WHEREIN THE EARL AND THE STUDENT CONVERSE ON GRAVE BUT
DELIGHTFUL MATTERS.--THE STUDENT'S NOTION OF THE ONLY EARTHLY
HAPPINESS.
ARAM. If the witch Hope forbids us to be wise,
Yet when I turn to these--Woe's only friends,
And with their weird and eloquent voices calm
The stir and Babel of the world within,
I can but dream that my vex'd years at last
Shall find the quiet of a hermit's cell:--
And, neighbouring not this hacked and jaded world,
Beneath the lambent eyes of the loved stars,
And, with the hollow rocks and sparry caves,
The tides, and all the many-music'd winds
My oracles and co-mates;--watch my life
Glide down the Stream of Knowledge, and behold
Its waters with a musing stillness glass
The thousand hues of Nature and of Heaven.
--From Eugene Aram, a MS. Tragedy.
The Earl continued with the party he had joined; and when their
occupation was concluded and they turned homeward, he accepted the
Squire's frank invitation to partake of some refreshment at the Manor-
house. It so chanced, or perhaps the Earl so contrived it, that Aram and
himself, in their way to the village lingered a little behind the rest,
and that their conversation was thus, for a few minutes, not altogether
general.
"Is it I, Mr. Aram?" said the Earl smiling, "or is it Fate that has made
you a convert? The last time we sagely and quietly conferred together,
you contended that the more the circle of existence was contracted, the
more we clung to a state of pure and all self-dependent intellect, the
greater our chance of happiness. Thus you denied that we were rendered
happier by our luxuries, by our ambition, or by our affections. Love and
its ties were banished from your solitary Utopia. And you asserted that
the true wisdom of life lay solely in the cultivation--not of our
feelings, but our faculties. You know, I held a different doctrine: and
it is with the natural triumph of a hostile partizan, that I hear you are
about to relinquish the practice of one of your dogmas;--in consequence,
may I hope, of having forsworn the theory?"
"Not so, my Lord," answered Aram, colouring slightly; "my weakness only
proves that my theory is difficult,--not that it is wrong. I still
venture to think it true. More pain than pleasure is occasioned us by
others--banish others, and you are necessarily the gainer. Mental
activity and moral quietude are the two states which, were they perfected
and united, would constitute perfect happiness. It is such a union which
constitutes all we imagine of Heaven, or conceive of the majestic
felicity of a God."
"Yet, while you are on earth you will be (believe me) happier in the
state you are about to choose," said the Earl. "Who could look at that
enchanting face (the speaker directed his eyes towards Madeline) and not
feel that it gave a pledge of happiness that could not be broken?"
It was not in the nature of Aram to like any allusion to himself, and
still less to his affections: he turned aside his head, and remained
silent: the wary Earl discovered his indiscretion immediately.
"But let us put aside individual cases," said he,--"the meum and the tuum
forbid all argument:--and confess, that there is for the majority of
human beings a greater happiness in love than in the sublime state of
passionless intellect to which you would so chillingly exalt us. Has not
Cicero said wisely, that we ought no more to subject too slavishly our
affections, than to elevate them too imperiously into our masters? Neque
se nimium erigere, nec subjacere serviliter."
"Cicero loved philosophizing better than philosophy," said Aram, coldly;
"but surely, my Lord, the affections give us pain as well as pleasure.
The doubt, the dread, the restlessness of love,--surely these prevent
the passion from constituting a happy state of mind; to me one knowledge
alone seems sufficient to embitter all its enjoyments,--the knowledge
that the object beloved must die. What a perpetuity of fear that
knowledge creates! The avalanche that may crush us depends upon a single
breath!"
"Is not that too refined a sentiment? Custom surely blunts us to every
chance, every danger, that may happen to us hourly. Were the avalanche
over you for a day,--I grant your state of torture,--but had an avalanche
rested over you for years, and not yet fallen, you would forget that it
could ever fall; you would eat, sleep, and make love, as if it were not!"
"Ha! my Lord, you say well--you say well," said Aram, with a marked
change of countenance; and, quickening his pace, he joined Lester's side,
and the thread of the previous conversation was broken off.
The Earl afterwards, in walking through the gardens (an excursion which
he proposed himself, for he was somewhat of an horticulturist), took an
opportunity to renew the subject.
"You will pardon me," said he, "but I cannot convince myself that man
would be happier were he without emotions; and that to enjoy life he
should be solely dependant on himself!"
"Yet it seems to me," said Aram, "a truth easy of proof; if we love, we
place our happiness in others. The moment we place our happiness in
others, comes uncertainty, but uncertainty is the bane of happiness.
Children are the source of anxiety to their parents;--his mistress to the
lover. Change, accident, death, all menace us in each person whom we
regard. Every new tie opens new channels by which grief can invade us;
but, you will say, by which joy also can flow in;--granted! But in human
life is there not more grief than joy? What is it that renders the
balance even? What makes the staple of our happiness,--endearing to us
the life at which we should otherwise repine? It is the mere passive, yet
stirring, consciousness of life itself!--of the sun and the air of the
physical being; but this consciousness every emotion disturbs. Yet could
you add to its tranquillity an excitement that never exhausts itself,--
that becomes refreshed, not sated, with every new possession, then you
would obtain happiness. There is only one excitement of this divine
order,--that of intellectual culture. Behold now my theory! Examine it--
it contains no flaw. But if," renewed Aram, after a pause, "a man is
subject to fate solely in himself, not in others, he soon hardens his
mind against all fear, and prepares it for all events. A little
philosophy enables him to bear bodily pain, or the common infirmities of
flesh: by a philosophy somewhat deeper, he can conquer the ordinary
reverses of fortune, the dread of shame, and the last calamity of death.
But what philosophy could ever thoroughly console him for the ingratitude
of a friend, the worthlessness of a child, the death of a mistress?
Hence, only when he stands alone, can a man's soul say to Fate, 'I defy
thee.'"
"You think then," said the Earl, reluctantly diverting the conversation
into a new channel "that in the pursuit of knowledge lies our only active
road to real happiness. Yet here how eternal must be the disappointments
even of the most successful! Does not Boyle tell us of a man who, after
devoting his whole life to the study of one mineral, confessed himself,
at last, ignorant of all its properties?"
"Had the object of his study been himself, and not the mineral, he would
not have been so unsuccessful a student," said Aram, smiling. "Yet,"
added he, in a graver tone, "we do indeed cleave the vast heaven of Truth
with a weak and crippled wing: and often we are appalled in our way by a
dread sense of the immensity around us, and of the inadequacy of our own
strength. But there is a rapture in the breath of the pure and difficult
air, and in the progress by which we compass earth, the while we draw
nearer to the stars,--that again exalts us beyond ourselves, and
reconciles the true student unto all things,--even to the hardest of them
all,--the conviction how feebly our performance can ever imitate the
grandeur of our ambition! As you see the spark fly upward,--sometimes not
falling to earth till it be dark and quenched,--thus soars, whither it
recks not, so that the direction be above, the luminous spirit of him who
aspires to Truth; nor will it back to the vile and heavy clay from which
it sprang, until the light which bore it upward be no more!"