CHAPTER LIV.
Il vaut mieux employer notre esprit a supporter les infortunes qui nousarrivent, qu'a prevoir celle qui nous peuvent arriver.--Rochefoucault.
No sooner had Vincent departed, than I buttoned my coat, and sallied outthrough a cold easterly wind to Lord Dawton's. It was truly said by thepolitical quoter, that I had been often to that nobleman's, althoughI have not thought it advisable to speak of my political adventureshitherto. I have before said that I was ambitious; and the sagacioushave probably already discovered, that I was somewhat less ignorant thanit was my usual pride and pleasure to appear. Heaven knows why! but Ihad established among my uncle's friends, a reputation for talent, whichI by no means deserved; and no sooner had I been personally introducedto Lord Dawton, than I found myself courted by that personage ina manner equally gratifying and uncommon. When I lost my seat inParliament, Dawton assured me that before the session was over, I shouldbe returned for one of his boroughs; and though my mind revolted atthe idea of becoming dependant on any party, I made little scruple ofpromising conditionally to ally myself to his. So far had affairs gone,when I was honoured with Vincent's proposal. I found Lord Dawton in hislibrary, with the Marquess of Clandonald, (Lord Dartmore's father, and,from his rank and property, classed among the highest, as, from hisvanity and restlessness, he was among the most active members of theOpposition.) Clandonald left the room when I entered. Few men in officeare wise enough to trust the young; as if the greater zeal and sincerityof youth did not more than compensate for its appetite for the gay, orits thoughtlessness of the serious.
When we were alone, Dawton said to me, "We are in great despair at themotion upon the--, to be made in the Lower House. We have not a singleperson whom we can depend upon, for the sweeping and convincing answerwe ought to make; and though we should at least muster our full force invoting, our whipper-in, poor--, is so ill, that I fear we shall make buta very pitiful figure."
"Give me," said I, "full permission to go forth into the high-ways andby-ways, and I will engage to bring a whole legion of dandies to theHouse door. I can go no farther; your other agents must do the rest."
"Thank you, my dear young friend," said Lord Dawton, eagerly; "thankyou a thousand times: we must really get you in the House as soon aspossible; you will serve us more than I can express."
I bowed, with a sneer I could not repress. Dawton pretended not toobserve it. "Come," said I, "my lord, we have no time to lose. I shallmeet you, perhaps, at Brookes's, to morrow evening, and report to yourespecting my success."
Lord Dawton pressed my hand warmly, and followed me to the door.
"He is the best premier we could have," thought I; "but he deceiveshimself, if he thinks Henry Pelham will play the jackall to his lion.He will soon see that I shall keep for myself what he thinks I hunt forhim." I passed through Pall Mall, and thought of Glanville. I knocked athis door: he was at home. I found him leaning his cheek upon his hand,in a thoughtful position; an open letter was before him.
"Read that," he said, pointing to it.
I did so. It was from the agent to the Duke of--, and contained hisappointment to an opposition borough.
"A new toy, Pelham," said he, faintly smiling; "but a little longer, andthey will all be broken--the rattle will be the last."
"My dear, dear Glanville," said I, much affected, "do not talk thus; youhave every thing before you."
"Yes," interrupted Glanville, "you are right, for every thing leftfor me is in the grave. Do you imagine that I can taste one of thepossessions which fortune has heaped upon me, that I have one healthfulfaculty, one sense of enjoyment, among the hundred which other men are'heirs to?' When did you ever see me for a moment happy? I live, as itwere, on a rock, barren, and herbless, and sapless, and cut off fromall human fellowship and intercourse. I had only a single object left tolive for, when you saw me at Paris; I have gratified that, and the endand purpose of my existence is fulfilled. Heaven is merciful; but alittle while, and this feverish and unquiet spirit shall be at rest."
I took his hand and pressed it.
"Feel," said he, "this dry, burning skin; count my pulse through thevariations of a single minute, and you will cease either to pity me,or to speak to me of life. For months I have had, night and day, awasting--wasting fever, of brain, and heart, and frame; the fire workswell, and the fuel is nearly consumed."
He paused, and we were both silent. In fact, I was shocked at the feverof his pulse, no less than affected at the despondency of his words. Atlast I spoke to him of medical advice.
"'Canst thou,'" he said, with a deep solemnity of voice and manner,"'administer to a mind diseased--pluck from the memory'--Ah! away withthe quotation and the reflection." And he sprung from the sofa, andgoing to the window, opened it, and leaned out for a few moments insilence. When he turned again towards me, his manner had regained itsusual quiet. He spoke about the important motion approaching on the--,and promised to attend; and then, by degrees, I led him to talk of hissister.
He mentioned her with enthusiasm. "Beautiful as Ellen is," he said, "herface is the very faintest reflection of her mind. Her habits of thoughtare so pure, that every impulse is a virtue. Never was there a personto whom goodness was so easy. Vice seems something so opposite to hernature, that I cannot imagine it possible for her to sin."
"Will you not call with me at your mother's?" said I. "I am going thereto-day."
Glanville replied in the affirmative, and we went at once to LadyGlanville's, in Berkeley-square. We were admitted into his mother'sboudoir. She was alone with Miss Glanville. Our conversation soonturned from common-place topics to those of a graver nature; the deepmelancholy of Glanville's mind imbued all his thoughts when he oncesuffered himself to express them.
"Why," said Lady Glanville, who seemed painfully fond of her son, "whydo you not go more into the world? You suffer your mind to prey uponitself, till it destroys you. My dear, dear son, how very ill you seem."
Ellen, whose eyes swam in tears, as they gazed upon her brother, laidher beautiful hand upon his, and said, "For my mother's sake, Reginald,do take more care of yourself: you want air, and exercise, andamusement."
"No," answered Glanville, "I want nothing but occupation, and thanks tothe Duke of--, I have now got it. I am chosen member for--."
"I am too happy," said the proud mother; "you will now be all I haveever predicted for you;" and, in her joy at the moment, she forgot thehectic of his cheek, and the hollowness of his eye.
"Do you remember," said Reginald, turning to his sister, "thosebeautiful lines in my favourite Ford--
'"Glories Of human greatness are but pleasing dreams, And shadows soondecaying. On the stage Of my mortality, my youth has acted Some scenesof vanity, drawn out at length By varied pleasures--sweetened in themixture, But tragical in issue. Beauty, pomp, With every sensuality ourgiddiness Doth frame an idol--are inconstant friends When any troubledpassion makes us halt On the unguarded castle of the mind.'"
"Your verses," said I, "are beautiful, even to me, who have no soulfor poetry, and never wrote a line in my life. But I love not theirphilosophy. In all sentiments that are impregnated with melancholy, andinstil sadness as a moral, I question the wisdom, and dispute the truth.There is no situation in life which we cannot sweeten, or embitter, atwill. If the past is gloomy, I do not see the necessity of dwelling uponit. If the mind can make one vigorous exertion, it can another: the sameenergy you put forth in acquiring knowledge, would also enable youto baffle misfortune. Determine not to think upon what is painful;resolutely turn away from every thing that recals it; bend all yourattention to some new and engrossing object; do this, and you defeat thepast. You smile, as if this were impossible; yet it is not an iota moreso, than to tear one's self from a favourite pursuit, and addictone's self to an object unwelcome to one at first. This the mind doescontinually through life: so can it also do the other, if you will butmake an equal exertion. Nor does it seem to me natural to the humanheart to look much to the past; all its plans, its
projects, itsaspirations, are for the future; it is for the future, and in thefuture, that we live. Our very passions, when most agitated, are mostanticipative. Revenge, avarice, ambition, love, the desire of good andevil, are all fixed and pointed to some distant goal; to look backwards,is like walking backwards--against our proper formation; the mind doesnot readily adopt the habit, and when once adopted, it will readilyreturn to its natural bias. Oblivion is, therefore, an easier obtainedboon than we imagine. Forgetfulness of the past is purchased byincreasing our anxiety for the future."
I paused for a moment, but Glanville did not answer me; and, encouragedby a look from Ellen, I continued--"You remember that, according to anold creed, if we were given memory as a curse, we were also given hopeas a blessing. Counteract the one by the other. In my own life, I havecommitted many weak, many wicked actions; I have chased away theirremembrance, though I have transplanted their warning to the future. Asthe body involuntarily avoids what is hurtful to it, without tracing theassociation to its first experience, so the mind insensibly shunswhat has formerly afflicted it, even without palpably recalling theremembrance of the affliction. The Roman philosopher placed the secretof human happiness in the one maxim--'not to admire.' I never couldexactly comprehend the sense of the moral: my maxim for the same objectwould be--'never to regret.'"
"Alas! my dear friend," said Glanville--"we are great philosophers toeach other, but not to ourselves; the moment we begin to feel sorrow, wecease to reflect on its wisdom. Time is the only comforter; your maximsare very true, but they confirm me in my opinion--that it is in vain forus to lay down fixed precepts for the regulation of the mind, so longas it is dependent upon the body. Happiness and its reverse areconstitutional in many persons, and it is then only that they areindependent of circumstances. Make the health, the frames of all menalike--make their nerves of the same susceptibility--their memories ofthe same bluntness, or acuteness--and I will then allow, that you cangive rules adapted to all men; till then, your maxim, 'never to regret,'is as idle as Horace's 'never to admire.' It may be wise to you--it isimpossible to me!"
With these last words, Glanville's voice faltered, and I felt averse topush the argument further. Ellen's eye caught mine, and gave me a lookso kind, and almost grateful, that I forgot every thing else in theworld. A few moments afterwards a friend of Lady Glanville's wasannounced, and I left the room.