or difference of mind and disposition, makes itself felt between one
man and another as soon as they begin to talk: every little trifle
shows it. When two people of totally different natures are conversing,
almost everything said by the one will, in a greater or less degree,
displease the other, and in many cases produce positive annoyance;
even though the conversation turn upon the most out-of-the-way
subject, or one in which neither of the parties has any real interest.
People of similar nature, on the other hand, immediately come to feel
a kind of general agreement; and if they are cast very much in the
same mould, complete harmony or even unison will flow from their
intercourse.
This explain two circumstances. First of all, it shows why it is that
common, ordinary people are so sociable and find good company wherever
they go. Ah! those good, dear, brave people. It is just the contrary
with those who are not of the common run; and the less they are so,
the more unsociable they become; so that if, in their isolation, they
chance to come across some one in whose nature they can find even
a single sympathetic chord, be it never so minute, they show
extraordinary pleasure in his society. For one man can be to another
only so much as the other is to him. Great minds are like eagles, and
build their nest in some lofty solitude.
Secondly, we are enabled to understand how it is that people of like
disposition so quickly get on with one another, as though they were
drawn together by magnetic force--kindred souls greeting each other
from afar. Of course the most frequent opportunity of observing this
is afforded by people of vulgar tastes and inferior intellect, but
only because their name is legion; while those who are better off in
this respect and of a rarer nature, are not often to be met with: they
are called rare because you can seldom find them.
Take the case of a large number of people who have formed themselves
into a league for the purpose of carrying out some practical object;
if there be two rascals among them, they will recognize each other as
readily as if they bore a similar badge, and will at once conspire
for some misfeasance or treachery. In the same way, if you can
imagine--_per impossible_--a large company of very intelligent and
clever people, amongst whom there are only two blockheads, these two
will be sure to be drawn together by a feeling of sympathy, and each
of them will very soon secretly rejoice at having found at least one
intelligent person in the whole company. It is really quite curious
to see how two such men, especially if they are morally and
intellectually of an inferior type, will recognize each other at first
sight; with what zeal they will strive to become intimate; how affably
and cheerily they will run to greet each other, just as though they
were old friends;--it is all so striking that one is tempted to
embrace the Buddhist doctrine of metempsychosis and presume that they
were on familiar terms in some former state of existence.
Still, in spite of all this general agreement, men are kept apart who
might come together; or, in some cases, a passing discord springs up
between them. This is due to diversity of mood. You will hardly
ever see two people exactly in the same frame of mind; for that is
something which varies with their condition of life, occupation,
surroundings, health, the train of thought they are in at the moment,
and so on. These differences give rise to discord between persons of
the most harmonious disposition. To correct the balance properly, so
as to remove the disturbance--to introduce, as it were, a uniform
temperature,--is a work demanding a very high degree of culture. The
extent to which uniformity of mood is productive of good-fellowship
may be measured by its effects upon a large company. When, for
instance, a great many people are gathered together and presented with
some objective interest which works upon all alike and influences them
in a similar way, no matter what it be--a common danger or hope, some
great news, a spectacle, a play, a piece of music, or anything of that
kind--you will find them roused to a mutual expression of thought,
and a display of sincere interest. There will be a general feeling
of pleasure amongst them; for that which attracts their attention
produces a unity of mood by overpowering all private and personal
interests.
And in default of some objective interest of the kind I have
mentioned, recourse is usually had to something subjective. A bottle
of wine is not an uncommon means of introducing a mutual feeling of
fellowship; and even tea and coffee are used for a like end.
The discord which so easily finds its way into all society as an
effect of the different moods in which people happen to be for the
moment, also in part explains why it is that memory always idealizes,
and sometimes almost transfigures, the attitude we have taken up at
any period of the past--a change due to our inability to remember all
the fleeting influences which disturbed us on any given occasion.
Memory is in this respect like the lens of a _camera obscura_: it
contracts everything within its range, and so produces a much finer
picture than the actual landscape affords. And, in the case of a man,
absence always goes some way towards securing this advantageous light;
for though the idealizing tendency of the memory requires times to
complete its work, it begins it at once. Hence it is a prudent thing
to see your friends and acquaintances only at considerable intervals
of time; and on meeting them again, you will observe that memory has
been at work.