PAST GREATNESS.
They went to Rome.
Dolly had little comfort from her conversation with her father. She
turned over in her mind his offer to quit wine if St. Leger would do
the same. St. Leger would not give any such pledge, Dolly was very
clearly aware; except, indeed, she paid him for it with another pledge
on her part. With such a bribe she believed he would do it, or anything
else that might be asked of him. Smooth and quiet as the young
gentleman was outwardly, he had a power of self-will; as was shown by
his persistence in following her. Dolly was obliged to confess that his
passion was true and strong. If she would have him, no doubt, at least
she believed there was no doubt, Lawrence would agree to be
unfashionable and drink no more wine to the day of his death for her
sake. If he agreed to that, her father would agree to it; both of them
would be saved from that danger. Dolly pondered. Ought she to pay the
price? Should she sacrifice herself, and be the wife of a rich banker,
and therewith keep her father and all of them from ruin? Very soberly
Dolly turned the whole thing over in her mind; back and forward; and
always she was certain on one point,--that she did not want to be
Lawrence's wife; and to her simple, childlike perceptions another thing
also seemed clear; that it is a bad way to escape one wrong by doing
another. She always brought up with that. And so, she could not venture
and did not venture to attack Lawrence on the wine question. She knew
it would be in vain.
Meanwhile, they were in Rome. Two of the gentlemen being skilled
travellers, they had presently secured a very tolerable apartment; not
in the best situation, indeed, but so neither was it of the most
expensive sort; and clubbing their resources, were arranged comfortably
enough to feel quite at home. And immediately Dolly began to use her
advantage and see Rome. Mrs. Copley had no curiosity to see anything;
all her wish was to sit at her window or by her fire and talk to her
husband; and as Mr. Copley shared her lack of enterprise and something
withheld him from seeking either gambling or drinking-shops, Dolly
could go out with an easy mind, and give herself undividedly to the
intense enjoyment of the place and the time. Yes, undividedly; for she
was eighteen, and at eighteen one has a power of, for a time, throwing
off trouble. Trouble was on her, she knew; and, nevertheless, when
Dolly found herself in the streets of Rome, or in presence of its
wonders of art or marvels of antiquity, she and trouble parted company.
She forgot all but the present; or even if she did not forget, she
disregarded. Her spirit took a momentary leap above all that ordinarily
held it down, and revelled, and rejoiced, and expanded, and rose into a
region of pure exquisite life. Rupert, who always accompanied her, was
rather opening the eyes of his mind, and opening them very wide indeed,
and as is the case with eyes newly opened, not seeing very clearly; yet
taking great pleasure in what he did see. St. Leger, her other
companion, had a certain delight in seeing Dolly's enjoyment; for
himself, alas! it was too plain that art said little to him, and
antiquity nothing.
One afternoon, when they had been perhaps a week in Rome, Dolly
declared her intention of taking Rupert to the Museo Capitolino.
"You were there the day before yesterday," St. Leger remarked, rousing
himself from a comfortable position and a magazine.
"Yes, thank you; and now I am going to do for Mr. Babbage what you did
for me; introduce him to a scene of delights. You know, one should
always pass on a good thing that one has received."
"Don't you want me?"
"No, indeed! I wouldn't bore you to that extent."
"But you will allow me, for my own pleasure," said Lawrence, getting up.
"No, I will not. You have done your part, as far as that museum is
concerned; and besides, I have heard that a lady must not dance too
many dances with one gentleman. It is Mr. Babbage's turn."
And with a merry little nod of her head, and smile at the irresolute
St. Leger, Dolly went off. Rupert was generally of the party when they
went sight-seeing, but it had happened that it was not the case when
the visit to the Capitoline Museum had been made.
"You are not going to this place for my sake?" Rupert said as Dolly
hurried along.
"For your sake, and for my sake," she answered. "I was there for about
two minutes, and I should like two days. O Rome, Rome! I _never_ saw
anything like Rome."
"Why?" said Rupert. "It hasn't got hold of me so."
"Wait, and it will. I seem to be touching the history of the world
here, till I don't know whereabouts in the ages I am. Is this the
nineteenth century?--Here we are."
Half an hour later, the two found themselves in the Hall of the
Emperors.
"Do you know Roman history, Rupert?"
"A little. Not much. Not far down, you see. I know about Romulus and
Remus."
"Then you know more than anybody else knows. That's a myth. Look here.
Let us begin at the beginning. Do you know this personage?"
"Julius Caesar? Yes. I have read about him."
"Did you ever read Plutarch's Lives? They used to be my delight when I
was a little girl. I was very fond of Julius Caesar then. I know better
now. But I am glad to see him."
"Why, wasn't he a great man?"
"Very. So the world says. I have come to perceive, Rupert, that that
don't mean much."
"Why not? I thought the world was apt to be right."
"In some things. No doubt this man _might_ have been a very great man;
he had power; but what good did he do to the world? He just worked for
himself. I tell you what the Bible says, Rupert; 'The things which are
highly esteemed among men, are abomination in the sight of God.' Look,
and you will see it is so."
"If you go by _that_---- Who is this next man? Augustus. He was the
first Roman emperor, wasn't he?"
"And all around here are ranged his successors. What a set they were!
and they look like it."
"How do you know they are likenesses?"
"Know from coins. Do you know, almost all these men, the emperors, died
a violent death? Murdered, or else they killed themselves. That speaks,
don't it, for the beauty and beneficence of their reigns, and the
loveliness of their characters?"
"I don't know them very well. Some of them were good men, weren't they?"
"See here, Nos. 11 and 12. Here are Caligula and Claudius. Caligula was
murdered. Then Claudius was poisoned by his wife Agrippina; there she
is, No. 14. She was killed by her son Nero; and Nero killed himself;
and No. 13, there is another wife of Claudius whom he killed before he
married Agrippina; and here, No. 17, was a wife of Nero whom he killed
by a kick. And that is the way, my dear Rupert, they went on. Don't you
wish you had belonged to the Imperial family? There's greatness for
you!"
"But there were some really great ones, weren't there? Which are they?"
"Well, let us see. Come on. Here is Trajan. He was not a brute; he was
a philosopher and a sceptic. He was quite a distinguished man in the
arts of war and peace. But he ordered that the profession of
Christianity should be punished with death. He legalised all succeeding
persecutions, by his calm enactments. Do you think he was a great man
in the sight of God?"
"Were the Christians persecuted in his reign?"
"Certainly. In Asia Minor, under the good governor Pliny. Simon the son
of Cleophas was crucified at that time."
"Perhaps Trajan did not know any better."
"He might have known better, though. Ignorance is no plea that will
stand, when people have the means of knowledge. But come on. Here is
Marcus Aurelius; here, Rupert, Nos. 37 and 38. He was what the world
calls a very great man. He was cultivated, and wise, and strong, a
great governor, and for a heathen a good man; and how he treated the
Christians! East and west, and at Rome here itself, how they were
sought out and tortured and killed! What do you think the Lord thinks
of such a great man as that? Remember the Bible says of His people, 'He
that toucheth you, toucheth the apple of His eye.' What do you think
the Lord thought of Marcus Aurelius' greatness? Look here, Rupert--here
is Decius, and here is Diocletian."
"Were they persecutors too?"
"Great. It is so strange to look at their faces here, in this museum,
after so many centuries. I suppose they will stand here, maybe, till
the end of the world. Come away--we have been so long in this gallery
we have not left time enough for the other rooms."
They went to the Hall of the Gladiator; and there Dolly studied the
figure which gives name to the place, with a kind of rapt intensity.
She described to her companion the meaning of the marble; but it was
not the same thing to them both. Dolly was lost in delighted
contemplation. Rupert looked on with a kind of incredulous scorn.
"You don't care for it?" she said suddenly, catching a sight of his
face.
"What's it good for?" said Rupert. "This ain't a likeness of anybody,
is it?"
"It is a likeness of a great many people. Hundreds and hundreds died in
such fashion as that, for the pleasure of the Roman people."
"Well, would it have been any satisfaction to you to see it?"
"Why, no! I hope not."
"Then why do you like to see it here now?"
"I don't! this is not reality, but an image."
"I can't see why you should like to look at the image, when you
couldn't bear the reality."
"Why, Rupert"---- Dolly began, but her further words were cut off.
"Met again!" said a soft voice. "You here! we did not know you would be
in Rome so soon."
"Dolly!" exclaimed Christina, who followed her mother. "That's
delightful. Dolly Copley in Rome! and in the Museo Capitolino. Who is
with you?"
"We are all here," said Dolly, smiling.
"Yes, yes, in Rome, of course; but you are not in the museum alone?"
Dolly presented Mr. Babbage.
"And how is your mother?" Mrs. Thayer went on. "Better! I am so glad. I
thought she would be better in Italy. And what have you done with your
handsome _cavaliero servente_--Mr. St. Leger?"
"I left him at home with a magazine, in which I _think_ there was a
story," said Dolly.
"Impossible! his gallantry allowed you to come alone?"
"Not his gallantry, but perhaps his sense of weakness," Dolly answered.
"Of weakness, my dear? Is he a weak young man? He does not look it."
"Very good muscular power, I daresay; but when we talk of power of
will, you know 'weakness' is relative. I forbade him, and he did not
dare to come."
"You forbade him! and he obeyed? But, Christina, I do not think you
have Mr. Shubrick in such training as that. Would he obey, if you gave
him orders?"
"Probably the relations are different," said Dolly, obliging herself to
keep a grave face. "I am in a happy independence of Mr. St. Leger which
allows me to command him."
"Independence!" said Mrs. Thayer, with an air half curious, half
confounded, which was a severe trial to Dolly's risible muscles. "I
know young ladies are very independent in these days--I don't know
whether it is a change for the better or not--but I do not think
Christina would boast of her independence of _her_ knight-errant."
"No," said Dolly. "The cases are different--as I said. Mr. St. Leger
does not stand in that particular relation to me."
"Doesn't he? But, my dear, I hope you haven't quarrelled?"
"Not at all," said Dolly. "We do not like each other well enough to
quarrel."
"But he struck me as a most delightful young man."
"I believe he generally makes that impression."
"I used to know his father," said Mrs. Thayer. "He was a sad flirt. I
know, you see, my dear, because I was one myself. I am glad Christina
does not take after me. But I used to think it was great fun. Is Mr.
St. Leger anything of a flirt?"
"I have had no opportunity of knowing, ma'am," said Dolly gravely.
"Well, you will bring him to see us? You are all coming to make us a
visit at our villa, at Sorrento; and Mr. Shubrick is coming; Christina
wants to show him to you; you know a girl is always proud of her
conquests; and then we will go everywhere and make you see everything.
You have just no notion how delightful it is at Sorrento in the spring
and summer. It's Paradise!"
"But you are coming first to spend Christmas with me, Dolly," said her
friend, who until now had hardly been able to get in a word. "I have
five thousand things to talk to you about. My sailor friend has
promised to be here too, if he can, and his ship is in the
Mediterranean somewhere, so I guess he can; and I want you to see him.
Come and spend Christmas Eve with me--do! and then we shall have a
chance to talk before he comes. Of course there would be no chance
after," she added with a confident smile.
Dolly was not much in a mood for visiting, and scantly inclined to mix
in the joyous circle which must be breathing so different an atmosphere
from her own. She doubted besides whether she could leave her watch and
ward for so long a time as a night and a day. Yet it was pleasant to
see Christina, and the opportunity to talk over old times was tempting;
and her friend's instances were very urgent. Dolly at last gave a
conditional assent; and they parted; Dolly and Rupert taking the way
home.
"Is that lady a friend of yours?" Rupert enquired.
"The daughter; not the mother."
"The old lady, I meant. She has a mind to know all about us."
"Why?"
"She asked me about five hundred and fifty questions, after she quitted
you."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her what she knew before," said Rupert, chuckling. "Her stock
of knowledge hasn't grown _very_ much, I guess, by all she got out of
me. But she tried."
Dolly was silent. After a short pause, Rupert spoke again in quite
another tone.
"Miss Dolly, you've put me in a sort of a puzzle. You said a little
while ago, or you spoke as if you thought, that all those grand old
Roman emperors were not after all great men. Then, if _they_ were not
great, what's a fellow to try for? If a common fellow does his best, he
will not get to the hundredth or the thousandth part of what those men
did. Yet you say they were not great. What's the use of my trying, for
instance, to do anything, or be anything?"
"What did they do, Rupert?"
"Well, you seem to say, nothing! But don't you come to Rome to admire
what they did?"
"Some of the things they did, or made. But stand still here, Rupert,
and look. Do you see the Rome of the Caesars? You see an arch here and
a theatre there; but the city of those days is buried. It is under our
feet. The great works of art here, those that were done in their day,
were not done by them. Do you think it is any good to one of those old
emperors in the other world--take the best of them--is it any good to
him now that he had some of these splendid buildings erected, or
marbles carved? Or that his armies conquered the world, and his
government held order wherever his arms went? If he is happy in the
presence of God, is it anything to him, now, that we look back and
admire his work?--and if he is unhappy, banished that Presence, is it
anything to him then?"
"Well, what _is_ greatness then?" said Rupert. "What is worth a man's
trying for, if these greatest things are worth nothing?"
"I do not think anything is really great or worth while," said Dolly,
"except those things that God likes."
"You come back to religion," said Rupert. "I did not mean religion.
What are those things?"
"I do not think anything is worth trying for, Rupert, except the things
that will last."
"What things will last?" said he half impatiently.
"Look here," said Dolly. "Step a little this way. Do you see the
Colosseum over yonder? Who do you think will remember, and do remember,
that with most pleasure; Vespasian and Titus who built it, or the
Christians who gave themselves to the lions there for Christ's sake?"
"Yes," said Rupert, "of course; but _that_ isn't the thing. There are
no lions here now."
"There are lions of another sort," said Dolly, standing still and with
her eyes fixed upon the wonderful old pile in the distance. "There is
always work to be done for God, Rupert, and dangers or difficulties to
be faced; and to the people who face _any_ lions for His sake, there is
a promise of praise and honour and blessing that will last for ever."
"Then you would make all a man's work to be work for God?" said Rupert,
not satisfied with this view of the question. "What is to become of all
the rest of the things that are to be done in the world?"
"There ought not to be anything else done in the world," said Dolly,
laughing, as she turned and began to walk on again. "It ought all to be
done for Him. Merchants ought to make money for His service; and
lawyers ought to strive to bring God's order between man and man, and
justice to every one, and that never wrong should be done or oppression
exercised by anybody. 'Break every yoke, and let the oppressed go
free.' And soldiers ought to fight for no other reason but to protect
weaker people from violence and wrong. And so on of everything else.
And, Rupert, God has promised a city, of His own preparing, for His
people; it will be a place of delights; and I am thinking of that
word,--'Blessed are they that do His commandments; that they may have a
right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gates into the
city.' I don't believe anybody that is left outside will think much of
what we call greatness in that day."
"Why, the world wouldn't be the world, at that rate," cried Rupert.
"Think it wouldn't be altered for the better?"
"But a few people can't make it like that."
"Suppose they make only a very little piece of it like that?--But then
comes the end, Rupert, and the King's 'Well done!'"
"Then you wouldn't have a man make as much as he can of himself," said
Rupert after a dissatisfied pause.
"Certainly I would."
"What use?"
"Oh, to be a better servant to his Master, the best he possibly can;
and to do more work for Him; the most he can do."
"It seems to me, Miss Dolly, if you are right, pretty much all the rest
of the world are wrong."
"Yes, Rupert; don't you remember the Bible says that the wrong way is
the broad way, where almost all the people go?"
Rupert's meditations this time held him till they got home.
The days that intervened before Christmas were filled full with
delightful business. Dolly had her anxieties, it is true; but she was
in Rome. What could stand against the witchery of the enchantress city?
Anxieties fell into the background; and with all the healthy, elastic
spring of her young years Dolly gave herself to the Present and the
Past, and rejoiced, hour by hour and step by step, in what the Present
and the Past opened up to her. True, her father and mother hardly
shared in her pleasure; Mr. Copley's taste was blunted, I fear, for all
noble enjoyment; and Mrs. Copley cared mainly to be comfortable in her
home quarters, and to go out now and then where the motley world of
fashion and of sight-seeing did most congregate. Especially she liked
to go to the Pincian Hill Sunday afternoon, and watch the indescribable
concourse of people of all nationalities which is there to be seen at
that time. But there Dolly would not go.
"It is very absurd of you, Dolly!" cried her mother, greatly
disappointed; for she had a pride in seeing the universal attention
which was drawn to Dolly in every public place. "What harm should there
be in looking at the beautiful view and hearing music? we are not going
to _do_ anything."
"It's the Lord's day, mother," said Dolly, looking up at her
sorrowfully.
"You went to church this morning all right," her mother said. "There is
no church for you to go to at this time of day, that I know of; and if
there were, I should think it very ridiculous to go again. If you want
to think, you could think about good things, I should hope, on the
Pincian. What is there to hinder you?"
"Only everything I should see and hear, mother."
"Hinder you from thinking about good things!"
"Hinder me from thinking about anything," said Dolly, laughing a little.
"Seriously, Miss Dolly," said Lawrence, who stood by, hat in hand,
ready to go; the Pincian Hill Sunday evening was something he quite
approved of;--"seriously, do you think there is anything _wrong_ in
sitting up there for an hour or two, and seeing the beautiful sunset
colours, and hearing the music?"
"She's a little Puritan," said her father; "and the Puritans were
always an obstinate set, Lawrence; always, and in every nation and
people. I wonder why the two things should go together."
"What two things, father?"
"What you call Puritanism and obstinacy."
"I suppose because those you call Puritans love the truth," said Dolly;
"and so hold to it."
"And do you not think other people, who are not Puritans, also love the
truth, Miss Dolly?" Lawrence asked.
"I don't think anybody loves the truth he disobeys," Dolly said with a
gentle shake of her head.
"There!" said her mother. "There's Dolly all over. She is right, and
nobody else is right. I wonder what she supposes is to become of all
the rest of the world! Everybody in Rome will be on the Pincian
to-night except Dolly Copley. And every other mother but me will have
her daughter with her."
In answer to which Dolly kissed her, pulled the strings of her bonnet
into a prettier bow, and looked at her with sweet, shining eyes, which
said as plainly as possible without words that Mrs. Copley knew better.
The party went off, nevertheless; and Lawrence, lingering till the
others had turned their backs, held out his hand to Dolly.
"Will you tell me," said he, "as a favour, what you think is the harm
of what we are doing?"
"You are just robbing the King of heaven and earth," Dolly answered
gravely.
"Robbing! Of what?"
"Of time which He says is His, and of honour which He says ought to be
His."
"How?"
"'The seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God.'"
"This is not the seventh; it is the first."
"Quibbling, Mr. St. Leger. It is not the seventh from Monday, but it
_is_ the seventh from Sunday; it is the one day set apart from the
seven."
"And what ought we to do with it? Sabbath means _rest_, does it not?
What are we going to do but rest up there on the Pincian? only rest
most delightfully. You will not rest so here."
"I suppose your bodies will rest," said Dolly. "Your minds will have
most uncommon powers of abstraction if they do."
"But you are putting yourself out of the world, Dolly."
"I mean it," said she with a little nod at him. "The Lord's people are
not of the world, Mr. St. Leger; and the world does not like their
ways. Never did."
"I wonder if all Puritans are as quaint as you," said he, kissing the
hand he held. But then he went off to the Pincian.
And there, surely, was a most wonderful, rich, and varied scene; a
concourse of people of all characters and nationalities--except the
small party in the world which Dolly represented; a kaleidoscope view
of figures and costumes, classes and callings, most picturesque, most
diversified, most changeful. There were the Thayers, amongst others;
and as they joined company with the Copley party, of course Mrs.
Copley's pleasure was greatly increased; for in a crowd it is always
pleasant to know somebody. Mr. Copley knew several people. Mrs. Thayer
had leisure to tell and ask whatever she had a mind with Mrs. Copley,
and to improve her acquaintance with Mr. St. Leger; who on his part
managed to get some conversation with the beautiful Christina. It was a
distinction to be talking to such a beauty, and he felt it so; and
Christina on her part was not insensible to the fact that the young man
was himself very handsome, and unexceptionably well dressed, and the
heir to many thousands; therefore a person of importance. The time on
the Pincian Hill that evening was very pleasantly spent; and so Mrs.
Copley told her daughter on their return.
"Mrs. Thayer said she was very sorry not to see you," Mrs. Copley added.
"I am much obliged to her."
"You are not obliged to her at all, for she didn't mean it. That's what
you get by staying behind."
"What?" said Dolly, dimpling up.
"That woman had it all her own way; talked to Mr. St. Leger, and let
him talk to her daughter. You see, Dolly, Christina is very handsome
when you are not by."
"Mother, she is at any time. She's beautiful. You must not set me up in
comparison with her."
"Well, she's engaged," said Mrs. Copley. "I wish you were. You let
everything hang by the eyelids, Dolly; and some fine morning what you
look for won't be there."