THE STORY OF IMLAC (_continued_).
“I AM not willing,” said the Prince, “to suppose that happiness is so
parsimoniously distributed to mortals, nor can I believe but that, if I
had the choice of life, I should be able to fill every day with pleasure.
I would injure no man, and should provoke no resentments; I would relieve
every distress, and should enjoy the benedictions of gratitude. I would
choose my friends among the wise and my wife among the virtuous, and
therefore should be in no danger from treachery or unkindness. My
children should by my care be learned and pious, and would repay to my
age what their childhood had received. What would dare to molest him who
might call on every side to thousands enriched by his bounty or assisted
by his power? And why should not life glide away in the soft
reciprocation of protection and reverence? All this may be done without
the help of European refinements, which appear by their effects to be
rather specious than useful. Let us leave them and pursue our journey.”
“From Palestine,” said Imlac, “I passed through many regions of Asia; in
the more civilised kingdoms as a trader, and among the barbarians of the
mountains as a pilgrim. At last I began to long for my native country,
that I might repose after my travels and fatigues in the places where I
had spent my earliest years, and gladden my old companions with the
recital of my adventures. Often did I figure to myself those with whom I
had sported away the gay hours of dawning life, sitting round me in its
evening, wondering at my tales and listening to my counsels.
“When this thought had taken possession of my mind, I considered every
moment as wasted which did not bring me nearer to Abyssinia. I hastened
into Egypt, and, notwithstanding my impatience, was detained ten months
in the contemplation of its ancient magnificence and in inquiries after
the remains of its ancient learning. I found in Cairo a mixture of all
nations: some brought thither by the love of knowledge, some by the hope
of gain; many by the desire of living after their own manner without
observation, and of lying hid in the obscurity of multitudes; for in a
city populous as Cairo it is possible to obtain at the same time the
gratifications of society and the secrecy of solitude.
“From Cairo I travelled to Suez, and embarked on the Red Sea, passing
along the coast till I arrived at the port from which I had departed
twenty years before. Here I joined myself to a caravan, and re-entered
my native country.
“I now expected the caresses of my kinsmen and the congratulations of my
friends, and was not without hope that my father, whatever value he had
set upon riches, would own with gladness and pride a son who was able to
add to the felicity and honour of the nation. But I was soon convinced
that my thoughts were vain. My father had been dead fourteen years,
having divided his wealth among my brothers, who were removed to some
other provinces. Of my companions, the greater part was in the grave; of
the rest, some could with difficulty remember me, and some considered me
as one corrupted by foreign manners.
“A man used to vicissitudes is not easily dejected. I forgot, after a
time, my disappointment, and endeavoured to recommend myself to the
nobles of the kingdom; they admitted me to their tables, heard my story,
and dismissed me. I opened a school, and was prohibited to teach. I
then resolved to sit down in the quiet of domestic life, and addressed a
lady that was fond of my conversation, but rejected my suit because my
father was a merchant.
“Wearied at last with solicitation and repulses, I resolved to hide
myself for ever from the world, and depend no longer on the opinion or
caprice of others. I waited for the time when the gate of the Happy
Valley should open, that I might bid farewell to hope and fear; the day
came, my performance was distinguished with favour, and I resigned myself
with joy to perpetual confinement.”
“Hast thou here found happiness at last?” said Rasselas. “Tell me,
without reserve, art thou content with thy condition, or dost thou wish
to be again wandering and inquiring? All the inhabitants of this valley
celebrate their lot, and at the annual visit of the Emperor invite others
to partake of their felicity.”
“Great Prince,” said Imlac, “I shall speak the truth. I know not one of
all your attendants who does not lament the hour when he entered this
retreat. I am less unhappy than the rest, because I have a mind replete
with images, which I can vary and combine at pleasure. I can amuse my
solitude by the renovation of the knowledge which begins to fade from my
memory, and by recollection of the accidents of my past life. Yet all
this ends in the sorrowful consideration that my acquirements are now
useless, and that none of my pleasures can be again enjoyed. The rest,
whose minds have no impression but of the present moment, are either
corroded by malignant passions or sit stupid in the gloom of perpetual
vacancy.”
“What passions can infest those,” said the Prince, “who have no rivals?
We are in a place where impotence precludes malice, and where all envy is
repressed by community of enjoyments.”
“There may be community,” said Imlac, “of material possessions, but there
can never be community of love or of esteem. It must happen that one
will please more than another; he that knows himself despised will always
be envious, and still more envious and malevolent if he is condemned to
live in the presence of those who despise him. The invitations by which
they allure others to a state which they feel to be wretched, proceed
from the natural malignity of hopeless misery. They are weary of
themselves and of each other, and expect to find relief in new
companions. They envy the liberty which their folly has forfeited, and
would gladly see all mankind imprisoned like themselves.
“From this crime, however, I am wholly free. No man can say that he is
wretched by my persuasion. I look with pity on the crowds who are
annually soliciting admission to captivity, and wish that it were lawful
for me to warn them of their danger.”
“My dear Imlac,” said the Prince, “I will open to thee my whole heart. I
have long meditated an escape from the Happy Valley. I have examined the
mountain on every side, but find myself insuperably barred—teach me the
way to break my prison; thou shalt be the companion of my flight, the
guide of my rambles, the partner of my fortune, and my sole director in
the _choice of life_.
“Sir,” answered the poet, “your escape will be difficult, and perhaps you
may soon repent your curiosity. The world, which you figure to yourself
smooth and quiet as the lake in the valley, you will find a sea foaming
with tempests and boiling with whirlpools; you will be sometimes
overwhelmed by the waves of violence, and sometimes dashed against the
rocks of treachery. Amidst wrongs and frauds, competitions and
anxieties, you will wish a thousand times for these seats of quiet, and
willingly quit hope to be free from fear.”
“Do not seek to deter me from my purpose,” said the Prince. “I am
impatient to see what thou hast seen; and since thou art thyself weary of
the valley, it is evident that thy former state was better than this.
Whatever be the consequence of my experiment, I am resolved to judge with
mine own eyes of the various conditions of men, and then to make
deliberately my _choice of life_.”
“I am afraid,” said Imlac, “you are hindered by stronger restraints than
my persuasions; yet, if your determination is fixed, I do not counsel you
to despair. Few things are impossible to diligence and skill.”