HOPES AND FEARS--COMPENSATIONS IN LIFE--ATHENIAN COMEDY--MADEIRA AND
MUSIC--CONFIDENCES
(Greek Passage)
The Ghost of Darius to the Chorus, in
the Perso of Æschylus.
Farewell, old friends: and even if ills surround you,
Seize every joy the passing day can bring,
For wealth affords no pleasure to the dead.
Dorothy had begun to hope that Harry's news might be true, but even
Harry's sanguineness began to give way: the pertinacity with which the
young master remained at home threw a damp on their expectations. But
having once fairly started, in the way of making love on the one side
and responding to it on the other, they could not but continue as they
had begun, and she permitted him to go on building castles in the air,
in which the Christmas of the ensuing year was arrayed in the brightest
apparel of fire and festival.
Harry, walking home one afternoon, met the Reverend Doctor Opimian,
who was on his way to the Tower, where he purposed to dine and pass
the night. Mr. Falconer's absence from the ball had surprised him,
especially as Lord Curryfin's rivalry had ceased, and he could imagine
no good cause for his not returning to the Grange. The doctor held out
his hand to Harry, who returned the grasp most cordially. The doctor
asked him, 'how he and his six young friends were prospering in their
siege of the hearts of the seven sisters.'
_Harry Hedgerow._ Why, sir, so far as the young ladies are concerned, we
have no cause to complain. But we can't make out the young gentleman.
He used to sit and read all the morning, at the top of the Tower. Now
he goes up the stairs, and after a little while he comes down again, and
walks into the forest. Then he goes upstairs again, and down again,
and out again. Something must be come to him, and the only thing we can
think of is, that he is crossed in love. And he never gives me a letter
or a message to the Grange. So, putting all that together, we haven't a
merry Christmas, you see, sir.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I see, still harping on a merry Christmas. Let
us hope that the next may make amends.
_Harry Hedgerow._ Have they a merry Christmas at the Grange, sir?
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Very merry.
_Harry Hedgerow._ Then there's nobody crossed in love there, sir.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ That is more than I can say. I cannot answer for
others. I am not, and never was, if that is any comfort to you.
_Harry Hedgerow._ It is a comfort to me to see you, and hear the sound
of your voice, sir. It always does me good.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Why then, my young friend, you are most heartily
welcome to see and hear me whenever you please, if you will come over to
the Vicarage. And you will always find a piece of cold roast beef and
a tankard of good ale; and just now a shield of brawn. There is some
comfort in them.
_Harry Hedgerow._ Ah! thank ye, sir. They are comfortable things in
their way. But it isn't for them I should come.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I believe you, my young friend. But a man fights
best when he has a good basis of old English fare to stand on, against
all opposing forces, whether of body or mind. Come and see me. And
whatever happens in this world, never let it spoil your dinner.
_Harry Hedgerow._ That's father's advice, sir. But it won't always do.
When he lost mother, that spoiled his dinner for many a day. He has
never been the same man since, though he bears up as well as he can. But
if I could take Miss Dorothy home to him, I'm sure that would all
but make him young again. And if he had a little Harry dandle
next Christmas, wouldn't he give him the first spoonful out of the
marrow-bone!
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I doubt if that would be good food for little
Harry, notwithstanding it was Hector's way of feeding Astyanax.{1} But
we may postpone the discussion of his diet till he makes his appearance. In
the meantime, live in hope; but live on beef and ale.
The doctor again shook him heartily by the hand, an Harry took his
leave.
[Illustration: Live in hope; but live on beef and ale 294-252]
The doctor walked on, soliloquising as usual. 'This young man's father
has lost a good wife, and has never been the same man since. If he had
had a bad wife, he would have felt it as a happy release. This life has
strange compensations. It helps to show the truth of Juvenal's remark,
that the gods alone know what is good for us.{2}
1 Il. xxii. vv. 500, 501.
2 Juvenal: Sut. x. v. 346.
Now, here again is my friend at the Tower. If he had not, as I am sure
he has, the love of Morgana, he would console himself with his Vestals.
If he had not their sisterly affection, he would rejoice in the love of
Morgana, but having both the love and the affection, he is between two
counter-attractions, either of which would make him happy, and both
together make him miserable. Who can say which is best for him? or for
them? or for Morgana herself? I almost wish the light of her favour had
shone on _Lord Curryfin._ That chance has pass from her; and she will
not easily find such another. Perhaps she might have held him in her
bonds, if she had been so disposed. But _Miss Niphet._ is a glorious
girl, and there is a great charm in such perfect reciprocity. Jupiter
himself, as I have before had occasion to remark, must have prearranged
their consentaneity. The young lord went on some time, adhering, as
he supposed, to his first pursuit, and falling unconsciously and
inextricably into the second; and the young lady went on, devoting her
whole heart and soul to him, not clearly perhaps knowing it herself, but
certainly not suspecting that any one else could dive into the heart
of her mystery. And now they both seem surprised that nobody seems
surprised at their sudden appearance in the character affianced lovers.
His is another example of strange compensation; for if Morgana had
accepted him on his first offer, Miss Niphet would not have thought
of him; but she found him a waif and stray, a flotsam on the waters of
love, and landed him at her feet without art or stratagem. Artlessness
and simplicity triumphed, where the deepest design would have failed. I
do not know if she had any compensation to look for; but if she had,
she has found it; for never was a man with more qualities for domestic
happiness, and not Pedro of Portugal himself was more overwhelmingly in
love. When I first knew him, I saw only the comic side of his character:
he has a serious one too, and not the least agreeable part of it: but
the comic still shows itself. I cannot well define whether his exuberant
good-humour is contagious, and makes me laugh by anticipation as soon
as I fall into his company, or whether it is impossible to think of him,
gravely lecturing on Fish, as a member of the Pantopragmatic Society,
without perceiving a ludicrous contrast between his pleasant social face
and the unpleasant social impertinence of those would-be meddlers with
everything. It is true, he has renounced that folly; but it is not so
easy to dissociate him from the recollection. No matter: if I laugh, he
laughs with me: if he laughs, I laugh with him. "Laugh when you can,"
is a good maxim: between well-disposed sympathies a very little cause
strikes out the fire of merriment--
As long liveth the merry man, they say,
As doth the sorry man, and longer by a day.
And a day so acquired is a day worth having. But then--
Another sayd sawe doth men advise,
That they be together both merry and wise.{1}
1 These two quotations are from the oldest comedy in the
English language: _Ralph Roister Doister_, 1566. Republished
by the Shakespeare Society, 1847.
Very good doctrine, and fit to be kept in mind: but there is much good
laughter without much wisdom, and yet with no harm in it.'
The doctor was approaching the Tower when he met Mr. Falconer, who had
made one of his feverish exits from it, and was walking at double his
usual speed. He turned back with the doctor, who having declined taking
anything before dinner but a glass of wine and a biscuit, they went up
together to the library.
They conversed only on literary subjects. The doctor, though Miss Gryll
was uppermost in his mind, determined not to originate a word respecting
her, and Mr. Falconer, though she was also his predominant idea, felt
that it was only over a bottle of Madeira he could unbosom himself
freely to the doctor.
The doctor asked, 'What he had been reading of late? He said, 'I have
tried many things, but I have alway returned to _Orlando Innamorato_.
There it is on the table an old edition of the original poem.{1} The
doctor said, I have seen an old edition, something like this, on the
drawing-room table at the Grange.' He was about to say something
touching sympathy in taste, but he checked himself in time. The two
younger sisters brought in lights. 'I observe,' said the doctor, 'that
your handmaids always move in pairs. My hot water for dressing is
always brought by two inseparables, whom it seems profanation to call
housemaids.'
[Illustration: Your handmaids always move in pairs 298-256]
_Mr. Falconer._ It is always so on my side of the house that not a
breath of scandal may touch their reputation. If you were to live here
from January to December, with a houseful of company, neither you nor I,
nor any of my friends, would see one of them alone for a single minute.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I approve the rule. I would stake my life on the
conviction that these sisters are
Pure as the new-fall'n snow,
When never yet the sullying sun
Has seen its purity,
Nor the warm zephyr touched and tainted it.{1}
1 Southey: _Thalaba_.
But as the world is constituted, the most perfect virtue needs to be
guarded from suspicion. I cannot, however, associate your habits with a
houseful of company.
_Mr. Falconer._ There must be sympathies enough in the world to make
up society for all tastes: more difficult to find in some cases than
in others; but still always within the possibility of being found. I
contemplated, when I arranged this house, the frequent presence of a
select party. The Aristophanic comedy and its adjuncts brought me into
pleasant company elsewhere. I have postponed the purpose, not abandoned
it.
Several thoughts passed through the doctor's mind. He was almost tempted
to speak them. 'How beautiful was Miss Gryll in Circe; how charmingly
she acted. What was a select party without women? And how could a
bachelor invite them?' But this would be touching a string which he
had determined not to be the first to strike. So, _apropos_ of the
Aristophanic comedy, he took down Aristophanes, and said, 'What a high
idea of Athenian comedy is given by this single line, in which the
poet opines "the bringing out of comedy to be the most difficult of all
arts."'{1} It would not seem to be a difficult art nowadays, seeing how
much new comedy is nightly produced in London, and still more in Paris,
which, whatever may be its literary value, amuses its audiences as much
as Aristophanes amused the Athenians.
_Mr. Falconer._ There is this difference, that though both audiences may
be equally amused, the Athenians felt they had something to be proud of
in the poet, which our audiences can scarcely feel, as far as novelties
are concerned. And as to the atrocious outrages on taste and feeling
perpetrated under the name of burlesques, I should be astonished if
even those who laugh at them could look back on their amusement with any
other feeling than that of being most heartily ashamed of the author,
the theatre, and themselves.
When the dinner was over, and a bottle of claret had been placed by the
side of the doctor, and a bottle of Madeira by the side of his host, who
had not been sparing during dinner of his favourite beverage, which had
been to him for some days like ale to the Captain and his friends in
Beaumont and Fletcher,{2} almost 'his eating and his drinking solely,'
the doctor said, 'I am glad to perceive that you keep up your practice
of having a good dinner; though I am at the same time sorry to see that
you have not done your old justice to it.'
1 (Greek passage)--Equités.
2 Ale is their eating and their drinking solely.
--Scornful Lady, Act iv. Scene 2.
_Mr. Falconer._ A great philosopher had seven friends, one of whom dined
with him in succession on each day of the week. He directed, amongst
his last dispositions, that during six months after his death the
establishment of his house should be kept on the same footing, and that
a dinner should be daily provided for himself and his single guest of
the day, who was to be entreated to dine there in memory of him, with
one of his executors (both philosophers) to represent him in doing the
honours of the table alternately.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I am happy to see that the honours of your table
are done by yourself, and not by an executor, administrator, or assign.
The honours are done admirably, but the old justice on your side is
wanting. I do not, however, clearly see what the _feralis cæna_ of guest
and executor has to do with the dinner of two living men.
_Mr. Falconer._ Ah, doctor, you should say one living man and a ghost.
I am only the ghost of myself. I do the honours of my departed
conviviality.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I thought something was wrong; but whatever it
may be, take Horace's advice--'Alleviate every ill with wine and song,
the sweet consolations of deforming anxiety.'{1}
_Mr. Falconer._ I do, doctor. Madeira, and the music of the Seven
Sisters, are my consolations, and great ones; but they do not go down
to the hidden care that gnaws at the deepest fibres of the heart, like
Ratatosk at the roots of the Ash of Ygdrasil.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ In the Scandinavian mythology: one of the most
poetical of all mythologies. I have a great respect for Odin and Thor.
Their adventures have always delighted me; and the system was admirably
adapted to foster the high spirit of a military people. Lucan has a fine
passage on the subject.{2}
1 illia omne malum vino cantuque levato,
deformis aggrimonio dulcibus alloquiis.
Epod. xiii.
2 Pharsalia, 458-462.
The doctor repeated the passage of Lucan with great emphasis. This
was not what Mr. Falconer wanted. He had wished that the doctor should
inquire into the cause of his trouble; but independently of the doctor's
determination to ask no questions, and to let his young friend originate
his own disclosures, the unlucky metaphor had carried the doctor into
one of his old fields, and if it had not been that he awaited the
confidence, which he felt sure his host would spontaneously repose in
him, the Scandinavian mythology would have formed his subject for the
evening. He paused, therefore, and went on quietly sipping his claret.
Mr. Falconer could restrain himself no longer, and without preface or
note of preparation, he communicated to the doctor all that had passed
between Miss Gryll and himself, not omitting a single word of the
passages of Bojardo, which were indelibly impressed on his memory.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I cannot see what there is to afflict you in all
this. You are in love with _Miss Gryll._ She is disposed to receive you
favourably. What more would you wish in that quarter?
_Mr. Falconer._ No more in that quarter, but the Seven Sisters are
as sisters to me. If I had seven real sisters, the relationship would
subsist, and marriage would not interfere with it; but, be a woman as
amiable, as liberal, as indulgent, as confiding as she may, she could
not treat the unreal as she would the real tie.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I admit, it is not to be expected. Still there
is one way out of the difficulty. And that is by seeing all the seven
happily married.
_Mr. Falconer._ All the seven married? Surely that is impossible.
_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Not so impossible as you apprehend.
The doctor thought it a favourable opportunity to tell the story of
the seven suitors, and was especially panegyrical on Harry Hedgerow,
observing, that if the maxim _Noscitur a sociis_ might be reversed,
and a man's companions judged by himself, it would be a sufficient
recommendation of the other six; whom, moreover, the result of his
inquiries had given him ample reason to think well of. Mr. Falconer
received with pleasure at Christmas a communication which at the
Midsummer preceding would have given him infinite pain. It struck him
all at once that, as he had dined so ill, he would have some partridges
for supper, his larder being always well stocked with game. They were
presented accordingly, after the usual music in the drawing-room,
and the doctor, though he had dined well, considered himself bound in
courtesy to assist in their disposal; when, recollecting how he had
wound, up the night of the ball, he volunteered to brew a bowl of punch,
over which they sate till a late hour, discoursing of many things, but
chiefly of Morgana.
[Illustration: discoursing of many things, but chiefly of Morgana
304-261]