Sections: General Index Present Section: Index Present Work: Index Previous: Chapter 19 Next: Chapter 21
CHAPTER 20.
JAMES MAYNARD was one in whom, throughout his youth, the supremacy of the intellect had ever been undisturbed by any intrusion of the affections. Love attacks most men early, and recurs with gradually increasing intensity, until some special assault succeeds in establishing its sway and dominating the remainder of their lives. He had grown up ignorant even of the ordinary ties of domestic affection, and had passed through his school and college days without contracting any friendships of sufficient strength to influence his career. For Woman he had a kind of general admiration, and held that men sought her society because the difference of their natures enabled her to give her sympathy unmingled with any sentiment of rivalry; whereas men could scarcely help feeling a degree of envy of each other’s achievements. But as for falling in love, he thought that if ever he should do that it would be with a steam-engine, .a description of being for which he entertained the highest admiration, regarding it as the most beautiful and charming creature in the world, inasmuch as it combined the greatest amount of power with the highest degree of docility. For, as he used to discourse to the knot of college friends, who delighted to gather in his curiously decorated rooms, and listen to his descriptions of his wanderings: –
(p. 99)
‘It is all very well to say that men and women are what they are made by each other. This kind of action and re-action has been going on ever since the world began, and mankind has made but little progress under it. But see what the action and re-action of man and the steam-engine is doing for us! I don’t men as to manufactures and the conveniences of life merely. It is as the locomotive that steam is the greatest revolutioniser. The world of the future, the new heaven and new earth, dates from a twofold parent, not man and woman, but man and steam. The ideas engendered of these are the faith and science of the future. So nourished and so reared, human sympathies will grow with human knowledge, the human heart with the human head, until all exclusive sympathy of cloister or hearth alike vanish in a universal many-sidedness; and the whole past be melted and fused together, and recast in a fresh mould for the future service of mankind! But the period before the first day will, as of old, seem but a chaos to those who come after. Perhaps to many of the dwellers therein who fail to discern the signs of their times.’
Now, when love did at length overtake Maynard, it took complete possession of him, and diffused itself throughout his whole being, compelling him, after the agonies of his first struggle, to regard everything from a new point of view. It affected his science, his faith, and his practice, and forced him to bend his whole powers eagerly towards attaining its fulfilment. No misgiving as to mutuality of fitness troubled him for a moment; for his love was a furnace in which all angularities would be dissolved, all differences combined. It was a triumph to him to find himself able to bend his intellect once more to his work, and to be aided therein by the newly-born pope of a happy issue. A vast improvement this, he now deemed it, on the desultory, abstract, impersonal aims of his previous existence.
Arrived at the scene of his labours, he hired a small lodging, and set himself to work at his various tasks. The mornings, ‘from a very early hour, were devoted to the matters connected with his coming expedition. The afternoons and evenings to measurements and calculations, topographical and astronomical, at Stonehenge. The brisk seven miles’ walk to and from Salisbury, the return home being often deferred until night and fie stars were over all, did something towards resting and renovating the scholar’s brain; and James thoroughly enjoyed the
(p. 100)
time thus spent. For now he had a supreme object and hope to animate and pre-occupy him, – a future with Margaret, nourished by the affection and sympathy of her pure and lofty soul; and tending, in his turn, the growth of her clear, eager intelligence: – these made an ideal of happiness which had come to form part of his very self, until he felt that to have to give her up would be to extinguish all the light of his life. It was true that he did not know for certain that she loved him; or that, even if she did, she could ever marry him. The origin and future destine of both were equally hidden in obscurity; but he vowed a vow that none should come between and tear her from him.
It was one evening, at the termination of his sojourn, that exultation at the completion of his work, stimulated perhaps by the heat of the sun, in which he had been toiling for several hours, brought on a condition of alternate exaltation and depression. In order to take a final survey of the magic circle of huge stones which compose the remains, he had, by means of a rope fastened at one end and thrown over the top, managed to mount to the summit of the tallest trilithon, that which, standing hard by the altar-stone, has doubtless witnessed many a solemn and terrible sacrifice to the ruthless gods of old. Here he sat meditating, until the after-glow of a glorious sunset arrested his gaze. He watched the slow changes of the sky until they ceased in grey. The dews of evening fell on his uncovered head; and the stars came thickly out as twilight gave place to darkness. Absorbed in reveries in which the remotest part of man’s history mingled with visions of his own future, he was unconscious both of the approach of the carriage that had stopped beyond the outer ring of stones, and of the advancing steps of its late inmate. He was unconscious of all without, until the bright gleaming of a meteor that darted across the sky and vanished in darkness, recalled him to himself; recalled him to the possibility of the fall of his own happiness being prefigured by the fall of yon star from its place of brightness. And in the intensity of his realisation of the blackness of darkness that awaited him in such case, he suddenly stood erect on his perilous elevation, and there, hand clenched and face upturned towards the glistening sky, swore to God that not even He nor Death should tear her from him; – when he perceived in the starlit gloom beneath him, at a short distance from the base of his pedestal, a form that was strange indeed
(p. 101)
seen there and at such a time, but yet a form that was familiar to him.
The sight of Lord Littmass recalled him to himself and to the practical world. Now was the time for striking the heated iron. Now would his excited energies mould all opposition according to his wishes. His secret, declared as it had just been to heaven, he would not shrink from telling also to man, even to the man whose hands held the clues of his fate and of hers who alone was dear to him. It might theoretically, and to cold calculation, be folly and madness thus to precipitate events, and to exhibit, as it were, his hand prematurely to his antagonist; but the highest wisdom lay sometimes in yielding to the moment’s burning inspiration, and in disregarding the dictates of mere prudence. The man and the purpose had been present before, here now were the opportunity and the mood.
Thus thought James while silence still prevailed, and no utterance of Lord Littmass had shown that he recognised him, or broken the spell that was on him.
‘One moment, my lord, and I will be with you,’ said Maynard, preparing to descend by his rope.
Lord Littmass waited in silence until he approached, and then said, in a cheerful tone, –
‘I am just in time, I find, to give you a lift back to Salisbury. I called at your lodgings on my way back from Devonshire, and heard that you were likely to be here. I had often wished to visit the Druids’ famous haunt, and so have come out to meet you. I would not bring the carriage into the charmed circle.’
The sound of his guardian’s voice dispelled Maynard’s dream. The very coolness of his tones communicated itself to his fervid feelings, and rapidly reduced his glowing mood to its normal temperature. He perceived that it was necessary for both sides to be under the influence of the excitement that had just dominated him, in order to produce that condition of rapport in which alone mutual sympathy and comprehension are possible. He had thought, at the first glimpse of Lord Littmass, that his adjuration must have been overheard and its import apprehended, and that, therefore, the ground was prepared for his appeal. The unconcern manifested in the voice and address of his visitant put this idea to flight; and Maynard presently rejoiced thereat; rejoiced that he had not betrayed himself before the time which he had deliberately fixed upon.
(p. 102)
He little dreamed that his astute guardian had heard every word, and perfectly understood the purport thereof, and was now about carefully to lead the conversation into a channel where he could, without apparent design, attempt to withdraw him from his infatuation, and deal a death-blow to his hopes.
This must be the best of all times for a visit here, when the vastness of the stones is enhanced by the twilight that lingers on their summits, and their bases are hidden in gloom. By-the- by, they must make somewhat dangerous perches. I see several have already fallen. I wish, however, that I were young enough to imitate your example, and climb up to see the night settling down upon the plain. A variety of fancies came into my head when I caught sight of your figure against the sky. You might have been posing for a statue of Satan defying the sun, though he would scarcely have committed the enormity of menacing the evening star! or Ajax praying for light; or, better still perhaps, a fire-worshipper of old Chaldæa bidding farewell to the departing god, and imploring his return on the morrow. The most rational of all worships, methinks, that stop short of a First Cause; for certainly the sun is the god of our system, by which all things live and move and have their being. And if people want an “express image” to worship, they can nowhere find a nobler,-though the students who dwell in owl’s light don’t see enough of its glories to know that. Perhaps you have turned Zoroastrian; – by the way, were the Druids sun-worshippers? – and my next guess is the right one. You have finished your work, and were returning thanks to the giver of light?’
I have finished my work, and am now at your lordship’s service,’ said James, lifting the bundle of papers and implements which he had been putting together during these observations. The carriage is on the side next the town?’
‘Yes, but I really cannot tell in which direction that is; it has become so dark.’
‘There is the north star, and the town lies nearly south, so that we shall find it this way,’ said James, walking on with his load.
Lord Littmass followed, and as they drove back towards Salisbury, Maynard, who had finally made up his mind to adhere to his plan of saying nothing about Margaret until the time should come when lie could claim her on the strength of his own independence, gradually returned to his old cordial relations
(p. 103)
with his guardian, and talked unreservedly of the progress he had made with his preparations for his enterprise, and his reasons for selecting Salisbury for his head-quarters during the interval.
‘Surely the happiest of lives,’ said Lord Littmass, is that of the student whose position accords with his ambitions. Without care for the means of or wealth to tempt him to luxury and idleness; without the distraction of exacting friends or inconsiderate acquaintances; above all, without wife or children to harass him by anxieties for their health or their welfare, – he can pursue the way of knowledge and usefulness in light marching order, the envy of his heavily-weighted fellows, and the real lever that moves the world. None but those who, whether married or single, have lived in society, can tell the debasing effect produced upon the mind by the innumerable little meannesses which spring inevitably from a daily contact with individuals. Life becomes an agglomeration of small personalities, amid which individual character is merged, and all larger aims are impossible. With poverty there is anxiety and sordidness. With wealth, distraction and frivolity. Isolation is the parent of intellect; solitude the nurse of thought. Now, dare say that you have not spoken to a soul since you have been here, and have not cared to do so. You have been absorbed in your work, and you and your work have been the better for it.’
‘Well, I am not quite a Trappist,’ said James; ‘but, on the contrary, am always glad to talk with people who have any special knowledge or gift. Many a chat have I had with the blacksmith, who has his forge in yonder shanty, and I fancy we have each learned something from the other that may be useful some day.’
Such converse is not within my meaning, for it entails no responsibility. It is to such intimacies as involve men’s hearts and lives, and fritter away their time, their brains, and their money, or its equivalent, that I refer. Intimacies which at first bid fair to crown us with all delight for ever, and then, whether through mistaken estimate of character, dissimilarity of temperament, antagonism of interests, or any other cause, turn to gall and bitterness, and make us curse the day when we placed our freedom as a hostage in fortune’s hands.’
Owing either to the re-action from his recent mood, or the refreshment of the cool night air, as the open carriage rolled
(p. 104)
over the dark plain, or to the circumstance of their being, not in Lord Littmass’s house, where Lord Littmass was king, but as equals in a place where the younger was more at home of the two, James felt more at his ease than he had ever before been with his guardian. In answer to his last remarks he retorted with vivacity, –
‘And yet, methinks, your lordship has not very rigidly adhered to this unsociable rule yourself; for, instead of having such desirable immunity from care to enable you to follow your favourite pursuits, your life has been for years burdened with responsibilities which must have given you considerable occupation and harassment. No; admirable in principle as such quietism may appear, there is yet a flaw in the theory which makes its practice impossible. Men and women are not made so. They have affections as well as intellects, and which are quite as potent and exacting. And it is hard to say that mankind does not gain as much by the exercise of the one as of the other. Ignore the affections, and the glory of literature would vanish. Could a monk legislate, or write history, knowing nothing of the passions which, by swaying mankind, necessitate laws, and produce history? Where would art be, where religion, ay, or even science, if brain without heart ruled the day? I fancy I have learned something on this head from the schoolmen, who in their definitions of the Infinite omit altogether the finite, and aim at attaining to a comprehension of the whole while ignoring the parts. As I read the world, the age that placed imagination above facts and dispensed with proof, has past, and after it go all the miseries that superstition has wrought to man. Henceforth, no inferences are sound save those which take account of all phenomena, including those which appertain to the human affections.’’
‘There is still a savour of the parson, if not of the priest, in you,’ said Lord Littmass, somewhat coldly. Do you intend to preach such doctrine, when the retention of your fellowship necessitates your taking orders?’
‘I shall never be in a position to preach,’ returned James; I know too little myself. But let us stop here a moment, and I will show you the kind of sermons I should like to hear preached.’
They had reached the smithy which James had before referred to. Stopping the carriage, he jumped out, and tapped at the door. It was opened by a woman who looked distrustfully
(p. 105)
out into the darkness. She was soon re-assured by James’s cheerful voice, saying, –
‘Well, Mrs. Mason, and how is your husband to-night? I am come to say good-bye. Has he turned in yet?’
‘Oh, sir, is it you, and are you leaving these parts? My man is asleep now. He was but poorly this evening, and I don’t like to rouse him. He will be vexed indeed not to see you again. And so shall I, for I can never thank you enough. You have made a new man of him, and a new life for me and mine.’
‘Well, I won’t come in, then, but go away wishing you well, and that it may last. Here is what I promised to bring you. Keep it against another rainy day. Remember me to Mason. Good-bye.’
‘This poor fellow,’ said James to Lord Littmass, as they resumed their route, was one of the most contentious demagogues and infidels I ever met. I had had two or three talks with him when he was laid up by a kick from a horse that he was shoeing. My difficulty had been to convince him that he did not know quite enough just yet to reform the world either in politics or in religion. And the example came in handily to enable me to show him that it was not likely he should, since he couldn’t even follow his own trade, which he had worked at all his life, without getting bowled over by one of the very creatures he knew most about. That rather bothered him, and I got him to promise to read a small volume, containing selections from the four Gospels, for he was as ignorant as a horse about many things he had been in the habit of declaiming most loudly against. Next time I called, he referred to the book and asked whether it was all plain sailing to me. I said, “No, of course not; but what was it that had been puzzling him?” He said he should be glad to know what I understood by Christianity. I asked what he had read last. He pointed to the parable of the Prodigal Son. “Do you mean that you do not like the elder brother?” I asked. He said he was just one of your regular hypocritical respectabilities, and abused him and his kind in terms which I need not repeat. When he had done, I said, “Exactly so. Now we get to my idea of Christianity. Suppose that elder brother to have left his comfortable home, and gone out into the wilderness to seek and save his lost younger brother, and I should say that he was a fair example of what a Christian should be.” My friend was completely dumbfoundered
(p. 106)
for a moment, and then, in unconscious imitation of Lessing, said, “Well, sir, if that be the meaning of it, it’s a great pity people don’t give up religion and try Christianity.” From that moment his whole character has been revolutionised, as you may gather from the woman’s remark. Here we are, near home. Will you come to my lodgings, and have such supper as my landlady can give us, or will you be set down at the hotel?’
‘Thank you, I will go to the hotel, but shall be glad to see you at breakfast
to-morrow. I hope you will be ready in time to accompany me to
The offer was made in a way that implied an expectation of its acceptance, and
as James saw no reason to decline it, he did accept it, little thinking,
however, that it sprang from Lord Littmass’s desire to keep him in sight until
he should sail for
Sections: General Index Present Section: Index Present Work: Index Previous: Chapter 19 Next: Chapter 21
 |