CHAPTER LXXV
In this cottage, Juliet, again, witnessed another scene of life; and onewhich, serene and soothing, appeared, upon its opening, to exclude allevil.
The dwelling of the shepherd, or husbandman, had already in its favourthe imagery of poesy, and the ardent predilection of juvenile ideas;and, with the vivacity of a heart always open to hope, Juliet hailed init, at once, tranquillity and contentment.
Paid for his work by the day, the labourer had no anxiety for themorrow; the ground he was to plough, or till, or sow, was not his own;the goodness, badness, and variations of the weather touched not hisproperty, nor endangered his subsistence. Be the seasons, therefore,what they might, he was not to be pitied.
Yet though his sound repose, the fruit of his toil, was undisturbed byelemental strife, he waked not to active hope; he looked not forward tosanguine expectation: the changes which could do him no mischief, couldnot bring him any advantage. No view of amelioration to his destinyenlivened his prospect; no opening to better days spurred his industry;and, as all action is debased, or exalted, by its motive; and alllabour, by its object; those who struggle but to eat and sleep, may besaved from solicitude, but cannot be elevated to prosperity. He couldnot, therefore, be envied.
Two of the young men were married, and their wives, strong and healthylike themselves, worked almost as laboriously. Juliet found them asworthy as they were industrious; and hoped, by exciting their kindness,to add the interest of gentle amity to peace and rural enjoyment. But,though pleased and satisfied with their characters, and honouring theiractive and useful lives, she sought vainly to content herself with theiruncultured society; and soon saw, with regret, how much the charm,though not the worth, of innocence depends upon manners; of goodness,upon refinement; and of honesty upon elevation. There was much to merither approbation; but not a point to engage her sympathy; and, where thedominion of the character falls chiefly upon the heart, life, withoutsympathy, is a blank. The unsatisfied soul sighs for communion; itsaffections demand an expansion, its ideas, a developement, that,instinctively, call for interchange; and point out, that solitude,sought only by misery, remorse, or misanthropy, is as ungenial to ournatural feelings, as retirement is salubrious.
She had here time and opportunity to see the fallacy, alike in authorsand in the world, of judging solely by theory. Those who are born andbred in a capital; who first revel in its dissipations and vanities,next, sicken of its tumults and disappointments, write or exclaim forever, how happy is the country peasant's lot! They reflect not that, tomake it such, the peasant must be so much more philosophic than the restof mankind, as to see and feel only his advantages, while he is blindand insensible to his hardships. Then, indeed, the lot of the peasantmight merit envy!
But who is it that gives it celebrity? Is it himself? Does he write ofhis own joys? Does he boast of his own contentment? Does he praise hisown lot? No! 'tis the writer, who has never tried it, and the man of theworld who, however murmuring at his own, would not change with it, thatgive it celebrity.
Though natively endowed with that first, perhaps of worldly blessings,high animal spirits, Juliet, from an early experience of thevicissitudes of fortune, was become meditative. She looked with anintelligent desire of information, upon every new scene of life, thatwas presented to her view; and every class of society, that came withinher knowledge: she now, therefore, with equal clearness and concern, sawhow false an idea is conceived, at a distance, not only of theshepherd's paradise, but of the general happiness of the countrylife;--save to those who enjoy it with a large family to bring up; orwith means not alone competent to necessity, but to benevolence; whichnot alone give leisure for the indulgence of contemplation, and thecultivation of rural taste, of literature, and of the fine arts; butwhich supply means for lightening the labours, and softening thehardships of the surrounding poor and needy. Then, indeed, the countrylife is the nearest upon earth, to what we may conceive of joyscelestial!
The verdure of the flower-motleyed meadow; the variegated foliage ofthe wood; the fragrance and purity of the air, and the wide spreadingbeauties of the landscape, charm not the labourer. They charm only theenlightened rambler, or affluent possessor. Those who toil, heed themnot. Their eyes are upon their plough; their attention is fixed upon theharvest; their sight follows the pruning hook. If the vivid fieldcatches their view, it is but to present to them the image of thescythe, with which their labour must mow it; if they look at the shadytree, it is only with the foresight of the ax, with which their strengthmust fell it; and, while the body pants but for rest, which of thesenses can surrounding scenery, ambient perfumes, or vocal warblers,enchant or enliven?
Juliet now, herself an inhabitant of the cottage, which, hitherto, shehad only beheld in perspective, smiled, yet sighed at her mistake, inhaving considered shepherds and peasants as objects of envy. O ye, shecried, who view them through your imaginations! were ye to toil withthem but one week! to rise as they rise, feed as they feed, and work asthey work! like mine, then, your eyes would open; you would no longerjudge of their pleasures and luxuries, by those of which they are theinstruments for yourselves! you would feel and remark, that yours areall prepared for you; and that they, the preparers, are sufferers, notpartakers! You would see then, as I see now, that the most delightfulview which the horizon can bound, affords not to the poor labourer thejoy that is excited by the view of the twilight through which it isexcluded; but which sends him home to the mat of straw, that rests, forthe night, his spent and weary limbs.
Then, as she looked around, from the summit of the hill upon which stoodthe small seminary for children, which she frequently visited, Oh thatElinor, she cried, escaping from the pressure of her passions, wouldexpand her feelings by contemplating the works of God! Oh Father ofAll!--Who can reflect, yet doubt, that Man, placed at the head of thesestupenduous operations, lord of the earthly sphere, can fail to bedestined for Immortality? Yet more, who can examine and meditate uponthe uncertain existence of thy creatures,--see failure without fault;success without virtue; sickness without relief; oppression in the veryface of liberty; labour without sustenance; and suffering withoutcrime;--and not see, and not feel that all call aloud for resurrectionand retribution! that annihilation and unjustice would be one! and thatMan, from the very nature of his precarious earthly being, mustnecessarily be destined, by the All Wise, and All Just, for regionsthat we see not; for purposes that we know not;--for Immortality!