HAPPY LABOUR, HAPPY LIFE.
Si modo dignum aliquid elaborare et efficere velint, relinquenda
conversatio amicorum et jucunditas urbis, deserenda cetera officia,
utque ipsi dicunt, in nemora et lucos, id est, in solitudinem
recedendum est.
TACITUS.--_De Oratoribus._
The splendours of the first day were never renewed. Exhausted
munificence sank quietly back into ancient close-fistedness. Mrs.
Tring had given one banquet, but every day was not to be a holiday,
as Mrs. Merryweather and Miss Bachelor mournfully confessed, when, on
the succeeding morning, they found themselves returned to the salt
butter, drenched tea, and implacable coffee, from which they had been
one morning released. Still more dolorous was the aspect of the
dinner. A return was made to the primitive allowance of one potato
for each person, and the bread was as stale as before.
Cecil was of course chary of making complaints, but as he could not
eat salt butter, quietly contented himself with dry toast: a
proceeding which gained him the respect of Mrs. Tring, as it saved
just so much butter. It was an ill-advised act, however, as it gave
her the courage to make several other petty retrenchments--too petty
for him to speak about--yet, nevertheless, annoying. He had not been
there a fortnight before he determined on not staying beyond the
three months for which he had taken his room. Having thus made up
his mind that the annoyances were but temporary, he was enabled to
bear them with tolerable stoicism.
Mrs. Tring had to make a living out of her boarders, and as she
accepted such very low terms, the reader may imagine what nice
calculations and minute economies were necessary. The house was,
indeed, a field of battle, wherein, by adroit generalship, she every
day gained a victory. The living was pitiable, and Cecil was forced,
in self-defence, to keep a small provision in a store closet, from
which he and his wife satisfied the appetite which Mrs. Tring's fare
had stimulated, not appeased. It sometimes went so far as his
sending out for a chop, which he cooked in his little room, over his
dwarf fire. Nevertheless, with all the extra expenses into which
scanty fare forced him, the place was remarkably convenient from its
cheapness; and they both supported the little discomforts with happy
light-heartedness.
Cecil was full of projects. He had begun a picture of considerable
pretensions, the conception of which was not without grandeur: it was
Nero playing while he gazed upon the blazing city of Rome. He had
also sketched the libretto of a comic opera, of which he was to write
both words and music. Gay and lighthearted as the hopeful and
employed always are, the best qualities of his nature were brought
out, and Blanche adored him, if possible, more than ever.
Work--which was given to man that he might learn to know his
excellence, and to know the pleasure which attends the full
development of every faculty--work crowded the hours with
significance, and gave to life a purpose; and Love illumined with its
sunshine the difficult path which stretched itself before him.
Never, no never, had Cecil known happiness till that time. He had
squandered the riches of his nature as he had squandered the heritage
of his parents; and now he came to know the value of what he had
lost. A serious ambition occupied him, a happy affection blessed him.
Oh! who shall paint the luminous picture of their quiet life, which,
to ordinary eyes, was so prosaic and insignificant! In that
miserable house, where meanness hourly struggled with adversity,
there was a small room, which was parlour, bed-room, and sometimes
kitchen, all in one; and from the contemplation of which, when you
were told that in it lived a pair who had been reared in luxury and
refinement, you would have turned away with painful pity. Yet were
the secret history of that seemingly unfortunate pair known, your
pity would change into envy, as those four miserable walls changed
into a temple of Love, Youth, and Hope.
Poverty--a word of terror--is only terrible to the rich. The poor
are not really the unhappy, for happiness is wholly independent of
our worldly goods and chattels. If poverty has its hardships, wealth
has its annoyances. If wealth can satisfy caprices, when satisfied
they do not give the same delight as the cheap enjoyments from time
to time indulged in by the poor. All things are precious in
proportion to the difficulty of obtaining them, and the very
facilities of wealth take from enjoyments their zest.
What makes poverty terrible is its proximity to want. And as want
itself is often a thing of degree, the rich imagine that any
deprivation of their accustomed indulgences must necessarily be a
serious evil. But, in truth, the human mind is so constituted as to
adapt itself to every condition, and to draw from its own health the
requisites of happiness.
Blanche and Cecil were poor, but they had visions of future wealth
and prosperity; meanwhile they had the glorious certainty of mutual
affection, which irradiated their humble home, and made each hour of
their lives worth more than all Peru could purchase.