There is a beautiful and singular passage in Dante, (which has not
perhaps attracted the attention it deserves,) wherein the stern
Florentine defends Fortune from the popular accusations against her.
According to him, she is an angelic power appointed by the Supreme
Being to direct and order the course of human splendours; she obeys the
will of God; she is blessed, and, hearing not those who blaspheme her,
calm and aloft amongst the other angelic powers, revolves her spheral
course, and rejoices in her beatitude.[3]
[3] Dante here evidently associates Fortune with the planetary
influences of judicial astrology. It is doubtful whether Schiller ever
read Dante, but in one of his most thoughtful poems, he undertakes the
same defence of Fortune, making the Fortunate a part of the Beautiful.
This is a conception very different from the popular notion which
Aristophanes, in his true instinct of things popular, expresses by the
sullen lips of his Plutus. That deity accounts for his blindness by
saying, that "when a boy he had indiscreetly promised to visit only
the good," and Jupiter was so envious of the good that he blinded the
poor money-god. Whereon Chremylus asks him, whether, "if he recovered
his sight, he would frequent the company of the good?" "Certainly,"
quoth Plutus, "for I have not seen them ever so long." "Nor I either,"
rejoins Chremylus pithily, "for all I can see out of both eyes!"
But that misanthropical answer of Chremylus is neither here nor there,
and only diverts us from the real question, and that is, "Whether
Fortune be a heavenly, Christian angel, or a blind, blundering, old
heathen deity?" For my part, I hold with Dante--for which, if I were
so pleased, or if, at this period of my memoirs, I had half a dozen
pages to spare, I could give many good reasons. One thing, however, is
quite clear--that, whether Fortune be more like Plutus or an angel, it
is no use abusing her--one may as well throw stones at a star. And I
think if one looked narrowly at her operations, one might perceive that
she gives every man a chance, at least once in his life; if he take
and make the best of it, she will renew her visits; if not--_itur ad
astra_! And therewith I am reminded of an incident quaintly narrated by
Mariana in his "History of Spain," how the army of the Spanish kings
got out of a sad hobble among the mountains at the pass of Losa, by
the help of a shepherd, who showed them the way. "But," saith Mariana,
parenthetically, "some do say the shepherd was an angel; for after he
had shown the way, he was never seen more." That is, the angelic nature
of the guide was proved by being only once seen, and disappearing after
having got the army out of the hobble, leaving it to fight or run away,
as it had most mind to. Now I look upon that shepherd, or angel, as a
very good type of my fortune at least. The apparition showed me my way
in the rocks to the great "Battle of Life;" after that,--hold fast and
strike hard!
Behold me in London with Uncle Roland. My poor parents naturally wished
to accompany me, and take the last glimpse of the adventurer on board
ship; but I, knowing that the parting would seem less dreadful to them
by the hearthstone, and while they could say, "He is with Roland--he
is not yet gone from the land"--insisted on their staying behind; and
so the farewell was spoken. But Roland, the old soldier, had so many
practical instructions to give--could so help me in the choice of the
outfit, and the preparations for the voyage, that I could not refuse
his companionship to the last. Guy Bolding, who had gone to take leave
of his father, was to join me in town, as well as my humbler Cumberland
colleagues.
As my uncle and I were both of one mind upon the question of economy,
we took up our quarters at a lodging-house in the City; and there it
was that I first made acquaintance with a part of London, of which few
of my politer readers even pretend to be cognisant. I do not mean any
sneer at the City itself, my dear alderman; that jest is worn out. I am
not alluding to streets, courts, and lanes; what I mean may be seen at
the west end, not so well as at the east, but still seen very fairly; I
mean--THE HOUSE-TOPS!