Iago.--Virtue; a fig!--'t is in ourselves that we are thus and thus.--
Othello.
"So, so, my little one, don't let me disturb you. Madam, dare I
venture to hope your acceptance of this fruit? I chose it myself, and
I am somewhat of a judge. Oh! Glendower, here is the pamphlet you
wished to see."
With this salutation, Crauford drew his chair to the table by which
Glendower sat, and entered into conversation with his purposed victim.
A comely and a pleasing countenance had Richard Crauford! the lonely
light of the room fell upon a face which, though forty years of guile
had gone over it, was as fair and unwrinkled as a boy's. Small, well-
cut features; a blooming complexion; eyes of the lightest blue; a
forehead high, though narrow; and a mouth from which the smile was
never absent,--these, joined to a manner at once soft and confident,
and an elegant though unaffected study of dress, gave to Crauford a
personal appearance well suited to aid the effect of his hypocritical
and dissembling mind.
"Well, my friend," said he, "always at your books, eh? Ah! it is a
happy taste; would that I had cultivated it more; but we who are
condemned to business have little leisure to follow our own
inclinations. It is only on Sundays that I have time to read; and
then (to say truth) I am an old-fashioned man, whom the gayer part of
the world laughs at, and then I am too occupied with the Book of Books
to think of any less important study."
Not deeming that a peculiar reply was required to this pious speech,
Glendower did not take that advantage of Crauford's pause which it was
evidently intended that he should. With a glance towards the
student's wife, our mercantile friend continued: "I did once--once in
my young dreams--intend that whenever I married I would relinquish a
profession for which, after all, I am but little calculated. I
pictured to myself a country retreat, well stored with books; and
having concentrated in one home all the attractions which would have
tempted my thoughts abroad, I had designed to surrender myself solely
to those studies which, I lament to say, were but ill attended to in
my earlier education. But--but" (here Mr. Crauford sighed deeply, and
averted his face) "fate willed it otherwise!"
Whatever reply of sympathetic admiration or condolence Glendower might
have made was interrupted by one of those sudden and overpowering
attacks of faintness which had of late seized the delicate and
declining health of his wife. He rose, and leaned over her with a
fondness and alarm which curled the lip of his visitor.
"Thus it is," said Crauford to himself, "with weak minds, under the
influence of habit. The love of lust becomes the love of custom, and
the last is as strong as the first."
When--she had recovered, she rose, and (with her child) retired to
rest, the only restorative she ever found effectual for her complaint.
Glendower went with her, and, after having seen her eyes, which swam
with tears of gratitude at his love, close in the seeming slumber she
affected in order to release him from his watch, he returned to
Crauford. He found that gentleman leaning against the chimney-piece
with folded arms, and apparently immersed in thought. A very good
opportunity had Glendower's absence afforded to a man whose boast it
was never to lose one. Looking over the papers on the table, he had
seen and possessed himself of the address of the bookseller the
student dealt with. "So much for business, now for philanthropy,"
said Mr. Crauford, in his favorite antithetical phrase, throwing
himself in his attitude against the chimney-piece.
As Glendower entered, Crauford started from his revery, and with a
melancholy air and pensive voice said,--
"Alas, my friend, when I look upon this humble apartment, the weak
health of your unequalled wife, your obscurity, your misfortunes; when
I look upon these, and contrast them with your mind, your talents, and
all that you were born and fitted for, I cannot but feel tempted to
believe with those who imagine the pursuit of virtue a chimera, and
who justify their own worldly policy by the example of all their
kind."
"Virtue," said Glendower, "would indeed be a chimera, did it require
support from those whom you have cited."
"True,--most true," answered Crauford, somewhat disconcerted in
reality, though not in appearance; "and yet, strange as it may seem, I
have known some of those persons very good, admirably good men. They
were extremely moral and religious: they only played the great game
for worldly advantage upon the same terms as the other players; nay,
they never made a move in it without most fervently and sincerely
praying for divine assistance."
"I readily believe you," said Glendower, who always, if possible,
avoided a controversy: "the easiest person to deceive is one's own
self."
"Admirably said," answered Crauford, who thought it nevertheless one
of the most foolish observations he had ever heard, "admirably said!
and yet my heart does grieve bitterly for the trials and distresses it
surveys. One must make excuses for poor human frailty; and one is
often placed in such circumstances as to render it scarcely possible
without the grace of God" (here Crauford lifted up his eyes) "not to
be urged, as it were, into the reasonings and actions of the world."
Not exactly comprehending this observation, and not very closely
attending to it, Glendower merely bowed, as in assent, and Crauford
continued,--
"I remember a remarkable instance of this truth. One of my partner's
clerks had, through misfortune or imprudence, fallen into the greatest
distress. His wife, his children (he had a numerous family), were on
the literal and absolute verge of starvation. Another clerk, taking
advantage of these circumstances, communicated to the distressed man a
plan for defrauding his employer. The poor fellow yielded to the
temptation, and was at last discovered. I spoke to him myself, for I
was interested in his fate, and had always esteemed him. 'What,' said
I, 'was your motive for this fraud?' 'My duty!' answered the man,
fervently; 'my duty! Was I to suffer my wife, my children, to starve
before my face, when I could save them at a little personal risk? No:
my duty forbade it!' and in truth, Glendower, there was something very
plausible in this manner of putting the question."
"You might, in answering it," said Glendower, "have put the point in a
manner equally plausible and more true: was he to commit a great crime
against the millions connected by social order, for the sake of
serving a single family, and that his own?"
"Quite right," answered Crauford: "that was just the point of view in
which I did put it; but the man, who was something of a reasoner,
replied, 'Public law is instituted for public happiness. Now if mine
and my children's happiness is infinitely and immeasurably more served
by this comparatively petty fraud than my employer's is advanced by my
abstaining from, or injured by my committing it, why, the origin of
law itself allows me to do it.' What say you to that, Glendower? It
is something in your Utilitarian, or, as you term it, Epicurean [See
the article on Mr. Moore's "Epicurean" in the "Westminster Review."
Though the strictures on that work are harsh and unjust, yet the part
relating to the real philosophy of Epicurus is one of the most
masterly things in criticism.] principle; is it not?" and Crauford,
shading his eyes, as if from the light, watched narrowly Glendower's
countenance, while he concealed his own.
"Poor fool!" said Glendower; "the man was ignorant of the first lesson
in his moral primer. Did he not know that no rule is to be applied to
a peculiar instance, but extended to its most general bearings? Is it
necessary even to observe that the particular consequence of fraud in
this man might, it is true, be but the ridding his employer of
superfluities, scarcely missed, for the relief of most urgent want in
two or three individuals; but the general consequences of fraud and
treachery would be the disorganization of all society? Do not think,
therefore, that this man was a disciple of my, or of any, system of
morality."
"It is very just, very," said Mr. Crauford, with a benevolent sigh;
"but you will own that want seldom allows great nicety in moral
distinctions, and that when those whom you love most in the world are
starving, you may be pitied, if not forgiven, for losing sight of the
after laws of Nature and recurring to her first ordinance, self-
preservation."
"We should be harsh, indeed," answered Glendower, "if we did not pity;
or, even while the law condemned, if the individual did not forgive."
"So I said, so I said," cried Crauford; "and in interceding for the
poor fellow, whose pardon I am happy to say I procured, I could not
help declaring that, if I were placed in the same circumstances, I am
not sure that my crime would not have been the same."
"No man could feel sure!" said Glendower, dejectedly. Delighted and
surprised with this confession, Crauford continued: "I believe,--I
fear not; thank God, our virtue can never be so tried: but even you,
Glendower, even you, philosopher, moralist as you are,--just, good,
wise, religious,--even you might be tempted, if you saw your angel
wife dying for want of the aid, the very sustenance, necessary to
existence, and your innocent and beautiful daughter stretch her little
hands to you and cry in the accents of famine for bread."
The student made no reply for a few moments, but averted his
countenance, and then in a slow tone said, "Let us drop this subject:
none know their strength till they are tried; self-confidence should
accompany virtue, but not precede it."
A momentary flash broke from the usually calm, cold eye of Richard
Crauford. "He is mine," thought he: "the very name of want abases his
pride: what will the reality do? O human nature, how I know and mock
thee!"
"You are right," said Crauford, aloud; "let us talk of the pamphlet."
And after a short conversation upon indifferent subjects, the visitor
departed. Early the next morning was Mr. Crauford seen on foot,
taking his way to the bookseller whose address he had learnt. The
bookseller was known as a man of a strongly evangelical bias. "We
must insinuate a lie or two," said Crauford, inly, "about Glendower's
principles. He! he! it will be a fine stroke of genius to make the
upright tradesman suffer Glendower to starve out of a principle of
religion. But who would have thought my prey had been so easily
snared? why, if I had proposed the matter last night, I verily think
he would have agreed to it."
Amusing himself with these thoughts, Crauford arrived at the
bookseller's. There he found Fate had saved him from one crime at
least. The whole house was in confusion: the bookseller had that
morning died of an apoplectic fit.
"Good God! how shocking!" said Crauford to the foreman; but he was a
most worthy man, and Providence could no longer spare him. The ways
of Heaven are inscrutable! Oblige me with three copies of that
precious tract termed the 'Divine Call.' I should like to be allowed
permission to attend the funeral of so excellent a man. Good morning,
sir. Alas! alas!" and, shaking his head piteously, Mr. Crauford left
the shop.
"Hurra!" said he, almost audibly, when he was once more in the street,
"hurra! my victim is made; my game is won: death or the devil fights
for me. But, hold: there are other booksellers in this monstrous
city!--ay, but not above two or three in our philosopher's way. I
must forestall him there,--so, so,--that is soon settled. Now, then,
I must leave him a little while, undisturbed, to his fate. Perhaps my
next visit may be to him in jail: your debtor's side of the Fleet is
almost as good a pleader as an empty stomach,--he! he! He!--but the
stroke must be made soon, for time presses, and this d--d business
spreads so fast that if I don't have a speedy help, it will be too
much for my hands, griping as they are. However, if it holds on a
year longer, I will change my seat in the Lower House for one in the
Upper; twenty thousand pounds to the minister may make a merchant a
very pretty peer. O brave Richard Crauford, wise Richard Crauford,
fortunate Richard Crauford, noble Richard Crauford! Why, if thou art
ever hanged, it will be by a jury of peers. 'Gad, the rope would then
have a dignity in it, instead of disgrace. But stay, here comes the
Dean of ----; not orthodox, it is said,--rigid Calvinist! out with the
'Divine Call'!"
When Mr. Richard Crauford repaired next to Glendower, what was his
astonishment and dismay at hearing he had left his home, none knew
whither nor could give the inquirer the slightest clew.
"How long has he left?" said Crauford to the landlady.
"Five days, sir."
"And will he not return to settle any little debts he may have
incurred?" said Crauford.
"Oh, no, sir: he paid them all before he went. Poor gentleman,--for
though he was poor, he was the finest and most thorough gentleman I
ever saw!--my heart bled for him. They parted with all their
valuables to discharge their debts: the books and instruments and
busts,--all went; and what I saw, though he spoke so indifferently
about it, hurt him the most,--he sold even the lady's picture. 'Mrs.
Croftson,' said he, 'Mr. ----, the painter, will send for that picture
the day after I leave you. See that he has it, and that the greatest
care is taken of it in delivery.'"
"And you cannot even guess where he has gone to?"
"No, sir; a single porter was sufficient to convey his remaining
goods, and he took him from some distant part of the town."
"Ten thousand devils!" muttered Crauford, as he turned away; "I should
have foreseen this! He is lost now. Of course he will again change
his name; and in the d--d holes and corners of this gigantic puzzle of
houses, how shall I ever find him out? and time presses too! Well,
well, well! there is a fine prize for being cleverer, or, as fools
would say, more rascally than others; but there is a world of trouble
in winning it. But come; I will go home, lock myself up, and get
drunk! I am as melancholy as a cat in love, and about as stupid; and,
faith, one must get spirits in order to hit on a new invention. But
if there be consistency in fortune, or success in perseverance, or wit
in Richard Crauford, that man shall yet be my victim--and preserver!"