materially affected my future prospects. Myuncle, who had arrived to the sober age of fifty, without any apparentdesigns of matrimony, fell suddenly in love with a lady in his immediateneighbourhood, and married her, after a courtship of three weeks.
"I should not," said my poor mother, very generously, in a subsequentletter, "so much have minded his marriage, if the lady had not thoughtproper to become in the family way; a thing which I do and always shallconsider a most unwarrantable encroachment on your rights."
I will confess that, on first hearing this news, I experienced a bitterpang; but I reasoned it away. I was already under great obligations tomy uncle, and I felt it a very unjust and ungracious assumption onmy part, to affect anger at conduct I had no right to question, ormortification at the loss of pretensions I had so equivocal a privilegeto form. A man of fifty has, perhaps, a right to consult his ownhappiness, almost as much as a man of thirty; and if he attracts by hischoice the ridicule of those whom he has never obliged, it is at leastfrom those persons he has obliged, that he is to look for countenanceand defence.
Fraught with these ideas, I wrote to my uncle a sincere and warm letterof congratulation. His answer was, like himself, kind, affectionate, andgenerous: it informed me that he had already made over to me the annualsum of one thousand pounds; and that in case of his having a linealheir, he had, moreover, settled upon me, after his death, two thousanda-year. He ended by assuring me, that his only regret at marrying a ladywho, in all respects, was above all women, calculated to make him happy,was his unfeigned reluctance to deprive me of a station, which (he waspleased to say), I not only deserved, but should adorn.
Upon receiving this letter, I was sensibly affected with my uncle'skindness; and so far from repining at his choice, I most heartily wishedhim every blessing it could afford him, even though an heir to thetitles of Glenmorris were one of them.
I protracted my stay at Malvern some weeks longer than I had intended;the circumstance which had wrought so great a change in my fortune,wrought no less powerfully on my character. I became
more thoughtfullyand solidly ambitious. Instead of wasting my time in idle regrets at thestation I had lost, I rather resolved to carve out for myself one stillloftier and more universally acknowledged. I determined to exercise, totheir utmost, the little ability and knowledge I possessed; and whilethe increase of income, derived from my uncle's generosity, furnished mewith what was necessary for my luxury, I was resolved that it should notencourage me in the indulgence of my indolence.
In this mood, and with these intentions, I repaired to the metropolis.
VOLUME IV.