The above is introduced here in order to illustrate the usual effect
of an anecdote on conversation. Commonly it kills it. That talk must be
very well in hand, and under great headway, that an anecdote thrown in
front of will not pitch off the track and wreck. And it makes little
difference what the anecdote is; a poor one depresses the spirits,
and casts a gloom over the company; a good one begets others, and the
talkers go to telling stories; which is very good entertainment in
moderation, but is not to be mistaken for that unwearying flow of
argument, quaint remark, humorous color, and sprightly interchange of
sentiments and opinions, called conversation.
The reader will perceive that all hope is gone here of deciding whether
Herbert could have written Tennyson's poems, or whether Tennyson could
have dug as much money out of the Heliogabalus Lode as Herbert did. The
more one sees of life, I think the impression deepens that men, after
all, play about the parts assigned them, according to their mental and
moral gifts, which are limited and preordained, and that their entrances
and exits are governed by a law no less certain because it is hidden.
Perhaps nobody ever accomplishes all that he feels lies in him to do;
but nearly every one who tries his powers touches the walls of his being
occasionally, and learns about how far to attempt to spring. There are
no impossibilities to youth and inexperience; but when a person has
tried several times to reach high C and been coughed down, he is quite
content to go down among the chorus. It is only the fools who keep
straining at high C all their lives.
Mandeville here began to say that that reminded him of something that
happened when he was on the--
But Herbert cut in with the observation that no matter what a man's
single and several capacities and talents might be, he is controlled by
his own mysterious individuality, which is what metaphysicians call the
substance, all else being the mere accidents of the man. And this is the
reason that we cannot with any certainty tell what any person will do or
amount to, for, while we know his talents and abilities, we do not know
the resulting whole, which is he himself. THE FIRE-TENDER. So if you
could take all the first-class qualities that we admire in men and
women, and put them together into one being, you wouldn't be sure of the
result?
HERBERT. Certainly not. You would probably have a monster. It takes a
cook of long experience, with the best materials, to make a dish "taste
good;" and the "taste good" is the indefinable essence, the resulting
balance or harmony which makes man or woman agreeable or beautiful or
effective in the world.
THE YOUNG LADY. That must be the reason why novelists fail so lamentably
in almost all cases in creating good characters. They put in real
traits, talents, dispositions, but the result of the synthesis is
something that never was seen on earth before.
THE FIRE-TENDER. Oh, a good character in fiction is an inspiration.
We admit this in poetry. It is as true of such creations as Colonel
Newcome, and Ethel, and Beatrix Esmond. There is no patchwork about
them.
THE YOUNG LADY. Why was n't Thackeray ever inspired to create a noble
woman?
THE FIRE-TENDER. That is the standing conundrum with all the women. They
will not accept Ethel Newcome even. Perhaps we shall have to admit that
Thackeray was a writer for men.
HERBERT. Scott and the rest had drawn so many perfect women that
Thackeray thought it was time for a real one.
THE MISTRESS. That's ill-natured. Thackeray did, however, make ladies.
If he had depicted, with his searching pen, any of us just as we are, I
doubt if we should have liked it much.
MANDEVILLE. That's just it. Thackeray never pretended to make ideals,
and if the best novel is an idealization of human nature, then he was
not the best novelist. When I was crossing the Channel--
THE MISTRESS. Oh dear, if we are to go to sea again, Mandeville, I move
we have in the nuts and apples, and talk about our friends.