By ARTHUR HELPS.
The joys, not merely of high companionship, but of any companionship
that is tolerably pleasant, are so great, that a man with whom all
other things go ill, can not be classed as an unhappy man, if he has
throughout his life much of this pleasant companionship.
The desire for companionship is absolutely universal. Even misanthropy
is but the desire for companionship, turned sour. This desire extends
throughout creation. It is very noticeable in domestic animals; and
could we fathom the causes of their sociability, we should probably
have arrived at a solution of several important questions relating to
them and to ourselves.
The most fascinating people in the world have, I believe, been simply
good companions. Shakspere, as he knew most things, knew this, and has
shown that he knew it, in what he has indicated to us of the loves of
Brutus and Portia, of Antony and Cleopatra, and of Rosalind and Orlando.
I think it must be admitted that one of the main objects of life is
good companionship. “What,” says Emerson, “is the end of all this
apparatus of living—what but to get a number of persons who shall be
happy in each other’s society, and be seated at the same table?”
The first thing for companionship is, that there should be a good
relation between the persons who are to become good companions to each
other. It is not well to use a foreign phrase if it can be avoided,
but there are foreign phrases which are supremely significant, and
utterly untranslatable. I therefore say that those people I have spoken
of should be _en rapport_ with one another. This _rapport_ may have
its existence in various ways. The relationship of mother and son, of
father and daughter, will give it; the love that some people have for
children will give it with children; similar bringing up at school or
at college may give it; similarity of present pursuits may give it. But
before all and above all, that incomprehensible, unfathomable thing
called personal liking—that which you feel (or the contrary of which
you feel), frequently at first sight—will be sure to give it. We use
the phrase “falling in love:” we might perhaps use the phrase “falling
in liking” to describe a similar unavoidable precipitancy.
The beginning once made, the basis once laid for this companionship,
what are the qualities which tend to make it continuously pleasant?
The first thing is confidence. Now, in using the word confidence, it
is not meant to imply that there is an absolute necessity for much
confidingness in small things. Wilhelm von Humboldt has expressed an
opinion which is worth noting in reference to this subject. “Friendship
and love,” he says, “require the deepest and most genuine confidence,
but lofty souls do not require the trivial confidences of familiarity.”
The kind of confidence that Humboldt means, and which is required
for companionship as well as for friendship and love, puts aside all
querulous questions as to whether the companions like one another as
much to-day as they did yesterday. Steadfastness is to be assumed.
And, also a certain unchangeableness. “He is a wonderfully agreeable
person,” said a neighbor of one of the best talkers of the day; “but I
have to renew my acquaintance with him every morning.” That good talker
can not be held to be a good companion in a high sense of the word.
Again, this steadfastness makes allowance for all variations of humor,
temperament, and fortune. It prevents one companion from attributing
any change that there may be in the other, of manner, of bearing, or of
vivacity, to a change in the real relation between the companions. He
does not make any of these things personal towards himself. Silence is
not supposed to be offence. Hence there is no occasion to make talk, a
thing which is fatal to companionship. One reason why some of us enjoy
so much the society of animals, is because we need not talk to them if
we do not like. And, indeed, with a thoroughly good human companion,
you ought to be able to feel as if you were quite alone.
Difference of temperament is no hindrance whatever to companionship.
Indeed, the world has generally recognized that fact. We all know that
the ardent and the timid, the hopeful and the despondent, the eager and
the apathetic, get on very well together. What may not always have been
as clearly perceived is, that there are certain diversities of nature,
chiefly relating to habits, which produce, not agreeable contrasts, but
downright fatal discords. And, in such cases, companionship of a high
kind is hopeless.
Let us suppose that the principal requisites for companionship have
been attained; first, the basis for it created by personal liking,
early association, similarity of pursuits, and the like; secondly, the
means of continuing it, such as this confidence that has been spoken
of, the absence of contravening tastes, the absence of unreasonable
expectation, and the like. Now, for what remain to be considered as the
essential requisites for high companionship, we must enter into what is
almost purely intellectual. For this high companionship there must be
an interest in many things, at least on one side, and on the other a
great power of receptivity. It is almost impossible to exaggerate the
needfulness of these elements. Look at results. Consider the nature of
those men and women whom you have found, if I may use the phrase, to be
splendid companions. It is not exactly their knowledge that has made
them so; it is their almost universal interest in everything that comes
before them. This quality will make even ignorant people extremely
good companions to the most instructed persons. It is not, however,
the relation of tutor to pupil that is contemplated here. That is
certainly not the highest form of companionship. The kind of ignorant
person that I mean, if he or she should be one of the companions, is
to be intensely receptive and appreciative, and his or her remarks are
very dear and very pleasant to the most instructed person. Is not the
most valuable part of all knowledge very explicable, and do you not
find that you can make your best thoughts intelligible, if you have any
clearness of expression, to persons not exactly of your own order, if
you will only take the pains to do so?
* * * * *
RUSKIN AND WHISTLER.—A good deal of amusement was created by an account
that on one occasion a picture of Mr. Whistler’s was publicly produced,
and neither judge nor jury could tell which was the top and which the
bottom. Whether the legend is true or not we are in no position to say;
but it is certainly as true as the coincidence is curious that at the
Winter Exhibition of the Society of Painters in Water-Colors, 1873-74,
a lovely and elaborate architectural drawing by Mr. Ruskin was placed
upside down. Thus it remained for a time, until some sharp-sighted
visitor discovered the fact. The work was No. 105, “Study of the Colors
of Marble in the Apse of the Duomo of Pisa,” and exhibited with “Study
of the Colors of Marble in the Base of the Church of St. Anastasia
at Verona,” No. 97. There is a third story to a similar effect. When
John Martin had finished his well-known “Zadok in Search of the Waters
of Oblivion,” which was more than once engraved, he sent for the
framemaker’s men to frame it, and having occasion to remain in a room
adjoining his studio while they were in the latter room, he was edified
by a loud dispute between the men as to which was the top, which the
bottom of his picture.