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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16438-0.txt b/16438-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7db63a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/16438-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5975 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A. Of +Trinity College, Cambridge, by Arthur Christopher Benson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A. Of Trinity College, Cambridge + Extracted From His Letters And Diaries, With Reminiscences + Of His Conversation By His Friend Christopher Carr Of The + Same College + +Author: Arthur Christopher Benson + +Release Date: August 4, 2005 [EBook #16438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF ARTHUR HAMILTON *** + + + + +Produced by Andrew Sly + + + + + +Etext preparer's note: This text was first published anonymously in 1886. + + + MEMOIRS OF + ARTHUR HAMILTON, B.A. + OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE + + + Extracted from his letters and diaries, with reminiscences of his + conversation by his friend CHRISTOPHER CARR + of the same college + + By + Arthur Christopher Benson + + "Pro jucundis aptissima quaeque dabunt di; + Carior est illis homo quam sibi." + Juvenal + + + + +DEDICATION + +To H. L. M. + + +My dear Friend, + +When you were kind enough to allow me to dedicate this book to +you—you, to whose frank discussion of sacred things and kindly +indifference to exaggerations of expression I owe so much—I felt +you were only adding another to the long list of delicate benefits +for which a friend can not be directly repaid. + +My object has throughout been this: I have seen so much of what +may be called the dissidence of religious thought and religious +organization among those of my own generation at the Universities, +and the unhappy results of such a separation, that I felt bound to +contribute what I could to a settlement of this division, existing +so much more in word than in fact—a point which you helped me very +greatly to grasp. + +I have been fortunate enough to have seen and known both sides of the +battle. I have seen men in the position of teachers, both anxious and +competent to position of teachers, both anxious and competent to +settle differences, when brought into contact with men of serious +God-seeking souls, with the nominal intention of dropping the +bandying of words and cries and of attacking principles, meet and +argue and part, almost unconscious that they have never touched the +root of the matter at all, yet dissatisfied with the efforts which +only seem to widen the breach they are intended to fill. + +And why? Both sides are to blame, no doubt: the teachers, for being +more anxious to expound systems than to listen to difficulties, to +make their theories plain than to analyse the theories of their—I +will not say adversaries—but opponents; the would-be learners, +for hasty generalization; for bringing to the conflict a deliberate +prejudice against all traditional authority, a want of patience in +translating dogmas into life, a tendency to flatly deny that such a +transmutation is possible. + +Fortunately, the constructive side is in no want of an exponent; +but I have tried to give a true portrait in this arrangement, or +rather selection, of realities, of what a serious and thoughtful +soul-history may in these days be: to depict the career of a +character for which no one can fail to have the profoundest sympathy, +being as it is, by the nature of its case, condemned to a sadder +sterner view of life than its uprightness justifies, and deprived of +the helpful encouragement of so many sweet natures, whose single aim +in life is to help other souls, if they only knew how. + +And so, as I said before, it is with a most grateful remembrance of +certain gracious words of yours, let fall in the stately house of God +where we have worshipped together, in lecture-rooms where I have sat +to hear you, and in conversations held in quiet college rooms or +studious gardens, that I place your name at the head of these pages, +the first I have sent out to shift for themselves, or rather to pass +whither the Inspirer of all earnest endeavour may appoint. + + I remain ever affectionately yours, + Christopher Carr. + Ashdon, Hants. + + + + +PREFACE + + +There are several forms of temperament. The kind that mostly +issues in biography is the practical temperament. Poets have the +shortest memoirs, and the most uninteresting. The politician, the +philanthropist, the general, make the best, the most graphic Lives. +The fact remains, however, that the question, "What has he done?" +though a specious, is an unsatisfactory test of greatness. + +But there is a temperament called the Reflective, which works slowly, +and with little apparent result. The very gift of expression is a +practical gift: with the gift of expression the reflective man +becomes a writer, a poet, an artist; without it, he is unknown. + +The reflective temperament, existing without any particular gift of +expression, wants an exponent in these times. Reflection is lost +sight of; philanthropy is all the rage. I assert that for a man to +devote himself to a reflective life, that is, in the eyes of the +world, an indolent one, is often a great sacrifice, and even on that +account, if not essentially, valuable. Philanthropy is generally +distressing, often offensive, sometimes disastrous. + +Nothing, in this predetermined world, fails of its effect, as nothing +is without its cause. There is a call to reflection which a man must +follow, and his life then becomes an integral link in the chain of +circumstance. Any intentional life affects the world; it is only the +vague drifting existences that pass it by. + +The subject of this memoir was, as the world counts reputation, +unknown. His only public appearance, as far as I know, besides the +announcement of his birth, is the fact that his initials stand in a +dedication on the title-page of a noble work of fiction. + +Arthur Hamilton left me his manuscripts, papers, and letters; from +these, and casual conversations I have had with him in old days, +this little volume is constructed. + + C.C. + + +CHAPTER I + + +He was born November 2, 1852. He was the second son of a retired +cavalry officer, who lived in Hampshire. Besides his elder brother, +there were three sisters, one of whom died. His father was a wealthy +man, and had built himself a small country house, and planted the few +acres of ground round it very skillfully. Major Hamilton was a very +religious man, of the self-sufficient, puritanical, and evangelical +type, that issues from discipline; a martinet in his regiment, a +domestic tyrant, without intending to be. He did not marry till +rather late in life; and at the time when Arthur was growing up—the +time when memory intwines itself most lingeringly with its +surroundings, the time which comes back to us at ecstatic moments +in later, sadder days—all the _entourage_ of the place was at its +loveliest. Nothing ever equalled the thrill, he has told me, of +finding the first thrush's nest in the laurels by the gate, or of +catching the first smell of the lilac bushes in spring, or the +pungent scent of the chamomile and wild celery down by the little +stream. + +The boy acquired a great love for Nature, though not of the intimate +kind that poets have by instinct. "In moments of grief and despair," +he wrote in later life, "I do not, as some do, crouch back to the +bosom of the great Mother; she has, it seems, no heart for me when I +am sorry, though she smiles with me when I am glad." But he has told +me that he is able to enjoy a simple village scene in a way that +others can not easily understand: a chestnut crowded with pink +spires, the clack of a mill-wheel, the gush of a green sluice out +of a mantled pool, a little stream surrounded by flags and water +lobelias, gave him all his life a keen satisfaction in his happy +moments. "I always gravitate to water," he writes. "I could stop +and look at a little wayside stream for hours; and a pool—I never +tire of it, though it awes me when I am alone." + +The boy was afraid of trees, as many children are. If he had to go +out alone he always crossed the fields, and never went by the wood; +wandering in a wood at night was a childish nightmare of a peculiarly +horrible kind. + +I quote a few childish stories about him, selecting them out of a +large number. + +His mother saying to him one day that the gardener was dead, he burst +out laughing (with that curious hysteria so common in children), and +then after a little asked if they were going to bury him. + +His mother, wishing to familiarize him with the idea of continued +existence after death, dwelt on the fact that it was only his body +that was going to be buried: his soul was in heaven. + +The boy said presently, "If his body is in the churchyard, and his +soul in heaven, where is David?" + +Upon which his mother sent him down to the farm. + +He was often singularly old-fashioned in his ways. If he was kept +indoors by a childish ailment, he would draw his chair up to the +fire, by his nurse, and say, "Now that the children are gone out, +nurse, we can have a quiet talk." And he always returned first of all +his brothers and sisters, if they were playing in the garden, that he +might have the pleasure of clapping his hands from the nursery window +to summon them in. "Children, children, come in," he used to say. + +A curious little dialogue is preserved by his aunt in a diary. He +laughed so immoderately at something that was said at lunch by one of +his elders, that when his father inquired what the joke was, he was +unable to answer. "It must be something very funny," said his mother +in explanation. "Arthur never laughs unless there is a joke." The +little boy became grave at once, and said severely, "There's hardly +ever anything to laugh at in what you say; but I always laugh for +fear people should be disappointed." + +He was very sensitive to rebuke. "I am not so sensitive as I am +always supposed to be," he said to me once. "I am one of those people +who cry when they are spoken to, and do it again." + +For instance, he told me that, being very fond of music when he was +small, he stole down one morning at six to play the piano. His +father, a very early riser, was disturbed by the gentle tinkling, and +coming out of his study, asked him rather sharply why he couldn't do +something useful—read some Shakespeare. He never played on the piano +again for months, and for years never until he had ascertained that +his father was out. "It was a mistake," he told me once, apropos of +it. "If he had said that it disturbed him, but that I might do it +later, I should have been delighted to stop. I always liked feeling +that I was obliging people." + +He disliked his father, and feared him. The tall, handsome gentleman, +accustomed to be obeyed, in reality passionately fond of his +children, dismayed him. He once wrote on a piece of paper the words, +"I hate papa," and buried it in the garden. + +For the rest, he was an ordinary, rather clever, secretive child, +speaking very little of his feelings, and caring, as he has told me +since, very little for anybody except his nurse. "I cared about her +in a curious way. I enjoyed the sensation of crying over imaginary +evils; and I should not like to say how often in bed at night I used +to act over in my mind an imaginary death-bed scene of my nurse, and +the pathetic remarks she was to make about Master Arthur, and the +edifying bearing I was to show. This was calculated within a given +time to produce tears, and then I was content." + +He went to a private school, which he hated, and then to Winchester, +which he grew to love. The interesting earnest little boy merged into +the clumsy loose-jointed schoolboy, silent and languid. There are +hardly any records of this time. + +"My younger sister died," he told me, "when I was at school. I +experienced about ten minutes of grief; my parents were overwhelmed +with anguish, and I can remember that, like a quick, rather clever +child, I soon came to comprehend the sort of remark that cheered +them, and almost overdid it in my zeal. I am overwhelmed with shame," +he said, "whenever I look at my mother's letters about that time when +she speaks of the comfort I was to them. It was a _fraus pia_, but it +was a most downright _fraus_." + +I think I may relate one other curious incident among his public +school experiences: it may seem very incredible, but I have his word +for it that it is true. + +"A sixth-form boy took a fancy to me, and let me sit in his room, and +helped me in my work. The night before he left the school I was +sitting there, and just before I went away, being rather overcome +with regretful sentiments, he caught hold of me by the arm and said, +among other things, 'And now that I am going away, and shall probably +never see you again, I don't believe you care one bit.' I don't know +how I came to do it," he said, "because I was never demonstrative; +but I bent down and kissed him on the cheek, and then blushed up to +my ears. He let me go at once; he was very much astonished, and I +think not a little pleased; but it was certainly a curious incident." + +During this time his intellectual development was proceeding slowly. +"I went through three phases," he said. "I began by a curious love +for pastoral and descriptive poetry. I read Thomson and Cowper, +similes from 'Paradise Lost,' and other selections of my own; I read +Tennyson, and revelled in the music of the lines and words. I +intended to be a poet. + +"Then I became omnivorous, and read everything, whether I understood +it or not, especially biographies. I spent all my spare time in the +school library; one only valuable thing have I derived from that—a +capacity for taking in the sense of a page at a glance, and having a +verbal memory of a skimmed book for an hour or two superior to any +one that I ever met." + +Then there came an ebb, and he read nothing, but loafed all day, +and tried to talk. He had a notion he said, that he could argue +Socratically; and he was always trying to introduce metaphors into +his conversation. But his remarks in a much later letter to a friend +on childish reading are so pertinent that I introduce them here. + +"Never take a book away from a child unless it is positively vicious; +that they should learn how to read a book and read it quickly is the +great point; that they should get a habit of reading, and feel a void +without it, is what should be cultivated. Never mind if it is trash +now; their tastes will insensibly alter. I like a boy to cram himself +with novels; a day will come when he is sick of them, and rejects +them for the study of facts. What we want to give a child is +'bookmindedness,' as some one calls it. They will read a good deal +that is bad, of course; but innocence is as slippery as a duck's +back; a boy really fond of reading is generally pure-minded enough. +When you see a robust, active, out-of-door boy deeply engrossed in a +book, then you may suspect it if you like, and ask him what he has +got; it will probably have an animal bearing." + +Friendships more or less ardent, butterfly-hunting, school games, +constant visits to the cathedral for service, to which he was always +keenly devoted, uneventful holidays, filled up most of his school +life. His letters at this date are very ordinary; his early precocity +seemed, rather to the delight of his parents, to have vanished. +He was not a prig, though rather exclusive; not ungenial, though +retiring. "A dreadful boy," he writes of himself, "who is as mum as +a mouse with his elders, and then makes his school friends roar with +laughter in the passage: dumb at home, a chatterbox at school." + +"I had no religion at that time," he writes, "with the exception of +six months, when I got interested in it by forming a friendship +with an attractive ritualistic curate; but my confirmation made no +impression on me, and I think I had no moral feelings that I could +distinguish. I had no inherent hatred of wrong, or love for right; +but I was fastidious, and that kept me from being riotous, and +undemonstrative, which made me pure." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Arthur went up to the University, Trinity College, Cambridge, in +1870; he did not distinguish himself there, or acquire more than he +had done at Winchester: "The one thing I learnt at Winchester that +has been useful to me since, was how to tie up old letters: my +house-master taught me how to do that—it was about all he was fit +for. The thing I learnt at Cambridge was to smoke: my cousin Fred +taught me that, and he was hardly fit for that." + +As it was at Cambridge that I first met him, I will give a short +description of him as far as I can remember. + +He was a tall, lounging fellow, rather clumsy in his movements, but +with a kind of stateliness about him; he looked, and was, old for his +years. He was a little short-sighted and wore glasses; without them +his brow had that puzzled, slightly bothered look often seen in +weak-sighted people. His face was not unattractive, though rather +heavy; his hair was dark and curly—he let it grow somewhat long from +indolence—and he had a drooping moustache. He was one of the men +who, without the slightest idea of doing so, always managed to create +rather an impression. As he lounged along the street with his hands +in his pockets, generally alone, people used to turn and look at him. +If he had taken a line of any kind he would have been known +everywhere—but he did nothing. + +The occasion on which I met him first was in the rooms of a common +friend; there was a small gathering of men. He was sitting in a low +chair, smoking intently. It was the one occupation he loved; he +hardly said anything, though the conversation was very animated; +silence was his latest phase; but as it was his first term, and he +was not very well acquainted with the party, it appeared natural; not +that being surrounded by dukes and bishops would have made the +slightest difference to him if he had been disposed to talk, but he +was not talkative, and held his tongue. + +There had been some discussion about careers and their relative +merits. One rather cynical man had broken in upon the ambitious +projects that were being advanced with, "Well, we must remember that +we are after all only average men." + +"Yes," said Arthur, slowly, from the depths of his chair, "no doubt; +only not quite so average." + +The gentleman addressed, who was a senior man, stared for a moment at +the freshman who had ventured to correct him, to whom he had not even +been introduced; but Arthur was staring meditatively at the smoke +rising from his pipe, and did not seem inclined to move or be moved, +so he concluded not to continue the discussion. + +The only other thing I heard him say that night was as follows. An +ardent enthusiast on the subject of missions was present, who, +speaking of an Indian mission lately started and apparently wholly +ineffective, said, "But we must expect discouragement at first. The +Church has always met with that." + +"Yes," said Arthur; "but we must also remember, what people are very +apt to forget, that ill success is not an absolute proof that God is +on our side." + +These two remarks, slight as they were, struck me; and, indeed, I +have never quite forgotten that indefinable first impression of the +man. There was a feeling about him of holding great things in +reserve, an utter absence of self-consciousness, a sensation that he +did not value the opinions of other people, that he did not regulate +his conduct by them, which is very refreshing in these social days, +when everybody's doings and sayings are ventilated and discussed so +freely. He had none of the ordinary ambitions; he did not want a +reputation, I thought, on ordinary grounds; he struck me as liking +to observe and consider, not to do or say. + +I am fond of guessing at character and forming impressions; and I +very soon found out that these were not mistaken. My way that night +lay with him as far as the gate of his college. We struck up a kind +of acquaintanceship, though I felt conscious that he did not in the +least care about doing so, that he probably would not give me another +thought. It seems strange, reflecting on that evening, that I should +now come to be his biographer. + +However, I was interested in the type of character he displayed, and +did not let the acquaintance drop. I invited him to my rooms. He +would not come of his own accord at first, but by-and-by he got +habituated to me, and not unfrequently strolled in. + +He never let any one into the secret of his motives; he never +confessed to any plans for the future, or to taking any interest in +one line of life more than another. He was well off and did not spend +much, except on his books, which were splendid. His rooms were untidy +to the last degree, but liberally supplied with the most varied +contrivances for obtaining a comfortable posture. Deep chairs and +sofas, with devices for books and light, and for writing in any +position. "When my mind is at work," he said to me once, "I don't +like to be reminded of my body at all. I want to forget that I have +one; and so I always say my prayers lying down." + +He dressed badly, or rather carelessly, for he never gave the subject +a moment's thought. If his friends told him that a suit was shabby, +he appeared in a day or two in a new one, till that was similarly +noticed; then it was discarded altogether. He always wore one suit +till he had worn it out, never varying it. But he consulted fashion +to a certain extent. "My object," he said, "is to escape notice, to +look like every one else. I think of all despicable people, the +people who try to attract attention by a marked style of dress, are +perhaps the lowest." + +His life at Cambridge was very monotonous, for he enjoyed monotony; +he used to say that he liked to reflect on getting up in the morning, +that his day was going to be filled by ordinary familiar things. He +got up rather late, read his subjects for an hour or two, strolled +about to see one or two friends, lunched with them or at home, +strolled in the afternoon, often dropping in to King's for the +anthem, went back to his rooms for tea, the one time at which he +liked to see his friends, read or talked till hall, and finally +settled down to his books again at ten, reading till one or two in +the morning. + +He read very desultorily and widely. Thus he would read books on +Arctic voyages for ten days and talk of nothing else, then read +novels till he sickened for facts and fact till he sickened for +fiction; biographies, elementary science, poetry, general philosophy, +particularly delighting in any ideal theories of life and discipline +in state or association, but with a unique devotion to "Hamlet" +and "As You Like It," the "Pilgrim's Progress," and Emerson's +"Representative Men." He rarely read the Bible, he told me, and then +only in great masses at a sitting; and the one thing that he disliked +with an utter hatred was theology of a settled and orthodox type, +though next to the four books I have mentioned, "The Christian Year" +and "Ecce Homo" were his constant companions. + +He did not care for history; he used to lament it. "I have but a +languid interest in facts, qua facts," he said; "and I try to arrive +at history through biography. I like to disentangle the separate +strands, one at a time; the fabric is too complex for me." + +He had the greatest delight in topography. "That is why," he used to +say, "I delight in a flat country. The idea of _space_ is what I want. +I like to see miles at a glance. I like to see clouds league-long +rolling up in great masses from the horizon—cloud perspective. I +rejoice in seeing the fields, hedgerow after hedgerow, farm after +farm, push into the blue distance. It makes me feel the unity and the +diversity of life; a city bewilders and confuses me, but a great +tract of placid country gives me a broad glow of satisfaction." + +He went for a walking tour in the fens, and returned enchanted. "By +Ely," he said, "the line crosses a gigantic fen—Whittlesea mere in +old days—and on a clear day you can see at least fifteen miles +either way. As we crossed it a great skein of starlings rose out of +a little holt, and streamed north; the herons or quiet cattle stood +along the huge dykes. You could see the scattered figures of old +labourers in the fields, and then for miles and miles the squat +towers, at which you were making, staring over the flat, giving you +a thrill every time you sighted them, and right away west the low +hills that must have been the sandy downs that blocked the restless +plunging sea; they must have looked for centuries over rollers and +salt marsh and lagoon, felt the tread of strange herds and beasts +about them till they have become the quiet slopes of a sunny park +or the simple appendages of a remote hill farm." + +But his greatest delight was in music. He knew a smattering of it +scientifically, enough to follow up subjects and to a certain extent +to recognize chords. There occurs in one of his letters to me the +following passage, which I venture to quote. He is speaking of the +delight of pure sound as apart from melody: + +"I remember once," he writes, "being with a great organist in a +cathedral organ-loft, sitting upon the bench at his side. He was +playing a Mass of Schubert's, and close to the end, at the last chord +but two—he was dying to a very soft close, sliding in handles all +over the banks of stops—he nodded with his head to the rows of pedal +stops with their red labels, as though to indicate where danger +lay. 'Put your hand on the thirty-two foot,' he said. There it +was '_Double open wood 32 ft._' And just as his fingers slid on to +the last chord, 'Now,' he said. + +"Ah! that was it; the great wooden pipe close to my ear began to blow +and quiver; and hark! not sound, but sensation—the great rapturous +stir of the air; a drowsy thunder in the roof of nave and choir; the +grim saints stirred and rattled ill their leaded casements, while +the melodious roar died away as softly as it had begun, sinking to +silence with many a murmurous pulsation, many a throb of sighing +sound." + +Organ-playing, organ music, was the one subject on which I have heard +him wax enthusiastic. His talk and his letters always become +rhetorical when he deals with music; his musical metaphors are always +carefully worked out; he compares a man of settled purpose, in whose +life the "motive was very apparent," to "the great lazy horns, that +you can always hear in the orchestra pouring out their notes hollow +and sweet, however loud the violins shiver or the trumpets cry." He +often went up to London to hear music. The St. James's Hall Concerts +were his especial delight. I find later a description of the effect +produced on him by Wagner. + +"I have just come back from the Albert Hall, from hearing the +'Meistersänger,' Wagner himself conducting. I may safely say I +think that I never experienced such absolute artistic rapture before +as at certain parts of this; for instance, in the overture, at one +place where the strings suddenly cease and there comes a peculiar +chromatic waft of wind instruments, like a ghostly voice rushing +across. I have never felt anything like it; it swept one right away, +and gave one a sense of deep ineffable satisfaction. I shall always +feel _for the future_ that there is an existent region, _into which +I have now actually penetrated_, in which that entire satisfaction +is possible, a fact which I have always hitherto doubted. It is +like an initiation. + +"But I can not bear the 'Tannhäuser;' it seems to paint with a +fatal fascination the beauty of wickedness, the rightness, so to +speak, of sensuality. I feel after it as if I had been yielding to +a luscious temptation; unnerved, not inspired." + +In another letter he writes, "Music is the most hopeful of the arts; +she does not hint only, like other expressions of beauty—she takes +you straight into a world of peace, a world where law and beauty are +the same, and where an ordered discord, that is discord working by +definite laws, is the origin of the keenest pleasure." + +I remember, during the one London season which he subsequently went +through, his settling himself at a Richter concert next me with an +air of delight upon his face. "Now," he said, "let us try and +remember for an hour or two that we have souls." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +I must here record one curious circumstance which I have never +explained even to my own satisfaction. + +He had been at Cambridge about two years, when, in the common consent +of all his friends, his habits and behaviour seemed to undergo a +complete and radical change. + +I have never discovered what the incident was that occasioned this +change; all I know is that suddenly, for several weeks, his geniality +of manner and speech, his hilarity, his cheerfulness, entirely +disappeared; a curious look of haunting sadness, not defined, but +vague, came over his face; and though he gradually returned to his +old ways, yet I am conscious myself, and others would support me in +this, that he was never quite the same again; he was no longer young. + +The only two traces that I can discover in his journals, or letters, +or elsewhere, of the facts are these. + +He always in later diaries vaguely alludes to a certain event which +changed his view of things in general; "ever since," "since that +November," "for now nearly five years I have felt." These and similar +phrases constantly occur in his diary. I will speak in a moment of +what nature I should conjecture it to have been. + +A packet of letters in his desk were marked "to be burnt unopened;" +but at the same time carefully docketed with dates: these dates were +all immediately after that time, extending over ten days. + +The exact day was November 8, 1872. It is engraved in a small silver +locket that hung on his watch-chain, where he was accustomed to have +important days in his life marked, such as the day he adopted his +boy, his mother's death. It is preceded by the Greek letters ΒΠ, +which from a certain entry in his diary I conceive to be +βάπτισμα πυρὸς, "the baptism of fire." + +Lastly, in a diary for that year, kept with fair regularity up till +November 8, there here intervenes a long blank, the only entry being +November 9: "Salvum me fac, Dne." + +I took the trouble, incidentally, to hunt up the files of a Cambridge +journal of that date, to see if I could link it on to any event, and +I found there recorded, in the course of that week, what I at first +imagined to be the explanation of the incidents, and own I was a good +deal surprised. + +I found recorded some Revivalist Mission Services, which were then +held in Cambridge with great success. I at once concluded that he +underwent some remarkable spiritual experience, some religious +fright, some so-called conversion, the effects of which only +gradually disappeared. The contagion of a Revivalist meeting is a +very mysterious thing. Like a man going to a mesmerist, an individual +may go, announcing his firm intention not to be influenced in the +smallest degree by anything said or done. Nay more, he may think +himself, and have the reputation of being, a strong, unyielding +character, and yet these are the very men who are often most +hopelessly mesmerized, the very men whom the Revival most +absolutely—for the occasion—enslaves. And thus, knowing that one +could form no _prima facie_ judgments on the probabilities in such a +matter, I came to the conclusion that he had fallen, in some degree, +under the influence of these meetings. + +But in revising this book, and carefully recalling my own and +studying others' impressions, I came to the conclusion that it was +impossible that this should be the case. + +1. In the first place, he was more free than any man I ever saw from +the influence of contagious emotions; he dissembled his own emotions, +and contemned the public display of them in other people. + +2. He had, I remember, a strange repugnance, even abhorrence, to +public meetings in the later days at Cambridge. I can now recall that +he would accompany people to the door, but never be induced to enter. +A passage which I will quote from one of his letters illustrates +this. + +"The presence of a large number of people has a strange, repulsive +physical effect on me. I feel crushed and overwhelmed, not stimulated +and vivified, as is so often described. I can't listen to a concert +comfortably if there is a great throng, unless the music is so good +as to wrap one altogether away. There is undoubtedly a force abroad +among large masses of people, the force which forms the basis of the +principle of public prayer, and I am conscious of it too, only it +distresses me; moreover, the worst and most afflicting nightmare I +have is the sensation of standing sightless and motionless, but with +all the other senses alert and apprehensive, in the presence of a +vast and hostile crowd." + +3. He never showed the least sign of being influenced in the +direction of spiritual or even religious life by this crisis. He +certainly spoke very little at all for some time to any one on any +subject; he was distrait and absent-minded in society—for the +alteration was much observed from its suddenness—but when he +gradually began to converse as usual, he did not, as is so often the +case in similar circumstances, do what is called "bearing witness to +the truth." His attitude toward all enthusiastic forms of religion +had been one, in old days, of good-natured, even amused tolerance. He +was now not so good-natured in his criticisms, and less sparing of +them, though his religious-mindedness, his seriousness, was +undoubtedly increased by the experience, whatever it was. + +On the whole, then, I should say that the coincidence of the revival +is merely fortuitous. It remains to seek what the cause was. + +We must look for it, in a character so dignified as Arthur's, in some +worthy cause, some emotional failure, some moral wound. I believe the +following to be the clew; I can not develop it without treading some +rather delicate ground. + +He had formed, in his last year at school, a very devoted friendship +with a younger boy; such friendships like the εἰσπνήλας and the +ἀϊτάς of Sparta, when they are truly chivalrous and absolutely +pure, are above all other loves, noble, refining, true; passion at white +heat without taint, confidence of so intimate a kind as can not even +exist between husband and wife, trust such as can not be shadowed, +are its characteristics. I speak from my own experience, and others +will, I know, at heart confirm me, when I say that these things are +infinitely rewarding, unutterably dear. + +Arthur left Winchester. A correspondence ensued between the two +friends. I have three letters of Arthur's, so passionate in +expression, that for fear of even causing uneasiness, not to speak +of suspicion, I will not quote them. I have seen, though I have +destroyed, at request, the letters of the other. + +This friend, a weak, but singularly attractive boy, got into a bad +set at Winchester, and came to grief in more than one way; he came +to Cambridge in three years, and fell in with a thoroughly bad set +there. Arthur seems not to have suspected it at first, and to have +delighted in his friend's society; but such things as habits betray +themselves, and my belief is that disclosures were made on November +8, which revealed to Arthur the state of the case. What passed I +can not say. I can hardly picture to myself the agony, disgust, +and rage (his words and feelings about sensuality of any kind were +strangely keen and bitter), loyalty fighting with the sense of +repulsion, pity struggling with honour, which must have convulsed +him when he discovered that his friend was not only yielding, but +deliberately impure. + +The other's was an unworthy and brutal nature, utterly corrupted at +bottom. He used to speak jestingly of the occurrence. "Oh yes!" I +have heard him say; "we were great friends once, but he cuts me now; +he had to give me up, you see, because he didn't approve of me. +Justice, mercy, and truth, and all the rest of it." + +It was certainly true; their friendship ended. I find it hard to +realize that Arthur would voluntarily have abandoned him; and yet I +find passages in his letters, and occasional entries in his diaries, +which seem to point to some great stress put upon him, some enormous +burden indicated, which he had not strength to attempt and adopt. +"May God forgive me for my unutterable selfishness; it is irreparable +now," is one of the latest entries on that day in his diary. I +conceive, perhaps, that his outraged ideal was too strong for his +power of forgiveness. He was very fastidious, always. + +How deep the blow cut will be shown by these following extracts: + +"I once had my faith in human nature rudely wrecked, and it has never +attempted a long voyage again. I hug the coast and look regretfully +out to sea; perhaps the day may come when I may strike into it ... +believe in it always if you can; I do not say it is vanity ... the +shock blinded me; I can not see if I would." + +And again— + +"Moral wounds never heal; they may be torn open by a chance word, by +a fragment of print, by a sentence from a letter; and there we have +to sit with pale face and shuddering heart, to bleed in silence and +dissemble it. Then, too, there is that constant dismal feeling which +the Greeks called ὕπουλος: the horrible conviction, the grim +memory lurking deep down, perhaps almost out of sight, thrust away by +circumstance and action, but always ready to rise noiselessly up and +draw you to itself." + +"'A good life, and therefore a happy one,' says my old aunt, writing +to me this morning; it is marvellous and yet sustaining what one can +pass through, and yet those about you—those who suppose that they +have the key, if any, to your heart—be absolutely ignorant of it. +'He looks a little tired and worn: he has been sitting up late;' 'all +young men are melancholy: leave him alone and he will be better in a +year or two,' was all that was said when I was actually meditating +suicide—when I believe I was on the brink of insanity." + +All these extracts are from letters to myself at different periods. +Taking them together, and thus arranged, my case seems irresistible; +still I must concede that it is all theory—all inference: I do not +wholly know the facts, and never shall. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +I found the first hint that occurs to indicate the lines of his later +life, in a letter to his father, written in his last week at +Cambridge. In the Classical Tripos Arthur contrived to secure a +second; in the translations, notably Greek, we heard he did as well +as anybody; but history and other detailed subjects dragged him down: +it was an extraordinarily unequal performance. + +His father, being ambitious for his sons, and knowing to a certain +extent Arthur's ability, was altogether a good deal disappointed. He +had accepted Arthur's failure to get a scholarship or exhibition, not +with equanimity, but with a resolute silence, knowing that strict +scholarship was not his son's strong point, but still hoping that he +would at least do well enough in his Tripos to give him a possibility +of a Fellowship. + +Arthur would himself have been happier with a Fellowship than with +any other position, but the possibility did not stimulate him to work +with that aim in view. He wrote: "Existence generally is so extremely +problematical, that I can not consent to throw away three birds in +the hand for one which I do not believe to be in the bush—my present +life for a doubtful future provision. I think I am ambitious after +the event. Every normal human being ought to be capable either +of strong expectation or strong disappointment, according as the +character lives most in the future or in the past. Those capable of +both generally succeed and are unhappy men; but an entire want of +ambition argues a low vitality. If a man tells me loftily he has no +ambition, I tell him I am very sorry for him, and say that it is +almost as common an experience as having no principles, and often +accompanying it, only that people are generally ashamed to confess +the latter." + +On his appearing in the second class, his father wrote him rather an +indignant letter, saying that he had suspected all along that he was +misusing his time and wasting his opportunities, but that he had +refrained from saying so because he had trusted him; that his one +prayer for his children was that they might not turn out useless, +dilettante, or frivolous, selfish men. "I had hoped that whatever +they engaged in my sons would say, 'If this is worth doing, it is +worth doing well.' I did not want them to say, 'I mean to work in +order to be first in this or that, to beat other people, to court +success'—I do not suspect you of that—but to say, 'I mean to do my +best, and if I am rewarded with honours to accept them gratefully, as +a sign that my endeavours have been blest.' I fear that in your case +you have done what pleased yourself—sucked the honey of the work, or +tried to; that always ends in bitterness. You were capable of taking +the higher ground; it seems to me that you have taken neither—and +indecision in such matters is the one thing that does not succeed +either in this world or the next; the one thing which the children of +this world unanimously agree with the children of light in despising +and censuring. + +"P.S.—You used to speak of possibly taking orders; set to work +seriously on that if you haven't changed your mind; for that is what +I have always hoped and prayed for you. Let me see that you are +capable of executing as well as planning a high resolve finely." + +Arthur's behaviour on receiving this letter was very characteristic. +He did not answer it. + +It was a habit he had which got him into considerable odium with +people. Whenever a letter entailed making up his mind—an invitation +which had two sides to it—a decision—a request for advice or +immediate action—these rarely extorted an answer from him. "It did +not seem to me to be very important," he used to say. Neither would +he be dictated to. A friend who had asked him to form one of a +football eleven, receiving no reply, inclosed two post-cards +addressed to himself, on one of which was written "Yes," and on +the other "No." Arthur posted them both. + +But a casual letter, implying friendliness, a statement of mental +or moral difficulties, criticisms on an interesting book, requests +involving principles, drew out immediate, full, and interesting +replies, of apparently almost unnecessary urgency and affection. A +boy who wrote to him from school about a long and difficult moral +case, infinitely complicated by side issues and unsatisfactory +action, got back the following day an exhaustive, imperative, and yet +pleading reply, indicating the proper action to take. It is far too +private to quote; but for pathos and lucidity and persuasiveness it +is a wonderful document. + +But this letter of his father's he did not answer for ten days, till +the last day but one before his leaving Cambridge, neither did he +mention the subject. I do not think he gave it a thought, except as +one might consider an unpleasant matter of detail which required to +be finished sometime. + +On that day there arrived another note from his father, +recapitulating what he had said, and saying that he supposed from his +silence that he had not received the former letter. + +To this Arthur returned the following letter: + + "Trinity College, Cambridge, + Thursday evening (early in 1874). + +"My Dear Father: + +"I don't wish you to be under any misapprehension about your +former letter. I did receive it and have been carefully considering +the subject; it seemed to me that I could better say what I wished in +a personal interview, and I therefore refrained from writing till I +came home; but you seem to wish me to make an immediate statement, +which I will briefly do. + +"You must not think that what I am going to say is in the least +disrespectful. I assure you that I gave your letter, as coming from +you, a consideration that I should not have thought of extending for +a moment to any other man except one or two friends for whose opinion +I have the highest respect; but it is a subject upon which, though I +can not exactly say that my mind is made up, yet I see so distinctly +which way my disposition lies and in what direction my opinions are +capable of undergoing change, that I may say I have very little +doubt—it is, in short, almost a fixed conviction. + +"The moment when any one finds himself in radical opposition to the +traditions in which he was brought up is very painful—I can assure +you of that—to himself, as I fear it is painful to those from whom +he dissents; and nothing but a desire for absolute sincerity would +induce me to enter upon it. But knowing and trusting you as I do, +with a firm and filial confidence in your loving thoughts and candid +open-mindedness, I venture to say exactly what I think, believing +that it would be a far more essential disrespect to endeavour to +blink those opinions. + +"Shortly, I do _not_ believe that practical usefulness of a direct +kind is the end of life. I do _not_ believe that success is either a +test of greatness nor, as you suggest, an adequate aim for it, though +you will perhaps excuse me if I say that the reasons you give seem to +me to be only the material view skillfully veiled. + +"I do not feel in my own mind assured that the highest call in my case +is to engage in a practical life. In fact, I feel fairly well assured +that it is not. I do not know that I intend deliberately to shirk +the responsibilities of moral action which fall in every feeling +man's way. I rather mean that I shall face them from the ordinary +standpoint, and not thrust myself into any position where helping my +fellow-creatures is merely an official act. I think shortly that by +the plan I have vague thoughts of pursuing I may gain an influence +among minds which will certainly be, if I win it, of a very high kind. +I dare not risk the possibilities by flying at lower game. + +"Besides, I do not feel nearly enough assured of my ground to say +that active work, as you describe it, is either advisable or +necessary. I want to examine and consider, to turn life and thought +inside out, to see if I can piece together in the least the enormous +problem of which God has flung us the fragments. I do not despair of +arriving at some inkling of that truth. I shall try, if I gain it, to +communicate that glimmering to others, if that is God's will for me; +if not, perhaps I shall be a little wiser or a little happier, at +least a little more capable of receiving my illumination, when the +time for that comes. + +"I don't feel as if I understood at all clearly what is God's purpose +for individuals. I can't take public opinion for granted. I will not +let it overwhelm me. I want to stand aside and think; and my own +prayer for my own children, if I had them, would rather be that they +might be saved from being effective, when I see all the evils which +success and mere effectiveness bring. + +"What I had thought of doing was of going abroad for a year or two; +but in that matter I am entirely in your hands, because I am +dependent on you. I consider travel not a luxury, but a necessity. If +you will make me an allowance for that purpose I shall very gladly +accept it. If not, I shall endeavour to get some post where I may +make enough money to take me where I wish to go. I shall throw myself +upon the power 'who providently caters for the sparrows' after that. + +"I propose to come home on Friday for a week or two. This letter +contains only a draft of what I should have preferred to say there in +words. + + "I am your affectionate son, + "Arthur Hamilton." + +His father curtly acknowledged this letter, but nothing more; and +left the discussion of the subject to be a personal one. They came to +the following compromise. + +Arthur was to engage for one year in some active profession, +business, the law, medicine, schoolmastering, taking pupils; at the +end of that time he was to make his choice; if he decided not to take +up any profession, his father promised to allow him £350 a year +as long as he lived, and to secure him the same sum after his own +death. This occupation was to extend from August till the August +following. He was allowed three days for his decision. + +He at once decided on schoolmastering, and without much difficulty +secured a post at an upper-class private school, being a substantial +suburban house, in fine timbered grounds, the boys being all destined +for public schools. + +He wrote me several letters from that place, but during that time our +correspondence waned, as we were both very busy. He was interested in +his work, and very popular with the boys. + +"My experience of life generally gives me a strong impulse in favour +of Determinism; that is to say, the system which considers the +histories of nations, the lives of individuals, their very deeds and +words, to be all part of a vast unalterable design: and whose dealing +with the past, with each event, indeed, as it occurs, is thus nothing +but interpretation, an earnest endeavour to exclude regret or +disappointment, and to see how best to link each fact in our past on +with what we know of ourselves, to see its bearing on our individual +case. Of course this will operate with our view of the future too, +but only in a general way, to minimize ambition and anxiety. It +produces, in fact, exactly the same effect as a perfect 'faith;' +indeed, it is hard to distinguish the two, except that faith is the +instinctive practice of the theory of Determinism. + +"Now, the more I work at education, the more I am driven into +Determinism; it seems that we can hardly regulate tendency, in fact +as if the schoolmaster's only duty was to register change. A boy +comes to a place like this, μνημονὶκος and φιλομάθης, +and εὐφύης, as Ascham calls it, in other respects; he is not +exposed, let us say, to any of the temptations which extraordinary +charms of face or manner seem always to entail upon their possessors, +and he leaves it just the same, except that the natural propensities +are naturally developed; whereas a boy with precisely the same +educational and social advantages but without a predisposition to +profit by them leaves school hardly altered in person or mind. It is +true that circumstances alter character—that can not be disputed; +but circumstances are precisely what we can not touch. A boy, +εὐφύης as I have described, brought up as a street-arab, would only +so far profit by it as to be slightly less vicious and disgusting than +his companions. But education, which we speak of as a panacea for all +ills, only deals with what it finds, and does not, as we ought to +claim, rub down bad points and accentuate good, and it is this, that +perhaps more than anything else has made me a Determinist, that +the very capacity for change and improvement is so native to some +characters, and so utterly lacking to others. A man can in real truth +do nothing of himself, though there are all possible varieties—from +the man who can see his deficiencies and make them up, through the +man who sees his weak points and can not strengthen them, to the +spiritually blind who can not even see them. I may of course belong to +the latter class myself—it is the one thing about which no one can +decide for himself—but an inherent contempt for certain parts of my +character seems to hint to me that it is not so." + +It will be seen from the last two letters that his ethical position +was settling itself. + +I therefore think, before I go any further, it will be as well to +give a short account of his religious opinions at this time, as they +were very much bound up with his life. He told me not unfrequently +that religion had been nothing whatever to him at school, and he came +up to the University impressionable, ardent, like a clean paper ready +for any writing. + +It is well known that at the Universities there is a good deal of +proselytizing; that it is customary for men of marked religious views +and high position to have a large _clientèle_ of younger men +whom they influence and mould; schools of the prophets. + +Arthur was not drawn into any one of these completely, though I fancy +that he was to a certain extent influenced by the teaching of one of +these men. The living original of these words will pardon me if I +here insert the words of my friend relating to him; many Cambridge +men have been and are everlastingly grateful for his simple noble +influence and example. + +"Why are there certain people in this world, who whenever they enter +a room have a strange power of galvanizing everybody there into +connection with themselves? what mysterious currents do they set in +motion to and from them, so that those who do not talk to them or at +them, begin to talk with reference to them, hedged about as they are +with an atmosphere of desire and command? + +"There is one of these at Cambridge now, a man for whom I not only +have the profoundest respect, but whose personal presence exercises +on me just the fascination I describe; and influential as he is, it +is influence more utterly unconscious of its own power than any I +have seen—a rare quality. He finds all societies into which he +enters, stung by his words and looks, serious, sweet, interested in, +if not torn by moral and social problems of the deepest import; yet +he always fancies that it is they, not he, that are thus potent. He +is not aware that it is he who is saintly; he thinks it is they that +are good; and all this, not for want of telling him, for he must be +weary of genuine praise and thanks." + +To write thus of any one must imply a deep attraction. I do not +think, however, that the admiration ever extended itself to imitation +in matters theoretical or religious. Arthur was not one of those +indiscriminate admirers, blinded by a single radiant quality to +accept the whole body as full of light. + +Very slowly his convictions crystallized; he had a period of very +earnest thought—during the time of which I have just been +speaking—in which he shunned the subject in conversation; but I have +reason to believe from the books he read, and from two or three +letters to his friend, the curate of whom I have been speaking, that +he was thinking deeply upon revealed religion. + +It must, however, be remembered that he never went through that +period of agonized uprooting of venerated and cherished sentiment +that many whose faith has been very keen and integral in their lives +pass through, the dark valley of doubt. His religion had not intwined +itself into his life; it was not shrined among his sacred memories or +laid away in secret storehouses of thought. + +"I have never felt the agony of a dying faith," he wrote to a friend +who was sorely troubled, "so you will forgive me if I do not seem to +sympathize very delicately with you, or if I seem not to understand +the darkness you are in. But I have been in deep waters myself, +though of another kind. I have seen an old ideal foully shattered in +a moment, and a hope that I had held and that had consecrated my life +for many years, not only crushed in an instant—that would have been +bad enough—but its place filled by an image of despair ... so you +will see that I _can_ feel for you, as I _do_. + +"Leading to the light is a sad, terribly sad, and wearying process; I +have not won it yet, but I have seen glimpses which have dispelled a +gloom which I thought was hopeless. My dear friend, I _know_ that God +will bring you out into a place of liberty, as He has brought me; in +the day when you come and tell me that He has done so, the smile that +will be on your face will be no sort of symbol, I know, of the +unutterable content within. _Expertus novi_, you have my thoughts and +hopes." + +The letters I shall now quote are taken out of a considerable period, +and give a fair picture of what he believed. Tolerance was his great +characteristic. + +Below all principles of his own was a deep resolve not to interfere +in any way with the principles of others, however erroneous he deemed +them. + +With his definition of sincerity that comes out in the following +extracts I have myself often found fault in conversation and by +letter, but I never produced any change. I thought, and still think, +that it is sophistical in tone, and tampers with one of the most +sacred of our instincts. It never in his case, I think, made any +difference to his presentment of the truth, but it is a principle +that I should not dare to advocate; however, it was so integral a +part of his faith that in this delineation, which shall be as +accurate as I can make it, I dare not omit it. + +His convictions were then a steady accumulation, not the shreds of +one system worked into the fabric by the overmastering new impulse +communicated by another, as is so often the case. He writes: + +"The strong man's house entered by the stronger, and his goods +despoiled, is a parable more frequently true of the conversion of +a 'believer' into a sceptic than _vice versa_. The habit of firm +adherence to principle, the capacity for trust, the adaptation of +intellectual resources to uphold a theory—all these go to swell the +new emotion; no man is so effective a sceptic as the man who has been +a fervent believer. + +"But in the rare cases of the conversion of an intellectual man from +scepticism into belief (like Augustine and a very few others) the +spirit suffers by the change. A great deal of cultivation, of logical +readiness, of eloquence, seem to be essentially secular, to belong +essentially to the old life, and to need imperatively putting away +together with the garment spotted by the flesh. Augustine suffered +less perhaps than others; but some diminution of force seems an +inevitable result. + +"I never had a great change of that kind to make. I had a moral +awakening, which was rude but effective, never a conversion; I had +not to strike my old colours." + +Thus, though he was a strong Determinist, his capacity for idealism, +and a natural enthusiasm, saved him from the paralysis which in some +cases results from such speculations. + +"I look upon all philosophical theories as explanations of an +ontological problem, not as a basis of action. The appearance of +free-will in adopting or discontinuing a course of action is a +deception, but it is a complete deception—so complete as not to +affect in the slightest my interest in what is going to happen, nor +my unconscious posing as a factor in that result. Though I am only a +cogwheel in a vast machine, yet I am conscious of my cogs, interested +in my motions and the motions of the whole machine, though ignorant +of who is turning, why he began, and whether he will stop, and why. + +"If I saw the slightest loophole at which free-will might creep in, I +would rush to it, but I do not; if man was created with a free will, +he was also created with predispositions which made the acting of +that will a matter of mathematical certainty. + +"But the idea that it diminishes my interest in life or its issues is +preposterous; I am inclined to credit God with larger ideas than +my own, and His why and wherefore, and the part I bear in it, is +extraordinarily fascinating to me because it is so hidden; and the +least indication of law that I can seize upon—such as this law of +necessity—is an entrancing glimpse into reality. It may not be quite +so delightful as some other theories, but it is true, and real, and +therefore has an actual working in you and me and every one else, +which can not fail to attach a certain interest to it which other +systems lack." + +He gives a very graphic illustration of the phenomena of free-will. +He says— + +"It seems to me closely to resemble a very ordinary phenomenon: the +principle that things as they are farther off appear to us to be +smaller. Logical reflection assures us that they are not so, but the +effect upon our senses is completely illusive; and, what is more, we +act as though they were smaller; we act as if what they gained in +distance they lost in size; we aim at a target which is many feet +high and broad as if it was but a few inches; we say the sun is about +as big as a soup-plate, and having once made these allowances the +knowledge does not affect our conduct of life at all. + +"Just so with free-will; we know by our reason that the thing is +impossible; we act as though it were a prevailing possibility." + +His position with regard to Christianity was shortly as follows; +it is settled by an extract from his diary: + +"I have often puzzled over this: Why in the Gospels did Christ say +nothing about the whole fabric of nature which in His capacity as +Creator ('through whom He made all things') He must have had the +moulding of? All His teaching was personal and individual, dealing +with man alone, an infinitesimal part of His creation ... for compare +the shred, the span of being which man's existence represents with +the countless æons of animal and vegetable life which have +preceded, and surround, and will in all probability succeed it—and +not a word of all this from the Being who gave and supported their +life, calling it out of the abyss for inscrutable and useless +ends—to minister, as the theologians tell us, to the wants and +animal cravings of pitiful mankind. + +"Why is it that He there takes no cognizance of the whole frame of +things of which I am a part, but only deals with human feelings and +emotions as if they were the end of all these gigantic works—the +Milky Way, the blazing sun, the teeming earth—only to raise thoughts +of reverence in the heart of this pitiful being, and failing too, so +hopelessly, so constantly to do so?... + +"'I will accept Christ,' said Herbert, 'as my superior, yes! as my +master, yes! but not as my God.'" One sees, I think, where the +difficulty lies; it must be felt by any man whose idea of God is +very high, whose belief in humanity very low. + +And again— + +"I believe in a revelation which is coming, which may be among us +now, though we do not suspect it, in the words and deeds of some +simple-minded heroic man. + +"No one who preceded the Christian revelation could possibly, from +the fabric of the world as it then was, have anticipated the form it +was about to take. This revelation, too, will be as unexpected as it +will be new—it will come in the night as a thief; the '_quo modo_' +I can not even attempt to guess, except that it will take the form +of some vast simplification of the myriad and complicated issues of +human life." + +But such entries as these were left to his diaries and most private +correspondence; he never attempted a crusade against ordinary forms +of belief, mistaken though he deemed them, often putting a strong +constraint upon himself in conversation. If he was pressed to give an +account of his religious principles he used smilingly to say that he +belonged to the great Johnsonian sect, who practised the religion of +all sensible men, and who kept what it was to themselves. + +There were two views of life with which he had no patience only—the +men who preached the open confession of agnosticism, "if you have +anything to tell us for goodness sake let us have it, but if you have +not, hold your tongue; you are like a clock that has gone wrong, but +insists on chiming to show everybody that it hasn't the least idea +of the time;" and secondly, the men who "took no interest" in the +problems of religion and morals; for a deliberate avoidance of them +he had some respect, but for a professional moralist who took +everything for granted, and for feeble materialists who did not +"trouble their head" about such things, he had a profound contempt. + +The following remarks that he gave vent to on the subject of orthodox +Christianity and an Established Church are very striking, and after +what has preceded might appear paradoxical and ridiculous. But they +are in reality absolutely consistent. + +"When people tell me," he said, "as you have been doing, that the old +methods are _passés_, and compare the crude new ideas with +them for effectiveness, as working theories, I snap my fingers +mentally in their face. + +"These new ideas may, and doubtless do, contain all the good of the +world's future, all the seed of progress in them—but as working +ideas! A system that has been mellowed and coloured, that has +insinuated itself year by year into all the irregularities and +whimsical, capricious, unexpected chinks and crannies of human +nature, accommodating itself gradually to all, to be torn out and +have the bleeding sensitive gap filled with a hard angular heavy +object thrust straight in from an intellectual workshop—the idea +is absolutely preposterous!" + +A friend wrote to him once in great perplexity about the following +problem: as to whether, taking as he did, a purely agnostic view of +life, he should continue to receive the Communion with his parents +when at home; as to whether it was not a base concession to his own +weakness; as to whether he should not stand by his principles. + +"If you have any principles to stand by," he wrote, "by all means +stand by them; but if all you mean is throwing cold water on other +people's principles, my advice is to make no move. Dissembling your +own uneasiness in the matter and quieting their anxious scruples is +one of those matters which seem so simple that heroism appears to +have no part in it. It would be so much nobler (we are tempted to +think) to stand up and protest and denunciate; to throw gloom and +dissension into a happy home and wreck (if you are the affectionate +son I believe you to be) your own happiness, not to speak of +usefulness. It would be more arduous, I admit; not therefore nobler. +Your duty is most plain; you have no right to cause acute distress to +several people, because you can not take exactly such an exalted view +as they do, of an institution which, from the lowest point of view, +is the dying request of a great and loving soul, to all who can feel +his beauty or listen to his call, a beautiful pledge of family and +national unity, and a touching symbol of all good things." + +To another friend, who wrote to him to say that his principles, +though still religious, and faithful in general idea to the Christian +creed, were in so many points different from the principles taught +and demanded by the Church of England, that he felt he ought to take +some definite step to show his state of mind, he wrote as follows: + +"The being born into an institution is a thing which must not be +lightly considered: it imposes certain duties upon you—the quiet +examination of its tenets, for example—and unless you are convinced +of its utter inutility, not to say immorality, it is your duty to +bear such a part in relation to it as shall not mar its usefulness; +and you may no more throw it away through caprice or indifferentism +than you may throw away your own life, simply because you did not +agree to be in the world, and it is through no will of your own that +you are there. Similarly, you can not justify murder because you +were not present to give an assent to the framing of the laws which +condemn it and provide for its restraint. + +"In fact, by taking such a step you are incurring a very heavy +responsibility, and it is at any rate worth while to give it the +closest consideration. + +"And therefore I should suggest that the philosopher who wishes in +any way to affect humanity for the better, should not begin his +crusade by storming one of its chief defences because its title to +that position is not quite so secure as the governor alleges; but +rather accept his religion together with his life, his circumstances, +his disposition, as a condition under which he is born: tacitly +συνειδὼς ἑαύτῳ that it may not be absolute truth, from which +no appeal is possible, but yet fight his best under its colours, +though they may not be quite red enough to suit his own fancy. + +"For what is there ignoble in this concealment? Is it not rather +ignoble to demolish a hope on which others build because it does not +appear to us to be quite satisfactory, though we have nothing to +offer in its stead? It is like plucking down a savage's wattled +cabin. 'First-rate stone houses, if you please, or none at +all,'—and, on being questioned as to where the materials are to come +from, point for answer to the eternal hills. + +"These are general considerations; but you, in particular, my dear +C——, ought to be very cautious, considering who you are." His +father was a high dignitary of the church. "A secession like yours +will carry far more weight than it ought to from your own and your +father's position. People will say, Mr. C—— ought to know; he has +had opportunities of judging from the inside which other people have +not—whereas you have really less opportunity because your horizon +is far more limited because you have only seen it from the inside. +You are rather in the position of the valet. No gossip and gabble +of yours about braces and sock-suspenders will make your hero less +a hero: you will only establish your title to be considered an +unperceptive and low-minded creature among the only people whose +opinion is worth having." + +He was always very decided on what he called "mock sincerity," the +people whom he described as "professional crystals," who always +"speak their mind about a thing." "The art of life," he said, +"consists in knowing exactly what to keep out of sight at any given +moment, and what to produce; when to play hearts and diamonds, ugly +clubs or flat spades; and you must remember that every suit is trumps +in turn." + +The following passage from a letter about a leading politician will +illustrate this: + +"I have always admired him intensely," he writes, as an instance of a +public man who has succeeded by sheer adherence to principles. + +"You can't ensure success; three parts is luck, the genius of time +and place. The only thing you can do seems to me to work hard, and +always take the highest line about things. The highest line, that is +to say, not the line you may _feel_ to be highest, but the line that +you _recognize_ to be so. Not what your fluctuating emotions may +commend, but that which the best moral tact seems to pronounce best. +You can't always expect to feel enthusiasm for the best, so be true +not to your sensations, but your deliberate ideals—that is the +highest sincerity; all the higher because it is so often called +hypocrisy." + +But his Determinist, almost Calvinistic, views were mellowed and +tempered by a serene and deep belief in a providence moving to good, +and ordering life down to the smallest details with special reference +to each man's case; in fact, as he said, the two were so closely +connected that they were like the convex and concave sides of a lens. + +He wrote to me, "I often feel, when straining after happiness, just +like the child who, anxious to get home, pushes against the side of +the railway carriage which is carrying him so smoothly and serenely +to the haven where he would be, while all he effects is a temporary +disarrangement of particles. + +"Life shows me more and more every day that there is something +watching us and working with us, so that now and then in unexpected +moments when I have felt particularly independent for some time back, +I come upon a little fact or incident that reveals to me that I am +like a mouse in the grasp of a cat, allowed sometimes to run a few +inches alone—or more truly like a baby walking along, very proud +of its performance, with a couple of anxious, loving arms poised to +catch it. The extraordinary apportionment not only in balance but in +_kind_ of punishment to sin—long-continued, secret, base desires, +punished by long-hidden suffering—the sharp stress of temptation +yielded to, requited by the sharp pang—the glorious feeling which I +have once or twice felt—the sin once sinned and the punishment +once over, as one is assured supremely sometimes that it is without +doubt—of trustful freedom, and fresh fitness for battling one's self +and helping others to battle—a mood that is soon broken, but is an +earnest while it lasts of infinite satisfaction. The extraordinary +delicacy with which the screw of pain and mental suffering is +adjusted, just lifted when we can bear no more (not when _we_ think +we can bear no more, but when God knows it) and resolutely applied +again when we have gained strength which we propose to devote to +enjoyment, but which God intends us to devote to suffering. The very +beauty, too, of pain itself—the strange flushes of joy that it gives +us, which can only thus be won—the certainty that this is reality, +this is what we are meant to do and be—happiness of different kinds, +art, friends, books, are delusive; they play over the surface; in +suffering we dip below it." This latter thought expanded is the +subject of a passage of a letter to myself that gave me wonderful +comfort. + +We know how sickness or sorrow comes down heavily on us, crushing in +what we are pleased to call our "plans," and "interrupting," as we +say, "our opportunities for usefulness," spoiling our life. + +"My dear friend, _this is_ life itself. It is this very 'interruption' +that we live for. What does God care about the wretched books you +intend to write, the petty occupations you think you discharge so +gracefully? He means to teach you a great high truth, worth knowing; +and, thank Heaven, He will, however much you shrink and writhe. Do +not pick and choose among events: try and interpret each as it +comes." + +At the expiration of the year of work—Easter, 1875—he was unchanged +in his plan of travel; in fact, it had become a resolve by that time. +He confessed that he did not personally at all like giving up the +school work; he had got very much interested in some of the boys, and +in the whole process of the education of character. But there was +also another reason, which the following letter will explain: + +"You know, perhaps, that I have been acting as usher here for a year; +it is to be a kind of probation. That is to say, I have promised to +try what it is like for a year, and see if I feel inclined to adopt +it as my profession. + +"Now, I am in a very curious position. I do feel inclined, very much +inclined indeed, to stick permanently to the work; it interests, +amuses, occupies me. I hate the want of occupation. I hate making +occupations for myself, and this provides me with regular work at +stated hours, leaving other stated hours free, and free in the best +way; that is to say, it works the vapours off. My brain feels clear +and steady; I can talk, think, write, read better, in those intervals +than I ever can when all my time is my own, and yet—I must, I +believe, give it up. + +"You know I pretend to a kind of familiar; like Socrates, I am +forbidden to do certain things by a kind of distant inward voice—not +conscience, for it is not limited to moral choice. I don't mean to +say I do not or have not disobeyed it, but it is always the worse for +me in the end; it is like taking a short cut in the mountains; you +get to your end in time, but far more tired and shaky than if you had +followed the right road, which started so much to the left among the +pines, and moreover, you get there very much behind your party. + +"This time it tells me that I am not equal to the direct +responsibility; that I can not, with my habits of mind and temper, +impress a permanent enough mark upon the lads. It is like beginning a +system of education that is to take, say, thirty years, giving them a +year of it, and then taking to another; you not only lose your year, +but you unfit them for other systems. That is what I should do; my +methods do not prepare them for other normal education; it is only +the beginning of a preparation for what I believe to be a higher and +more complete education, but that wouldn't justify my keeping on. + +"I do not believe that I have done any harm; in fact, my theory would +forbid me to think so; but it also informs me that my _rôle_ is +not to be that of a schoolmaster. + +"I shall be a poor man, of course; poor, that is, for an independent +gentleman. I wish I were a Fellow of a College at Cambridge; I would +try and be as ideal as Gray in that position." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In April he was released from his engagement, and he immediately went +abroad, alone. He travelled through Normandy into Brittany, spending +two months at a little village called Chanteuil, not far from the +Point du Sillon. Here he wandered about mostly alone, dressed in +the roughest possible costume, and allowing his beard to grow. "At +Chanteuil I first learnt how to think, or rather how to converse with +myself as I had before done with other persons; I also found for the +first time that I did not dislike my own company." + +In June he went south, sailing from Brest to Bordeaux, and then +descending by land into Spain, where he remained till August. Here he +spent a long time in exploring the table-land between the Asturian +Mountains and the sea, and then from Burgos visiting Madrid, Toledo, +Ciudad, and Seville, and so to Gibraltar. From Gibraltar he sailed +up the south-east coast, and settled himself for another month at a +little village called Benigarcia, about five miles east of Sorrion, +on the river Mijares. In November he sailed by Minorca, starting from +Barcelona, to Sicily, and spent the rest of the year in the north of +Italy, sailing from Sicily to Genoa, and settling at a village called +Riviglio, not very far from Verona. He was obliged to adopt this +plan of settling, as his exchequer was not large. From this place +he visited Venice on foot, and early in the year visited Rome and +Florence, sailing from Ancona in March for Spalatro, and worked up +through Hungary to a little place called Bochnia, on the Vistula, +down which river he went by boat to Königsberg, staying in +Warsaw a few weeks. Once on the Baltic, he hired a fishing-boat, and +spent a month in cruising about, during which time he discovered, or +rather unearthed, an island, which formed the subject of the only +letter he wrote to me during his entire absence. + + "Copenhagen, June, 1876. + +"My dear Carr, + +"I am writing this on board the fishing-smack _Paradys_, which is at +this moment lying in Copenhagen Roads, being myself owner by hire and +supercargo of the same. The first object of my note is to assure you +of my existence, as your letter which was forwarded after me to +Danzig seemed to imply uncertainty on that point, and moreover +expressed a strange solicitude as to my well-being which was by no +means unpleasing to me; then to request you to perform several small +commissions for me.... + +"Lastly, to tell you of a very curious adventure I met with. Some +weeks ago I was cruising not very far from Danzig, when we sighted a +low wooded island about seven miles off land. I discovered by dint of +arduous questioning, for the lingo of these fellows is very uncouth, +that it was uninhabited, because its owner, a Danish nobleman, +devoted it to the growing of wood for firewood, etc.; a poor +speculation, I should say, as the wind blows very fresh from the sea +and stunts the trees; and also partly because of a bad name attaching +to it, and many horrid superstitions—what, they could not tell me. +It was a curious-looking place, not very large, but with deep +indented bays all round running very far inland, so as to give it +somewhat the shape of a starfish with seven or eight irregular arms; +the woods come down very close to the sea and are mostly fir or +larch. I could see a few trees further inland of a lighter green, but +could not make out to what species they belonged. Between the woods +and the sea there are sands loosely overgrown with that spiky grass +that covers sand-hills, and at the extremity of two of the valleys +a marsh formed by a freshwater spring. The place is frequented by +birds, mostly pigeons, and a good many waterfowl of different kinds. + +"We spent a hot oppressive day with very little wind in cruising +leisurely round it as close in shore as we could get. I should guess +that it was about eleven miles round, measuring from the ends of the +promontories. We saw no signs whatever of habitation except the +three or four old boats on props in one of the creeks used by the +woodcutters as cabins when they come. I found out from my men that so +great was the horror of the place, that even smugglers, when hard +pressed, have been known to risk capture rather than put in to the +island; and on my inquiring the cause of these rumours, they gave me +various vague and grotesque stories about dead men and women, and +a figure which sat on the seaward cape and wept, with long hair +drooping all over her; and, worst of all, of two boys, dressed in an +antique dress, whom to see was certain disaster, and to speak with +certain death. + +"Toward evening the breeze freshened; and as it was getting dark I +proposed casting anchor in one of the creeks. My men manifested the +greatest alarm; but as the channel is full of shoals and sands +between the island and the mainland (which is at that place very much +deserted), and we were not acquainted with the lie of them, and as +I bound myself by the most solemn promises not to send any of them +ashore, they at last reluctantly consented. However, as none of them +would stir an inch, but crowded together in the most disgusting +proximity into their hole of a cabin, I was left the sole patrol of +the place. + +"It was an oppressive evening, and I walked about a long time up and +down, and finally sat down to smoke. The place was curiously silent, +except that every now and then it was broken by those strange +woodland sounds, like smothered cries or groans, seeming to proceed +out of the heart of the wood at a great distance. We lay in a sandy +creek with banks of pines on each side, rising up very black against +the sky, which had that still green enamelled look that it gets on a +very quiet evening. At the far end of the creek was a large marsh +covered with the white cotton rush then in bloom; it caused a strange +glimmering which I could see till it got quite dark. The only other +sound was the wash of the short waves on the sands outside, and the +gurgle and cluck of the water as it crept past the boat and out to +sea. + +"Toward midnight I saw a sight that I have never seen before nor +expect to see again. I was surprised to see a light, apparently on +the shore, in the direction of the marsh. It looked exactly like a +lantern carried by a man. It was very indistinct, but wavered about, +always floating about a foot or two from the surface, sometimes +standing still as though he was looking for something on the ground, +and sometimes moving very quickly. It was a will-o'-the-wisp—a +phosphorescent exhalation. + +"It was a foul pestilential place, there is no doubt. The mist was +all about us by midnight, and smelt very heavy and cold. I awoke +shivering in the morning, and not feeling by any means as fresh or +vigorous as usual; but nevertheless I determined to explore the +island—singly, if none of the men would accompany me. + +"Straight up in front of me, apparently about a mile inland, was a +very marked clump of trees projecting above the other foliage. I had +noticed it several times from the sea the day before. You could see +the red stems clearly above the other trees. It evidently marked a +knoll or rising ground of some kind, and I determined to make that +the object of my journey, and scale, if possible, the trees to get a +bird's-eye view of the place. + +"As I had expected, I could not get a single member of the crew to +accompany me further than the shore, and they were frightened at +that. Two of them, who were very much attached to me, implored +me most earnestly not to go, but seeing that I was bent upon it, +shrugged their shoulders and were silent. The instant I was deposited +with my gun on shore, they turned back to the boat and immured +themselves. I arranged that at twelve o'clock, if I did not return, +they should leave the creek and go round the island within hailing +distance, so as to pick me up at any point. I started along the +shore, skirting the marsh which wound through the pines. + +"The first thing that I came upon was a heronry. I had noticed +several of these magnificent birds the day before sailing over the +island, and this creek was evidently their settlement; up they went, +floating away in all directions with a marvellous, almost magical +rapidity and silence of flight. This persuaded me more than anything +else that the island was unfrequented, as they are a very shy bird, +and distrustful of human beings. I then left the stream and struck +straight up into the woods, as nearly as possible toward the clump. + +"I put up a few rabbits and a great many pigeons. I also saw an +animal that I believe to have been a wolf, but it retreated with such +rapidity that I lost sight of it among the tree stems. There was very +little undergrowth, as often happens under pines, but the boughs +overhead formed a close screen, and the heat was very oppressive. +After about an hour's walking I emerged on a cliff above the sea, +having mistaken my direction, and crossed the island diagonally. On +getting clear of the trees I could again see the goal of my walk, the +clump, this time a good deal nearer; and now resolutely plunging into +the wood, and keeping always slightly to the right, for I saw that my +bias was to the left, I came at last to a place where I could see the +sides of a mound through the trees rather indistinctly. + +"All of a sudden I came to a low wall among the trees, overgrown in +some places, but opposite me almost entirely clear. It was built of +large stones carefully fitted together, like the architecture that I +remembered to have seen called Cyclopean in architectural histories +of Greece. It was easily climbed, and I saw that it surrounded the +mound at the distance of about fifty yards, in an irregular circle. + +"The space which intervened between it and the mound was partially +filled with great hewn stones planted all about, some of them lying +on their side, some upright, many of them broken. Going through these +I came upon the mound itself. It was crowned with a group of firs, +which I could see at once to be much older than the surrounding +trees. They were far larger and taller, for the height of the mound +did not entirely account for the extraordinary way in which they +overtopped the rest of the trees. The mound was very steep, and was +apparently constructed of stones built carefully together; but only +very small portions of the masonry were visible, it was so overgrown +and hidden. + +"Wandering round it I found a rude flight of steps leading to the +top, also much overgrown. I ascended hastily, and found myself on the +top of a smooth plateau, about fifty by thirty yards, surrounded by +the gigantic firs; but what immediately arrested my attention was a +strange rude altar in the middle, ornamented with uncouth figures and +other ornaments. It was covered with moss at the top, and very much +cracked and splintered in places. + +"I concluded at once that I was in the presence of some remains, +probably Druidic in origin, which, owing to the extraordinary +desolation of the spot and the superstition attaching to the island, +had been so long unvisited as to have been forgotten. I could see +that the mound was quite surrounded by the wall, and that it was +evidently a sacred enclosure of some kind. + +"And gazing and wondering, the stories attributed to the place seemed +not wholly without cause. There are certain atmospheres, I have +always held, which, as it were, infect one; the very air has caught +some contagion of evil which can not be got rid of. There is a +baneful influence about some places which makes itself felt upon +all sensitive beings who approach. I have felt it on actual +battle-fields, as well as at other places that I have held to be the +scenes of unrecorded, immemorial slaughters; and as I gazed round +it seemed to gather and fall on me here. The very stillness was +appalling, for there was now a good deal of wind blowing from the +sea, as I could tell from the rustling and cracking of the fir boughs +all about, and the sound of the sea on the sand; but here there was +an oppressive heaviness, as if the place was still brooding over the +ancient horror it had seen. And this was succeeded in my mind by a +strange, overpowering, fascinating wonder and speculation as to what +dismal deeds of darkness could have been done in the place; with +whose blood, indeed, whether of innocent sheep and goats, or pleading +men and frightened children, that grim uncouth altar had run and +smoked; whether, in truth, as the ancient tales say, every one of +those gray pillars all about had been set up, and still was based +upon, the mouldering crushed remains of men. The sickening contagion +of the sin of the place grew upon me every moment. + +"To rid myself of it I applied myself to climb one of the trees to +get a bird's-eye view of the island. This I effected without much +difficulty, and found that it was of the shape, as I have said, of an +irregular five-pointed star. From extremity to extremity, it must be, +I believe, about five miles. + +"But now follows the part of my story that I do not profess to +explain. I marked in my mind the nearest path to the sea, which was +to the north-east—the path I actually pursued—and descended; and +then I became aware that the feeling I had experienced before was not +purely physical—that there _was_ a taint of a real kind in the air, +which strangely affected the emotional atmosphere. I felt helpless, +bewildered, sickened. I descended, however, from the platform, and +walked straight, in what I had determined to be the right direction, +when, just as I was about to scale the wall, heartily glad to be out +of the place, I was—not exactly called, for there was no sound—but +most unmistakably ordered to look round. Am I clear? The sensation +produced mentally and emotionally was precisely like the receiving +an imperative order that one has neither power nor inclination to +resist—so strong and sudden that I kept thinking that my name had +been called. In reflecting, however, I am certain that it was not. + +"I turned at once, and saw, standing together, close by the platform, +two boys, about twelve years of age I should have said, in a loose +antique dress, of a bluish-white colour, reaching down to the knees, +and girt about the waist, with leather buskins fastened by straps +reaching up the leg; their heads were bare, and their hair, which was +a dark brown, was loose and flowing. I could not clearly distinguish +their faces, but they looked handsome, though desperately frightened. +Accompanying this was an indescribable sense, which I have sometimes +had in dreams, of an overwhelming intense vastness—space-immensity +rushing over one with a terrible power; and at the same time the +feeling of _numbers_, as if I was in the presence of a multitude +of people. All this quite momentary; in an instant I was conscious +of the tall avenues of red stems, with their dark background, and +the heavy silence of the underwood, and nothing more. + +"I went as if dazed through the wood, yet unconsciously obeying the +tacit order of my determination, down a steep fully clad with pine +trees, the needles very soft under my feet, till I suddenly came out +of the stifling wood on to golden sands and blue water, and a great +restful wash of air and sunlight. + +"I fired my gun as a signal, and wandering on, as if only half awake, +I came out upon another point, and saw the boat lying close below me, +whereupon I fired again, and was taken on board. + +"My sensation was one of strange languor and fatigue; certainly no +fright, and very little wonder; rather as if I had been stunned or +charmed by opiates into a kind of waking slumber. I have never felt +anything like it before or since. + +"But by morning I was shivering in an ague caught in that +pestilential fever-swamp, and then the fever fiend himself came and +took up his abode with me, and I am now only just convalescent, and +can sun myself on the deck, and read and write a little; but the +illness and the unconsciousness have done as such things often +do—interposed a sort of blank between me and my past life—have +deadened it, as one deadens sound by wool, so that memories no longer +strike on my mind sharp and clear, but swim along hazy and undefined; +and especially is it the case with later memories. + +"What was the sight, my dear Carr, that I saw on that hill-top? Was +it nothing but the uneasiness of mind and memory disturbed and +disorganized by the seething of the foul poison-wine, throwing up +pictures and ideas out of their due course, and without subordination +to the master-will? Was it merely the story of those fisher-folk, +half apprehended, and yet evoked and subtly clad with form and shape +by the strange workshop of imagination? + +"To all of these I am quite content to say 'Yes.' The sight does not +trouble me, or, indeed, anything but interest me. I am not +superstitious; I am not nervous in the least. Only I can not help +feeling as if, catching, in my weakened state, the hideous leprosy of +the place, I had received into my mind, then less able than usual to +resist, the stamp and impress of some other mind forced to linger +near that spot, and unable to avoid brooding over some haunting +remorseful thought or image of a deed, ever dismally recalling how +he stood in grim silence watching the tears and prayers of the +two soft-faced smooth-limbed Roman boys, kidnapped from some +sunny Italian villa, and carried to that gloomy place—held them +pitilessly on the altar among the other fork-bearded Druids, with +their white robes and glaring eyes—and smote the cruel blow, in +spite of the trembling touch of the young fingers and the piteous +entreaties, as they looked tearfully from side to side in the damp +sunless Golgotha, among the glens of that sinister isle. + +"That is the picture that somehow or other, even in my most material +mood, is evoked by the thought of the place. The rationalist +explanation of the coming fever is far more satisfactory and +scientific; but the other keeps recurring—a curious experience +anyhow. + +"If you have nothing to do you might write me a line to Stockholm, +Poste Restante. I am going north to have a look at the ice. +Altogether, what with the East still open before me, I do not expect +to come home for two or three years. + +"You are one of the few friends I can rely upon, so I carry about +with me a letter addressed to you; in case of my death you will be +the first to be notified of the fact. + + "Ever yours, + "Arthur Hamilton." + +I have given this letter in full, because it affords a good example +of Arthur's descriptive style, which always struck me as being vivid +and graphic, and also because this little incident, not by the proof +it itself afforded, but by the turn it gave his thoughts—then rather +rapidly drifting into materialism—was the first step in a kind of +conversion from the purely physical views of life he had been apt to +take. The episode itself, too, is a curious one, and may deserve to +be recorded. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Nothing is more hopelessly wearisome than descriptions of travel; +even George Eliot could not make in her diaries Florence anything but +dull. I shall confine myself to sketching his route, to telling one +incident among the few he told me, and describing his return. + +I had no more letters from him; but he has told me that he got to +Spitzbergen, and in a whaler to the edge of the great arctic +ice-field. He sailed to America and crossed it. From San Francisco he +visited Peru and the Amazon, on which river he spent a month. Then he +went to Africa, to what part I do not know, except that he came down +the Nile; and then he wandered through Asia Minor, Persia, and India; +he penetrated a little way into Thibet, and saw China and Japan; he +went up to the mouth of the Siberian rivers, travelling for three +months with a party of gipsies, who taught him many curious things, +such as their own language and freemasonry, the use of simples, the +properties of water, and the strange things that can be done with +even such things as docks and nettles, and other plants which we toss +away as weeds. He told me that in that branch of secret knowledge, +as in all others, there was a vast deal of nonsense but a solid +residuum of truth; and he said, half jestingly, that they had sworn +him a member of their brotherhood, and what was more, he had since +discovered many members of the brotherhood in civilized nations, even +in "kings' houses." + +But I must suspend my account for a short time to relate the incident +to which I have just referred. It took place during his stay in +Teheran, while on his way home (1878), a period of about six weeks. +This city is situated in a lovely climate—hot, but not unbearable +for Europeans; houses, horses, and servants are extraordinarily +cheap. The house that Arthur took was situated in large gardens or +pleasure-grounds of the natural wilderness type that one finds in +the East, shrubberies relegated to certain limits, but within those +limits left absolutely to their own device and will, with the +exception of arched and shaded paths cut under the thick intertwined +leafage. + +This whole place, with horses at his command, and seven servants, +with the whole expense of boarding, cost him, he has told me, +£40 for the entire six weeks that he was there; for he was very +weary of his rough tramping life, and resolutely determined to +recruit his energies by some deliberate luxury, a recipe far more +useful than the normal Englishman is at all inclined to admit, +thinking, as he does so erroneously, that "overtasking the body is +the best restorative for the overworked mind, and _vice versâ_," +as Arthur said once, "whereas the two instruments, so to speak, have +but one blade though two handles." + +The heat of the day was rather overpowering; that period he usually +spent dozing or reading in the court of the house, which was occupied +by a cool flashing fountain in the centre of an oasis of marble +pavement, streaked and veined. About seven it became cooler, and +then in the light native costume he used to ride leisurely about the +picturesque city or among the delightful houses scattered about in +the outskirts like his own. + +One evening he was riding in this fashion down a lane running between +high brick walls, fringed with feathery trailing shrubs or gorgeous +red and white flowers, whose fragrance literally streamed into the +evening air, in that delicate dusk when the senses are lulled into +acquiescence, and the mind and emotions become so vivid and lustrous +in their play. + +Riding along with his eyes half closed and lost in a delicious +reverie, his horse turned of its own accord to the left, and went for +some distance up an embowered road; Arthur suddenly roused himself +to find that he was passing close to a large sombre house, that had +evidently once been fortified, looming very impressively in the +languorous air; the gate had been opened for some purpose and not +closed again, and he was, in fact, trespassing in some private +grounds. + +He checked his horse, looking curiously about him, and was just about +to return when he heard a voice apparently proceeding from the centre +of one of the shrubberies, asking him his business in Persian. +Looking in that direction he managed to distinguish two or three +indistinct figures seated on a low seat on a kind of terrace on his +left. + +He rode up, and mustering up the little Persian he possessed, +apologized for his unintentional intrusion, mingling a good deal of +English, as he said, with his rather incoherent explanation. + +He was aware that one of the figures disengaged itself from the +group, and coming up close to him, regarded him with some curiosity. +It was a tall man, paler in complexion than the natives are wont to +be, with large dreamy eyes, and an air of indifferent lassitude that +was rather fascinating. + +He was amazed to hear, at the conclusion of his lame peroration, a +voice of strange delicacy of intonation proceeding from the figure: +"An Englishman, I presume." The accent was a little affected, but the +speaker was evidently more English than Persian by training: "Not +only English," said Arthur to himself, "but London English of the +best kind." + +He confessed his nationality, and, again apologizing, was about to +withdraw, when the stranger courteously invited him to join the +party. "It is very refreshing," he said, "to hear my native tongue +by chance; I can not resist the temptation of begging you to join us +for a little, that I may hear it once more; you will do me a great +kindness if you will accede to my request." + +Seeing that the offer was sincere, Arthur dismounted, and walked to +the terrace with the other. The figures rose at their approach, and +Arthur could see that they were two boys of fifteen or sixteen, of +extraordinary beauty and delicacy, and a woman of about thirty-five, +as far as he could judge, evidently their mother. + +His host spoke a few words in Persian, the purport of which he could +not catch, and, rapidly presenting him, requested him to be seated, +and produced some cigarettes of a very choice and fragrant kind. + +They talked for a long time on general subjects—England, politics, +art, and literature. The stranger seemed well acquainted with +literature and events of a certain date, but not of later departures +in any branch; and finally, Arthur gave a short account of himself +and his wanderings, in which the others appeared most interested. + +Before he went back to his house the stranger asked him, with some +earnestness, to return on the following day, which Arthur gladly +accepted. One of the boys conducted him to the gate, speaking a few +English sentences with that delicate and hesitating utterance that +combines with other personal attractions to give an almost unique +charm. + +On the following day, and on several others, the invitation was +repeated and accepted. The stranger became more communicative, having +at first consistently maintained a courteous reserve. + +The last day of Arthur's stay in his villa he went to see his new +friends. The boys had taken a great fancy to him, and used to wait +for his coming at the gate; but they would never come to his house, +though he asked them more than once. They were not permitted, they +said, to leave their own domain. + +On this last evening his host was alone, and after some indifferent +conversation he told Arthur the following story, and made a proposal +which had a strange influence on the rest of his life: + +"You may have wondered," he said, "at the cause which brought me +here, and keeps me here. I have often admired your courtesy, which +has made no attempts to discover my antecedents; it is not the usual +characteristic of our nation. If you are disposed to hear, I am +willing to give you a little autobiographical outline, which is a +necessary preface to a request which I am going to make of you." + +He then mentioned his name and parentage—facts which I am not at +liberty to repeat. They surprised even Arthur when he heard them; +they surprised me, when he communicated them to me, even more. + +He was the son of an English nobleman of high rank and wealth and +aristocratic traditions, and was reported to be long since dead. +Many people will no doubt remember the shock which the news of the +premature death of this individual, when announced in Europe, made. +It took place at Palermo in 1853. More than that I am not at liberty +to state. + +"My reasons for this were as follows," said his host. "I meditated a +retirement from the world of a kind which should be absolute, which +should excite no inquiries, no interest, except a retrospective one. +To have merely disappeared would not have suited my purpose; search +would have been instituted. The connections and influence of my +family would have made such a plan liable to constant disaster. From +Palermo, after superintending the making of my tombstone, I came +straight back here, to a house which I had already prepared for +myself under an anonymous name. I travelled with the utmost secrecy; +I married, as you have seen, a native wife; and from that day to this +I have never beheld a European face but yours. Your arrival was so +unexpected as to shiver resolve and habit; but I have no reason +to regret, as far as I can see, my confidence. I feel that I can +unreservedly trust you. + +"You will no doubt wonder as to my aim in executing this hazardous +and Quixotic project. I do not mind telling you now, at this lapse +of time, though I have never before opened my reasons to any one, +because I think that I observe in you traces of that temper which +led me to take the step. + +"It seemed to me that Western life had got into a confusion and +complication from which nothing could deliver it. The principles now +incorporated with the very existence of the most influential men in +it seemed to me to be radically erroneous, and the disposition of the +Western mind is of a kind which augments with indefinite rapidity the +strength of any prevalent idea. + +"What I mean is this. May I explain by a quotation? A sentence from a +certain review of the poet Coleridge's life and work is as follows: +'Devoted as he was to mystic and ideal contemplation, to abstractions +of mind and spirit, he naturally became untrustworthy in every +relation of life.' + +"That represents, in an exaggerated form, the ideal of the Western +mind. They are, though they would not so name themselves, gross +materialists; and the tendency is increasing on them daily and +yearly. Those who protest occasionally against current thought, who +appear like prophets with bitter invective and words of warning on +their lips, are swept away by the tide, and write of trade and +treaties, of wars of principle and convenience. The very divines are +tainted. 'Live your life to the uttermost,' they cry. + +"And in the Western mind the tendency once rooted gathers force from +every quarter. As a necessary concomitant of the restless habit, the +enshrining of the 'effective man' in their proudest temples, comes an +extreme deference to other people, a heated straining of the ears to +catch the murmurs of that vague uncertain heart—Public Opinion. And +why? It follows: if it is in this life alone that triumphs must be +won—if on this stage alone the drama is to be played out, and the +time is short—it is that imperious will that you must conciliate; +therefore employ every power to gain the art of so doing. + +"So intent are the Westerns on this drama, so wrapped up in the +actors, so anxious to declaim and strut, that they forget to what end +the play exists: they have left the spectators out for whom alone +the scenes are enacted, and who, though apparently so silent and +motionless, are the _raison d'être_ of the whole performance. +The play must and will continue through the ages; but the wise, the +enlightened, beat down, and in one sharp encounter overcome, the +lower desire of being seen and applauded, and are content to sit +and watch—the nobler task. + +"For we must remember that it is not the drama itself, tragedy or +comedy, fascinating as it be, that we are here to watch—but the +mind of the Being that animates the whole, can be here descried and +here alone, as in a mirror faintly: it is not only the man who fumes +and paces up and down for a few moments and then is called away; but +the vast Existence behind, that knows what the play means and will +not tell us, and that pushes the players on and off as He will. + +"And here we find ourselves, with our tiny and uncertain space of +time bounded by the Infinities at either end, with the huge puzzle +set before us. A method has been invented, is now traditional, of +closing the eyes easily and thoughtlessly to the whole; and we are +content to catch that contagion from our predecessors: we eat and +drink, we work and play, and stifle the restless questioning that +springs up so resolutely in our spaces of solitude here; and what +will it do in the immeasurable hereafter? + +"When I lived in England I was for a short time the member of a +professional circle of men engaged on high educational aims. They +held, so far as any teachers can be said to hold, many futures in +their hands. We know that lives teach more than words; and how did +these men set themselves to live? + +"First, to perform their work with rigid accuracy: I will do them +justice—to do it _perfectly_; but granted that, as speedily as +possible: and, their work over, to amuse themselves—literally: to +play games that they enjoyed with childish keenness, and fill up all +the day with them; to read the papers; to play whist; to smoke in +the sun; to get through a certain amount of general reading for +conversational purposes, and to gossip about one another and their +doings, and talk about their work, in which, it must be confessed, +they were enthusiastically interested, only in a gossipy detailed +way, amassing incident rather than arriving at principles. There +was only one who was engaged in serious work of a kind involving +scientific research, and he forfeited much of his doctrinal and all +his social influence thereby; 'A man should stick to his work,' they +said, 'not pretend to do one thing while he is thinking about +another.' + +"A low ideal, faithfully carried out, is the most effective; not +because the high ideal is high, but because so few are capable of +carrying it out; and in that Western world success in aims proposed +is the highest that a man can aspire to. + +"And suppose we do make ourselves famous, what then? how do we use +our fame? To make life happier? It might be so, but is it? No, for +ordinary minds the strain is too strong. 'I will gain fame,' the pure +young soul said once, 'as an engine of power, that I may have a +platform where men will listen to me;' but the effort of struggling +thither has been too much, and once arrived there, what is his +object now? merely to remain there, and among the crowd of pushing +selfish figures, that have lost in the fight the very signs of their +humanity, _monstrari digito_, to have the gaze of men, to feel +somebody. + +"All this I throw aside, and go straight to God. All around us in +natural things—in the curve of that rose-stem and the passionate +flush of its petals—in those white bells there, looking as if blown +out of veined foam—in the luscious scents that wind and linger +round the garden, He has set, as in a language, the secrets of His +being and ours, of our why and wherefore, if we could but read them. +Like the characters and monuments of a bygone age staring from a +waste of sand or the front of a precipice, these words and phrases +seem to say, not 'There was a king who was mighty, but whose throne +is cut down,' but 'There lives a God who would be all tenderness if +He could, and is more beautiful in His nature than anything you have +ever seen or dreamed of. Win your way to Him, if you can; do not let +Him go till you have His secret. That is a talisman indeed, that +shall shut you in palaces of delight where no torment shall touch +you.' + +"And not a selfish paradise. We are but as others, we mystics; it is +only that we take—or rather are led, for it is no will of ours, but +an imperious voice that calls us—the straight and flowery road to +God, pressing through but one hedge of thorns, while you and others +struggle to Him along the dusty road that winds and wanders. But our +paradise would be no paradise if we did not know that our brothers +were coming, coming; the beauty that we behold, sheer ugliness if we +did not believe that you will some day share it too. + +"Yes, I am a mystic—have joined the one brotherhood that is eternal +and all-embracing, as young as love and as old as time—the society +that no man suspects till he is close upon it, or hopes to enter till +he finds himself in a moment within the sacred pale. I would that I +could tell you with what different eyes we look on life and death, +God and nature, from this divine vantage-ground on which we stand, +and you would imperil all, run through fire and water, to win it too; +but you must find the way yourself—no man can show it you. If you +enter—and you are destined to enter this side the grave—it will +come when you are least expecting it. In the middle of those that +cry 'Lo, here is Christ and there,' He himself will touch you on the +shoulder, and show you better things than these. + +"Oh, if I could only help you there at once—open the door! But my +words would bear other and commoner meanings in your ear; if I opened +the door, you would not see the light. Ay, and I do not wish it; for +every step outside you take is apportioned you; you need them, that +you may appreciate, when you have it, the rest within. + +"And now for my request. You need not answer now; you may have a year +to think of it. + +"You have seen my two boys. Outwardly they are alike, inwardly very +different—that you could not see. + +"The younger will join me soon; he is far advanced upon the way +already, though he little suspects it. I have no fears for him. God +is drawing him. + +"But the elder—like as he is in face, form, disposition—will need +another discipline. He must tread the winding road, the road of other +men. His trial will be a sharp one; through many paths he will have +to be taught the truth. I could hardly bear it, when I look at the +tender face, the dreamy eyes, and feel his caressing hand, thinking +of the horrors he must look upon, if I did not know that all will be +well. + +"Will you undertake a charge for me? I could not play a part in the +world again, even if I would. I have lost my hold on men. I do not +realize what are their hopes and fears, their ideals, and most of +all, their whims and caprices; and, what is more, I could never +appreciate them now. Ten years' isolation is enough to spoil one for +that; in ten years many social traditions and commonplaces of life +have changed. I should have to ask the reasons for many things. I +should never feel them instinctively, as those do who have grown old +along with them. + +"And so I can not undertake the task of guiding him in this harsh +world that he must enter. I have known, however, for some time that +it would be undertaken and accomplished for me. You have been sent to +me, later than I thought, but still sent. I have been waiting; I have +been true to my creed, and have not been impatient. + +"I intrust him to you as I intrust the fairest possession I have, +knowing that you will feel the responsibility. You will find him +passionately affectionate, and in danger there; quick to anger, and +in danger there; personally fascinating and beautiful, and in danger +there; and in these three things his trial will be. But he does not +resent nor brood; he is docile, apt to listen, eager to comprehend; +and he is truthful and sincere." + +I have given this in a continuous speech, much as Arthur told it me +a few months ago, though it was the essence of a conversation. The +quiet man, with his dreamy eyes fixed on his face, he told me, and +the fragrant Eastern garden seemed from moment to moment of the +strange adventure to swim and become vague and phantasmal; but again +the quiet air of certainty with which questions were asked and +statements made gave him a curious sense of security, and an impulse +to accept the indicated path, together with a sense of shrinking from +such a responsibility. + +"I do not, as I told you," said the other, "want your answer now, but +this day one year hence, August 19, 1879, I shall claim it. And I +have no doubt," he added with a smile, "of what that answer will be. +But I beg of you do not give the question a hasty consideration and +then reverse your decision. Do not attempt to decide. Let your choice +be guided by circumstances; they are the safest guide, for they are +not of our own making. + +"I do not suppose," he continued, "that I shall ever see you again on +earth, as you proceed with your journey to-morrow; and indeed I think +it will perhaps be as well that this should be our last conversation, +so that nothing else should interfere to blur the impression. + +"One last word then." He paused for a moment, and the stillness was +broken only by the faintest stir of odorous wind among the +spice-trees and a waft of distant evening noises. + +"You are treading a path, though you do not realize it, which it is +not given to many men to tread. You have had your first intimation of +the goal to-day, and the future will not be wanting in indications of +the same; but, as I have said, you will suddenly, when you least +expect it, step inside the circle, and everything will be changed. + +"To you I wish to intrust a future that I can not mould myself, to be +moulded, not for me, but for the great Master of all. You are the +chosen instrument for this. My work lies in another region, which you +will realize on that day when all things are made plain. + +"Only remember that your destiny is high and arduous, and that a +single false step may throw you from a precipice that has taken years +to scale once, and that must be scaled again. For you walk among the +clouds, or very near them; you are not defiled by any gross habitual +sin; your heart is pure, and you have known suffering. You are a true +novice. + +"In a year, as I have said, I shall claim your answer. And now +farewell for a season. When we next meet we shall have a larger +common ground; we shall be master and pupil no longer. + +"You shall see the boy once again, by his wish and my own. He shall +go with you to your house to-night, and travel with you the first +stage to-morrow. I have arranged for his return." + +He then conducted Arthur into the house, where he bade adieu to the +mistress and to the younger son; the elder, his charge that was to +be, meeting him as he came out, and accompanying him home. The boy +had formed a great attachment to him, and the idea of their future +relations sent a strange and unwonted glow into Arthur's mind, so +that he parted from him on the next day, "with wonder in his heart," +and something very like an ache too. + +This last episode will appear to my readers to be so fantastic as to +give the work at once a fictional character; they will say that on +some real lines I have constructed a romance of the wildest type, +and that Arthur is no longer an interesting personality, because as +a rule he is too ordinary to be ideal, in the last two chapters too +illusory to be real. + +All I can urge is this: the chapters shall be their own defence. If I +had wished to present my readers with nothing but a dry chronicle of +facts I should have toned this down to something more prosaic. But +every one who has had any experience of life will know that her +surprises are sometimes very bewildering; that fiction is nothing but +uncommon experience made ordinary, or heaped inartistically upon a +single character. + +It may be said that the man was mentally affected, in the latter +scene; in the former, that Arthur himself was the victim of a mental +disorder; but he left such vivid and detailed descriptions of both +events that I have been enabled to give one (the letter) exactly +as it stands, and the interview in Teheran is taken directly from +diaries—a little amplified and reconstructed, it is true, but only +when interpreted by the light of later events. + +And this must be always the task of the true biographer; for the +biographer has to take a life _en masse_, and disentangling the +predominant and central threads, cast the rest away; in this process +rejecting facts and incidents whose isolated interest is often +greater than the interest of what he retains, because it is on the +latter that the pearls of life are, so to speak, strung. + +In this case the two incidents I have kept are both so pregnant of +influence upon his later life, so necessary to the logical +development of his principles, that, in spite of their romantic, not +to say wild, character, I have retained them. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +About the middle of February, 1879, I was sitting at work in my +lodgings in Newman Street, when I was interrupted by the advent of my +landlady, to inform me that there was a gentleman below who wished to +see me. I told her to show him up, and she returned in a moment, +ushering in, to my extreme surprise, Arthur Hamilton. I confess I +hardly knew him at first. He had grown a beard, and looked thinner +and graver than he used to do. He had the same slow, almost stately +movement, with a slight and not ungraceful suggestion of languor; +his manner was somewhat changed, and very much improved; and he had +contracted, from living so long with strangers, a delightfully frank +and free way of speaking. He never gave me, as he used to, the least +feeling of constraint; he always seemed perfectly at his ease. And +he had acquired, too, the art of asking unobtrusive questions of a +tentative kind, so as to feel out the interests of his companion, +and draw him out; not in that professional way which so-called +influential people often acquire—the melancholy confidential smile, +the intimate manner, and the air of bland inattention with which they +receive your remarks, only to be detected in the fixed or wandering +eye. He had learnt the art of being interested in other people, and +in what they had to say, and of indicating by a subtle tact in speech +that he was following them, and intelligently sympathizing with them. + +He did not then tell me much about himself. He confessed that the +most rapturous feeling he had known since he set off on his travels, +was the hour or two as he whirled through the flat pasture-lands and +the pleasant green of Kent. + +He gave me no detailed descriptions of adventures, but hinted in a +suggestive way that he had seen much, and thought more. "I think I +have learnt myself very fairly," was the only remark he made about +his own personal experience. + +"To finish my tour," he said, "I want to see something of my native +land. I have been away so long, that I don't know where to begin, and +I want you to help me. I want to be introduced to a few Christian +households, that I may see the kind of people that our Western +friends are." + +I had an uncle, a Mr. Raymond, who had made a fortune in business, +lived in a fine house in Lancaster Gate, and saw a good deal of +fairly interesting and cultivated people. I took him to dine there +once or twice, and he needed nothing else. He had a real genius +for _tête-à-tête_ conversation; that is, he could listen without +appearing only to listen. He made people feel at their best with +him. My aunt's criticism of him was highly characteristic of the +British matron and her choice of friends. + +"I thoroughly approve, Harry," she said to me, "of your friend, Mr. +Hamilton. He is very well-informed and clever, and he doesn't allow +it to make him in the least disagreeable." And starting from this, he +was asked to dinner by, and invited to visit, a fair selection of +pleasant people. + +Of the events which immediately succeeded his return to England I +can not, for two reasons, give a very detailed account. In the first +place, dealing as they do with living people, I have thought it +better, after consultation with the friends of both, to leave the +outlines of the story rather vague; and secondly, there are great +gaps and deficiencies in diaries and letters, which, though I believe +I can supply, knowing what I do of the circumstances, I hardly like +to fill in in a narrative of fact. + +He took a dose, as I have already said, of the London season. "Those +six weeks," he said, "absolutely knocked me up; my friends told me, +among other things, that my physiognomy, being of a grave and gloomy +cast, was of a kind that was not suitable to a festive occasion; and +so I used to come home at night with my jaws positively aching with +the effort of a perpetually fatuous grin." + +The following extract, which I have selected from one of his letters +of this period, will give a good picture of his mind: + +"I think that two of the things that move me most, not to sadness nor +indignation, but to those vague tumultuous feelings for which we +have, I think, no name, but which were formerly called melancholy, +are these: + +"To come up-stairs after a hot London banquet, where you have been +sitting, talking the poorest trash, between two empty, worldly women; +and then, perhaps, listening to stories that are dull, or worse, and +see dullness personified in every one of the twelve faces that stare +at you with such sodden respectability through the cigarette smoke; +and then, I say, to come up-stairs, and see moving about among the +knowing selfish people a child with hair like gold thread, and +something of the regretful innocence of heaven in her eyes and +motions. If you can get her to talk to you, so much the better for +you; but if you or she are shy, as generally happens, to watch her +is something. God knows the insidious process by which she will be +transformed, step by step, into one of those godless fine ladies; for +it makes me inclined to pray that anything may happen to her first +that may hinder that development. + +"The other thing is, under the same circumstances, to sit down and +hear some rippling melody of Bach's, a tender gavotte or a delicate +rapid fugue, just as it stole on to the paper in that quaint German +garden with the clipped yew-hedges and the tall summer-house in the +corner, in the master's pointed handwriting, calling down by his +magic wand the spirits of the air to aid him in the perfecting of the +exquisite phrase that some Ariel had whispered to him as he walked or +sat. + +"To hear that little rill of Paradise breaking out in the glaring +room, not echoed or reflected in the rows of listless faces, gives me +a strange turn. It sweeps away for a minute or two, as it goes and +comes and returns upon itself until its sweet course is run, all the +hard and stifling web of convention and opinion that closes us in; it +takes me back for a moment to old-world fancies, till I seem to feel, +as I am always longing to feel, that we are separated only by a very +little flimsy hedge from the secrets of the beautiful, from the +shadow-land which is so real; and that every now and then a breeze +breaks and stirs across, with something of the fragrance of the place +in its wandering air." + + +He used to come to me in my rooms in Newman Street, on his way back +from an evening party or a ball, to smoke a cigar, and it was very +interesting to watch his growing disgust for the life, and the +grotesque and humorous ways in which he expressed it. + +"Do I feel flat?" he used to say—"it isn't the word—bored to death. +Why, my dear Chris, if you'd heard the conversation of the lady next +me to-night, you'd have thought that the premier said, every morning +when his shaving-water was brought him, 'Another day! Whose happiness +can I mar? Whose ruin can I effect? What villainy can I execute +to-day?'" + +One night, at dinner, he happened to sit next a young lady in whom +the fashionable world were a good deal interested. + +It is impossible to give a fair sketch of her character; she was what +would now be called unconventional, and was then called fast. + +She openly avowed her preference for men's society as compared to +female—women, as a rule, did not like her—she used to receive calls +from her own men friends in her own room whenever she liked, and it +was considered rather "compromising" to know her. + +She was perfectly reckless about what she said and did. I questioned +Arthur about her conversation, for she was accused of telling +improper stories. "I have often," he said, "heard her allude to +things and tell stories that would be considered unusual, even +indelicate. But I never heard her say a thing in which there could +be any conceivable 'taint,' in which the point consisted in the +violation of the decent sense. The 'doubtful' element was rare and +always incidental." + +Arthur told me a delightful story about her. Her father was a testy +old country gentleman, very irritable and obstinate. + +It happened that an Eton boy was staying in the house, of the +blundering lumpish type; he had had more than his share of luck in +breaking windows and articles of furniture. One morning Mr. B——, +finding his study window broken, declared in a paroxysm of rage that +the next thing he broke the boy should go. + +That same afternoon, it happened he was playing at small cricket with +Maud, and made a sharp cut into the great greenhouse. There was a +crash of glass, followed by Maud's ringing laugh. + +They stopped their game, and went to discuss the position of events. +As they stood there, Mr. B——'s garden door, just round the corner, +was heard to open and slam, and craunch, craunch, came his stately +pace upon the gravel. + +They stared with a humorous horror at one another. In an instant, +Maud caught up a lawn-tennis racquet that was near, and smashed the +next pane to atoms. Mr. B—— quickened his pace, hearing the crash, +and came round the corner with his most judicial and infuriated air, +rather hoping to pack the culprit out of the place, only to be met +by his favourite daughter. "Papa, I'm so sorry, I've broken the +greenhouse with my racquet. May I send for Smith? I'll pay him out of +my own money." + +The Eton boy adored her from that day forth; and so did other people +for similar reasons. + +I, personally, always rather wondered that Arthur was ever attracted +by Miss B——, for he was very fastidious, and the least suggestion +of aiming at effect or vulgarity, or hankering after notoriety, would +infallibly have disgusted him. But this was the reason. + +She was never vulgar, never self-conscious. She acted on each +occasion on impulse, never calculating effects, never with reference +to other people's opinions. + +A gentleman once said, remonstrating with her for driving alone with +a Cambridge undergraduate in his dog-cart down to Richmond after a +ball, "People are beginning to talk about you." + +"What fools they must be!" said Miss B——, and showed not the +slightest inclination to hear more of the matter. + +There is no question, I think, that Arthur's grave and humorous ways +attracted her. He, when at his best, was a racy and paradoxical +talker—with that natural tinge of veiled melancholy or cynicism +half-suspected which is so fascinating, as seeming to imply a +"_past_," a history. He ventured to speak to her more than once +about her tendency to "drift." He told me of one conversation in +particular. + +"I think you have too many friends," he said to her once, at the +conclusion of an evening party at her own house. They were sitting in +a balcony looking out on to the square, where the trees were stirring +in the light morning wind. + +"That's curious," she said. "I never feel as if I had enough; I have +room enough in my heart for the whole world." And she spread out her +hands to the great city with all her lights glaring before them. +"God knows I love you all, though I don't know you," she said with a +sudden impulse. + +They were silent for a moment. + +Then she resumed: "Tell me why you said that," she said. "I like to +be told the truth." + +"_You_ may feel large enough," he said, "but they don't appreciate +your capacity; they feel hurt and slighted. Why, only to-night, during +the ten minutes I was talking to you, you spoke and dismissed eight +people, every one of whom was jealous of me, and thinking 'Who's the +new man?' And I began to wonder how I should feel if I came here and +found a new man installed by you, and got a handshake and a smile." + +"Shall I tell you?" she said, looking at him. "I should give you a +look which would mean, 'I would give anything to have a quiet talk to +you, Mr. Hamilton, but the exigencies of society oblige me to be +civil to this person.'" + +"Yes," he said, "and that's just what I complain of; it gives me, the +new man to-night, a feeling of insecurity—that perhaps you are just +'carrying on' with me because it is your whim, and that the instant +I bore you, you will throw me away like a broken toy, and with even +less regret." + +"How dare you speak like that to me?" she said, turning upon him +almost fiercely. "I never forget people." And she rose and went +quickly into the room, and didn't speak to him for the rest of the +evening. + +But just as he was going out he passed her, and hardly looked at her, +thinking he had offended her; but she came and put out her hand +quickly, and said, almost pathetically— + +"You must forgive me for my behaviour to-night, Mr. Hamilton. What +you said was not true, but you meant it to be true; you believed it. +And please don't stop talking to me openly. I value it very much. +I have so few people to tell me the truth." + +I find this conversation narrated in his diary, almost word for word +as I have given it. But there is omitted from it, necessarily +perhaps, the most pregnant comment of all. + +"And yet," he said to me once, as he turned to leave the room after +commenting upon their freedom of speech with one another, "I am not +in love with her, though I can't think why I am not." + +The sequel must be soon told. Miss B—— suddenly accepted a +gentleman who was in every way a suitable _parti_: heir to a peerage, +of fairly high character. + +But to return to Arthur. I can not do better than quote a few +sentences of a letter he wrote to me on the event. It conceals—as he +was wont to do—strong feeling under the bantering tone. + +"As you are in possession of most of my moral and mental diagnoses, +I had better communicate to you a new and disturbing element. You +remember what I said to you about Miss B——, that I did not care for +her. A fancied immunity is often a premonitory symptom of disease: +the system is excited into an instantaneous glow by the first contact +of the poisonous seed. + +"I don't know, at present, quite how things are with me. I labour +under a great oppression of spirit. I have a strange thirsty longing +to see her face and hear her speech. If I could only hear from +herself that she had done what her best self—of which we have +often spoken—ratifies, I should feel more content. But she trusts +her impulses too much; and the habit of loving all she loves with +passion, blinds her a little. A woman who loves her sister, her pets, +the very sunshine and air with passion, hardly knows what a lover +is. I can not help feeling that I might have shown her a little +better than J——. Still one must accept facts and interpret them, +especially in cases where one has not even been allowed to try and +fail; for I never spoke to her a word of love. Ah, well! perhaps I +shall be stronger soon." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Arthur Hamilton as an author + + +I must give a chapter to this subject, because it entered very +largely into Arthur's life, although he was singularly unsuccessful +as an author, considering the high level of his mental powers. + +He lacked somehow, not exactly the gift of expression—his letters +testify to that—but the gift of proportion and combination. + +His essays are disjointed—discursive and eloquent in parts, and bare +and meagre in others. Connections are omitted, passages of real and +rare beauty jostling with long passages of the most common-place +rhetoric. His platitudes, however, to myself who knew him, have a +genuine ring about them; he never admitted a truism into his writing +till it had become his own by vivid realization. As he himself says: + +"I always find a peculiar interest in the solemn enunciation of a +platitude by a dull person who does not naturally aim at effect. +You feel sure it is the condensation of life and experience. Such +an utterance often brings a platitude home to me as no amount of +rhetorical writing can." + +Still, the reading public will not stand this, and Arthur never found +a market. + +He wrote voluminously. + +I have in my bureau several pigeon-holes crammed with manuscripts in +his curious sprawling hand. He wrote, when he was in the mood, very +quickly, with hardly an erasure. Among them is: + +1. A collection of poems (128 in all). + +2. A complete novel, called "The Unencumbered Man." + +3. Three incomplete novels, called "Physiognomy," "Helena," +"From Hall to Hall." + +4. Essays on historical and literary subjects, such as "Coleridge," +"Bunyan," "The Earl of Surrey," "Lucian," etc. These, as far as I can +make out, are very poor. + +5. A collection of semi-mystical writings and short stories. There is +a great fertility of imagination about these, and they are composed +in a very finished style. It is not improbable that I shall re-edit +these, as they seem to me to be distinctly first-rate work. I give a +short specimen of his mystical writing—a style of which he was very +fond. It is called: + +"The Great Assize. + +"Now, it came to pass that on a certain day the Gods were weary. Odin +sat upon his throne, and rested his chin upon his hand. And Thor came +in, and threw his hammer upon the earth, and said, 'I am weary of +walking up and down in the earth, of smiting and slaying; and I know +not how to bind or heal up, and I am too old to learn.' And Freya +said, 'I am weary of Valhalla and the birds and trees, the perpetual +sunshine and the feasts and laughter.' So also said all the Gods. + +"And Odin, when the clamour was stilled, rose from his throne, and +spoke. He told them of an ancient law of the Gods, so ancient that it +seemed dim even to himself, that when the Gods should be heavy and be +sad at heart, they should appoint a judgment for men, should open +the everlasting records, and call the world to the assize; and Loki +should be the accuser, and Night and Day the witnesses, and Odin +should deliver sentence, with the Gods for assessors. + +"So Thor stepped out upon the bar of heaven, and blew the steel +trumpet that is chained to the door-post of the hall. + +"Shrill and angry came the sound of the great horn over earth, her +woods and valleys; and terrible was the sound of wailing and +lamentation. They prayed to the mountains to fall upon them, and the +sea to swallow them up; for they said, 'The secrets of the heart must +now be spoken. The Lord and our brethren will hear them. And who can +bear the shame? Oh, that we had not turned away!' + +"But the winds of the earth, and the voices of the morning, and the +waves of the moaning sea drove them shrieking into the judgment hall, +and Loki began his accusation. + +"And so foul a tale it was, that the men and women folk prayed and +cried no longer, but sank down in dull silence for fear. And the +stars that listened overhead shrank out of the sky, and the sea +stilled his waves to hear, and the very Gods turned pale and red +where they sat, to think that vileness and oppression had thriven so +upon the earth, and that deeds of shame had fallen so thick, and that +they had in no wise hindered it, but rather increased the sum of sin. + +"At last the words of Loki were over, and left a burning silence in +the hall; and the sun and moon bowed their heads in witness, and +Night and Day said 'Yea,' and 'Truth, he has told truth.' + +"Then there was a silence, and all looked at Odin as he sat, sunk +down and silent, in his chair, staring at the shrinking crowd with +eyes of shame, and majesty, and anger. + +"And at the last he rose, and he was clad in grey mists from head to +foot, with a cloud of gleaming gold upon his head, like the sunlight +on white cliffs seen over the sea through the haze of a summer +morning. + +"But ere he opened his lips to speak, one who sat among the folk +arose and came up the hall, walking strongly and briskly like a king, +and looking about him with a resolute and cheerful face to left and +right. + +"And all held their breath to see him pass, wondering what this thing +might be. + +"But the man, when he had reached the middle of the hall, cried with +a loud voice, 'Hold.' + +"And Odin's face gleamed white with rage through the fringes of the +mist, and he said between his teeth, 'Who art thou?' + +"And at his voice Freya started and blanched, and wrapped herself in +her robe. + +"And the man said, in a clear loud voice, not defiant, but with a +certain royalty about it— + +"'Lord Odin, I am he of whom thou spokest but now; he of whom the +ancient oracles have spoken, whom thou knowest, and yet knowest not.' + +"And Odin said, 'I know thee not; stand aside therefore, that I may +judge thee and thy fellows.' + +"And there was a hideous silence for a moment while you might count a +score, and the twain stared upon each other. + +"Then the man said, in the same voice that shook not nor quivered, +'When the Gods shall sit in order to judge the earth, then shall one +come out of the midst of created things, through the earth, and +walking upon it; and at his coming the pillars of Valhalla shall be +snapped, and the everlasting halls shall fall.' And he added other +words, which the Gods knew, but not the men or women folk. And when +he ceased speaking there blew as it were a whirlwind out of Valhalla, +and the high Gods passed away, as it were in skeins and fringes of +hanging mist. Then there were lightnings and thunders, and the earth +shook; and terrible voices were heard in heaven, passing to and fro. +And one said, 'Hence, ye that corrupt justice;' and another said, +'The brood of the eagle is come home to roost;' and another, 'The +roof is down.' And then there were yells and groans; and among +mankind there was weeping and laughter, many smiles and tears, and +they cried to the stranger, 'Judge us, thou king of Gods and men.' +But he, turning, said, 'Nay, but ye are judged already.' Then was +there peace on earth." + + +There are, besides these, several unfinished studies, and two or +three note-books full of jotted conversations and thoughts of all +kinds—a curious mixture. + +He carefully left all the publishers' letters which he received in +answer to his application. They are twenty-two in number, and are all +refusals. They are tied carefully up, and are labeled, "My Literary +Career." + +All these compositions are the work of about seven years, except some +of the poems which were written at Cambridge. The novel was begun and +finished in about six weeks, in 1878. It is a poor plot, and mawkish +in character, though not without merits of style. + +During all this time his interest in writing never flagged. He felt +that he had one or two ideas, on which he had a firm grasp, to +communicate to the world, and he worked at them incessantly in new +and ever-varying forms. + +The issue would seem to show that he was not destined to communicate +them directly to others—at least, in his own lifetime; and, indeed, +no one was quicker at interpreting events than himself. He gave the +enterprise a long and severe trial, but the resolute front with which +he was met, showed him clearly that it was not to be. It may be that +the record of his life, little as he ever imagined it would come +before the world, may effect a part of what he himself prepared to +do. + +Occasionally, for he was of quick sensibilities, throughout this +period he felt the bitterness of constant rebuff. The following +letter he wrote me shows it: + +"I am beginning to feel as if publishers had a code of signals or +private marks like freemasonry, which they scribble sometimes, like +the concealed marks on bank-notes, on the first page of a manuscript, +so as to spare their brother publishers the trouble of looking +through a manuscript which is below market value. I have never had a +manuscript accepted which has been once refused; and I now eagerly +scan the first page, to see if I can discover a wriggling mark in the +margin or among the lines which is to tell Smith and Co. that Brown +and Son has a very poor opinion of the book now under his +consideration." + +And again, quite as forcible is a little anecdote with which he +begins an unfinished paper on "Genius." The story is, I now believe, +his own; though, at the time, I fancied it was adopted: + +"There was once a king who sat to listen to the sermon of a great +preacher. From minute to minute the great words flowed on, consoling, +wounding, helping, condemning, dividing the marrow from the bones; +and the king wept and smiled. + +"And at the end he sent for the preacher, and said, 'Sir, Christ is +the only king; yet let me look at the book from which you made your +discourse. The written words, though half despoiled of their grace, +may perhaps strike an echo in my soul, which rings yet.' + +"And for some time the preacher was unwilling, and parleyed with the +king; but at the last he drew out a little pale book with faded +characters traced in ink; and he opened it at a well-worn page, and +held it out before the king. + +"And the king looked, and saw nothing except the crabbed printed +lines. + +"So he said, 'Not your text-book, sir, but the book from which your +arguments are rehearsed.' + +"'Sire,' said the preacher, 'look but once more upon the book.' And +he showed him that four of the words upon the page had a thin line +drawn in ink below them. 'That was the writing of my discourse,' he +said." + +Neither, it must be remembered, was Arthur a first-rate +conversationalist. He did not steer a conversation; he could keep +the ball going creditably when it was once started; but he never +communicated to the circle in which he was that indefinable interest +which is so intangible and yet so unmistakable. + +The two points that I spoke of that he is always trying to work out +in his books are: + +(1) the strength of temperament, and the difficulty, almost +impossibility, of altering it. "The most we can do is to register +change," are the first words of his novel. In this book, the +situation of which is not a very unusual one, the hero falls in love +with one of two sisters, of rare personal beauty and attractiveness, +but no particular intellect. He soon wearies of her, being of +that fantastic, weak, discontented spirit which Arthur invariably +portrayed in his heroes—drawing it I can not conceive whence—and +then falls in love with the other, as he ought to have done all +along, being, as she is, fully his match in intellect, and far above +him in heart and strength of character. The wife at the crisis of +this other love, is killed in a street accident, and remorse ensues. +But the book is a weary one; it bears upon its face the burden of +sorrow. "How could this have been otherwise?" is the keynote of the +story. + +Along with this, and indeed as a development of this central +principle, is the tendency to treat and write of "sin" so called, +wrong-doing, failure of ideal, as variations of spiritual health, as +diseases, the ravages of which it is possible for the skilful hand +to palliate, but not to cure; to think of and treat sin as a hideous +contagion, which has power for a season, perhaps inherently, to drag +souls within its grasp, involve and overwhelm them; and consequently +to regard the sinner with the deepest sympathy and pity, but with +hardly any anger: in fact, I have known him very seriously offend the +company he has been in, I have even heard him stigmatized as of loose +principles, from his readiness, even anxiety, to condone a sensual +offence in a man of high intellect and brilliant gifts. + +"He went wrong," he said very sternly, "through having too much +passion; and that we can judge him, proves that we have not enough. +Well, we shall both of us have to become different: he to be brought +down to the harmonious mean, we to be screwed up to it. It is easy to +see which will be the most painful process: as soon as _he_ gets an +idea of whither he is being led, how thankful he will be for every +pang that teaches him restraint, and purifies; while we—we shall +suffer blind wrench after wrench, _stung_ into feeling at any cost, and +not till we painfully overtop the barrier shall we guess whither we +are going." + +I do not mean from this that he thought lightly of sin—far from +it. I have seen him give all the physical signs of shrinking and +repulsion, at the mention or sight of it. He loathed it with all the +agonized disgust of a high, pure, fastidious nature. Its phenomena +were without the lurid interest for him which it often possesses even +for the sternest moralist. + +This loathing had its physical antitype in his horror of the sight or +description of bodily disease. I have seen him several times go off +into a dead faint at even the bare description of bodily suffering. I +went with him once, at his own request, to a seaman's hospital, where +there was a poor fellow who had fallen from a mast and been terribly +smashed. His legs had both been amputated, and he lay looking +terribly white and emaciated with a cradle over the stumps. + +He gave us, with great eagerness, an account of the accident, as +people in the lower classes always will. In the middle, Arthur +stepped suddenly to the door and went out. I was not aware at the +time of this failing of his, and the move was executed with such +deliberate directness that I thought he must have forgotten +something. When I went out to the open air I found Arthur, deadly +pale, sitting on the grassy paving-stones of the little yard. He +insisted, as soon as he was restored, in going in to wish good-bye +to the man, which he accomplished with great difficulty. + +But I have already digressed too far, and must return to the main +issue. + +I am not aware that he ever attempted any theoretical explanation of +the intrusion of sin and disorder into the world. He certainly +regarded them as emanating practically, in some way that he did not +comprehend, from God. + +"I can not for a moment believe that these apparent disorders, +physical suffering, and the deeper diseases of the will are the +manifestation of some inimical power, and not under God's direct +control. I have had so much experience of even the immediate blessing +of suffering, that I am content to take the rest on trust. If I +thought there was some ghastly enemy at work all the time, I should +go mad. The power displayed is so calm, so far-reaching, and so +divine, that I should feel that even if some of us were finally +emancipated from it by the working of some superior power, the +contest would be so long and terrible and the issues so dire, that +the limited human mind could not possibly contemplate it, that hope +would be practically eliminated by despair." + +In the same connection, he wrote a letter to a friend whose wild and +wayward life had injured his health, and wrote in the greatest agony +of mind: + +"Words are such wretched things, my dear friend, in crises like this. +I can only beg of you, with all my heart, to resolutely set your face +against thinking what might have been. Try to feel, I will not say +happy, but stronger in the thought that your punishment is atoning +for your past every hour. Throw remorse and fear down, if you can; +they are only keeping you from God. Many, too many souls are in a far +worse case. Some have more to reproach themselves with. On some it +has come with what appears to be fearful injustice. Accept your +present condition; brace yourself to bear it. I know how much can be +borne. Give your sufferings to God nobly. Your patience is none the +less noble because you have brought this on yourself; nay, it makes +it even nobler.... + +"Don't say that many worse sinners go unpunished. How can you tell? +How do you know they are not suffering? There are only, I suppose, +two men in the world, besides yourself, who know that you are +suffering now, and why. God visited me with suffering once; He has +brought me through, and I have never ceased to thank Him for it; and +He will bring you through, too, dear friend, I know. 'Pro jucundis +aptissima quæque dabunt di; carior est illis homo quam sibi.' +That thought has left me patient, if not glad, in many a bitter +hour.... You are never out of my thoughts." + +And this letter leads me naturally to the second great principle that +pervaded all his writings—"the education of individuals." + +"One is inclined to believe that there is a great deal of hopeless +irremediable suffering in the world—suffering of a kind that seems +wantonly inflicted, purposeless anguish.... That 'regret must hurt +and may not heal' is a terrible thought, which, when we get our first +glimpse of human anguish, seems almost sickeningly true. But I have +seen a great deal lately of such suffering, and it amazes me to +discover how _extraordinarily_ rare it is to find the victim taking +this view of his case. Either it seems to be a due reward for past +action—that 'invita religio' which wells up in the blackest heart, +or the sufferer gains a kind of onlook into sweet plains beyond, into +which the troubled passage is taking him, and which can only thus be +reached.... + +"Of animal suffering, unconscious tortures, it is harder to speak—of +the innocent, for so they are, victims of lust and brutality in +Babylon here, whose sense of suffering is almost gone, and is +succeeded by nothing but the desire for rest; all this seems so +meaningless, so futile.... + +"It is one of the problems I take up and let drop—take up and let +drop a thousand times; but all sacrifice seems essentially good, and +I do not throw the enigma aside in anger; I will wait for it to be +explained to me. + +"Ah, death, death, if we are enlightened enough by that time, what a +storehouse of secrets, dear secrets you will have to tell us! I +thrill all through, in moments like these, to think of it." + +"Of course," he said to me once, "there are times when we can only +wait and hope; changing our posture, like a sick man, from time to +time, to win a little ease; but when we reach a fresh standpoint, a +fresh basis—which, thank God, one does from month to month—we are +inclined to say with Albert Dürer, 'It could not be better +done.'" + +He was very fond of the doctrine of Special Providences. + +"Every now and then I have—I suppose it is common—what may be +called a run of luck in ordinary things; I get out of scrapes in a +way I don't deserve; I find letters I have mislaid; annoyances are +mysteriously shunted aside; money flows in; days of extraordinary +happiness succeed one another; little events save vast complications +of trouble, so that I long to turn round and grasp by the hand +or kiss the cheek of the sweet friend who stands at my elbow, +suggesting, ordering, providing day and night, smiling on me as +I sleep, hovering around me as I work, without a word of praise. +Guardian angels! no fable. God gives you a sudden and particular +thought, and while you are independent of circumstances you master +them as well." + +But such portraiture as the above is apt to get very vague and +insipid unless one is able to convey a vivid picture of the man as he +walked, and spoke, and lived. The _sic sedebat_ in Trinity College +(Cambridge) chapel has given more people a thrill at the thought of +Bacon than ever gained one from his books. Personality, personal +characteristics, how one craves for them! To take a late instance, +how far more impressive General Gordon's little cane is, which he +twirled in his hand as he stormed redoubts and directed an action, +than a thousand pages of rhetoric about his philosophy or his views +of life. + +He was now, as ever, for strangers meeting him for the first time, an +impressive but rather disappointing man. He had shaved his beard, +keeping only his usual moustache; his face was very spare, with a +pallor that was not unhealthy. His hair, which was dark and lay in +masses, he wore generally rather long. He had got into the way, when +without his glasses, of half closing his eyes, because, as he said, +it did him so little good to keep them open, as it only served to +remind him of people's presence without giving him any more definite +idea of them. He could not, for instance, unassisted, see the play of +features on a face, and, for this reason, in all important interviews +he wore his glasses, giving three reasons. + +1. Utilitarian—that he could see by his opponent's face what he was +driving at, and what effect his own remarks had on him. + +2. Impressional—it gave a man an "adventitious consequence." + +3. Precautional—"I show emotion quickest by the eye, and so, +generally speaking, do most people; some change colour very quick; +some reveal it in the mouth; but the sudden dilatation and +contraction of the eye, the expression it is capable of, make it on +the whole the safest guide. + +"I trust the eye on the whole," he said; "guilelessness and an +unstained conscience are not really manifested either in feature or +deportment, but the eye will almost always tell you true." + +His conversation, when he was in form, was, without exactly being +very brilliant, very inspiring. He had great freshness of expression, +and told very few stories, and those only in illustration, never on +their own merits. He was very μνημονικός, or retentive—the +first requisite, says Plato, of a philosopher—and was consequently +well supplied with quotations and allusions, not slavishly repeated, +but worked naturally in. I do not mean that he passed for a good +talker by skilful plagiarizing, but I found that the wider my range +of reading became the more I appreciated his talk—drawn, as it was, +from all kinds of sources, and bringing with it that aroma of a +far-reaching mind, the _fascination_ that culture can bestow, the +feeling that, after all, everything is interesting, and that no +knowledge is unworthy of the attention of the philosopher. + +He hardly ever discussed current politics, though he would argue on +political principles with the greatest keenness: neither had he +accurate historical knowledge, or antiquarian; but he enjoyed +listening to such talk. For the principles, the poetic aspect, of +science he had a devoted interest. In literary matters I seldom heard +his equal. Many and many is the book which I have been induced to +read solely by hearing him sketch the purport in little sentences of +extraordinary felicity. "The birth and fatal effects of Impulse in a +prosaic soul," was a sketch he gave of a celebrated novel. On one +subject he was always dumb—Economics. "It is the one subject on +which I have never hazarded a remark successfully," he said to me +once. "I can never appreciate the value of an economic statement; +I hardly know whether it is interesting." + +As he never talked for talking's sake, he was always ready to give +his whole attention to the person he was talking to, or none at all; +and consequently he never had a middle reputation—some praising +his courtesy, as an old lady with whose querulous complaints about +ingratitude and rheumatism he had borne and sympathized; others, his +abrupt atrocious manner—"Turned his back on me with a scowl, and +didn't say another word," as a sporting fast married lady said to me, +who had attempted to tell him an improper story. "I didn't mean to +offend him; young men generally like it. I hate a young man to be a +prude and a Puritan. Why, he isn't even going into the church, I +understand!" + +One of his colleagues in the school where he was a master, told me +that Arthur had once given him a most delicate and pointed rebuke on +the practice into which he had fallen, of appealing to a boy's home +feelings before the class. + +"Some things ought to be said to people when they are alone; besides, +we must not _seethe the kid in his mother's milk_." + +The same man told me that he heard him give a little address to the +boys in his class, on the two main virtues of a schoolboy—purity and +honesty—on the words, "And they said, Lord, behold, here are two +swords; and he said unto them, It is enough." + +Those are the only two anecdotes I have heard of his professional +life, both illustrating that extraordinary gift of apt quotation and +seeing unexpected connections, which, to my mind, is as adequate an +external symbol of genius as can be found, though sometimes illusory. + +He took the greatest delight in the society of children. He writes— + +"What wonderful lines those are of Tennyson's"—they had just come +out,—"'Who pleased her with a babbling heedlessness Which often +lured her from herself!' There is nothing more absolutely refreshing +when one is overdone or anxious, or oppressed by the vague anxieties +of the world, than the conversation and the society of children, +the unconscious ignoring of all grave possibilities, yet often +accompanied by that curious tact which divines that all is not +well with their older friend, and prompts them to employ all their +resources to beguile it. I have been thanked by worldly mothers, in +country houses, with something like a touch of nature, for being so +good to their boys—'I am so afraid they must have been troublesome +to you,'—when they have not only saved me from vapid hard gabble and +slanderous gossip, but let in a little breath of paradise as well. +I often accept an invitation with reference to the children I shall +see. 'To meet Lord and Lady D——, and Mrs. G——, such an amusing +woman—tells _such_ stories, they make you _scream!_' the invitation +runs; and I accept it, to see Johnny and Charlie, to play at Red +Indians in the wilderness, and to dig up the tin box of date-stones +and cartridge-cases that we buried in the bed of the stream." + +If I seem to have given rather a priggish picture of Arthur, it is a +totally erroneous one. He was far too casual and too retiring to be +that; he had no appearance of self-importance, though an invincible +reserve of self-respect. The prig wears chain armor outside, and +runs at you with his lance when he catches a glimpse of you. Arthur +wore his chain armor under his shirt, and it was not till you closed +with him that you felt how sharp his dagger was. + +I give a perfectly disinterested sketch of him, which a lady, who met +him several times, wrote out at my request. It is hard for me to help +speaking from inside knowledge. + +"Dear Mr. Carr, + +"You ask me to give you my impression of Mr. Hamilton, in writing. +What your motive is I can't conceive, as he was not a person I took +much interest in, though I know that some people do. Unless, perhaps, +you mean to put him into a book. + +"I met him at a country house in Shropshire. He came down rather late +for breakfast, and when he was asked how he was, he quoted something +about 'being apt to be rather fatigued with his night's rest.' I +remember it very clearly, because it struck me as being so pointless +at the time. He went out shooting most of the day, and I think, +as far as I can remember, he was a good shot. He smoked a fearful +amount, 'all the time,' in fact; they were always attacking him for +that. When he came in he used to have some tea in the nursery. We +found that out the last day—the children were sent for, and Mr. +Hamilton came down with them, looking rather sheepish, and saying +that he had tried sitting on at one side of the table, with the +nursery maid at the other, after the children had gone, but that +it didn't do. I remember we were very much amused at the idea; +the picture was such a ridiculous one. + +"The children certainly seemed to like him extraordinarily—they +would talk to no one else: and I can't think why, because children +are so impressionable, and he had quite the gravest face I ever +saw—almost forbidding. However, so it was. + +"He used to disappear to his room, to read and write, before dinner. +At dinner he was often very good fun. I have heard him tell some very +funny stories, not very racy perhaps, but amusing; and these, coming +from that grave face, were very ridiculous. He always made friends +with the younger ladies. He never seemed to flirt, and yet he used to +say things to them in public that even I felt inclined to pull him up +for. And then he used to ask them to go out walks with him, and, +what's more, he went out with certainly two, alone; and you know that +is rather a marked thing. + +"He looked about forty, but he always gravitated toward the young +people; made great friends with boys, and in a curious way, too. +Generally, if men make friends with schoolboys in a country house +it is at the loss of their dignity—they run the risk of having to +swallow all sorts of practical jokes, such as getting water thrown +on their head and salt put into their tea; but he never compromised +himself, and they always behaved to him with respect, but were quite +impatient if he wouldn't come with them everywhere. I overheard him +talking to a boy once, and I didn't so much wonder; he spoke in such +an affectionate way, and boys like to feel that grown-up people take +the trouble to like them. + +"He was very friendly with the governess, and would try to include +her in the conversation. I can't say he succeeded, for we were down +on that. I don't myself consider it good form to encourage your +governess to have opinions. + +"Everybody was always very deferential to him. He always made a +sensation if he came into the room. No one could help looking at him. +He wasn't one of those tame sneaking creatures that are to be met +in country houses, of whom no one takes the least notice; he was +much more inclined to take no notice of any one else; but it was +impossible to forget he was in the room. And the servants were +invariably respectful to him, quite as if he was a real swell; and +yet he didn't dress well and hadn't a servant of his own. He was just +the sort of man you would have thought flunkeys would have despised. + +"But I have let my pen run on to an unconscionable length. It reminds +me of the remark with which he dismissed the subject of poor old Sir +Charles W—— who was staying there. We had been discussing him, and +asked Mr. Hamilton what he thought of him. 'A talking jackass,' was +his only reply, in his most chilling tones. + +"I fear I am open to the same imputation. + + "Very truly yours, + "Laura F——. + +"I should like to know what you want this for; however, happily, I +have put it in a form you can't make much use of." + + +I was much amused at the way in which he treated gossip about himself. + +I told him some stories about him that I had picked up. They related +to a certain absent-mindedness which he was supposed to possess. + +"I am afraid they are not true," he said first. "I should welcome any +hint of absence of mind in myself as a sign that the abstract could +exclude the concrete, which is unfortunately not the case with me." +Then, in a moment, he said, "People have no business to tell such +stories. I should not mind their not being true, if they were only +characteristic." + +"By which you mean," said a gentleman who was sitting next him, "that +you don't care about veracity, only you can't stand dullness." + +"Not at all," said Arthur, quickly. "Veracity is not the question in +gossip at all. It is all hearsay. You have not to judge of the actual +truth of a scandalous story, but you have to judge of the probable +truth of it, and if it is obviously uncharacteristic it is wrong to +repeat it. It becomes scandal then, and not till then." + +When he was living in London, which was, for the time being, his +home, he lived a regular life, combining more reading with a sociable +life than many people would have thought possible. He had two rooms +in a house in Russell Square. He breakfasted at half-past nine and +read till four, when he went down to his club and talked, or strolled +in the park. He made hardly any engagements, except for the evening; +and admitted hardly anyone, except two or three friends, to see him +at his rooms, and then only after one o'clock, before which hour +he was absolutely invisible. He was so dreadfully angry with his +landlady for showing a gentleman in once in the middle of the +morning, that she literally refused ever to do it again. "He's a good +regular lodger, sir, and doesn't think of money, but he said to me, +'Mrs. Laing, I _don't choose to be disturbed_ before one. If I find +my orders disregarded again, I shall leave the house _that day_.' +I daren't do it, sir. You wouldn't like to deprive me of my lodger, +I know, sir." The last pathetic plea could not be gainsaid, so Arthur +had his way. + +Four evenings he devoted to going out, and the other three dining +quietly at home and reading. By the time he left London his reading, +always wide, had become prodigious. His own library was good, and he +had a ticket for the British Museum Reading-room and belonged to two +circulating libraries. He made a point of reading new books (1) if he +was strongly recommended them by specialists; (2) if they reached a +second edition within a month; (3) if they were republished after a +period of neglect—this he held to be the best test of a book. + +It was characteristic of his natural indolence that he chose the very +easiest method of reading—that is to say, he always read, if he +could, _in_ a translation, or if the style of the original was the +object, _with_ one. This, like his posture, nearly recumbent, was +deliberately adopted. "I find," he said, "that the _reflective_ part +of my brain works best when I have as little either bodily or _purely_ +intellectual to distract me as possible. And it is the reflective +part," he says, "that I always preferred to cultivate, and that +latterly I have devoted my whole attention to. It is through the +reflective part that one gets the highest influence over people. +Training the reflective function is the training of character, while +the training of the purely physical side often, and the training of +the intellectual side not uncommonly, have a distinctly deteriorative +effect. + +"By the reflective part, I mean all that deals with the _connection_ of +things, the discovery of principles, the laws that regulate emotion +and influence, the motives of human nature, the basis of existence, +the solution of the problem of life and being—that vast class of +subjects which lie just below, and animate concrete facts, and which +are the only things worthy of the devotion of a philosopher, though +no knowledge is unworthy of his _attention_. + +"I am not quite clear what position I intend to take up in the world +at large. This only is certain, that if I am going to teach, and I +have a vague sense that I am destined for that, it is necessary first +to know something, to be _sure_ of something." + +All his days were alike, except that on Sunday he used to frequent +city churches in the afternoon, or go to Westminster Abbey and St. +Paul's. His father was a friend of a canon at the former place, and +Arthur was generally certain of a stall; and I used often to see his +tall form there, with his eyes "indwelling wistfully," "reputans +secum," as Virgil says, lost in speculations and wonders, and a whole +host of melancholy broodings over life and death to which he rarely +gave voice, but which formed a perpetual background to his thoughts. +He varied this by visits to his father in Hampshire, and occasional +trips to the country, not unfrequently alone, the object and +occupation of which he never told me, except to say once that he had +explored, he thought, every considerable "solitude" in England. + +There is one thing that I must not forget to mention—his dreams. He +never slept, he told me, without innumerable dreams, and he not +unfrequently told me of them. They always struck me as curiously +vivid. I subjoin the following from one of his diaries. They are +often given at full length. This is one of the most interesting I +can find. + +"_January_ 8.—Slept badly; toward morning dreamed that I was walking +with two or three friends, and accompanied by a tall man whom I did +not know, wrapped in a cloak, through a very dark wood. I seemed to +be in a very heavy mood. We came upon a building brightly lighted, +and, entering, found a hall with many people dining. There was +much wine and talk, and a great deal of laughing and merriment. +We appeared to be invisible. + +"I began to moralize aloud. I said, 'Yes, and this is the way in +which lives pass: a little laughter and a few jests and a song or +two; forgetful, all the time, that the lights must be extinguished +and the wine spilled, and that night laps them round,'—catching, +as I said this, a glimpse of the dark trees swaying outside. + +"But the man in the cloak took me up. 'This shows,' he said, 'how +superficial your view is—how little you look below the surface +of things. This laughter and light talk are but the signs and +symbols of qualities of which your bitter character knows +nothing—goodfellowship, kindliness, brave hopefulness, and many +things beside.' + +"Then he turned to me impressively, and said, 'What you want is +_deepening_.' + +"I woke with the word ringing in my ears." + + +Besides this, there was a curious little peculiarity in him that I +have never heard of in anyone else: a capacity for seeing little +waking visions with strange distinctness. + +His description of this is as follows: + +"I have the power, or rather something in me is able (for I can not +resist it), of suddenly producing a picture on the retina, of such +vividness as to blot out everything around me. I have it generally +when I am a little tired with exercise or brain-work or people: it is +prefaced by seeing a bright blue spot, which moves, or rather rushes, +across my field of vision, and is immediately succeeded by the +picture. + +"A crumbling sandstone temple, among fields of blue flowers—an +obelisk carved with figures, in a wood—a gray indistinct marsh, with +mist rising from it, and by the edge a white bird, egret or something +similar, of dazzling whiteness—a green lane, with cows in it. I +could go on for ever enumerating them. They pass in a fraction of a +second, three or four succeeding one another. My eyes are not shut, +nor do I look different. I have always seen them. I was alarmed about +them once, and went to a doctor; but he said he could not explain +it—it was probably a nervous idiosyncrasy: and I felt all the better +for my habit having a name." + +One more thing I must mention about him, which I have discovered +since his death. I must add _that I never had the least suspicion of +it in his life_. + +He was the victim during this time of a depression of mind; not +constant, but from which he never felt secure. I subjoin a few +entries from his diaries. + +"Very troubled and gloomy: a strange heart-sinking—a blank misgiving +without any adequate cause upon me all day. One can not help feeling +during such times—and, alas! they are becoming very familiar to +me—that some mysterious warfare may be being fought out somewhere +over one's only half-conscious soul: that some strange decision may +be pending." And again: "For the last week, my mind—though I have +reiterated again and again to myself that it is purely physical—has +steadily refused to take any view of life, to have any outlook, +except the most dismal. I am a little better to-day—well enough to +see the humour of it, though God knows it is black enough while it +lasts." + +In one letter he wrote to me, I find the following words: it never +occurred to me at the time that they were the gradual fruits of his +own experience on the subject: + +"Physical and mental depression is a most fearful enemy. Other things +give you trouble at intervals—toothache, headache, etc., are all +spasmodic afflictions, and, moreover, can be much mitigated by +circumstances. But with depression it is not so: it poisons any +cup—it turns all the cheerful little daily duties of life into +miseries, unutterable burdens; death is the only future event which +you can contemplate with satisfaction. It admits of no comfort: the +whispered suggestion of the mind, 'You will be better soon,' falls on +deaf ears. No physical suffering that I have ever felt, and I have +not been without my share, is in the least comparable to it; the +agony of foreboding remorse and gloom with which it involves past, +present, and future—there is nothing like it. It is the valley of +the Shadow of Death. + +"But when one first realizes how purely physical it is, it is an era. +I endured it for two years first: now I am prepared. I may even say +that though all sense of enjoyment dies under it, my friends, the +company I am in, generally suspect nothing." + +This was literally the case. I knew his spirits were never very high; +but he seemed to me to maintain, what is far more valuable, a genial +equable flow of cheerfulness, such as one would give much to possess. + +Among his occasional diversions at this time, I must place visiting +some of the worst houses in one of the worst quarters in London. + +It was not then a fashionable habit, and he never spoke of it or made +capital out of his experience; but he went to have an acquaintance +that should be _teres et rotundus_ with all phases of life. He never +attempted to relieve misery by indiscriminate charity; his principles +were strongly against it. + +"I don't profess to understand the economical condemnation of +indiscriminate charity. I don't see why one set of people should not +spend in necessaries what another set would only spend in luxuries. + +"But I do understand this: that it does infinite harm, by accustoming +the poor to think that all the help they will get from the upper +classes till they rise up themselves and lay hands upon it, will be +indiscriminate half-sovereigns. The clergy are beginning to disabuse +them of this idea. It is a fact which does appeal to them when they +see a man that they recognize belongs by right to the 'high life' and +could drive in his carriage, or at any rate in somebody else's, and +have meat four times a day—when they see such a man coming and +staying among them, certainly not for pleasure or money, or even, +for a long time, at least, love, it impresses them far more than the +Non-conformists or Revivalists who attempt the same kind of thing. + +"And that's the sort of help I want them to look for—intelligent +sympathy and interest in them. To most of them no amount of relief or +education could do any good now; it would only produce a rank foliage +of vice, which is slightly restrained by hard labour and hard food. +Sensualism is a taint in their blood now. + +"They want elevating and refining in some way, and you can only do it +with brutes through their affections." + +His manner with poor people was very good—direct, asking +straightforward questions and not making his opinions palatable, and +yet behaving to them with perfect courtesy, as to equals. + +We were staying in a house together in the country once, and heard +that a certain farmer was in trouble of some kind—we were not +exactly told what. + +Arthur had struck up a friendship with this man on a previous visit, +and so he determined to go over and see him. He asked me to ride with +him, and I agreed. I will describe the episode precisely as I can +remember it: + +We rode along, talking of various things, over the fresh Sussex +downs, and at last turned into a lane, overhung on both sides with +twisted tree-roots of fantastic shape, writhing and sprawling out of +the crumbling bank of yellow sand. Presently we came to a gap in the +bank, and found we were close to the farm. It lay down to the right, +in a little hollow, and was approached by a short drive inclosed by +stone walls overgrown by stonecrop and pennywort, and fringed with +daffodils and snap-dragons: to the left, the wall was overtopped by +the elders of a copse; to the right, it formed one side of a fruit +garden. + +The drive ended in a flagged yard, upon which our horse's hoofs made +a sudden clatter, scaring a dozen ducks into pools and other coigns +of vantage, and rousing the house-dog, who, with ringing chain and +surly grumbles, came out blinking, to indulge in several painful +barks, waiting, as dogs will, with eyes shut and nose strained in +the air, for the effect of each bark, and consciously enjoying the +tuneful echo. A stern-featured, middle-aged woman came out quickly, +almost as if annoyed at the interruption, but on seeing who it was +she dropped a quick courtsey, and spoke sharply to the dog. + +Arthur went forward, holding out his hand. + +"We were so sorry to hear at the house," he said, "that there was +trouble here. I did not learn quite clearly what it was, but I +thought I would ride over to see if there was anything I could do." + +Arthur knew quite enough of the poor to be sure that it was always +best to plunge straight into the subject in hand, be it never so +grim or painful. Life has no veneering for them; they look hard +realities in the face and meet them as they can. They are the true +philosophers, and their straightforwardness about grief and disease +is not callousness; it is directness, and generally means as much, +if not more, feeling than the hysterical wailings of more cultivated +emotion, more organized nerves. + +"Yes, sir," she said to me, with that strange dignity of language +that trouble gives to the poor, just raising her apron to her eyes, +"it's my master, sir—Mr. Keighley, sir. The doctor has given him +up, and he's only waiting to die. It don't give him much pain, his +complaint; and it leaves his head terrible clear. But he's fearful +afraid to die, sir; and that's where it is. + +"Not that he's not lived a good life; been to church and paid his +rent and tithe reg'lar, been sober and industrious and good to his +people; but I think, sir," she said, "that there's one kind of +trembling and fearfulness that we can't get over: he keeps saying +that he's afraid to meet his God. He won't say as he's got anything +on his mind; and, truthfully, I don't think he has. But he can't go +easy, sir; and I think a sight of your face, if I may make so bold, +would do him, maybe, a deal of good." + +"I shall be very glad to see him, if he cares to see me," said +Arthur. "Has Mr. Spencer" (the clergyman) "been here?" + +"Yes, sir," said the woman; "but he don't seem to do George no good. +He's prayed with him—the Church prayers out of his blue prayer-book; +but, after that, all he could say was, 'you must prepare to meet your +God; are you at peace with Him? Remember the judgment;' when I can't +help thinking that God would be much more pleased if George could +forget it. He can't like to see us crawling to meet Him, and cryin' +for fear, like as Watch does if his master has beat him for stealin'. +But I dare not say so to him, sir—we never know, and I have no +right to set myself up over the parson's head." + +I confess that I felt frightfully helpless as we followed her into +the house. There was a bright fire burning; a table spread in a +troubled untidy manner, with some unfinished food, hardly tasted, +upon it. + +She said apologetically, "You see, sir, it's hard work to keep things +in order, with George lying ill like this. I have to be always with +him." + +"Of course," said Arthur, gently. "I know how hard it is to keep up +heart at all; still it is worth trying: we often do better than we +expect." + +His sweet voice and sympathetic face made the poor woman almost break +down; she pushed hastily on, and, saying something incoherently about +leading the way, ushered us through a kitchen and up a short flight +of stairs. I would have given a great deal to have been allowed to +stay behind. But Arthur walked simply on behind the woman. + +"I won't tell him you're here," she said; "he'd say he wasn't fit to +see you. But it won't harm him; maybe it'll even cheer him up a bit." +She pushed the door open just above; I could distinguish the sound of +hard breathing, with every now and then a kind of catch in the +breath, and a moan; then we found ourselves inside the room. + +The sick man was lying propped up on pillows, with a curious wistful +and troubled look on his face, which altered very quickly as we came +in. Much of his suffering was nervous, so-called; and a distraction, +any new impression which diverted his mind, was very helpful to him. + +"George," said the woman, "here is Mr. Hamilton and his friend come +over from the Squire's to see you." + +He gave a grateful murmur, and pointed to a chair. + +"I am so sorry," said Arthur, simply, "to see you in such suffering, +Mr. Keighley. We heard you were in trouble, so we thought we would +ride over and see if we could do anything for you." + +"Thank you, sir, kindly," said the sick man, feebly. "But I'm past +doin' anything for now. Doctor's giv'n me up; he gives me a week. But +thank you all the same." + +He closed his eyes for a moment; and then, looking round quickly, +fingering the counterpane, he said, "Ah, sir, this isn't a place for +you to be in; but I take it very kindly of you. Ah! Ah! It seems as +if it might have been made a bit easier, might dyin'. It's hard +work—it's terrible hard. It's bad enough by itself, having to go out +into the dark—and all alone; but it's full of worse terrors than +even that. The air's full of them. When I am lyin' here still, with +my eyes shut, prayin' for it all to be over, I seem to hear them +buzzin' and whisperin' in the air. Then it comes, all on a sudden, +on me—here"—putting his hand to his heart. "It makes me sick and +trembling—with fear and horror—I can't bear it. It's comin' now. +Ah! Ah! Ah!" + +I remember feeling inexpressibly shocked and horrified. I was not +used to such scenes. The room seemed to swim; I could hardly stand +or see. To settle myself, I spoke to the woman about wines and +medicines; but I seemed to hear my own voice hollow and from a +distance, and started at the sound of it. + +But Arthur knelt simply down by the bedside and said, "I think it +will make it easier if you can only fix your thoughts on one thing. I +know the effort is hard; but think that there's a loving hand waiting +to take yours; there's One that loves you, better than you have +ever loved anyone yourself, waiting the other side of the darkness. +Oh, only think of that, and it will not be hard! Dear friend," he +said—"for I may call you that—we have all of us the same passage +before us, but we have all the same hope: and He hears the words you +speak to Him. He has been here, He is here now, to listen to your +very thoughts. He has seen your trouble, and wished He could help +you—why He can not I am not able to tell you; but it will all be +well. + +"Let me say one prayer with you." And he began in his low quiet +voice. The woman knelt down beside him, shaken with sobbing. Till, at +the words "Suffer us not, for any pains of death, to fall from thee," +poor George put out his old withered hand and took Arthur's, and +smiled through his pain—"the first time he ever smiled since his +illness began," his wife told us after his death, "and he smiled +many times after that." + +He did not speak to us again; the effort had been too great. The +woman accompanied us down-stairs, showing, in her troubled officious +hurry to anticipate Arthur's wishes, and the way in which she hung +about the gate as we rode out, what it had been to her. + +We rode home almost in silence. Arthur, as we got near to the lodge, +turned to me, and said, half apologetically, "We must speak to simple +people in the language that they can understand. Fortunately, there +is one language we can all understand." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It was a hot summer, and Arthur a little overtasked his strength. +London, and a London season, is far more tiring than far greater +physical exertions in pure air and with rational hours. He complained +of feeling liable to faintness after standing about in hot rooms. It +did not cause him, however, any serious alarm, till one evening he +fainted after a dinner-party at which I was present, and we had some +difficulty in bringing him round. + +After this, for several days he spoke of an invincible languor which +held him throughout the day, which he could not get rid of; and he +was altogether so unlike his usual self, and so prostrate, that at +last, with the greatest difficulty, I prevailed on him to see a +doctor—a thing he particularly disliked. + +He made an appointment with a celebrated physician in Wimpole Street. +As he was far from well on the morning he was to go there, I insisted +on accompanying him. + +He was in very cheerful spirits, and was eagerly discussing a book +which had just been published; he could not make up his mind whether +it had been written by a man or a woman. He said that there was +always one character in a book, not always the hero or heroine, +through whose eyes the writer seemed to look, whose mental analysis +seemed to have the ring not of description, but confession, and this +would be found to be, he maintained, of the sex of the writer. In +the particular case under discussion, where the hero was a man, he +professed to discover the "spy," as he called this character, in a +woman. + +In the middle of the discussion we drew up at Dr. Hall's door, and +were immediately shown into one of those rooms with a professional +and suspicious calm about it. "'Five minutes before the drop falls,' +it seems to say; 'make your mind quite easy; feel chatty,'" said +Arthur. + +He looked curiously about him, and commented humorously on the +selection of literature, till a patient was ushered out, and we were +called in. + +Dr. Hall was not the least what one is inclined to think a celebrated +doctor should be. Arthur had been describing his ideal to me—"tall +and pale; stoops slightly, but very distinguished-looking, with +piercing grey eyes, a kindly reassuring manner, and grey whiskers cut +straight." + +Dr. Hall was a small sallow man, with rather an agitated fussy +manner, and eyes that never seemed to be looking at you. He was neat, +almost dapper, in his dress, and was rather like the butler in a +small establishment. + +He put one or two questions to Arthur; stethoscoped him, hovering all +about restlessly; suddenly caught up his left hand and pushed aside +the first finger; "Ah, cigarette-smoker—we must put a stop to that +at once, if you please. What is your usual allowance?" + +"It varies," said Arthur, "but I fear it is never less than twenty." + +"Four, after this date," said Dr. Hall. + +"Just come into my other room a moment," he said presently, and led +the way. + +Arthur followed, giving me a cheerful wink. They remained about ten +minutes, during which time I speculated, and read a little book about +Epping Forest, which was on the table; looked out of the window, and +felt rather ill myself. + +At last, the tall door creaked, and Arthur came out, followed by the +doctor. + +"I hope you will see, sir," he said to me, "that Mr. Hamilton is +particular in following my directions, if you have any influence +with him." + +"I am afraid I haven't got the temperament of a patient," said +Arthur, smiling. "But I am very much obliged to you. Good morning." + +"What did he say to you?" I said, as soon as we were in our cab +again. + +"Oh, he spoke to me like a father," said Arthur: "gave me a lot of +wretched directions which I know I shan't attend to. But we have +wasted much too much time medically already this morning." And he +changed the subject to the discussion which we had been carrying on +before. + +A few days after this I went to see him, and found him much better. + +"What do you think?" he said: "I am going to undertake the charge of +a human being. Do you remember our conversation about adopting +children, and the educational experiments we meant to try? I shall +have the chance now." + +On my inquiring what had happened, he told me his experience at +Teheran, related in a former chapter; and said that, on reflection, +he had thought well to accept the commission, adding that he had been +surprised to find waiting for him, when he had returned home at a +late hour a few nights before his visit to Dr. Hall, a tall foreign +gentleman, who had introduced himself as a friend of Mr. Bruce's (so +the recluse chose to call himself), and as the bearer of a message +from him, the purport of which was to ask whether he would accept +Mr. Bruce's commission. + +"I am authorized to state," the stranger added, "in the event of your +acquiescing, that the method of procedure will be left entirely to +yourself; that no question will be asked or conditions made; the boy +will be sent to London or to any other address you may appoint; that +£400 a year, quarterly, will be placed to your credit at the +Westminster Bank for all necessary expenses; and that a draft in your +name, for any further sum that you may think requisite, will be +honoured. + +"If you would forward your answer to Morley's Hotel, to the address +on my card, any time within the next week, I shall be grateful. My +instructions are not to press for an immediate answer." And the +gentleman bowed himself out. + +He showed me a short letter which he had written accepting the +charge; and, shortly after, I rose to go. But he detained me rather +pointedly; and after a short time, in which he appeared to be +considering something, he begged me to sit down again, and consider +whether I would listen to a short statement of facts on which he +wanted my advice. "They are," he said, "I fear, a little painful, +and therefore I do not press it; but I should be sincerely obliged +to you." + +He then said, "I did not at the time tell you, my dear Chris, what +Doctor Hall said to me the other day, because I thought it better to +tell no one; but the events of the last week have caused me to change +my mind. I feel that I must be perfectly open. + +"The fact was, that he warned me that I showed unequivocal symptoms +of a dangerous heart disease. He could not answer for anything, he +said. I had seen that something was wrong from his expression, so I +insisted on knowing everything." + +I can hardly describe my sensations at this announcement—I felt the +room swim and shake; and yet it was made in such a deliberate +matter-of-fact tone, that it flashed across me for an instant that +Arthur was joking, and together with it came a curiously dismal sense +of unreality, that is well known to all those who have passed through +any great strain or emotional crisis, as if, suddenly, the soul had +fallen out of everything, and they were nothing but lifeless empty +husks, hollow and phantasmal. + +"But," I gasped, "you never said anything of this at the time: +you—you behaved just as usual." + +"I certainly tried to," he said. "And curiously enough, I did not +either realize or fear the news at the time; it left my feelings +almost blank. I won't deny that it has caused me some painful thought +since.... He gave me a few simple directions: I was to avoid bracing +climates, hard physical work, or, indeed, mental effort—anything +exhausting; to keep regular hours, avoid hot rooms and society and +smoking; but that I might do, in moderation, anything that interested +me, write or read; and, above all things, I was to avoid agitation. + +"I think I intend to put his ideas into practice; not much with the +idea of saving my life, for I don't feel particularly anxious about +that, but because I think that, on the whole, it is the most sensible +kind of life to lead. And the fact that I had already accepted the +charge of this boy has finally decided me; it was too late to draw +back. I shall settle in some quiet place, and try and educate him for +the University. I don't at all expect to be dull; and it evidently +wouldn't do to thrust him straight into English life yet—he wants +Anglicizing gradually. I hope he will be an average Englishman by the +time he gets to Cambridge." + +Arthur heard the next day, from Mr. Bruce's agent, that the boy would +arrive in the course of a month, so he determined to try and have +things ready by then for their retirement. + +We went energetically to house agents, and the result was that we +were at last blessed by success. + +Cornwall was the county that we selected; its warm indolent climate +seemed to answer our requirements best, and Arthur would not leave +England. + +Close to Truro there is a little village called St. Uny Trevise. You +have to leave the high-road to get to it. Its grey church tower is a +conspicuous landmark for several miles round, standing out above a +small wood of wind-swept oaks, on the top of a long broad-backed +down, lately converted into farm-land, and ploughed up. About half a +mile from this, going by strangely winding deep lanes, you reach the +bottom of a wooded dell, very lonely and quiet, with a stream running +at the bottom, that spreads out into marshes and rush-beds, with here +and there a broad brown pool. Crossing the little ford, for there is +only a rude bridge for foot-passengers, and ascending the opposite +hill, you find yourself at last, after going up the steep overhung +road, at the gate of a somewhat larger house than usual in those +desolations. + +The gate-posts are stone, with granite balls at the top, and there is +a short drive, which brings you to a square mottled front of brown +stone, with two large projections, or small wings, on each side. + +This is a small manor, known as Tredennis, anciently belonging to the +Templeton family, whose pictures ornament the hall. It had been used +latterly merely as a farmhouse; but a local solicitor, desiring that +a somewhat more profitable arrangement might be made respecting it, +had the manor put up at the extremely moderate rent of £60, and +banished the farmer to an adjoining tenement. + +There was a terraced garden, very rich in flowers in the summer. It +faced south and west, commanding a view of a winding valley, very +peaceful and still, a great part of which was overgrown with stunted +oak copses, or divided into large sloping fields. At the end, the +water of a tidal creek—Tressillian water—caught the eye. The only +sounds that ever penetrated to the ear were the cries of birds, or +the sound of sheep-bells, or the lowing of cows, with an occasional +halloo from the farm, children calling among the copses, or the +shrill whistle from over the hills, telling of the train, that, +burrowing among the downs, tied one to the noisier world. + +Truro has been much opened up since then. It has a bishop, and the +rudiments of a cathedral. It has burst into a local and spasmodic +life. But when I knew it through Arthur, it was the sleepiest and +laziest town alive, with the water rippling through the streets. +Old-world farmers, with their strange nasal dialect, used to haunt +the streets on market day, like the day on which we first drove +through it on our way to Tredennis. Arthur was well and serene. He +took the keenest delight in the fragrance of retirement that hung +about the place: people to whose minds and ears modern ideas, modern +weariness, had never penetrated; who lived a serious indolent life, +their one diversion the sermon and the prayer-meeting, their one +dislike "London ways." + +We reached the house in the evening, losing our way more than once in +our endeavour to discover it. Two sitting-rooms were furnished, +both large airy rooms looking upon the garden, and a bedroom and +dressing-room up-stairs, which Arthur and his charge were to occupy. +The housekeeper and her handmaiden, who were to be his servants, were +already installed, and had arranged in a certain fashion the new +furniture that Arthur had sent down, jostling with the old, and his +books. As we sat, the first evening, with our cigarettes, in the +dusk, watching the green sky over the quiet hills, a wonderful +sensation of repose seemed to pass into one from the place. "I feel +as if I might be very happy here," said Arthur, "if I were allowed; +and perhaps work out my old idea a little more about the meaning of +external things." + +I was to return to London in a day or two, to see about any +commission that might have been neglected, and to bring down the +boy, who was now daily expected. + +In my absence I received the following letter from Arthur. The serene +mood had had its reaction. + +"I have told you, I think, of the depressing effect that a new place +has on me till I get habituated to it. There is a constant sense of +unrest, just as there is about a new person, that racks the nerves. + +"I have been very anxious and 'heavy' to-day, as the Psalms have it: +dispirited about the future and the present, and remorseful about the +past. You don't mind my speaking freely, do you? I feel so weak and +womanish, I must tell some one. I have no one to lean on here. + +"I can't see what to make of my life, or, rather, what can possibly +be made of it. I have taken hitherto all the rebuffs I have had—and +they have not been few—as painful steps in an education which was to +fit me for something. I was having, I hoped, experience which was to +enable me to sympathize with human beings fully, when I came to speak +to them, to teach them, to lead them, as I have all my life believed +I some day should. + +"You won't think it conceited if I say this to you, my dear Chris? +I don't feel to myself as if I was like other people. I have met +several people better and on a higher level than myself, but no one +on quite the same level—no one, to put it shortly, quite so _sure_ +as I am. + +"Does that explain itself? I mean that I have for many years been +conscious of a kind of inward law that I dare not disobey, and which +has constrained me into obedience—once unwilling, now willing, and +even enthusiastic. In others, it has always seemed to me that there +is strife and διψυχία—one great factor pulling one way +and one another; but it has never been so with me—there has never +been a serious strain. I have always known what I meant, and have +generally done it; and little by little, as I have lived, comparing +this inner presence with what I can see of moral laws, of Divine +government, I have come to observe that the two are almost identical, +though there are certain variations which I have not yet accounted +for. + +"Mind, this has been in my case a _negative_ influence; it has never +urged a course upon me; it has always withheld me. Even in a dilemma +of any kind, it never has said, 'Do this;' it is always, 'Avoid +that.' So that I have had to take my line, as I have done in +practical things, though never in opposition to its warnings. + +"I had always thought that I was being educated to the point of +describing this subjective law to others, and helping them to some +such position. I have always felt that I had a message to deliver, +though the manner and method of delivering it I felt I had to +discover. + +"And so I was led from point to point. I was educated without any +special domestic attachments. I was shown that I was not to believe +in my friends. And then, at Cambridge, it came upon me that this was +what was meant—that I was not to devote myself to mean, selfish +objects; that I was not even to be solaced by individual love: but +that I was to speak to the world the way of inward happiness by the +simplification of the complex issues, the human intricacies, which +have gathered round and obscured the whole problem. + +"Then I gradually gave up, or thought I was giving up, human +ambitions. I took a course which I saw was not to end in human fame, +or wealth, or happiness of the ordinary kinds; and that I might test +my capacities a little more and learn myself, and also familiarize +myself with more aspects of the great question which I was going to +face, I travelled among the cities of men and the solitudes of the +earth. + +"And at last I thought I had found the way; but I will not tell you +what it was, for I now see that I was mistaken. I thought I saw that +my duty was to come back and speak the first words to the society in +which most naturally I moved; and I came to London, as you know. And +then I began to write; but I failed there. I was not disheartened, +for I felt that I was being led, and that that was not the way. And +once I thought that I was to be pointed out the path by the love of a +daring woman; but that went from me too, as you know, and so I waited +to be shown how to speak. + +"But it is not to be; for while I waited, this has fallen upon me; +and this is more than I can bear. It is terrible enough, as a human +being, to look Death in the face, and question of the blind eye what +are the secrets he knows; but I have passed through that before, and +I can truly say I do not dread that now. It is rather with an intense +and reverent curiosity that I look forward to death, as the messenger +that will tell me that my work here is over, and I am to learn God's +ways elsewhere. No, it is not that; but it is the utter aimlessness +and failure of my life. I have not attracted men's praise—I did not +hope to do that. I have not even attracted their attention. I have +not communicated the least grain of what I feel I _know_. + +"Far from looking upon me as a man who at least sees clearer than +others, as having a truth of price which they might be glad to learn, +they look upon me as a man who has failed even to live life upon +their basis, classing me with those utter failures who fail in life +because they have no sense of proportion, because they can not +comprehend the complex issues among which they have to fight. + +"And now I am laid aside, a useless weapon; I am not even physically +capable of writing, even if the world would hear me; and I am forced +back upon myself, upon a feeble life, necessarily self-centered, to +nurse and coddle myself as though I was a poor failing dotard, with +one avenue alone—and how precarious!—through which I may perhaps +speak my little message to the world—the education of a child to +carry on my torch. + +"I have written to you my whole mind, not because I want you to +reassure me—no, that is impossible; but because I am weak and +miserable. I must unburden myself to some one—must confess that I +have indeed broken down. + +"And, further, what is the Death, into whose antechamber I have +already passed? Is it indeed true that, as I have so passionately +denied, I have fallen into the grasp of a power which is waging an +equal war with truth and light and goodness? Shall I be sacrificed to +the struggle, without having made the world a whit better, or richer, +or stronger, with the only memory of me a quiet life with few follies +and fewer deeds of power, to be laid away in the dark? + +"And yet I have a lingering hope that this is a leading too; that I +shall somehow emerge. My dear Chris, come and see me again as soon as +you can. You will be even more welcome if you bring my boy, Edward +Bruce, as I understand we are to call him—_attamen ipse veni_. + + "I am your affectionate friend, + "Arthur Hamilton. + +"Flora"—his collie, of whom he was very fond—"is sitting watching +me with such liquid eyes that I must go and take her out. We have not +walked as far as the creek yet; the first effect of valetudinarian +habits is, I find, to make one feel really ill." + + +On the 4th of August, Tuesday, at 11.15, a card was brought to me, +and immediately afterward a tall gentleman appeared, with a boy of +about fourteen, whom I knew at once to be Edward Bruce. + +The gentleman, after a few polite words of inquiry after Arthur, +retired, the boy saying good-bye to him affectionately. He left me +his address for a few days, in case I should wish to see him. + +Edward Bruce was a boy of extraordinary beauty—there was no denying +that. Personal descriptions are always disappointing; but, not to be +prolix, he had such eyes, with so much passion and fire in them, that +they could only be the inheritance of many generations of love and +hate and quick emotions; his eyelids drooped languidly, but when he +opened his eyes and looked full at you!—I felt relieved to think I +should not have to conduct his education; I could not have denied +him anything. His hair was brown and curly, cut short, but of that +fineness and glossy aspect that showed that till lately it had been +allowed its own way. + +The boy had beautiful lips and white regular teeth, with that +exquisite complexion that is the result of perfect health and +physical condition. He did not speak English very well, but acquired +it fast. He always spoke slowly, and with a very pure articulation. +His voice was clear, high-pitched, and thrilling—I have no other +word for it. + +On the following day I took him down to Tredennis. The boy was +interested and excited, and asked many questions of a very +unsophisticated kind. + +"Why do people stare at me so?" he said, turning round from the +window of the carriage, in Bristol, where he stood devouring the +crowd with hungry eyes. I could not explain to him. He thought it was +because of his foreign look, and was much disgusted. "I made them +_dress_ me like an Englishman," he said, surveying himself. To be +English, that was his aim. + +I found that his father had inculcated this idea in him thoroughly, +and had impressed upon him the dignity of the position. It was, I was +told afterward, the one argument that never failed to make him +attentive in his lessons. + +It was not till he was driving away from Truro into the country that +he found leisure to think of his father and brother, and wonder what +they would be doing. I had the greatest difficulty in explaining that +the hours of the day were different, and that it was early morning +there. + +"No," he said, "it is impossible; I feel like the evening—Martin +can not be feeling like the morning." + +He was rather disappointed as we got further and further into the +lovely country. "I have lived among trees all my life," he said. "I +want to live among people now, in cities, and hear what they say and +do what they do. I love them." And he waved his hand to the lights of +the town in the valley below us, as a sign of farewell. + +At last we drove into the dark gates of Tredennis, and drew up before +the house. + +Arthur came out to meet us. "Where is Edward?" he said. + +The boy sprang out to meet him, and would have kissed him; but Arthur +just grasped his hand, retaining it for a moment, and then let him +go. The boy kept close to him, examining him attentively, when we got +inside the house, with restless, affectionate glances. + +"What makes you so pale?" he said. + +"Ah!" said Arthur, with a smile, "no one else can tell except +ourselves what makes our face so white; but you will be white like +this soon," he said: "it is our dark English days, not like your +Persian sun." + +"Then I shall be glad to be like that," said the boy, "if that is how +the English look." + +He went off on a tour of exploration about the house, soon +discovering his room, with which he was enraptured. + +In the garden, later on in the evening, he came to Arthur with a +letter in his hand. "This is for you," he said. "I had almost +forgotten it. But it is too dark to read it here; I shall fetch you a +light." And he brought the lamp out of the house, and stood holding +it, as it burnt unwavering in the still night air. + +Arthur read it and handed it to me, while the great moths and +transparent delicate flies came and blundered against it. + + +"Edward will give you this letter himself. His hand will touch your +hand. It has come about as I anticipated, neither sooner nor later; +and I am glad. + +"Dear friend, all is not well with you; I heard it in the night. But +the passages of the house are often dark, though the hills are full +of light; yet the Master's messengers pass to and fro between the +high halls bearing lamps; such a messenger I send you. + +"You must not be dismayed, either now or later, for all is well. In +our mysteries, when the youth first tastes the chalice, he can hardly +keep his mind upon the Red Wine of Life, the Blood of the Earth, as +he would fain do, for thinking of the cup, and how tremblingly he +holds it, and for fear that the crimson juice be spilt; but all the +while, though he sees it not, the priest's hand encircles the gold +stem. + +"Martin, _my_ son (for Edward is now yours—mine no longer), is even +nearer the end than when I spoke with you; and you too are nearer, +far nearer, though you know it not. And even in this little letter, +I have spoken words to you which, if you had but light to read them, +would make all plain. + +"The hour is at hand; the clock has jarred and is silent again, but +the gear murmurs on in the darkness, waiting for the silver chiming +of the bell. + + "I am your friend always, + "B. + "TEHERAN, + "Midsummer." + +"A curious document," I said. + +"Yes," said Arthur, musingly; "curious too, as literally true." And +he pointed to the boy holding the lamp. + +"Edward," he said to the boy, "put back that lamp, and come here and +speak to me." + +The boy went quickly and promptly, delighting in little acts of +obedience, as the young do. + +When he returned, Arthur said, "Your father says in this letter that +you are to be my son for the future. Will you? are you content to +change?" + +"Yes," said the boy, shyly; but he came and leant against his new +father's shoulder where he sat, and, in the pretty demonstrative +manner so natural to unsophisticated children, encircled his arm with +his hands. + +Arthur put his arm round the boy's neck, and stroked his hair +caressingly. + +"Very well," he said, "then you must always obey me as well as you +did just now; and we will make an Englishman of you, and, what is +more, a good man." + +And we sat in silence, looking down the valley. Every now and then an +owl called in his flute-like notes across the thickets, and we heard +the cry of the seabirds from the creek; and the soft wind came gently +up, rustling the fir over our heads, stirring among the leaves of the +tall syringa, and wandering off into the warm dusk. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The next day I had to return to London on business, taking leave of +the strange household with some regret. Arthur insisted on driving me +to the station. He talked very brightly of his experiment, and argued +at some length as to how far association could be depended upon as an +element in education; and how to distinguish those natures early that +were loyal to association and those to whom it would be of no +authority. + +"I have always divided," he said, "the great influences by which +ordinary people are determined to action into two classes; and I have +connected them with the two staves that the prophet cut, and named +'Beauty and Bands.' + +"Some people are worked upon by Beauty—direct influences of good; +they choose a thing because it is fair; they refrain from action +because it is unlovely; they take nothing for granted, but have an +innate fastidious standard which the ugly and painful offend. + +"Others are more amenable to Bands—home traditions, domestic +affections: they do not act and refrain from action on a thing's own +merits because it is good or bad; but because some one that they have +loved would have so acted or so refrained from acting—'My mother +would not have done so;' 'Henry would have disliked it.' The idea is +fancifully put, but it holds good, I think." + +Shortly after my return to London, I got two letters from him of +considerable importance. I give them both. The first is apropos of +the education of Edward Bruce. + + "Tredennis, August 30. + +"My Dear Friend, + +"I want you to get me the inclosed list of books, which I find are +culpably absent from my library. It is a very engrossing prospect, +this child's mind: it is a blank parchment, ready for any writing, +and apparently anxious for it too. + +"'Insight into all seemly and generous acts and affairs,' wrote +Milton, as the end of his self-education—something like that I +intend, if I am allowed, to give this child. I have the greatest +contempt for knowledge and erudition _qua_ knowledge and erudition. +A man who has laboriously edited the Fathers seems to me only to +deserve the respect due to a man who has carried through an arduous +task, and one that must have been, to anyone of human feelings and +real enthusiasm for ideas, uncongenial at first. Erudition touches +the human race very little, but on the 'omne ignotum' principle, men +are always ready to admire it, and often to pay it highly, and so +there is a constant hum of these busy idlers all about the human +hive. The man who works a single practical idea into ordinary +people's minds, who adds his voice to the cry, 'It is better to give +up than to take: it is nobler to suffer silently than to win praise: +better to love than to organize,' whether it be by novel, poem, +sermon, or article, has done more, far more, to leaven humanity. I +long to open people's eyes to that; I learnt it late myself. Before +God, if I can I will make this boy enlightened, should I live to do +it; or at least not at the mercy of every vagrant prophet and bawler +of conventional ideas. + + "Ever your friend, + "Arthur Hamilton" + +The next explains itself. + + "Tredennis, September 15. + +"My Dear Friend, + +"As you write to inquire so affectionately about my health, I +think it would be very wrong of me not to answer you fully; so I will +take 'health' to mean well-being, and not confine myself to its +paltry physiological usage. + +"In the last month I have really turned a corner, and gained serenity +and patience in my outlook. I do not mean that I am either patient or +serene yet, but I have long and considerable spaces of both, when I +feel content to let God make or mar me as He will, and realise that +perhaps in His mind those two words may bear a precisely contrary +sense. + +"One thing I wish to tell you, which I am afraid you will be rather +shocked to hear. I have not told you before, from a culpable +reticence; for I believe that there must be either complete +confidence between friends or none at all— + +"Do you remember a very gloomy and depressed letter that I wrote to +you the other day? When I wrote it I was deliberately contemplating +an action which I have now given up: I mean a voluntary exit from +this world's disappointments—suicide, in fact. + +"For many years I have carried about a quietus with me. I began the +habit at Cambridge. Men have often asked me what is the curious +little flask with a secret fastening, that stands on my +dressing-table. It is prussic acid. The morning before I wrote that +letter, the impulse was so strong upon me that I determined, if +matters should not shift a little, to take it on the following +evening. I made, in fact, most methodical arrangements. I seemed so +completely to have missed my mark. The superstitions against the +practice I did not regard, as they are merely the produce of a more +imaginative and anxious system of morality. I did not see why God, +for His own purposes—and, what is more, I believe He does—should +not remove a man by suicide, if He allows him to die by a horrible +disease or relegates him to insanity. Suicide is only a symptom of a +certain pitch of mental distress: its incidental result is death, but +so it is of many practices not immoral. + +"It required considerable nerve, I confess, to make the resolution; +but once made, I did not flinch. I considered the impulse to be a +true leading, quite as true as the other intuitions which I have +before now successfully followed, so I made my arrangements all day. +It gave me a wonderful sense of calm and certainty—there was a +feeling of repose about the completion of a restless existence, as +if I was at last about to slide into quiet waters, and be taught +directly, and not by obscure and painful monitions. + +"At nine o'clock I went to my room. There was a full moon, which +shone in at the open window; the garden was wonderfully still and +fragrant. + +"I found myself wondering whether, when the thing was over, I should +awake to consciousness at once; whether the freed soul would have, so +to speak, a local origin, a _terminus a quo_: in plain words, whether +my spirit would pass through the house and through the quiet garden +to some mysterious home, taking in the earthly impression as it +soared past with a single complete undimmed sense—or whether I +should step, as it were, straight into a surrounding sea of sensation +and be merged at once, feeling through all space and time and matter +by the spiritual fibres of which I should make a part. Do you +understand me? I have often wondered at that. + +"At last I drew out the flask, and touched the spring. It opens by +pressing a penknife into one of a number of rivets; you can then +unscrew it. + +"When it was open I discovered that the little vial inside had been +broken, and that somehow or other the life-giving fluid had +evaporated unperceived. I had not opened it for a year or more. + +"I saw at once that God intended it not to be at _my_ time—that +was very clear; and after considerable reflection and a wakeful +night, I came to the conclusion that my divine Impulse did not lead +me to adopt a course of action, but only to _avoid_ a course—the +fact which I developed in my letter to you. And then came the resolve, +tardy and weak at first, but gaining ground, warning me that perhaps +it was an inglorious flight; though I knew it was pardonable, I felt +as if God might meet me with 'Not wrong, but if you are really bent +on the highest, you must do better than this.' It might, I felt, be +losing a great opportunity—the opportunity of facing a hopeless +situation, a thing I had never done. + +"And so I came to the conclusion to fight on, and my reward is coming +slowly; contentment seems to return, and Edward is an ever-increasing +joy; he fills my life and thoughts. Oh, if I can only make him good; +put him in the way of inward happiness! I break out into prayer and +aspirations for him in his presence when I think of the utterly +heedless way in which he regards the future, and the awful, the +momentous issues it contains. He, dear lad, thinks nothing of it, +except as a sign of my love for him. We have no misunderstandings, +and I seem somehow to love the world better, more passionately, since +he came to me. + +"I send you a few flowers from our garden, and Edward sends his love, +if that is respectful enough. + + "I am your affectionate friend, + "Arthur Hamilton." + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Down at Tredennis the year begun to fly with the speed of which +uneventful enjoyable monotony alone possesses the secret. + +"Our days are very similar here, and I find them very agreeable. +Edward thinks the same, he assures me, though I feel it may arise +in his case from a want of breadth of view and lack of experience +to argue from. + +"In the summer months we get up early, and generally bathe in the +stream, where I have contrived to get one of the pools sufficiently +enlarged; as the weather gets colder I am compelled by my doctor to +relinquish this. Then we read and write till breakfast, which we have +at eight o'clock. In winter this is the first event of the day; in +the morning we work for an hour or two and then go out, returning to +lunch; after which we sun ourselves till five o'clock, or drive; and +then, after tea, work again for three hours: the day thus concludes. + +"I certainly don't coddle my boy, and I don't think I pet him, for I +have the deepest horror of that practice: nothing is so weakening +for both parties; it develops sentimentalism, and all mawkishness I +abhor!—though I am what you would call ridiculously fond of him. +However, you must come and see us, and give me your most candid +opinion, criticism, and censure on my educational methods. + +"We drive into Truro once a week to market, and Edward goes in on +messages, and for some mathematical training to the clergyman there. +I should like to find some _æqualis_ to make a companion for him. +He is English enough for anything, but I am afraid of his not keeping +his appropriate boyishness if he is always hanging about with an old +and serious valetudinarian like myself. But I don't like any of the +families hereabouts, and can't get to know the ones I _do_ like well +enough to find some one to my mind. I am very fastidious about my +selection." + +And again: + +"Our Sundays are very peaceful days in this lazy land of the West. +We go to church—a very necessary part of an Englishman's +education—lunch immediately, and then loaf on the downs over the +creek, and I read to him till he yawns or goes to sleep; then we +both play with Flora among the heather—or botanize—and go to +church again." + +This letter led me, knowing as I did how pronounced Arthur's views +were, to ask him why he took Edward to church, and the line that he +intended to take with him generally with regard to religious matters. + +"I have given the question," he writes, "a great deal of thought, and +feel my way fairly clear now. Ideally, as an experiment, I should +like to tell a boy nothing about religion—teach him merely his moral +duty—till he is of age; then put the Bible into his hands. There +would be, of course, a great deal—the 'purely mythological or +Herodotean element,' as Strauss calls it—and the miraculous element +generally, that he would probably at first reject; but if he was +of an appreciative nature—and I am presupposing that, because +I don't think the theory of education is for the apathetic and +unsensitive—he would see, I believe, not only the extraordinary +sublimity of language and expression, but the unparalleled audacity +and magnificence of thought and aspiration. That he would realize the +points in which these conceptions were wild, deficient, or childish, +would not blind him, I think, to the grandeur of the other side. + +"As a matter of fact, we mix up moral duty with intellectual and +spiritual so clumsily, and force it so inopportunely and immaturely +upon our children, that if in later years questionings begin to +arise, or complications in any part of life, the smash that follows +is terrific: the whole thing goes by the board. + +"For instance: many a man who undergoes a moral conversion will +reject his whole intellectual growth angrily and contemptuously as +savoring of the times of vanity. In my scheme such a waste would be +impossible; the two would be on different planes and not inextricably +intertwined. + +"Besides, I think that young men suffer terribly from the shock +inflicted on their affection and traditional sentiment. + +"They grow up with certain stereotyped conceptions on religious +subjects, certain dogmas imperfectly understood but crudely imagined +and gradually crystallized into some uncouth shape. + +"The prejudices of children, and ideas that have grown with them, +are, I think, ineradicable in many cases. + +"Let us take three instances of such ordinary conceptions—'Grace,' +'the Resurrection of the Body,' 'The Holy Spirit.' + +"Here are three vast conceptions. The anxious parent endeavours to +explain them to the child: who, in his turn, receives three grotesque +and whimsical ideas which represent themselves to him something in +the following shape: + +"_Grace_. The quality which he detests in his schoolfellows; in +which the 'model boys' are pre-eminent; which he knows he dislikes +and loathes, and yet is rather ashamed to say so. The boy who +'rebukes' his schoolfellows for irreverent or loose conversation, the +boy who is always ready in his odious way to do a kindness, the boy +who is never late for school—these seem to him to be the kind of +figures that the clergyman is holding up in his sermon as ideal types +of character, to be imitated and reverenced, and for whom he has in +his young soul the most undisguised and wholesome loathing. + +"Of course it is a misconception—but whose fault? Do you blame a +tender wayward mind for not having a philosophical grasp of the +ideal? Whereas, if you weren't ashamed to let him understand that the +young rascal who is always in mischief and behindhand with his work, +but who is yet affectionate, generous, and pure, though he is +quarrelsome and not particular in his talk, is a far finer fellow, +both in point of view of this world and the next than the smooth-faced +prig who thanks his Lord that he is not as this publican. + +"_The Resurrection of the Body_. Intelligent people who are also +reverent and good, in their anxiety to be faithful to the letter of +dogma as well as to its spirit, prefer to cling to these words rather +than confess, what is quite certain, that an absolutely literal +sense was attached to these words by the framers of them; they were +scientifically ignorant of the fact that matter is disintegrated and +disseminated so rigorously that there may be component particles of +a hundred of his predecessors in one human body now existent. No +symbolical _interpretation_ of the words nowadays will account for +their being the expression of what was erroneously believed to be +a possibility; and to say, as I have heard a Church dignitary of +poetical and metaphysical mind say, that the phrase means that the +power resident in every individuality to assimilate to itself certain +particles will not desert the individuality even after death, but +will continue to assert itself in some way—possibly in a spiritual +or unmaterial manner—to say this, is to state a strong scientific +probability; but, after all, it is only a probability at best, and is +certainly not what the words as they stand in the Creed were meant +to mean by the persons who framed them and the first worshippers +who repeated them. In the case of children the effect is at once +laughable and lamentable. They are made to retain the phrase; no +explanation is offered, and, if sought for, shirked. And so it +resolves itself into a wonder, dimly conscious of profanity, as to +whether Tim Jones the carpenter with the wooden leg, will have a new +one; and whether papa will have the wart on his cheek or not, and how +he will look without it. Of course these are elementary speculations; +but they are true ones, for they were literally my own at an early +age. Such speculations are certainly better avoided; and, indeed, +all early speculation on dogmatic questions at all is better not +suggested. + +"_The Holy Spirit_. When I was a child, the dogma of the Trinity caused +me the most terrible perplexity, which was all the more distressing +because it was shrouded in a kind of awful remoteness, by the +reticence, the bewildered and serious reticence, with which my elders +approached the subject; but besides the identification with and the +appearance as a dove, the term Comforter—and Paraclete, as some of +the hymn-books had it—the expression, '_proceeding from_ the +Father and the Son,' mystified me completely. The three aspects of +the central Unity—God as Creator, as the Ideal of Humanity, as +the Inspirer of it—is a very subtle and advanced idea; yet it is +maintained that symbols should be taught first, before they are +understood, so that gradually the growing mind should come to realize +and appropriate what it already knows. + +"This is a very sophistical and ingenious defence. But it seems to +break down in practice. How many people reject the idea when +realized, simply, as I hold, on account of the grotesque and +fantastic conceptions that the immature and overstrained mind +collected about it—conceptions which no amount of _reason_ is later +able to overcome! And how many never grow to realize it at all! +Besides, even of those who do, it is admitted that almost all need a +reconstruction _some time_, a breaking-up of what would otherwise be +crystallized formulæ, a _conversion_, in fact. Have you ever seen +a high nature grow up from boyhood to manhood in undisturbed +possession of a vital faith? I confess that I never have! + +"I can not help feeling a dismal possibility, that future students of +religion, looking over a nineteenth century 'child's catechism,' will +laugh, or rather drop their hands in blind amazement—for in truth it +is no laughing matter—at the metaphysical conglomerate of dogma, +driven like a nail into the heads of careless and innocent children +(such, at least, as have had, like myself, the advantage of a +religious bringing-up), just as we turn over with regretful amusement +and pathetic wonder the doctrinal farrago of a Buddhist or a Hindu. + +"And all this because people can't wait. He must have a 'dogmatic +basis,' they say, the sinew and bone of religion, when the poor +child's head can not even take in their ideas, let alone his emotion +appreciate them. + +"The consequence is, that I can't bring myself to use these words +except in societies where I know I shall not be misunderstood. + +"Influence, the indestructibility of matter, aspiration—those are +what Grace, the Resurrection of the Body, the Holy Spirit mean to me +now; great and living and integral parts of my creed, which I not +only glow to reflect about, but which surround and penetrate my life +daily and hourly with ever-increasing thankfulness. + +"Yet, on the other hand, some people depend so much on tradition: +they never have a reconstruction of ideas; memories and associations +are all in all to them. They are the 'Bands' people of my former +classification. + +"And so I want to give Edward both. I take him to church. When he +asks me questions I will answer them, but I am glad to say he does +not at present. I send him out before the sermon: that is responsible +for a good deal of harm. 'Ye shall call upon him to avoid sermons' +should be in the rubric of _my_ baptismal service. + +"Then we read some of the Old Testament history as 'history of the +Jews,' and Job and Isaiah and the Psalms as poetry—and I am glad to +say he is very fond of them; and parts of the Gospels in Greek, as +the life and character of a hero. It is the greatest mistake to +impose them upon children as authoritative and divine all at once. It +at once diminishes their interest: we ought to work slowly up through +the human side. + +"The Pauline Epistles I have given him to read in extracts. I believe +they are best in extracts—one can omit the controversial element. +And he has taken, as children do, to the Revelation enormously, and +gets much mysterious delight from it. + +"A long and wearisome letter this, and not, I feel, satisfactory. I +haven't done justice to the side of tradition, the _jussum et +traditum_, but that is the fault of my mind. I have only been +professing to represent the other side. + +"I would like to thrash the matter out further. I wish you would come +down and see us. Tredennis has a sombre beauty, even in winter—a +'season of mists' with us. The magnolia on the south wall is +blooming, though we are only two days off Christmas. Our love to you. + + "Arthur Hamilton." + +I subjoin another extract, on the education of the moral faculty. + +"I have always held that the concentration of thought upon morality +is a very dangerous system of life. Morality should be an incidental +basis to life, not to be brooded over unless some grave disorder +should arise. We breathe, and eat, and sleep, and pay no heed to +those processes; and indeed both physiologists and moralists exclaim, +in the case of those natural processes, that the healthier we are the +more unconscious will those processes be. + +"So it should be with moral things. If a grave obstruction or +contradiction befall any one; if he behaves in a way that violates +his usefulness, or his own or others' self-respect; then, if he will +not reform himself, we must warn him, or treat him as a physician +would: but to abuse a healthy nature for not considering the reasons +of things, not having a moral system, not 'preparing for death,' +when, by the very constitution of his nature, he does not require +one, is a very grave blunder. Moral anxiety is a sign of moral +_malaise_, or, far more commonly, a sign of physical disorder. + +"It is an ascertained fact that those periods when morals have been +imposed on man as his sole and proper business and subject for +contemplation have been unprogressive, introspective, feeble times. + +"No, leave morals out of the question directly, unless you see there +is grave cause for interference. Give one or two plain warnings, or +rather commands. + +"Try to raise the _tone_ generally; try to make the young soul +generous, ardent, aspiring. If you can do that, the fouler things +will fall off like husks. Above all things, make him devoted to +you—that is generally possible with a little trouble; and let him +never see or hear you think or say a low thought, or do a sordid +thing. If he loves you he will imitate you; and while the virtuous +habit is forming, he will have the constant thought, 'Would my father +have done this? What would he say, how would he look, if he could see +me?' Imagination is sometimes a saving power." + +I venture to insert a letter in which he touches delicately on the +subject of sexual sin. He would never speak of it, but this was +written in answer to a definite question of mine apropos of a common +friend of ours. + +"I must confess that I do not realize the strength of this particular +temptation, but I am willing to allow for its being almost infinitely +strong. I don't know what has preserved me. It is the one thing about +which I never venture to judge a man in the least, because, from all +I hear and see, it must hurry people away in a manner of which those +who have not experienced it can not form any conception. + +"You ask me what I think the probable effect that yielding to such +temptation has on a man's character. Of course, some drift into +hopeless sensualists. About those I have my own gospel, though I do +not preach it; it is a scarcely formulated hope. But of those that +recover, or are recovered, all depends upon the kind of repentance. +The morbid repentance that sometimes ensues is very disabling. All +dwelling on such falls is very fatal: all thoughts of what might have +been, all reflections about the profaned temple and the desecrated +shrine, though they can not be escaped, yet must not be indulged. +I always advise people resolutely to try and forget them in _any_ +possible way—banish them, drown them, beat them down. + +"But a manly repentance may temper and brace the character in a way +that no other repented fall can. It is the brooding natures which +make me tremble; in healthier natures it is the refiner's fire which +stings and consecrates: '_Sanat dum ferit_.' + +"But the subject is very repugnant to me. I don't like thinking or +talking about it, because it has its other side; the thought of a +woman in connection with such things is so unutterably ghastly; it is +one of the problems about which I say most earnestly 'God knows.'" + +One other letter of this period, is worth, I think, inserting here. + + "Tredennis, August 29. + +"I had an instructive parable thrown in my way to-day, containing an +obvious lesson for Eddy, and a further meaning for myself. Eddy came +running to me about eleven, to tell me there was a man in the garden. +I hurried to the spot he indicated; and there, in a kind of nook +formed by a fernery, his head resting in a great glowing circle of +St. John's wort, and his feet tucked up under him, lay a drunken +tramp, asleep. He was in the last stage of disease; his face was +white and fallen away, except his nose and eyes, which were red and +bloodshot; he had a horrible sore on his neck; he was unshaven and +fearfully dirty; he had on torn trousers; a flannel shirt, open at +the neck; and a swallow-tail coat, green with age, buttoned round +him. His hat, such as it was, lay on the ground at his side. Edward +regarded him with unfeigned curiosity and dismay. While we stood +watching him, he began to stir and shift uneasily in his sleep, as a +watched person will, and presently woke and rolled to his feet with +a torrent of the foulest language. He was three-parts drunk. He +watched us for a moment suspiciously, and then gave a bolt. How he +accomplished it I don't know, for he was very unsteady on his feet; +but he got to the wall, and dropped over it into the road, and was +out of sight before we could get there. He evidently had some dim +idea that he had been trespassing. + +"Edward inquired what sort of a man he was. + +"'An English gentleman, in all probability,' I said, 'who has got +into that state by always doing as he liked.' And I went on to point +out, as simply as I could, that everybody has two sets of desires, +and that you must make up your mind which to gratify early in life, +determining to face this kind of ending if you fix upon one set. +'Early in life,' I said, 'when this gentleman was a well-dressed +clean boy like you, one of the voices used to whisper to him at his +ear, "Eat as much as you can; that is what you really like best;" +while the other said, "If you eat rather less, you will be able to +play football, or read your book better; besides, you will be your +own master and less of a beast." + +"'But he wouldn't listen; and this is the result.' + +"Edward seemed to ponder it deeply. He tried to starve himself to-day +at lunch; and I refrained from pointing out to him that abstinence +from meat at lunch was not the _unum necessarium_, for fear of +confusing the ingenuous mind. I like to see people grasp the concrete +issue in one of its bearings. The principle will gradually develop +itself; from denying themselves in one point, they will or may grow +to be generally temperate; when confronted with overmastering and +baser impulses, it may be they will say, 'Let me be ἐγκράτης +ἐμαυτοῦ even here.' + +"So much for Edward's lesson; now for my own. My first impulse was to +loathe and reject the poor object, body and soul. He was merely the +embodiment of long-continued vice. His body was a diseased framework, +breaking quickly up, conscious of no pleasure but appetite, and now +merely existing and held together by the desire of gratifying it; the +little vitality it possessed, just gathering enough volume in the +quiet intervals to satiate one of its three jaded cravings—lust, +hunger, and thirst, and feebly groping after alcoholic and other +stimulants to repair its exhaustion; the soul in her dreamy intervals +drowsily recounting or contemplating lust past and to come—a ghastly +spectacle! + +"And yet I am bound to think, and do record it as my deliberate +belief, that that poor, wretched, withered, gross soul is destined +to as sure a hope of glory as any of us: ay, and may be nearer it, +too, than many of us, as it is expiating its willfulness in more +terrible and direct punishment. There is not a single spasm in that +decayed and nerveless frame, not a single horror of all the gloomy +forebodings and irrational shudderings of the sickening delirium, not +a single mile of the grim dusty roads he wearily traverses, which is +not needed to bring him to the truth. The soul may be so clouded that +it may not even be taking note of its punishment, may not be even +conscious of it, may hardly calculate how low it has fallen and how +wretched and hopeless the remainder of its earthly days are bound to +be; but I assert that it is none of it blind suffering; that not +a pang is unintentionally given, or thrown away; that I shall +hand-in-hand with that soul go some day up the golden stairs that +lead to the Father, and we shall say one to another, 'My brother, you +despised me on earth; you took for a mark of the neglect and +disfavour of God what was only a sign of His constant care; you took +for an indwelling of foul spirits what was only a testimony of my +distance from the truth.' + +"And we shall speak together of new things, so marvellous that they +will banish memory for ever. + +"Who would have thought that the sight of a drunken tramp in a +hedgerow would have brought one so close to a sight of God's +purposes? + +"Yet so it is, my friend. God keeps showing me by the strangest of +surprises that He is all about us. This very incident, so seemingly +trivial, is yet a part of my life already, it has set its mark upon +me. All his life he has been led, from bad to worse, into drink, +and haunted by all the other devils of sin, and piloted across the +country thus, so that the lines of our lives cut at this instant +never to cut again. There are no such things as _chance_ meetings. +There is no smaller or greater in the sight of God. It is as much a +purpose of his life that he should preach this sermon to Edward and +myself to-day, as that he should be shown by God's own strokes what +happiness really is, by the strong contrast of the bitterness of +sin." + +The idea of the purpose of God underlying every incident, however +apparently trivial, was much in his thoughts just then. + +"We often are taught how momentous every thing and every moment is, +by the charging of some trivial incident with tremendous issues. A +man fires off his gun. He has done so thousands of times already, and +yet, like Mr. Jamieson, my neighbour, on this one January morning he +kills his own son, converting in a single instant, by a trivial +incident, the whole of the rest of his life from sweet into bitter, +by the terrible punishment which falls upon 'carelessness.' God seems +to be asking us to weigh the fact, that in a chain of events the +tiniest link is every bit as important and necessary in its place as +the largest. + +"And so I begin to take more and more account of little things. The +very people we pass in the street once, it may be never to pass +again, the stream of faces that flows past us in London—has all +that no real connection with our life, except to stir a faint and +vague emotion about the size of life and our own infinitesimal share +in it? I think it must be something more. Of course, one lets drop +grain after grain of golden truth that God slips into our hands. I +keep feeling that if we could only truly yield ourselves up for a +single instant, put ourselves utterly and wholly in God's hands for a +second, the meaning of the whole would flash upon us, and our lesson +would be learnt. I think perhaps that comes in death. I remember the +only time I took an anæsthetic (when the body really momentarily +dies—that is, the functions are temporarily suspended), the great +sensation was, after a brief passage of storm and agony, the sense of +serenity and repose upon a lesson learnt, a truth grasped, so remote +and so connected with infinite ideas, that the coming back into life +was like the waking after years of experience; a phantom emotion, +I expect; but, like many phantoms, a very good copy of the real one. +That is what I expect dying to be like. + +"I was going to say that I try not to let even little things—things +that are thrust in my way curiously and without apparent reason that +is—go uninterpreted. Why should I, for instance, have been +introduced by my clergyman to the friend who was staying with him +this morning, when I met them in the lane? and why should he have +come in to lunch, and talked dull and trivial talk till three +o'clock, and interrupted all our plans? There seems some design in +it all; and yet one is so impotent to grasp what it can be. + +"Yet I suppose no one has failed to notice several small coincidences +in their lives, of what might almost be called a providential kind. + +"I read in a book about Laennec's method, without the vaguest idea of +who Laennec was, or what his method was. The next day, I see, in +a chart in the village school-room, 'Laennec, inventor of the +stethoscope;' and, the day following, I find and read his biography +in a volume that I happen to take up to pass five minutes. And yet we +say 'by chance.' + +"Or I come across an expression of which I haven't grasped the +precise meaning, 'gene,' let us say, or 'eclectic,' and the next day +I hear the rector and curate discussing them. These are real cases. + +"Or I am interrupted in my writing by Edward, who takes the letters +to the post, and forces this from under my hand, as I write: not, +surely, only to spare you the receipt of a dull and immature letter. + + "Arthur Hamilton." + +I have only one other letter of any especial interest about this +date. + +"If only a book could be written about a hermit, a man that +deliberately left the world, retiring, not to an impracticable +distance—let us say to a small farm, in a country village, with half +an acre of garden—and there let no sound from the world without +reach him, except incidentally, and lived a pure and uncontaminated +life, watching his garden, and turning over, very slowly, such +experience as he had gained in life, with the intention, if anything +came of it, of telling the world any solution that occurred to him +of the great question—'Is one bound to meet life in the ordinary +manner, by plunging into it and swimming up the stream, or does one +meet it best by abjuring it?' There is much to be said for both +views. I am not at all sure that these or similar lives are not +lived, and that the only practical bearing of them is that a man +is _not_ bound to tell his discoveries of our enigmas. I mean, I +can conceive a man, under such circumstances, reaching a very high +standpoint, arriving at very lofty knowledge of the problems of fate +and life, and at the same time finding a ban laid upon him, a tacit +ἀνάγκη, not to reveal it to others, it being hinted to +him that those who would attain to it at all must attain to it as he +has himself attained, by finding out the way themselves." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +About this time he made the acquaintance of some neighbours whom he +approved, and found companions for Edward Bruce in the boys of the +family, who were home for the holidays. The boy brightened up so much +under the new surroundings, that Arthur determined to get a boy of +the same age to educate with Edward, and he accordingly inserted an +advertisement in the _Times_. I have it before me now, in the +fast-yellowing paper. + +"A gentleman is anxious to find a companion to be educated with his +adopted son; he offers him board and teaching free, but must see, +personally, both the parent or guardian and the boy whom it is +proposed to send." + +But the advertisement was withdrawn, as a friend of mine, a certain +General Ellis, not very well off, and with a large family, offered +to send a boy of his to Tredennis—an offer which Arthur accepted +provisionally. He had the boy to stay with him for a fortnight, and +at the end of the time agreed to take him. + +As the boys were not to go to a public school, and as neither of them +looked forward to teaching as a career, the object of their teaching +was to make them as quick in grasp of a subject as possible, as +enthusiastic as possible, and as cultivated. Arthur favoured me with +a letter, or rather a treatise, upon their education, fragments of +which I submit to my readers. + +"My aim will be to make them, generally speaking, as adequate as +possible to playing a worthy part in the world. I want them to be as +open-minded on all subjects as possible, to have no fixed prejudices +on any subject, and yet to have an adequate basis of knowledge on +important matters, enough not to leave them at the mercy of any new +book or theory on any subject which handles its facts in at all a +one-sided way—so that on reading a brilliant but narrow book on any +point, they may be able to say, 'This and that argument have weight, +they are valid; but he has suppressed this, and distorted that, +which, if seen fairly and in a good light, would go far to contradict +the other.' Then they must be without _prejudice_; they must not close +their eyes or turn their backs on any view, because it is 'dangerous' +or 'damaging' or 'subversive' or 'unpractical.' They must not be +afraid to face an idea because of its probable consequences if its +truth is proved. They must not call anything common or unclean. + +"For this they must have a basis of knowledge on these points; +history, political economy, philosophy, science. The first three I am +fairly competent to give them; that is to say, I am studying these +hard myself now, and I can, at any rate, keep well ahead of them; and +I have managed to win their educational confidence, which is a great +thing. They take for granted that a thing which is dull is necessary, +and follow me with faith; while, I am thankful to say, they are keen +enough not to want driving when a thing is interesting. + +"Then they must know French and German, and a modicum of Greek and +Latin. These last I teach them by a free use of translations; +rudiments of grammar first, and then we attack the books, and let +grammar be incidental. We don't compose in any of these languages; +it's a mere waste of time. + +"I teach them logic and Euclid, and get them taught some mathematics. +Then as to science, by reading myself with them we get on very well +together. And I have bought a few chemicals, and we try experiments +freely, which is very satisfactory. + +"Music I teach them both, and harmony. They don't much like it, but +they will be glad some day. I make them practise regularly. I don't +believe any but very exceptionally gifted boys like that; but they +are so awfully thankful when they get to my age if they have been +kept at it. + +"Then as to the external παιδεία, there is my difficulty. I am +not allowed to take any active exertion myself, and, indeed, it tells +on me if I do, so that I have become a kind of thermometer, hopeless +and headachy and listless the next day, if I overdo myself the very +least; so that I have merely to encourage them by precept, not by +example. They have ponies and bicycles, and scamper about all over +the country. Edward has been brought home once in a cart, but not +seriously damaged; and I like to leave them to themselves in these +things—they won't damage themselves a bit the less for fussing and +fretting over them, and they will lose ever so much independence and +go. Then I teach them to shoot, and they are very fair shots with a +pea-gun. And we also do a little carpentering, so we are well +employed. They aren't showy performers at any game, but, as they +won't be at school, that makes very little difference to them; it is +handiness in general sports that is valuable afterward. + +"You would think that this was a tremendous programme, but it is not; +it is mostly reading and talking, with a certain amount of writing. +They have to analyse a chapter of a book of some kind every day; +sometimes history, sometimes philosophy. We do both history and +philosophy as much as possible by means of biographies. Lewes's book +is an excellent text-book, and not a bit too advanced if you will +talk it over with them carefully; clever boys are never really +puzzled by meanings of words. In history we get the greatest man we +can find in a period, and work out his view of all current events; +and they have to write dialogues in character, and enjoy it immensely +too. I don't press them to read for themselves very much, and I don't +make ordinary English literature their task-books, because one always +may be boring a boy, and I don't want to run the risk of boring them +with things that I want them to enjoy as much as I did. + +"I read to them for an hour or so every evening—novels, plays, +anything that they seem to like. They are at liberty to choose. + +"I don't know that they would 'go down' at present—certainly not +among their compeers. They talk quite naturally and straightforwardly +about all kinds of topics of general interest, and they are +tremendously keen about their games, but I think some people might +call them prigs. However, I keep them in a constant and wholesome +contempt of their own abilities, and never let them despise or +criticize anyone unfavourably; not by 'rebuking' it, but by +indicating a point of view—and one can always find one—in which +the person under fire is infinitely their superior. + +"And they are as affectionate as they can be—they like one another +and me; and they aren't easily disturbed by circumstances, not having +had their morbid sensibilities developed, their innocent perceptions +dimmed by alcoholic or other dissipations." + +I select, rather at random, one or two other passages from his +letters at this time. + +"I have just been reading Emerson's Essays. They certainly kindle +one's belief in the greatness of life and the nobility of little +things; but, after all, the great refreshment of such books to me +is—not that they give me new working ideas; I hardly know a book +that has ever done that; the stock of ideas is almost constant in the +world; but because they show that others are on the same track of +admiration and hope as one's self for a goal only hinted at and +conjectured to be glorious—on the same track, and farther advanced +upon it; like older people, they fill in with experience what one has +only guessed at. I find myself saying, 'I expect that life will be +like this and that: it will confirm this and that idea in startling +ways:' and then one of these great souls comes softly to me, and +says, 'It is true.'" + +And again: + +"There are a great number of conventional ideas which are largely +current, not only conversationally and among ordinary people, +but in books—good and sensible books, written by people of +experience—which are, in my opinion, radically and absolutely +false, and yet no one takes the trouble to question them. I am always +coming across them. Such as this: _No one is more incapable of +affection than a profligate._ This, in my judgement, is a ludicrous +error, though it is the statement of no less a moral physician than +Lacordaire. If by affection you mean 'sustained, pure, disinterested +emotion,' such as patriotism—well and good; but affection!—the two +most affectionate persons I have ever known were thoroughly +dissolute; and I mean by affection, not a slobbering sentimental +passion of a purely sensual type, but an affection quite untainted, +to all appearances leading them to make considerable sacrifices for +the sake of it, and causing them the acutest misery when not +reciprocated. In so far as profligates are selfish brutal natures, +as they often are, it is true; but that is not the case with half +of them. They are not unfrequently people of infirm will, strong +affections, and a violent animal nature. It is selfishness, regard to +personal _comfort_ at all hazards, which is the hopeless nature, +and can not be raised except through pain. + +"Speaking of Lacordaire, another favourite position of his will +illustrate my point. He was constantly inveighing in his seminary +against desultory reading. Homer, Plutarch, Racine, Bossuet, and a +few other books, are all he wishes a man to have read. He calls +miscellaneous reading a subtle dissipation, a moral poison. + +"It seems to me to depend entirely upon temperament. Some natures are +like _mills_, converting everything that comes in their way into grist; +and in that case, no doubt, it is deleterious. They are people of +slow-revolving mind, to whom statements in books are of the nature of +authorities. Lacordaire was one, I think. + +"But there are others who are like sieves; who want a constant +passing of materials of all kinds over them to let a little fall +through; people who draw from a huge jumble of miscellaneous facts, +theories, and thoughts, a little sediment of truth of the precise +size to suit them. Such a person was Macaulay. + +"I believe that interference does more harm than good. If you thrust +books upon a mind of the first type, the result is confusion and +weariness. If you deny them to the latter, all you get is poverty of +ideas, and morbidity, and mawkishness. I make a rule never to +interfere with anybody's reading." + + +Four years passed. I went during that time once to Tredennis—in the +summer, when I took my scanty holiday; for I was in a Government +office where only six weeks were allowed. Arthur was generally away +in the summer. He took Edward Bruce to several friends' houses; +to his own home in Hampshire, now for a long time in the hands of +strangers. He wanted to make him a real Englishman. It was arranged +that he should go to Cambridge in October. He matriculated at +Trinity, Arthur's own college; and he was looking forward with great +delight to the prospect. + +I went down to stay at Tredennis for a week in July. I got to the +house through the quiet sultry lanes about the middle of the +afternoon, having started very early from town. As I came up the +little drive I could see through the trees an animated game of +lawn-tennis proceeding on the lawn in front of the house, between two +flannelled combatants. At the sound of the wheels they broke off the +game, and Edward came up to greet me. He was now nearly nineteen, and +had lost none of the beauty of his boyhood; a small brown moustache +which fringed his upper lip being, to my eyes, almost the only sign +of his advancing years. He introduced me to his friend, a young Eton +man, possessed of that frank nonchalance which it is the privilege of +that institution to bestow. I inquired where Arthur was. Edward told +me that he had gone down to the stream for a stroll. "We'll go down +and find him," he said, putting his arm in mine, with that same +demonstrativeness that had always characterized him, and that won +people to him so quickly. + +We crossed one or two adjacent fields which sloped down to the +stream, conspicuous by its fringe of alder and hazel; and after +crossing by a gravel-pit, we came on a level reach of it, all stifled +with high water-plants, figwort, and loosestrife, and willow-herb, +and great sprawling docks, till, down by a little runnel where it +took a sudden turn round a shoal of gravel, we came upon the faint +fragrance of a cigarette; then Flora ran forward to meet us; and, on +turning the corner, we found a great long figure lying on the bank, +with hat half pulled over his eyes, gazing dreamily up into the +shifting willow leaves and the blue above. + +Our voices, which had been drowned by the sound of the running water, +aroused him, and he sat up, and, on seeing me, got slowly to his feet +with a delightful smile of welcome on his face. "How are you, my dear +man?" he said. "I didn't expect you so early, or I should have been +at home to meet you—in fact, I should have driven down to Truro, +only I am not quite the thing to-day." + +I looked rather anxiously at him, to see how he appeared to be, and +was much struck with the change in him. There had crept into his face +what has been called a look of "doom." The Stuarts are said to have +had it. I can not describe it in any other way. It was that of a man +waiting for something, bravely and calmly, but still with a certain +sort of apprehension. He looked very solemn and grave when he was not +speaking, and he was apt to get a kind of brooding look, which did +not disperse till one spoke to him. He was thinner, too, and paler, +though the old lock of hair still dangled over his forehead, and his +eyes had the old affectionate look. + +He was playful and humorous in a quiet way. I have forgotten what we +talked about—we discussed people and things vaguely; I can only +remember one little remark he made which struck me as being highly +characteristic. I had said, in reply to some question as to one of +our friends, "Oh, he's perfectly crazy." "Yes," said Arthur, mildly: +"he has certainly got some curious mannerisms." + +I ventured to remonstrate with him about the cigarette, but he said +gravely that he had given up thinking about his health, it was so +very inferior, and that he had come to the conclusion that nothing +in moderation made him either better or worse; "and an occasional +cigarette," he said, "adds so much to my general serenity, that I +feel sure it is perfectly justifiable." + +I had a very delightful week there. He talked a good deal, when he +was in the mood, about the books he had been reading and the thoughts +he had been thinking; but his physical languor at times, especially +in the mornings, was very painful to see. He did not get up till very +late, and complained to me more than once of a terrible listlessness +and dejection to which he was liable during the earlier part of the +day. But he spoke little of his own sufferings, or rather _malaise_, +which I gathered was very great, only saying once or twice, "It is +fortunate how habituated one gets to things, even to enduring +discomfort. If I can only get my mind occupied, it hardly ever +distracts me now." And again—"I think the only really valuable +experiences are those that we can not lay down and take up at will, +but which continue with us, invariable, unaltering, day after day, +meeting us at every moment and tempering every mood." And once—"In +spite of everything, I would not for an instant go back. I have every +now and then, on breezy sunny mornings or after rain, an intense gush +of yearning for the peculiar unconscious delight—the index of +perfect physical health—of childhood; but I never deliberately wish +that things were otherwise. I enjoy nature more, far more, than ever +I did. The signs of spring are a deep and constant joy to me. I can +lie down by the stream, and watch the water flowing and the flowers +bending and stirring and the animals that run busily about, and be +absolutely absorbed, without a thought of myself or even other +people. This I never could do before, and it has been sent me, I +often think, as a kind of alleviation. I have had it ever since I +settled here at Tredennis; and altogether I feel the stronger and +the more content for all this suffering and the inevitable end, which +can not be far off. No; I wouldn't change, even with you, my dear +Chris, or even with Edward"—as that superb piece of physical +vitality crossed the lawn. + +"When I first came," he told me, "quite at first, I seemed to have +lost my hold of nature—to be discordant and out of joint with her. +On those bright still mornings we so often have here in the early +summer, I seemed to be only a sad spectator, not a part of it all. +The sunset over the hills there, and the deliberate red glow of the +creek, all seemed to mock me. Even Edward, fond as he was of me, +seemed to have no real connection with me. I was isolated and +despairing. But very gradually, like the dispersing of a cloud, it +came back. I began again to feel myself a performer in the drama, not +a gloomy spectator of it—there must be the sufferer, the condemned, +to make the tragedy complete, and they may be enacted well—till the +sense of God's Fatherhood came back to me. So that I can be and feel +myself a part of the vast economy, diseased and inefficient though I +am—feel that I am one with the life that throbs in the trees and +water, and that forces itself up at every cranny and nestles in every +ledge—can wait patiently for my move, the transference of my vital +energy—as strong as ever, it seems to me, though the engines are +weaker—to some other portion of the frame of things." + +He spoke of spiritualism with great contempt. "The more I see of +spiritualists and the less I see of phenomena," he said, "the more +discontented with it I am. It is nothing but a fashionable +drawing-room game." + +He dwelt a good deal on the subjective interpretation of nature. One +evening—we had been listening to the owls crying—he said, +abstractedly: + +"We put strange meanings enough, God knows, into faces that never +owned them. We hear dreary hopelessness in the moaning of the wind; +wild sorrow in the tossing of the trees; and read into the work-a-day +cries of birds, content, humour, melancholy, and a thousand other +unknown feelings." + +He spoke much about the country and its effect on people. "Wisdom," +he said, "is generally reared among fields and woody places, and when +she is nearly grown she wanders into the cities of men, to see if she +can not rule there; and then the test really comes. If she is genuine +and strong, she says her say and makes her protest, and passes back +again, uncontaminated, into the quiet villages, as pure and free as +ever. That is the case with genius. But if the spring of her energy +is not all her own—is not quite untainted, she parts with her +old grace and glory, losing it in hard unloving talk, in selfish +intercourse, in striving after the advantages of comfort and wealth. +She stays, and is dissipated—she is conformed to the image of the +world. That is what happens to mere talent." + +The only other conversation with him that impressed itself very +distinctly upon my mind was about religion. He had been thinking—so +he told me—very deeply about Christianity, its strength and +weakness. "Its weakness, nowadays," he said, "is the mistake of +confusing it with the principles advocated by any one of the bodies +that profess to represent it. When one sees in the world so many +bodies—backed by wealth, tradition, prestige—shouting, 'We are the +only authorized exponents of Christ's truth; we are the only genuine +succession of the apostles;' when we see Churches who claim and +make much of possessing the succession (which they have in reality +forfeited by secession), and yet demand the right to be heretical +if the main stream is, as they say, 'corrupted' (for once introduce +that principle, and you can never limit subdivision, and equitable +subdivision too)—it is no wonder weaker intellects are confused and +distressed, and from their inability to decide between five or six +sole possessors of the truth, fall outside teaching and encouragement +altogether, though they could have got what they wanted in any of +these bodies. + +"But, in spite of the hopeless strife of Churches, the fundamental +attraction of Christianity for human nature remains every bit as +strong—to be able to say to all people, 'Imagine and idealize the +best human being possible; put into him all the best qualities of all +the best people you have ever known—give him strength, sympathy, +power beyond the most powerful on earth, and add to that a great +deep individual affection for _you yourself_, of a kind that is +never moved by insults, or chilled by coldness, or diverted by +ingratitude;'—say to them, 'And he has been waiting quietly for +you for years, for the least sign of affection on your part, never +disgusted, never impatient, always ready to turn and welcome you.' + +"Think what a hold you establish, saying this, over all people +conscious of unhappiness of any kind, over all those refined natures +coarsening under a vile _entourage_, over all unsatisfied hearts +craving for a friend that their surroundings can not give them, over +all who have lost delight for whatever cause in common familiar +things, and have nowhere to turn. When one reflects how many human +beings fall under one or other of these heads, one does not wonder +at it." + +I returned to London, feeling wonderfully refreshed and invigorated, +both in body and mind, by my visit. Then, as ever, I could not help +feeling a subtle influence in Arthur's conversation and presence, +that defied analysis and yet was undoubtedly there. He seemed to +encourage one to hope, or rather believe, in the ultimate tendency to +good in all things, to wait and watch the developments and the bents +of life, rather than to fret over particular events—and this without +a vague optimism that refuses to take count of what is unsatisfactory +and foul, but looking causes and consequences fairly in the face. "I +never quite understood the parable of the tares," he said to me, just +before I went, "till I found these words in a book the other day: +'The root of the common darnel (_lolium_) or dandelion, with +saltpeter, make a very cheap and effective sheep-drench. It can be +applied successfully in cases of fluke.'" + + +In October, 1883, as had been arranged, Edward went up to Trinity +College, Cambridge. I had a short letter from Arthur telling me. It +ended characteristically thus: "I don't in the least care that Edward +should be distinguished academically. I do care very much what sort +of a character he is. What one does, matters so very much less than +how one does it. It is the method, not the thing, which shows what +the man is. I shall be very much disgusted if he _means_ to work and +doesn't, but merely drifts; whereas, if he is idle on principle, I +don't much care. 'Do what you mean to do,' is what I have always told +him. If I hear that he is doing fairly well and making friends, and +finds himself at home, I shall be content, but nothing more. But if I +hear that he is influential and takes his own line, I shall be very +much pleased, even if that line is not quite the most respectable, or +that influence is not now for the best." + +This letter was dated November 1st. On November the 9th, Edward Bruce +was killed by a fall from a dog-cart, driving into Cambridge from +Ely. He had driven over there with a friend, a pleasant but somewhat +reckless man. They had dined at Ely, and were returning in the +evening, both in the highest spirits. Edward was driving; the horse +took fright, in a little village called Drayton, at a dog that ran +across the road. Edward was thrown out on to his head, and, entangled +in the reins, was dragged for some distance. The other escaped with a +few bruises. + +Arthur was acquainted with the terrible news by telegraph. He came up +to Cambridge at once, ill and broken with the shock as he was. They +told me that he looked terribly pale, but with a quiet self-possessed +manner he made all arrangements and settled all bills. The poor boy +was buried in the north-west corner of the cemetery at Cambridge. +Arthur put up a little tablet to him at Trinity and at St. Uny +Trevise. + + In Memory of + E. B., + BORN AT TEHERAN; + DIED AT CAMBRIDGE, NOV. 9, 1883. + "What I do thou knowest not now, but + thou shalt know hereafter." + +Arthur had an interview with Edward's companion on the fatal +occasion. I subjoin the latter's account of it. He requested me, when +I wrote to him to ask him for some particulars relating to Edward +Bruce, to make what use I wished of the letter. + +"I can't describe the effect the accident had on me. It half drove me +mad, I think. I was very much attached to Edward Bruce, as, indeed, +we all were. I don't attempt to condone the fault. It was due +entirely to my carelessness. I pressed him to drive faster than he +was willing to do. I laughed at his scruples. I whipped the horse on +myself. I never clearly knew what happened—for I was stunned +myself—till I woke up and was told. + +"When Mr. Hamilton came to see me, I was sitting in my room, over my +breakfast, which I could not eat. His card was brought in by my gyp, +and it made me faint and sick. He came in with his hand out, looking +very pale, but smiling just as he used to smile, only more sadly. +'Don't reproach me,' I said; 'I can't bear it.' 'Reproach you!' he +said—and I shall never forget the tone of affectionate wonder with +which it came, or the relief it was to me to hear it—'Reproach you! +I know how you loved him.' I broke down at that, and cried +wretchedly. I found him sitting by me. He put his hand on my shoulder +and stroked my hair. 'I have only one more thing to say,' he said, at +last. 'You will not mind my saying it, will you? Eddy had told me all +about you—he was very open with me—that you were not doing justice +to your opportunities here, not fulfilling your own ideals and +possibilities. All I ask of you is to let this be the impulse to +rise; do not let any morbid or fantastic remorse stand in your way, +and baffle you. You know that he would have been the first to have +forgiven any share of the fault that may be yours. What I wish most +earnestly for you—it is what he, if he had lived, would have wished +most—is that you should become a nobler man—as you can, I know; as +you will, I believe.' I could not speak, or answer him then; but I +have tried to do what he begged me. Perhaps you do not know—I hope +you do not—what a struggle an attempt to forget is. I could not have +believed that a memory could hang so heavily round my neck. + +"He wrote to me once after, and sent me Edward's riding-whip and +flask. I never saw him again. From what Edward told me, and from the +little I saw of him myself, I knew that he was the humblest and +gravest of men. In his dealing with me, he showed himself the most +truly loving." + +I was at Tredennis for a week just after this. At the end of that +time he begged me not to stay—he could bear it better alone. My +impression was that he was like a man half dazed with grief. He sat +very silent, and would do nothing; if he ever spoke, it was with +evident effort. He did not appear to be ill, only crushed and +overwhelmed. Once he broke down. He was looking over some books, and +found a notebook of Edward's, of some subject they had been reading +together. Edward had tired of the subject, and the last page was +occupied with a pen-and-ink sketch of Arthur himself, the discovery +of which, done as it had been during working hours, had been the +occasion of some affectionate strictures. He shut the book up +quickly, and literally moaned. + +Then, after a little, his frosty silence broke up, and he wrote me +several letters about his boy, very full and detailed, with numbers +of little stories, and ending with a passionate burst of grief at the +loss. They are too private for publication. + +One very notable one, some six months after, must be given here. + +"People talk and write about instantaneous momentary _conversions_—I +never realized what was meant till a week ago. Day after day, all +that time, I had been filled with gloomy, reproachful, or bitter +thoughts of God and the providence which took Edward from me. It was +intolerable that he should be swept away into silence, leaving me +so worn and hopeless, and, worst of all, so dissatisfied and +discontented with the hand that did it—my vaunted philosophy +failing and giving out utterly. I _knew_ it was right, but could +not _feel_ it. + +"But last night as I sat, as I have so often done, burning and racked +with recollection and regret, a kind of peace stole over me. It was +quite sudden, quite abnormal; not that afterglow of hope that +sometimes follows a dark plunge of despair, but a gentle firm trust +that seemed, without explaining, yet to make all things plain; not +ebbing and flowing, not changing with physical sensation or mental +weariness, but deep, abiding, sustaining. You may think it rash of me +thus, after so short an interval, to write so assuredly of it; but +even if I lost the sense (and I shall not) the memory of that moment +would support me; 'If I go down into hell, thou art there also,' is +the only sentence that expresses it. + +"But I shall not lose it; it has been with me in many moods—and my +moods are many and very variable, as you know. I can't express it in +words; but I feel no more doubt about Edward's well-being, no more +inclination to fret or murmur, besides an all-embracing and pervading +sense of satisfied content that penetrates everywhere and applies +itself to everything; those are the chief manifestations. + +"It is as if he had come to me himself and whispered that all was +well, or, better still, as if the great Power that held both him and +me and all men within His grasp, had sent His messenger to strengthen +me. My friend, all the struggles and miseries of my life have paled +to nothing in the light of this. If this is to be won by suffering, +pray that you may suffer; though I feel, indeed, as if I had not +earned or deserved a tenth part of it—it is the free gift of God. +It is to this that we shall all come." + +He still lived at Tredennis; spending much of his time in visiting +and talking to the people round about, the cottagers and farmers. +He was very weak in the mornings, and mostly read, or often was too +feeble even for that; but later in the day his strength used somewhat +to revive, and he would walk along the lanes with Flora, now growing +older and more sedate, trotting by him. He was known and loved in +the circle of the hills. "Oh, sir," as a poor woman said to me, +with tears in her eyes, after he was gone, "I can't tell you how it +was—he spoke very little of Him—but he seemed to remind me of the +Lord Jesus, if I am not wrong to say it, more than all Mr. Robert's +sermons or the pictures in the school-house. He was so kind and +gentle; he seemed to bring God with him!" + +But the end was not far off. He got very much weaker in the spring: +he suffered from violent paroxysms of pain, depriving him of sight +and power of speech, and wearing him out terribly. On the 21st of +April I was telegraphed for; he wished to see me. + +I came in the evening; he was conscious, and seemed glad to see me, +though he was very weak. He said to me, "When I was at Cambridge, my +windows overlooked a space of grass, very evenly green in the spring; +but in a hot summer the lines of old foundations and buildings +used to come out, burning the grass above them with the heat they +retained; it is just the same," he added, "with things that I thought +I had forgotten—they come out very truthfully now." + +He often spoke to me of his grief that he had never seen Edward's +face after he left Tredennis to go to Cambridge, for he had been +fearfully disfigured, cut and bruised by the accident, and he had +no picture of him; "But perhaps it is because I was too fond of his +face," he said. + +He had several terrible spasms while I was with him, and the doctor +said that if he had such another he could not last out the night. +Once, after waking from the prolonged and weary sleep of prostration +which used to follow these collapses, he said to me, with a smile, +"I saw him." + +Once he said, "I have just dreamed of a tall man, who came to me and +said, 'You will be surprised when you meet Edward; he is delighting +everyone there with his conversation; he is so much wiser; and he has +grown so much handsomer," adding, with a smile, "though I still think +that an impossibility." + +About six o'clock on the morning of the 24th he seemed very uneasy in +his sleep. On waking, he said, "I should like to receive the +Sacrament." + +I confess that I thought that he was wandering; he had given up this +religious observance for years. He repeated it, adding, "I am not +wandering; I know what I am saying." + +I went at once to the rectory. The rector was away, and I was +directed to the curate, who lived in the village. + +I went straight to him, and made my request. He refused to comply. I +will do him the justice to say that he appeared to be profoundly +concerned and distressed. "I can't act without my rector in this," he +said. "I daren't take the responsibility. He hasn't attended the +Communion for years; I know his opinions are distinctly unchristian; +and in my last talk to the rector, he confessed to me that if Mr. +Hamilton (speaking hypothetically) were to present himself for +Communion, he should be obliged to refuse him." + +I spoke very hastily, and I think unfairly. Mr. J—— tried to +remonstrate, but I would not hear him. + +When I came back, Arthur was asleep. As soon as he awoke, before he +was quite conscious, he said, "It is like a river; it flows very +smoothly, and carries me off my feet; but the sun is on it, and it is +very clear." + +I told him about the _rencontre_. He smiled faintly, and said, "Ask +him to come and see me, at any rate; he can't refuse that." I sent +the message at once. + +At nine o'clock he had a fearful spasm; so terrible that I could not +endure to see it, and left the room. While I was down-stairs, the +curate arrived. He had come of his own accord, bringing the vessels +with him. It had been, he pleaded, only a momentary hesitation. + +In half an hour I was told that he would like to see us. The doctor +was with him; as we entered, he told me, "He can not last an hour." +Then, to the curate, "You may begin the service, if you like, though +I doubt if he can hear you; he certainly will not be able to +receive." + +He was very gray about the eyes and temples, and looked fearfully +exhausted. His eyes were closed. The curate began in a quiet voice, +rather agitated. When he was near the end, Arthur opened his eyes +fully and saw him. The curate went forward. Arthur held out his hand. +"Thank you for coming," he said. + +The curate grasped his hand, and said, "Can you forgive me for not +coming at once?" + +"You were doing your duty," said Arthur; adding, with a half-smile, +"and you are doing it now," as he saw the open book. + +Then he began to wander. I heard him say this: "He seems to halt. +Yes! but it is only seeming." + +Then for ten minutes he was very still. Then he gave an uneasy +movement, and half raised himself. + +"He is going," said the doctor. + +Suddenly he opened his eyes. "All three," he said. They were his last +words. The curate began to say a prayer; we none of us interrupted +him. There was a convulsive movement, and all was over. The doctor +went out. We cried like children by the bed. + + + + +RECAPITULATION + + +I had rather intended to say no more; to let the Life speak for +itself. I had imagined that a moral destroyed, rather than enhanced, +the effect of a story; that a descriptive catalogue rather interfered +with one's appreciation of a picture than otherwise; but a friend to +whom I showed my little collection, and to whose opinion I greatly +defer, expressed surprise at the abruptness of the close. "You seem +to leave the end," he said, "tangled and unravelled; one wants the +threads just gathered together again." So I will try and discharge +this task. + +The difficulty is not to arrive at a deterministic theory of life for +most men. Anyone who will take things as he finds them, and fairly +come to a conclusion about them, not hampered by fetters of authority +or tradition, but independently arriving at his own solution, must +inevitably arrive at this; there is no logical escape. But the +difficulty lies in the application of this determinism to life. So +many people persist in saying that it is only a logical account of +the existence of the world, only an ontological solution, not a +life-philosophy. The best man, who can not confute it, only says +mournfully that it will not do for an ethical system; nothing good +can come out of it in practice. + +The writer is one of those who believe that truth, however painful, +is essentially practical. That truth when seen must be applied, must +be worked out into life, is his cherished idea. But he, as much as +anyone, has felt the usual (alas!) and bitter consequences of +determinism; has seen the victim of the thought sit, as it were, +with his hands tied; has seen the determinist sink into temporary +fatalism, and has seen effort relaxed and ideals growing hourly dim. + +He was beginning to suffer in this manner himself when, at Cambridge, +he met Arthur; and met in him not only an inspiring acquaintance, an +encouraging friend, but a man who was far ahead of him on the same +path where he had only ventured to imprint a few trembling footsteps, +and then draw back appalled at the sombre prospect. Arthur was like +one further up the pass, who had turned a corner, so to speak, and +saw the road plain. + +He found a thoroughgoing determinist who was still faithful to the +voice of duty, still striving upwards; he found that his theories, +far from giving him a sense of gloom and hopelessness, rather +bestowed on him a frank expectant habit of soul; a readiness to weigh +circumstances, however small, to overlook nothing as trivial or +common; and a serene trust in an invisible all-ruling Father +(παντοκράτωρ, as he used to say), who really was +ordering the world in the smallest details when He seemed to be +ordering it least, and who wished the best for His children—far +better than they had insight to wish for themselves, and who +thus could be trusted not to be inflicting any useless blow, any +meaningless torment, even when things looked blackest and the world +most unintelligible. + +I do not maintain that Arthur never flagged or swerved from this; the +letter on page 164 will show it was far otherwise: but this was his +deliberate habit of mind; this was the ideal that he was faithful to, +with all allowances for a humanity, and a humanity sorely tried. + +He was an ambitious man by nature; I am sure of that: _that_ he +conquered. He was indolent by nature, averse to detail, and motion, +and change: _that_ he conquered by deliberate rough travel. He +disliked new people: _that_ he set himself to conquer. In the prime +of his life, being of a nature to which health and ordinary enjoyments +of life were very delightful and precious, death was suddenly and +hopelessly set before him; he loved and was disappointed; and the +one charge that was given him, the education of his friend's boy, +was overwhelmed and ended in a moment by a little act of boyish +carelessness. Keenly sensitive to physical pain, the last years of +his life were racked with it, every week, almost every day. + +Such are the materials of a life. Apparently self-regarding in idea, +and prematurely cut short in fact, it has left results on a small +circle of friends that will never die. And why? + +Because, in spite of every trial and every rebuff, he preserved at +heart a serenity that was not thoughtlessness, a cheerfulness that +was not hilarity, a humour that was not cynicism. The biographer has +thought fit to give expression to his darkest hours, and they were +not few; they may appear in the life to have the preponderance, +but he would not cut them out. No life is inspiriting that is not +occasionally weak and faulty. What would David be without his sins; +Peter, without his fall? There was no depth of the despairing spirit, +I say it deliberately, that Arthur had not sounded—and he had not +been, as it were, lowered—deaf, blind, and unconscious—into the +abysmal deeps; it was with an eye alert to mark every ledge of the +dark walls, an ear quick to catch the smallest murmur from below, a +sense keen to experience and record every new depth gained, every +qualm of heart-sickness encountered. Naturally prone to serious +contemplation of life's enigmas, there was not one that life did not +bring with shocking vividness to his touch. + +Further, I believe that some will be found to say, "The teaching of +this life is so selfish; it is all self-contemplation, miserable +self-weariness, gloomy reveries bounded by the narrowest horizons. +If ever he turns to others' evil case, it is with the melancholy +satisfaction of the hypochondriac, who finds his own symptoms +repeated with less or greater variations in others' cases." To these +I could only reply, "You have totally misunderstood the life. It is +not a selfish one. The deepest self-communings are necessary to one +who would know human nature, because self is the only human creature +that can be known with a perfect intimacy. 'No one but yourself can +tell,' as Arthur once wrote to me, 'what ruled the lines in your +face.'" But Arthur, above all others that I have ever known, had +passed from the particular to the general. Plato's praise of love +was based on the principle that the philosopher passed from the love +of one fair form to the love of abstract beauty. The fault is that +so many never pass the initiation. Arthur did cross the threshold; +he passed from the contemplation of his own suffering to the +consideration of the root of all human suffering. He found his best +comfort in doing all he could (and God allowed him little latitude) +to alleviate the sufferings of others. I have letters from various of +his friends, dealing, with his firm and faithful touch, with crisis +after crisis in their lives. No one who had trusted him with his +confidence once, ever shrank from doing it again. I am forced to +admit that, far more than many of his authorized brethren, he +discharged the priestly office. He was self-constituted, or rather +called, to be a priest of God. + +The great mystery of _effectiveness_ he never solved, I think, quite +to his own satisfaction. His life has solved it for me ever since I was +able to regard it _en masse_. It was a great puzzle to him what to +make, for instance, of infants who died at or before birth. "'Saved +from this wicked world' is such a horrible statement in such cases," +he used to say. "If that is the best that can happen to us, what +_can_ we make of life?" And so he was always very urgent about the +influence of example opposed to the influence of precept. "My +father," he said to me, "once spoke to me rather sharply about not +attending at family prayers. He did not attend very closely himself. +I was an observant boy, and I knew it. The very fact that he should +have noticed me proved it. So all I felt was that prayer didn't +matter really, but that, however I felt, I must behave as if I was +devout; whereas, if he had prayed in rapt fervency, unconscious of +anything, I should have been ashamed, I think, to wander. I should +have perceived the beauty of prayer. Ah, my dear friend," he added, +"never speak to a child about a thing unless you _know_ you always +do it yourself, and even then with extreme and tender caution." + +Acting then, on this principle, he did not give us lectures and +rules: but we saw how a man was meeting life, not shirking any of its +problems, and beset by most of its trials. And we wondered what was +the secret spring of his well-being; and when we came to examine it, +we were amazed to find that it was in the strength of principles +resulting from a rigid and logical classification of phenomena. + +So much is said nowadays about the dissidence of the spiritual and +intellectual worlds. Many people, conscious of intellect, are yet +strangely at sea when they are told of their _spiritual_ side. There +appears to be nothing within them answering to that description. +There are, indeed, certain qualities or characteristics, but those +seem not to exist independent of their intellectual and physical +economies, but to permeate both. They do not understand that what is +meant is the faculty of emotional generalization. _That_ they could +understand. Arthur arrived at his principles purely through logical +methods and intellectual operations. He could not, he often +confessed, separate the intellectual and the spiritual. From some +expressions, however, which dropped from him in a letter, part of +which is given on p. 209, I am vaguely aware that he was +reconsidering that point (and it has been suggested to me that such +an explanation will suit his last words); but, in any case, he was of +the greatest possible comfort to us who knew him, because he was an +instance (the only one) of a man who had arrived at his principles +from a purely intellectual basis. + +And let me, finally, correct the impression, if I have by chance, in +developing this latter point, given any colour to the idea that his +character was hard, logical, unaffectionate, unloving. Arthur was +the tenderest, most sympathetic, most loving soul I have ever met; +nothing else would explain his influence. He was not demonstrative, +and was often misunderstood. His tendency was to dissimulate the +strongest of his feelings. Yet I have seen him turn red and pale at +the sight of a letter in the handwriting of a friend he loved; I have +seen him literally tremble with emotion when Edward Bruce, in his +impulsive boyish way, would, with eager demonstrative affection, +throw his arm round his neck, or take his hand. The tears gather in +my eyes as I write, when I recall a few words of his a few days +before he died, when he called me to him. It was after one of those +terrible paroxysms of pain. He was very white and feeble, but +smiling. He took my hand, and said, "What a wonderful thing it is +that pain takes away one's power of thinking of anything except +people. It hurries one away, somewhere, deep, deep down; yet one can +bear to touch the bottom. But when loving anyone carries one away, +one goes down deeper and deeper, and yet feels that there is a +fathomless gulf beyond." + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/16438-0.zip b/16438-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..183cf89 --- /dev/null +++ b/16438-0.zip diff --git a/16438-h.zip b/16438-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e82fab1 --- /dev/null +++ b/16438-h.zip diff --git a/16438-h/16438-h.htm b/16438-h/16438-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..224058f --- /dev/null +++ b/16438-h/16438-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6004 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<title>Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A.</title> +<style type="text/css"><!-- +.opener, .closer {text-align: right; margin: 1em 2em;} +div.salutation {margin-left: 2em;} +h1, h2, h3, h4, #EBmemoriam, #titlePage {text-align: center;} +#titlePage div {margin: 3em auto;} +div#epigraph {text-align: left; margin: 3em 20%; text-indent: -0.5em; } +.sig {font-variant: small-caps;} +h3 {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 2em;} +.essaytitle {font-size: 1.2em;} +div#EBmemoriam {margin: 2em 20%; border-style: solid;} +--></style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A. Of +Trinity College, Cambridge, by Arthur Christopher Benson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A. Of Trinity College, Cambridge + Extracted From His Letters And Diaries, With Reminiscences + Of His Conversation By His Friend Christopher Carr Of The + Same College + +Author: Arthur Christopher Benson + +Release Date: August 4, 2005 [EBook #16438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF ARTHUR HAMILTON *** + + + + +Produced by Andrew Sly + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p>Etext preparer's note: This text was first published anonymously in 1886.</p> + +<div id="titlePage"> +<h1 class="title"> +MEMOIRS OF<br> +ARTHUR HAMILTON, B.A.<br> +OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE +</h1> + +<div class="subtitle"> +Extracted from his letters and diaries, with reminiscences of his<br> +conversation by his friend CHRISTOPHER CARR<br> +of the same college<br> +</div> + +<div class="byline"> +By<br> +Arthur Christopher Benson +</div> + +<div id="epigraph"> + "Pro jucundis aptissima quaeque dabunt di;<br> + Carior est illis homo quam sibi."<br> + <span class="sig">Juvenal</span></div> +</div> + + +<h2>DEDICATION</h2> + +<h4>To H. L. M.</h4> + +<div class="salutation">My dear Friend,</div> + + +<p>When you were kind enough to allow me to dedicate this book to +you—you, to whose frank discussion of sacred things and kindly +indifference to exaggerations of expression I owe so much—I felt +you were only adding another to the long list of delicate benefits +for which a friend can not be directly repaid.</p> + +<p>My object has throughout been this: I have seen so much of what +may be called the dissidence of religious thought and religious +organization among those of my own generation at the Universities, +and the unhappy results of such a separation, that I felt bound to +contribute what I could to a settlement of this division, existing +so much more in word than in fact—a point which you helped me very +greatly to grasp.</p> + +<p>I have been fortunate enough to have seen and known both sides of the +battle. I have seen men in the position of teachers, both anxious and +competent to position of teachers, both anxious and competent to +settle differences, when brought into contact with men of serious +God-seeking souls, with the nominal intention of dropping the +bandying of words and cries and of attacking principles, meet and +argue and part, almost unconscious that they have never touched the +root of the matter at all, yet dissatisfied with the efforts which +only seem to widen the breach they are intended to fill.</p> + +<p>And why? Both sides are to blame, no doubt: the teachers, for being +more anxious to expound systems than to listen to difficulties, to +make their theories plain than to analyse the theories of their—I +will not say adversaries—but opponents; the would-be learners, +for hasty generalization; for bringing to the conflict a deliberate +prejudice against all traditional authority, a want of patience in +translating dogmas into life, a tendency to flatly deny that such a +transmutation is possible.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, the constructive side is in no want of an exponent; +but I have tried to give a true portrait in this arrangement, or +rather selection, of realities, of what a serious and thoughtful +soul-history may in these days be: to depict the career of a +character for which no one can fail to have the profoundest sympathy, +being as it is, by the nature of its case, condemned to a sadder +sterner view of life than its uprightness justifies, and deprived of +the helpful encouragement of so many sweet natures, whose single aim +in life is to help other souls, if they only knew how.</p> + +<p>And so, as I said before, it is with a most grateful remembrance of +certain gracious words of yours, let fall in the stately house of God +where we have worshipped together, in lecture-rooms where I have sat +to hear you, and in conversations held in quiet college rooms or +studious gardens, that I place your name at the head of these pages, +the first I have sent out to shift for themselves, or rather to pass +whither the Inspirer of all earnest endeavour may appoint.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + I remain ever affectionately yours,<br> + <span class="sig">Christopher Carr.</span><br> + Ashdon, Hants.</div> + +<h3>PREFACE</h3> + +<p>There are several forms of temperament. The kind that mostly +issues in biography is the practical temperament. Poets have the +shortest memoirs, and the most uninteresting. The politician, the +philanthropist, the general, make the best, the most graphic Lives. +The fact remains, however, that the question, "What has he done?" +though a specious, is an unsatisfactory test of greatness.</p> + +<p>But there is a temperament called the Reflective, which works slowly, +and with little apparent result. The very gift of expression is a +practical gift: with the gift of expression the reflective man +becomes a writer, a poet, an artist; without it, he is unknown.</p> + +<p>The reflective temperament, existing without any particular gift of +expression, wants an exponent in these times. Reflection is lost +sight of; philanthropy is all the rage. I assert that for a man to +devote himself to a reflective life, that is, in the eyes of the +world, an indolent one, is often a great sacrifice, and even on that +account, if not essentially, valuable. Philanthropy is generally +distressing, often offensive, sometimes disastrous.</p> + +<p>Nothing, in this predetermined world, fails of its effect, as nothing +is without its cause. There is a call to reflection which a man must +follow, and his life then becomes an integral link in the chain of +circumstance. Any intentional life affects the world; it is only the +vague drifting existences that pass it by.</p> + +<p>The subject of this memoir was, as the world counts reputation, +unknown. His only public appearance, as far as I know, besides the +announcement of his birth, is the fact that his initials stand in a +dedication on the title-page of a noble work of fiction.</p> + +<p>Arthur Hamilton left me his manuscripts, papers, and letters; from +these, and casual conversations I have had with him in old days, +this little volume is constructed.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + C.C.</div> + + +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<p>He was born November 2, 1852. He was the second son of a retired +cavalry officer, who lived in Hampshire. Besides his elder brother, +there were three sisters, one of whom died. His father was a wealthy +man, and had built himself a small country house, and planted the few +acres of ground round it very skillfully. Major Hamilton was a very +religious man, of the self-sufficient, puritanical, and evangelical +type, that issues from discipline; a martinet in his regiment, a +domestic tyrant, without intending to be. He did not marry till +rather late in life; and at the time when Arthur was growing up—the +time when memory intwines itself most lingeringly with its +surroundings, the time which comes back to us at ecstatic moments +in later, sadder days—all the <i>entourage</i> of the place was at its +loveliest. Nothing ever equalled the thrill, he has told me, of +finding the first thrush's nest in the laurels by the gate, or of +catching the first smell of the lilac bushes in spring, or the +pungent scent of the chamomile and wild celery down by the little +stream.</p> + +<p>The boy acquired a great love for Nature, though not of the intimate +kind that poets have by instinct. "In moments of grief and despair," +he wrote in later life, "I do not, as some do, crouch back to the +bosom of the great Mother; she has, it seems, no heart for me when I +am sorry, though she smiles with me when I am glad." But he has told +me that he is able to enjoy a simple village scene in a way that +others can not easily understand: a chestnut crowded with pink +spires, the clack of a mill-wheel, the gush of a green sluice out +of a mantled pool, a little stream surrounded by flags and water +lobelias, gave him all his life a keen satisfaction in his happy +moments. "I always gravitate to water," he writes. "I could stop +and look at a little wayside stream for hours; and a pool—I never +tire of it, though it awes me when I am alone."</p> + +<p>The boy was afraid of trees, as many children are. If he had to go +out alone he always crossed the fields, and never went by the wood; +wandering in a wood at night was a childish nightmare of a peculiarly +horrible kind.</p> + +<p>I quote a few childish stories about him, selecting them out of a +large number.</p> + +<p>His mother saying to him one day that the gardener was dead, he burst +out laughing (with that curious hysteria so common in children), and +then after a little asked if they were going to bury him.</p> + +<p>His mother, wishing to familiarize him with the idea of continued +existence after death, dwelt on the fact that it was only his body +that was going to be buried: his soul was in heaven.</p> + +<p>The boy said presently, "If his body is in the churchyard, and his +soul in heaven, where is David?"</p> + +<p>Upon which his mother sent him down to the farm.</p> + +<p>He was often singularly old-fashioned in his ways. If he was kept +indoors by a childish ailment, he would draw his chair up to the +fire, by his nurse, and say, "Now that the children are gone out, +nurse, we can have a quiet talk." And he always returned first of all +his brothers and sisters, if they were playing in the garden, that he +might have the pleasure of clapping his hands from the nursery window +to summon them in. "Children, children, come in," he used to say.</p> + +<p>A curious little dialogue is preserved by his aunt in a diary. He +laughed so immoderately at something that was said at lunch by one of +his elders, that when his father inquired what the joke was, he was +unable to answer. "It must be something very funny," said his mother +in explanation. "Arthur never laughs unless there is a joke." The +little boy became grave at once, and said severely, "There's hardly +ever anything to laugh at in what you say; but I always laugh for +fear people should be disappointed."</p> + +<p>He was very sensitive to rebuke. "I am not so sensitive as I am +always supposed to be," he said to me once. "I am one of those people +who cry when they are spoken to, and do it again."</p> + +<p>For instance, he told me that, being very fond of music when he was +small, he stole down one morning at six to play the piano. His +father, a very early riser, was disturbed by the gentle tinkling, and +coming out of his study, asked him rather sharply why he couldn't do +something useful—read some Shakespeare. He never played on the piano +again for months, and for years never until he had ascertained that +his father was out. "It was a mistake," he told me once, apropos of +it. "If he had said that it disturbed him, but that I might do it +later, I should have been delighted to stop. I always liked feeling +that I was obliging people."</p> + +<p>He disliked his father, and feared him. The tall, handsome gentleman, +accustomed to be obeyed, in reality passionately fond of his +children, dismayed him. He once wrote on a piece of paper the words, +"I hate papa," and buried it in the garden.</p> + +<p>For the rest, he was an ordinary, rather clever, secretive child, +speaking very little of his feelings, and caring, as he has told me +since, very little for anybody except his nurse. "I cared about her +in a curious way. I enjoyed the sensation of crying over imaginary +evils; and I should not like to say how often in bed at night I used +to act over in my mind an imaginary death-bed scene of my nurse, and +the pathetic remarks she was to make about Master Arthur, and the +edifying bearing I was to show. This was calculated within a given +time to produce tears, and then I was content."</p> + +<p>He went to a private school, which he hated, and then to Winchester, +which he grew to love. The interesting earnest little boy merged into +the clumsy loose-jointed schoolboy, silent and languid. There are +hardly any records of this time.</p> + +<p>"My younger sister died," he told me, "when I was at school. I +experienced about ten minutes of grief; my parents were overwhelmed +with anguish, and I can remember that, like a quick, rather clever +child, I soon came to comprehend the sort of remark that cheered +them, and almost overdid it in my zeal. I am overwhelmed with shame," +he said, "whenever I look at my mother's letters about that time when +she speaks of the comfort I was to them. It was a <i>fraus pia</i>, but it +was a most downright <i>fraus</i>."</p> + +<p>I think I may relate one other curious incident among his public +school experiences: it may seem very incredible, but I have his word +for it that it is true.</p> + +<p>"A sixth-form boy took a fancy to me, and let me sit in his room, and +helped me in my work. The night before he left the school I was +sitting there, and just before I went away, being rather overcome +with regretful sentiments, he caught hold of me by the arm and said, +among other things, 'And now that I am going away, and shall probably +never see you again, I don't believe you care one bit.' I don't know +how I came to do it," he said, "because I was never demonstrative; +but I bent down and kissed him on the cheek, and then blushed up to +my ears. He let me go at once; he was very much astonished, and I +think not a little pleased; but it was certainly a curious incident."</p> + +<p>During this time his intellectual development was proceeding slowly. +"I went through three phases," he said. "I began by a curious love +for pastoral and descriptive poetry. I read Thomson and Cowper, +similes from 'Paradise Lost,' and other selections of my own; I read +Tennyson, and revelled in the music of the lines and words. I +intended to be a poet.</p> + +<p>"Then I became omnivorous, and read everything, whether I understood +it or not, especially biographies. I spent all my spare time in the +school library; one only valuable thing have I derived from that—a +capacity for taking in the sense of a page at a glance, and having a +verbal memory of a skimmed book for an hour or two superior to any +one that I ever met."</p> + +<p>Then there came an ebb, and he read nothing, but loafed all day, +and tried to talk. He had a notion he said, that he could argue +Socratically; and he was always trying to introduce metaphors into +his conversation. But his remarks in a much later letter to a friend +on childish reading are so pertinent that I introduce them here.</p> + +<p>"Never take a book away from a child unless it is positively vicious; +that they should learn how to read a book and read it quickly is the +great point; that they should get a habit of reading, and feel a void +without it, is what should be cultivated. Never mind if it is trash +now; their tastes will insensibly alter. I like a boy to cram himself +with novels; a day will come when he is sick of them, and rejects +them for the study of facts. What we want to give a child is +'bookmindedness,' as some one calls it. They will read a good deal +that is bad, of course; but innocence is as slippery as a duck's +back; a boy really fond of reading is generally pure-minded enough. +When you see a robust, active, out-of-door boy deeply engrossed in a +book, then you may suspect it if you like, and ask him what he has +got; it will probably have an animal bearing."</p> + +<p>Friendships more or less ardent, butterfly-hunting, school games, +constant visits to the cathedral for service, to which he was always +keenly devoted, uneventful holidays, filled up most of his school +life. His letters at this date are very ordinary; his early precocity +seemed, rather to the delight of his parents, to have vanished. +He was not a prig, though rather exclusive; not ungenial, though +retiring. "A dreadful boy," he writes of himself, "who is as mum as +a mouse with his elders, and then makes his school friends roar with +laughter in the passage: dumb at home, a chatterbox at school."</p> + +<p>"I had no religion at that time," he writes, "with the exception of +six months, when I got interested in it by forming a friendship +with an attractive ritualistic curate; but my confirmation made no +impression on me, and I think I had no moral feelings that I could +distinguish. I had no inherent hatred of wrong, or love for right; +but I was fastidious, and that kept me from being riotous, and +undemonstrative, which made me pure."</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<p>Arthur went up to the University, Trinity College, Cambridge, in +1870; he did not distinguish himself there, or acquire more than he +had done at Winchester: "The one thing I learnt at Winchester that +has been useful to me since, was how to tie up old letters: my +house-master taught me how to do that—it was about all he was fit +for. The thing I learnt at Cambridge was to smoke: my cousin Fred +taught me that, and he was hardly fit for that."</p> + +<p>As it was at Cambridge that I first met him, I will give a short +description of him as far as I can remember.</p> + +<p>He was a tall, lounging fellow, rather clumsy in his movements, but +with a kind of stateliness about him; he looked, and was, old for his +years. He was a little short-sighted and wore glasses; without them +his brow had that puzzled, slightly bothered look often seen in +weak-sighted people. His face was not unattractive, though rather +heavy; his hair was dark and curly—he let it grow somewhat long from +indolence—and he had a drooping moustache. He was one of the men +who, without the slightest idea of doing so, always managed to create +rather an impression. As he lounged along the street with his hands +in his pockets, generally alone, people used to turn and look at him. +If he had taken a line of any kind he would have been known +everywhere—but he did nothing.</p> + +<p>The occasion on which I met him first was in the rooms of a common +friend; there was a small gathering of men. He was sitting in a low +chair, smoking intently. It was the one occupation he loved; he +hardly said anything, though the conversation was very animated; +silence was his latest phase; but as it was his first term, and he +was not very well acquainted with the party, it appeared natural; not +that being surrounded by dukes and bishops would have made the +slightest difference to him if he had been disposed to talk, but he +was not talkative, and held his tongue.</p> + +<p>There had been some discussion about careers and their relative +merits. One rather cynical man had broken in upon the ambitious +projects that were being advanced with, "Well, we must remember that +we are after all only average men."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Arthur, slowly, from the depths of his chair, "no doubt; +only not quite so average."</p> + +<p>The gentleman addressed, who was a senior man, stared for a moment at +the freshman who had ventured to correct him, to whom he had not even +been introduced; but Arthur was staring meditatively at the smoke +rising from his pipe, and did not seem inclined to move or be moved, +so he concluded not to continue the discussion.</p> + +<p>The only other thing I heard him say that night was as follows. An +ardent enthusiast on the subject of missions was present, who, +speaking of an Indian mission lately started and apparently wholly +ineffective, said, "But we must expect discouragement at first. The +Church has always met with that."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Arthur; "but we must also remember, what people are very +apt to forget, that ill success is not an absolute proof that God is +on our side."</p> + +<p>These two remarks, slight as they were, struck me; and, indeed, I +have never quite forgotten that indefinable first impression of the +man. There was a feeling about him of holding great things in +reserve, an utter absence of self-consciousness, a sensation that he +did not value the opinions of other people, that he did not regulate +his conduct by them, which is very refreshing in these social days, +when everybody's doings and sayings are ventilated and discussed so +freely. He had none of the ordinary ambitions; he did not want a +reputation, I thought, on ordinary grounds; he struck me as liking +to observe and consider, not to do or say.</p> + +<p>I am fond of guessing at character and forming impressions; and I +very soon found out that these were not mistaken. My way that night +lay with him as far as the gate of his college. We struck up a kind +of acquaintanceship, though I felt conscious that he did not in the +least care about doing so, that he probably would not give me another +thought. It seems strange, reflecting on that evening, that I should +now come to be his biographer.</p> + +<p>However, I was interested in the type of character he displayed, and +did not let the acquaintance drop. I invited him to my rooms. He +would not come of his own accord at first, but by-and-by he got +habituated to me, and not unfrequently strolled in.</p> + +<p>He never let any one into the secret of his motives; he never +confessed to any plans for the future, or to taking any interest in +one line of life more than another. He was well off and did not spend +much, except on his books, which were splendid. His rooms were untidy +to the last degree, but liberally supplied with the most varied +contrivances for obtaining a comfortable posture. Deep chairs and +sofas, with devices for books and light, and for writing in any +position. "When my mind is at work," he said to me once, "I don't +like to be reminded of my body at all. I want to forget that I have +one; and so I always say my prayers lying down."</p> + +<p>He dressed badly, or rather carelessly, for he never gave the subject +a moment's thought. If his friends told him that a suit was shabby, +he appeared in a day or two in a new one, till that was similarly +noticed; then it was discarded altogether. He always wore one suit +till he had worn it out, never varying it. But he consulted fashion +to a certain extent. "My object," he said, "is to escape notice, to +look like every one else. I think of all despicable people, the +people who try to attract attention by a marked style of dress, are +perhaps the lowest."</p> + +<p>His life at Cambridge was very monotonous, for he enjoyed monotony; +he used to say that he liked to reflect on getting up in the morning, +that his day was going to be filled by ordinary familiar things. He +got up rather late, read his subjects for an hour or two, strolled +about to see one or two friends, lunched with them or at home, +strolled in the afternoon, often dropping in to King's for the +anthem, went back to his rooms for tea, the one time at which he +liked to see his friends, read or talked till hall, and finally +settled down to his books again at ten, reading till one or two in +the morning.</p> + +<p>He read very desultorily and widely. Thus he would read books on +Arctic voyages for ten days and talk of nothing else, then read +novels till he sickened for facts and fact till he sickened for +fiction; biographies, elementary science, poetry, general philosophy, +particularly delighting in any ideal theories of life and discipline +in state or association, but with a unique devotion to "Hamlet" +and "As You Like It," the "Pilgrim's Progress," and Emerson's +"Representative Men." He rarely read the Bible, he told me, and then +only in great masses at a sitting; and the one thing that he disliked +with an utter hatred was theology of a settled and orthodox type, +though next to the four books I have mentioned, "The Christian Year" +and "Ecce Homo" were his constant companions.</p> + +<p>He did not care for history; he used to lament it. "I have but a +languid interest in facts, qua facts," he said; "and I try to arrive +at history through biography. I like to disentangle the separate +strands, one at a time; the fabric is too complex for me."</p> + +<p>He had the greatest delight in topography. "That is why," he used to +say, "I delight in a flat country. The idea of <i>space</i> is what I want. +I like to see miles at a glance. I like to see clouds league-long +rolling up in great masses from the horizon—cloud perspective. I +rejoice in seeing the fields, hedgerow after hedgerow, farm after +farm, push into the blue distance. It makes me feel the unity and the +diversity of life; a city bewilders and confuses me, but a great +tract of placid country gives me a broad glow of satisfaction."</p> + +<p>He went for a walking tour in the fens, and returned enchanted. "By +Ely," he said, "the line crosses a gigantic fen—Whittlesea mere in +old days—and on a clear day you can see at least fifteen miles +either way. As we crossed it a great skein of starlings rose out of +a little holt, and streamed north; the herons or quiet cattle stood +along the huge dykes. You could see the scattered figures of old +labourers in the fields, and then for miles and miles the squat +towers, at which you were making, staring over the flat, giving you +a thrill every time you sighted them, and right away west the low +hills that must have been the sandy downs that blocked the restless +plunging sea; they must have looked for centuries over rollers and +salt marsh and lagoon, felt the tread of strange herds and beasts +about them till they have become the quiet slopes of a sunny park +or the simple appendages of a remote hill farm."</p> + +<p>But his greatest delight was in music. He knew a smattering of it +scientifically, enough to follow up subjects and to a certain extent +to recognize chords. There occurs in one of his letters to me the +following passage, which I venture to quote. He is speaking of the +delight of pure sound as apart from melody:</p> + +<p>"I remember once," he writes, "being with a great organist in a +cathedral organ-loft, sitting upon the bench at his side. He was +playing a Mass of Schubert's, and close to the end, at the last chord +but two—he was dying to a very soft close, sliding in handles all +over the banks of stops—he nodded with his head to the rows of pedal +stops with their red labels, as though to indicate where danger +lay. 'Put your hand on the thirty-two foot,' he said. There it +was '<i>Double open wood 32 ft.</i>' And just as his fingers slid on to +the last chord, 'Now,' he said.</p> + +<p>"Ah! that was it; the great wooden pipe close to my ear began to blow +and quiver; and hark! not sound, but sensation—the great rapturous +stir of the air; a drowsy thunder in the roof of nave and choir; the +grim saints stirred and rattled ill their leaded casements, while +the melodious roar died away as softly as it had begun, sinking to +silence with many a murmurous pulsation, many a throb of sighing +sound."</p> + +<p>Organ-playing, organ music, was the one subject on which I have heard +him wax enthusiastic. His talk and his letters always become +rhetorical when he deals with music; his musical metaphors are always +carefully worked out; he compares a man of settled purpose, in whose +life the "motive was very apparent," to "the great lazy horns, that +you can always hear in the orchestra pouring out their notes hollow +and sweet, however loud the violins shiver or the trumpets cry." He +often went up to London to hear music. The St. James's Hall Concerts +were his especial delight. I find later a description of the effect +produced on him by Wagner.</p> + +<p>"I have just come back from the Albert Hall, from hearing the +'Meistersänger,' Wagner himself conducting. I may safely say I +think that I never experienced such absolute artistic rapture before +as at certain parts of this; for instance, in the overture, at one +place where the strings suddenly cease and there comes a peculiar +chromatic waft of wind instruments, like a ghostly voice rushing +across. I have never felt anything like it; it swept one right away, +and gave one a sense of deep ineffable satisfaction. I shall always +feel <i>for the future</i> that there is an existent region, <i>into which +I have now actually penetrated</i>, in which that entire satisfaction +is possible, a fact which I have always hitherto doubted. It is +like an initiation.</p> + +<p>"But I can not bear the 'Tannhäuser;' it seems to paint with a +fatal fascination the beauty of wickedness, the rightness, so to +speak, of sensuality. I feel after it as if I had been yielding to +a luscious temptation; unnerved, not inspired."</p> + +<p>In another letter he writes, "Music is the most hopeful of the arts; +she does not hint only, like other expressions of beauty—she takes +you straight into a world of peace, a world where law and beauty are +the same, and where an ordered discord, that is discord working by +definite laws, is the origin of the keenest pleasure."</p> + +<p>I remember, during the one London season which he subsequently went +through, his settling himself at a Richter concert next me with an +air of delight upon his face. "Now," he said, "let us try and +remember for an hour or two that we have souls."</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<p>I must here record one curious circumstance which I have never +explained even to my own satisfaction.</p> + +<p>He had been at Cambridge about two years, when, in the common consent +of all his friends, his habits and behaviour seemed to undergo a +complete and radical change.</p> + +<p>I have never discovered what the incident was that occasioned this +change; all I know is that suddenly, for several weeks, his geniality +of manner and speech, his hilarity, his cheerfulness, entirely +disappeared; a curious look of haunting sadness, not defined, but +vague, came over his face; and though he gradually returned to his +old ways, yet I am conscious myself, and others would support me in +this, that he was never quite the same again; he was no longer young.</p> + +<p>The only two traces that I can discover in his journals, or letters, +or elsewhere, of the facts are these.</p> + +<p>He always in later diaries vaguely alludes to a certain event which +changed his view of things in general; "ever since," "since that +November," "for now nearly five years I have felt." These and similar +phrases constantly occur in his diary. I will speak in a moment of +what nature I should conjecture it to have been.</p> + +<p>A packet of letters in his desk were marked "to be burnt unopened;" +but at the same time carefully docketed with dates: these dates were +all immediately after that time, extending over ten days.</p> + +<p>The exact day was November 8, 1872. It is engraved in a small silver +locket that hung on his watch-chain, where he was accustomed to have +important days in his life marked, such as the day he adopted his +boy, his mother's death. It is preceded by the Greek letters ΒΠ, +which from a certain entry in his diary I conceive to be +βάπτισμα πυρὸς, "the baptism of fire."</p> + +<p>Lastly, in a diary for that year, kept with fair regularity up till +November 8, there here intervenes a long blank, the only entry being +November 9: "Salvum me fac, Dne."</p> + +<p>I took the trouble, incidentally, to hunt up the files of a Cambridge +journal of that date, to see if I could link it on to any event, and +I found there recorded, in the course of that week, what I at first +imagined to be the explanation of the incidents, and own I was a good +deal surprised.</p> + +<p>I found recorded some Revivalist Mission Services, which were then +held in Cambridge with great success. I at once concluded that he +underwent some remarkable spiritual experience, some religious +fright, some so-called conversion, the effects of which only +gradually disappeared. The contagion of a Revivalist meeting is a +very mysterious thing. Like a man going to a mesmerist, an individual +may go, announcing his firm intention not to be influenced in the +smallest degree by anything said or done. Nay more, he may think +himself, and have the reputation of being, a strong, unyielding +character, and yet these are the very men who are often most +hopelessly mesmerized, the very men whom the Revival most +absolutely—for the occasion—enslaves. And thus, knowing that one +could form no <i>prima facie</i> judgments on the probabilities in such a +matter, I came to the conclusion that he had fallen, in some degree, +under the influence of these meetings.</p> + +<p>But in revising this book, and carefully recalling my own and +studying others' impressions, I came to the conclusion that it was +impossible that this should be the case.</p> + +<p>1. In the first place, he was more free than any man I ever saw from +the influence of contagious emotions; he dissembled his own emotions, +and contemned the public display of them in other people.</p> + +<p>2. He had, I remember, a strange repugnance, even abhorrence, to +public meetings in the later days at Cambridge. I can now recall that +he would accompany people to the door, but never be induced to enter. +A passage which I will quote from one of his letters illustrates +this.</p> + +<p>"The presence of a large number of people has a strange, repulsive +physical effect on me. I feel crushed and overwhelmed, not stimulated +and vivified, as is so often described. I can't listen to a concert +comfortably if there is a great throng, unless the music is so good +as to wrap one altogether away. There is undoubtedly a force abroad +among large masses of people, the force which forms the basis of the +principle of public prayer, and I am conscious of it too, only it +distresses me; moreover, the worst and most afflicting nightmare I +have is the sensation of standing sightless and motionless, but with +all the other senses alert and apprehensive, in the presence of a +vast and hostile crowd."</p> + +<p>3. He never showed the least sign of being influenced in the +direction of spiritual or even religious life by this crisis. He +certainly spoke very little at all for some time to any one on any +subject; he was distrait and absent-minded in society—for the +alteration was much observed from its suddenness—but when he +gradually began to converse as usual, he did not, as is so often the +case in similar circumstances, do what is called "bearing witness to +the truth." His attitude toward all enthusiastic forms of religion +had been one, in old days, of good-natured, even amused tolerance. He +was now not so good-natured in his criticisms, and less sparing of +them, though his religious-mindedness, his seriousness, was +undoubtedly increased by the experience, whatever it was.</p> + +<p>On the whole, then, I should say that the coincidence of the revival +is merely fortuitous. It remains to seek what the cause was.</p> + +<p>We must look for it, in a character so dignified as Arthur's, in some +worthy cause, some emotional failure, some moral wound. I believe the +following to be the clew; I can not develop it without treading some +rather delicate ground.</p> + +<p>He had formed, in his last year at school, a very devoted friendship +with a younger boy; such friendships like the εἰσπνήλας and the +ἀϊτάς of Sparta, when they are truly chivalrous and absolutely +pure, are above all other loves, noble, refining, true; passion at white +heat without taint, confidence of so intimate a kind as can not even +exist between husband and wife, trust such as can not be shadowed, +are its characteristics. I speak from my own experience, and others +will, I know, at heart confirm me, when I say that these things are +infinitely rewarding, unutterably dear.</p> + +<p>Arthur left Winchester. A correspondence ensued between the two +friends. I have three letters of Arthur's, so passionate in +expression, that for fear of even causing uneasiness, not to speak +of suspicion, I will not quote them. I have seen, though I have +destroyed, at request, the letters of the other.</p> + +<p>This friend, a weak, but singularly attractive boy, got into a bad +set at Winchester, and came to grief in more than one way; he came +to Cambridge in three years, and fell in with a thoroughly bad set +there. Arthur seems not to have suspected it at first, and to have +delighted in his friend's society; but such things as habits betray +themselves, and my belief is that disclosures were made on November +8, which revealed to Arthur the state of the case. What passed I +can not say. I can hardly picture to myself the agony, disgust, +and rage (his words and feelings about sensuality of any kind were +strangely keen and bitter), loyalty fighting with the sense of +repulsion, pity struggling with honour, which must have convulsed +him when he discovered that his friend was not only yielding, but +deliberately impure.</p> + +<p>The other's was an unworthy and brutal nature, utterly corrupted at +bottom. He used to speak jestingly of the occurrence. "Oh yes!" I +have heard him say; "we were great friends once, but he cuts me now; +he had to give me up, you see, because he didn't approve of me. +Justice, mercy, and truth, and all the rest of it."</p> + +<p>It was certainly true; their friendship ended. I find it hard to +realize that Arthur would voluntarily have abandoned him; and yet I +find passages in his letters, and occasional entries in his diaries, +which seem to point to some great stress put upon him, some enormous +burden indicated, which he had not strength to attempt and adopt. +"May God forgive me for my unutterable selfishness; it is irreparable +now," is one of the latest entries on that day in his diary. I +conceive, perhaps, that his outraged ideal was too strong for his +power of forgiveness. He was very fastidious, always.</p> + +<p>How deep the blow cut will be shown by these following extracts:</p> + +<p>"I once had my faith in human nature rudely wrecked, and it has never +attempted a long voyage again. I hug the coast and look regretfully +out to sea; perhaps the day may come when I may strike into it ... +believe in it always if you can; I do not say it is vanity ... the +shock blinded me; I can not see if I would."</p> + +<p>And again—</p> + +<p>"Moral wounds never heal; they may be torn open by a chance word, by +a fragment of print, by a sentence from a letter; and there we have +to sit with pale face and shuddering heart, to bleed in silence and +dissemble it. Then, too, there is that constant dismal feeling which +the Greeks called ὕπουλος: the horrible conviction, the grim +memory lurking deep down, perhaps almost out of sight, thrust away by +circumstance and action, but always ready to rise noiselessly up and +draw you to itself."</p> + +<p>"'A good life, and therefore a happy one,' says my old aunt, writing +to me this morning; it is marvellous and yet sustaining what one can +pass through, and yet those about you—those who suppose that they +have the key, if any, to your heart—be absolutely ignorant of it. +'He looks a little tired and worn: he has been sitting up late;' 'all +young men are melancholy: leave him alone and he will be better in a +year or two,' was all that was said when I was actually meditating +suicide—when I believe I was on the brink of insanity."</p> + +<p>All these extracts are from letters to myself at different periods. +Taking them together, and thus arranged, my case seems irresistible; +still I must concede that it is all theory—all inference: I do not +wholly know the facts, and never shall.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<p>I found the first hint that occurs to indicate the lines of his later +life, in a letter to his father, written in his last week at +Cambridge. In the Classical Tripos Arthur contrived to secure a +second; in the translations, notably Greek, we heard he did as well +as anybody; but history and other detailed subjects dragged him down: +it was an extraordinarily unequal performance.</p> + +<p>His father, being ambitious for his sons, and knowing to a certain +extent Arthur's ability, was altogether a good deal disappointed. He +had accepted Arthur's failure to get a scholarship or exhibition, not +with equanimity, but with a resolute silence, knowing that strict +scholarship was not his son's strong point, but still hoping that he +would at least do well enough in his Tripos to give him a possibility +of a Fellowship.</p> + +<p>Arthur would himself have been happier with a Fellowship than with +any other position, but the possibility did not stimulate him to work +with that aim in view. He wrote: "Existence generally is so extremely +problematical, that I can not consent to throw away three birds in +the hand for one which I do not believe to be in the bush—my present +life for a doubtful future provision. I think I am ambitious after +the event. Every normal human being ought to be capable either +of strong expectation or strong disappointment, according as the +character lives most in the future or in the past. Those capable of +both generally succeed and are unhappy men; but an entire want of +ambition argues a low vitality. If a man tells me loftily he has no +ambition, I tell him I am very sorry for him, and say that it is +almost as common an experience as having no principles, and often +accompanying it, only that people are generally ashamed to confess +the latter."</p> + +<p>On his appearing in the second class, his father wrote him rather an +indignant letter, saying that he had suspected all along that he was +misusing his time and wasting his opportunities, but that he had +refrained from saying so because he had trusted him; that his one +prayer for his children was that they might not turn out useless, +dilettante, or frivolous, selfish men. "I had hoped that whatever +they engaged in my sons would say, 'If this is worth doing, it is +worth doing well.' I did not want them to say, 'I mean to work in +order to be first in this or that, to beat other people, to court +success'—I do not suspect you of that—but to say, 'I mean to do my +best, and if I am rewarded with honours to accept them gratefully, as +a sign that my endeavours have been blest.' I fear that in your case +you have done what pleased yourself—sucked the honey of the work, or +tried to; that always ends in bitterness. You were capable of taking +the higher ground; it seems to me that you have taken neither—and +indecision in such matters is the one thing that does not succeed +either in this world or the next; the one thing which the children of +this world unanimously agree with the children of light in despising +and censuring.</p> + +<p>"P.S.—You used to speak of possibly taking orders; set to work +seriously on that if you haven't changed your mind; for that is what +I have always hoped and prayed for you. Let me see that you are +capable of executing as well as planning a high resolve finely."</p> + +<p>Arthur's behaviour on receiving this letter was very characteristic. +He did not answer it.</p> + +<p>It was a habit he had which got him into considerable odium with +people. Whenever a letter entailed making up his mind—an invitation +which had two sides to it—a decision—a request for advice or +immediate action—these rarely extorted an answer from him. "It did +not seem to me to be very important," he used to say. Neither would +he be dictated to. A friend who had asked him to form one of a +football eleven, receiving no reply, inclosed two post-cards +addressed to himself, on one of which was written "Yes," and on +the other "No." Arthur posted them both.</p> + +<p>But a casual letter, implying friendliness, a statement of mental +or moral difficulties, criticisms on an interesting book, requests +involving principles, drew out immediate, full, and interesting +replies, of apparently almost unnecessary urgency and affection. A +boy who wrote to him from school about a long and difficult moral +case, infinitely complicated by side issues and unsatisfactory +action, got back the following day an exhaustive, imperative, and yet +pleading reply, indicating the proper action to take. It is far too +private to quote; but for pathos and lucidity and persuasiveness it +is a wonderful document.</p> + +<p>But this letter of his father's he did not answer for ten days, till +the last day but one before his leaving Cambridge, neither did he +mention the subject. I do not think he gave it a thought, except as +one might consider an unpleasant matter of detail which required to +be finished sometime.</p> + +<p>On that day there arrived another note from his father, +recapitulating what he had said, and saying that he supposed from his +silence that he had not received the former letter.</p> + +<p>To this Arthur returned the following letter:</p> + +<div class="opener"> + "Trinity College, Cambridge, + Thursday evening (early in 1874).</div> + +<div class="salutation">"My Dear Father:</div> + +<p>"I don't wish you to be under any misapprehension about your +former letter. I did receive it and have been carefully considering +the subject; it seemed to me that I could better say what I wished in +a personal interview, and I therefore refrained from writing till I +came home; but you seem to wish me to make an immediate statement, +which I will briefly do.</p> + +<p>"You must not think that what I am going to say is in the least +disrespectful. I assure you that I gave your letter, as coming from +you, a consideration that I should not have thought of extending for +a moment to any other man except one or two friends for whose opinion +I have the highest respect; but it is a subject upon which, though I +can not exactly say that my mind is made up, yet I see so distinctly +which way my disposition lies and in what direction my opinions are +capable of undergoing change, that I may say I have very little +doubt—it is, in short, almost a fixed conviction.</p> + +<p>"The moment when any one finds himself in radical opposition to the +traditions in which he was brought up is very painful—I can assure +you of that—to himself, as I fear it is painful to those from whom +he dissents; and nothing but a desire for absolute sincerity would +induce me to enter upon it. But knowing and trusting you as I do, +with a firm and filial confidence in your loving thoughts and candid +open-mindedness, I venture to say exactly what I think, believing +that it would be a far more essential disrespect to endeavour to +blink those opinions.</p> + +<p>"Shortly, I do <i>not</i> believe that practical usefulness of a direct +kind is the end of life. I do <i>not</i> believe that success is either a +test of greatness nor, as you suggest, an adequate aim for it, though +you will perhaps excuse me if I say that the reasons you give seem to +me to be only the material view skillfully veiled.</p> + +<p>"I do not feel in my own mind assured that the highest call in my case +is to engage in a practical life. In fact, I feel fairly well assured +that it is not. I do not know that I intend deliberately to shirk +the responsibilities of moral action which fall in every feeling +man's way. I rather mean that I shall face them from the ordinary +standpoint, and not thrust myself into any position where helping my +fellow-creatures is merely an official act. I think shortly that by +the plan I have vague thoughts of pursuing I may gain an influence +among minds which will certainly be, if I win it, of a very high kind. +I dare not risk the possibilities by flying at lower game.</p> + +<p>"Besides, I do not feel nearly enough assured of my ground to say +that active work, as you describe it, is either advisable or +necessary. I want to examine and consider, to turn life and thought +inside out, to see if I can piece together in the least the enormous +problem of which God has flung us the fragments. I do not despair of +arriving at some inkling of that truth. I shall try, if I gain it, to +communicate that glimmering to others, if that is God's will for me; +if not, perhaps I shall be a little wiser or a little happier, at +least a little more capable of receiving my illumination, when the +time for that comes.</p> + +<p>"I don't feel as if I understood at all clearly what is God's purpose +for individuals. I can't take public opinion for granted. I will not +let it overwhelm me. I want to stand aside and think; and my own +prayer for my own children, if I had them, would rather be that they +might be saved from being effective, when I see all the evils which +success and mere effectiveness bring.</p> + +<p>"What I had thought of doing was of going abroad for a year or two; +but in that matter I am entirely in your hands, because I am +dependent on you. I consider travel not a luxury, but a necessity. If +you will make me an allowance for that purpose I shall very gladly +accept it. If not, I shall endeavour to get some post where I may +make enough money to take me where I wish to go. I shall throw myself +upon the power 'who providently caters for the sparrows' after that.</p> + +<p>"I propose to come home on Friday for a week or two. This letter +contains only a draft of what I should have preferred to say there in +words.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + "I am your affectionate son,<br> +<span class="sig">"Arthur Hamilton."</span></div> + +<p>His father curtly acknowledged this letter, but nothing more; and +left the discussion of the subject to be a personal one. They came to +the following compromise.</p> + +<p>Arthur was to engage for one year in some active profession, +business, the law, medicine, schoolmastering, taking pupils; at the +end of that time he was to make his choice; if he decided not to take +up any profession, his father promised to allow him £350 a year +as long as he lived, and to secure him the same sum after his own +death. This occupation was to extend from August till the August +following. He was allowed three days for his decision.</p> + +<p>He at once decided on schoolmastering, and without much difficulty +secured a post at an upper-class private school, being a substantial +suburban house, in fine timbered grounds, the boys being all destined +for public schools.</p> + +<p>He wrote me several letters from that place, but during that time our +correspondence waned, as we were both very busy. He was interested in +his work, and very popular with the boys.</p> + +<p>"My experience of life generally gives me a strong impulse in favour +of Determinism; that is to say, the system which considers the +histories of nations, the lives of individuals, their very deeds and +words, to be all part of a vast unalterable design: and whose dealing +with the past, with each event, indeed, as it occurs, is thus nothing +but interpretation, an earnest endeavour to exclude regret or +disappointment, and to see how best to link each fact in our past on +with what we know of ourselves, to see its bearing on our individual +case. Of course this will operate with our view of the future too, +but only in a general way, to minimize ambition and anxiety. It +produces, in fact, exactly the same effect as a perfect 'faith;' +indeed, it is hard to distinguish the two, except that faith is the +instinctive practice of the theory of Determinism.</p> + +<p>"Now, the more I work at education, the more I am driven into +Determinism; it seems that we can hardly regulate tendency, in fact +as if the schoolmaster's only duty was to register change. A boy +comes to a place like this, μνημονὶκος and φιλομάθης, +and εὐφύης, as Ascham calls it, in other respects; he is not +exposed, let us say, to any of the temptations which extraordinary +charms of face or manner seem always to entail upon their possessors, +and he leaves it just the same, except that the natural propensities +are naturally developed; whereas a boy with precisely the same +educational and social advantages but without a predisposition to +profit by them leaves school hardly altered in person or mind. It is +true that circumstances alter character—that can not be disputed; +but circumstances are precisely what we can not touch. A boy, +εὐφύης as I have described, brought up as a street-arab, would only +so far profit by it as to be slightly less vicious and disgusting than +his companions. But education, which we speak of as a panacea for all +ills, only deals with what it finds, and does not, as we ought to +claim, rub down bad points and accentuate good, and it is this, that +perhaps more than anything else has made me a Determinist, that +the very capacity for change and improvement is so native to some +characters, and so utterly lacking to others. A man can in real truth +do nothing of himself, though there are all possible varieties—from +the man who can see his deficiencies and make them up, through the +man who sees his weak points and can not strengthen them, to the +spiritually blind who can not even see them. I may of course belong to +the latter class myself—it is the one thing about which no one can +decide for himself—but an inherent contempt for certain parts of my +character seems to hint to me that it is not so."</p> + +<p>It will be seen from the last two letters that his ethical position +was settling itself.</p> + +<p>I therefore think, before I go any further, it will be as well to +give a short account of his religious opinions at this time, as they +were very much bound up with his life. He told me not unfrequently +that religion had been nothing whatever to him at school, and he came +up to the University impressionable, ardent, like a clean paper ready +for any writing.</p> + +<p>It is well known that at the Universities there is a good deal of +proselytizing; that it is customary for men of marked religious views +and high position to have a large <i>clientèle</i> of younger men +whom they influence and mould; schools of the prophets.</p> + +<p>Arthur was not drawn into any one of these completely, though I fancy +that he was to a certain extent influenced by the teaching of one of +these men. The living original of these words will pardon me if I +here insert the words of my friend relating to him; many Cambridge +men have been and are everlastingly grateful for his simple noble +influence and example.</p> + +<p>"Why are there certain people in this world, who whenever they enter +a room have a strange power of galvanizing everybody there into +connection with themselves? what mysterious currents do they set in +motion to and from them, so that those who do not talk to them or at +them, begin to talk with reference to them, hedged about as they are +with an atmosphere of desire and command?</p> + +<p>"There is one of these at Cambridge now, a man for whom I not only +have the profoundest respect, but whose personal presence exercises +on me just the fascination I describe; and influential as he is, it +is influence more utterly unconscious of its own power than any I +have seen—a rare quality. He finds all societies into which he +enters, stung by his words and looks, serious, sweet, interested in, +if not torn by moral and social problems of the deepest import; yet +he always fancies that it is they, not he, that are thus potent. He +is not aware that it is he who is saintly; he thinks it is they that +are good; and all this, not for want of telling him, for he must be +weary of genuine praise and thanks."</p> + +<p>To write thus of any one must imply a deep attraction. I do not +think, however, that the admiration ever extended itself to imitation +in matters theoretical or religious. Arthur was not one of those +indiscriminate admirers, blinded by a single radiant quality to +accept the whole body as full of light.</p> + +<p>Very slowly his convictions crystallized; he had a period of very +earnest thought—during the time of which I have just been +speaking—in which he shunned the subject in conversation; but I have +reason to believe from the books he read, and from two or three +letters to his friend, the curate of whom I have been speaking, that +he was thinking deeply upon revealed religion.</p> + +<p>It must, however, be remembered that he never went through that +period of agonized uprooting of venerated and cherished sentiment +that many whose faith has been very keen and integral in their lives +pass through, the dark valley of doubt. His religion had not intwined +itself into his life; it was not shrined among his sacred memories or +laid away in secret storehouses of thought.</p> + +<p>"I have never felt the agony of a dying faith," he wrote to a friend +who was sorely troubled, "so you will forgive me if I do not seem to +sympathize very delicately with you, or if I seem not to understand +the darkness you are in. But I have been in deep waters myself, +though of another kind. I have seen an old ideal foully shattered in +a moment, and a hope that I had held and that had consecrated my life +for many years, not only crushed in an instant—that would have been +bad enough—but its place filled by an image of despair ... so you +will see that I <i>can</i> feel for you, as I <i>do</i>.</p> + +<p>"Leading to the light is a sad, terribly sad, and wearying process; I +have not won it yet, but I have seen glimpses which have dispelled a +gloom which I thought was hopeless. My dear friend, I <i>know</i> that God +will bring you out into a place of liberty, as He has brought me; in +the day when you come and tell me that He has done so, the smile that +will be on your face will be no sort of symbol, I know, of the +unutterable content within. <i>Expertus novi</i>, you have my thoughts and +hopes."</p> + +<p>The letters I shall now quote are taken out of a considerable period, +and give a fair picture of what he believed. Tolerance was his great +characteristic.</p> + +<p>Below all principles of his own was a deep resolve not to interfere +in any way with the principles of others, however erroneous he deemed +them.</p> + +<p>With his definition of sincerity that comes out in the following +extracts I have myself often found fault in conversation and by +letter, but I never produced any change. I thought, and still think, +that it is sophistical in tone, and tampers with one of the most +sacred of our instincts. It never in his case, I think, made any +difference to his presentment of the truth, but it is a principle +that I should not dare to advocate; however, it was so integral a +part of his faith that in this delineation, which shall be as +accurate as I can make it, I dare not omit it.</p> + +<p>His convictions were then a steady accumulation, not the shreds of +one system worked into the fabric by the overmastering new impulse +communicated by another, as is so often the case. He writes:</p> + +<p>"The strong man's house entered by the stronger, and his goods +despoiled, is a parable more frequently true of the conversion of +a 'believer' into a sceptic than <i>vice versa</i>. The habit of firm +adherence to principle, the capacity for trust, the adaptation of +intellectual resources to uphold a theory—all these go to swell the +new emotion; no man is so effective a sceptic as the man who has been +a fervent believer.</p> + +<p>"But in the rare cases of the conversion of an intellectual man from +scepticism into belief (like Augustine and a very few others) the +spirit suffers by the change. A great deal of cultivation, of logical +readiness, of eloquence, seem to be essentially secular, to belong +essentially to the old life, and to need imperatively putting away +together with the garment spotted by the flesh. Augustine suffered +less perhaps than others; but some diminution of force seems an +inevitable result.</p> + +<p>"I never had a great change of that kind to make. I had a moral +awakening, which was rude but effective, never a conversion; I had +not to strike my old colours."</p> + +<p>Thus, though he was a strong Determinist, his capacity for idealism, +and a natural enthusiasm, saved him from the paralysis which in some +cases results from such speculations.</p> + +<p>"I look upon all philosophical theories as explanations of an +ontological problem, not as a basis of action. The appearance of +free-will in adopting or discontinuing a course of action is a +deception, but it is a complete deception—so complete as not to +affect in the slightest my interest in what is going to happen, nor +my unconscious posing as a factor in that result. Though I am only a +cogwheel in a vast machine, yet I am conscious of my cogs, interested +in my motions and the motions of the whole machine, though ignorant +of who is turning, why he began, and whether he will stop, and why.</p> + +<p>"If I saw the slightest loophole at which free-will might creep in, I +would rush to it, but I do not; if man was created with a free will, +he was also created with predispositions which made the acting of +that will a matter of mathematical certainty.</p> + +<p>"But the idea that it diminishes my interest in life or its issues is +preposterous; I am inclined to credit God with larger ideas than +my own, and His why and wherefore, and the part I bear in it, is +extraordinarily fascinating to me because it is so hidden; and the +least indication of law that I can seize upon—such as this law of +necessity—is an entrancing glimpse into reality. It may not be quite +so delightful as some other theories, but it is true, and real, and +therefore has an actual working in you and me and every one else, +which can not fail to attach a certain interest to it which other +systems lack."</p> + +<p>He gives a very graphic illustration of the phenomena of free-will. +He says—</p> + +<p>"It seems to me closely to resemble a very ordinary phenomenon: the +principle that things as they are farther off appear to us to be +smaller. Logical reflection assures us that they are not so, but the +effect upon our senses is completely illusive; and, what is more, we +act as though they were smaller; we act as if what they gained in +distance they lost in size; we aim at a target which is many feet +high and broad as if it was but a few inches; we say the sun is about +as big as a soup-plate, and having once made these allowances the +knowledge does not affect our conduct of life at all.</p> + +<p>"Just so with free-will; we know by our reason that the thing is +impossible; we act as though it were a prevailing possibility."</p> + +<p>His position with regard to Christianity was shortly as follows; +it is settled by an extract from his diary:</p> + +<p>"I have often puzzled over this: Why in the Gospels did Christ say +nothing about the whole fabric of nature which in His capacity as +Creator ('through whom He made all things') He must have had the +moulding of? All His teaching was personal and individual, dealing +with man alone, an infinitesimal part of His creation ... for compare +the shred, the span of being which man's existence represents with +the countless æons of animal and vegetable life which have +preceded, and surround, and will in all probability succeed it—and +not a word of all this from the Being who gave and supported their +life, calling it out of the abyss for inscrutable and useless +ends—to minister, as the theologians tell us, to the wants and +animal cravings of pitiful mankind.</p> + +<p>"Why is it that He there takes no cognizance of the whole frame of +things of which I am a part, but only deals with human feelings and +emotions as if they were the end of all these gigantic works—the +Milky Way, the blazing sun, the teeming earth—only to raise thoughts +of reverence in the heart of this pitiful being, and failing too, so +hopelessly, so constantly to do so?...</p> + +<p>"'I will accept Christ,' said Herbert, 'as my superior, yes! as my +master, yes! but not as my God.'" One sees, I think, where the +difficulty lies; it must be felt by any man whose idea of God is +very high, whose belief in humanity very low.</p> + +<p>And again—</p> + +<p>"I believe in a revelation which is coming, which may be among us +now, though we do not suspect it, in the words and deeds of some +simple-minded heroic man.</p> + +<p>"No one who preceded the Christian revelation could possibly, from +the fabric of the world as it then was, have anticipated the form it +was about to take. This revelation, too, will be as unexpected as it +will be new—it will come in the night as a thief; the '<i>quo modo</i>' +I can not even attempt to guess, except that it will take the form +of some vast simplification of the myriad and complicated issues of +human life."</p> + +<p>But such entries as these were left to his diaries and most private +correspondence; he never attempted a crusade against ordinary forms +of belief, mistaken though he deemed them, often putting a strong +constraint upon himself in conversation. If he was pressed to give an +account of his religious principles he used smilingly to say that he +belonged to the great Johnsonian sect, who practised the religion of +all sensible men, and who kept what it was to themselves.</p> + +<p>There were two views of life with which he had no patience only—the +men who preached the open confession of agnosticism, "if you have +anything to tell us for goodness sake let us have it, but if you have +not, hold your tongue; you are like a clock that has gone wrong, but +insists on chiming to show everybody that it hasn't the least idea +of the time;" and secondly, the men who "took no interest" in the +problems of religion and morals; for a deliberate avoidance of them +he had some respect, but for a professional moralist who took +everything for granted, and for feeble materialists who did not +"trouble their head" about such things, he had a profound contempt.</p> + +<p>The following remarks that he gave vent to on the subject of orthodox +Christianity and an Established Church are very striking, and after +what has preceded might appear paradoxical and ridiculous. But they +are in reality absolutely consistent.</p> + +<p>"When people tell me," he said, "as you have been doing, that the old +methods are <i>passés</i>, and compare the crude new ideas with +them for effectiveness, as working theories, I snap my fingers +mentally in their face.</p> + +<p>"These new ideas may, and doubtless do, contain all the good of the +world's future, all the seed of progress in them—but as working +ideas! A system that has been mellowed and coloured, that has +insinuated itself year by year into all the irregularities and +whimsical, capricious, unexpected chinks and crannies of human +nature, accommodating itself gradually to all, to be torn out and +have the bleeding sensitive gap filled with a hard angular heavy +object thrust straight in from an intellectual workshop—the idea +is absolutely preposterous!"</p> + +<p>A friend wrote to him once in great perplexity about the following +problem: as to whether, taking as he did, a purely agnostic view of +life, he should continue to receive the Communion with his parents +when at home; as to whether it was not a base concession to his own +weakness; as to whether he should not stand by his principles.</p> + +<p>"If you have any principles to stand by," he wrote, "by all means +stand by them; but if all you mean is throwing cold water on other +people's principles, my advice is to make no move. Dissembling your +own uneasiness in the matter and quieting their anxious scruples is +one of those matters which seem so simple that heroism appears to +have no part in it. It would be so much nobler (we are tempted to +think) to stand up and protest and denunciate; to throw gloom and +dissension into a happy home and wreck (if you are the affectionate +son I believe you to be) your own happiness, not to speak of +usefulness. It would be more arduous, I admit; not therefore nobler. +Your duty is most plain; you have no right to cause acute distress to +several people, because you can not take exactly such an exalted view +as they do, of an institution which, from the lowest point of view, +is the dying request of a great and loving soul, to all who can feel +his beauty or listen to his call, a beautiful pledge of family and +national unity, and a touching symbol of all good things."</p> + +<p>To another friend, who wrote to him to say that his principles, +though still religious, and faithful in general idea to the Christian +creed, were in so many points different from the principles taught +and demanded by the Church of England, that he felt he ought to take +some definite step to show his state of mind, he wrote as follows:</p> + +<p>"The being born into an institution is a thing which must not be +lightly considered: it imposes certain duties upon you—the quiet +examination of its tenets, for example—and unless you are convinced +of its utter inutility, not to say immorality, it is your duty to +bear such a part in relation to it as shall not mar its usefulness; +and you may no more throw it away through caprice or indifferentism +than you may throw away your own life, simply because you did not +agree to be in the world, and it is through no will of your own that +you are there. Similarly, you can not justify murder because you +were not present to give an assent to the framing of the laws which +condemn it and provide for its restraint.</p> + +<p>"In fact, by taking such a step you are incurring a very heavy +responsibility, and it is at any rate worth while to give it the +closest consideration.</p> + +<p>"And therefore I should suggest that the philosopher who wishes in +any way to affect humanity for the better, should not begin his +crusade by storming one of its chief defences because its title to +that position is not quite so secure as the governor alleges; but +rather accept his religion together with his life, his circumstances, +his disposition, as a condition under which he is born: tacitly +συνειδὼς ἑαύτῳ that it may not be absolute truth, from which +no appeal is possible, but yet fight his best under its colours, +though they may not be quite red enough to suit his own fancy.</p> + +<p>"For what is there ignoble in this concealment? Is it not rather +ignoble to demolish a hope on which others build because it does not +appear to us to be quite satisfactory, though we have nothing to +offer in its stead? It is like plucking down a savage's wattled +cabin. 'First-rate stone houses, if you please, or none at +all,'—and, on being questioned as to where the materials are to come +from, point for answer to the eternal hills.</p> + +<p>"These are general considerations; but you, in particular, my dear +C——, ought to be very cautious, considering who you are." His +father was a high dignitary of the church. "A secession like yours +will carry far more weight than it ought to from your own and your +father's position. People will say, Mr. C—— ought to know; he has +had opportunities of judging from the inside which other people have +not—whereas you have really less opportunity because your horizon +is far more limited because you have only seen it from the inside. +You are rather in the position of the valet. No gossip and gabble +of yours about braces and sock-suspenders will make your hero less +a hero: you will only establish your title to be considered an +unperceptive and low-minded creature among the only people whose +opinion is worth having."</p> + +<p>He was always very decided on what he called "mock sincerity," the +people whom he described as "professional crystals," who always +"speak their mind about a thing." "The art of life," he said, +"consists in knowing exactly what to keep out of sight at any given +moment, and what to produce; when to play hearts and diamonds, ugly +clubs or flat spades; and you must remember that every suit is trumps +in turn."</p> + +<p>The following passage from a letter about a leading politician will +illustrate this:</p> + +<p>"I have always admired him intensely," he writes, as an instance of a +public man who has succeeded by sheer adherence to principles.</p> + +<p>"You can't ensure success; three parts is luck, the genius of time +and place. The only thing you can do seems to me to work hard, and +always take the highest line about things. The highest line, that is +to say, not the line you may <i>feel</i> to be highest, but the line that +you <i>recognize</i> to be so. Not what your fluctuating emotions may +commend, but that which the best moral tact seems to pronounce best. +You can't always expect to feel enthusiasm for the best, so be true +not to your sensations, but your deliberate ideals—that is the +highest sincerity; all the higher because it is so often called +hypocrisy."</p> + +<p>But his Determinist, almost Calvinistic, views were mellowed and +tempered by a serene and deep belief in a providence moving to good, +and ordering life down to the smallest details with special reference +to each man's case; in fact, as he said, the two were so closely +connected that they were like the convex and concave sides of a lens.</p> + +<p>He wrote to me, "I often feel, when straining after happiness, just +like the child who, anxious to get home, pushes against the side of +the railway carriage which is carrying him so smoothly and serenely +to the haven where he would be, while all he effects is a temporary +disarrangement of particles.</p> + +<p>"Life shows me more and more every day that there is something +watching us and working with us, so that now and then in unexpected +moments when I have felt particularly independent for some time back, +I come upon a little fact or incident that reveals to me that I am +like a mouse in the grasp of a cat, allowed sometimes to run a few +inches alone—or more truly like a baby walking along, very proud +of its performance, with a couple of anxious, loving arms poised to +catch it. The extraordinary apportionment not only in balance but in +<i>kind</i> of punishment to sin—long-continued, secret, base desires, +punished by long-hidden suffering—the sharp stress of temptation +yielded to, requited by the sharp pang—the glorious feeling which I +have once or twice felt—the sin once sinned and the punishment +once over, as one is assured supremely sometimes that it is without +doubt—of trustful freedom, and fresh fitness for battling one's self +and helping others to battle—a mood that is soon broken, but is an +earnest while it lasts of infinite satisfaction. The extraordinary +delicacy with which the screw of pain and mental suffering is +adjusted, just lifted when we can bear no more (not when <i>we</i> think +we can bear no more, but when God knows it) and resolutely applied +again when we have gained strength which we propose to devote to +enjoyment, but which God intends us to devote to suffering. The very +beauty, too, of pain itself—the strange flushes of joy that it gives +us, which can only thus be won—the certainty that this is reality, +this is what we are meant to do and be—happiness of different kinds, +art, friends, books, are delusive; they play over the surface; in +suffering we dip below it." This latter thought expanded is the +subject of a passage of a letter to myself that gave me wonderful +comfort.</p> + +<p>We know how sickness or sorrow comes down heavily on us, crushing in +what we are pleased to call our "plans," and "interrupting," as we +say, "our opportunities for usefulness," spoiling our life.</p> + +<p>"My dear friend, <i>this is</i> life itself. It is this very 'interruption' +that we live for. What does God care about the wretched books you +intend to write, the petty occupations you think you discharge so +gracefully? He means to teach you a great high truth, worth knowing; +and, thank Heaven, He will, however much you shrink and writhe. Do +not pick and choose among events: try and interpret each as it +comes."</p> + +<p>At the expiration of the year of work—Easter, 1875—he was unchanged +in his plan of travel; in fact, it had become a resolve by that time. +He confessed that he did not personally at all like giving up the +school work; he had got very much interested in some of the boys, and +in the whole process of the education of character. But there was +also another reason, which the following letter will explain:</p> + +<p>"You know, perhaps, that I have been acting as usher here for a year; +it is to be a kind of probation. That is to say, I have promised to +try what it is like for a year, and see if I feel inclined to adopt +it as my profession.</p> + +<p>"Now, I am in a very curious position. I do feel inclined, very much +inclined indeed, to stick permanently to the work; it interests, +amuses, occupies me. I hate the want of occupation. I hate making +occupations for myself, and this provides me with regular work at +stated hours, leaving other stated hours free, and free in the best +way; that is to say, it works the vapours off. My brain feels clear +and steady; I can talk, think, write, read better, in those intervals +than I ever can when all my time is my own, and yet—I must, I +believe, give it up.</p> + +<p>"You know I pretend to a kind of familiar; like Socrates, I am +forbidden to do certain things by a kind of distant inward voice—not +conscience, for it is not limited to moral choice. I don't mean to +say I do not or have not disobeyed it, but it is always the worse for +me in the end; it is like taking a short cut in the mountains; you +get to your end in time, but far more tired and shaky than if you had +followed the right road, which started so much to the left among the +pines, and moreover, you get there very much behind your party.</p> + +<p>"This time it tells me that I am not equal to the direct +responsibility; that I can not, with my habits of mind and temper, +impress a permanent enough mark upon the lads. It is like beginning a +system of education that is to take, say, thirty years, giving them a +year of it, and then taking to another; you not only lose your year, +but you unfit them for other systems. That is what I should do; my +methods do not prepare them for other normal education; it is only +the beginning of a preparation for what I believe to be a higher and +more complete education, but that wouldn't justify my keeping on.</p> + +<p>"I do not believe that I have done any harm; in fact, my theory would +forbid me to think so; but it also informs me that my <i>rôle</i> is +not to be that of a schoolmaster.</p> + +<p>"I shall be a poor man, of course; poor, that is, for an independent +gentleman. I wish I were a Fellow of a College at Cambridge; I would +try and be as ideal as Gray in that position."</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<p>In April he was released from his engagement, and he immediately went +abroad, alone. He travelled through Normandy into Brittany, spending +two months at a little village called Chanteuil, not far from the +Point du Sillon. Here he wandered about mostly alone, dressed in +the roughest possible costume, and allowing his beard to grow. "At +Chanteuil I first learnt how to think, or rather how to converse with +myself as I had before done with other persons; I also found for the +first time that I did not dislike my own company."</p> + +<p>In June he went south, sailing from Brest to Bordeaux, and then +descending by land into Spain, where he remained till August. Here he +spent a long time in exploring the table-land between the Asturian +Mountains and the sea, and then from Burgos visiting Madrid, Toledo, +Ciudad, and Seville, and so to Gibraltar. From Gibraltar he sailed +up the south-east coast, and settled himself for another month at a +little village called Benigarcia, about five miles east of Sorrion, +on the river Mijares. In November he sailed by Minorca, starting from +Barcelona, to Sicily, and spent the rest of the year in the north of +Italy, sailing from Sicily to Genoa, and settling at a village called +Riviglio, not very far from Verona. He was obliged to adopt this +plan of settling, as his exchequer was not large. From this place +he visited Venice on foot, and early in the year visited Rome and +Florence, sailing from Ancona in March for Spalatro, and worked up +through Hungary to a little place called Bochnia, on the Vistula, +down which river he went by boat to Königsberg, staying in +Warsaw a few weeks. Once on the Baltic, he hired a fishing-boat, and +spent a month in cruising about, during which time he discovered, or +rather unearthed, an island, which formed the subject of the only +letter he wrote to me during his entire absence.</p> + +<div class="opener"> + "Copenhagen, June, 1876.</div> + +<div class="salutation">"My dear Carr,</div> + +<p>"I am writing this on board the fishing-smack <i>Paradys</i>, which is at +this moment lying in Copenhagen Roads, being myself owner by hire and +supercargo of the same. The first object of my note is to assure you +of my existence, as your letter which was forwarded after me to +Danzig seemed to imply uncertainty on that point, and moreover +expressed a strange solicitude as to my well-being which was by no +means unpleasing to me; then to request you to perform several small +commissions for me....</p> + +<p>"Lastly, to tell you of a very curious adventure I met with. Some +weeks ago I was cruising not very far from Danzig, when we sighted a +low wooded island about seven miles off land. I discovered by dint of +arduous questioning, for the lingo of these fellows is very uncouth, +that it was uninhabited, because its owner, a Danish nobleman, +devoted it to the growing of wood for firewood, etc.; a poor +speculation, I should say, as the wind blows very fresh from the sea +and stunts the trees; and also partly because of a bad name attaching +to it, and many horrid superstitions—what, they could not tell me. +It was a curious-looking place, not very large, but with deep +indented bays all round running very far inland, so as to give it +somewhat the shape of a starfish with seven or eight irregular arms; +the woods come down very close to the sea and are mostly fir or +larch. I could see a few trees further inland of a lighter green, but +could not make out to what species they belonged. Between the woods +and the sea there are sands loosely overgrown with that spiky grass +that covers sand-hills, and at the extremity of two of the valleys +a marsh formed by a freshwater spring. The place is frequented by +birds, mostly pigeons, and a good many waterfowl of different kinds.</p> + +<p>"We spent a hot oppressive day with very little wind in cruising +leisurely round it as close in shore as we could get. I should guess +that it was about eleven miles round, measuring from the ends of the +promontories. We saw no signs whatever of habitation except the +three or four old boats on props in one of the creeks used by the +woodcutters as cabins when they come. I found out from my men that so +great was the horror of the place, that even smugglers, when hard +pressed, have been known to risk capture rather than put in to the +island; and on my inquiring the cause of these rumours, they gave me +various vague and grotesque stories about dead men and women, and +a figure which sat on the seaward cape and wept, with long hair +drooping all over her; and, worst of all, of two boys, dressed in an +antique dress, whom to see was certain disaster, and to speak with +certain death.</p> + +<p>"Toward evening the breeze freshened; and as it was getting dark I +proposed casting anchor in one of the creeks. My men manifested the +greatest alarm; but as the channel is full of shoals and sands +between the island and the mainland (which is at that place very much +deserted), and we were not acquainted with the lie of them, and as +I bound myself by the most solemn promises not to send any of them +ashore, they at last reluctantly consented. However, as none of them +would stir an inch, but crowded together in the most disgusting +proximity into their hole of a cabin, I was left the sole patrol of +the place.</p> + +<p>"It was an oppressive evening, and I walked about a long time up and +down, and finally sat down to smoke. The place was curiously silent, +except that every now and then it was broken by those strange +woodland sounds, like smothered cries or groans, seeming to proceed +out of the heart of the wood at a great distance. We lay in a sandy +creek with banks of pines on each side, rising up very black against +the sky, which had that still green enamelled look that it gets on a +very quiet evening. At the far end of the creek was a large marsh +covered with the white cotton rush then in bloom; it caused a strange +glimmering which I could see till it got quite dark. The only other +sound was the wash of the short waves on the sands outside, and the +gurgle and cluck of the water as it crept past the boat and out to +sea.</p> + +<p>"Toward midnight I saw a sight that I have never seen before nor +expect to see again. I was surprised to see a light, apparently on +the shore, in the direction of the marsh. It looked exactly like a +lantern carried by a man. It was very indistinct, but wavered about, +always floating about a foot or two from the surface, sometimes +standing still as though he was looking for something on the ground, +and sometimes moving very quickly. It was a will-o'-the-wisp—a +phosphorescent exhalation.</p> + +<p>"It was a foul pestilential place, there is no doubt. The mist was +all about us by midnight, and smelt very heavy and cold. I awoke +shivering in the morning, and not feeling by any means as fresh or +vigorous as usual; but nevertheless I determined to explore the +island—singly, if none of the men would accompany me.</p> + +<p>"Straight up in front of me, apparently about a mile inland, was a +very marked clump of trees projecting above the other foliage. I had +noticed it several times from the sea the day before. You could see +the red stems clearly above the other trees. It evidently marked a +knoll or rising ground of some kind, and I determined to make that +the object of my journey, and scale, if possible, the trees to get a +bird's-eye view of the place.</p> + +<p>"As I had expected, I could not get a single member of the crew to +accompany me further than the shore, and they were frightened at +that. Two of them, who were very much attached to me, implored +me most earnestly not to go, but seeing that I was bent upon it, +shrugged their shoulders and were silent. The instant I was deposited +with my gun on shore, they turned back to the boat and immured +themselves. I arranged that at twelve o'clock, if I did not return, +they should leave the creek and go round the island within hailing +distance, so as to pick me up at any point. I started along the +shore, skirting the marsh which wound through the pines.</p> + +<p>"The first thing that I came upon was a heronry. I had noticed +several of these magnificent birds the day before sailing over the +island, and this creek was evidently their settlement; up they went, +floating away in all directions with a marvellous, almost magical +rapidity and silence of flight. This persuaded me more than anything +else that the island was unfrequented, as they are a very shy bird, +and distrustful of human beings. I then left the stream and struck +straight up into the woods, as nearly as possible toward the clump.</p> + +<p>"I put up a few rabbits and a great many pigeons. I also saw an +animal that I believe to have been a wolf, but it retreated with such +rapidity that I lost sight of it among the tree stems. There was very +little undergrowth, as often happens under pines, but the boughs +overhead formed a close screen, and the heat was very oppressive. +After about an hour's walking I emerged on a cliff above the sea, +having mistaken my direction, and crossed the island diagonally. On +getting clear of the trees I could again see the goal of my walk, the +clump, this time a good deal nearer; and now resolutely plunging into +the wood, and keeping always slightly to the right, for I saw that my +bias was to the left, I came at last to a place where I could see the +sides of a mound through the trees rather indistinctly.</p> + +<p>"All of a sudden I came to a low wall among the trees, overgrown in +some places, but opposite me almost entirely clear. It was built of +large stones carefully fitted together, like the architecture that I +remembered to have seen called Cyclopean in architectural histories +of Greece. It was easily climbed, and I saw that it surrounded the +mound at the distance of about fifty yards, in an irregular circle.</p> + +<p>"The space which intervened between it and the mound was partially +filled with great hewn stones planted all about, some of them lying +on their side, some upright, many of them broken. Going through these +I came upon the mound itself. It was crowned with a group of firs, +which I could see at once to be much older than the surrounding +trees. They were far larger and taller, for the height of the mound +did not entirely account for the extraordinary way in which they +overtopped the rest of the trees. The mound was very steep, and was +apparently constructed of stones built carefully together; but only +very small portions of the masonry were visible, it was so overgrown +and hidden.</p> + +<p>"Wandering round it I found a rude flight of steps leading to the +top, also much overgrown. I ascended hastily, and found myself on the +top of a smooth plateau, about fifty by thirty yards, surrounded by +the gigantic firs; but what immediately arrested my attention was a +strange rude altar in the middle, ornamented with uncouth figures and +other ornaments. It was covered with moss at the top, and very much +cracked and splintered in places.</p> + +<p>"I concluded at once that I was in the presence of some remains, +probably Druidic in origin, which, owing to the extraordinary +desolation of the spot and the superstition attaching to the island, +had been so long unvisited as to have been forgotten. I could see +that the mound was quite surrounded by the wall, and that it was +evidently a sacred enclosure of some kind.</p> + +<p>"And gazing and wondering, the stories attributed to the place seemed +not wholly without cause. There are certain atmospheres, I have +always held, which, as it were, infect one; the very air has caught +some contagion of evil which can not be got rid of. There is a +baneful influence about some places which makes itself felt upon +all sensitive beings who approach. I have felt it on actual +battle-fields, as well as at other places that I have held to be the +scenes of unrecorded, immemorial slaughters; and as I gazed round +it seemed to gather and fall on me here. The very stillness was +appalling, for there was now a good deal of wind blowing from the +sea, as I could tell from the rustling and cracking of the fir boughs +all about, and the sound of the sea on the sand; but here there was +an oppressive heaviness, as if the place was still brooding over the +ancient horror it had seen. And this was succeeded in my mind by a +strange, overpowering, fascinating wonder and speculation as to what +dismal deeds of darkness could have been done in the place; with +whose blood, indeed, whether of innocent sheep and goats, or pleading +men and frightened children, that grim uncouth altar had run and +smoked; whether, in truth, as the ancient tales say, every one of +those gray pillars all about had been set up, and still was based +upon, the mouldering crushed remains of men. The sickening contagion +of the sin of the place grew upon me every moment.</p> + +<p>"To rid myself of it I applied myself to climb one of the trees to +get a bird's-eye view of the island. This I effected without much +difficulty, and found that it was of the shape, as I have said, of an +irregular five-pointed star. From extremity to extremity, it must be, +I believe, about five miles.</p> + +<p>"But now follows the part of my story that I do not profess to +explain. I marked in my mind the nearest path to the sea, which was +to the north-east—the path I actually pursued—and descended; and +then I became aware that the feeling I had experienced before was not +purely physical—that there <i>was</i> a taint of a real kind in the air, +which strangely affected the emotional atmosphere. I felt helpless, +bewildered, sickened. I descended, however, from the platform, and +walked straight, in what I had determined to be the right direction, +when, just as I was about to scale the wall, heartily glad to be out +of the place, I was—not exactly called, for there was no sound—but +most unmistakably ordered to look round. Am I clear? The sensation +produced mentally and emotionally was precisely like the receiving +an imperative order that one has neither power nor inclination to +resist—so strong and sudden that I kept thinking that my name had +been called. In reflecting, however, I am certain that it was not.</p> + +<p>"I turned at once, and saw, standing together, close by the platform, +two boys, about twelve years of age I should have said, in a loose +antique dress, of a bluish-white colour, reaching down to the knees, +and girt about the waist, with leather buskins fastened by straps +reaching up the leg; their heads were bare, and their hair, which was +a dark brown, was loose and flowing. I could not clearly distinguish +their faces, but they looked handsome, though desperately frightened. +Accompanying this was an indescribable sense, which I have sometimes +had in dreams, of an overwhelming intense vastness—space-immensity +rushing over one with a terrible power; and at the same time the +feeling of <i>numbers</i>, as if I was in the presence of a multitude +of people. All this quite momentary; in an instant I was conscious +of the tall avenues of red stems, with their dark background, and +the heavy silence of the underwood, and nothing more.</p> + +<p>"I went as if dazed through the wood, yet unconsciously obeying the +tacit order of my determination, down a steep fully clad with pine +trees, the needles very soft under my feet, till I suddenly came out +of the stifling wood on to golden sands and blue water, and a great +restful wash of air and sunlight.</p> + +<p>"I fired my gun as a signal, and wandering on, as if only half awake, +I came out upon another point, and saw the boat lying close below me, +whereupon I fired again, and was taken on board.</p> + +<p>"My sensation was one of strange languor and fatigue; certainly no +fright, and very little wonder; rather as if I had been stunned or +charmed by opiates into a kind of waking slumber. I have never felt +anything like it before or since.</p> + +<p>"But by morning I was shivering in an ague caught in that +pestilential fever-swamp, and then the fever fiend himself came and +took up his abode with me, and I am now only just convalescent, and +can sun myself on the deck, and read and write a little; but the +illness and the unconsciousness have done as such things often +do—interposed a sort of blank between me and my past life—have +deadened it, as one deadens sound by wool, so that memories no longer +strike on my mind sharp and clear, but swim along hazy and undefined; +and especially is it the case with later memories.</p> + +<p>"What was the sight, my dear Carr, that I saw on that hill-top? Was +it nothing but the uneasiness of mind and memory disturbed and +disorganized by the seething of the foul poison-wine, throwing up +pictures and ideas out of their due course, and without subordination +to the master-will? Was it merely the story of those fisher-folk, +half apprehended, and yet evoked and subtly clad with form and shape +by the strange workshop of imagination?</p> + +<p>"To all of these I am quite content to say 'Yes.' The sight does not +trouble me, or, indeed, anything but interest me. I am not +superstitious; I am not nervous in the least. Only I can not help +feeling as if, catching, in my weakened state, the hideous leprosy of +the place, I had received into my mind, then less able than usual to +resist, the stamp and impress of some other mind forced to linger +near that spot, and unable to avoid brooding over some haunting +remorseful thought or image of a deed, ever dismally recalling how +he stood in grim silence watching the tears and prayers of the +two soft-faced smooth-limbed Roman boys, kidnapped from some +sunny Italian villa, and carried to that gloomy place—held them +pitilessly on the altar among the other fork-bearded Druids, with +their white robes and glaring eyes—and smote the cruel blow, in +spite of the trembling touch of the young fingers and the piteous +entreaties, as they looked tearfully from side to side in the damp +sunless Golgotha, among the glens of that sinister isle.</p> + +<p>"That is the picture that somehow or other, even in my most material +mood, is evoked by the thought of the place. The rationalist +explanation of the coming fever is far more satisfactory and +scientific; but the other keeps recurring—a curious experience +anyhow.</p> + +<p>"If you have nothing to do you might write me a line to Stockholm, +Poste Restante. I am going north to have a look at the ice. +Altogether, what with the East still open before me, I do not expect +to come home for two or three years.</p> + +<p>"You are one of the few friends I can rely upon, so I carry about +with me a letter addressed to you; in case of my death you will be +the first to be notified of the fact.</p> + +<div class="closer">"Ever yours,<br> + <span class="sig">"Arthur Hamilton."</span></div> + +<p>I have given this letter in full, because it affords a good example +of Arthur's descriptive style, which always struck me as being vivid +and graphic, and also because this little incident, not by the proof +it itself afforded, but by the turn it gave his thoughts—then rather +rapidly drifting into materialism—was the first step in a kind of +conversion from the purely physical views of life he had been apt to +take. The episode itself, too, is a curious one, and may deserve to +be recorded.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<p>Nothing is more hopelessly wearisome than descriptions of travel; +even George Eliot could not make in her diaries Florence anything but +dull. I shall confine myself to sketching his route, to telling one +incident among the few he told me, and describing his return.</p> + +<p>I had no more letters from him; but he has told me that he got to +Spitzbergen, and in a whaler to the edge of the great arctic +ice-field. He sailed to America and crossed it. From San Francisco he +visited Peru and the Amazon, on which river he spent a month. Then he +went to Africa, to what part I do not know, except that he came down +the Nile; and then he wandered through Asia Minor, Persia, and India; +he penetrated a little way into Thibet, and saw China and Japan; he +went up to the mouth of the Siberian rivers, travelling for three +months with a party of gipsies, who taught him many curious things, +such as their own language and freemasonry, the use of simples, the +properties of water, and the strange things that can be done with +even such things as docks and nettles, and other plants which we toss +away as weeds. He told me that in that branch of secret knowledge, +as in all others, there was a vast deal of nonsense but a solid +residuum of truth; and he said, half jestingly, that they had sworn +him a member of their brotherhood, and what was more, he had since +discovered many members of the brotherhood in civilized nations, even +in "kings' houses."</p> + +<p>But I must suspend my account for a short time to relate the incident +to which I have just referred. It took place during his stay in +Teheran, while on his way home (1878), a period of about six weeks. +This city is situated in a lovely climate—hot, but not unbearable +for Europeans; houses, horses, and servants are extraordinarily +cheap. The house that Arthur took was situated in large gardens or +pleasure-grounds of the natural wilderness type that one finds in +the East, shrubberies relegated to certain limits, but within those +limits left absolutely to their own device and will, with the +exception of arched and shaded paths cut under the thick intertwined +leafage.</p> + +<p>This whole place, with horses at his command, and seven servants, +with the whole expense of boarding, cost him, he has told me, +£40 for the entire six weeks that he was there; for he was very +weary of his rough tramping life, and resolutely determined to +recruit his energies by some deliberate luxury, a recipe far more +useful than the normal Englishman is at all inclined to admit, +thinking, as he does so erroneously, that "overtasking the body is +the best restorative for the overworked mind, and <i>vice versâ</i>," +as Arthur said once, "whereas the two instruments, so to speak, have +but one blade though two handles."</p> + +<p>The heat of the day was rather overpowering; that period he usually +spent dozing or reading in the court of the house, which was occupied +by a cool flashing fountain in the centre of an oasis of marble +pavement, streaked and veined. About seven it became cooler, and +then in the light native costume he used to ride leisurely about the +picturesque city or among the delightful houses scattered about in +the outskirts like his own.</p> + +<p>One evening he was riding in this fashion down a lane running between +high brick walls, fringed with feathery trailing shrubs or gorgeous +red and white flowers, whose fragrance literally streamed into the +evening air, in that delicate dusk when the senses are lulled into +acquiescence, and the mind and emotions become so vivid and lustrous +in their play.</p> + +<p>Riding along with his eyes half closed and lost in a delicious +reverie, his horse turned of its own accord to the left, and went for +some distance up an embowered road; Arthur suddenly roused himself +to find that he was passing close to a large sombre house, that had +evidently once been fortified, looming very impressively in the +languorous air; the gate had been opened for some purpose and not +closed again, and he was, in fact, trespassing in some private +grounds.</p> + +<p>He checked his horse, looking curiously about him, and was just about +to return when he heard a voice apparently proceeding from the centre +of one of the shrubberies, asking him his business in Persian. +Looking in that direction he managed to distinguish two or three +indistinct figures seated on a low seat on a kind of terrace on his +left.</p> + +<p>He rode up, and mustering up the little Persian he possessed, +apologized for his unintentional intrusion, mingling a good deal of +English, as he said, with his rather incoherent explanation.</p> + +<p>He was aware that one of the figures disengaged itself from the +group, and coming up close to him, regarded him with some curiosity. +It was a tall man, paler in complexion than the natives are wont to +be, with large dreamy eyes, and an air of indifferent lassitude that +was rather fascinating.</p> + +<p>He was amazed to hear, at the conclusion of his lame peroration, a +voice of strange delicacy of intonation proceeding from the figure: +"An Englishman, I presume." The accent was a little affected, but the +speaker was evidently more English than Persian by training: "Not +only English," said Arthur to himself, "but London English of the +best kind."</p> + +<p>He confessed his nationality, and, again apologizing, was about to +withdraw, when the stranger courteously invited him to join the +party. "It is very refreshing," he said, "to hear my native tongue +by chance; I can not resist the temptation of begging you to join us +for a little, that I may hear it once more; you will do me a great +kindness if you will accede to my request."</p> + +<p>Seeing that the offer was sincere, Arthur dismounted, and walked to +the terrace with the other. The figures rose at their approach, and +Arthur could see that they were two boys of fifteen or sixteen, of +extraordinary beauty and delicacy, and a woman of about thirty-five, +as far as he could judge, evidently their mother.</p> + +<p>His host spoke a few words in Persian, the purport of which he could +not catch, and, rapidly presenting him, requested him to be seated, +and produced some cigarettes of a very choice and fragrant kind.</p> + +<p>They talked for a long time on general subjects—England, politics, +art, and literature. The stranger seemed well acquainted with +literature and events of a certain date, but not of later departures +in any branch; and finally, Arthur gave a short account of himself +and his wanderings, in which the others appeared most interested.</p> + +<p>Before he went back to his house the stranger asked him, with some +earnestness, to return on the following day, which Arthur gladly +accepted. One of the boys conducted him to the gate, speaking a few +English sentences with that delicate and hesitating utterance that +combines with other personal attractions to give an almost unique +charm.</p> + +<p>On the following day, and on several others, the invitation was +repeated and accepted. The stranger became more communicative, having +at first consistently maintained a courteous reserve.</p> + +<p>The last day of Arthur's stay in his villa he went to see his new +friends. The boys had taken a great fancy to him, and used to wait +for his coming at the gate; but they would never come to his house, +though he asked them more than once. They were not permitted, they +said, to leave their own domain.</p> + +<p>On this last evening his host was alone, and after some indifferent +conversation he told Arthur the following story, and made a proposal +which had a strange influence on the rest of his life:</p> + +<p>"You may have wondered," he said, "at the cause which brought me +here, and keeps me here. I have often admired your courtesy, which +has made no attempts to discover my antecedents; it is not the usual +characteristic of our nation. If you are disposed to hear, I am +willing to give you a little autobiographical outline, which is a +necessary preface to a request which I am going to make of you."</p> + +<p>He then mentioned his name and parentage—facts which I am not at +liberty to repeat. They surprised even Arthur when he heard them; +they surprised me, when he communicated them to me, even more.</p> + +<p>He was the son of an English nobleman of high rank and wealth and +aristocratic traditions, and was reported to be long since dead. +Many people will no doubt remember the shock which the news of the +premature death of this individual, when announced in Europe, made. +It took place at Palermo in 1853. More than that I am not at liberty +to state.</p> + +<p>"My reasons for this were as follows," said his host. "I meditated a +retirement from the world of a kind which should be absolute, which +should excite no inquiries, no interest, except a retrospective one. +To have merely disappeared would not have suited my purpose; search +would have been instituted. The connections and influence of my +family would have made such a plan liable to constant disaster. From +Palermo, after superintending the making of my tombstone, I came +straight back here, to a house which I had already prepared for +myself under an anonymous name. I travelled with the utmost secrecy; +I married, as you have seen, a native wife; and from that day to this +I have never beheld a European face but yours. Your arrival was so +unexpected as to shiver resolve and habit; but I have no reason +to regret, as far as I can see, my confidence. I feel that I can +unreservedly trust you.</p> + +<p>"You will no doubt wonder as to my aim in executing this hazardous +and Quixotic project. I do not mind telling you now, at this lapse +of time, though I have never before opened my reasons to any one, +because I think that I observe in you traces of that temper which +led me to take the step.</p> + +<p>"It seemed to me that Western life had got into a confusion and +complication from which nothing could deliver it. The principles now +incorporated with the very existence of the most influential men in +it seemed to me to be radically erroneous, and the disposition of the +Western mind is of a kind which augments with indefinite rapidity the +strength of any prevalent idea.</p> + +<p>"What I mean is this. May I explain by a quotation? A sentence from a +certain review of the poet Coleridge's life and work is as follows: +'Devoted as he was to mystic and ideal contemplation, to abstractions +of mind and spirit, he naturally became untrustworthy in every +relation of life.'</p> + +<p>"That represents, in an exaggerated form, the ideal of the Western +mind. They are, though they would not so name themselves, gross +materialists; and the tendency is increasing on them daily and +yearly. Those who protest occasionally against current thought, who +appear like prophets with bitter invective and words of warning on +their lips, are swept away by the tide, and write of trade and +treaties, of wars of principle and convenience. The very divines are +tainted. 'Live your life to the uttermost,' they cry.</p> + +<p>"And in the Western mind the tendency once rooted gathers force from +every quarter. As a necessary concomitant of the restless habit, the +enshrining of the 'effective man' in their proudest temples, comes an +extreme deference to other people, a heated straining of the ears to +catch the murmurs of that vague uncertain heart—Public Opinion. And +why? It follows: if it is in this life alone that triumphs must be +won—if on this stage alone the drama is to be played out, and the +time is short—it is that imperious will that you must conciliate; +therefore employ every power to gain the art of so doing.</p> + +<p>"So intent are the Westerns on this drama, so wrapped up in the +actors, so anxious to declaim and strut, that they forget to what end +the play exists: they have left the spectators out for whom alone +the scenes are enacted, and who, though apparently so silent and +motionless, are the <i>raison d'être</i> of the whole performance. +The play must and will continue through the ages; but the wise, the +enlightened, beat down, and in one sharp encounter overcome, the +lower desire of being seen and applauded, and are content to sit +and watch—the nobler task.</p> + +<p>"For we must remember that it is not the drama itself, tragedy or +comedy, fascinating as it be, that we are here to watch—but the +mind of the Being that animates the whole, can be here descried and +here alone, as in a mirror faintly: it is not only the man who fumes +and paces up and down for a few moments and then is called away; but +the vast Existence behind, that knows what the play means and will +not tell us, and that pushes the players on and off as He will.</p> + +<p>"And here we find ourselves, with our tiny and uncertain space of +time bounded by the Infinities at either end, with the huge puzzle +set before us. A method has been invented, is now traditional, of +closing the eyes easily and thoughtlessly to the whole; and we are +content to catch that contagion from our predecessors: we eat and +drink, we work and play, and stifle the restless questioning that +springs up so resolutely in our spaces of solitude here; and what +will it do in the immeasurable hereafter?</p> + +<p>"When I lived in England I was for a short time the member of a +professional circle of men engaged on high educational aims. They +held, so far as any teachers can be said to hold, many futures in +their hands. We know that lives teach more than words; and how did +these men set themselves to live?</p> + +<p>"First, to perform their work with rigid accuracy: I will do them +justice—to do it <i>perfectly</i>; but granted that, as speedily as +possible: and, their work over, to amuse themselves—literally: to +play games that they enjoyed with childish keenness, and fill up all +the day with them; to read the papers; to play whist; to smoke in +the sun; to get through a certain amount of general reading for +conversational purposes, and to gossip about one another and their +doings, and talk about their work, in which, it must be confessed, +they were enthusiastically interested, only in a gossipy detailed +way, amassing incident rather than arriving at principles. There +was only one who was engaged in serious work of a kind involving +scientific research, and he forfeited much of his doctrinal and all +his social influence thereby; 'A man should stick to his work,' they +said, 'not pretend to do one thing while he is thinking about +another.'</p> + +<p>"A low ideal, faithfully carried out, is the most effective; not +because the high ideal is high, but because so few are capable of +carrying it out; and in that Western world success in aims proposed +is the highest that a man can aspire to.</p> + +<p>"And suppose we do make ourselves famous, what then? how do we use +our fame? To make life happier? It might be so, but is it? No, for +ordinary minds the strain is too strong. 'I will gain fame,' the pure +young soul said once, 'as an engine of power, that I may have a +platform where men will listen to me;' but the effort of struggling +thither has been too much, and once arrived there, what is his +object now? merely to remain there, and among the crowd of pushing +selfish figures, that have lost in the fight the very signs of their +humanity, <i>monstrari digito</i>, to have the gaze of men, to feel +somebody.</p> + +<p>"All this I throw aside, and go straight to God. All around us in +natural things—in the curve of that rose-stem and the passionate +flush of its petals—in those white bells there, looking as if blown +out of veined foam—in the luscious scents that wind and linger +round the garden, He has set, as in a language, the secrets of His +being and ours, of our why and wherefore, if we could but read them. +Like the characters and monuments of a bygone age staring from a +waste of sand or the front of a precipice, these words and phrases +seem to say, not 'There was a king who was mighty, but whose throne +is cut down,' but 'There lives a God who would be all tenderness if +He could, and is more beautiful in His nature than anything you have +ever seen or dreamed of. Win your way to Him, if you can; do not let +Him go till you have His secret. That is a talisman indeed, that +shall shut you in palaces of delight where no torment shall touch +you.'</p> + +<p>"And not a selfish paradise. We are but as others, we mystics; it is +only that we take—or rather are led, for it is no will of ours, but +an imperious voice that calls us—the straight and flowery road to +God, pressing through but one hedge of thorns, while you and others +struggle to Him along the dusty road that winds and wanders. But our +paradise would be no paradise if we did not know that our brothers +were coming, coming; the beauty that we behold, sheer ugliness if we +did not believe that you will some day share it too.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am a mystic—have joined the one brotherhood that is eternal +and all-embracing, as young as love and as old as time—the society +that no man suspects till he is close upon it, or hopes to enter till +he finds himself in a moment within the sacred pale. I would that I +could tell you with what different eyes we look on life and death, +God and nature, from this divine vantage-ground on which we stand, +and you would imperil all, run through fire and water, to win it too; +but you must find the way yourself—no man can show it you. If you +enter—and you are destined to enter this side the grave—it will +come when you are least expecting it. In the middle of those that +cry 'Lo, here is Christ and there,' He himself will touch you on the +shoulder, and show you better things than these.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I could only help you there at once—open the door! But my +words would bear other and commoner meanings in your ear; if I opened +the door, you would not see the light. Ay, and I do not wish it; for +every step outside you take is apportioned you; you need them, that +you may appreciate, when you have it, the rest within.</p> + +<p>"And now for my request. You need not answer now; you may have a year +to think of it.</p> + +<p>"You have seen my two boys. Outwardly they are alike, inwardly very +different—that you could not see.</p> + +<p>"The younger will join me soon; he is far advanced upon the way +already, though he little suspects it. I have no fears for him. God +is drawing him.</p> + +<p>"But the elder—like as he is in face, form, disposition—will need +another discipline. He must tread the winding road, the road of other +men. His trial will be a sharp one; through many paths he will have +to be taught the truth. I could hardly bear it, when I look at the +tender face, the dreamy eyes, and feel his caressing hand, thinking +of the horrors he must look upon, if I did not know that all will be +well.</p> + +<p>"Will you undertake a charge for me? I could not play a part in the +world again, even if I would. I have lost my hold on men. I do not +realize what are their hopes and fears, their ideals, and most of +all, their whims and caprices; and, what is more, I could never +appreciate them now. Ten years' isolation is enough to spoil one for +that; in ten years many social traditions and commonplaces of life +have changed. I should have to ask the reasons for many things. I +should never feel them instinctively, as those do who have grown old +along with them.</p> + +<p>"And so I can not undertake the task of guiding him in this harsh +world that he must enter. I have known, however, for some time that +it would be undertaken and accomplished for me. You have been sent to +me, later than I thought, but still sent. I have been waiting; I have +been true to my creed, and have not been impatient.</p> + +<p>"I intrust him to you as I intrust the fairest possession I have, +knowing that you will feel the responsibility. You will find him +passionately affectionate, and in danger there; quick to anger, and +in danger there; personally fascinating and beautiful, and in danger +there; and in these three things his trial will be. But he does not +resent nor brood; he is docile, apt to listen, eager to comprehend; +and he is truthful and sincere."</p> + +<p>I have given this in a continuous speech, much as Arthur told it me +a few months ago, though it was the essence of a conversation. The +quiet man, with his dreamy eyes fixed on his face, he told me, and +the fragrant Eastern garden seemed from moment to moment of the +strange adventure to swim and become vague and phantasmal; but again +the quiet air of certainty with which questions were asked and +statements made gave him a curious sense of security, and an impulse +to accept the indicated path, together with a sense of shrinking from +such a responsibility.</p> + +<p>"I do not, as I told you," said the other, "want your answer now, but +this day one year hence, August 19, 1879, I shall claim it. And I +have no doubt," he added with a smile, "of what that answer will be. +But I beg of you do not give the question a hasty consideration and +then reverse your decision. Do not attempt to decide. Let your choice +be guided by circumstances; they are the safest guide, for they are +not of our own making.</p> + +<p>"I do not suppose," he continued, "that I shall ever see you again on +earth, as you proceed with your journey to-morrow; and indeed I think +it will perhaps be as well that this should be our last conversation, +so that nothing else should interfere to blur the impression.</p> + +<p>"One last word then." He paused for a moment, and the stillness was +broken only by the faintest stir of odorous wind among the +spice-trees and a waft of distant evening noises.</p> + +<p>"You are treading a path, though you do not realize it, which it is +not given to many men to tread. You have had your first intimation of +the goal to-day, and the future will not be wanting in indications of +the same; but, as I have said, you will suddenly, when you least +expect it, step inside the circle, and everything will be changed.</p> + +<p>"To you I wish to intrust a future that I can not mould myself, to be +moulded, not for me, but for the great Master of all. You are the +chosen instrument for this. My work lies in another region, which you +will realize on that day when all things are made plain.</p> + +<p>"Only remember that your destiny is high and arduous, and that a +single false step may throw you from a precipice that has taken years +to scale once, and that must be scaled again. For you walk among the +clouds, or very near them; you are not defiled by any gross habitual +sin; your heart is pure, and you have known suffering. You are a true +novice.</p> + +<p>"In a year, as I have said, I shall claim your answer. And now +farewell for a season. When we next meet we shall have a larger +common ground; we shall be master and pupil no longer.</p> + +<p>"You shall see the boy once again, by his wish and my own. He shall +go with you to your house to-night, and travel with you the first +stage to-morrow. I have arranged for his return."</p> + +<p>He then conducted Arthur into the house, where he bade adieu to the +mistress and to the younger son; the elder, his charge that was to +be, meeting him as he came out, and accompanying him home. The boy +had formed a great attachment to him, and the idea of their future +relations sent a strange and unwonted glow into Arthur's mind, so +that he parted from him on the next day, "with wonder in his heart," +and something very like an ache too.</p> + +<p>This last episode will appear to my readers to be so fantastic as to +give the work at once a fictional character; they will say that on +some real lines I have constructed a romance of the wildest type, +and that Arthur is no longer an interesting personality, because as +a rule he is too ordinary to be ideal, in the last two chapters too +illusory to be real.</p> + +<p>All I can urge is this: the chapters shall be their own defence. If I +had wished to present my readers with nothing but a dry chronicle of +facts I should have toned this down to something more prosaic. But +every one who has had any experience of life will know that her +surprises are sometimes very bewildering; that fiction is nothing but +uncommon experience made ordinary, or heaped inartistically upon a +single character.</p> + +<p>It may be said that the man was mentally affected, in the latter +scene; in the former, that Arthur himself was the victim of a mental +disorder; but he left such vivid and detailed descriptions of both +events that I have been enabled to give one (the letter) exactly +as it stands, and the interview in Teheran is taken directly from +diaries—a little amplified and reconstructed, it is true, but only +when interpreted by the light of later events.</p> + +<p>And this must be always the task of the true biographer; for the +biographer has to take a life <i>en masse</i>, and disentangling the +predominant and central threads, cast the rest away; in this process +rejecting facts and incidents whose isolated interest is often +greater than the interest of what he retains, because it is on the +latter that the pearls of life are, so to speak, strung.</p> + +<p>In this case the two incidents I have kept are both so pregnant of +influence upon his later life, so necessary to the logical +development of his principles, that, in spite of their romantic, not +to say wild, character, I have retained them.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<p>About the middle of February, 1879, I was sitting at work in my +lodgings in Newman Street, when I was interrupted by the advent of my +landlady, to inform me that there was a gentleman below who wished to +see me. I told her to show him up, and she returned in a moment, +ushering in, to my extreme surprise, Arthur Hamilton. I confess I +hardly knew him at first. He had grown a beard, and looked thinner +and graver than he used to do. He had the same slow, almost stately +movement, with a slight and not ungraceful suggestion of languor; +his manner was somewhat changed, and very much improved; and he had +contracted, from living so long with strangers, a delightfully frank +and free way of speaking. He never gave me, as he used to, the least +feeling of constraint; he always seemed perfectly at his ease. And +he had acquired, too, the art of asking unobtrusive questions of a +tentative kind, so as to feel out the interests of his companion, +and draw him out; not in that professional way which so-called +influential people often acquire—the melancholy confidential smile, +the intimate manner, and the air of bland inattention with which they +receive your remarks, only to be detected in the fixed or wandering +eye. He had learnt the art of being interested in other people, and +in what they had to say, and of indicating by a subtle tact in speech +that he was following them, and intelligently sympathizing with them.</p> + +<p>He did not then tell me much about himself. He confessed that the +most rapturous feeling he had known since he set off on his travels, +was the hour or two as he whirled through the flat pasture-lands and +the pleasant green of Kent.</p> + +<p>He gave me no detailed descriptions of adventures, but hinted in a +suggestive way that he had seen much, and thought more. "I think I +have learnt myself very fairly," was the only remark he made about +his own personal experience.</p> + +<p>"To finish my tour," he said, "I want to see something of my native +land. I have been away so long, that I don't know where to begin, and +I want you to help me. I want to be introduced to a few Christian +households, that I may see the kind of people that our Western +friends are."</p> + +<p>I had an uncle, a Mr. Raymond, who had made a fortune in business, +lived in a fine house in Lancaster Gate, and saw a good deal of +fairly interesting and cultivated people. I took him to dine there +once or twice, and he needed nothing else. He had a real genius +for <i>tête-à-tête</i> conversation; that is, he could listen without +appearing only to listen. He made people feel at their best with +him. My aunt's criticism of him was highly characteristic of the +British matron and her choice of friends.</p> + +<p>"I thoroughly approve, Harry," she said to me, "of your friend, Mr. +Hamilton. He is very well-informed and clever, and he doesn't allow +it to make him in the least disagreeable." And starting from this, he +was asked to dinner by, and invited to visit, a fair selection of +pleasant people.</p> + +<p>Of the events which immediately succeeded his return to England I +can not, for two reasons, give a very detailed account. In the first +place, dealing as they do with living people, I have thought it +better, after consultation with the friends of both, to leave the +outlines of the story rather vague; and secondly, there are great +gaps and deficiencies in diaries and letters, which, though I believe +I can supply, knowing what I do of the circumstances, I hardly like +to fill in in a narrative of fact.</p> + +<p>He took a dose, as I have already said, of the London season. "Those +six weeks," he said, "absolutely knocked me up; my friends told me, +among other things, that my physiognomy, being of a grave and gloomy +cast, was of a kind that was not suitable to a festive occasion; and +so I used to come home at night with my jaws positively aching with +the effort of a perpetually fatuous grin."</p> + +<p>The following extract, which I have selected from one of his letters +of this period, will give a good picture of his mind:</p> + +<p>"I think that two of the things that move me most, not to sadness nor +indignation, but to those vague tumultuous feelings for which we +have, I think, no name, but which were formerly called melancholy, +are these:</p> + +<p>"To come up-stairs after a hot London banquet, where you have been +sitting, talking the poorest trash, between two empty, worldly women; +and then, perhaps, listening to stories that are dull, or worse, and +see dullness personified in every one of the twelve faces that stare +at you with such sodden respectability through the cigarette smoke; +and then, I say, to come up-stairs, and see moving about among the +knowing selfish people a child with hair like gold thread, and +something of the regretful innocence of heaven in her eyes and +motions. If you can get her to talk to you, so much the better for +you; but if you or she are shy, as generally happens, to watch her +is something. God knows the insidious process by which she will be +transformed, step by step, into one of those godless fine ladies; for +it makes me inclined to pray that anything may happen to her first +that may hinder that development.</p> + +<p>"The other thing is, under the same circumstances, to sit down and +hear some rippling melody of Bach's, a tender gavotte or a delicate +rapid fugue, just as it stole on to the paper in that quaint German +garden with the clipped yew-hedges and the tall summer-house in the +corner, in the master's pointed handwriting, calling down by his +magic wand the spirits of the air to aid him in the perfecting of the +exquisite phrase that some Ariel had whispered to him as he walked or +sat.</p> + +<p>"To hear that little rill of Paradise breaking out in the glaring +room, not echoed or reflected in the rows of listless faces, gives me +a strange turn. It sweeps away for a minute or two, as it goes and +comes and returns upon itself until its sweet course is run, all the +hard and stifling web of convention and opinion that closes us in; it +takes me back for a moment to old-world fancies, till I seem to feel, +as I am always longing to feel, that we are separated only by a very +little flimsy hedge from the secrets of the beautiful, from the +shadow-land which is so real; and that every now and then a breeze +breaks and stirs across, with something of the fragrance of the place +in its wandering air."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>He used to come to me in my rooms in Newman Street, on his way back +from an evening party or a ball, to smoke a cigar, and it was very +interesting to watch his growing disgust for the life, and the +grotesque and humorous ways in which he expressed it.</p> + +<p>"Do I feel flat?" he used to say—"it isn't the word—bored to death. +Why, my dear Chris, if you'd heard the conversation of the lady next +me to-night, you'd have thought that the premier said, every morning +when his shaving-water was brought him, 'Another day! Whose happiness +can I mar? Whose ruin can I effect? What villainy can I execute +to-day?'"</p> + +<p>One night, at dinner, he happened to sit next a young lady in whom +the fashionable world were a good deal interested.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to give a fair sketch of her character; she was what +would now be called unconventional, and was then called fast.</p> + +<p>She openly avowed her preference for men's society as compared to +female—women, as a rule, did not like her—she used to receive calls +from her own men friends in her own room whenever she liked, and it +was considered rather "compromising" to know her.</p> + +<p>She was perfectly reckless about what she said and did. I questioned +Arthur about her conversation, for she was accused of telling +improper stories. "I have often," he said, "heard her allude to +things and tell stories that would be considered unusual, even +indelicate. But I never heard her say a thing in which there could +be any conceivable 'taint,' in which the point consisted in the +violation of the decent sense. The 'doubtful' element was rare and +always incidental."</p> + +<p>Arthur told me a delightful story about her. Her father was a testy +old country gentleman, very irritable and obstinate.</p> + +<p>It happened that an Eton boy was staying in the house, of the +blundering lumpish type; he had had more than his share of luck in +breaking windows and articles of furniture. One morning Mr. B——, +finding his study window broken, declared in a paroxysm of rage that +the next thing he broke the boy should go.</p> + +<p>That same afternoon, it happened he was playing at small cricket with +Maud, and made a sharp cut into the great greenhouse. There was a +crash of glass, followed by Maud's ringing laugh.</p> + +<p>They stopped their game, and went to discuss the position of events. +As they stood there, Mr. B——'s garden door, just round the corner, +was heard to open and slam, and craunch, craunch, came his stately +pace upon the gravel.</p> + +<p>They stared with a humorous horror at one another. In an instant, +Maud caught up a lawn-tennis racquet that was near, and smashed the +next pane to atoms. Mr. B—— quickened his pace, hearing the crash, +and came round the corner with his most judicial and infuriated air, +rather hoping to pack the culprit out of the place, only to be met +by his favourite daughter. "Papa, I'm so sorry, I've broken the +greenhouse with my racquet. May I send for Smith? I'll pay him out of +my own money."</p> + +<p>The Eton boy adored her from that day forth; and so did other people +for similar reasons.</p> + +<p>I, personally, always rather wondered that Arthur was ever attracted +by Miss B——, for he was very fastidious, and the least suggestion +of aiming at effect or vulgarity, or hankering after notoriety, would +infallibly have disgusted him. But this was the reason.</p> + +<p>She was never vulgar, never self-conscious. She acted on each +occasion on impulse, never calculating effects, never with reference +to other people's opinions.</p> + +<p>A gentleman once said, remonstrating with her for driving alone with +a Cambridge undergraduate in his dog-cart down to Richmond after a +ball, "People are beginning to talk about you."</p> + +<p>"What fools they must be!" said Miss B——, and showed not the +slightest inclination to hear more of the matter.</p> + +<p>There is no question, I think, that Arthur's grave and humorous ways +attracted her. He, when at his best, was a racy and paradoxical +talker—with that natural tinge of veiled melancholy or cynicism +half-suspected which is so fascinating, as seeming to imply a +"<i>past</i>," a history. He ventured to speak to her more than once +about her tendency to "drift." He told me of one conversation in +particular.</p> + +<p>"I think you have too many friends," he said to her once, at the +conclusion of an evening party at her own house. They were sitting in +a balcony looking out on to the square, where the trees were stirring +in the light morning wind.</p> + +<p>"That's curious," she said. "I never feel as if I had enough; I have +room enough in my heart for the whole world." And she spread out her +hands to the great city with all her lights glaring before them. +"God knows I love you all, though I don't know you," she said with a +sudden impulse.</p> + +<p>They were silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>Then she resumed: "Tell me why you said that," she said. "I like to +be told the truth."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> may feel large enough," he said, "but they don't appreciate +your capacity; they feel hurt and slighted. Why, only to-night, during +the ten minutes I was talking to you, you spoke and dismissed eight +people, every one of whom was jealous of me, and thinking 'Who's the +new man?' And I began to wonder how I should feel if I came here and +found a new man installed by you, and got a handshake and a smile."</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you?" she said, looking at him. "I should give you a +look which would mean, 'I would give anything to have a quiet talk to +you, Mr. Hamilton, but the exigencies of society oblige me to be +civil to this person.'"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "and that's just what I complain of; it gives me, the +new man to-night, a feeling of insecurity—that perhaps you are just +'carrying on' with me because it is your whim, and that the instant +I bore you, you will throw me away like a broken toy, and with even +less regret."</p> + +<p>"How dare you speak like that to me?" she said, turning upon him +almost fiercely. "I never forget people." And she rose and went +quickly into the room, and didn't speak to him for the rest of the +evening.</p> + +<p>But just as he was going out he passed her, and hardly looked at her, +thinking he had offended her; but she came and put out her hand +quickly, and said, almost pathetically—</p> + +<p>"You must forgive me for my behaviour to-night, Mr. Hamilton. What +you said was not true, but you meant it to be true; you believed it. +And please don't stop talking to me openly. I value it very much. +I have so few people to tell me the truth."</p> + +<p>I find this conversation narrated in his diary, almost word for word +as I have given it. But there is omitted from it, necessarily +perhaps, the most pregnant comment of all.</p> + +<p>"And yet," he said to me once, as he turned to leave the room after +commenting upon their freedom of speech with one another, "I am not +in love with her, though I can't think why I am not."</p> + +<p>The sequel must be soon told. Miss B—— suddenly accepted a +gentleman who was in every way a suitable <i>parti</i>: heir to a peerage, +of fairly high character.</p> + +<p>But to return to Arthur. I can not do better than quote a few +sentences of a letter he wrote to me on the event. It conceals—as he +was wont to do—strong feeling under the bantering tone.</p> + +<p>"As you are in possession of most of my moral and mental diagnoses, +I had better communicate to you a new and disturbing element. You +remember what I said to you about Miss B——, that I did not care for +her. A fancied immunity is often a premonitory symptom of disease: +the system is excited into an instantaneous glow by the first contact +of the poisonous seed.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, at present, quite how things are with me. I labour +under a great oppression of spirit. I have a strange thirsty longing +to see her face and hear her speech. If I could only hear from +herself that she had done what her best self—of which we have +often spoken—ratifies, I should feel more content. But she trusts +her impulses too much; and the habit of loving all she loves with +passion, blinds her a little. A woman who loves her sister, her pets, +the very sunshine and air with passion, hardly knows what a lover +is. I can not help feeling that I might have shown her a little +better than J——. Still one must accept facts and interpret them, +especially in cases where one has not even been allowed to try and +fail; for I never spoke to her a word of love. Ah, well! perhaps I +shall be stronger soon."</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<h4>Arthur Hamilton as an author</h4> + +<p>I must give a chapter to this subject, because it entered very +largely into Arthur's life, although he was singularly unsuccessful +as an author, considering the high level of his mental powers.</p> + +<p>He lacked somehow, not exactly the gift of expression—his letters +testify to that—but the gift of proportion and combination.</p> + +<p>His essays are disjointed—discursive and eloquent in parts, and bare +and meagre in others. Connections are omitted, passages of real and +rare beauty jostling with long passages of the most common-place +rhetoric. His platitudes, however, to myself who knew him, have a +genuine ring about them; he never admitted a truism into his writing +till it had become his own by vivid realization. As he himself says:</p> + +<p>"I always find a peculiar interest in the solemn enunciation of a +platitude by a dull person who does not naturally aim at effect. +You feel sure it is the condensation of life and experience. Such +an utterance often brings a platitude home to me as no amount of +rhetorical writing can."</p> + +<p>Still, the reading public will not stand this, and Arthur never found +a market.</p> + +<p>He wrote voluminously.</p> + +<p>I have in my bureau several pigeon-holes crammed with manuscripts in +his curious sprawling hand. He wrote, when he was in the mood, very +quickly, with hardly an erasure. Among them is:</p> + +<p>1. A collection of poems (128 in all).</p> + +<p>2. A complete novel, called "The Unencumbered Man."</p> + +<p>3. Three incomplete novels, called "Physiognomy," "Helena," +"From Hall to Hall."</p> + +<p>4. Essays on historical and literary subjects, such as "Coleridge," +"Bunyan," "The Earl of Surrey," "Lucian," etc. These, as far as I can +make out, are very poor.</p> + +<p>5. A collection of semi-mystical writings and short stories. There is +a great fertility of imagination about these, and they are composed +in a very finished style. It is not improbable that I shall re-edit +these, as they seem to me to be distinctly first-rate work. I give a +short specimen of his mystical writing—a style of which he was very +fond. It is called:</p> + +<h4 class="essaytitle">"The Great Assize.</h4> + +<p>"Now, it came to pass that on a certain day the Gods were weary. Odin +sat upon his throne, and rested his chin upon his hand. And Thor came +in, and threw his hammer upon the earth, and said, 'I am weary of +walking up and down in the earth, of smiting and slaying; and I know +not how to bind or heal up, and I am too old to learn.' And Freya +said, 'I am weary of Valhalla and the birds and trees, the perpetual +sunshine and the feasts and laughter.' So also said all the Gods.</p> + +<p>"And Odin, when the clamour was stilled, rose from his throne, and +spoke. He told them of an ancient law of the Gods, so ancient that it +seemed dim even to himself, that when the Gods should be heavy and be +sad at heart, they should appoint a judgment for men, should open +the everlasting records, and call the world to the assize; and Loki +should be the accuser, and Night and Day the witnesses, and Odin +should deliver sentence, with the Gods for assessors.</p> + +<p>"So Thor stepped out upon the bar of heaven, and blew the steel +trumpet that is chained to the door-post of the hall.</p> + +<p>"Shrill and angry came the sound of the great horn over earth, her +woods and valleys; and terrible was the sound of wailing and +lamentation. They prayed to the mountains to fall upon them, and the +sea to swallow them up; for they said, 'The secrets of the heart must +now be spoken. The Lord and our brethren will hear them. And who can +bear the shame? Oh, that we had not turned away!'</p> + +<p>"But the winds of the earth, and the voices of the morning, and the +waves of the moaning sea drove them shrieking into the judgment hall, +and Loki began his accusation.</p> + +<p>"And so foul a tale it was, that the men and women folk prayed and +cried no longer, but sank down in dull silence for fear. And the +stars that listened overhead shrank out of the sky, and the sea +stilled his waves to hear, and the very Gods turned pale and red +where they sat, to think that vileness and oppression had thriven so +upon the earth, and that deeds of shame had fallen so thick, and that +they had in no wise hindered it, but rather increased the sum of sin.</p> + +<p>"At last the words of Loki were over, and left a burning silence in +the hall; and the sun and moon bowed their heads in witness, and +Night and Day said 'Yea,' and 'Truth, he has told truth.'</p> + +<p>"Then there was a silence, and all looked at Odin as he sat, sunk +down and silent, in his chair, staring at the shrinking crowd with +eyes of shame, and majesty, and anger.</p> + +<p>"And at the last he rose, and he was clad in grey mists from head to +foot, with a cloud of gleaming gold upon his head, like the sunlight +on white cliffs seen over the sea through the haze of a summer +morning.</p> + +<p>"But ere he opened his lips to speak, one who sat among the folk +arose and came up the hall, walking strongly and briskly like a king, +and looking about him with a resolute and cheerful face to left and +right.</p> + +<p>"And all held their breath to see him pass, wondering what this thing +might be.</p> + +<p>"But the man, when he had reached the middle of the hall, cried with +a loud voice, 'Hold.'</p> + +<p>"And Odin's face gleamed white with rage through the fringes of the +mist, and he said between his teeth, 'Who art thou?'</p> + +<p>"And at his voice Freya started and blanched, and wrapped herself in +her robe.</p> + +<p>"And the man said, in a clear loud voice, not defiant, but with a +certain royalty about it—</p> + +<p>"'Lord Odin, I am he of whom thou spokest but now; he of whom the +ancient oracles have spoken, whom thou knowest, and yet knowest not.'</p> + +<p>"And Odin said, 'I know thee not; stand aside therefore, that I may +judge thee and thy fellows.'</p> + +<p>"And there was a hideous silence for a moment while you might count a +score, and the twain stared upon each other.</p> + +<p>"Then the man said, in the same voice that shook not nor quivered, +'When the Gods shall sit in order to judge the earth, then shall one +come out of the midst of created things, through the earth, and +walking upon it; and at his coming the pillars of Valhalla shall be +snapped, and the everlasting halls shall fall.' And he added other +words, which the Gods knew, but not the men or women folk. And when +he ceased speaking there blew as it were a whirlwind out of Valhalla, +and the high Gods passed away, as it were in skeins and fringes of +hanging mist. Then there were lightnings and thunders, and the earth +shook; and terrible voices were heard in heaven, passing to and fro. +And one said, 'Hence, ye that corrupt justice;' and another said, +'The brood of the eagle is come home to roost;' and another, 'The +roof is down.' And then there were yells and groans; and among +mankind there was weeping and laughter, many smiles and tears, and +they cried to the stranger, 'Judge us, thou king of Gods and men.' +But he, turning, said, 'Nay, but ye are judged already.' Then was +there peace on earth."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>There are, besides these, several unfinished studies, and two or +three note-books full of jotted conversations and thoughts of all +kinds—a curious mixture.</p> + +<p>He carefully left all the publishers' letters which he received in +answer to his application. They are twenty-two in number, and are all +refusals. They are tied carefully up, and are labeled, "My Literary +Career."</p> + +<p>All these compositions are the work of about seven years, except some +of the poems which were written at Cambridge. The novel was begun and +finished in about six weeks, in 1878. It is a poor plot, and mawkish +in character, though not without merits of style.</p> + +<p>During all this time his interest in writing never flagged. He felt +that he had one or two ideas, on which he had a firm grasp, to +communicate to the world, and he worked at them incessantly in new +and ever-varying forms.</p> + +<p>The issue would seem to show that he was not destined to communicate +them directly to others—at least, in his own lifetime; and, indeed, +no one was quicker at interpreting events than himself. He gave the +enterprise a long and severe trial, but the resolute front with which +he was met, showed him clearly that it was not to be. It may be that +the record of his life, little as he ever imagined it would come +before the world, may effect a part of what he himself prepared to +do.</p> + +<p>Occasionally, for he was of quick sensibilities, throughout this +period he felt the bitterness of constant rebuff. The following +letter he wrote me shows it:</p> + +<p>"I am beginning to feel as if publishers had a code of signals or +private marks like freemasonry, which they scribble sometimes, like +the concealed marks on bank-notes, on the first page of a manuscript, +so as to spare their brother publishers the trouble of looking +through a manuscript which is below market value. I have never had a +manuscript accepted which has been once refused; and I now eagerly +scan the first page, to see if I can discover a wriggling mark in the +margin or among the lines which is to tell Smith and Co. that Brown +and Son has a very poor opinion of the book now under his +consideration."</p> + +<p>And again, quite as forcible is a little anecdote with which he +begins an unfinished paper on "Genius." The story is, I now believe, +his own; though, at the time, I fancied it was adopted:</p> + +<p>"There was once a king who sat to listen to the sermon of a great +preacher. From minute to minute the great words flowed on, consoling, +wounding, helping, condemning, dividing the marrow from the bones; +and the king wept and smiled.</p> + +<p>"And at the end he sent for the preacher, and said, 'Sir, Christ is +the only king; yet let me look at the book from which you made your +discourse. The written words, though half despoiled of their grace, +may perhaps strike an echo in my soul, which rings yet.'</p> + +<p>"And for some time the preacher was unwilling, and parleyed with the +king; but at the last he drew out a little pale book with faded +characters traced in ink; and he opened it at a well-worn page, and +held it out before the king.</p> + +<p>"And the king looked, and saw nothing except the crabbed printed +lines.</p> + +<p>"So he said, 'Not your text-book, sir, but the book from which your +arguments are rehearsed.'</p> + +<p>"'Sire,' said the preacher, 'look but once more upon the book.' And +he showed him that four of the words upon the page had a thin line +drawn in ink below them. 'That was the writing of my discourse,' he +said."</p> + +<p>Neither, it must be remembered, was Arthur a first-rate +conversationalist. He did not steer a conversation; he could keep +the ball going creditably when it was once started; but he never +communicated to the circle in which he was that indefinable interest +which is so intangible and yet so unmistakable.</p> + +<p>The two points that I spoke of that he is always trying to work out +in his books are:</p> + +<p>(1) the strength of temperament, and the difficulty, almost +impossibility, of altering it. "The most we can do is to register +change," are the first words of his novel. In this book, the +situation of which is not a very unusual one, the hero falls in love +with one of two sisters, of rare personal beauty and attractiveness, +but no particular intellect. He soon wearies of her, being of +that fantastic, weak, discontented spirit which Arthur invariably +portrayed in his heroes—drawing it I can not conceive whence—and +then falls in love with the other, as he ought to have done all +along, being, as she is, fully his match in intellect, and far above +him in heart and strength of character. The wife at the crisis of +this other love, is killed in a street accident, and remorse ensues. +But the book is a weary one; it bears upon its face the burden of +sorrow. "How could this have been otherwise?" is the keynote of the +story.</p> + +<p>Along with this, and indeed as a development of this central +principle, is the tendency to treat and write of "sin" so called, +wrong-doing, failure of ideal, as variations of spiritual health, as +diseases, the ravages of which it is possible for the skilful hand +to palliate, but not to cure; to think of and treat sin as a hideous +contagion, which has power for a season, perhaps inherently, to drag +souls within its grasp, involve and overwhelm them; and consequently +to regard the sinner with the deepest sympathy and pity, but with +hardly any anger: in fact, I have known him very seriously offend the +company he has been in, I have even heard him stigmatized as of loose +principles, from his readiness, even anxiety, to condone a sensual +offence in a man of high intellect and brilliant gifts.</p> + +<p>"He went wrong," he said very sternly, "through having too much +passion; and that we can judge him, proves that we have not enough. +Well, we shall both of us have to become different: he to be brought +down to the harmonious mean, we to be screwed up to it. It is easy to +see which will be the most painful process: as soon as <i>he</i> gets an +idea of whither he is being led, how thankful he will be for every +pang that teaches him restraint, and purifies; while we—we shall +suffer blind wrench after wrench, <i>stung</i> into feeling at any cost, and +not till we painfully overtop the barrier shall we guess whither we +are going."</p> + +<p>I do not mean from this that he thought lightly of sin—far from +it. I have seen him give all the physical signs of shrinking and +repulsion, at the mention or sight of it. He loathed it with all the +agonized disgust of a high, pure, fastidious nature. Its phenomena +were without the lurid interest for him which it often possesses even +for the sternest moralist.</p> + +<p>This loathing had its physical antitype in his horror of the sight or +description of bodily disease. I have seen him several times go off +into a dead faint at even the bare description of bodily suffering. I +went with him once, at his own request, to a seaman's hospital, where +there was a poor fellow who had fallen from a mast and been terribly +smashed. His legs had both been amputated, and he lay looking +terribly white and emaciated with a cradle over the stumps.</p> + +<p>He gave us, with great eagerness, an account of the accident, as +people in the lower classes always will. In the middle, Arthur +stepped suddenly to the door and went out. I was not aware at the +time of this failing of his, and the move was executed with such +deliberate directness that I thought he must have forgotten +something. When I went out to the open air I found Arthur, deadly +pale, sitting on the grassy paving-stones of the little yard. He +insisted, as soon as he was restored, in going in to wish good-bye +to the man, which he accomplished with great difficulty.</p> + +<p>But I have already digressed too far, and must return to the main +issue.</p> + +<p>I am not aware that he ever attempted any theoretical explanation of +the intrusion of sin and disorder into the world. He certainly +regarded them as emanating practically, in some way that he did not +comprehend, from God.</p> + +<p>"I can not for a moment believe that these apparent disorders, +physical suffering, and the deeper diseases of the will are the +manifestation of some inimical power, and not under God's direct +control. I have had so much experience of even the immediate blessing +of suffering, that I am content to take the rest on trust. If I +thought there was some ghastly enemy at work all the time, I should +go mad. The power displayed is so calm, so far-reaching, and so +divine, that I should feel that even if some of us were finally +emancipated from it by the working of some superior power, the +contest would be so long and terrible and the issues so dire, that +the limited human mind could not possibly contemplate it, that hope +would be practically eliminated by despair."</p> + +<p>In the same connection, he wrote a letter to a friend whose wild and +wayward life had injured his health, and wrote in the greatest agony +of mind:</p> + +<p>"Words are such wretched things, my dear friend, in crises like this. +I can only beg of you, with all my heart, to resolutely set your face +against thinking what might have been. Try to feel, I will not say +happy, but stronger in the thought that your punishment is atoning +for your past every hour. Throw remorse and fear down, if you can; +they are only keeping you from God. Many, too many souls are in a far +worse case. Some have more to reproach themselves with. On some it +has come with what appears to be fearful injustice. Accept your +present condition; brace yourself to bear it. I know how much can be +borne. Give your sufferings to God nobly. Your patience is none the +less noble because you have brought this on yourself; nay, it makes +it even nobler....</p> + +<p>"Don't say that many worse sinners go unpunished. How can you tell? +How do you know they are not suffering? There are only, I suppose, +two men in the world, besides yourself, who know that you are +suffering now, and why. God visited me with suffering once; He has +brought me through, and I have never ceased to thank Him for it; and +He will bring you through, too, dear friend, I know. 'Pro jucundis +aptissima quæque dabunt di; carior est illis homo quam sibi.' +That thought has left me patient, if not glad, in many a bitter +hour.... You are never out of my thoughts."</p> + +<p>And this letter leads me naturally to the second great principle that +pervaded all his writings—"the education of individuals."</p> + +<p>"One is inclined to believe that there is a great deal of hopeless +irremediable suffering in the world—suffering of a kind that seems +wantonly inflicted, purposeless anguish.... That 'regret must hurt +and may not heal' is a terrible thought, which, when we get our first +glimpse of human anguish, seems almost sickeningly true. But I have +seen a great deal lately of such suffering, and it amazes me to +discover how <i>extraordinarily</i> rare it is to find the victim taking +this view of his case. Either it seems to be a due reward for past +action—that 'invita religio' which wells up in the blackest heart, +or the sufferer gains a kind of onlook into sweet plains beyond, into +which the troubled passage is taking him, and which can only thus be +reached....</p> + +<p>"Of animal suffering, unconscious tortures, it is harder to speak—of +the innocent, for so they are, victims of lust and brutality in +Babylon here, whose sense of suffering is almost gone, and is +succeeded by nothing but the desire for rest; all this seems so +meaningless, so futile....</p> + +<p>"It is one of the problems I take up and let drop—take up and let +drop a thousand times; but all sacrifice seems essentially good, and +I do not throw the enigma aside in anger; I will wait for it to be +explained to me.</p> + +<p>"Ah, death, death, if we are enlightened enough by that time, what a +storehouse of secrets, dear secrets you will have to tell us! I +thrill all through, in moments like these, to think of it."</p> + +<p>"Of course," he said to me once, "there are times when we can only +wait and hope; changing our posture, like a sick man, from time to +time, to win a little ease; but when we reach a fresh standpoint, a +fresh basis—which, thank God, one does from month to month—we are +inclined to say with Albert Dürer, 'It could not be better +done.'"</p> + +<p>He was very fond of the doctrine of Special Providences.</p> + +<p>"Every now and then I have—I suppose it is common—what may be +called a run of luck in ordinary things; I get out of scrapes in a +way I don't deserve; I find letters I have mislaid; annoyances are +mysteriously shunted aside; money flows in; days of extraordinary +happiness succeed one another; little events save vast complications +of trouble, so that I long to turn round and grasp by the hand +or kiss the cheek of the sweet friend who stands at my elbow, +suggesting, ordering, providing day and night, smiling on me as +I sleep, hovering around me as I work, without a word of praise. +Guardian angels! no fable. God gives you a sudden and particular +thought, and while you are independent of circumstances you master +them as well."</p> + +<p>But such portraiture as the above is apt to get very vague and +insipid unless one is able to convey a vivid picture of the man as he +walked, and spoke, and lived. The <i>sic sedebat</i> in Trinity College +(Cambridge) chapel has given more people a thrill at the thought of +Bacon than ever gained one from his books. Personality, personal +characteristics, how one craves for them! To take a late instance, +how far more impressive General Gordon's little cane is, which he +twirled in his hand as he stormed redoubts and directed an action, +than a thousand pages of rhetoric about his philosophy or his views +of life.</p> + +<p>He was now, as ever, for strangers meeting him for the first time, an +impressive but rather disappointing man. He had shaved his beard, +keeping only his usual moustache; his face was very spare, with a +pallor that was not unhealthy. His hair, which was dark and lay in +masses, he wore generally rather long. He had got into the way, when +without his glasses, of half closing his eyes, because, as he said, +it did him so little good to keep them open, as it only served to +remind him of people's presence without giving him any more definite +idea of them. He could not, for instance, unassisted, see the play of +features on a face, and, for this reason, in all important interviews +he wore his glasses, giving three reasons.</p> + +<p>1. Utilitarian—that he could see by his opponent's face what he was +driving at, and what effect his own remarks had on him.</p> + +<p>2. Impressional—it gave a man an "adventitious consequence."</p> + +<p>3. Precautional—"I show emotion quickest by the eye, and so, +generally speaking, do most people; some change colour very quick; +some reveal it in the mouth; but the sudden dilatation and +contraction of the eye, the expression it is capable of, make it on +the whole the safest guide.</p> + +<p>"I trust the eye on the whole," he said; "guilelessness and an +unstained conscience are not really manifested either in feature or +deportment, but the eye will almost always tell you true."</p> + +<p>His conversation, when he was in form, was, without exactly being +very brilliant, very inspiring. He had great freshness of expression, +and told very few stories, and those only in illustration, never on +their own merits. He was very μνημονικός, or retentive—the +first requisite, says Plato, of a philosopher—and was consequently +well supplied with quotations and allusions, not slavishly repeated, +but worked naturally in. I do not mean that he passed for a good +talker by skilful plagiarizing, but I found that the wider my range +of reading became the more I appreciated his talk—drawn, as it was, +from all kinds of sources, and bringing with it that aroma of a +far-reaching mind, the <i>fascination</i> that culture can bestow, the +feeling that, after all, everything is interesting, and that no +knowledge is unworthy of the attention of the philosopher.</p> + +<p>He hardly ever discussed current politics, though he would argue on +political principles with the greatest keenness: neither had he +accurate historical knowledge, or antiquarian; but he enjoyed +listening to such talk. For the principles, the poetic aspect, of +science he had a devoted interest. In literary matters I seldom heard +his equal. Many and many is the book which I have been induced to +read solely by hearing him sketch the purport in little sentences of +extraordinary felicity. "The birth and fatal effects of Impulse in a +prosaic soul," was a sketch he gave of a celebrated novel. On one +subject he was always dumb—Economics. "It is the one subject on +which I have never hazarded a remark successfully," he said to me +once. "I can never appreciate the value of an economic statement; +I hardly know whether it is interesting."</p> + +<p>As he never talked for talking's sake, he was always ready to give +his whole attention to the person he was talking to, or none at all; +and consequently he never had a middle reputation—some praising +his courtesy, as an old lady with whose querulous complaints about +ingratitude and rheumatism he had borne and sympathized; others, his +abrupt atrocious manner—"Turned his back on me with a scowl, and +didn't say another word," as a sporting fast married lady said to me, +who had attempted to tell him an improper story. "I didn't mean to +offend him; young men generally like it. I hate a young man to be a +prude and a Puritan. Why, he isn't even going into the church, I +understand!"</p> + +<p>One of his colleagues in the school where he was a master, told me +that Arthur had once given him a most delicate and pointed rebuke on +the practice into which he had fallen, of appealing to a boy's home +feelings before the class.</p> + +<p>"Some things ought to be said to people when they are alone; besides, +we must not <i>seethe the kid in his mother's milk</i>."</p> + +<p>The same man told me that he heard him give a little address to the +boys in his class, on the two main virtues of a schoolboy—purity and +honesty—on the words, "And they said, Lord, behold, here are two +swords; and he said unto them, It is enough."</p> + +<p>Those are the only two anecdotes I have heard of his professional +life, both illustrating that extraordinary gift of apt quotation and +seeing unexpected connections, which, to my mind, is as adequate an +external symbol of genius as can be found, though sometimes illusory.</p> + +<p>He took the greatest delight in the society of children. He writes—</p> + +<p>"What wonderful lines those are of Tennyson's"—they had just come +out,—"'Who pleased her with a babbling heedlessness Which often +lured her from herself!' There is nothing more absolutely refreshing +when one is overdone or anxious, or oppressed by the vague anxieties +of the world, than the conversation and the society of children, +the unconscious ignoring of all grave possibilities, yet often +accompanied by that curious tact which divines that all is not +well with their older friend, and prompts them to employ all their +resources to beguile it. I have been thanked by worldly mothers, in +country houses, with something like a touch of nature, for being so +good to their boys—'I am so afraid they must have been troublesome +to you,'—when they have not only saved me from vapid hard gabble and +slanderous gossip, but let in a little breath of paradise as well. +I often accept an invitation with reference to the children I shall +see. 'To meet Lord and Lady D——, and Mrs. G——, such an amusing +woman—tells <i>such</i> stories, they make you <i>scream!</i>' the invitation +runs; and I accept it, to see Johnny and Charlie, to play at Red +Indians in the wilderness, and to dig up the tin box of date-stones +and cartridge-cases that we buried in the bed of the stream."</p> + +<p>If I seem to have given rather a priggish picture of Arthur, it is a +totally erroneous one. He was far too casual and too retiring to be +that; he had no appearance of self-importance, though an invincible +reserve of self-respect. The prig wears chain armor outside, and +runs at you with his lance when he catches a glimpse of you. Arthur +wore his chain armor under his shirt, and it was not till you closed +with him that you felt how sharp his dagger was.</p> + +<p>I give a perfectly disinterested sketch of him, which a lady, who met +him several times, wrote out at my request. It is hard for me to help +speaking from inside knowledge.</p> + +<div class="salutation">"Dear Mr. Carr,</div> + +<p>"You ask me to give you my impression of Mr. Hamilton, in writing. +What your motive is I can't conceive, as he was not a person I took +much interest in, though I know that some people do. Unless, perhaps, +you mean to put him into a book.</p> + +<p>"I met him at a country house in Shropshire. He came down rather late +for breakfast, and when he was asked how he was, he quoted something +about 'being apt to be rather fatigued with his night's rest.' I +remember it very clearly, because it struck me as being so pointless +at the time. He went out shooting most of the day, and I think, +as far as I can remember, he was a good shot. He smoked a fearful +amount, 'all the time,' in fact; they were always attacking him for +that. When he came in he used to have some tea in the nursery. We +found that out the last day—the children were sent for, and Mr. +Hamilton came down with them, looking rather sheepish, and saying +that he had tried sitting on at one side of the table, with the +nursery maid at the other, after the children had gone, but that +it didn't do. I remember we were very much amused at the idea; +the picture was such a ridiculous one.</p> + +<p>"The children certainly seemed to like him extraordinarily—they +would talk to no one else: and I can't think why, because children +are so impressionable, and he had quite the gravest face I ever +saw—almost forbidding. However, so it was.</p> + +<p>"He used to disappear to his room, to read and write, before dinner. +At dinner he was often very good fun. I have heard him tell some very +funny stories, not very racy perhaps, but amusing; and these, coming +from that grave face, were very ridiculous. He always made friends +with the younger ladies. He never seemed to flirt, and yet he used to +say things to them in public that even I felt inclined to pull him up +for. And then he used to ask them to go out walks with him, and, +what's more, he went out with certainly two, alone; and you know that +is rather a marked thing.</p> + +<p>"He looked about forty, but he always gravitated toward the young +people; made great friends with boys, and in a curious way, too. +Generally, if men make friends with schoolboys in a country house +it is at the loss of their dignity—they run the risk of having to +swallow all sorts of practical jokes, such as getting water thrown +on their head and salt put into their tea; but he never compromised +himself, and they always behaved to him with respect, but were quite +impatient if he wouldn't come with them everywhere. I overheard him +talking to a boy once, and I didn't so much wonder; he spoke in such +an affectionate way, and boys like to feel that grown-up people take +the trouble to like them.</p> + +<p>"He was very friendly with the governess, and would try to include +her in the conversation. I can't say he succeeded, for we were down +on that. I don't myself consider it good form to encourage your +governess to have opinions.</p> + +<p>"Everybody was always very deferential to him. He always made a +sensation if he came into the room. No one could help looking at him. +He wasn't one of those tame sneaking creatures that are to be met +in country houses, of whom no one takes the least notice; he was +much more inclined to take no notice of any one else; but it was +impossible to forget he was in the room. And the servants were +invariably respectful to him, quite as if he was a real swell; and +yet he didn't dress well and hadn't a servant of his own. He was just +the sort of man you would have thought flunkeys would have despised.</p> + +<p>"But I have let my pen run on to an unconscionable length. It reminds +me of the remark with which he dismissed the subject of poor old Sir +Charles W—— who was staying there. We had been discussing him, and +asked Mr. Hamilton what he thought of him. 'A talking jackass,' was +his only reply, in his most chilling tones.</p> + +<p>"I fear I am open to the same imputation.</p> + +<div class="closer">"Very truly yours,<br> + <span class="sig">"Laura F——.</span></div> + +<p>"I should like to know what you want this for; however, happily, I +have put it in a form you can't make much use of."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>I was much amused at the way in which he treated gossip about himself.</p> + +<p>I told him some stories about him that I had picked up. They related +to a certain absent-mindedness which he was supposed to possess.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid they are not true," he said first. "I should welcome any +hint of absence of mind in myself as a sign that the abstract could +exclude the concrete, which is unfortunately not the case with me." +Then, in a moment, he said, "People have no business to tell such +stories. I should not mind their not being true, if they were only +characteristic."</p> + +<p>"By which you mean," said a gentleman who was sitting next him, "that +you don't care about veracity, only you can't stand dullness."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Arthur, quickly. "Veracity is not the question in +gossip at all. It is all hearsay. You have not to judge of the actual +truth of a scandalous story, but you have to judge of the probable +truth of it, and if it is obviously uncharacteristic it is wrong to +repeat it. It becomes scandal then, and not till then."</p> + +<p>When he was living in London, which was, for the time being, his +home, he lived a regular life, combining more reading with a sociable +life than many people would have thought possible. He had two rooms +in a house in Russell Square. He breakfasted at half-past nine and +read till four, when he went down to his club and talked, or strolled +in the park. He made hardly any engagements, except for the evening; +and admitted hardly anyone, except two or three friends, to see him +at his rooms, and then only after one o'clock, before which hour +he was absolutely invisible. He was so dreadfully angry with his +landlady for showing a gentleman in once in the middle of the +morning, that she literally refused ever to do it again. "He's a good +regular lodger, sir, and doesn't think of money, but he said to me, +'Mrs. Laing, I <i>don't choose to be disturbed</i> before one. If I find +my orders disregarded again, I shall leave the house <i>that day</i>.' +I daren't do it, sir. You wouldn't like to deprive me of my lodger, +I know, sir." The last pathetic plea could not be gainsaid, so Arthur +had his way.</p> + +<p>Four evenings he devoted to going out, and the other three dining +quietly at home and reading. By the time he left London his reading, +always wide, had become prodigious. His own library was good, and he +had a ticket for the British Museum Reading-room and belonged to two +circulating libraries. He made a point of reading new books (1) if he +was strongly recommended them by specialists; (2) if they reached a +second edition within a month; (3) if they were republished after a +period of neglect—this he held to be the best test of a book.</p> + +<p>It was characteristic of his natural indolence that he chose the very +easiest method of reading—that is to say, he always read, if he +could, <i>in</i> a translation, or if the style of the original was the +object, <i>with</i> one. This, like his posture, nearly recumbent, was +deliberately adopted. "I find," he said, "that the <i>reflective</i> part +of my brain works best when I have as little either bodily or <i>purely</i> +intellectual to distract me as possible. And it is the reflective +part," he says, "that I always preferred to cultivate, and that +latterly I have devoted my whole attention to. It is through the +reflective part that one gets the highest influence over people. +Training the reflective function is the training of character, while +the training of the purely physical side often, and the training of +the intellectual side not uncommonly, have a distinctly deteriorative +effect.</p> + +<p>"By the reflective part, I mean all that deals with the <i>connection</i> of +things, the discovery of principles, the laws that regulate emotion +and influence, the motives of human nature, the basis of existence, +the solution of the problem of life and being—that vast class of +subjects which lie just below, and animate concrete facts, and which +are the only things worthy of the devotion of a philosopher, though +no knowledge is unworthy of his <i>attention</i>.</p> + +<p>"I am not quite clear what position I intend to take up in the world +at large. This only is certain, that if I am going to teach, and I +have a vague sense that I am destined for that, it is necessary first +to know something, to be <i>sure</i> of something."</p> + +<p>All his days were alike, except that on Sunday he used to frequent +city churches in the afternoon, or go to Westminster Abbey and St. +Paul's. His father was a friend of a canon at the former place, and +Arthur was generally certain of a stall; and I used often to see his +tall form there, with his eyes "indwelling wistfully," "reputans +secum," as Virgil says, lost in speculations and wonders, and a whole +host of melancholy broodings over life and death to which he rarely +gave voice, but which formed a perpetual background to his thoughts. +He varied this by visits to his father in Hampshire, and occasional +trips to the country, not unfrequently alone, the object and +occupation of which he never told me, except to say once that he had +explored, he thought, every considerable "solitude" in England.</p> + +<p>There is one thing that I must not forget to mention—his dreams. He +never slept, he told me, without innumerable dreams, and he not +unfrequently told me of them. They always struck me as curiously +vivid. I subjoin the following from one of his diaries. They are +often given at full length. This is one of the most interesting I +can find.</p> + +<p>"<i>January</i> 8.—Slept badly; toward morning dreamed that I was walking +with two or three friends, and accompanied by a tall man whom I did +not know, wrapped in a cloak, through a very dark wood. I seemed to +be in a very heavy mood. We came upon a building brightly lighted, +and, entering, found a hall with many people dining. There was +much wine and talk, and a great deal of laughing and merriment. +We appeared to be invisible.</p> + +<p>"I began to moralize aloud. I said, 'Yes, and this is the way in +which lives pass: a little laughter and a few jests and a song or +two; forgetful, all the time, that the lights must be extinguished +and the wine spilled, and that night laps them round,'—catching, +as I said this, a glimpse of the dark trees swaying outside.</p> + +<p>"But the man in the cloak took me up. 'This shows,' he said, 'how +superficial your view is—how little you look below the surface +of things. This laughter and light talk are but the signs and +symbols of qualities of which your bitter character knows +nothing—goodfellowship, kindliness, brave hopefulness, and many +things beside.'</p> + +<p>"Then he turned to me impressively, and said, 'What you want is +<i>deepening</i>.'</p> + +<p>"I woke with the word ringing in my ears."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Besides this, there was a curious little peculiarity in him that I +have never heard of in anyone else: a capacity for seeing little +waking visions with strange distinctness.</p> + +<p>His description of this is as follows:</p> + +<p>"I have the power, or rather something in me is able (for I can not +resist it), of suddenly producing a picture on the retina, of such +vividness as to blot out everything around me. I have it generally +when I am a little tired with exercise or brain-work or people: it is +prefaced by seeing a bright blue spot, which moves, or rather rushes, +across my field of vision, and is immediately succeeded by the +picture.</p> + +<p>"A crumbling sandstone temple, among fields of blue flowers—an +obelisk carved with figures, in a wood—a gray indistinct marsh, with +mist rising from it, and by the edge a white bird, egret or something +similar, of dazzling whiteness—a green lane, with cows in it. I +could go on for ever enumerating them. They pass in a fraction of a +second, three or four succeeding one another. My eyes are not shut, +nor do I look different. I have always seen them. I was alarmed about +them once, and went to a doctor; but he said he could not explain +it—it was probably a nervous idiosyncrasy: and I felt all the better +for my habit having a name."</p> + +<p>One more thing I must mention about him, which I have discovered +since his death. I must add <i>that I never had the least suspicion of +it in his life</i>.</p> + +<p>He was the victim during this time of a depression of mind; not +constant, but from which he never felt secure. I subjoin a few +entries from his diaries.</p> + +<p>"Very troubled and gloomy: a strange heart-sinking—a blank misgiving +without any adequate cause upon me all day. One can not help feeling +during such times—and, alas! they are becoming very familiar to +me—that some mysterious warfare may be being fought out somewhere +over one's only half-conscious soul: that some strange decision may +be pending." And again: "For the last week, my mind—though I have +reiterated again and again to myself that it is purely physical—has +steadily refused to take any view of life, to have any outlook, +except the most dismal. I am a little better to-day—well enough to +see the humour of it, though God knows it is black enough while it +lasts."</p> + +<p>In one letter he wrote to me, I find the following words: it never +occurred to me at the time that they were the gradual fruits of his +own experience on the subject:</p> + +<p>"Physical and mental depression is a most fearful enemy. Other things +give you trouble at intervals—toothache, headache, etc., are all +spasmodic afflictions, and, moreover, can be much mitigated by +circumstances. But with depression it is not so: it poisons any +cup—it turns all the cheerful little daily duties of life into +miseries, unutterable burdens; death is the only future event which +you can contemplate with satisfaction. It admits of no comfort: the +whispered suggestion of the mind, 'You will be better soon,' falls on +deaf ears. No physical suffering that I have ever felt, and I have +not been without my share, is in the least comparable to it; the +agony of foreboding remorse and gloom with which it involves past, +present, and future—there is nothing like it. It is the valley of +the Shadow of Death.</p> + +<p>"But when one first realizes how purely physical it is, it is an era. +I endured it for two years first: now I am prepared. I may even say +that though all sense of enjoyment dies under it, my friends, the +company I am in, generally suspect nothing."</p> + +<p>This was literally the case. I knew his spirits were never very high; +but he seemed to me to maintain, what is far more valuable, a genial +equable flow of cheerfulness, such as one would give much to possess.</p> + +<p>Among his occasional diversions at this time, I must place visiting +some of the worst houses in one of the worst quarters in London.</p> + +<p>It was not then a fashionable habit, and he never spoke of it or made +capital out of his experience; but he went to have an acquaintance +that should be <i>teres et rotundus</i> with all phases of life. He never +attempted to relieve misery by indiscriminate charity; his principles +were strongly against it.</p> + +<p>"I don't profess to understand the economical condemnation of +indiscriminate charity. I don't see why one set of people should not +spend in necessaries what another set would only spend in luxuries.</p> + +<p>"But I do understand this: that it does infinite harm, by accustoming +the poor to think that all the help they will get from the upper +classes till they rise up themselves and lay hands upon it, will be +indiscriminate half-sovereigns. The clergy are beginning to disabuse +them of this idea. It is a fact which does appeal to them when they +see a man that they recognize belongs by right to the 'high life' and +could drive in his carriage, or at any rate in somebody else's, and +have meat four times a day—when they see such a man coming and +staying among them, certainly not for pleasure or money, or even, +for a long time, at least, love, it impresses them far more than the +Non-conformists or Revivalists who attempt the same kind of thing.</p> + +<p>"And that's the sort of help I want them to look for—intelligent +sympathy and interest in them. To most of them no amount of relief or +education could do any good now; it would only produce a rank foliage +of vice, which is slightly restrained by hard labour and hard food. +Sensualism is a taint in their blood now.</p> + +<p>"They want elevating and refining in some way, and you can only do it +with brutes through their affections."</p> + +<p>His manner with poor people was very good—direct, asking +straightforward questions and not making his opinions palatable, and +yet behaving to them with perfect courtesy, as to equals.</p> + +<p>We were staying in a house together in the country once, and heard +that a certain farmer was in trouble of some kind—we were not +exactly told what.</p> + +<p>Arthur had struck up a friendship with this man on a previous visit, +and so he determined to go over and see him. He asked me to ride with +him, and I agreed. I will describe the episode precisely as I can +remember it:</p> + +<p>We rode along, talking of various things, over the fresh Sussex +downs, and at last turned into a lane, overhung on both sides with +twisted tree-roots of fantastic shape, writhing and sprawling out of +the crumbling bank of yellow sand. Presently we came to a gap in the +bank, and found we were close to the farm. It lay down to the right, +in a little hollow, and was approached by a short drive inclosed by +stone walls overgrown by stonecrop and pennywort, and fringed with +daffodils and snap-dragons: to the left, the wall was overtopped by +the elders of a copse; to the right, it formed one side of a fruit +garden.</p> + +<p>The drive ended in a flagged yard, upon which our horse's hoofs made +a sudden clatter, scaring a dozen ducks into pools and other coigns +of vantage, and rousing the house-dog, who, with ringing chain and +surly grumbles, came out blinking, to indulge in several painful +barks, waiting, as dogs will, with eyes shut and nose strained in +the air, for the effect of each bark, and consciously enjoying the +tuneful echo. A stern-featured, middle-aged woman came out quickly, +almost as if annoyed at the interruption, but on seeing who it was +she dropped a quick courtsey, and spoke sharply to the dog.</p> + +<p>Arthur went forward, holding out his hand.</p> + +<p>"We were so sorry to hear at the house," he said, "that there was +trouble here. I did not learn quite clearly what it was, but I +thought I would ride over to see if there was anything I could do."</p> + +<p>Arthur knew quite enough of the poor to be sure that it was always +best to plunge straight into the subject in hand, be it never so +grim or painful. Life has no veneering for them; they look hard +realities in the face and meet them as they can. They are the true +philosophers, and their straightforwardness about grief and disease +is not callousness; it is directness, and generally means as much, +if not more, feeling than the hysterical wailings of more cultivated +emotion, more organized nerves.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," she said to me, with that strange dignity of language +that trouble gives to the poor, just raising her apron to her eyes, +"it's my master, sir—Mr. Keighley, sir. The doctor has given him +up, and he's only waiting to die. It don't give him much pain, his +complaint; and it leaves his head terrible clear. But he's fearful +afraid to die, sir; and that's where it is.</p> + +<p>"Not that he's not lived a good life; been to church and paid his +rent and tithe reg'lar, been sober and industrious and good to his +people; but I think, sir," she said, "that there's one kind of +trembling and fearfulness that we can't get over: he keeps saying +that he's afraid to meet his God. He won't say as he's got anything +on his mind; and, truthfully, I don't think he has. But he can't go +easy, sir; and I think a sight of your face, if I may make so bold, +would do him, maybe, a deal of good."</p> + +<p>"I shall be very glad to see him, if he cares to see me," said +Arthur. "Has Mr. Spencer" (the clergyman) "been here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said the woman; "but he don't seem to do George no good. +He's prayed with him—the Church prayers out of his blue prayer-book; +but, after that, all he could say was, 'you must prepare to meet your +God; are you at peace with Him? Remember the judgment;' when I can't +help thinking that God would be much more pleased if George could +forget it. He can't like to see us crawling to meet Him, and cryin' +for fear, like as Watch does if his master has beat him for stealin'. +But I dare not say so to him, sir—we never know, and I have no +right to set myself up over the parson's head."</p> + +<p>I confess that I felt frightfully helpless as we followed her into +the house. There was a bright fire burning; a table spread in a +troubled untidy manner, with some unfinished food, hardly tasted, +upon it.</p> + +<p>She said apologetically, "You see, sir, it's hard work to keep things +in order, with George lying ill like this. I have to be always with +him."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Arthur, gently. "I know how hard it is to keep up +heart at all; still it is worth trying: we often do better than we +expect."</p> + +<p>His sweet voice and sympathetic face made the poor woman almost break +down; she pushed hastily on, and, saying something incoherently about +leading the way, ushered us through a kitchen and up a short flight +of stairs. I would have given a great deal to have been allowed to +stay behind. But Arthur walked simply on behind the woman.</p> + +<p>"I won't tell him you're here," she said; "he'd say he wasn't fit to +see you. But it won't harm him; maybe it'll even cheer him up a bit." +She pushed the door open just above; I could distinguish the sound of +hard breathing, with every now and then a kind of catch in the +breath, and a moan; then we found ourselves inside the room.</p> + +<p>The sick man was lying propped up on pillows, with a curious wistful +and troubled look on his face, which altered very quickly as we came +in. Much of his suffering was nervous, so-called; and a distraction, +any new impression which diverted his mind, was very helpful to him.</p> + +<p>"George," said the woman, "here is Mr. Hamilton and his friend come +over from the Squire's to see you."</p> + +<p>He gave a grateful murmur, and pointed to a chair.</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry," said Arthur, simply, "to see you in such suffering, +Mr. Keighley. We heard you were in trouble, so we thought we would +ride over and see if we could do anything for you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir, kindly," said the sick man, feebly. "But I'm past +doin' anything for now. Doctor's giv'n me up; he gives me a week. But +thank you all the same."</p> + +<p>He closed his eyes for a moment; and then, looking round quickly, +fingering the counterpane, he said, "Ah, sir, this isn't a place for +you to be in; but I take it very kindly of you. Ah! Ah! It seems as +if it might have been made a bit easier, might dyin'. It's hard +work—it's terrible hard. It's bad enough by itself, having to go out +into the dark—and all alone; but it's full of worse terrors than +even that. The air's full of them. When I am lyin' here still, with +my eyes shut, prayin' for it all to be over, I seem to hear them +buzzin' and whisperin' in the air. Then it comes, all on a sudden, +on me—here"—putting his hand to his heart. "It makes me sick and +trembling—with fear and horror—I can't bear it. It's comin' now. +Ah! Ah! Ah!"</p> + +<p>I remember feeling inexpressibly shocked and horrified. I was not +used to such scenes. The room seemed to swim; I could hardly stand +or see. To settle myself, I spoke to the woman about wines and +medicines; but I seemed to hear my own voice hollow and from a +distance, and started at the sound of it.</p> + +<p>But Arthur knelt simply down by the bedside and said, "I think it +will make it easier if you can only fix your thoughts on one thing. I +know the effort is hard; but think that there's a loving hand waiting +to take yours; there's One that loves you, better than you have +ever loved anyone yourself, waiting the other side of the darkness. +Oh, only think of that, and it will not be hard! Dear friend," he +said—"for I may call you that—we have all of us the same passage +before us, but we have all the same hope: and He hears the words you +speak to Him. He has been here, He is here now, to listen to your +very thoughts. He has seen your trouble, and wished He could help +you—why He can not I am not able to tell you; but it will all be +well.</p> + +<p>"Let me say one prayer with you." And he began in his low quiet +voice. The woman knelt down beside him, shaken with sobbing. Till, at +the words "Suffer us not, for any pains of death, to fall from thee," +poor George put out his old withered hand and took Arthur's, and +smiled through his pain—"the first time he ever smiled since his +illness began," his wife told us after his death, "and he smiled +many times after that."</p> + +<p>He did not speak to us again; the effort had been too great. The +woman accompanied us down-stairs, showing, in her troubled officious +hurry to anticipate Arthur's wishes, and the way in which she hung +about the gate as we rode out, what it had been to her.</p> + +<p>We rode home almost in silence. Arthur, as we got near to the lodge, +turned to me, and said, half apologetically, "We must speak to simple +people in the language that they can understand. Fortunately, there +is one language we can all understand."</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<p>It was a hot summer, and Arthur a little overtasked his strength. +London, and a London season, is far more tiring than far greater +physical exertions in pure air and with rational hours. He complained +of feeling liable to faintness after standing about in hot rooms. It +did not cause him, however, any serious alarm, till one evening he +fainted after a dinner-party at which I was present, and we had some +difficulty in bringing him round.</p> + +<p>After this, for several days he spoke of an invincible languor which +held him throughout the day, which he could not get rid of; and he +was altogether so unlike his usual self, and so prostrate, that at +last, with the greatest difficulty, I prevailed on him to see a +doctor—a thing he particularly disliked.</p> + +<p>He made an appointment with a celebrated physician in Wimpole Street. +As he was far from well on the morning he was to go there, I insisted +on accompanying him.</p> + +<p>He was in very cheerful spirits, and was eagerly discussing a book +which had just been published; he could not make up his mind whether +it had been written by a man or a woman. He said that there was +always one character in a book, not always the hero or heroine, +through whose eyes the writer seemed to look, whose mental analysis +seemed to have the ring not of description, but confession, and this +would be found to be, he maintained, of the sex of the writer. In +the particular case under discussion, where the hero was a man, he +professed to discover the "spy," as he called this character, in a +woman.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the discussion we drew up at Dr. Hall's door, and +were immediately shown into one of those rooms with a professional +and suspicious calm about it. "'Five minutes before the drop falls,' +it seems to say; 'make your mind quite easy; feel chatty,'" said +Arthur.</p> + +<p>He looked curiously about him, and commented humorously on the +selection of literature, till a patient was ushered out, and we were +called in.</p> + +<p>Dr. Hall was not the least what one is inclined to think a celebrated +doctor should be. Arthur had been describing his ideal to me—"tall +and pale; stoops slightly, but very distinguished-looking, with +piercing grey eyes, a kindly reassuring manner, and grey whiskers cut +straight."</p> + +<p>Dr. Hall was a small sallow man, with rather an agitated fussy +manner, and eyes that never seemed to be looking at you. He was neat, +almost dapper, in his dress, and was rather like the butler in a +small establishment.</p> + +<p>He put one or two questions to Arthur; stethoscoped him, hovering all +about restlessly; suddenly caught up his left hand and pushed aside +the first finger; "Ah, cigarette-smoker—we must put a stop to that +at once, if you please. What is your usual allowance?"</p> + +<p>"It varies," said Arthur, "but I fear it is never less than twenty."</p> + +<p>"Four, after this date," said Dr. Hall.</p> + +<p>"Just come into my other room a moment," he said presently, and led +the way.</p> + +<p>Arthur followed, giving me a cheerful wink. They remained about ten +minutes, during which time I speculated, and read a little book about +Epping Forest, which was on the table; looked out of the window, and +felt rather ill myself.</p> + +<p>At last, the tall door creaked, and Arthur came out, followed by the +doctor.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will see, sir," he said to me, "that Mr. Hamilton is +particular in following my directions, if you have any influence +with him."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I haven't got the temperament of a patient," said +Arthur, smiling. "But I am very much obliged to you. Good morning."</p> + +<p>"What did he say to you?" I said, as soon as we were in our cab +again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he spoke to me like a father," said Arthur: "gave me a lot of +wretched directions which I know I shan't attend to. But we have +wasted much too much time medically already this morning." And he +changed the subject to the discussion which we had been carrying on +before.</p> + +<p>A few days after this I went to see him, and found him much better.</p> + +<p>"What do you think?" he said: "I am going to undertake the charge of +a human being. Do you remember our conversation about adopting +children, and the educational experiments we meant to try? I shall +have the chance now."</p> + +<p>On my inquiring what had happened, he told me his experience at +Teheran, related in a former chapter; and said that, on reflection, +he had thought well to accept the commission, adding that he had been +surprised to find waiting for him, when he had returned home at a +late hour a few nights before his visit to Dr. Hall, a tall foreign +gentleman, who had introduced himself as a friend of Mr. Bruce's (so +the recluse chose to call himself), and as the bearer of a message +from him, the purport of which was to ask whether he would accept +Mr. Bruce's commission.</p> + +<p>"I am authorized to state," the stranger added, "in the event of your +acquiescing, that the method of procedure will be left entirely to +yourself; that no question will be asked or conditions made; the boy +will be sent to London or to any other address you may appoint; that +£400 a year, quarterly, will be placed to your credit at the +Westminster Bank for all necessary expenses; and that a draft in your +name, for any further sum that you may think requisite, will be +honoured.</p> + +<p>"If you would forward your answer to Morley's Hotel, to the address +on my card, any time within the next week, I shall be grateful. My +instructions are not to press for an immediate answer." And the +gentleman bowed himself out.</p> + +<p>He showed me a short letter which he had written accepting the +charge; and, shortly after, I rose to go. But he detained me rather +pointedly; and after a short time, in which he appeared to be +considering something, he begged me to sit down again, and consider +whether I would listen to a short statement of facts on which he +wanted my advice. "They are," he said, "I fear, a little painful, +and therefore I do not press it; but I should be sincerely obliged +to you."</p> + +<p>He then said, "I did not at the time tell you, my dear Chris, what +Doctor Hall said to me the other day, because I thought it better to +tell no one; but the events of the last week have caused me to change +my mind. I feel that I must be perfectly open.</p> + +<p>"The fact was, that he warned me that I showed unequivocal symptoms +of a dangerous heart disease. He could not answer for anything, he +said. I had seen that something was wrong from his expression, so I +insisted on knowing everything."</p> + +<p>I can hardly describe my sensations at this announcement—I felt the +room swim and shake; and yet it was made in such a deliberate +matter-of-fact tone, that it flashed across me for an instant that +Arthur was joking, and together with it came a curiously dismal sense +of unreality, that is well known to all those who have passed through +any great strain or emotional crisis, as if, suddenly, the soul had +fallen out of everything, and they were nothing but lifeless empty +husks, hollow and phantasmal.</p> + +<p>"But," I gasped, "you never said anything of this at the time: +you—you behaved just as usual."</p> + +<p>"I certainly tried to," he said. "And curiously enough, I did not +either realize or fear the news at the time; it left my feelings +almost blank. I won't deny that it has caused me some painful thought +since.... He gave me a few simple directions: I was to avoid bracing +climates, hard physical work, or, indeed, mental effort—anything +exhausting; to keep regular hours, avoid hot rooms and society and +smoking; but that I might do, in moderation, anything that interested +me, write or read; and, above all things, I was to avoid agitation.</p> + +<p>"I think I intend to put his ideas into practice; not much with the +idea of saving my life, for I don't feel particularly anxious about +that, but because I think that, on the whole, it is the most sensible +kind of life to lead. And the fact that I had already accepted the +charge of this boy has finally decided me; it was too late to draw +back. I shall settle in some quiet place, and try and educate him for +the University. I don't at all expect to be dull; and it evidently +wouldn't do to thrust him straight into English life yet—he wants +Anglicizing gradually. I hope he will be an average Englishman by the +time he gets to Cambridge."</p> + +<p>Arthur heard the next day, from Mr. Bruce's agent, that the boy would +arrive in the course of a month, so he determined to try and have +things ready by then for their retirement.</p> + +<p>We went energetically to house agents, and the result was that we +were at last blessed by success.</p> + +<p>Cornwall was the county that we selected; its warm indolent climate +seemed to answer our requirements best, and Arthur would not leave +England.</p> + +<p>Close to Truro there is a little village called St. Uny Trevise. You +have to leave the high-road to get to it. Its grey church tower is a +conspicuous landmark for several miles round, standing out above a +small wood of wind-swept oaks, on the top of a long broad-backed +down, lately converted into farm-land, and ploughed up. About half a +mile from this, going by strangely winding deep lanes, you reach the +bottom of a wooded dell, very lonely and quiet, with a stream running +at the bottom, that spreads out into marshes and rush-beds, with here +and there a broad brown pool. Crossing the little ford, for there is +only a rude bridge for foot-passengers, and ascending the opposite +hill, you find yourself at last, after going up the steep overhung +road, at the gate of a somewhat larger house than usual in those +desolations.</p> + +<p>The gate-posts are stone, with granite balls at the top, and there is +a short drive, which brings you to a square mottled front of brown +stone, with two large projections, or small wings, on each side.</p> + +<p>This is a small manor, known as Tredennis, anciently belonging to the +Templeton family, whose pictures ornament the hall. It had been used +latterly merely as a farmhouse; but a local solicitor, desiring that +a somewhat more profitable arrangement might be made respecting it, +had the manor put up at the extremely moderate rent of £60, and +banished the farmer to an adjoining tenement.</p> + +<p>There was a terraced garden, very rich in flowers in the summer. It +faced south and west, commanding a view of a winding valley, very +peaceful and still, a great part of which was overgrown with stunted +oak copses, or divided into large sloping fields. At the end, the +water of a tidal creek—Tressillian water—caught the eye. The only +sounds that ever penetrated to the ear were the cries of birds, or +the sound of sheep-bells, or the lowing of cows, with an occasional +halloo from the farm, children calling among the copses, or the +shrill whistle from over the hills, telling of the train, that, +burrowing among the downs, tied one to the noisier world.</p> + +<p>Truro has been much opened up since then. It has a bishop, and the +rudiments of a cathedral. It has burst into a local and spasmodic +life. But when I knew it through Arthur, it was the sleepiest and +laziest town alive, with the water rippling through the streets. +Old-world farmers, with their strange nasal dialect, used to haunt +the streets on market day, like the day on which we first drove +through it on our way to Tredennis. Arthur was well and serene. He +took the keenest delight in the fragrance of retirement that hung +about the place: people to whose minds and ears modern ideas, modern +weariness, had never penetrated; who lived a serious indolent life, +their one diversion the sermon and the prayer-meeting, their one +dislike "London ways."</p> + +<p>We reached the house in the evening, losing our way more than once in +our endeavour to discover it. Two sitting-rooms were furnished, +both large airy rooms looking upon the garden, and a bedroom and +dressing-room up-stairs, which Arthur and his charge were to occupy. +The housekeeper and her handmaiden, who were to be his servants, were +already installed, and had arranged in a certain fashion the new +furniture that Arthur had sent down, jostling with the old, and his +books. As we sat, the first evening, with our cigarettes, in the +dusk, watching the green sky over the quiet hills, a wonderful +sensation of repose seemed to pass into one from the place. "I feel +as if I might be very happy here," said Arthur, "if I were allowed; +and perhaps work out my old idea a little more about the meaning of +external things."</p> + +<p>I was to return to London in a day or two, to see about any +commission that might have been neglected, and to bring down the +boy, who was now daily expected.</p> + +<p>In my absence I received the following letter from Arthur. The serene +mood had had its reaction.</p> + +<p>"I have told you, I think, of the depressing effect that a new place +has on me till I get habituated to it. There is a constant sense of +unrest, just as there is about a new person, that racks the nerves.</p> + +<p>"I have been very anxious and 'heavy' to-day, as the Psalms have it: +dispirited about the future and the present, and remorseful about the +past. You don't mind my speaking freely, do you? I feel so weak and +womanish, I must tell some one. I have no one to lean on here.</p> + +<p>"I can't see what to make of my life, or, rather, what can possibly +be made of it. I have taken hitherto all the rebuffs I have had—and +they have not been few—as painful steps in an education which was to +fit me for something. I was having, I hoped, experience which was to +enable me to sympathize with human beings fully, when I came to speak +to them, to teach them, to lead them, as I have all my life believed +I some day should.</p> + +<p>"You won't think it conceited if I say this to you, my dear Chris? +I don't feel to myself as if I was like other people. I have met +several people better and on a higher level than myself, but no one +on quite the same level—no one, to put it shortly, quite so <i>sure</i> +as I am.</p> + +<p>"Does that explain itself? I mean that I have for many years been +conscious of a kind of inward law that I dare not disobey, and which +has constrained me into obedience—once unwilling, now willing, and +even enthusiastic. In others, it has always seemed to me that there +is strife and διψυχία—one great factor pulling one way +and one another; but it has never been so with me—there has never +been a serious strain. I have always known what I meant, and have +generally done it; and little by little, as I have lived, comparing +this inner presence with what I can see of moral laws, of Divine +government, I have come to observe that the two are almost identical, +though there are certain variations which I have not yet accounted +for.</p> + +<p>"Mind, this has been in my case a <i>negative</i> influence; it has never +urged a course upon me; it has always withheld me. Even in a dilemma +of any kind, it never has said, 'Do this;' it is always, 'Avoid +that.' So that I have had to take my line, as I have done in +practical things, though never in opposition to its warnings.</p> + +<p>"I had always thought that I was being educated to the point of +describing this subjective law to others, and helping them to some +such position. I have always felt that I had a message to deliver, +though the manner and method of delivering it I felt I had to +discover.</p> + +<p>"And so I was led from point to point. I was educated without any +special domestic attachments. I was shown that I was not to believe +in my friends. And then, at Cambridge, it came upon me that this was +what was meant—that I was not to devote myself to mean, selfish +objects; that I was not even to be solaced by individual love: but +that I was to speak to the world the way of inward happiness by the +simplification of the complex issues, the human intricacies, which +have gathered round and obscured the whole problem.</p> + +<p>"Then I gradually gave up, or thought I was giving up, human +ambitions. I took a course which I saw was not to end in human fame, +or wealth, or happiness of the ordinary kinds; and that I might test +my capacities a little more and learn myself, and also familiarize +myself with more aspects of the great question which I was going to +face, I travelled among the cities of men and the solitudes of the +earth.</p> + +<p>"And at last I thought I had found the way; but I will not tell you +what it was, for I now see that I was mistaken. I thought I saw that +my duty was to come back and speak the first words to the society in +which most naturally I moved; and I came to London, as you know. And +then I began to write; but I failed there. I was not disheartened, +for I felt that I was being led, and that that was not the way. And +once I thought that I was to be pointed out the path by the love of a +daring woman; but that went from me too, as you know, and so I waited +to be shown how to speak.</p> + +<p>"But it is not to be; for while I waited, this has fallen upon me; +and this is more than I can bear. It is terrible enough, as a human +being, to look Death in the face, and question of the blind eye what +are the secrets he knows; but I have passed through that before, and +I can truly say I do not dread that now. It is rather with an intense +and reverent curiosity that I look forward to death, as the messenger +that will tell me that my work here is over, and I am to learn God's +ways elsewhere. No, it is not that; but it is the utter aimlessness +and failure of my life. I have not attracted men's praise—I did not +hope to do that. I have not even attracted their attention. I have +not communicated the least grain of what I feel I <i>know</i>.</p> + +<p>"Far from looking upon me as a man who at least sees clearer than +others, as having a truth of price which they might be glad to learn, +they look upon me as a man who has failed even to live life upon +their basis, classing me with those utter failures who fail in life +because they have no sense of proportion, because they can not +comprehend the complex issues among which they have to fight.</p> + +<p>"And now I am laid aside, a useless weapon; I am not even physically +capable of writing, even if the world would hear me; and I am forced +back upon myself, upon a feeble life, necessarily self-centered, to +nurse and coddle myself as though I was a poor failing dotard, with +one avenue alone—and how precarious!—through which I may perhaps +speak my little message to the world—the education of a child to +carry on my torch.</p> + +<p>"I have written to you my whole mind, not because I want you to +reassure me—no, that is impossible; but because I am weak and +miserable. I must unburden myself to some one—must confess that I +have indeed broken down.</p> + +<p>"And, further, what is the Death, into whose antechamber I have +already passed? Is it indeed true that, as I have so passionately +denied, I have fallen into the grasp of a power which is waging an +equal war with truth and light and goodness? Shall I be sacrificed to +the struggle, without having made the world a whit better, or richer, +or stronger, with the only memory of me a quiet life with few follies +and fewer deeds of power, to be laid away in the dark?</p> + +<p>"And yet I have a lingering hope that this is a leading too; that I +shall somehow emerge. My dear Chris, come and see me again as soon as +you can. You will be even more welcome if you bring my boy, Edward +Bruce, as I understand we are to call him—<i>attamen ipse veni</i>.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + "I am your affectionate friend,<br> + <span class="sig">"Arthur Hamilton.</span></div> + +<p>"Flora"—his collie, of whom he was very fond—"is sitting watching +me with such liquid eyes that I must go and take her out. We have not +walked as far as the creek yet; the first effect of valetudinarian +habits is, I find, to make one feel really ill."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>On the 4th of August, Tuesday, at 11.15, a card was brought to me, +and immediately afterward a tall gentleman appeared, with a boy of +about fourteen, whom I knew at once to be Edward Bruce.</p> + +<p>The gentleman, after a few polite words of inquiry after Arthur, +retired, the boy saying good-bye to him affectionately. He left me +his address for a few days, in case I should wish to see him.</p> + +<p>Edward Bruce was a boy of extraordinary beauty—there was no denying +that. Personal descriptions are always disappointing; but, not to be +prolix, he had such eyes, with so much passion and fire in them, that +they could only be the inheritance of many generations of love and +hate and quick emotions; his eyelids drooped languidly, but when he +opened his eyes and looked full at you!—I felt relieved to think I +should not have to conduct his education; I could not have denied +him anything. His hair was brown and curly, cut short, but of that +fineness and glossy aspect that showed that till lately it had been +allowed its own way.</p> + +<p>The boy had beautiful lips and white regular teeth, with that +exquisite complexion that is the result of perfect health and +physical condition. He did not speak English very well, but acquired +it fast. He always spoke slowly, and with a very pure articulation. +His voice was clear, high-pitched, and thrilling—I have no other +word for it.</p> + +<p>On the following day I took him down to Tredennis. The boy was +interested and excited, and asked many questions of a very +unsophisticated kind.</p> + +<p>"Why do people stare at me so?" he said, turning round from the +window of the carriage, in Bristol, where he stood devouring the +crowd with hungry eyes. I could not explain to him. He thought it was +because of his foreign look, and was much disgusted. "I made them +<i>dress</i> me like an Englishman," he said, surveying himself. To be +English, that was his aim.</p> + +<p>I found that his father had inculcated this idea in him thoroughly, +and had impressed upon him the dignity of the position. It was, I was +told afterward, the one argument that never failed to make him +attentive in his lessons.</p> + +<p>It was not till he was driving away from Truro into the country that +he found leisure to think of his father and brother, and wonder what +they would be doing. I had the greatest difficulty in explaining that +the hours of the day were different, and that it was early morning +there.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "it is impossible; I feel like the evening—Martin +can not be feeling like the morning."</p> + +<p>He was rather disappointed as we got further and further into the +lovely country. "I have lived among trees all my life," he said. "I +want to live among people now, in cities, and hear what they say and +do what they do. I love them." And he waved his hand to the lights of +the town in the valley below us, as a sign of farewell.</p> + +<p>At last we drove into the dark gates of Tredennis, and drew up before +the house.</p> + +<p>Arthur came out to meet us. "Where is Edward?" he said.</p> + +<p>The boy sprang out to meet him, and would have kissed him; but Arthur +just grasped his hand, retaining it for a moment, and then let him +go. The boy kept close to him, examining him attentively, when we got +inside the house, with restless, affectionate glances.</p> + +<p>"What makes you so pale?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Arthur, with a smile, "no one else can tell except +ourselves what makes our face so white; but you will be white like +this soon," he said: "it is our dark English days, not like your +Persian sun."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall be glad to be like that," said the boy, "if that is how +the English look."</p> + +<p>He went off on a tour of exploration about the house, soon +discovering his room, with which he was enraptured.</p> + +<p>In the garden, later on in the evening, he came to Arthur with a +letter in his hand. "This is for you," he said. "I had almost +forgotten it. But it is too dark to read it here; I shall fetch you a +light." And he brought the lamp out of the house, and stood holding +it, as it burnt unwavering in the still night air.</p> + +<p>Arthur read it and handed it to me, while the great moths and +transparent delicate flies came and blundered against it.</p> + +<hr> + +<p>"Edward will give you this letter himself. His hand will touch your +hand. It has come about as I anticipated, neither sooner nor later; +and I am glad.</p> + +<p>"Dear friend, all is not well with you; I heard it in the night. But +the passages of the house are often dark, though the hills are full +of light; yet the Master's messengers pass to and fro between the +high halls bearing lamps; such a messenger I send you.</p> + +<p>"You must not be dismayed, either now or later, for all is well. In +our mysteries, when the youth first tastes the chalice, he can hardly +keep his mind upon the Red Wine of Life, the Blood of the Earth, as +he would fain do, for thinking of the cup, and how tremblingly he +holds it, and for fear that the crimson juice be spilt; but all the +while, though he sees it not, the priest's hand encircles the gold +stem.</p> + +<p>"Martin, <i>my</i> son (for Edward is now yours—mine no longer), is even +nearer the end than when I spoke with you; and you too are nearer, +far nearer, though you know it not. And even in this little letter, +I have spoken words to you which, if you had but light to read them, +would make all plain.</p> + +<p>"The hour is at hand; the clock has jarred and is silent again, but +the gear murmurs on in the darkness, waiting for the silver chiming +of the bell.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + "I am your friend always,<br> + <span class="sig">"B.</span><br> + "TEHERAN,<br> + "Midsummer."</div> + +<p>"A curious document," I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Arthur, musingly; "curious too, as literally true." And +he pointed to the boy holding the lamp.</p> + +<p>"Edward," he said to the boy, "put back that lamp, and come here and +speak to me."</p> + +<p>The boy went quickly and promptly, delighting in little acts of +obedience, as the young do.</p> + +<p>When he returned, Arthur said, "Your father says in this letter that +you are to be my son for the future. Will you? are you content to +change?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the boy, shyly; but he came and leant against his new +father's shoulder where he sat, and, in the pretty demonstrative +manner so natural to unsophisticated children, encircled his arm with +his hands.</p> + +<p>Arthur put his arm round the boy's neck, and stroked his hair +caressingly.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said, "then you must always obey me as well as you +did just now; and we will make an Englishman of you, and, what is +more, a good man."</p> + +<p>And we sat in silence, looking down the valley. Every now and then an +owl called in his flute-like notes across the thickets, and we heard +the cry of the seabirds from the creek; and the soft wind came gently +up, rustling the fir over our heads, stirring among the leaves of the +tall syringa, and wandering off into the warm dusk.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> + +<p>The next day I had to return to London on business, taking leave of +the strange household with some regret. Arthur insisted on driving me +to the station. He talked very brightly of his experiment, and argued +at some length as to how far association could be depended upon as an +element in education; and how to distinguish those natures early that +were loyal to association and those to whom it would be of no +authority.</p> + +<p>"I have always divided," he said, "the great influences by which +ordinary people are determined to action into two classes; and I have +connected them with the two staves that the prophet cut, and named +'Beauty and Bands.'</p> + +<p>"Some people are worked upon by Beauty—direct influences of good; +they choose a thing because it is fair; they refrain from action +because it is unlovely; they take nothing for granted, but have an +innate fastidious standard which the ugly and painful offend.</p> + +<p>"Others are more amenable to Bands—home traditions, domestic +affections: they do not act and refrain from action on a thing's own +merits because it is good or bad; but because some one that they have +loved would have so acted or so refrained from acting—'My mother +would not have done so;' 'Henry would have disliked it.' The idea is +fancifully put, but it holds good, I think."</p> + +<p>Shortly after my return to London, I got two letters from him of +considerable importance. I give them both. The first is apropos of +the education of Edward Bruce.</p> + +<div class="opener"> + "Tredennis, August 30.</div> + +<div class="salutation">"My Dear Friend,</div> + +<p>"I want you to get me the inclosed list of books, which I find are +culpably absent from my library. It is a very engrossing prospect, +this child's mind: it is a blank parchment, ready for any writing, +and apparently anxious for it too.</p> + +<p>"'Insight into all seemly and generous acts and affairs,' wrote +Milton, as the end of his self-education—something like that I +intend, if I am allowed, to give this child. I have the greatest +contempt for knowledge and erudition <i>qua</i> knowledge and erudition. +A man who has laboriously edited the Fathers seems to me only to +deserve the respect due to a man who has carried through an arduous +task, and one that must have been, to anyone of human feelings and +real enthusiasm for ideas, uncongenial at first. Erudition touches +the human race very little, but on the 'omne ignotum' principle, men +are always ready to admire it, and often to pay it highly, and so +there is a constant hum of these busy idlers all about the human +hive. The man who works a single practical idea into ordinary +people's minds, who adds his voice to the cry, 'It is better to give +up than to take: it is nobler to suffer silently than to win praise: +better to love than to organize,' whether it be by novel, poem, +sermon, or article, has done more, far more, to leaven humanity. I +long to open people's eyes to that; I learnt it late myself. Before +God, if I can I will make this boy enlightened, should I live to do +it; or at least not at the mercy of every vagrant prophet and bawler +of conventional ideas.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + "Ever your friend,<br> + <span class="sig">"Arthur Hamilton"</span></div> + +<p>The next explains itself.</p> + +<div class="opener"> + "Tredennis, September 15.</div> + +<div class="salutation">"My Dear Friend,</div> + +<p>"As you write to inquire so affectionately about my health, I +think it would be very wrong of me not to answer you fully; so I will +take 'health' to mean well-being, and not confine myself to its +paltry physiological usage.</p> + +<p>"In the last month I have really turned a corner, and gained serenity +and patience in my outlook. I do not mean that I am either patient or +serene yet, but I have long and considerable spaces of both, when I +feel content to let God make or mar me as He will, and realise that +perhaps in His mind those two words may bear a precisely contrary +sense.</p> + +<p>"One thing I wish to tell you, which I am afraid you will be rather +shocked to hear. I have not told you before, from a culpable +reticence; for I believe that there must be either complete +confidence between friends or none at all—</p> + +<p>"Do you remember a very gloomy and depressed letter that I wrote to +you the other day? When I wrote it I was deliberately contemplating +an action which I have now given up: I mean a voluntary exit from +this world's disappointments—suicide, in fact.</p> + +<p>"For many years I have carried about a quietus with me. I began the +habit at Cambridge. Men have often asked me what is the curious +little flask with a secret fastening, that stands on my +dressing-table. It is prussic acid. The morning before I wrote that +letter, the impulse was so strong upon me that I determined, if +matters should not shift a little, to take it on the following +evening. I made, in fact, most methodical arrangements. I seemed so +completely to have missed my mark. The superstitions against the +practice I did not regard, as they are merely the produce of a more +imaginative and anxious system of morality. I did not see why God, +for His own purposes—and, what is more, I believe He does—should +not remove a man by suicide, if He allows him to die by a horrible +disease or relegates him to insanity. Suicide is only a symptom of a +certain pitch of mental distress: its incidental result is death, but +so it is of many practices not immoral.</p> + +<p>"It required considerable nerve, I confess, to make the resolution; +but once made, I did not flinch. I considered the impulse to be a +true leading, quite as true as the other intuitions which I have +before now successfully followed, so I made my arrangements all day. +It gave me a wonderful sense of calm and certainty—there was a +feeling of repose about the completion of a restless existence, as +if I was at last about to slide into quiet waters, and be taught +directly, and not by obscure and painful monitions.</p> + +<p>"At nine o'clock I went to my room. There was a full moon, which +shone in at the open window; the garden was wonderfully still and +fragrant.</p> + +<p>"I found myself wondering whether, when the thing was over, I should +awake to consciousness at once; whether the freed soul would have, so +to speak, a local origin, a <i>terminus a quo</i>: in plain words, whether +my spirit would pass through the house and through the quiet garden +to some mysterious home, taking in the earthly impression as it +soared past with a single complete undimmed sense—or whether I +should step, as it were, straight into a surrounding sea of sensation +and be merged at once, feeling through all space and time and matter +by the spiritual fibres of which I should make a part. Do you +understand me? I have often wondered at that.</p> + +<p>"At last I drew out the flask, and touched the spring. It opens by +pressing a penknife into one of a number of rivets; you can then +unscrew it.</p> + +<p>"When it was open I discovered that the little vial inside had been +broken, and that somehow or other the life-giving fluid had +evaporated unperceived. I had not opened it for a year or more.</p> + +<p>"I saw at once that God intended it not to be at <i>my</i> time—that +was very clear; and after considerable reflection and a wakeful +night, I came to the conclusion that my divine Impulse did not lead +me to adopt a course of action, but only to <i>avoid</i> a course—the +fact which I developed in my letter to you. And then came the resolve, +tardy and weak at first, but gaining ground, warning me that perhaps +it was an inglorious flight; though I knew it was pardonable, I felt +as if God might meet me with 'Not wrong, but if you are really bent +on the highest, you must do better than this.' It might, I felt, be +losing a great opportunity—the opportunity of facing a hopeless +situation, a thing I had never done.</p> + +<p>"And so I came to the conclusion to fight on, and my reward is coming +slowly; contentment seems to return, and Edward is an ever-increasing +joy; he fills my life and thoughts. Oh, if I can only make him good; +put him in the way of inward happiness! I break out into prayer and +aspirations for him in his presence when I think of the utterly +heedless way in which he regards the future, and the awful, the +momentous issues it contains. He, dear lad, thinks nothing of it, +except as a sign of my love for him. We have no misunderstandings, +and I seem somehow to love the world better, more passionately, since +he came to me.</p> + +<p>"I send you a few flowers from our garden, and Edward sends his love, +if that is respectful enough.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + "I am your affectionate friend, + <span class="sig">"Arthur Hamilton."</span></div> + + +<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> + +<p>Down at Tredennis the year begun to fly with the speed of which +uneventful enjoyable monotony alone possesses the secret.</p> + +<p>"Our days are very similar here, and I find them very agreeable. +Edward thinks the same, he assures me, though I feel it may arise +in his case from a want of breadth of view and lack of experience +to argue from.</p> + +<p>"In the summer months we get up early, and generally bathe in the +stream, where I have contrived to get one of the pools sufficiently +enlarged; as the weather gets colder I am compelled by my doctor to +relinquish this. Then we read and write till breakfast, which we have +at eight o'clock. In winter this is the first event of the day; in +the morning we work for an hour or two and then go out, returning to +lunch; after which we sun ourselves till five o'clock, or drive; and +then, after tea, work again for three hours: the day thus concludes.</p> + +<p>"I certainly don't coddle my boy, and I don't think I pet him, for I +have the deepest horror of that practice: nothing is so weakening +for both parties; it develops sentimentalism, and all mawkishness I +abhor!—though I am what you would call ridiculously fond of him. +However, you must come and see us, and give me your most candid +opinion, criticism, and censure on my educational methods.</p> + +<p>"We drive into Truro once a week to market, and Edward goes in on +messages, and for some mathematical training to the clergyman there. +I should like to find some <i>æqualis</i> to make a companion for him. +He is English enough for anything, but I am afraid of his not keeping +his appropriate boyishness if he is always hanging about with an old +and serious valetudinarian like myself. But I don't like any of the +families hereabouts, and can't get to know the ones I <i>do</i> like well +enough to find some one to my mind. I am very fastidious about my +selection."</p> + +<p>And again:</p> + +<p>"Our Sundays are very peaceful days in this lazy land of the West. +We go to church—a very necessary part of an Englishman's +education—lunch immediately, and then loaf on the downs over the +creek, and I read to him till he yawns or goes to sleep; then we +both play with Flora among the heather—or botanize—and go to +church again."</p> + +<p>This letter led me, knowing as I did how pronounced Arthur's views +were, to ask him why he took Edward to church, and the line that he +intended to take with him generally with regard to religious matters.</p> + +<p>"I have given the question," he writes, "a great deal of thought, and +feel my way fairly clear now. Ideally, as an experiment, I should +like to tell a boy nothing about religion—teach him merely his moral +duty—till he is of age; then put the Bible into his hands. There +would be, of course, a great deal—the 'purely mythological or +Herodotean element,' as Strauss calls it—and the miraculous element +generally, that he would probably at first reject; but if he was +of an appreciative nature—and I am presupposing that, because +I don't think the theory of education is for the apathetic and +unsensitive—he would see, I believe, not only the extraordinary +sublimity of language and expression, but the unparalleled audacity +and magnificence of thought and aspiration. That he would realize the +points in which these conceptions were wild, deficient, or childish, +would not blind him, I think, to the grandeur of the other side.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, we mix up moral duty with intellectual and +spiritual so clumsily, and force it so inopportunely and immaturely +upon our children, that if in later years questionings begin to +arise, or complications in any part of life, the smash that follows +is terrific: the whole thing goes by the board.</p> + +<p>"For instance: many a man who undergoes a moral conversion will +reject his whole intellectual growth angrily and contemptuously as +savoring of the times of vanity. In my scheme such a waste would be +impossible; the two would be on different planes and not inextricably +intertwined.</p> + +<p>"Besides, I think that young men suffer terribly from the shock +inflicted on their affection and traditional sentiment.</p> + +<p>"They grow up with certain stereotyped conceptions on religious +subjects, certain dogmas imperfectly understood but crudely imagined +and gradually crystallized into some uncouth shape.</p> + +<p>"The prejudices of children, and ideas that have grown with them, +are, I think, ineradicable in many cases.</p> + +<p>"Let us take three instances of such ordinary conceptions—'Grace,' +'the Resurrection of the Body,' 'The Holy Spirit.'</p> + +<p>"Here are three vast conceptions. The anxious parent endeavours to +explain them to the child: who, in his turn, receives three grotesque +and whimsical ideas which represent themselves to him something in +the following shape:</p> + +<p>"<i>Grace</i>. The quality which he detests in his schoolfellows; in +which the 'model boys' are pre-eminent; which he knows he dislikes +and loathes, and yet is rather ashamed to say so. The boy who +'rebukes' his schoolfellows for irreverent or loose conversation, the +boy who is always ready in his odious way to do a kindness, the boy +who is never late for school—these seem to him to be the kind of +figures that the clergyman is holding up in his sermon as ideal types +of character, to be imitated and reverenced, and for whom he has in +his young soul the most undisguised and wholesome loathing.</p> + +<p>"Of course it is a misconception—but whose fault? Do you blame a +tender wayward mind for not having a philosophical grasp of the +ideal? Whereas, if you weren't ashamed to let him understand that the +young rascal who is always in mischief and behindhand with his work, +but who is yet affectionate, generous, and pure, though he is +quarrelsome and not particular in his talk, is a far finer fellow, +both in point of view of this world and the next than the smooth-faced +prig who thanks his Lord that he is not as this publican.</p> + +<p>"<i>The Resurrection of the Body</i>. Intelligent people who are also +reverent and good, in their anxiety to be faithful to the letter of +dogma as well as to its spirit, prefer to cling to these words rather +than confess, what is quite certain, that an absolutely literal +sense was attached to these words by the framers of them; they were +scientifically ignorant of the fact that matter is disintegrated and +disseminated so rigorously that there may be component particles of +a hundred of his predecessors in one human body now existent. No +symbolical <i>interpretation</i> of the words nowadays will account for +their being the expression of what was erroneously believed to be +a possibility; and to say, as I have heard a Church dignitary of +poetical and metaphysical mind say, that the phrase means that the +power resident in every individuality to assimilate to itself certain +particles will not desert the individuality even after death, but +will continue to assert itself in some way—possibly in a spiritual +or unmaterial manner—to say this, is to state a strong scientific +probability; but, after all, it is only a probability at best, and is +certainly not what the words as they stand in the Creed were meant +to mean by the persons who framed them and the first worshippers +who repeated them. In the case of children the effect is at once +laughable and lamentable. They are made to retain the phrase; no +explanation is offered, and, if sought for, shirked. And so it +resolves itself into a wonder, dimly conscious of profanity, as to +whether Tim Jones the carpenter with the wooden leg, will have a new +one; and whether papa will have the wart on his cheek or not, and how +he will look without it. Of course these are elementary speculations; +but they are true ones, for they were literally my own at an early +age. Such speculations are certainly better avoided; and, indeed, +all early speculation on dogmatic questions at all is better not +suggested.</p> + +<p>"<i>The Holy Spirit</i>. When I was a child, the dogma of the Trinity caused +me the most terrible perplexity, which was all the more distressing +because it was shrouded in a kind of awful remoteness, by the +reticence, the bewildered and serious reticence, with which my elders +approached the subject; but besides the identification with and the +appearance as a dove, the term Comforter—and Paraclete, as some of +the hymn-books had it—the expression, '<i>proceeding from</i> the +Father and the Son,' mystified me completely. The three aspects of +the central Unity—God as Creator, as the Ideal of Humanity, as +the Inspirer of it—is a very subtle and advanced idea; yet it is +maintained that symbols should be taught first, before they are +understood, so that gradually the growing mind should come to realize +and appropriate what it already knows.</p> + +<p>"This is a very sophistical and ingenious defence. But it seems to +break down in practice. How many people reject the idea when +realized, simply, as I hold, on account of the grotesque and +fantastic conceptions that the immature and overstrained mind +collected about it—conceptions which no amount of <i>reason</i> is later +able to overcome! And how many never grow to realize it at all! +Besides, even of those who do, it is admitted that almost all need a +reconstruction <i>some time</i>, a breaking-up of what would otherwise be +crystallized formulæ, a <i>conversion</i>, in fact. Have you ever seen +a high nature grow up from boyhood to manhood in undisturbed +possession of a vital faith? I confess that I never have!</p> + +<p>"I can not help feeling a dismal possibility, that future students of +religion, looking over a nineteenth century 'child's catechism,' will +laugh, or rather drop their hands in blind amazement—for in truth it +is no laughing matter—at the metaphysical conglomerate of dogma, +driven like a nail into the heads of careless and innocent children +(such, at least, as have had, like myself, the advantage of a +religious bringing-up), just as we turn over with regretful amusement +and pathetic wonder the doctrinal farrago of a Buddhist or a Hindu.</p> + +<p>"And all this because people can't wait. He must have a 'dogmatic +basis,' they say, the sinew and bone of religion, when the poor +child's head can not even take in their ideas, let alone his emotion +appreciate them.</p> + +<p>"The consequence is, that I can't bring myself to use these words +except in societies where I know I shall not be misunderstood.</p> + +<p>"Influence, the indestructibility of matter, aspiration—those are +what Grace, the Resurrection of the Body, the Holy Spirit mean to me +now; great and living and integral parts of my creed, which I not +only glow to reflect about, but which surround and penetrate my life +daily and hourly with ever-increasing thankfulness.</p> + +<p>"Yet, on the other hand, some people depend so much on tradition: +they never have a reconstruction of ideas; memories and associations +are all in all to them. They are the 'Bands' people of my former +classification.</p> + +<p>"And so I want to give Edward both. I take him to church. When he +asks me questions I will answer them, but I am glad to say he does +not at present. I send him out before the sermon: that is responsible +for a good deal of harm. 'Ye shall call upon him to avoid sermons' +should be in the rubric of <i>my</i> baptismal service.</p> + +<p>"Then we read some of the Old Testament history as 'history of the +Jews,' and Job and Isaiah and the Psalms as poetry—and I am glad to +say he is very fond of them; and parts of the Gospels in Greek, as +the life and character of a hero. It is the greatest mistake to +impose them upon children as authoritative and divine all at once. It +at once diminishes their interest: we ought to work slowly up through +the human side.</p> + +<p>"The Pauline Epistles I have given him to read in extracts. I believe +they are best in extracts—one can omit the controversial element. +And he has taken, as children do, to the Revelation enormously, and +gets much mysterious delight from it.</p> + +<p>"A long and wearisome letter this, and not, I feel, satisfactory. I +haven't done justice to the side of tradition, the <i>jussum et +traditum</i>, but that is the fault of my mind. I have only been +professing to represent the other side.</p> + +<p>"I would like to thrash the matter out further. I wish you would come +down and see us. Tredennis has a sombre beauty, even in winter—a +'season of mists' with us. The magnolia on the south wall is +blooming, though we are only two days off Christmas. Our love to you.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + <span class="sig">"Arthur Hamilton."</span></div> + +<p>I subjoin another extract, on the education of the moral faculty.</p> + +<p>"I have always held that the concentration of thought upon morality +is a very dangerous system of life. Morality should be an incidental +basis to life, not to be brooded over unless some grave disorder +should arise. We breathe, and eat, and sleep, and pay no heed to +those processes; and indeed both physiologists and moralists exclaim, +in the case of those natural processes, that the healthier we are the +more unconscious will those processes be.</p> + +<p>"So it should be with moral things. If a grave obstruction or +contradiction befall any one; if he behaves in a way that violates +his usefulness, or his own or others' self-respect; then, if he will +not reform himself, we must warn him, or treat him as a physician +would: but to abuse a healthy nature for not considering the reasons +of things, not having a moral system, not 'preparing for death,' +when, by the very constitution of his nature, he does not require +one, is a very grave blunder. Moral anxiety is a sign of moral +<i>malaise</i>, or, far more commonly, a sign of physical disorder.</p> + +<p>"It is an ascertained fact that those periods when morals have been +imposed on man as his sole and proper business and subject for +contemplation have been unprogressive, introspective, feeble times.</p> + +<p>"No, leave morals out of the question directly, unless you see there +is grave cause for interference. Give one or two plain warnings, or +rather commands.</p> + +<p>"Try to raise the <i>tone</i> generally; try to make the young soul +generous, ardent, aspiring. If you can do that, the fouler things +will fall off like husks. Above all things, make him devoted to +you—that is generally possible with a little trouble; and let him +never see or hear you think or say a low thought, or do a sordid +thing. If he loves you he will imitate you; and while the virtuous +habit is forming, he will have the constant thought, 'Would my father +have done this? What would he say, how would he look, if he could see +me?' Imagination is sometimes a saving power."</p> + +<p>I venture to insert a letter in which he touches delicately on the +subject of sexual sin. He would never speak of it, but this was +written in answer to a definite question of mine apropos of a common +friend of ours.</p> + +<p>"I must confess that I do not realize the strength of this particular +temptation, but I am willing to allow for its being almost infinitely +strong. I don't know what has preserved me. It is the one thing about +which I never venture to judge a man in the least, because, from all +I hear and see, it must hurry people away in a manner of which those +who have not experienced it can not form any conception.</p> + +<p>"You ask me what I think the probable effect that yielding to such +temptation has on a man's character. Of course, some drift into +hopeless sensualists. About those I have my own gospel, though I do +not preach it; it is a scarcely formulated hope. But of those that +recover, or are recovered, all depends upon the kind of repentance. +The morbid repentance that sometimes ensues is very disabling. All +dwelling on such falls is very fatal: all thoughts of what might have +been, all reflections about the profaned temple and the desecrated +shrine, though they can not be escaped, yet must not be indulged. +I always advise people resolutely to try and forget them in <i>any</i> +possible way—banish them, drown them, beat them down.</p> + +<p>"But a manly repentance may temper and brace the character in a way +that no other repented fall can. It is the brooding natures which +make me tremble; in healthier natures it is the refiner's fire which +stings and consecrates: '<i>Sanat dum ferit</i>.'</p> + +<p>"But the subject is very repugnant to me. I don't like thinking or +talking about it, because it has its other side; the thought of a +woman in connection with such things is so unutterably ghastly; it is +one of the problems about which I say most earnestly 'God knows.'"</p> + +<p>One other letter of this period, is worth, I think, inserting here.</p> + +<div class="opener"> + "Tredennis, August 29.</div> + +<p>"I had an instructive parable thrown in my way to-day, containing an +obvious lesson for Eddy, and a further meaning for myself. Eddy came +running to me about eleven, to tell me there was a man in the garden. +I hurried to the spot he indicated; and there, in a kind of nook +formed by a fernery, his head resting in a great glowing circle of +St. John's wort, and his feet tucked up under him, lay a drunken +tramp, asleep. He was in the last stage of disease; his face was +white and fallen away, except his nose and eyes, which were red and +bloodshot; he had a horrible sore on his neck; he was unshaven and +fearfully dirty; he had on torn trousers; a flannel shirt, open at +the neck; and a swallow-tail coat, green with age, buttoned round +him. His hat, such as it was, lay on the ground at his side. Edward +regarded him with unfeigned curiosity and dismay. While we stood +watching him, he began to stir and shift uneasily in his sleep, as a +watched person will, and presently woke and rolled to his feet with +a torrent of the foulest language. He was three-parts drunk. He +watched us for a moment suspiciously, and then gave a bolt. How he +accomplished it I don't know, for he was very unsteady on his feet; +but he got to the wall, and dropped over it into the road, and was +out of sight before we could get there. He evidently had some dim +idea that he had been trespassing.</p> + +<p>"Edward inquired what sort of a man he was.</p> + +<p>"'An English gentleman, in all probability,' I said, 'who has got +into that state by always doing as he liked.' And I went on to point +out, as simply as I could, that everybody has two sets of desires, +and that you must make up your mind which to gratify early in life, +determining to face this kind of ending if you fix upon one set. +'Early in life,' I said, 'when this gentleman was a well-dressed +clean boy like you, one of the voices used to whisper to him at his +ear, "Eat as much as you can; that is what you really like best;" +while the other said, "If you eat rather less, you will be able to +play football, or read your book better; besides, you will be your +own master and less of a beast."</p> + +<p>"'But he wouldn't listen; and this is the result.'</p> + +<p>"Edward seemed to ponder it deeply. He tried to starve himself to-day +at lunch; and I refrained from pointing out to him that abstinence +from meat at lunch was not the <i>unum necessarium</i>, for fear of +confusing the ingenuous mind. I like to see people grasp the concrete +issue in one of its bearings. The principle will gradually develop +itself; from denying themselves in one point, they will or may grow +to be generally temperate; when confronted with overmastering and +baser impulses, it may be they will say, 'Let me be ἐγκράτης +ἐμαυτοῦ even here.'</p> + +<p>"So much for Edward's lesson; now for my own. My first impulse was to +loathe and reject the poor object, body and soul. He was merely the +embodiment of long-continued vice. His body was a diseased framework, +breaking quickly up, conscious of no pleasure but appetite, and now +merely existing and held together by the desire of gratifying it; the +little vitality it possessed, just gathering enough volume in the +quiet intervals to satiate one of its three jaded cravings—lust, +hunger, and thirst, and feebly groping after alcoholic and other +stimulants to repair its exhaustion; the soul in her dreamy intervals +drowsily recounting or contemplating lust past and to come—a ghastly +spectacle!</p> + +<p>"And yet I am bound to think, and do record it as my deliberate +belief, that that poor, wretched, withered, gross soul is destined +to as sure a hope of glory as any of us: ay, and may be nearer it, +too, than many of us, as it is expiating its willfulness in more +terrible and direct punishment. There is not a single spasm in that +decayed and nerveless frame, not a single horror of all the gloomy +forebodings and irrational shudderings of the sickening delirium, not +a single mile of the grim dusty roads he wearily traverses, which is +not needed to bring him to the truth. The soul may be so clouded that +it may not even be taking note of its punishment, may not be even +conscious of it, may hardly calculate how low it has fallen and how +wretched and hopeless the remainder of its earthly days are bound to +be; but I assert that it is none of it blind suffering; that not +a pang is unintentionally given, or thrown away; that I shall +hand-in-hand with that soul go some day up the golden stairs that +lead to the Father, and we shall say one to another, 'My brother, you +despised me on earth; you took for a mark of the neglect and +disfavour of God what was only a sign of His constant care; you took +for an indwelling of foul spirits what was only a testimony of my +distance from the truth.'</p> + +<p>"And we shall speak together of new things, so marvellous that they +will banish memory for ever.</p> + +<p>"Who would have thought that the sight of a drunken tramp in a +hedgerow would have brought one so close to a sight of God's +purposes?</p> + +<p>"Yet so it is, my friend. God keeps showing me by the strangest of +surprises that He is all about us. This very incident, so seemingly +trivial, is yet a part of my life already, it has set its mark upon +me. All his life he has been led, from bad to worse, into drink, +and haunted by all the other devils of sin, and piloted across the +country thus, so that the lines of our lives cut at this instant +never to cut again. There are no such things as <i>chance</i> meetings. +There is no smaller or greater in the sight of God. It is as much a +purpose of his life that he should preach this sermon to Edward and +myself to-day, as that he should be shown by God's own strokes what +happiness really is, by the strong contrast of the bitterness of +sin."</p> + +<p>The idea of the purpose of God underlying every incident, however +apparently trivial, was much in his thoughts just then.</p> + +<p>"We often are taught how momentous every thing and every moment is, +by the charging of some trivial incident with tremendous issues. A +man fires off his gun. He has done so thousands of times already, and +yet, like Mr. Jamieson, my neighbour, on this one January morning he +kills his own son, converting in a single instant, by a trivial +incident, the whole of the rest of his life from sweet into bitter, +by the terrible punishment which falls upon 'carelessness.' God seems +to be asking us to weigh the fact, that in a chain of events the +tiniest link is every bit as important and necessary in its place as +the largest.</p> + +<p>"And so I begin to take more and more account of little things. The +very people we pass in the street once, it may be never to pass +again, the stream of faces that flows past us in London—has all +that no real connection with our life, except to stir a faint and +vague emotion about the size of life and our own infinitesimal share +in it? I think it must be something more. Of course, one lets drop +grain after grain of golden truth that God slips into our hands. I +keep feeling that if we could only truly yield ourselves up for a +single instant, put ourselves utterly and wholly in God's hands for a +second, the meaning of the whole would flash upon us, and our lesson +would be learnt. I think perhaps that comes in death. I remember the +only time I took an anæsthetic (when the body really momentarily +dies—that is, the functions are temporarily suspended), the great +sensation was, after a brief passage of storm and agony, the sense of +serenity and repose upon a lesson learnt, a truth grasped, so remote +and so connected with infinite ideas, that the coming back into life +was like the waking after years of experience; a phantom emotion, +I expect; but, like many phantoms, a very good copy of the real one. +That is what I expect dying to be like.</p> + +<p>"I was going to say that I try not to let even little things—things +that are thrust in my way curiously and without apparent reason that +is—go uninterpreted. Why should I, for instance, have been +introduced by my clergyman to the friend who was staying with him +this morning, when I met them in the lane? and why should he have +come in to lunch, and talked dull and trivial talk till three +o'clock, and interrupted all our plans? There seems some design in +it all; and yet one is so impotent to grasp what it can be.</p> + +<p>"Yet I suppose no one has failed to notice several small coincidences +in their lives, of what might almost be called a providential kind.</p> + +<p>"I read in a book about Laennec's method, without the vaguest idea of +who Laennec was, or what his method was. The next day, I see, in +a chart in the village school-room, 'Laennec, inventor of the +stethoscope;' and, the day following, I find and read his biography +in a volume that I happen to take up to pass five minutes. And yet we +say 'by chance.'</p> + +<p>"Or I come across an expression of which I haven't grasped the +precise meaning, 'gene,' let us say, or 'eclectic,' and the next day +I hear the rector and curate discussing them. These are real cases.</p> + +<p>"Or I am interrupted in my writing by Edward, who takes the letters +to the post, and forces this from under my hand, as I write: not, +surely, only to spare you the receipt of a dull and immature letter.</p> + +<div class="closer"> + <span class="sig">"Arthur Hamilton."</span></div> + +<p>I have only one other letter of any especial interest about this +date.</p> + +<p>"If only a book could be written about a hermit, a man that +deliberately left the world, retiring, not to an impracticable +distance—let us say to a small farm, in a country village, with half +an acre of garden—and there let no sound from the world without +reach him, except incidentally, and lived a pure and uncontaminated +life, watching his garden, and turning over, very slowly, such +experience as he had gained in life, with the intention, if anything +came of it, of telling the world any solution that occurred to him +of the great question—'Is one bound to meet life in the ordinary +manner, by plunging into it and swimming up the stream, or does one +meet it best by abjuring it?' There is much to be said for both +views. I am not at all sure that these or similar lives are not +lived, and that the only practical bearing of them is that a man +is <i>not</i> bound to tell his discoveries of our enigmas. I mean, I +can conceive a man, under such circumstances, reaching a very high +standpoint, arriving at very lofty knowledge of the problems of fate +and life, and at the same time finding a ban laid upon him, a tacit +ἀνάγκη, not to reveal it to others, it being hinted to +him that those who would attain to it at all must attain to it as he +has himself attained, by finding out the way themselves."</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3> + +<p>About this time he made the acquaintance of some neighbours whom he +approved, and found companions for Edward Bruce in the boys of the +family, who were home for the holidays. The boy brightened up so much +under the new surroundings, that Arthur determined to get a boy of +the same age to educate with Edward, and he accordingly inserted an +advertisement in the <i>Times</i>. I have it before me now, in the +fast-yellowing paper.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman is anxious to find a companion to be educated with his +adopted son; he offers him board and teaching free, but must see, +personally, both the parent or guardian and the boy whom it is +proposed to send."</p> + +<p>But the advertisement was withdrawn, as a friend of mine, a certain +General Ellis, not very well off, and with a large family, offered +to send a boy of his to Tredennis—an offer which Arthur accepted +provisionally. He had the boy to stay with him for a fortnight, and +at the end of the time agreed to take him.</p> + +<p>As the boys were not to go to a public school, and as neither of them +looked forward to teaching as a career, the object of their teaching +was to make them as quick in grasp of a subject as possible, as +enthusiastic as possible, and as cultivated. Arthur favoured me with +a letter, or rather a treatise, upon their education, fragments of +which I submit to my readers.</p> + +<p>"My aim will be to make them, generally speaking, as adequate as +possible to playing a worthy part in the world. I want them to be as +open-minded on all subjects as possible, to have no fixed prejudices +on any subject, and yet to have an adequate basis of knowledge on +important matters, enough not to leave them at the mercy of any new +book or theory on any subject which handles its facts in at all a +one-sided way—so that on reading a brilliant but narrow book on any +point, they may be able to say, 'This and that argument have weight, +they are valid; but he has suppressed this, and distorted that, +which, if seen fairly and in a good light, would go far to contradict +the other.' Then they must be without <i>prejudice</i>; they must not close +their eyes or turn their backs on any view, because it is 'dangerous' +or 'damaging' or 'subversive' or 'unpractical.' They must not be +afraid to face an idea because of its probable consequences if its +truth is proved. They must not call anything common or unclean.</p> + +<p>"For this they must have a basis of knowledge on these points; +history, political economy, philosophy, science. The first three I am +fairly competent to give them; that is to say, I am studying these +hard myself now, and I can, at any rate, keep well ahead of them; and +I have managed to win their educational confidence, which is a great +thing. They take for granted that a thing which is dull is necessary, +and follow me with faith; while, I am thankful to say, they are keen +enough not to want driving when a thing is interesting.</p> + +<p>"Then they must know French and German, and a modicum of Greek and +Latin. These last I teach them by a free use of translations; +rudiments of grammar first, and then we attack the books, and let +grammar be incidental. We don't compose in any of these languages; +it's a mere waste of time.</p> + +<p>"I teach them logic and Euclid, and get them taught some mathematics. +Then as to science, by reading myself with them we get on very well +together. And I have bought a few chemicals, and we try experiments +freely, which is very satisfactory.</p> + +<p>"Music I teach them both, and harmony. They don't much like it, but +they will be glad some day. I make them practise regularly. I don't +believe any but very exceptionally gifted boys like that; but they +are so awfully thankful when they get to my age if they have been +kept at it.</p> + +<p>"Then as to the external παιδεία, there is my difficulty. I am +not allowed to take any active exertion myself, and, indeed, it tells +on me if I do, so that I have become a kind of thermometer, hopeless +and headachy and listless the next day, if I overdo myself the very +least; so that I have merely to encourage them by precept, not by +example. They have ponies and bicycles, and scamper about all over +the country. Edward has been brought home once in a cart, but not +seriously damaged; and I like to leave them to themselves in these +things—they won't damage themselves a bit the less for fussing and +fretting over them, and they will lose ever so much independence and +go. Then I teach them to shoot, and they are very fair shots with a +pea-gun. And we also do a little carpentering, so we are well +employed. They aren't showy performers at any game, but, as they +won't be at school, that makes very little difference to them; it is +handiness in general sports that is valuable afterward.</p> + +<p>"You would think that this was a tremendous programme, but it is not; +it is mostly reading and talking, with a certain amount of writing. +They have to analyse a chapter of a book of some kind every day; +sometimes history, sometimes philosophy. We do both history and +philosophy as much as possible by means of biographies. Lewes's book +is an excellent text-book, and not a bit too advanced if you will +talk it over with them carefully; clever boys are never really +puzzled by meanings of words. In history we get the greatest man we +can find in a period, and work out his view of all current events; +and they have to write dialogues in character, and enjoy it immensely +too. I don't press them to read for themselves very much, and I don't +make ordinary English literature their task-books, because one always +may be boring a boy, and I don't want to run the risk of boring them +with things that I want them to enjoy as much as I did.</p> + +<p>"I read to them for an hour or so every evening—novels, plays, +anything that they seem to like. They are at liberty to choose.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that they would 'go down' at present—certainly not +among their compeers. They talk quite naturally and straightforwardly +about all kinds of topics of general interest, and they are +tremendously keen about their games, but I think some people might +call them prigs. However, I keep them in a constant and wholesome +contempt of their own abilities, and never let them despise or +criticize anyone unfavourably; not by 'rebuking' it, but by +indicating a point of view—and one can always find one—in which +the person under fire is infinitely their superior.</p> + +<p>"And they are as affectionate as they can be—they like one another +and me; and they aren't easily disturbed by circumstances, not having +had their morbid sensibilities developed, their innocent perceptions +dimmed by alcoholic or other dissipations."</p> + +<p>I select, rather at random, one or two other passages from his +letters at this time.</p> + +<p>"I have just been reading Emerson's Essays. They certainly kindle +one's belief in the greatness of life and the nobility of little +things; but, after all, the great refreshment of such books to me +is—not that they give me new working ideas; I hardly know a book +that has ever done that; the stock of ideas is almost constant in the +world; but because they show that others are on the same track of +admiration and hope as one's self for a goal only hinted at and +conjectured to be glorious—on the same track, and farther advanced +upon it; like older people, they fill in with experience what one has +only guessed at. I find myself saying, 'I expect that life will be +like this and that: it will confirm this and that idea in startling +ways:' and then one of these great souls comes softly to me, and +says, 'It is true.'"</p> + +<p>And again:</p> + +<p>"There are a great number of conventional ideas which are largely +current, not only conversationally and among ordinary people, +but in books—good and sensible books, written by people of +experience—which are, in my opinion, radically and absolutely +false, and yet no one takes the trouble to question them. I am always +coming across them. Such as this: <i>No one is more incapable of +affection than a profligate.</i> This, in my judgement, is a ludicrous +error, though it is the statement of no less a moral physician than +Lacordaire. If by affection you mean 'sustained, pure, disinterested +emotion,' such as patriotism—well and good; but affection!—the two +most affectionate persons I have ever known were thoroughly +dissolute; and I mean by affection, not a slobbering sentimental +passion of a purely sensual type, but an affection quite untainted, +to all appearances leading them to make considerable sacrifices for +the sake of it, and causing them the acutest misery when not +reciprocated. In so far as profligates are selfish brutal natures, +as they often are, it is true; but that is not the case with half +of them. They are not unfrequently people of infirm will, strong +affections, and a violent animal nature. It is selfishness, regard to +personal <i>comfort</i> at all hazards, which is the hopeless nature, +and can not be raised except through pain.</p> + +<p>"Speaking of Lacordaire, another favourite position of his will +illustrate my point. He was constantly inveighing in his seminary +against desultory reading. Homer, Plutarch, Racine, Bossuet, and a +few other books, are all he wishes a man to have read. He calls +miscellaneous reading a subtle dissipation, a moral poison.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me to depend entirely upon temperament. Some natures are +like <i>mills</i>, converting everything that comes in their way into grist; +and in that case, no doubt, it is deleterious. They are people of +slow-revolving mind, to whom statements in books are of the nature of +authorities. Lacordaire was one, I think.</p> + +<p>"But there are others who are like sieves; who want a constant +passing of materials of all kinds over them to let a little fall +through; people who draw from a huge jumble of miscellaneous facts, +theories, and thoughts, a little sediment of truth of the precise +size to suit them. Such a person was Macaulay.</p> + +<p>"I believe that interference does more harm than good. If you thrust +books upon a mind of the first type, the result is confusion and +weariness. If you deny them to the latter, all you get is poverty of +ideas, and morbidity, and mawkishness. I make a rule never to +interfere with anybody's reading."</p> + +<hr> + +<p>Four years passed. I went during that time once to Tredennis—in the +summer, when I took my scanty holiday; for I was in a Government +office where only six weeks were allowed. Arthur was generally away +in the summer. He took Edward Bruce to several friends' houses; +to his own home in Hampshire, now for a long time in the hands of +strangers. He wanted to make him a real Englishman. It was arranged +that he should go to Cambridge in October. He matriculated at +Trinity, Arthur's own college; and he was looking forward with great +delight to the prospect.</p> + +<p>I went down to stay at Tredennis for a week in July. I got to the +house through the quiet sultry lanes about the middle of the +afternoon, having started very early from town. As I came up the +little drive I could see through the trees an animated game of +lawn-tennis proceeding on the lawn in front of the house, between two +flannelled combatants. At the sound of the wheels they broke off the +game, and Edward came up to greet me. He was now nearly nineteen, and +had lost none of the beauty of his boyhood; a small brown moustache +which fringed his upper lip being, to my eyes, almost the only sign +of his advancing years. He introduced me to his friend, a young Eton +man, possessed of that frank nonchalance which it is the privilege of +that institution to bestow. I inquired where Arthur was. Edward told +me that he had gone down to the stream for a stroll. "We'll go down +and find him," he said, putting his arm in mine, with that same +demonstrativeness that had always characterized him, and that won +people to him so quickly.</p> + +<p>We crossed one or two adjacent fields which sloped down to the +stream, conspicuous by its fringe of alder and hazel; and after +crossing by a gravel-pit, we came on a level reach of it, all stifled +with high water-plants, figwort, and loosestrife, and willow-herb, +and great sprawling docks, till, down by a little runnel where it +took a sudden turn round a shoal of gravel, we came upon the faint +fragrance of a cigarette; then Flora ran forward to meet us; and, on +turning the corner, we found a great long figure lying on the bank, +with hat half pulled over his eyes, gazing dreamily up into the +shifting willow leaves and the blue above.</p> + +<p>Our voices, which had been drowned by the sound of the running water, +aroused him, and he sat up, and, on seeing me, got slowly to his feet +with a delightful smile of welcome on his face. "How are you, my dear +man?" he said. "I didn't expect you so early, or I should have been +at home to meet you—in fact, I should have driven down to Truro, +only I am not quite the thing to-day."</p> + +<p>I looked rather anxiously at him, to see how he appeared to be, and +was much struck with the change in him. There had crept into his face +what has been called a look of "doom." The Stuarts are said to have +had it. I can not describe it in any other way. It was that of a man +waiting for something, bravely and calmly, but still with a certain +sort of apprehension. He looked very solemn and grave when he was not +speaking, and he was apt to get a kind of brooding look, which did +not disperse till one spoke to him. He was thinner, too, and paler, +though the old lock of hair still dangled over his forehead, and his +eyes had the old affectionate look.</p> + +<p>He was playful and humorous in a quiet way. I have forgotten what we +talked about—we discussed people and things vaguely; I can only +remember one little remark he made which struck me as being highly +characteristic. I had said, in reply to some question as to one of +our friends, "Oh, he's perfectly crazy." "Yes," said Arthur, mildly: +"he has certainly got some curious mannerisms."</p> + +<p>I ventured to remonstrate with him about the cigarette, but he said +gravely that he had given up thinking about his health, it was so +very inferior, and that he had come to the conclusion that nothing +in moderation made him either better or worse; "and an occasional +cigarette," he said, "adds so much to my general serenity, that I +feel sure it is perfectly justifiable."</p> + +<p>I had a very delightful week there. He talked a good deal, when he +was in the mood, about the books he had been reading and the thoughts +he had been thinking; but his physical languor at times, especially +in the mornings, was very painful to see. He did not get up till very +late, and complained to me more than once of a terrible listlessness +and dejection to which he was liable during the earlier part of the +day. But he spoke little of his own sufferings, or rather <i>malaise</i>, +which I gathered was very great, only saying once or twice, "It is +fortunate how habituated one gets to things, even to enduring +discomfort. If I can only get my mind occupied, it hardly ever +distracts me now." And again—"I think the only really valuable +experiences are those that we can not lay down and take up at will, +but which continue with us, invariable, unaltering, day after day, +meeting us at every moment and tempering every mood." And once—"In +spite of everything, I would not for an instant go back. I have every +now and then, on breezy sunny mornings or after rain, an intense gush +of yearning for the peculiar unconscious delight—the index of +perfect physical health—of childhood; but I never deliberately wish +that things were otherwise. I enjoy nature more, far more, than ever +I did. The signs of spring are a deep and constant joy to me. I can +lie down by the stream, and watch the water flowing and the flowers +bending and stirring and the animals that run busily about, and be +absolutely absorbed, without a thought of myself or even other +people. This I never could do before, and it has been sent me, I +often think, as a kind of alleviation. I have had it ever since I +settled here at Tredennis; and altogether I feel the stronger and +the more content for all this suffering and the inevitable end, which +can not be far off. No; I wouldn't change, even with you, my dear +Chris, or even with Edward"—as that superb piece of physical +vitality crossed the lawn.</p> + +<p>"When I first came," he told me, "quite at first, I seemed to have +lost my hold of nature—to be discordant and out of joint with her. +On those bright still mornings we so often have here in the early +summer, I seemed to be only a sad spectator, not a part of it all. +The sunset over the hills there, and the deliberate red glow of the +creek, all seemed to mock me. Even Edward, fond as he was of me, +seemed to have no real connection with me. I was isolated and +despairing. But very gradually, like the dispersing of a cloud, it +came back. I began again to feel myself a performer in the drama, not +a gloomy spectator of it—there must be the sufferer, the condemned, +to make the tragedy complete, and they may be enacted well—till the +sense of God's Fatherhood came back to me. So that I can be and feel +myself a part of the vast economy, diseased and inefficient though I +am—feel that I am one with the life that throbs in the trees and +water, and that forces itself up at every cranny and nestles in every +ledge—can wait patiently for my move, the transference of my vital +energy—as strong as ever, it seems to me, though the engines are +weaker—to some other portion of the frame of things."</p> + +<p>He spoke of spiritualism with great contempt. "The more I see of +spiritualists and the less I see of phenomena," he said, "the more +discontented with it I am. It is nothing but a fashionable +drawing-room game."</p> + +<p>He dwelt a good deal on the subjective interpretation of nature. One +evening—we had been listening to the owls crying—he said, +abstractedly:</p> + +<p>"We put strange meanings enough, God knows, into faces that never +owned them. We hear dreary hopelessness in the moaning of the wind; +wild sorrow in the tossing of the trees; and read into the work-a-day +cries of birds, content, humour, melancholy, and a thousand other +unknown feelings."</p> + +<p>He spoke much about the country and its effect on people. "Wisdom," +he said, "is generally reared among fields and woody places, and when +she is nearly grown she wanders into the cities of men, to see if she +can not rule there; and then the test really comes. If she is genuine +and strong, she says her say and makes her protest, and passes back +again, uncontaminated, into the quiet villages, as pure and free as +ever. That is the case with genius. But if the spring of her energy +is not all her own—is not quite untainted, she parts with her +old grace and glory, losing it in hard unloving talk, in selfish +intercourse, in striving after the advantages of comfort and wealth. +She stays, and is dissipated—she is conformed to the image of the +world. That is what happens to mere talent."</p> + +<p>The only other conversation with him that impressed itself very +distinctly upon my mind was about religion. He had been thinking—so +he told me—very deeply about Christianity, its strength and +weakness. "Its weakness, nowadays," he said, "is the mistake of +confusing it with the principles advocated by any one of the bodies +that profess to represent it. When one sees in the world so many +bodies—backed by wealth, tradition, prestige—shouting, 'We are the +only authorized exponents of Christ's truth; we are the only genuine +succession of the apostles;' when we see Churches who claim and +make much of possessing the succession (which they have in reality +forfeited by secession), and yet demand the right to be heretical +if the main stream is, as they say, 'corrupted' (for once introduce +that principle, and you can never limit subdivision, and equitable +subdivision too)—it is no wonder weaker intellects are confused and +distressed, and from their inability to decide between five or six +sole possessors of the truth, fall outside teaching and encouragement +altogether, though they could have got what they wanted in any of +these bodies.</p> + +<p>"But, in spite of the hopeless strife of Churches, the fundamental +attraction of Christianity for human nature remains every bit as +strong—to be able to say to all people, 'Imagine and idealize the +best human being possible; put into him all the best qualities of all +the best people you have ever known—give him strength, sympathy, +power beyond the most powerful on earth, and add to that a great +deep individual affection for <i>you yourself</i>, of a kind that is +never moved by insults, or chilled by coldness, or diverted by +ingratitude;'—say to them, 'And he has been waiting quietly for +you for years, for the least sign of affection on your part, never +disgusted, never impatient, always ready to turn and welcome you.'</p> + +<p>"Think what a hold you establish, saying this, over all people +conscious of unhappiness of any kind, over all those refined natures +coarsening under a vile <i>entourage</i>, over all unsatisfied hearts +craving for a friend that their surroundings can not give them, over +all who have lost delight for whatever cause in common familiar +things, and have nowhere to turn. When one reflects how many human +beings fall under one or other of these heads, one does not wonder +at it."</p> + +<p>I returned to London, feeling wonderfully refreshed and invigorated, +both in body and mind, by my visit. Then, as ever, I could not help +feeling a subtle influence in Arthur's conversation and presence, +that defied analysis and yet was undoubtedly there. He seemed to +encourage one to hope, or rather believe, in the ultimate tendency to +good in all things, to wait and watch the developments and the bents +of life, rather than to fret over particular events—and this without +a vague optimism that refuses to take count of what is unsatisfactory +and foul, but looking causes and consequences fairly in the face. "I +never quite understood the parable of the tares," he said to me, just +before I went, "till I found these words in a book the other day: +'The root of the common darnel (<i>lolium</i>) or dandelion, with +saltpeter, make a very cheap and effective sheep-drench. It can be +applied successfully in cases of fluke.'"</p> + +<hr> + +<p>In October, 1883, as had been arranged, Edward went up to Trinity +College, Cambridge. I had a short letter from Arthur telling me. It +ended characteristically thus: "I don't in the least care that Edward +should be distinguished academically. I do care very much what sort +of a character he is. What one does, matters so very much less than +how one does it. It is the method, not the thing, which shows what +the man is. I shall be very much disgusted if he <i>means</i> to work and +doesn't, but merely drifts; whereas, if he is idle on principle, I +don't much care. 'Do what you mean to do,' is what I have always told +him. If I hear that he is doing fairly well and making friends, and +finds himself at home, I shall be content, but nothing more. But if I +hear that he is influential and takes his own line, I shall be very +much pleased, even if that line is not quite the most respectable, or +that influence is not now for the best."</p> + +<p>This letter was dated November 1st. On November the 9th, Edward Bruce +was killed by a fall from a dog-cart, driving into Cambridge from +Ely. He had driven over there with a friend, a pleasant but somewhat +reckless man. They had dined at Ely, and were returning in the +evening, both in the highest spirits. Edward was driving; the horse +took fright, in a little village called Drayton, at a dog that ran +across the road. Edward was thrown out on to his head, and, entangled +in the reins, was dragged for some distance. The other escaped with a +few bruises.</p> + +<p>Arthur was acquainted with the terrible news by telegraph. He came up +to Cambridge at once, ill and broken with the shock as he was. They +told me that he looked terribly pale, but with a quiet self-possessed +manner he made all arrangements and settled all bills. The poor boy +was buried in the north-west corner of the cemetery at Cambridge. +Arthur put up a little tablet to him at Trinity and at St. Uny +Trevise.</p> + +<div id="EBmemoriam"> + In Memory of<br> + E. B.,<br> + BORN AT TEHERAN;<br> + DIED AT CAMBRIDGE, NOV. 9, 1883.<br> + "What I do thou knowest not now, but<br> + thou shalt know hereafter."</div> + +<p>Arthur had an interview with Edward's companion on the fatal +occasion. I subjoin the latter's account of it. He requested me, when +I wrote to him to ask him for some particulars relating to Edward +Bruce, to make what use I wished of the letter.</p> + +<p>"I can't describe the effect the accident had on me. It half drove me +mad, I think. I was very much attached to Edward Bruce, as, indeed, +we all were. I don't attempt to condone the fault. It was due +entirely to my carelessness. I pressed him to drive faster than he +was willing to do. I laughed at his scruples. I whipped the horse on +myself. I never clearly knew what happened—for I was stunned +myself—till I woke up and was told.</p> + +<p>"When Mr. Hamilton came to see me, I was sitting in my room, over my +breakfast, which I could not eat. His card was brought in by my gyp, +and it made me faint and sick. He came in with his hand out, looking +very pale, but smiling just as he used to smile, only more sadly. +'Don't reproach me,' I said; 'I can't bear it.' 'Reproach you!' he +said—and I shall never forget the tone of affectionate wonder with +which it came, or the relief it was to me to hear it—'Reproach you! +I know how you loved him.' I broke down at that, and cried +wretchedly. I found him sitting by me. He put his hand on my shoulder +and stroked my hair. 'I have only one more thing to say,' he said, at +last. 'You will not mind my saying it, will you? Eddy had told me all +about you—he was very open with me—that you were not doing justice +to your opportunities here, not fulfilling your own ideals and +possibilities. All I ask of you is to let this be the impulse to +rise; do not let any morbid or fantastic remorse stand in your way, +and baffle you. You know that he would have been the first to have +forgiven any share of the fault that may be yours. What I wish most +earnestly for you—it is what he, if he had lived, would have wished +most—is that you should become a nobler man—as you can, I know; as +you will, I believe.' I could not speak, or answer him then; but I +have tried to do what he begged me. Perhaps you do not know—I hope +you do not—what a struggle an attempt to forget is. I could not have +believed that a memory could hang so heavily round my neck.</p> + +<p>"He wrote to me once after, and sent me Edward's riding-whip and +flask. I never saw him again. From what Edward told me, and from the +little I saw of him myself, I knew that he was the humblest and +gravest of men. In his dealing with me, he showed himself the most +truly loving."</p> + +<p>I was at Tredennis for a week just after this. At the end of that +time he begged me not to stay—he could bear it better alone. My +impression was that he was like a man half dazed with grief. He sat +very silent, and would do nothing; if he ever spoke, it was with +evident effort. He did not appear to be ill, only crushed and +overwhelmed. Once he broke down. He was looking over some books, and +found a notebook of Edward's, of some subject they had been reading +together. Edward had tired of the subject, and the last page was +occupied with a pen-and-ink sketch of Arthur himself, the discovery +of which, done as it had been during working hours, had been the +occasion of some affectionate strictures. He shut the book up +quickly, and literally moaned.</p> + +<p>Then, after a little, his frosty silence broke up, and he wrote me +several letters about his boy, very full and detailed, with numbers +of little stories, and ending with a passionate burst of grief at the +loss. They are too private for publication.</p> + +<p>One very notable one, some six months after, must be given here.</p> + +<p>"People talk and write about instantaneous momentary <i>conversions</i>—I +never realized what was meant till a week ago. Day after day, all +that time, I had been filled with gloomy, reproachful, or bitter +thoughts of God and the providence which took Edward from me. It was +intolerable that he should be swept away into silence, leaving me +so worn and hopeless, and, worst of all, so dissatisfied and +discontented with the hand that did it—my vaunted philosophy +failing and giving out utterly. I <i>knew</i> it was right, but could +not <i>feel</i> it.</p> + +<p>"But last night as I sat, as I have so often done, burning and racked +with recollection and regret, a kind of peace stole over me. It was +quite sudden, quite abnormal; not that afterglow of hope that +sometimes follows a dark plunge of despair, but a gentle firm trust +that seemed, without explaining, yet to make all things plain; not +ebbing and flowing, not changing with physical sensation or mental +weariness, but deep, abiding, sustaining. You may think it rash of me +thus, after so short an interval, to write so assuredly of it; but +even if I lost the sense (and I shall not) the memory of that moment +would support me; 'If I go down into hell, thou art there also,' is +the only sentence that expresses it.</p> + +<p>"But I shall not lose it; it has been with me in many moods—and my +moods are many and very variable, as you know. I can't express it in +words; but I feel no more doubt about Edward's well-being, no more +inclination to fret or murmur, besides an all-embracing and pervading +sense of satisfied content that penetrates everywhere and applies +itself to everything; those are the chief manifestations.</p> + +<p>"It is as if he had come to me himself and whispered that all was +well, or, better still, as if the great Power that held both him and +me and all men within His grasp, had sent His messenger to strengthen +me. My friend, all the struggles and miseries of my life have paled +to nothing in the light of this. If this is to be won by suffering, +pray that you may suffer; though I feel, indeed, as if I had not +earned or deserved a tenth part of it—it is the free gift of God. +It is to this that we shall all come."</p> + +<p>He still lived at Tredennis; spending much of his time in visiting +and talking to the people round about, the cottagers and farmers. +He was very weak in the mornings, and mostly read, or often was too +feeble even for that; but later in the day his strength used somewhat +to revive, and he would walk along the lanes with Flora, now growing +older and more sedate, trotting by him. He was known and loved in +the circle of the hills. "Oh, sir," as a poor woman said to me, +with tears in her eyes, after he was gone, "I can't tell you how it +was—he spoke very little of Him—but he seemed to remind me of the +Lord Jesus, if I am not wrong to say it, more than all Mr. Robert's +sermons or the pictures in the school-house. He was so kind and +gentle; he seemed to bring God with him!"</p> + +<p>But the end was not far off. He got very much weaker in the spring: +he suffered from violent paroxysms of pain, depriving him of sight +and power of speech, and wearing him out terribly. On the 21st of +April I was telegraphed for; he wished to see me.</p> + +<p>I came in the evening; he was conscious, and seemed glad to see me, +though he was very weak. He said to me, "When I was at Cambridge, my +windows overlooked a space of grass, very evenly green in the spring; +but in a hot summer the lines of old foundations and buildings +used to come out, burning the grass above them with the heat they +retained; it is just the same," he added, "with things that I thought +I had forgotten—they come out very truthfully now."</p> + +<p>He often spoke to me of his grief that he had never seen Edward's +face after he left Tredennis to go to Cambridge, for he had been +fearfully disfigured, cut and bruised by the accident, and he had +no picture of him; "But perhaps it is because I was too fond of his +face," he said.</p> + +<p>He had several terrible spasms while I was with him, and the doctor +said that if he had such another he could not last out the night. +Once, after waking from the prolonged and weary sleep of prostration +which used to follow these collapses, he said to me, with a smile, +"I saw him."</p> + +<p>Once he said, "I have just dreamed of a tall man, who came to me and +said, 'You will be surprised when you meet Edward; he is delighting +everyone there with his conversation; he is so much wiser; and he has +grown so much handsomer," adding, with a smile, "though I still think +that an impossibility."</p> + +<p>About six o'clock on the morning of the 24th he seemed very uneasy in +his sleep. On waking, he said, "I should like to receive the +Sacrament."</p> + +<p>I confess that I thought that he was wandering; he had given up this +religious observance for years. He repeated it, adding, "I am not +wandering; I know what I am saying."</p> + +<p>I went at once to the rectory. The rector was away, and I was +directed to the curate, who lived in the village.</p> + +<p>I went straight to him, and made my request. He refused to comply. I +will do him the justice to say that he appeared to be profoundly +concerned and distressed. "I can't act without my rector in this," he +said. "I daren't take the responsibility. He hasn't attended the +Communion for years; I know his opinions are distinctly unchristian; +and in my last talk to the rector, he confessed to me that if Mr. +Hamilton (speaking hypothetically) were to present himself for +Communion, he should be obliged to refuse him."</p> + +<p>I spoke very hastily, and I think unfairly. Mr. J—— tried to +remonstrate, but I would not hear him.</p> + +<p>When I came back, Arthur was asleep. As soon as he awoke, before he +was quite conscious, he said, "It is like a river; it flows very +smoothly, and carries me off my feet; but the sun is on it, and it is +very clear."</p> + +<p>I told him about the <i>rencontre</i>. He smiled faintly, and said, "Ask +him to come and see me, at any rate; he can't refuse that." I sent +the message at once.</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock he had a fearful spasm; so terrible that I could not +endure to see it, and left the room. While I was down-stairs, the +curate arrived. He had come of his own accord, bringing the vessels +with him. It had been, he pleaded, only a momentary hesitation.</p> + +<p>In half an hour I was told that he would like to see us. The doctor +was with him; as we entered, he told me, "He can not last an hour." +Then, to the curate, "You may begin the service, if you like, though +I doubt if he can hear you; he certainly will not be able to +receive."</p> + +<p>He was very gray about the eyes and temples, and looked fearfully +exhausted. His eyes were closed. The curate began in a quiet voice, +rather agitated. When he was near the end, Arthur opened his eyes +fully and saw him. The curate went forward. Arthur held out his hand. +"Thank you for coming," he said.</p> + +<p>The curate grasped his hand, and said, "Can you forgive me for not +coming at once?"</p> + +<p>"You were doing your duty," said Arthur; adding, with a half-smile, +"and you are doing it now," as he saw the open book.</p> + +<p>Then he began to wander. I heard him say this: "He seems to halt. +Yes! but it is only seeming."</p> + +<p>Then for ten minutes he was very still. Then he gave an uneasy +movement, and half raised himself.</p> + +<p>"He is going," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he opened his eyes. "All three," he said. They were his last +words. The curate began to say a prayer; we none of us interrupted +him. There was a convulsive movement, and all was over. The doctor +went out. We cried like children by the bed.</p> + + +<h3>RECAPITULATION</h3> + +<p>I had rather intended to say no more; to let the Life speak for +itself. I had imagined that a moral destroyed, rather than enhanced, +the effect of a story; that a descriptive catalogue rather interfered +with one's appreciation of a picture than otherwise; but a friend to +whom I showed my little collection, and to whose opinion I greatly +defer, expressed surprise at the abruptness of the close. "You seem +to leave the end," he said, "tangled and unravelled; one wants the +threads just gathered together again." So I will try and discharge +this task.</p> + +<p>The difficulty is not to arrive at a deterministic theory of life for +most men. Anyone who will take things as he finds them, and fairly +come to a conclusion about them, not hampered by fetters of authority +or tradition, but independently arriving at his own solution, must +inevitably arrive at this; there is no logical escape. But the +difficulty lies in the application of this determinism to life. So +many people persist in saying that it is only a logical account of +the existence of the world, only an ontological solution, not a +life-philosophy. The best man, who can not confute it, only says +mournfully that it will not do for an ethical system; nothing good +can come out of it in practice.</p> + +<p>The writer is one of those who believe that truth, however painful, +is essentially practical. That truth when seen must be applied, must +be worked out into life, is his cherished idea. But he, as much as +anyone, has felt the usual (alas!) and bitter consequences of +determinism; has seen the victim of the thought sit, as it were, +with his hands tied; has seen the determinist sink into temporary +fatalism, and has seen effort relaxed and ideals growing hourly dim.</p> + +<p>He was beginning to suffer in this manner himself when, at Cambridge, +he met Arthur; and met in him not only an inspiring acquaintance, an +encouraging friend, but a man who was far ahead of him on the same +path where he had only ventured to imprint a few trembling footsteps, +and then draw back appalled at the sombre prospect. Arthur was like +one further up the pass, who had turned a corner, so to speak, and +saw the road plain.</p> + +<p>He found a thoroughgoing determinist who was still faithful to the +voice of duty, still striving upwards; he found that his theories, +far from giving him a sense of gloom and hopelessness, rather +bestowed on him a frank expectant habit of soul; a readiness to weigh +circumstances, however small, to overlook nothing as trivial or +common; and a serene trust in an invisible all-ruling Father +(παντοκράτωρ, as he used to say), who really was +ordering the world in the smallest details when He seemed to be +ordering it least, and who wished the best for His children—far +better than they had insight to wish for themselves, and who +thus could be trusted not to be inflicting any useless blow, any +meaningless torment, even when things looked blackest and the world +most unintelligible.</p> + +<p>I do not maintain that Arthur never flagged or swerved from this; the +letter on page 164 will show it was far otherwise: but this was his +deliberate habit of mind; this was the ideal that he was faithful to, +with all allowances for a humanity, and a humanity sorely tried.</p> + +<p>He was an ambitious man by nature; I am sure of that: <i>that</i> he +conquered. He was indolent by nature, averse to detail, and motion, +and change: <i>that</i> he conquered by deliberate rough travel. He +disliked new people: <i>that</i> he set himself to conquer. In the prime +of his life, being of a nature to which health and ordinary enjoyments +of life were very delightful and precious, death was suddenly and +hopelessly set before him; he loved and was disappointed; and the +one charge that was given him, the education of his friend's boy, +was overwhelmed and ended in a moment by a little act of boyish +carelessness. Keenly sensitive to physical pain, the last years of +his life were racked with it, every week, almost every day.</p> + +<p>Such are the materials of a life. Apparently self-regarding in idea, +and prematurely cut short in fact, it has left results on a small +circle of friends that will never die. And why?</p> + +<p>Because, in spite of every trial and every rebuff, he preserved at +heart a serenity that was not thoughtlessness, a cheerfulness that +was not hilarity, a humour that was not cynicism. The biographer has +thought fit to give expression to his darkest hours, and they were +not few; they may appear in the life to have the preponderance, +but he would not cut them out. No life is inspiriting that is not +occasionally weak and faulty. What would David be without his sins; +Peter, without his fall? There was no depth of the despairing spirit, +I say it deliberately, that Arthur had not sounded—and he had not +been, as it were, lowered—deaf, blind, and unconscious—into the +abysmal deeps; it was with an eye alert to mark every ledge of the +dark walls, an ear quick to catch the smallest murmur from below, a +sense keen to experience and record every new depth gained, every +qualm of heart-sickness encountered. Naturally prone to serious +contemplation of life's enigmas, there was not one that life did not +bring with shocking vividness to his touch.</p> + +<p>Further, I believe that some will be found to say, "The teaching of +this life is so selfish; it is all self-contemplation, miserable +self-weariness, gloomy reveries bounded by the narrowest horizons. +If ever he turns to others' evil case, it is with the melancholy +satisfaction of the hypochondriac, who finds his own symptoms +repeated with less or greater variations in others' cases." To these +I could only reply, "You have totally misunderstood the life. It is +not a selfish one. The deepest self-communings are necessary to one +who would know human nature, because self is the only human creature +that can be known with a perfect intimacy. 'No one but yourself can +tell,' as Arthur once wrote to me, 'what ruled the lines in your +face.'" But Arthur, above all others that I have ever known, had +passed from the particular to the general. Plato's praise of love +was based on the principle that the philosopher passed from the love +of one fair form to the love of abstract beauty. The fault is that +so many never pass the initiation. Arthur did cross the threshold; +he passed from the contemplation of his own suffering to the +consideration of the root of all human suffering. He found his best +comfort in doing all he could (and God allowed him little latitude) +to alleviate the sufferings of others. I have letters from various of +his friends, dealing, with his firm and faithful touch, with crisis +after crisis in their lives. No one who had trusted him with his +confidence once, ever shrank from doing it again. I am forced to +admit that, far more than many of his authorized brethren, he +discharged the priestly office. He was self-constituted, or rather +called, to be a priest of God.</p> + +<p>The great mystery of <i>effectiveness</i> he never solved, I think, quite +to his own satisfaction. His life has solved it for me ever since I was +able to regard it <i>en masse</i>. It was a great puzzle to him what to +make, for instance, of infants who died at or before birth. "'Saved +from this wicked world' is such a horrible statement in such cases," +he used to say. "If that is the best that can happen to us, what +<i>can</i> we make of life?" And so he was always very urgent about the +influence of example opposed to the influence of precept. "My +father," he said to me, "once spoke to me rather sharply about not +attending at family prayers. He did not attend very closely himself. +I was an observant boy, and I knew it. The very fact that he should +have noticed me proved it. So all I felt was that prayer didn't +matter really, but that, however I felt, I must behave as if I was +devout; whereas, if he had prayed in rapt fervency, unconscious of +anything, I should have been ashamed, I think, to wander. I should +have perceived the beauty of prayer. Ah, my dear friend," he added, +"never speak to a child about a thing unless you <i>know</i> you always +do it yourself, and even then with extreme and tender caution."</p> + +<p>Acting then, on this principle, he did not give us lectures and +rules: but we saw how a man was meeting life, not shirking any of its +problems, and beset by most of its trials. And we wondered what was +the secret spring of his well-being; and when we came to examine it, +we were amazed to find that it was in the strength of principles +resulting from a rigid and logical classification of phenomena.</p> + +<p>So much is said nowadays about the dissidence of the spiritual and +intellectual worlds. Many people, conscious of intellect, are yet +strangely at sea when they are told of their <i>spiritual</i> side. There +appears to be nothing within them answering to that description. +There are, indeed, certain qualities or characteristics, but those +seem not to exist independent of their intellectual and physical +economies, but to permeate both. They do not understand that what is +meant is the faculty of emotional generalization. <i>That</i> they could +understand. Arthur arrived at his principles purely through logical +methods and intellectual operations. He could not, he often +confessed, separate the intellectual and the spiritual. From some +expressions, however, which dropped from him in a letter, part of +which is given on p. 209, I am vaguely aware that he was +reconsidering that point (and it has been suggested to me that such +an explanation will suit his last words); but, in any case, he was of +the greatest possible comfort to us who knew him, because he was an +instance (the only one) of a man who had arrived at his principles +from a purely intellectual basis.</p> + +<p>And let me, finally, correct the impression, if I have by chance, in +developing this latter point, given any colour to the idea that his +character was hard, logical, unaffectionate, unloving. Arthur was +the tenderest, most sympathetic, most loving soul I have ever met; +nothing else would explain his influence. He was not demonstrative, +and was often misunderstood. His tendency was to dissimulate the +strongest of his feelings. Yet I have seen him turn red and pale at +the sight of a letter in the handwriting of a friend he loved; I have +seen him literally tremble with emotion when Edward Bruce, in his +impulsive boyish way, would, with eager demonstrative affection, +throw his arm round his neck, or take his hand. The tears gather in +my eyes as I write, when I recall a few words of his a few days +before he died, when he called me to him. It was after one of those +terrible paroxysms of pain. He was very white and feeble, but +smiling. He took my hand, and said, "What a wonderful thing it is +that pain takes away one's power of thinking of anything except +people. It hurries one away, somewhere, deep, deep down; yet one can +bear to touch the bottom. But when loving anyone carries one away, +one goes down deeper and deeper, and yet feels that there is a +fathomless gulf beyond."</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A. Of Trinity College, Cambridge + Extracted From His Letters And Diaries, With Reminiscences + Of His Conversation By His Friend Christopher Carr Of The + Same College + +Author: Arthur Christopher Benson + +Release Date: August 4, 2005 [EBook #16438] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF ARTHUR HAMILTON *** + + + + +Produced by Andrew Sly + + + + + +Etext preparer's note: This text was first published anonymously in 1886. + + + MEMOIRS OF + ARTHUR HAMILTON, B.A. + OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE + + + Extracted from his letters and diaries, with reminiscences of his + conversation by his friend CHRISTOPHER CARR + of the same college + + By + Arthur Christopher Benson + + "Pro jucundis aptissima quaeque dabunt di; + Carior est illis homo quam sibi." + Juvenal + + + + +DEDICATION + +To H. L. M. + + +My dear Friend, + +When you were kind enough to allow me to dedicate this book to +you--you, to whose frank discussion of sacred things and kindly +indifference to exaggerations of expression I owe so much--I felt +you were only adding another to the long list of delicate benefits +for which a friend can not be directly repaid. + +My object has throughout been this: I have seen so much of what +may be called the dissidence of religious thought and religious +organization among those of my own generation at the Universities, +and the unhappy results of such a separation, that I felt bound to +contribute what I could to a settlement of this division, existing +so much more in word than in fact--a point which you helped me very +greatly to grasp. + +I have been fortunate enough to have seen and known both sides of the +battle. I have seen men in the position of teachers, both anxious and +competent to position of teachers, both anxious and competent to +settle differences, when brought into contact with men of serious +God-seeking souls, with the nominal intention of dropping the +bandying of words and cries and of attacking principles, meet and +argue and part, almost unconscious that they have never touched the +root of the matter at all, yet dissatisfied with the efforts which +only seem to widen the breach they are intended to fill. + +And why? Both sides are to blame, no doubt: the teachers, for being +more anxious to expound systems than to listen to difficulties, to +make their theories plain than to analyse the theories of their--I +will not say adversaries--but opponents; the would-be learners, +for hasty generalization; for bringing to the conflict a deliberate +prejudice against all traditional authority, a want of patience in +translating dogmas into life, a tendency to flatly deny that such a +transmutation is possible. + +Fortunately, the constructive side is in no want of an exponent; +but I have tried to give a true portrait in this arrangement, or +rather selection, of realities, of what a serious and thoughtful +soul-history may in these days be: to depict the career of a +character for which no one can fail to have the profoundest sympathy, +being as it is, by the nature of its case, condemned to a sadder +sterner view of life than its uprightness justifies, and deprived of +the helpful encouragement of so many sweet natures, whose single aim +in life is to help other souls, if they only knew how. + +And so, as I said before, it is with a most grateful remembrance of +certain gracious words of yours, let fall in the stately house of God +where we have worshipped together, in lecture-rooms where I have sat +to hear you, and in conversations held in quiet college rooms or +studious gardens, that I place your name at the head of these pages, +the first I have sent out to shift for themselves, or rather to pass +whither the Inspirer of all earnest endeavour may appoint. + + I remain ever affectionately yours, + Christopher Carr. + Ashdon, Hants. + + + + +PREFACE + + +There are several forms of temperament. The kind that mostly +issues in biography is the practical temperament. Poets have the +shortest memoirs, and the most uninteresting. The politician, the +philanthropist, the general, make the best, the most graphic Lives. +The fact remains, however, that the question, "What has he done?" +though a specious, is an unsatisfactory test of greatness. + +But there is a temperament called the Reflective, which works slowly, +and with little apparent result. The very gift of expression is a +practical gift: with the gift of expression the reflective man +becomes a writer, a poet, an artist; without it, he is unknown. + +The reflective temperament, existing without any particular gift of +expression, wants an exponent in these times. Reflection is lost +sight of; philanthropy is all the rage. I assert that for a man to +devote himself to a reflective life, that is, in the eyes of the +world, an indolent one, is often a great sacrifice, and even on that +account, if not essentially, valuable. Philanthropy is generally +distressing, often offensive, sometimes disastrous. + +Nothing, in this predetermined world, fails of its effect, as nothing +is without its cause. There is a call to reflection which a man must +follow, and his life then becomes an integral link in the chain of +circumstance. Any intentional life affects the world; it is only the +vague drifting existences that pass it by. + +The subject of this memoir was, as the world counts reputation, +unknown. His only public appearance, as far as I know, besides the +announcement of his birth, is the fact that his initials stand in a +dedication on the title-page of a noble work of fiction. + +Arthur Hamilton left me his manuscripts, papers, and letters; from +these, and casual conversations I have had with him in old days, +this little volume is constructed. + + C.C. + + +CHAPTER I + + +He was born November 2, 1852. He was the second son of a retired +cavalry officer, who lived in Hampshire. Besides his elder brother, +there were three sisters, one of whom died. His father was a wealthy +man, and had built himself a small country house, and planted the few +acres of ground round it very skillfully. Major Hamilton was a very +religious man, of the self-sufficient, puritanical, and evangelical +type, that issues from discipline; a martinet in his regiment, a +domestic tyrant, without intending to be. He did not marry till +rather late in life; and at the time when Arthur was growing up--the +time when memory intwines itself most lingeringly with its +surroundings, the time which comes back to us at ecstatic moments +in later, sadder days--all the _entourage_ of the place was at its +loveliest. Nothing ever equalled the thrill, he has told me, of +finding the first thrush's nest in the laurels by the gate, or of +catching the first smell of the lilac bushes in spring, or the +pungent scent of the chamomile and wild celery down by the little +stream. + +The boy acquired a great love for Nature, though not of the intimate +kind that poets have by instinct. "In moments of grief and despair," +he wrote in later life, "I do not, as some do, crouch back to the +bosom of the great Mother; she has, it seems, no heart for me when I +am sorry, though she smiles with me when I am glad." But he has told +me that he is able to enjoy a simple village scene in a way that +others can not easily understand: a chestnut crowded with pink +spires, the clack of a mill-wheel, the gush of a green sluice out +of a mantled pool, a little stream surrounded by flags and water +lobelias, gave him all his life a keen satisfaction in his happy +moments. "I always gravitate to water," he writes. "I could stop +and look at a little wayside stream for hours; and a pool--I never +tire of it, though it awes me when I am alone." + +The boy was afraid of trees, as many children are. If he had to go +out alone he always crossed the fields, and never went by the wood; +wandering in a wood at night was a childish nightmare of a peculiarly +horrible kind. + +I quote a few childish stories about him, selecting them out of a +large number. + +His mother saying to him one day that the gardener was dead, he burst +out laughing (with that curious hysteria so common in children), and +then after a little asked if they were going to bury him. + +His mother, wishing to familiarize him with the idea of continued +existence after death, dwelt on the fact that it was only his body +that was going to be buried: his soul was in heaven. + +The boy said presently, "If his body is in the churchyard, and his +soul in heaven, where is David?" + +Upon which his mother sent him down to the farm. + +He was often singularly old-fashioned in his ways. If he was kept +indoors by a childish ailment, he would draw his chair up to the +fire, by his nurse, and say, "Now that the children are gone out, +nurse, we can have a quiet talk." And he always returned first of all +his brothers and sisters, if they were playing in the garden, that he +might have the pleasure of clapping his hands from the nursery window +to summon them in. "Children, children, come in," he used to say. + +A curious little dialogue is preserved by his aunt in a diary. He +laughed so immoderately at something that was said at lunch by one of +his elders, that when his father inquired what the joke was, he was +unable to answer. "It must be something very funny," said his mother +in explanation. "Arthur never laughs unless there is a joke." The +little boy became grave at once, and said severely, "There's hardly +ever anything to laugh at in what you say; but I always laugh for +fear people should be disappointed." + +He was very sensitive to rebuke. "I am not so sensitive as I am +always supposed to be," he said to me once. "I am one of those people +who cry when they are spoken to, and do it again." + +For instance, he told me that, being very fond of music when he was +small, he stole down one morning at six to play the piano. His +father, a very early riser, was disturbed by the gentle tinkling, and +coming out of his study, asked him rather sharply why he couldn't do +something useful--read some Shakespeare. He never played on the piano +again for months, and for years never until he had ascertained that +his father was out. "It was a mistake," he told me once, apropos of +it. "If he had said that it disturbed him, but that I might do it +later, I should have been delighted to stop. I always liked feeling +that I was obliging people." + +He disliked his father, and feared him. The tall, handsome gentleman, +accustomed to be obeyed, in reality passionately fond of his +children, dismayed him. He once wrote on a piece of paper the words, +"I hate papa," and buried it in the garden. + +For the rest, he was an ordinary, rather clever, secretive child, +speaking very little of his feelings, and caring, as he has told me +since, very little for anybody except his nurse. "I cared about her +in a curious way. I enjoyed the sensation of crying over imaginary +evils; and I should not like to say how often in bed at night I used +to act over in my mind an imaginary death-bed scene of my nurse, and +the pathetic remarks she was to make about Master Arthur, and the +edifying bearing I was to show. This was calculated within a given +time to produce tears, and then I was content." + +He went to a private school, which he hated, and then to Winchester, +which he grew to love. The interesting earnest little boy merged into +the clumsy loose-jointed schoolboy, silent and languid. There are +hardly any records of this time. + +"My younger sister died," he told me, "when I was at school. I +experienced about ten minutes of grief; my parents were overwhelmed +with anguish, and I can remember that, like a quick, rather clever +child, I soon came to comprehend the sort of remark that cheered +them, and almost overdid it in my zeal. I am overwhelmed with shame," +he said, "whenever I look at my mother's letters about that time when +she speaks of the comfort I was to them. It was a _fraus pia_, but it +was a most downright _fraus_." + +I think I may relate one other curious incident among his public +school experiences: it may seem very incredible, but I have his word +for it that it is true. + +"A sixth-form boy took a fancy to me, and let me sit in his room, and +helped me in my work. The night before he left the school I was +sitting there, and just before I went away, being rather overcome +with regretful sentiments, he caught hold of me by the arm and said, +among other things, 'And now that I am going away, and shall probably +never see you again, I don't believe you care one bit.' I don't know +how I came to do it," he said, "because I was never demonstrative; +but I bent down and kissed him on the cheek, and then blushed up to +my ears. He let me go at once; he was very much astonished, and I +think not a little pleased; but it was certainly a curious incident." + +During this time his intellectual development was proceeding slowly. +"I went through three phases," he said. "I began by a curious love +for pastoral and descriptive poetry. I read Thomson and Cowper, +similes from 'Paradise Lost,' and other selections of my own; I read +Tennyson, and revelled in the music of the lines and words. I +intended to be a poet. + +"Then I became omnivorous, and read everything, whether I understood +it or not, especially biographies. I spent all my spare time in the +school library; one only valuable thing have I derived from that--a +capacity for taking in the sense of a page at a glance, and having a +verbal memory of a skimmed book for an hour or two superior to any +one that I ever met." + +Then there came an ebb, and he read nothing, but loafed all day, +and tried to talk. He had a notion he said, that he could argue +Socratically; and he was always trying to introduce metaphors into +his conversation. But his remarks in a much later letter to a friend +on childish reading are so pertinent that I introduce them here. + +"Never take a book away from a child unless it is positively vicious; +that they should learn how to read a book and read it quickly is the +great point; that they should get a habit of reading, and feel a void +without it, is what should be cultivated. Never mind if it is trash +now; their tastes will insensibly alter. I like a boy to cram himself +with novels; a day will come when he is sick of them, and rejects +them for the study of facts. What we want to give a child is +'bookmindedness,' as some one calls it. They will read a good deal +that is bad, of course; but innocence is as slippery as a duck's +back; a boy really fond of reading is generally pure-minded enough. +When you see a robust, active, out-of-door boy deeply engrossed in a +book, then you may suspect it if you like, and ask him what he has +got; it will probably have an animal bearing." + +Friendships more or less ardent, butterfly-hunting, school games, +constant visits to the cathedral for service, to which he was always +keenly devoted, uneventful holidays, filled up most of his school +life. His letters at this date are very ordinary; his early precocity +seemed, rather to the delight of his parents, to have vanished. +He was not a prig, though rather exclusive; not ungenial, though +retiring. "A dreadful boy," he writes of himself, "who is as mum as +a mouse with his elders, and then makes his school friends roar with +laughter in the passage: dumb at home, a chatterbox at school." + +"I had no religion at that time," he writes, "with the exception of +six months, when I got interested in it by forming a friendship +with an attractive ritualistic curate; but my confirmation made no +impression on me, and I think I had no moral feelings that I could +distinguish. I had no inherent hatred of wrong, or love for right; +but I was fastidious, and that kept me from being riotous, and +undemonstrative, which made me pure." + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Arthur went up to the University, Trinity College, Cambridge, in +1870; he did not distinguish himself there, or acquire more than he +had done at Winchester: "The one thing I learnt at Winchester that +has been useful to me since, was how to tie up old letters: my +house-master taught me how to do that--it was about all he was fit +for. The thing I learnt at Cambridge was to smoke: my cousin Fred +taught me that, and he was hardly fit for that." + +As it was at Cambridge that I first met him, I will give a short +description of him as far as I can remember. + +He was a tall, lounging fellow, rather clumsy in his movements, but +with a kind of stateliness about him; he looked, and was, old for his +years. He was a little short-sighted and wore glasses; without them +his brow had that puzzled, slightly bothered look often seen in +weak-sighted people. His face was not unattractive, though rather +heavy; his hair was dark and curly--he let it grow somewhat long from +indolence--and he had a drooping moustache. He was one of the men +who, without the slightest idea of doing so, always managed to create +rather an impression. As he lounged along the street with his hands +in his pockets, generally alone, people used to turn and look at him. +If he had taken a line of any kind he would have been known +everywhere--but he did nothing. + +The occasion on which I met him first was in the rooms of a common +friend; there was a small gathering of men. He was sitting in a low +chair, smoking intently. It was the one occupation he loved; he +hardly said anything, though the conversation was very animated; +silence was his latest phase; but as it was his first term, and he +was not very well acquainted with the party, it appeared natural; not +that being surrounded by dukes and bishops would have made the +slightest difference to him if he had been disposed to talk, but he +was not talkative, and held his tongue. + +There had been some discussion about careers and their relative +merits. One rather cynical man had broken in upon the ambitious +projects that were being advanced with, "Well, we must remember that +we are after all only average men." + +"Yes," said Arthur, slowly, from the depths of his chair, "no doubt; +only not quite so average." + +The gentleman addressed, who was a senior man, stared for a moment at +the freshman who had ventured to correct him, to whom he had not even +been introduced; but Arthur was staring meditatively at the smoke +rising from his pipe, and did not seem inclined to move or be moved, +so he concluded not to continue the discussion. + +The only other thing I heard him say that night was as follows. An +ardent enthusiast on the subject of missions was present, who, +speaking of an Indian mission lately started and apparently wholly +ineffective, said, "But we must expect discouragement at first. The +Church has always met with that." + +"Yes," said Arthur; "but we must also remember, what people are very +apt to forget, that ill success is not an absolute proof that God is +on our side." + +These two remarks, slight as they were, struck me; and, indeed, I +have never quite forgotten that indefinable first impression of the +man. There was a feeling about him of holding great things in +reserve, an utter absence of self-consciousness, a sensation that he +did not value the opinions of other people, that he did not regulate +his conduct by them, which is very refreshing in these social days, +when everybody's doings and sayings are ventilated and discussed so +freely. He had none of the ordinary ambitions; he did not want a +reputation, I thought, on ordinary grounds; he struck me as liking +to observe and consider, not to do or say. + +I am fond of guessing at character and forming impressions; and I +very soon found out that these were not mistaken. My way that night +lay with him as far as the gate of his college. We struck up a kind +of acquaintanceship, though I felt conscious that he did not in the +least care about doing so, that he probably would not give me another +thought. It seems strange, reflecting on that evening, that I should +now come to be his biographer. + +However, I was interested in the type of character he displayed, and +did not let the acquaintance drop. I invited him to my rooms. He +would not come of his own accord at first, but by-and-by he got +habituated to me, and not unfrequently strolled in. + +He never let any one into the secret of his motives; he never +confessed to any plans for the future, or to taking any interest in +one line of life more than another. He was well off and did not spend +much, except on his books, which were splendid. His rooms were untidy +to the last degree, but liberally supplied with the most varied +contrivances for obtaining a comfortable posture. Deep chairs and +sofas, with devices for books and light, and for writing in any +position. "When my mind is at work," he said to me once, "I don't +like to be reminded of my body at all. I want to forget that I have +one; and so I always say my prayers lying down." + +He dressed badly, or rather carelessly, for he never gave the subject +a moment's thought. If his friends told him that a suit was shabby, +he appeared in a day or two in a new one, till that was similarly +noticed; then it was discarded altogether. He always wore one suit +till he had worn it out, never varying it. But he consulted fashion +to a certain extent. "My object," he said, "is to escape notice, to +look like every one else. I think of all despicable people, the +people who try to attract attention by a marked style of dress, are +perhaps the lowest." + +His life at Cambridge was very monotonous, for he enjoyed monotony; +he used to say that he liked to reflect on getting up in the morning, +that his day was going to be filled by ordinary familiar things. He +got up rather late, read his subjects for an hour or two, strolled +about to see one or two friends, lunched with them or at home, +strolled in the afternoon, often dropping in to King's for the +anthem, went back to his rooms for tea, the one time at which he +liked to see his friends, read or talked till hall, and finally +settled down to his books again at ten, reading till one or two in +the morning. + +He read very desultorily and widely. Thus he would read books on +Arctic voyages for ten days and talk of nothing else, then read +novels till he sickened for facts and fact till he sickened for +fiction; biographies, elementary science, poetry, general philosophy, +particularly delighting in any ideal theories of life and discipline +in state or association, but with a unique devotion to "Hamlet" +and "As You Like It," the "Pilgrim's Progress," and Emerson's +"Representative Men." He rarely read the Bible, he told me, and then +only in great masses at a sitting; and the one thing that he disliked +with an utter hatred was theology of a settled and orthodox type, +though next to the four books I have mentioned, "The Christian Year" +and "Ecce Homo" were his constant companions. + +He did not care for history; he used to lament it. "I have but a +languid interest in facts, qua facts," he said; "and I try to arrive +at history through biography. I like to disentangle the separate +strands, one at a time; the fabric is too complex for me." + +He had the greatest delight in topography. "That is why," he used to +say, "I delight in a flat country. The idea of _space_ is what I want. +I like to see miles at a glance. I like to see clouds league-long +rolling up in great masses from the horizon--cloud perspective. I +rejoice in seeing the fields, hedgerow after hedgerow, farm after +farm, push into the blue distance. It makes me feel the unity and the +diversity of life; a city bewilders and confuses me, but a great +tract of placid country gives me a broad glow of satisfaction." + +He went for a walking tour in the fens, and returned enchanted. "By +Ely," he said, "the line crosses a gigantic fen--Whittlesea mere in +old days--and on a clear day you can see at least fifteen miles +either way. As we crossed it a great skein of starlings rose out of +a little holt, and streamed north; the herons or quiet cattle stood +along the huge dykes. You could see the scattered figures of old +labourers in the fields, and then for miles and miles the squat +towers, at which you were making, staring over the flat, giving you +a thrill every time you sighted them, and right away west the low +hills that must have been the sandy downs that blocked the restless +plunging sea; they must have looked for centuries over rollers and +salt marsh and lagoon, felt the tread of strange herds and beasts +about them till they have become the quiet slopes of a sunny park +or the simple appendages of a remote hill farm." + +But his greatest delight was in music. He knew a smattering of it +scientifically, enough to follow up subjects and to a certain extent +to recognize chords. There occurs in one of his letters to me the +following passage, which I venture to quote. He is speaking of the +delight of pure sound as apart from melody: + +"I remember once," he writes, "being with a great organist in a +cathedral organ-loft, sitting upon the bench at his side. He was +playing a Mass of Schubert's, and close to the end, at the last chord +but two--he was dying to a very soft close, sliding in handles all +over the banks of stops--he nodded with his head to the rows of pedal +stops with their red labels, as though to indicate where danger +lay. 'Put your hand on the thirty-two foot,' he said. There it +was '_Double open wood 32 ft._' And just as his fingers slid on to +the last chord, 'Now,' he said. + +"Ah! that was it; the great wooden pipe close to my ear began to blow +and quiver; and hark! not sound, but sensation--the great rapturous +stir of the air; a drowsy thunder in the roof of nave and choir; the +grim saints stirred and rattled ill their leaded casements, while +the melodious roar died away as softly as it had begun, sinking to +silence with many a murmurous pulsation, many a throb of sighing +sound." + +Organ-playing, organ music, was the one subject on which I have heard +him wax enthusiastic. His talk and his letters always become +rhetorical when he deals with music; his musical metaphors are always +carefully worked out; he compares a man of settled purpose, in whose +life the "motive was very apparent," to "the great lazy horns, that +you can always hear in the orchestra pouring out their notes hollow +and sweet, however loud the violins shiver or the trumpets cry." He +often went up to London to hear music. The St. James's Hall Concerts +were his especial delight. I find later a description of the effect +produced on him by Wagner. + +"I have just come back from the Albert Hall, from hearing the +'Meistersanger,' Wagner himself conducting. I may safely say I +think that I never experienced such absolute artistic rapture before +as at certain parts of this; for instance, in the overture, at one +place where the strings suddenly cease and there comes a peculiar +chromatic waft of wind instruments, like a ghostly voice rushing +across. I have never felt anything like it; it swept one right away, +and gave one a sense of deep ineffable satisfaction. I shall always +feel _for the future_ that there is an existent region, _into which +I have now actually penetrated_, in which that entire satisfaction +is possible, a fact which I have always hitherto doubted. It is +like an initiation. + +"But I can not bear the 'Tannhauser;' it seems to paint with a +fatal fascination the beauty of wickedness, the rightness, so to +speak, of sensuality. I feel after it as if I had been yielding to +a luscious temptation; unnerved, not inspired." + +In another letter he writes, "Music is the most hopeful of the arts; +she does not hint only, like other expressions of beauty--she takes +you straight into a world of peace, a world where law and beauty are +the same, and where an ordered discord, that is discord working by +definite laws, is the origin of the keenest pleasure." + +I remember, during the one London season which he subsequently went +through, his settling himself at a Richter concert next me with an +air of delight upon his face. "Now," he said, "let us try and +remember for an hour or two that we have souls." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +I must here record one curious circumstance which I have never +explained even to my own satisfaction. + +He had been at Cambridge about two years, when, in the common consent +of all his friends, his habits and behaviour seemed to undergo a +complete and radical change. + +I have never discovered what the incident was that occasioned this +change; all I know is that suddenly, for several weeks, his geniality +of manner and speech, his hilarity, his cheerfulness, entirely +disappeared; a curious look of haunting sadness, not defined, but +vague, came over his face; and though he gradually returned to his +old ways, yet I am conscious myself, and others would support me in +this, that he was never quite the same again; he was no longer young. + +The only two traces that I can discover in his journals, or letters, +or elsewhere, of the facts are these. + +He always in later diaries vaguely alludes to a certain event which +changed his view of things in general; "ever since," "since that +November," "for now nearly five years I have felt." These and similar +phrases constantly occur in his diary. I will speak in a moment of +what nature I should conjecture it to have been. + +A packet of letters in his desk were marked "to be burnt unopened;" +but at the same time carefully docketed with dates: these dates were +all immediately after that time, extending over ten days. + +The exact day was November 8, 1872. It is engraved in a small silver +locket that hung on his watch-chain, where he was accustomed to have +important days in his life marked, such as the day he adopted his +boy, his mother's death. It is preceded by the Greek letters [Greek: BP], +which from a certain entry in his diary I conceive to be +[Greek: baptisma pyros], "the baptism of fire." + +Lastly, in a diary for that year, kept with fair regularity up till +November 8, there here intervenes a long blank, the only entry being +November 9: "Salvum me fac, Dne." + +I took the trouble, incidentally, to hunt up the files of a Cambridge +journal of that date, to see if I could link it on to any event, and +I found there recorded, in the course of that week, what I at first +imagined to be the explanation of the incidents, and own I was a good +deal surprised. + +I found recorded some Revivalist Mission Services, which were then +held in Cambridge with great success. I at once concluded that he +underwent some remarkable spiritual experience, some religious +fright, some so-called conversion, the effects of which only +gradually disappeared. The contagion of a Revivalist meeting is a +very mysterious thing. Like a man going to a mesmerist, an individual +may go, announcing his firm intention not to be influenced in the +smallest degree by anything said or done. Nay more, he may think +himself, and have the reputation of being, a strong, unyielding +character, and yet these are the very men who are often most +hopelessly mesmerized, the very men whom the Revival most +absolutely--for the occasion--enslaves. And thus, knowing that one +could form no _prima facie_ judgments on the probabilities in such a +matter, I came to the conclusion that he had fallen, in some degree, +under the influence of these meetings. + +But in revising this book, and carefully recalling my own and +studying others' impressions, I came to the conclusion that it was +impossible that this should be the case. + +1. In the first place, he was more free than any man I ever saw from +the influence of contagious emotions; he dissembled his own emotions, +and contemned the public display of them in other people. + +2. He had, I remember, a strange repugnance, even abhorrence, to +public meetings in the later days at Cambridge. I can now recall that +he would accompany people to the door, but never be induced to enter. +A passage which I will quote from one of his letters illustrates +this. + +"The presence of a large number of people has a strange, repulsive +physical effect on me. I feel crushed and overwhelmed, not stimulated +and vivified, as is so often described. I can't listen to a concert +comfortably if there is a great throng, unless the music is so good +as to wrap one altogether away. There is undoubtedly a force abroad +among large masses of people, the force which forms the basis of the +principle of public prayer, and I am conscious of it too, only it +distresses me; moreover, the worst and most afflicting nightmare I +have is the sensation of standing sightless and motionless, but with +all the other senses alert and apprehensive, in the presence of a +vast and hostile crowd." + +3. He never showed the least sign of being influenced in the +direction of spiritual or even religious life by this crisis. He +certainly spoke very little at all for some time to any one on any +subject; he was distrait and absent-minded in society--for the +alteration was much observed from its suddenness--but when he +gradually began to converse as usual, he did not, as is so often the +case in similar circumstances, do what is called "bearing witness to +the truth." His attitude toward all enthusiastic forms of religion +had been one, in old days, of good-natured, even amused tolerance. He +was now not so good-natured in his criticisms, and less sparing of +them, though his religious-mindedness, his seriousness, was +undoubtedly increased by the experience, whatever it was. + +On the whole, then, I should say that the coincidence of the revival +is merely fortuitous. It remains to seek what the cause was. + +We must look for it, in a character so dignified as Arthur's, in some +worthy cause, some emotional failure, some moral wound. I believe the +following to be the clew; I can not develop it without treading some +rather delicate ground. + +He had formed, in his last year at school, a very devoted friendship +with a younger boy; such friendships like the [Greek: eispnelas] and the +[Greek: aitas] of Sparta, when they are truly chivalrous and absolutely +pure, are above all other loves, noble, refining, true; passion at white +heat without taint, confidence of so intimate a kind as can not even +exist between husband and wife, trust such as can not be shadowed, +are its characteristics. I speak from my own experience, and others +will, I know, at heart confirm me, when I say that these things are +infinitely rewarding, unutterably dear. + +Arthur left Winchester. A correspondence ensued between the two +friends. I have three letters of Arthur's, so passionate in +expression, that for fear of even causing uneasiness, not to speak +of suspicion, I will not quote them. I have seen, though I have +destroyed, at request, the letters of the other. + +This friend, a weak, but singularly attractive boy, got into a bad +set at Winchester, and came to grief in more than one way; he came +to Cambridge in three years, and fell in with a thoroughly bad set +there. Arthur seems not to have suspected it at first, and to have +delighted in his friend's society; but such things as habits betray +themselves, and my belief is that disclosures were made on November +8, which revealed to Arthur the state of the case. What passed I +can not say. I can hardly picture to myself the agony, disgust, +and rage (his words and feelings about sensuality of any kind were +strangely keen and bitter), loyalty fighting with the sense of +repulsion, pity struggling with honour, which must have convulsed +him when he discovered that his friend was not only yielding, but +deliberately impure. + +The other's was an unworthy and brutal nature, utterly corrupted at +bottom. He used to speak jestingly of the occurrence. "Oh yes!" I +have heard him say; "we were great friends once, but he cuts me now; +he had to give me up, you see, because he didn't approve of me. +Justice, mercy, and truth, and all the rest of it." + +It was certainly true; their friendship ended. I find it hard to +realize that Arthur would voluntarily have abandoned him; and yet I +find passages in his letters, and occasional entries in his diaries, +which seem to point to some great stress put upon him, some enormous +burden indicated, which he had not strength to attempt and adopt. +"May God forgive me for my unutterable selfishness; it is irreparable +now," is one of the latest entries on that day in his diary. I +conceive, perhaps, that his outraged ideal was too strong for his +power of forgiveness. He was very fastidious, always. + +How deep the blow cut will be shown by these following extracts: + +"I once had my faith in human nature rudely wrecked, and it has never +attempted a long voyage again. I hug the coast and look regretfully +out to sea; perhaps the day may come when I may strike into it ... +believe in it always if you can; I do not say it is vanity ... the +shock blinded me; I can not see if I would." + +And again-- + +"Moral wounds never heal; they may be torn open by a chance word, by +a fragment of print, by a sentence from a letter; and there we have +to sit with pale face and shuddering heart, to bleed in silence and +dissemble it. Then, too, there is that constant dismal feeling which +the Greeks called [Greek: upoulos]: the horrible conviction, the grim +memory lurking deep down, perhaps almost out of sight, thrust away by +circumstance and action, but always ready to rise noiselessly up and +draw you to itself." + +"'A good life, and therefore a happy one,' says my old aunt, writing +to me this morning; it is marvellous and yet sustaining what one can +pass through, and yet those about you--those who suppose that they +have the key, if any, to your heart--be absolutely ignorant of it. +'He looks a little tired and worn: he has been sitting up late;' 'all +young men are melancholy: leave him alone and he will be better in a +year or two,' was all that was said when I was actually meditating +suicide--when I believe I was on the brink of insanity." + +All these extracts are from letters to myself at different periods. +Taking them together, and thus arranged, my case seems irresistible; +still I must concede that it is all theory--all inference: I do not +wholly know the facts, and never shall. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +I found the first hint that occurs to indicate the lines of his later +life, in a letter to his father, written in his last week at +Cambridge. In the Classical Tripos Arthur contrived to secure a +second; in the translations, notably Greek, we heard he did as well +as anybody; but history and other detailed subjects dragged him down: +it was an extraordinarily unequal performance. + +His father, being ambitious for his sons, and knowing to a certain +extent Arthur's ability, was altogether a good deal disappointed. He +had accepted Arthur's failure to get a scholarship or exhibition, not +with equanimity, but with a resolute silence, knowing that strict +scholarship was not his son's strong point, but still hoping that he +would at least do well enough in his Tripos to give him a possibility +of a Fellowship. + +Arthur would himself have been happier with a Fellowship than with +any other position, but the possibility did not stimulate him to work +with that aim in view. He wrote: "Existence generally is so extremely +problematical, that I can not consent to throw away three birds in +the hand for one which I do not believe to be in the bush--my present +life for a doubtful future provision. I think I am ambitious after +the event. Every normal human being ought to be capable either +of strong expectation or strong disappointment, according as the +character lives most in the future or in the past. Those capable of +both generally succeed and are unhappy men; but an entire want of +ambition argues a low vitality. If a man tells me loftily he has no +ambition, I tell him I am very sorry for him, and say that it is +almost as common an experience as having no principles, and often +accompanying it, only that people are generally ashamed to confess +the latter." + +On his appearing in the second class, his father wrote him rather an +indignant letter, saying that he had suspected all along that he was +misusing his time and wasting his opportunities, but that he had +refrained from saying so because he had trusted him; that his one +prayer for his children was that they might not turn out useless, +dilettante, or frivolous, selfish men. "I had hoped that whatever +they engaged in my sons would say, 'If this is worth doing, it is +worth doing well.' I did not want them to say, 'I mean to work in +order to be first in this or that, to beat other people, to court +success'--I do not suspect you of that--but to say, 'I mean to do my +best, and if I am rewarded with honours to accept them gratefully, as +a sign that my endeavours have been blest.' I fear that in your case +you have done what pleased yourself--sucked the honey of the work, or +tried to; that always ends in bitterness. You were capable of taking +the higher ground; it seems to me that you have taken neither--and +indecision in such matters is the one thing that does not succeed +either in this world or the next; the one thing which the children of +this world unanimously agree with the children of light in despising +and censuring. + +"P.S.--You used to speak of possibly taking orders; set to work +seriously on that if you haven't changed your mind; for that is what +I have always hoped and prayed for you. Let me see that you are +capable of executing as well as planning a high resolve finely." + +Arthur's behaviour on receiving this letter was very characteristic. +He did not answer it. + +It was a habit he had which got him into considerable odium with +people. Whenever a letter entailed making up his mind--an invitation +which had two sides to it--a decision--a request for advice or +immediate action--these rarely extorted an answer from him. "It did +not seem to me to be very important," he used to say. Neither would +he be dictated to. A friend who had asked him to form one of a +football eleven, receiving no reply, inclosed two post-cards +addressed to himself, on one of which was written "Yes," and on +the other "No." Arthur posted them both. + +But a casual letter, implying friendliness, a statement of mental +or moral difficulties, criticisms on an interesting book, requests +involving principles, drew out immediate, full, and interesting +replies, of apparently almost unnecessary urgency and affection. A +boy who wrote to him from school about a long and difficult moral +case, infinitely complicated by side issues and unsatisfactory +action, got back the following day an exhaustive, imperative, and yet +pleading reply, indicating the proper action to take. It is far too +private to quote; but for pathos and lucidity and persuasiveness it +is a wonderful document. + +But this letter of his father's he did not answer for ten days, till +the last day but one before his leaving Cambridge, neither did he +mention the subject. I do not think he gave it a thought, except as +one might consider an unpleasant matter of detail which required to +be finished sometime. + +On that day there arrived another note from his father, +recapitulating what he had said, and saying that he supposed from his +silence that he had not received the former letter. + +To this Arthur returned the following letter: + + "Trinity College, Cambridge, + Thursday evening (early in 1874). + +"My Dear Father: + +"I don't wish you to be under any misapprehension about your +former letter. I did receive it and have been carefully considering +the subject; it seemed to me that I could better say what I wished in +a personal interview, and I therefore refrained from writing till I +came home; but you seem to wish me to make an immediate statement, +which I will briefly do. + +"You must not think that what I am going to say is in the least +disrespectful. I assure you that I gave your letter, as coming from +you, a consideration that I should not have thought of extending for +a moment to any other man except one or two friends for whose opinion +I have the highest respect; but it is a subject upon which, though I +can not exactly say that my mind is made up, yet I see so distinctly +which way my disposition lies and in what direction my opinions are +capable of undergoing change, that I may say I have very little +doubt--it is, in short, almost a fixed conviction. + +"The moment when any one finds himself in radical opposition to the +traditions in which he was brought up is very painful--I can assure +you of that--to himself, as I fear it is painful to those from whom +he dissents; and nothing but a desire for absolute sincerity would +induce me to enter upon it. But knowing and trusting you as I do, +with a firm and filial confidence in your loving thoughts and candid +open-mindedness, I venture to say exactly what I think, believing +that it would be a far more essential disrespect to endeavour to +blink those opinions. + +"Shortly, I do _not_ believe that practical usefulness of a direct +kind is the end of life. I do _not_ believe that success is either a +test of greatness nor, as you suggest, an adequate aim for it, though +you will perhaps excuse me if I say that the reasons you give seem to +me to be only the material view skillfully veiled. + +"I do not feel in my own mind assured that the highest call in my case +is to engage in a practical life. In fact, I feel fairly well assured +that it is not. I do not know that I intend deliberately to shirk +the responsibilities of moral action which fall in every feeling +man's way. I rather mean that I shall face them from the ordinary +standpoint, and not thrust myself into any position where helping my +fellow-creatures is merely an official act. I think shortly that by +the plan I have vague thoughts of pursuing I may gain an influence +among minds which will certainly be, if I win it, of a very high kind. +I dare not risk the possibilities by flying at lower game. + +"Besides, I do not feel nearly enough assured of my ground to say +that active work, as you describe it, is either advisable or +necessary. I want to examine and consider, to turn life and thought +inside out, to see if I can piece together in the least the enormous +problem of which God has flung us the fragments. I do not despair of +arriving at some inkling of that truth. I shall try, if I gain it, to +communicate that glimmering to others, if that is God's will for me; +if not, perhaps I shall be a little wiser or a little happier, at +least a little more capable of receiving my illumination, when the +time for that comes. + +"I don't feel as if I understood at all clearly what is God's purpose +for individuals. I can't take public opinion for granted. I will not +let it overwhelm me. I want to stand aside and think; and my own +prayer for my own children, if I had them, would rather be that they +might be saved from being effective, when I see all the evils which +success and mere effectiveness bring. + +"What I had thought of doing was of going abroad for a year or two; +but in that matter I am entirely in your hands, because I am +dependent on you. I consider travel not a luxury, but a necessity. If +you will make me an allowance for that purpose I shall very gladly +accept it. If not, I shall endeavour to get some post where I may +make enough money to take me where I wish to go. I shall throw myself +upon the power 'who providently caters for the sparrows' after that. + +"I propose to come home on Friday for a week or two. This letter +contains only a draft of what I should have preferred to say there in +words. + + "I am your affectionate son, + "Arthur Hamilton." + +His father curtly acknowledged this letter, but nothing more; and +left the discussion of the subject to be a personal one. They came to +the following compromise. + +Arthur was to engage for one year in some active profession, +business, the law, medicine, schoolmastering, taking pupils; at the +end of that time he was to make his choice; if he decided not to take +up any profession, his father promised to allow him L350 a year +as long as he lived, and to secure him the same sum after his own +death. This occupation was to extend from August till the August +following. He was allowed three days for his decision. + +He at once decided on schoolmastering, and without much difficulty +secured a post at an upper-class private school, being a substantial +suburban house, in fine timbered grounds, the boys being all destined +for public schools. + +He wrote me several letters from that place, but during that time our +correspondence waned, as we were both very busy. He was interested in +his work, and very popular with the boys. + +"My experience of life generally gives me a strong impulse in favour +of Determinism; that is to say, the system which considers the +histories of nations, the lives of individuals, their very deeds and +words, to be all part of a vast unalterable design: and whose dealing +with the past, with each event, indeed, as it occurs, is thus nothing +but interpretation, an earnest endeavour to exclude regret or +disappointment, and to see how best to link each fact in our past on +with what we know of ourselves, to see its bearing on our individual +case. Of course this will operate with our view of the future too, +but only in a general way, to minimize ambition and anxiety. It +produces, in fact, exactly the same effect as a perfect 'faith;' +indeed, it is hard to distinguish the two, except that faith is the +instinctive practice of the theory of Determinism. + +"Now, the more I work at education, the more I am driven into +Determinism; it seems that we can hardly regulate tendency, in fact +as if the schoolmaster's only duty was to register change. A boy +comes to a place like this, [Greek: mnemonikos] and [Greek: philomathes], +and [Greek: euphyes], as Ascham calls it, in other respects; he is not +exposed, let us say, to any of the temptations which extraordinary +charms of face or manner seem always to entail upon their possessors, +and he leaves it just the same, except that the natural propensities +are naturally developed; whereas a boy with precisely the same +educational and social advantages but without a predisposition to +profit by them leaves school hardly altered in person or mind. It is +true that circumstances alter character--that can not be disputed; +but circumstances are precisely what we can not touch. A boy, [Greek: +euphyes] as I have described, brought up as a street-arab, would only +so far profit by it as to be slightly less vicious and disgusting than +his companions. But education, which we speak of as a panacea for all +ills, only deals with what it finds, and does not, as we ought to +claim, rub down bad points and accentuate good, and it is this, that +perhaps more than anything else has made me a Determinist, that +the very capacity for change and improvement is so native to some +characters, and so utterly lacking to others. A man can in real truth +do nothing of himself, though there are all possible varieties--from +the man who can see his deficiencies and make them up, through the +man who sees his weak points and can not strengthen them, to the +spiritually blind who can not even see them. I may of course belong to +the latter class myself--it is the one thing about which no one can +decide for himself--but an inherent contempt for certain parts of my +character seems to hint to me that it is not so." + +It will be seen from the last two letters that his ethical position +was settling itself. + +I therefore think, before I go any further, it will be as well to +give a short account of his religious opinions at this time, as they +were very much bound up with his life. He told me not unfrequently +that religion had been nothing whatever to him at school, and he came +up to the University impressionable, ardent, like a clean paper ready +for any writing. + +It is well known that at the Universities there is a good deal of +proselytizing; that it is customary for men of marked religious views +and high position to have a large _clientele_ of younger men +whom they influence and mould; schools of the prophets. + +Arthur was not drawn into any one of these completely, though I fancy +that he was to a certain extent influenced by the teaching of one of +these men. The living original of these words will pardon me if I +here insert the words of my friend relating to him; many Cambridge +men have been and are everlastingly grateful for his simple noble +influence and example. + +"Why are there certain people in this world, who whenever they enter +a room have a strange power of galvanizing everybody there into +connection with themselves? what mysterious currents do they set in +motion to and from them, so that those who do not talk to them or at +them, begin to talk with reference to them, hedged about as they are +with an atmosphere of desire and command? + +"There is one of these at Cambridge now, a man for whom I not only +have the profoundest respect, but whose personal presence exercises +on me just the fascination I describe; and influential as he is, it +is influence more utterly unconscious of its own power than any I +have seen--a rare quality. He finds all societies into which he +enters, stung by his words and looks, serious, sweet, interested in, +if not torn by moral and social problems of the deepest import; yet +he always fancies that it is they, not he, that are thus potent. He +is not aware that it is he who is saintly; he thinks it is they that +are good; and all this, not for want of telling him, for he must be +weary of genuine praise and thanks." + +To write thus of any one must imply a deep attraction. I do not +think, however, that the admiration ever extended itself to imitation +in matters theoretical or religious. Arthur was not one of those +indiscriminate admirers, blinded by a single radiant quality to +accept the whole body as full of light. + +Very slowly his convictions crystallized; he had a period of very +earnest thought--during the time of which I have just been +speaking--in which he shunned the subject in conversation; but I have +reason to believe from the books he read, and from two or three +letters to his friend, the curate of whom I have been speaking, that +he was thinking deeply upon revealed religion. + +It must, however, be remembered that he never went through that +period of agonized uprooting of venerated and cherished sentiment +that many whose faith has been very keen and integral in their lives +pass through, the dark valley of doubt. His religion had not intwined +itself into his life; it was not shrined among his sacred memories or +laid away in secret storehouses of thought. + +"I have never felt the agony of a dying faith," he wrote to a friend +who was sorely troubled, "so you will forgive me if I do not seem to +sympathize very delicately with you, or if I seem not to understand +the darkness you are in. But I have been in deep waters myself, +though of another kind. I have seen an old ideal foully shattered in +a moment, and a hope that I had held and that had consecrated my life +for many years, not only crushed in an instant--that would have been +bad enough--but its place filled by an image of despair ... so you +will see that I _can_ feel for you, as I _do_. + +"Leading to the light is a sad, terribly sad, and wearying process; I +have not won it yet, but I have seen glimpses which have dispelled a +gloom which I thought was hopeless. My dear friend, I _know_ that God +will bring you out into a place of liberty, as He has brought me; in +the day when you come and tell me that He has done so, the smile that +will be on your face will be no sort of symbol, I know, of the +unutterable content within. _Expertus novi_, you have my thoughts and +hopes." + +The letters I shall now quote are taken out of a considerable period, +and give a fair picture of what he believed. Tolerance was his great +characteristic. + +Below all principles of his own was a deep resolve not to interfere +in any way with the principles of others, however erroneous he deemed +them. + +With his definition of sincerity that comes out in the following +extracts I have myself often found fault in conversation and by +letter, but I never produced any change. I thought, and still think, +that it is sophistical in tone, and tampers with one of the most +sacred of our instincts. It never in his case, I think, made any +difference to his presentment of the truth, but it is a principle +that I should not dare to advocate; however, it was so integral a +part of his faith that in this delineation, which shall be as +accurate as I can make it, I dare not omit it. + +His convictions were then a steady accumulation, not the shreds of +one system worked into the fabric by the overmastering new impulse +communicated by another, as is so often the case. He writes: + +"The strong man's house entered by the stronger, and his goods +despoiled, is a parable more frequently true of the conversion of +a 'believer' into a sceptic than _vice versa_. The habit of firm +adherence to principle, the capacity for trust, the adaptation of +intellectual resources to uphold a theory--all these go to swell the +new emotion; no man is so effective a sceptic as the man who has been +a fervent believer. + +"But in the rare cases of the conversion of an intellectual man from +scepticism into belief (like Augustine and a very few others) the +spirit suffers by the change. A great deal of cultivation, of logical +readiness, of eloquence, seem to be essentially secular, to belong +essentially to the old life, and to need imperatively putting away +together with the garment spotted by the flesh. Augustine suffered +less perhaps than others; but some diminution of force seems an +inevitable result. + +"I never had a great change of that kind to make. I had a moral +awakening, which was rude but effective, never a conversion; I had +not to strike my old colours." + +Thus, though he was a strong Determinist, his capacity for idealism, +and a natural enthusiasm, saved him from the paralysis which in some +cases results from such speculations. + +"I look upon all philosophical theories as explanations of an +ontological problem, not as a basis of action. The appearance of +free-will in adopting or discontinuing a course of action is a +deception, but it is a complete deception--so complete as not to +affect in the slightest my interest in what is going to happen, nor +my unconscious posing as a factor in that result. Though I am only a +cogwheel in a vast machine, yet I am conscious of my cogs, interested +in my motions and the motions of the whole machine, though ignorant +of who is turning, why he began, and whether he will stop, and why. + +"If I saw the slightest loophole at which free-will might creep in, I +would rush to it, but I do not; if man was created with a free will, +he was also created with predispositions which made the acting of +that will a matter of mathematical certainty. + +"But the idea that it diminishes my interest in life or its issues is +preposterous; I am inclined to credit God with larger ideas than +my own, and His why and wherefore, and the part I bear in it, is +extraordinarily fascinating to me because it is so hidden; and the +least indication of law that I can seize upon--such as this law of +necessity--is an entrancing glimpse into reality. It may not be quite +so delightful as some other theories, but it is true, and real, and +therefore has an actual working in you and me and every one else, +which can not fail to attach a certain interest to it which other +systems lack." + +He gives a very graphic illustration of the phenomena of free-will. +He says-- + +"It seems to me closely to resemble a very ordinary phenomenon: the +principle that things as they are farther off appear to us to be +smaller. Logical reflection assures us that they are not so, but the +effect upon our senses is completely illusive; and, what is more, we +act as though they were smaller; we act as if what they gained in +distance they lost in size; we aim at a target which is many feet +high and broad as if it was but a few inches; we say the sun is about +as big as a soup-plate, and having once made these allowances the +knowledge does not affect our conduct of life at all. + +"Just so with free-will; we know by our reason that the thing is +impossible; we act as though it were a prevailing possibility." + +His position with regard to Christianity was shortly as follows; +it is settled by an extract from his diary: + +"I have often puzzled over this: Why in the Gospels did Christ say +nothing about the whole fabric of nature which in His capacity as +Creator ('through whom He made all things') He must have had the +moulding of? All His teaching was personal and individual, dealing +with man alone, an infinitesimal part of His creation ... for compare +the shred, the span of being which man's existence represents with +the countless aeons of animal and vegetable life which have +preceded, and surround, and will in all probability succeed it--and +not a word of all this from the Being who gave and supported their +life, calling it out of the abyss for inscrutable and useless +ends--to minister, as the theologians tell us, to the wants and +animal cravings of pitiful mankind. + +"Why is it that He there takes no cognizance of the whole frame of +things of which I am a part, but only deals with human feelings and +emotions as if they were the end of all these gigantic works--the +Milky Way, the blazing sun, the teeming earth--only to raise thoughts +of reverence in the heart of this pitiful being, and failing too, so +hopelessly, so constantly to do so?... + +"'I will accept Christ,' said Herbert, 'as my superior, yes! as my +master, yes! but not as my God.'" One sees, I think, where the +difficulty lies; it must be felt by any man whose idea of God is +very high, whose belief in humanity very low. + +And again-- + +"I believe in a revelation which is coming, which may be among us +now, though we do not suspect it, in the words and deeds of some +simple-minded heroic man. + +"No one who preceded the Christian revelation could possibly, from +the fabric of the world as it then was, have anticipated the form it +was about to take. This revelation, too, will be as unexpected as it +will be new--it will come in the night as a thief; the '_quo modo_' +I can not even attempt to guess, except that it will take the form +of some vast simplification of the myriad and complicated issues of +human life." + +But such entries as these were left to his diaries and most private +correspondence; he never attempted a crusade against ordinary forms +of belief, mistaken though he deemed them, often putting a strong +constraint upon himself in conversation. If he was pressed to give an +account of his religious principles he used smilingly to say that he +belonged to the great Johnsonian sect, who practised the religion of +all sensible men, and who kept what it was to themselves. + +There were two views of life with which he had no patience only--the +men who preached the open confession of agnosticism, "if you have +anything to tell us for goodness sake let us have it, but if you have +not, hold your tongue; you are like a clock that has gone wrong, but +insists on chiming to show everybody that it hasn't the least idea +of the time;" and secondly, the men who "took no interest" in the +problems of religion and morals; for a deliberate avoidance of them +he had some respect, but for a professional moralist who took +everything for granted, and for feeble materialists who did not +"trouble their head" about such things, he had a profound contempt. + +The following remarks that he gave vent to on the subject of orthodox +Christianity and an Established Church are very striking, and after +what has preceded might appear paradoxical and ridiculous. But they +are in reality absolutely consistent. + +"When people tell me," he said, "as you have been doing, that the old +methods are _passes_, and compare the crude new ideas with +them for effectiveness, as working theories, I snap my fingers +mentally in their face. + +"These new ideas may, and doubtless do, contain all the good of the +world's future, all the seed of progress in them--but as working +ideas! A system that has been mellowed and coloured, that has +insinuated itself year by year into all the irregularities and +whimsical, capricious, unexpected chinks and crannies of human +nature, accommodating itself gradually to all, to be torn out and +have the bleeding sensitive gap filled with a hard angular heavy +object thrust straight in from an intellectual workshop--the idea +is absolutely preposterous!" + +A friend wrote to him once in great perplexity about the following +problem: as to whether, taking as he did, a purely agnostic view of +life, he should continue to receive the Communion with his parents +when at home; as to whether it was not a base concession to his own +weakness; as to whether he should not stand by his principles. + +"If you have any principles to stand by," he wrote, "by all means +stand by them; but if all you mean is throwing cold water on other +people's principles, my advice is to make no move. Dissembling your +own uneasiness in the matter and quieting their anxious scruples is +one of those matters which seem so simple that heroism appears to +have no part in it. It would be so much nobler (we are tempted to +think) to stand up and protest and denunciate; to throw gloom and +dissension into a happy home and wreck (if you are the affectionate +son I believe you to be) your own happiness, not to speak of +usefulness. It would be more arduous, I admit; not therefore nobler. +Your duty is most plain; you have no right to cause acute distress to +several people, because you can not take exactly such an exalted view +as they do, of an institution which, from the lowest point of view, +is the dying request of a great and loving soul, to all who can feel +his beauty or listen to his call, a beautiful pledge of family and +national unity, and a touching symbol of all good things." + +To another friend, who wrote to him to say that his principles, +though still religious, and faithful in general idea to the Christian +creed, were in so many points different from the principles taught +and demanded by the Church of England, that he felt he ought to take +some definite step to show his state of mind, he wrote as follows: + +"The being born into an institution is a thing which must not be +lightly considered: it imposes certain duties upon you--the quiet +examination of its tenets, for example--and unless you are convinced +of its utter inutility, not to say immorality, it is your duty to +bear such a part in relation to it as shall not mar its usefulness; +and you may no more throw it away through caprice or indifferentism +than you may throw away your own life, simply because you did not +agree to be in the world, and it is through no will of your own that +you are there. Similarly, you can not justify murder because you +were not present to give an assent to the framing of the laws which +condemn it and provide for its restraint. + +"In fact, by taking such a step you are incurring a very heavy +responsibility, and it is at any rate worth while to give it the +closest consideration. + +"And therefore I should suggest that the philosopher who wishes in +any way to affect humanity for the better, should not begin his +crusade by storming one of its chief defences because its title to +that position is not quite so secure as the governor alleges; but +rather accept his religion together with his life, his circumstances, +his disposition, as a condition under which he is born: tacitly +[Greek: syneidos eauto] that it may not be absolute truth, from which +no appeal is possible, but yet fight his best under its colours, +though they may not be quite red enough to suit his own fancy. + +"For what is there ignoble in this concealment? Is it not rather +ignoble to demolish a hope on which others build because it does not +appear to us to be quite satisfactory, though we have nothing to +offer in its stead? It is like plucking down a savage's wattled +cabin. 'First-rate stone houses, if you please, or none at +all,'--and, on being questioned as to where the materials are to come +from, point for answer to the eternal hills. + +"These are general considerations; but you, in particular, my dear +C----, ought to be very cautious, considering who you are." His +father was a high dignitary of the church. "A secession like yours +will carry far more weight than it ought to from your own and your +father's position. People will say, Mr. C---- ought to know; he has +had opportunities of judging from the inside which other people have +not--whereas you have really less opportunity because your horizon +is far more limited because you have only seen it from the inside. +You are rather in the position of the valet. No gossip and gabble +of yours about braces and sock-suspenders will make your hero less +a hero: you will only establish your title to be considered an +unperceptive and low-minded creature among the only people whose +opinion is worth having." + +He was always very decided on what he called "mock sincerity," the +people whom he described as "professional crystals," who always +"speak their mind about a thing." "The art of life," he said, +"consists in knowing exactly what to keep out of sight at any given +moment, and what to produce; when to play hearts and diamonds, ugly +clubs or flat spades; and you must remember that every suit is trumps +in turn." + +The following passage from a letter about a leading politician will +illustrate this: + +"I have always admired him intensely," he writes, as an instance of a +public man who has succeeded by sheer adherence to principles. + +"You can't ensure success; three parts is luck, the genius of time +and place. The only thing you can do seems to me to work hard, and +always take the highest line about things. The highest line, that is +to say, not the line you may _feel_ to be highest, but the line that +you _recognize_ to be so. Not what your fluctuating emotions may +commend, but that which the best moral tact seems to pronounce best. +You can't always expect to feel enthusiasm for the best, so be true +not to your sensations, but your deliberate ideals--that is the +highest sincerity; all the higher because it is so often called +hypocrisy." + +But his Determinist, almost Calvinistic, views were mellowed and +tempered by a serene and deep belief in a providence moving to good, +and ordering life down to the smallest details with special reference +to each man's case; in fact, as he said, the two were so closely +connected that they were like the convex and concave sides of a lens. + +He wrote to me, "I often feel, when straining after happiness, just +like the child who, anxious to get home, pushes against the side of +the railway carriage which is carrying him so smoothly and serenely +to the haven where he would be, while all he effects is a temporary +disarrangement of particles. + +"Life shows me more and more every day that there is something +watching us and working with us, so that now and then in unexpected +moments when I have felt particularly independent for some time back, +I come upon a little fact or incident that reveals to me that I am +like a mouse in the grasp of a cat, allowed sometimes to run a few +inches alone--or more truly like a baby walking along, very proud +of its performance, with a couple of anxious, loving arms poised to +catch it. The extraordinary apportionment not only in balance but in +_kind_ of punishment to sin--long-continued, secret, base desires, +punished by long-hidden suffering--the sharp stress of temptation +yielded to, requited by the sharp pang--the glorious feeling which I +have once or twice felt--the sin once sinned and the punishment +once over, as one is assured supremely sometimes that it is without +doubt--of trustful freedom, and fresh fitness for battling one's self +and helping others to battle--a mood that is soon broken, but is an +earnest while it lasts of infinite satisfaction. The extraordinary +delicacy with which the screw of pain and mental suffering is +adjusted, just lifted when we can bear no more (not when _we_ think +we can bear no more, but when God knows it) and resolutely applied +again when we have gained strength which we propose to devote to +enjoyment, but which God intends us to devote to suffering. The very +beauty, too, of pain itself--the strange flushes of joy that it gives +us, which can only thus be won--the certainty that this is reality, +this is what we are meant to do and be--happiness of different kinds, +art, friends, books, are delusive; they play over the surface; in +suffering we dip below it." This latter thought expanded is the +subject of a passage of a letter to myself that gave me wonderful +comfort. + +We know how sickness or sorrow comes down heavily on us, crushing in +what we are pleased to call our "plans," and "interrupting," as we +say, "our opportunities for usefulness," spoiling our life. + +"My dear friend, _this is_ life itself. It is this very 'interruption' +that we live for. What does God care about the wretched books you +intend to write, the petty occupations you think you discharge so +gracefully? He means to teach you a great high truth, worth knowing; +and, thank Heaven, He will, however much you shrink and writhe. Do +not pick and choose among events: try and interpret each as it +comes." + +At the expiration of the year of work--Easter, 1875--he was unchanged +in his plan of travel; in fact, it had become a resolve by that time. +He confessed that he did not personally at all like giving up the +school work; he had got very much interested in some of the boys, and +in the whole process of the education of character. But there was +also another reason, which the following letter will explain: + +"You know, perhaps, that I have been acting as usher here for a year; +it is to be a kind of probation. That is to say, I have promised to +try what it is like for a year, and see if I feel inclined to adopt +it as my profession. + +"Now, I am in a very curious position. I do feel inclined, very much +inclined indeed, to stick permanently to the work; it interests, +amuses, occupies me. I hate the want of occupation. I hate making +occupations for myself, and this provides me with regular work at +stated hours, leaving other stated hours free, and free in the best +way; that is to say, it works the vapours off. My brain feels clear +and steady; I can talk, think, write, read better, in those intervals +than I ever can when all my time is my own, and yet--I must, I +believe, give it up. + +"You know I pretend to a kind of familiar; like Socrates, I am +forbidden to do certain things by a kind of distant inward voice--not +conscience, for it is not limited to moral choice. I don't mean to +say I do not or have not disobeyed it, but it is always the worse for +me in the end; it is like taking a short cut in the mountains; you +get to your end in time, but far more tired and shaky than if you had +followed the right road, which started so much to the left among the +pines, and moreover, you get there very much behind your party. + +"This time it tells me that I am not equal to the direct +responsibility; that I can not, with my habits of mind and temper, +impress a permanent enough mark upon the lads. It is like beginning a +system of education that is to take, say, thirty years, giving them a +year of it, and then taking to another; you not only lose your year, +but you unfit them for other systems. That is what I should do; my +methods do not prepare them for other normal education; it is only +the beginning of a preparation for what I believe to be a higher and +more complete education, but that wouldn't justify my keeping on. + +"I do not believe that I have done any harm; in fact, my theory would +forbid me to think so; but it also informs me that my _role_ is +not to be that of a schoolmaster. + +"I shall be a poor man, of course; poor, that is, for an independent +gentleman. I wish I were a Fellow of a College at Cambridge; I would +try and be as ideal as Gray in that position." + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +In April he was released from his engagement, and he immediately went +abroad, alone. He travelled through Normandy into Brittany, spending +two months at a little village called Chanteuil, not far from the +Point du Sillon. Here he wandered about mostly alone, dressed in +the roughest possible costume, and allowing his beard to grow. "At +Chanteuil I first learnt how to think, or rather how to converse with +myself as I had before done with other persons; I also found for the +first time that I did not dislike my own company." + +In June he went south, sailing from Brest to Bordeaux, and then +descending by land into Spain, where he remained till August. Here he +spent a long time in exploring the table-land between the Asturian +Mountains and the sea, and then from Burgos visiting Madrid, Toledo, +Ciudad, and Seville, and so to Gibraltar. From Gibraltar he sailed +up the south-east coast, and settled himself for another month at a +little village called Benigarcia, about five miles east of Sorrion, +on the river Mijares. In November he sailed by Minorca, starting from +Barcelona, to Sicily, and spent the rest of the year in the north of +Italy, sailing from Sicily to Genoa, and settling at a village called +Riviglio, not very far from Verona. He was obliged to adopt this +plan of settling, as his exchequer was not large. From this place +he visited Venice on foot, and early in the year visited Rome and +Florence, sailing from Ancona in March for Spalatro, and worked up +through Hungary to a little place called Bochnia, on the Vistula, +down which river he went by boat to Konigsberg, staying in +Warsaw a few weeks. Once on the Baltic, he hired a fishing-boat, and +spent a month in cruising about, during which time he discovered, or +rather unearthed, an island, which formed the subject of the only +letter he wrote to me during his entire absence. + + "Copenhagen, June, 1876. + +"My dear Carr, + +"I am writing this on board the fishing-smack _Paradys_, which is at +this moment lying in Copenhagen Roads, being myself owner by hire and +supercargo of the same. The first object of my note is to assure you +of my existence, as your letter which was forwarded after me to +Danzig seemed to imply uncertainty on that point, and moreover +expressed a strange solicitude as to my well-being which was by no +means unpleasing to me; then to request you to perform several small +commissions for me.... + +"Lastly, to tell you of a very curious adventure I met with. Some +weeks ago I was cruising not very far from Danzig, when we sighted a +low wooded island about seven miles off land. I discovered by dint of +arduous questioning, for the lingo of these fellows is very uncouth, +that it was uninhabited, because its owner, a Danish nobleman, +devoted it to the growing of wood for firewood, etc.; a poor +speculation, I should say, as the wind blows very fresh from the sea +and stunts the trees; and also partly because of a bad name attaching +to it, and many horrid superstitions--what, they could not tell me. +It was a curious-looking place, not very large, but with deep +indented bays all round running very far inland, so as to give it +somewhat the shape of a starfish with seven or eight irregular arms; +the woods come down very close to the sea and are mostly fir or +larch. I could see a few trees further inland of a lighter green, but +could not make out to what species they belonged. Between the woods +and the sea there are sands loosely overgrown with that spiky grass +that covers sand-hills, and at the extremity of two of the valleys +a marsh formed by a freshwater spring. The place is frequented by +birds, mostly pigeons, and a good many waterfowl of different kinds. + +"We spent a hot oppressive day with very little wind in cruising +leisurely round it as close in shore as we could get. I should guess +that it was about eleven miles round, measuring from the ends of the +promontories. We saw no signs whatever of habitation except the +three or four old boats on props in one of the creeks used by the +woodcutters as cabins when they come. I found out from my men that so +great was the horror of the place, that even smugglers, when hard +pressed, have been known to risk capture rather than put in to the +island; and on my inquiring the cause of these rumours, they gave me +various vague and grotesque stories about dead men and women, and +a figure which sat on the seaward cape and wept, with long hair +drooping all over her; and, worst of all, of two boys, dressed in an +antique dress, whom to see was certain disaster, and to speak with +certain death. + +"Toward evening the breeze freshened; and as it was getting dark I +proposed casting anchor in one of the creeks. My men manifested the +greatest alarm; but as the channel is full of shoals and sands +between the island and the mainland (which is at that place very much +deserted), and we were not acquainted with the lie of them, and as +I bound myself by the most solemn promises not to send any of them +ashore, they at last reluctantly consented. However, as none of them +would stir an inch, but crowded together in the most disgusting +proximity into their hole of a cabin, I was left the sole patrol of +the place. + +"It was an oppressive evening, and I walked about a long time up and +down, and finally sat down to smoke. The place was curiously silent, +except that every now and then it was broken by those strange +woodland sounds, like smothered cries or groans, seeming to proceed +out of the heart of the wood at a great distance. We lay in a sandy +creek with banks of pines on each side, rising up very black against +the sky, which had that still green enamelled look that it gets on a +very quiet evening. At the far end of the creek was a large marsh +covered with the white cotton rush then in bloom; it caused a strange +glimmering which I could see till it got quite dark. The only other +sound was the wash of the short waves on the sands outside, and the +gurgle and cluck of the water as it crept past the boat and out to +sea. + +"Toward midnight I saw a sight that I have never seen before nor +expect to see again. I was surprised to see a light, apparently on +the shore, in the direction of the marsh. It looked exactly like a +lantern carried by a man. It was very indistinct, but wavered about, +always floating about a foot or two from the surface, sometimes +standing still as though he was looking for something on the ground, +and sometimes moving very quickly. It was a will-o'-the-wisp--a +phosphorescent exhalation. + +"It was a foul pestilential place, there is no doubt. The mist was +all about us by midnight, and smelt very heavy and cold. I awoke +shivering in the morning, and not feeling by any means as fresh or +vigorous as usual; but nevertheless I determined to explore the +island--singly, if none of the men would accompany me. + +"Straight up in front of me, apparently about a mile inland, was a +very marked clump of trees projecting above the other foliage. I had +noticed it several times from the sea the day before. You could see +the red stems clearly above the other trees. It evidently marked a +knoll or rising ground of some kind, and I determined to make that +the object of my journey, and scale, if possible, the trees to get a +bird's-eye view of the place. + +"As I had expected, I could not get a single member of the crew to +accompany me further than the shore, and they were frightened at +that. Two of them, who were very much attached to me, implored +me most earnestly not to go, but seeing that I was bent upon it, +shrugged their shoulders and were silent. The instant I was deposited +with my gun on shore, they turned back to the boat and immured +themselves. I arranged that at twelve o'clock, if I did not return, +they should leave the creek and go round the island within hailing +distance, so as to pick me up at any point. I started along the +shore, skirting the marsh which wound through the pines. + +"The first thing that I came upon was a heronry. I had noticed +several of these magnificent birds the day before sailing over the +island, and this creek was evidently their settlement; up they went, +floating away in all directions with a marvellous, almost magical +rapidity and silence of flight. This persuaded me more than anything +else that the island was unfrequented, as they are a very shy bird, +and distrustful of human beings. I then left the stream and struck +straight up into the woods, as nearly as possible toward the clump. + +"I put up a few rabbits and a great many pigeons. I also saw an +animal that I believe to have been a wolf, but it retreated with such +rapidity that I lost sight of it among the tree stems. There was very +little undergrowth, as often happens under pines, but the boughs +overhead formed a close screen, and the heat was very oppressive. +After about an hour's walking I emerged on a cliff above the sea, +having mistaken my direction, and crossed the island diagonally. On +getting clear of the trees I could again see the goal of my walk, the +clump, this time a good deal nearer; and now resolutely plunging into +the wood, and keeping always slightly to the right, for I saw that my +bias was to the left, I came at last to a place where I could see the +sides of a mound through the trees rather indistinctly. + +"All of a sudden I came to a low wall among the trees, overgrown in +some places, but opposite me almost entirely clear. It was built of +large stones carefully fitted together, like the architecture that I +remembered to have seen called Cyclopean in architectural histories +of Greece. It was easily climbed, and I saw that it surrounded the +mound at the distance of about fifty yards, in an irregular circle. + +"The space which intervened between it and the mound was partially +filled with great hewn stones planted all about, some of them lying +on their side, some upright, many of them broken. Going through these +I came upon the mound itself. It was crowned with a group of firs, +which I could see at once to be much older than the surrounding +trees. They were far larger and taller, for the height of the mound +did not entirely account for the extraordinary way in which they +overtopped the rest of the trees. The mound was very steep, and was +apparently constructed of stones built carefully together; but only +very small portions of the masonry were visible, it was so overgrown +and hidden. + +"Wandering round it I found a rude flight of steps leading to the +top, also much overgrown. I ascended hastily, and found myself on the +top of a smooth plateau, about fifty by thirty yards, surrounded by +the gigantic firs; but what immediately arrested my attention was a +strange rude altar in the middle, ornamented with uncouth figures and +other ornaments. It was covered with moss at the top, and very much +cracked and splintered in places. + +"I concluded at once that I was in the presence of some remains, +probably Druidic in origin, which, owing to the extraordinary +desolation of the spot and the superstition attaching to the island, +had been so long unvisited as to have been forgotten. I could see +that the mound was quite surrounded by the wall, and that it was +evidently a sacred enclosure of some kind. + +"And gazing and wondering, the stories attributed to the place seemed +not wholly without cause. There are certain atmospheres, I have +always held, which, as it were, infect one; the very air has caught +some contagion of evil which can not be got rid of. There is a +baneful influence about some places which makes itself felt upon +all sensitive beings who approach. I have felt it on actual +battle-fields, as well as at other places that I have held to be the +scenes of unrecorded, immemorial slaughters; and as I gazed round +it seemed to gather and fall on me here. The very stillness was +appalling, for there was now a good deal of wind blowing from the +sea, as I could tell from the rustling and cracking of the fir boughs +all about, and the sound of the sea on the sand; but here there was +an oppressive heaviness, as if the place was still brooding over the +ancient horror it had seen. And this was succeeded in my mind by a +strange, overpowering, fascinating wonder and speculation as to what +dismal deeds of darkness could have been done in the place; with +whose blood, indeed, whether of innocent sheep and goats, or pleading +men and frightened children, that grim uncouth altar had run and +smoked; whether, in truth, as the ancient tales say, every one of +those gray pillars all about had been set up, and still was based +upon, the mouldering crushed remains of men. The sickening contagion +of the sin of the place grew upon me every moment. + +"To rid myself of it I applied myself to climb one of the trees to +get a bird's-eye view of the island. This I effected without much +difficulty, and found that it was of the shape, as I have said, of an +irregular five-pointed star. From extremity to extremity, it must be, +I believe, about five miles. + +"But now follows the part of my story that I do not profess to +explain. I marked in my mind the nearest path to the sea, which was +to the north-east--the path I actually pursued--and descended; and +then I became aware that the feeling I had experienced before was not +purely physical--that there _was_ a taint of a real kind in the air, +which strangely affected the emotional atmosphere. I felt helpless, +bewildered, sickened. I descended, however, from the platform, and +walked straight, in what I had determined to be the right direction, +when, just as I was about to scale the wall, heartily glad to be out +of the place, I was--not exactly called, for there was no sound--but +most unmistakably ordered to look round. Am I clear? The sensation +produced mentally and emotionally was precisely like the receiving +an imperative order that one has neither power nor inclination to +resist--so strong and sudden that I kept thinking that my name had +been called. In reflecting, however, I am certain that it was not. + +"I turned at once, and saw, standing together, close by the platform, +two boys, about twelve years of age I should have said, in a loose +antique dress, of a bluish-white colour, reaching down to the knees, +and girt about the waist, with leather buskins fastened by straps +reaching up the leg; their heads were bare, and their hair, which was +a dark brown, was loose and flowing. I could not clearly distinguish +their faces, but they looked handsome, though desperately frightened. +Accompanying this was an indescribable sense, which I have sometimes +had in dreams, of an overwhelming intense vastness--space-immensity +rushing over one with a terrible power; and at the same time the +feeling of _numbers_, as if I was in the presence of a multitude +of people. All this quite momentary; in an instant I was conscious +of the tall avenues of red stems, with their dark background, and +the heavy silence of the underwood, and nothing more. + +"I went as if dazed through the wood, yet unconsciously obeying the +tacit order of my determination, down a steep fully clad with pine +trees, the needles very soft under my feet, till I suddenly came out +of the stifling wood on to golden sands and blue water, and a great +restful wash of air and sunlight. + +"I fired my gun as a signal, and wandering on, as if only half awake, +I came out upon another point, and saw the boat lying close below me, +whereupon I fired again, and was taken on board. + +"My sensation was one of strange languor and fatigue; certainly no +fright, and very little wonder; rather as if I had been stunned or +charmed by opiates into a kind of waking slumber. I have never felt +anything like it before or since. + +"But by morning I was shivering in an ague caught in that +pestilential fever-swamp, and then the fever fiend himself came and +took up his abode with me, and I am now only just convalescent, and +can sun myself on the deck, and read and write a little; but the +illness and the unconsciousness have done as such things often +do--interposed a sort of blank between me and my past life--have +deadened it, as one deadens sound by wool, so that memories no longer +strike on my mind sharp and clear, but swim along hazy and undefined; +and especially is it the case with later memories. + +"What was the sight, my dear Carr, that I saw on that hill-top? Was +it nothing but the uneasiness of mind and memory disturbed and +disorganized by the seething of the foul poison-wine, throwing up +pictures and ideas out of their due course, and without subordination +to the master-will? Was it merely the story of those fisher-folk, +half apprehended, and yet evoked and subtly clad with form and shape +by the strange workshop of imagination? + +"To all of these I am quite content to say 'Yes.' The sight does not +trouble me, or, indeed, anything but interest me. I am not +superstitious; I am not nervous in the least. Only I can not help +feeling as if, catching, in my weakened state, the hideous leprosy of +the place, I had received into my mind, then less able than usual to +resist, the stamp and impress of some other mind forced to linger +near that spot, and unable to avoid brooding over some haunting +remorseful thought or image of a deed, ever dismally recalling how +he stood in grim silence watching the tears and prayers of the +two soft-faced smooth-limbed Roman boys, kidnapped from some +sunny Italian villa, and carried to that gloomy place--held them +pitilessly on the altar among the other fork-bearded Druids, with +their white robes and glaring eyes--and smote the cruel blow, in +spite of the trembling touch of the young fingers and the piteous +entreaties, as they looked tearfully from side to side in the damp +sunless Golgotha, among the glens of that sinister isle. + +"That is the picture that somehow or other, even in my most material +mood, is evoked by the thought of the place. The rationalist +explanation of the coming fever is far more satisfactory and +scientific; but the other keeps recurring--a curious experience +anyhow. + +"If you have nothing to do you might write me a line to Stockholm, +Poste Restante. I am going north to have a look at the ice. +Altogether, what with the East still open before me, I do not expect +to come home for two or three years. + +"You are one of the few friends I can rely upon, so I carry about +with me a letter addressed to you; in case of my death you will be +the first to be notified of the fact. + + "Ever yours, + "Arthur Hamilton." + +I have given this letter in full, because it affords a good example +of Arthur's descriptive style, which always struck me as being vivid +and graphic, and also because this little incident, not by the proof +it itself afforded, but by the turn it gave his thoughts--then rather +rapidly drifting into materialism--was the first step in a kind of +conversion from the purely physical views of life he had been apt to +take. The episode itself, too, is a curious one, and may deserve to +be recorded. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Nothing is more hopelessly wearisome than descriptions of travel; +even George Eliot could not make in her diaries Florence anything but +dull. I shall confine myself to sketching his route, to telling one +incident among the few he told me, and describing his return. + +I had no more letters from him; but he has told me that he got to +Spitzbergen, and in a whaler to the edge of the great arctic +ice-field. He sailed to America and crossed it. From San Francisco he +visited Peru and the Amazon, on which river he spent a month. Then he +went to Africa, to what part I do not know, except that he came down +the Nile; and then he wandered through Asia Minor, Persia, and India; +he penetrated a little way into Thibet, and saw China and Japan; he +went up to the mouth of the Siberian rivers, travelling for three +months with a party of gipsies, who taught him many curious things, +such as their own language and freemasonry, the use of simples, the +properties of water, and the strange things that can be done with +even such things as docks and nettles, and other plants which we toss +away as weeds. He told me that in that branch of secret knowledge, +as in all others, there was a vast deal of nonsense but a solid +residuum of truth; and he said, half jestingly, that they had sworn +him a member of their brotherhood, and what was more, he had since +discovered many members of the brotherhood in civilized nations, even +in "kings' houses." + +But I must suspend my account for a short time to relate the incident +to which I have just referred. It took place during his stay in +Teheran, while on his way home (1878), a period of about six weeks. +This city is situated in a lovely climate--hot, but not unbearable +for Europeans; houses, horses, and servants are extraordinarily +cheap. The house that Arthur took was situated in large gardens or +pleasure-grounds of the natural wilderness type that one finds in +the East, shrubberies relegated to certain limits, but within those +limits left absolutely to their own device and will, with the +exception of arched and shaded paths cut under the thick intertwined +leafage. + +This whole place, with horses at his command, and seven servants, +with the whole expense of boarding, cost him, he has told me, +L40 for the entire six weeks that he was there; for he was very +weary of his rough tramping life, and resolutely determined to +recruit his energies by some deliberate luxury, a recipe far more +useful than the normal Englishman is at all inclined to admit, +thinking, as he does so erroneously, that "overtasking the body is +the best restorative for the overworked mind, and _vice versa_," +as Arthur said once, "whereas the two instruments, so to speak, have +but one blade though two handles." + +The heat of the day was rather overpowering; that period he usually +spent dozing or reading in the court of the house, which was occupied +by a cool flashing fountain in the centre of an oasis of marble +pavement, streaked and veined. About seven it became cooler, and +then in the light native costume he used to ride leisurely about the +picturesque city or among the delightful houses scattered about in +the outskirts like his own. + +One evening he was riding in this fashion down a lane running between +high brick walls, fringed with feathery trailing shrubs or gorgeous +red and white flowers, whose fragrance literally streamed into the +evening air, in that delicate dusk when the senses are lulled into +acquiescence, and the mind and emotions become so vivid and lustrous +in their play. + +Riding along with his eyes half closed and lost in a delicious +reverie, his horse turned of its own accord to the left, and went for +some distance up an embowered road; Arthur suddenly roused himself +to find that he was passing close to a large sombre house, that had +evidently once been fortified, looming very impressively in the +languorous air; the gate had been opened for some purpose and not +closed again, and he was, in fact, trespassing in some private +grounds. + +He checked his horse, looking curiously about him, and was just about +to return when he heard a voice apparently proceeding from the centre +of one of the shrubberies, asking him his business in Persian. +Looking in that direction he managed to distinguish two or three +indistinct figures seated on a low seat on a kind of terrace on his +left. + +He rode up, and mustering up the little Persian he possessed, +apologized for his unintentional intrusion, mingling a good deal of +English, as he said, with his rather incoherent explanation. + +He was aware that one of the figures disengaged itself from the +group, and coming up close to him, regarded him with some curiosity. +It was a tall man, paler in complexion than the natives are wont to +be, with large dreamy eyes, and an air of indifferent lassitude that +was rather fascinating. + +He was amazed to hear, at the conclusion of his lame peroration, a +voice of strange delicacy of intonation proceeding from the figure: +"An Englishman, I presume." The accent was a little affected, but the +speaker was evidently more English than Persian by training: "Not +only English," said Arthur to himself, "but London English of the +best kind." + +He confessed his nationality, and, again apologizing, was about to +withdraw, when the stranger courteously invited him to join the +party. "It is very refreshing," he said, "to hear my native tongue +by chance; I can not resist the temptation of begging you to join us +for a little, that I may hear it once more; you will do me a great +kindness if you will accede to my request." + +Seeing that the offer was sincere, Arthur dismounted, and walked to +the terrace with the other. The figures rose at their approach, and +Arthur could see that they were two boys of fifteen or sixteen, of +extraordinary beauty and delicacy, and a woman of about thirty-five, +as far as he could judge, evidently their mother. + +His host spoke a few words in Persian, the purport of which he could +not catch, and, rapidly presenting him, requested him to be seated, +and produced some cigarettes of a very choice and fragrant kind. + +They talked for a long time on general subjects--England, politics, +art, and literature. The stranger seemed well acquainted with +literature and events of a certain date, but not of later departures +in any branch; and finally, Arthur gave a short account of himself +and his wanderings, in which the others appeared most interested. + +Before he went back to his house the stranger asked him, with some +earnestness, to return on the following day, which Arthur gladly +accepted. One of the boys conducted him to the gate, speaking a few +English sentences with that delicate and hesitating utterance that +combines with other personal attractions to give an almost unique +charm. + +On the following day, and on several others, the invitation was +repeated and accepted. The stranger became more communicative, having +at first consistently maintained a courteous reserve. + +The last day of Arthur's stay in his villa he went to see his new +friends. The boys had taken a great fancy to him, and used to wait +for his coming at the gate; but they would never come to his house, +though he asked them more than once. They were not permitted, they +said, to leave their own domain. + +On this last evening his host was alone, and after some indifferent +conversation he told Arthur the following story, and made a proposal +which had a strange influence on the rest of his life: + +"You may have wondered," he said, "at the cause which brought me +here, and keeps me here. I have often admired your courtesy, which +has made no attempts to discover my antecedents; it is not the usual +characteristic of our nation. If you are disposed to hear, I am +willing to give you a little autobiographical outline, which is a +necessary preface to a request which I am going to make of you." + +He then mentioned his name and parentage--facts which I am not at +liberty to repeat. They surprised even Arthur when he heard them; +they surprised me, when he communicated them to me, even more. + +He was the son of an English nobleman of high rank and wealth and +aristocratic traditions, and was reported to be long since dead. +Many people will no doubt remember the shock which the news of the +premature death of this individual, when announced in Europe, made. +It took place at Palermo in 1853. More than that I am not at liberty +to state. + +"My reasons for this were as follows," said his host. "I meditated a +retirement from the world of a kind which should be absolute, which +should excite no inquiries, no interest, except a retrospective one. +To have merely disappeared would not have suited my purpose; search +would have been instituted. The connections and influence of my +family would have made such a plan liable to constant disaster. From +Palermo, after superintending the making of my tombstone, I came +straight back here, to a house which I had already prepared for +myself under an anonymous name. I travelled with the utmost secrecy; +I married, as you have seen, a native wife; and from that day to this +I have never beheld a European face but yours. Your arrival was so +unexpected as to shiver resolve and habit; but I have no reason +to regret, as far as I can see, my confidence. I feel that I can +unreservedly trust you. + +"You will no doubt wonder as to my aim in executing this hazardous +and Quixotic project. I do not mind telling you now, at this lapse +of time, though I have never before opened my reasons to any one, +because I think that I observe in you traces of that temper which +led me to take the step. + +"It seemed to me that Western life had got into a confusion and +complication from which nothing could deliver it. The principles now +incorporated with the very existence of the most influential men in +it seemed to me to be radically erroneous, and the disposition of the +Western mind is of a kind which augments with indefinite rapidity the +strength of any prevalent idea. + +"What I mean is this. May I explain by a quotation? A sentence from a +certain review of the poet Coleridge's life and work is as follows: +'Devoted as he was to mystic and ideal contemplation, to abstractions +of mind and spirit, he naturally became untrustworthy in every +relation of life.' + +"That represents, in an exaggerated form, the ideal of the Western +mind. They are, though they would not so name themselves, gross +materialists; and the tendency is increasing on them daily and +yearly. Those who protest occasionally against current thought, who +appear like prophets with bitter invective and words of warning on +their lips, are swept away by the tide, and write of trade and +treaties, of wars of principle and convenience. The very divines are +tainted. 'Live your life to the uttermost,' they cry. + +"And in the Western mind the tendency once rooted gathers force from +every quarter. As a necessary concomitant of the restless habit, the +enshrining of the 'effective man' in their proudest temples, comes an +extreme deference to other people, a heated straining of the ears to +catch the murmurs of that vague uncertain heart--Public Opinion. And +why? It follows: if it is in this life alone that triumphs must be +won--if on this stage alone the drama is to be played out, and the +time is short--it is that imperious will that you must conciliate; +therefore employ every power to gain the art of so doing. + +"So intent are the Westerns on this drama, so wrapped up in the +actors, so anxious to declaim and strut, that they forget to what end +the play exists: they have left the spectators out for whom alone +the scenes are enacted, and who, though apparently so silent and +motionless, are the _raison d'etre_ of the whole performance. +The play must and will continue through the ages; but the wise, the +enlightened, beat down, and in one sharp encounter overcome, the +lower desire of being seen and applauded, and are content to sit +and watch--the nobler task. + +"For we must remember that it is not the drama itself, tragedy or +comedy, fascinating as it be, that we are here to watch--but the +mind of the Being that animates the whole, can be here descried and +here alone, as in a mirror faintly: it is not only the man who fumes +and paces up and down for a few moments and then is called away; but +the vast Existence behind, that knows what the play means and will +not tell us, and that pushes the players on and off as He will. + +"And here we find ourselves, with our tiny and uncertain space of +time bounded by the Infinities at either end, with the huge puzzle +set before us. A method has been invented, is now traditional, of +closing the eyes easily and thoughtlessly to the whole; and we are +content to catch that contagion from our predecessors: we eat and +drink, we work and play, and stifle the restless questioning that +springs up so resolutely in our spaces of solitude here; and what +will it do in the immeasurable hereafter? + +"When I lived in England I was for a short time the member of a +professional circle of men engaged on high educational aims. They +held, so far as any teachers can be said to hold, many futures in +their hands. We know that lives teach more than words; and how did +these men set themselves to live? + +"First, to perform their work with rigid accuracy: I will do them +justice--to do it _perfectly_; but granted that, as speedily as +possible: and, their work over, to amuse themselves--literally: to +play games that they enjoyed with childish keenness, and fill up all +the day with them; to read the papers; to play whist; to smoke in +the sun; to get through a certain amount of general reading for +conversational purposes, and to gossip about one another and their +doings, and talk about their work, in which, it must be confessed, +they were enthusiastically interested, only in a gossipy detailed +way, amassing incident rather than arriving at principles. There +was only one who was engaged in serious work of a kind involving +scientific research, and he forfeited much of his doctrinal and all +his social influence thereby; 'A man should stick to his work,' they +said, 'not pretend to do one thing while he is thinking about +another.' + +"A low ideal, faithfully carried out, is the most effective; not +because the high ideal is high, but because so few are capable of +carrying it out; and in that Western world success in aims proposed +is the highest that a man can aspire to. + +"And suppose we do make ourselves famous, what then? how do we use +our fame? To make life happier? It might be so, but is it? No, for +ordinary minds the strain is too strong. 'I will gain fame,' the pure +young soul said once, 'as an engine of power, that I may have a +platform where men will listen to me;' but the effort of struggling +thither has been too much, and once arrived there, what is his +object now? merely to remain there, and among the crowd of pushing +selfish figures, that have lost in the fight the very signs of their +humanity, _monstrari digito_, to have the gaze of men, to feel +somebody. + +"All this I throw aside, and go straight to God. All around us in +natural things--in the curve of that rose-stem and the passionate +flush of its petals--in those white bells there, looking as if blown +out of veined foam--in the luscious scents that wind and linger +round the garden, He has set, as in a language, the secrets of His +being and ours, of our why and wherefore, if we could but read them. +Like the characters and monuments of a bygone age staring from a +waste of sand or the front of a precipice, these words and phrases +seem to say, not 'There was a king who was mighty, but whose throne +is cut down,' but 'There lives a God who would be all tenderness if +He could, and is more beautiful in His nature than anything you have +ever seen or dreamed of. Win your way to Him, if you can; do not let +Him go till you have His secret. That is a talisman indeed, that +shall shut you in palaces of delight where no torment shall touch +you.' + +"And not a selfish paradise. We are but as others, we mystics; it is +only that we take--or rather are led, for it is no will of ours, but +an imperious voice that calls us--the straight and flowery road to +God, pressing through but one hedge of thorns, while you and others +struggle to Him along the dusty road that winds and wanders. But our +paradise would be no paradise if we did not know that our brothers +were coming, coming; the beauty that we behold, sheer ugliness if we +did not believe that you will some day share it too. + +"Yes, I am a mystic--have joined the one brotherhood that is eternal +and all-embracing, as young as love and as old as time--the society +that no man suspects till he is close upon it, or hopes to enter till +he finds himself in a moment within the sacred pale. I would that I +could tell you with what different eyes we look on life and death, +God and nature, from this divine vantage-ground on which we stand, +and you would imperil all, run through fire and water, to win it too; +but you must find the way yourself--no man can show it you. If you +enter--and you are destined to enter this side the grave--it will +come when you are least expecting it. In the middle of those that +cry 'Lo, here is Christ and there,' He himself will touch you on the +shoulder, and show you better things than these. + +"Oh, if I could only help you there at once--open the door! But my +words would bear other and commoner meanings in your ear; if I opened +the door, you would not see the light. Ay, and I do not wish it; for +every step outside you take is apportioned you; you need them, that +you may appreciate, when you have it, the rest within. + +"And now for my request. You need not answer now; you may have a year +to think of it. + +"You have seen my two boys. Outwardly they are alike, inwardly very +different--that you could not see. + +"The younger will join me soon; he is far advanced upon the way +already, though he little suspects it. I have no fears for him. God +is drawing him. + +"But the elder--like as he is in face, form, disposition--will need +another discipline. He must tread the winding road, the road of other +men. His trial will be a sharp one; through many paths he will have +to be taught the truth. I could hardly bear it, when I look at the +tender face, the dreamy eyes, and feel his caressing hand, thinking +of the horrors he must look upon, if I did not know that all will be +well. + +"Will you undertake a charge for me? I could not play a part in the +world again, even if I would. I have lost my hold on men. I do not +realize what are their hopes and fears, their ideals, and most of +all, their whims and caprices; and, what is more, I could never +appreciate them now. Ten years' isolation is enough to spoil one for +that; in ten years many social traditions and commonplaces of life +have changed. I should have to ask the reasons for many things. I +should never feel them instinctively, as those do who have grown old +along with them. + +"And so I can not undertake the task of guiding him in this harsh +world that he must enter. I have known, however, for some time that +it would be undertaken and accomplished for me. You have been sent to +me, later than I thought, but still sent. I have been waiting; I have +been true to my creed, and have not been impatient. + +"I intrust him to you as I intrust the fairest possession I have, +knowing that you will feel the responsibility. You will find him +passionately affectionate, and in danger there; quick to anger, and +in danger there; personally fascinating and beautiful, and in danger +there; and in these three things his trial will be. But he does not +resent nor brood; he is docile, apt to listen, eager to comprehend; +and he is truthful and sincere." + +I have given this in a continuous speech, much as Arthur told it me +a few months ago, though it was the essence of a conversation. The +quiet man, with his dreamy eyes fixed on his face, he told me, and +the fragrant Eastern garden seemed from moment to moment of the +strange adventure to swim and become vague and phantasmal; but again +the quiet air of certainty with which questions were asked and +statements made gave him a curious sense of security, and an impulse +to accept the indicated path, together with a sense of shrinking from +such a responsibility. + +"I do not, as I told you," said the other, "want your answer now, but +this day one year hence, August 19, 1879, I shall claim it. And I +have no doubt," he added with a smile, "of what that answer will be. +But I beg of you do not give the question a hasty consideration and +then reverse your decision. Do not attempt to decide. Let your choice +be guided by circumstances; they are the safest guide, for they are +not of our own making. + +"I do not suppose," he continued, "that I shall ever see you again on +earth, as you proceed with your journey to-morrow; and indeed I think +it will perhaps be as well that this should be our last conversation, +so that nothing else should interfere to blur the impression. + +"One last word then." He paused for a moment, and the stillness was +broken only by the faintest stir of odorous wind among the +spice-trees and a waft of distant evening noises. + +"You are treading a path, though you do not realize it, which it is +not given to many men to tread. You have had your first intimation of +the goal to-day, and the future will not be wanting in indications of +the same; but, as I have said, you will suddenly, when you least +expect it, step inside the circle, and everything will be changed. + +"To you I wish to intrust a future that I can not mould myself, to be +moulded, not for me, but for the great Master of all. You are the +chosen instrument for this. My work lies in another region, which you +will realize on that day when all things are made plain. + +"Only remember that your destiny is high and arduous, and that a +single false step may throw you from a precipice that has taken years +to scale once, and that must be scaled again. For you walk among the +clouds, or very near them; you are not defiled by any gross habitual +sin; your heart is pure, and you have known suffering. You are a true +novice. + +"In a year, as I have said, I shall claim your answer. And now +farewell for a season. When we next meet we shall have a larger +common ground; we shall be master and pupil no longer. + +"You shall see the boy once again, by his wish and my own. He shall +go with you to your house to-night, and travel with you the first +stage to-morrow. I have arranged for his return." + +He then conducted Arthur into the house, where he bade adieu to the +mistress and to the younger son; the elder, his charge that was to +be, meeting him as he came out, and accompanying him home. The boy +had formed a great attachment to him, and the idea of their future +relations sent a strange and unwonted glow into Arthur's mind, so +that he parted from him on the next day, "with wonder in his heart," +and something very like an ache too. + +This last episode will appear to my readers to be so fantastic as to +give the work at once a fictional character; they will say that on +some real lines I have constructed a romance of the wildest type, +and that Arthur is no longer an interesting personality, because as +a rule he is too ordinary to be ideal, in the last two chapters too +illusory to be real. + +All I can urge is this: the chapters shall be their own defence. If I +had wished to present my readers with nothing but a dry chronicle of +facts I should have toned this down to something more prosaic. But +every one who has had any experience of life will know that her +surprises are sometimes very bewildering; that fiction is nothing but +uncommon experience made ordinary, or heaped inartistically upon a +single character. + +It may be said that the man was mentally affected, in the latter +scene; in the former, that Arthur himself was the victim of a mental +disorder; but he left such vivid and detailed descriptions of both +events that I have been enabled to give one (the letter) exactly +as it stands, and the interview in Teheran is taken directly from +diaries--a little amplified and reconstructed, it is true, but only +when interpreted by the light of later events. + +And this must be always the task of the true biographer; for the +biographer has to take a life _en masse_, and disentangling the +predominant and central threads, cast the rest away; in this process +rejecting facts and incidents whose isolated interest is often +greater than the interest of what he retains, because it is on the +latter that the pearls of life are, so to speak, strung. + +In this case the two incidents I have kept are both so pregnant of +influence upon his later life, so necessary to the logical +development of his principles, that, in spite of their romantic, not +to say wild, character, I have retained them. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +About the middle of February, 1879, I was sitting at work in my +lodgings in Newman Street, when I was interrupted by the advent of my +landlady, to inform me that there was a gentleman below who wished to +see me. I told her to show him up, and she returned in a moment, +ushering in, to my extreme surprise, Arthur Hamilton. I confess I +hardly knew him at first. He had grown a beard, and looked thinner +and graver than he used to do. He had the same slow, almost stately +movement, with a slight and not ungraceful suggestion of languor; +his manner was somewhat changed, and very much improved; and he had +contracted, from living so long with strangers, a delightfully frank +and free way of speaking. He never gave me, as he used to, the least +feeling of constraint; he always seemed perfectly at his ease. And +he had acquired, too, the art of asking unobtrusive questions of a +tentative kind, so as to feel out the interests of his companion, +and draw him out; not in that professional way which so-called +influential people often acquire--the melancholy confidential smile, +the intimate manner, and the air of bland inattention with which they +receive your remarks, only to be detected in the fixed or wandering +eye. He had learnt the art of being interested in other people, and +in what they had to say, and of indicating by a subtle tact in speech +that he was following them, and intelligently sympathizing with them. + +He did not then tell me much about himself. He confessed that the +most rapturous feeling he had known since he set off on his travels, +was the hour or two as he whirled through the flat pasture-lands and +the pleasant green of Kent. + +He gave me no detailed descriptions of adventures, but hinted in a +suggestive way that he had seen much, and thought more. "I think I +have learnt myself very fairly," was the only remark he made about +his own personal experience. + +"To finish my tour," he said, "I want to see something of my native +land. I have been away so long, that I don't know where to begin, and +I want you to help me. I want to be introduced to a few Christian +households, that I may see the kind of people that our Western +friends are." + +I had an uncle, a Mr. Raymond, who had made a fortune in business, +lived in a fine house in Lancaster Gate, and saw a good deal of +fairly interesting and cultivated people. I took him to dine there +once or twice, and he needed nothing else. He had a real genius +for _tete-a-tete_ conversation; that is, he could listen without +appearing only to listen. He made people feel at their best with +him. My aunt's criticism of him was highly characteristic of the +British matron and her choice of friends. + +"I thoroughly approve, Harry," she said to me, "of your friend, Mr. +Hamilton. He is very well-informed and clever, and he doesn't allow +it to make him in the least disagreeable." And starting from this, he +was asked to dinner by, and invited to visit, a fair selection of +pleasant people. + +Of the events which immediately succeeded his return to England I +can not, for two reasons, give a very detailed account. In the first +place, dealing as they do with living people, I have thought it +better, after consultation with the friends of both, to leave the +outlines of the story rather vague; and secondly, there are great +gaps and deficiencies in diaries and letters, which, though I believe +I can supply, knowing what I do of the circumstances, I hardly like +to fill in in a narrative of fact. + +He took a dose, as I have already said, of the London season. "Those +six weeks," he said, "absolutely knocked me up; my friends told me, +among other things, that my physiognomy, being of a grave and gloomy +cast, was of a kind that was not suitable to a festive occasion; and +so I used to come home at night with my jaws positively aching with +the effort of a perpetually fatuous grin." + +The following extract, which I have selected from one of his letters +of this period, will give a good picture of his mind: + +"I think that two of the things that move me most, not to sadness nor +indignation, but to those vague tumultuous feelings for which we +have, I think, no name, but which were formerly called melancholy, +are these: + +"To come up-stairs after a hot London banquet, where you have been +sitting, talking the poorest trash, between two empty, worldly women; +and then, perhaps, listening to stories that are dull, or worse, and +see dullness personified in every one of the twelve faces that stare +at you with such sodden respectability through the cigarette smoke; +and then, I say, to come up-stairs, and see moving about among the +knowing selfish people a child with hair like gold thread, and +something of the regretful innocence of heaven in her eyes and +motions. If you can get her to talk to you, so much the better for +you; but if you or she are shy, as generally happens, to watch her +is something. God knows the insidious process by which she will be +transformed, step by step, into one of those godless fine ladies; for +it makes me inclined to pray that anything may happen to her first +that may hinder that development. + +"The other thing is, under the same circumstances, to sit down and +hear some rippling melody of Bach's, a tender gavotte or a delicate +rapid fugue, just as it stole on to the paper in that quaint German +garden with the clipped yew-hedges and the tall summer-house in the +corner, in the master's pointed handwriting, calling down by his +magic wand the spirits of the air to aid him in the perfecting of the +exquisite phrase that some Ariel had whispered to him as he walked or +sat. + +"To hear that little rill of Paradise breaking out in the glaring +room, not echoed or reflected in the rows of listless faces, gives me +a strange turn. It sweeps away for a minute or two, as it goes and +comes and returns upon itself until its sweet course is run, all the +hard and stifling web of convention and opinion that closes us in; it +takes me back for a moment to old-world fancies, till I seem to feel, +as I am always longing to feel, that we are separated only by a very +little flimsy hedge from the secrets of the beautiful, from the +shadow-land which is so real; and that every now and then a breeze +breaks and stirs across, with something of the fragrance of the place +in its wandering air." + + +He used to come to me in my rooms in Newman Street, on his way back +from an evening party or a ball, to smoke a cigar, and it was very +interesting to watch his growing disgust for the life, and the +grotesque and humorous ways in which he expressed it. + +"Do I feel flat?" he used to say--"it isn't the word--bored to death. +Why, my dear Chris, if you'd heard the conversation of the lady next +me to-night, you'd have thought that the premier said, every morning +when his shaving-water was brought him, 'Another day! Whose happiness +can I mar? Whose ruin can I effect? What villainy can I execute +to-day?'" + +One night, at dinner, he happened to sit next a young lady in whom +the fashionable world were a good deal interested. + +It is impossible to give a fair sketch of her character; she was what +would now be called unconventional, and was then called fast. + +She openly avowed her preference for men's society as compared to +female--women, as a rule, did not like her--she used to receive calls +from her own men friends in her own room whenever she liked, and it +was considered rather "compromising" to know her. + +She was perfectly reckless about what she said and did. I questioned +Arthur about her conversation, for she was accused of telling +improper stories. "I have often," he said, "heard her allude to +things and tell stories that would be considered unusual, even +indelicate. But I never heard her say a thing in which there could +be any conceivable 'taint,' in which the point consisted in the +violation of the decent sense. The 'doubtful' element was rare and +always incidental." + +Arthur told me a delightful story about her. Her father was a testy +old country gentleman, very irritable and obstinate. + +It happened that an Eton boy was staying in the house, of the +blundering lumpish type; he had had more than his share of luck in +breaking windows and articles of furniture. One morning Mr. B----, +finding his study window broken, declared in a paroxysm of rage that +the next thing he broke the boy should go. + +That same afternoon, it happened he was playing at small cricket with +Maud, and made a sharp cut into the great greenhouse. There was a +crash of glass, followed by Maud's ringing laugh. + +They stopped their game, and went to discuss the position of events. +As they stood there, Mr. B----'s garden door, just round the corner, +was heard to open and slam, and craunch, craunch, came his stately +pace upon the gravel. + +They stared with a humorous horror at one another. In an instant, +Maud caught up a lawn-tennis racquet that was near, and smashed the +next pane to atoms. Mr. B---- quickened his pace, hearing the crash, +and came round the corner with his most judicial and infuriated air, +rather hoping to pack the culprit out of the place, only to be met +by his favourite daughter. "Papa, I'm so sorry, I've broken the +greenhouse with my racquet. May I send for Smith? I'll pay him out of +my own money." + +The Eton boy adored her from that day forth; and so did other people +for similar reasons. + +I, personally, always rather wondered that Arthur was ever attracted +by Miss B----, for he was very fastidious, and the least suggestion +of aiming at effect or vulgarity, or hankering after notoriety, would +infallibly have disgusted him. But this was the reason. + +She was never vulgar, never self-conscious. She acted on each +occasion on impulse, never calculating effects, never with reference +to other people's opinions. + +A gentleman once said, remonstrating with her for driving alone with +a Cambridge undergraduate in his dog-cart down to Richmond after a +ball, "People are beginning to talk about you." + +"What fools they must be!" said Miss B----, and showed not the +slightest inclination to hear more of the matter. + +There is no question, I think, that Arthur's grave and humorous ways +attracted her. He, when at his best, was a racy and paradoxical +talker--with that natural tinge of veiled melancholy or cynicism +half-suspected which is so fascinating, as seeming to imply a +"_past_," a history. He ventured to speak to her more than once +about her tendency to "drift." He told me of one conversation in +particular. + +"I think you have too many friends," he said to her once, at the +conclusion of an evening party at her own house. They were sitting in +a balcony looking out on to the square, where the trees were stirring +in the light morning wind. + +"That's curious," she said. "I never feel as if I had enough; I have +room enough in my heart for the whole world." And she spread out her +hands to the great city with all her lights glaring before them. +"God knows I love you all, though I don't know you," she said with a +sudden impulse. + +They were silent for a moment. + +Then she resumed: "Tell me why you said that," she said. "I like to +be told the truth." + +"_You_ may feel large enough," he said, "but they don't appreciate +your capacity; they feel hurt and slighted. Why, only to-night, during +the ten minutes I was talking to you, you spoke and dismissed eight +people, every one of whom was jealous of me, and thinking 'Who's the +new man?' And I began to wonder how I should feel if I came here and +found a new man installed by you, and got a handshake and a smile." + +"Shall I tell you?" she said, looking at him. "I should give you a +look which would mean, 'I would give anything to have a quiet talk to +you, Mr. Hamilton, but the exigencies of society oblige me to be +civil to this person.'" + +"Yes," he said, "and that's just what I complain of; it gives me, the +new man to-night, a feeling of insecurity--that perhaps you are just +'carrying on' with me because it is your whim, and that the instant +I bore you, you will throw me away like a broken toy, and with even +less regret." + +"How dare you speak like that to me?" she said, turning upon him +almost fiercely. "I never forget people." And she rose and went +quickly into the room, and didn't speak to him for the rest of the +evening. + +But just as he was going out he passed her, and hardly looked at her, +thinking he had offended her; but she came and put out her hand +quickly, and said, almost pathetically-- + +"You must forgive me for my behaviour to-night, Mr. Hamilton. What +you said was not true, but you meant it to be true; you believed it. +And please don't stop talking to me openly. I value it very much. +I have so few people to tell me the truth." + +I find this conversation narrated in his diary, almost word for word +as I have given it. But there is omitted from it, necessarily +perhaps, the most pregnant comment of all. + +"And yet," he said to me once, as he turned to leave the room after +commenting upon their freedom of speech with one another, "I am not +in love with her, though I can't think why I am not." + +The sequel must be soon told. Miss B---- suddenly accepted a +gentleman who was in every way a suitable _parti_: heir to a peerage, +of fairly high character. + +But to return to Arthur. I can not do better than quote a few +sentences of a letter he wrote to me on the event. It conceals--as he +was wont to do--strong feeling under the bantering tone. + +"As you are in possession of most of my moral and mental diagnoses, +I had better communicate to you a new and disturbing element. You +remember what I said to you about Miss B----, that I did not care for +her. A fancied immunity is often a premonitory symptom of disease: +the system is excited into an instantaneous glow by the first contact +of the poisonous seed. + +"I don't know, at present, quite how things are with me. I labour +under a great oppression of spirit. I have a strange thirsty longing +to see her face and hear her speech. If I could only hear from +herself that she had done what her best self--of which we have +often spoken--ratifies, I should feel more content. But she trusts +her impulses too much; and the habit of loving all she loves with +passion, blinds her a little. A woman who loves her sister, her pets, +the very sunshine and air with passion, hardly knows what a lover +is. I can not help feeling that I might have shown her a little +better than J----. Still one must accept facts and interpret them, +especially in cases where one has not even been allowed to try and +fail; for I never spoke to her a word of love. Ah, well! perhaps I +shall be stronger soon." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Arthur Hamilton as an author + + +I must give a chapter to this subject, because it entered very +largely into Arthur's life, although he was singularly unsuccessful +as an author, considering the high level of his mental powers. + +He lacked somehow, not exactly the gift of expression--his letters +testify to that--but the gift of proportion and combination. + +His essays are disjointed--discursive and eloquent in parts, and bare +and meagre in others. Connections are omitted, passages of real and +rare beauty jostling with long passages of the most common-place +rhetoric. His platitudes, however, to myself who knew him, have a +genuine ring about them; he never admitted a truism into his writing +till it had become his own by vivid realization. As he himself says: + +"I always find a peculiar interest in the solemn enunciation of a +platitude by a dull person who does not naturally aim at effect. +You feel sure it is the condensation of life and experience. Such +an utterance often brings a platitude home to me as no amount of +rhetorical writing can." + +Still, the reading public will not stand this, and Arthur never found +a market. + +He wrote voluminously. + +I have in my bureau several pigeon-holes crammed with manuscripts in +his curious sprawling hand. He wrote, when he was in the mood, very +quickly, with hardly an erasure. Among them is: + +1. A collection of poems (128 in all). + +2. A complete novel, called "The Unencumbered Man." + +3. Three incomplete novels, called "Physiognomy," "Helena," +"From Hall to Hall." + +4. Essays on historical and literary subjects, such as "Coleridge," +"Bunyan," "The Earl of Surrey," "Lucian," etc. These, as far as I can +make out, are very poor. + +5. A collection of semi-mystical writings and short stories. There is +a great fertility of imagination about these, and they are composed +in a very finished style. It is not improbable that I shall re-edit +these, as they seem to me to be distinctly first-rate work. I give a +short specimen of his mystical writing--a style of which he was very +fond. It is called: + +"The Great Assize. + +"Now, it came to pass that on a certain day the Gods were weary. Odin +sat upon his throne, and rested his chin upon his hand. And Thor came +in, and threw his hammer upon the earth, and said, 'I am weary of +walking up and down in the earth, of smiting and slaying; and I know +not how to bind or heal up, and I am too old to learn.' And Freya +said, 'I am weary of Valhalla and the birds and trees, the perpetual +sunshine and the feasts and laughter.' So also said all the Gods. + +"And Odin, when the clamour was stilled, rose from his throne, and +spoke. He told them of an ancient law of the Gods, so ancient that it +seemed dim even to himself, that when the Gods should be heavy and be +sad at heart, they should appoint a judgment for men, should open +the everlasting records, and call the world to the assize; and Loki +should be the accuser, and Night and Day the witnesses, and Odin +should deliver sentence, with the Gods for assessors. + +"So Thor stepped out upon the bar of heaven, and blew the steel +trumpet that is chained to the door-post of the hall. + +"Shrill and angry came the sound of the great horn over earth, her +woods and valleys; and terrible was the sound of wailing and +lamentation. They prayed to the mountains to fall upon them, and the +sea to swallow them up; for they said, 'The secrets of the heart must +now be spoken. The Lord and our brethren will hear them. And who can +bear the shame? Oh, that we had not turned away!' + +"But the winds of the earth, and the voices of the morning, and the +waves of the moaning sea drove them shrieking into the judgment hall, +and Loki began his accusation. + +"And so foul a tale it was, that the men and women folk prayed and +cried no longer, but sank down in dull silence for fear. And the +stars that listened overhead shrank out of the sky, and the sea +stilled his waves to hear, and the very Gods turned pale and red +where they sat, to think that vileness and oppression had thriven so +upon the earth, and that deeds of shame had fallen so thick, and that +they had in no wise hindered it, but rather increased the sum of sin. + +"At last the words of Loki were over, and left a burning silence in +the hall; and the sun and moon bowed their heads in witness, and +Night and Day said 'Yea,' and 'Truth, he has told truth.' + +"Then there was a silence, and all looked at Odin as he sat, sunk +down and silent, in his chair, staring at the shrinking crowd with +eyes of shame, and majesty, and anger. + +"And at the last he rose, and he was clad in grey mists from head to +foot, with a cloud of gleaming gold upon his head, like the sunlight +on white cliffs seen over the sea through the haze of a summer +morning. + +"But ere he opened his lips to speak, one who sat among the folk +arose and came up the hall, walking strongly and briskly like a king, +and looking about him with a resolute and cheerful face to left and +right. + +"And all held their breath to see him pass, wondering what this thing +might be. + +"But the man, when he had reached the middle of the hall, cried with +a loud voice, 'Hold.' + +"And Odin's face gleamed white with rage through the fringes of the +mist, and he said between his teeth, 'Who art thou?' + +"And at his voice Freya started and blanched, and wrapped herself in +her robe. + +"And the man said, in a clear loud voice, not defiant, but with a +certain royalty about it-- + +"'Lord Odin, I am he of whom thou spokest but now; he of whom the +ancient oracles have spoken, whom thou knowest, and yet knowest not.' + +"And Odin said, 'I know thee not; stand aside therefore, that I may +judge thee and thy fellows.' + +"And there was a hideous silence for a moment while you might count a +score, and the twain stared upon each other. + +"Then the man said, in the same voice that shook not nor quivered, +'When the Gods shall sit in order to judge the earth, then shall one +come out of the midst of created things, through the earth, and +walking upon it; and at his coming the pillars of Valhalla shall be +snapped, and the everlasting halls shall fall.' And he added other +words, which the Gods knew, but not the men or women folk. And when +he ceased speaking there blew as it were a whirlwind out of Valhalla, +and the high Gods passed away, as it were in skeins and fringes of +hanging mist. Then there were lightnings and thunders, and the earth +shook; and terrible voices were heard in heaven, passing to and fro. +And one said, 'Hence, ye that corrupt justice;' and another said, +'The brood of the eagle is come home to roost;' and another, 'The +roof is down.' And then there were yells and groans; and among +mankind there was weeping and laughter, many smiles and tears, and +they cried to the stranger, 'Judge us, thou king of Gods and men.' +But he, turning, said, 'Nay, but ye are judged already.' Then was +there peace on earth." + + +There are, besides these, several unfinished studies, and two or +three note-books full of jotted conversations and thoughts of all +kinds--a curious mixture. + +He carefully left all the publishers' letters which he received in +answer to his application. They are twenty-two in number, and are all +refusals. They are tied carefully up, and are labeled, "My Literary +Career." + +All these compositions are the work of about seven years, except some +of the poems which were written at Cambridge. The novel was begun and +finished in about six weeks, in 1878. It is a poor plot, and mawkish +in character, though not without merits of style. + +During all this time his interest in writing never flagged. He felt +that he had one or two ideas, on which he had a firm grasp, to +communicate to the world, and he worked at them incessantly in new +and ever-varying forms. + +The issue would seem to show that he was not destined to communicate +them directly to others--at least, in his own lifetime; and, indeed, +no one was quicker at interpreting events than himself. He gave the +enterprise a long and severe trial, but the resolute front with which +he was met, showed him clearly that it was not to be. It may be that +the record of his life, little as he ever imagined it would come +before the world, may effect a part of what he himself prepared to +do. + +Occasionally, for he was of quick sensibilities, throughout this +period he felt the bitterness of constant rebuff. The following +letter he wrote me shows it: + +"I am beginning to feel as if publishers had a code of signals or +private marks like freemasonry, which they scribble sometimes, like +the concealed marks on bank-notes, on the first page of a manuscript, +so as to spare their brother publishers the trouble of looking +through a manuscript which is below market value. I have never had a +manuscript accepted which has been once refused; and I now eagerly +scan the first page, to see if I can discover a wriggling mark in the +margin or among the lines which is to tell Smith and Co. that Brown +and Son has a very poor opinion of the book now under his +consideration." + +And again, quite as forcible is a little anecdote with which he +begins an unfinished paper on "Genius." The story is, I now believe, +his own; though, at the time, I fancied it was adopted: + +"There was once a king who sat to listen to the sermon of a great +preacher. From minute to minute the great words flowed on, consoling, +wounding, helping, condemning, dividing the marrow from the bones; +and the king wept and smiled. + +"And at the end he sent for the preacher, and said, 'Sir, Christ is +the only king; yet let me look at the book from which you made your +discourse. The written words, though half despoiled of their grace, +may perhaps strike an echo in my soul, which rings yet.' + +"And for some time the preacher was unwilling, and parleyed with the +king; but at the last he drew out a little pale book with faded +characters traced in ink; and he opened it at a well-worn page, and +held it out before the king. + +"And the king looked, and saw nothing except the crabbed printed +lines. + +"So he said, 'Not your text-book, sir, but the book from which your +arguments are rehearsed.' + +"'Sire,' said the preacher, 'look but once more upon the book.' And +he showed him that four of the words upon the page had a thin line +drawn in ink below them. 'That was the writing of my discourse,' he +said." + +Neither, it must be remembered, was Arthur a first-rate +conversationalist. He did not steer a conversation; he could keep +the ball going creditably when it was once started; but he never +communicated to the circle in which he was that indefinable interest +which is so intangible and yet so unmistakable. + +The two points that I spoke of that he is always trying to work out +in his books are: + +(1) the strength of temperament, and the difficulty, almost +impossibility, of altering it. "The most we can do is to register +change," are the first words of his novel. In this book, the +situation of which is not a very unusual one, the hero falls in love +with one of two sisters, of rare personal beauty and attractiveness, +but no particular intellect. He soon wearies of her, being of +that fantastic, weak, discontented spirit which Arthur invariably +portrayed in his heroes--drawing it I can not conceive whence--and +then falls in love with the other, as he ought to have done all +along, being, as she is, fully his match in intellect, and far above +him in heart and strength of character. The wife at the crisis of +this other love, is killed in a street accident, and remorse ensues. +But the book is a weary one; it bears upon its face the burden of +sorrow. "How could this have been otherwise?" is the keynote of the +story. + +Along with this, and indeed as a development of this central +principle, is the tendency to treat and write of "sin" so called, +wrong-doing, failure of ideal, as variations of spiritual health, as +diseases, the ravages of which it is possible for the skilful hand +to palliate, but not to cure; to think of and treat sin as a hideous +contagion, which has power for a season, perhaps inherently, to drag +souls within its grasp, involve and overwhelm them; and consequently +to regard the sinner with the deepest sympathy and pity, but with +hardly any anger: in fact, I have known him very seriously offend the +company he has been in, I have even heard him stigmatized as of loose +principles, from his readiness, even anxiety, to condone a sensual +offence in a man of high intellect and brilliant gifts. + +"He went wrong," he said very sternly, "through having too much +passion; and that we can judge him, proves that we have not enough. +Well, we shall both of us have to become different: he to be brought +down to the harmonious mean, we to be screwed up to it. It is easy to +see which will be the most painful process: as soon as _he_ gets an +idea of whither he is being led, how thankful he will be for every +pang that teaches him restraint, and purifies; while we--we shall +suffer blind wrench after wrench, _stung_ into feeling at any cost, and +not till we painfully overtop the barrier shall we guess whither we +are going." + +I do not mean from this that he thought lightly of sin--far from +it. I have seen him give all the physical signs of shrinking and +repulsion, at the mention or sight of it. He loathed it with all the +agonized disgust of a high, pure, fastidious nature. Its phenomena +were without the lurid interest for him which it often possesses even +for the sternest moralist. + +This loathing had its physical antitype in his horror of the sight or +description of bodily disease. I have seen him several times go off +into a dead faint at even the bare description of bodily suffering. I +went with him once, at his own request, to a seaman's hospital, where +there was a poor fellow who had fallen from a mast and been terribly +smashed. His legs had both been amputated, and he lay looking +terribly white and emaciated with a cradle over the stumps. + +He gave us, with great eagerness, an account of the accident, as +people in the lower classes always will. In the middle, Arthur +stepped suddenly to the door and went out. I was not aware at the +time of this failing of his, and the move was executed with such +deliberate directness that I thought he must have forgotten +something. When I went out to the open air I found Arthur, deadly +pale, sitting on the grassy paving-stones of the little yard. He +insisted, as soon as he was restored, in going in to wish good-bye +to the man, which he accomplished with great difficulty. + +But I have already digressed too far, and must return to the main +issue. + +I am not aware that he ever attempted any theoretical explanation of +the intrusion of sin and disorder into the world. He certainly +regarded them as emanating practically, in some way that he did not +comprehend, from God. + +"I can not for a moment believe that these apparent disorders, +physical suffering, and the deeper diseases of the will are the +manifestation of some inimical power, and not under God's direct +control. I have had so much experience of even the immediate blessing +of suffering, that I am content to take the rest on trust. If I +thought there was some ghastly enemy at work all the time, I should +go mad. The power displayed is so calm, so far-reaching, and so +divine, that I should feel that even if some of us were finally +emancipated from it by the working of some superior power, the +contest would be so long and terrible and the issues so dire, that +the limited human mind could not possibly contemplate it, that hope +would be practically eliminated by despair." + +In the same connection, he wrote a letter to a friend whose wild and +wayward life had injured his health, and wrote in the greatest agony +of mind: + +"Words are such wretched things, my dear friend, in crises like this. +I can only beg of you, with all my heart, to resolutely set your face +against thinking what might have been. Try to feel, I will not say +happy, but stronger in the thought that your punishment is atoning +for your past every hour. Throw remorse and fear down, if you can; +they are only keeping you from God. Many, too many souls are in a far +worse case. Some have more to reproach themselves with. On some it +has come with what appears to be fearful injustice. Accept your +present condition; brace yourself to bear it. I know how much can be +borne. Give your sufferings to God nobly. Your patience is none the +less noble because you have brought this on yourself; nay, it makes +it even nobler.... + +"Don't say that many worse sinners go unpunished. How can you tell? +How do you know they are not suffering? There are only, I suppose, +two men in the world, besides yourself, who know that you are +suffering now, and why. God visited me with suffering once; He has +brought me through, and I have never ceased to thank Him for it; and +He will bring you through, too, dear friend, I know. 'Pro jucundis +aptissima quaeque dabunt di; carior est illis homo quam sibi.' +That thought has left me patient, if not glad, in many a bitter +hour.... You are never out of my thoughts." + +And this letter leads me naturally to the second great principle that +pervaded all his writings--"the education of individuals." + +"One is inclined to believe that there is a great deal of hopeless +irremediable suffering in the world--suffering of a kind that seems +wantonly inflicted, purposeless anguish.... That 'regret must hurt +and may not heal' is a terrible thought, which, when we get our first +glimpse of human anguish, seems almost sickeningly true. But I have +seen a great deal lately of such suffering, and it amazes me to +discover how _extraordinarily_ rare it is to find the victim taking +this view of his case. Either it seems to be a due reward for past +action--that 'invita religio' which wells up in the blackest heart, +or the sufferer gains a kind of onlook into sweet plains beyond, into +which the troubled passage is taking him, and which can only thus be +reached.... + +"Of animal suffering, unconscious tortures, it is harder to speak--of +the innocent, for so they are, victims of lust and brutality in +Babylon here, whose sense of suffering is almost gone, and is +succeeded by nothing but the desire for rest; all this seems so +meaningless, so futile.... + +"It is one of the problems I take up and let drop--take up and let +drop a thousand times; but all sacrifice seems essentially good, and +I do not throw the enigma aside in anger; I will wait for it to be +explained to me. + +"Ah, death, death, if we are enlightened enough by that time, what a +storehouse of secrets, dear secrets you will have to tell us! I +thrill all through, in moments like these, to think of it." + +"Of course," he said to me once, "there are times when we can only +wait and hope; changing our posture, like a sick man, from time to +time, to win a little ease; but when we reach a fresh standpoint, a +fresh basis--which, thank God, one does from month to month--we are +inclined to say with Albert Durer, 'It could not be better +done.'" + +He was very fond of the doctrine of Special Providences. + +"Every now and then I have--I suppose it is common--what may be +called a run of luck in ordinary things; I get out of scrapes in a +way I don't deserve; I find letters I have mislaid; annoyances are +mysteriously shunted aside; money flows in; days of extraordinary +happiness succeed one another; little events save vast complications +of trouble, so that I long to turn round and grasp by the hand +or kiss the cheek of the sweet friend who stands at my elbow, +suggesting, ordering, providing day and night, smiling on me as +I sleep, hovering around me as I work, without a word of praise. +Guardian angels! no fable. God gives you a sudden and particular +thought, and while you are independent of circumstances you master +them as well." + +But such portraiture as the above is apt to get very vague and +insipid unless one is able to convey a vivid picture of the man as he +walked, and spoke, and lived. The _sic sedebat_ in Trinity College +(Cambridge) chapel has given more people a thrill at the thought of +Bacon than ever gained one from his books. Personality, personal +characteristics, how one craves for them! To take a late instance, +how far more impressive General Gordon's little cane is, which he +twirled in his hand as he stormed redoubts and directed an action, +than a thousand pages of rhetoric about his philosophy or his views +of life. + +He was now, as ever, for strangers meeting him for the first time, an +impressive but rather disappointing man. He had shaved his beard, +keeping only his usual moustache; his face was very spare, with a +pallor that was not unhealthy. His hair, which was dark and lay in +masses, he wore generally rather long. He had got into the way, when +without his glasses, of half closing his eyes, because, as he said, +it did him so little good to keep them open, as it only served to +remind him of people's presence without giving him any more definite +idea of them. He could not, for instance, unassisted, see the play of +features on a face, and, for this reason, in all important interviews +he wore his glasses, giving three reasons. + +1. Utilitarian--that he could see by his opponent's face what he was +driving at, and what effect his own remarks had on him. + +2. Impressional--it gave a man an "adventitious consequence." + +3. Precautional--"I show emotion quickest by the eye, and so, +generally speaking, do most people; some change colour very quick; +some reveal it in the mouth; but the sudden dilatation and +contraction of the eye, the expression it is capable of, make it on +the whole the safest guide. + +"I trust the eye on the whole," he said; "guilelessness and an +unstained conscience are not really manifested either in feature or +deportment, but the eye will almost always tell you true." + +His conversation, when he was in form, was, without exactly being +very brilliant, very inspiring. He had great freshness of expression, +and told very few stories, and those only in illustration, never on +their own merits. He was very [Greek: mnemonikos], or retentive--the +first requisite, says Plato, of a philosopher--and was consequently +well supplied with quotations and allusions, not slavishly repeated, +but worked naturally in. I do not mean that he passed for a good +talker by skilful plagiarizing, but I found that the wider my range +of reading became the more I appreciated his talk--drawn, as it was, +from all kinds of sources, and bringing with it that aroma of a +far-reaching mind, the _fascination_ that culture can bestow, the +feeling that, after all, everything is interesting, and that no +knowledge is unworthy of the attention of the philosopher. + +He hardly ever discussed current politics, though he would argue on +political principles with the greatest keenness: neither had he +accurate historical knowledge, or antiquarian; but he enjoyed +listening to such talk. For the principles, the poetic aspect, of +science he had a devoted interest. In literary matters I seldom heard +his equal. Many and many is the book which I have been induced to +read solely by hearing him sketch the purport in little sentences of +extraordinary felicity. "The birth and fatal effects of Impulse in a +prosaic soul," was a sketch he gave of a celebrated novel. On one +subject he was always dumb--Economics. "It is the one subject on +which I have never hazarded a remark successfully," he said to me +once. "I can never appreciate the value of an economic statement; +I hardly know whether it is interesting." + +As he never talked for talking's sake, he was always ready to give +his whole attention to the person he was talking to, or none at all; +and consequently he never had a middle reputation--some praising +his courtesy, as an old lady with whose querulous complaints about +ingratitude and rheumatism he had borne and sympathized; others, his +abrupt atrocious manner--"Turned his back on me with a scowl, and +didn't say another word," as a sporting fast married lady said to me, +who had attempted to tell him an improper story. "I didn't mean to +offend him; young men generally like it. I hate a young man to be a +prude and a Puritan. Why, he isn't even going into the church, I +understand!" + +One of his colleagues in the school where he was a master, told me +that Arthur had once given him a most delicate and pointed rebuke on +the practice into which he had fallen, of appealing to a boy's home +feelings before the class. + +"Some things ought to be said to people when they are alone; besides, +we must not _seethe the kid in his mother's milk_." + +The same man told me that he heard him give a little address to the +boys in his class, on the two main virtues of a schoolboy--purity and +honesty--on the words, "And they said, Lord, behold, here are two +swords; and he said unto them, It is enough." + +Those are the only two anecdotes I have heard of his professional +life, both illustrating that extraordinary gift of apt quotation and +seeing unexpected connections, which, to my mind, is as adequate an +external symbol of genius as can be found, though sometimes illusory. + +He took the greatest delight in the society of children. He writes-- + +"What wonderful lines those are of Tennyson's"--they had just come +out,--"'Who pleased her with a babbling heedlessness Which often +lured her from herself!' There is nothing more absolutely refreshing +when one is overdone or anxious, or oppressed by the vague anxieties +of the world, than the conversation and the society of children, +the unconscious ignoring of all grave possibilities, yet often +accompanied by that curious tact which divines that all is not +well with their older friend, and prompts them to employ all their +resources to beguile it. I have been thanked by worldly mothers, in +country houses, with something like a touch of nature, for being so +good to their boys--'I am so afraid they must have been troublesome +to you,'--when they have not only saved me from vapid hard gabble and +slanderous gossip, but let in a little breath of paradise as well. +I often accept an invitation with reference to the children I shall +see. 'To meet Lord and Lady D----, and Mrs. G----, such an amusing +woman--tells _such_ stories, they make you _scream!_' the invitation +runs; and I accept it, to see Johnny and Charlie, to play at Red +Indians in the wilderness, and to dig up the tin box of date-stones +and cartridge-cases that we buried in the bed of the stream." + +If I seem to have given rather a priggish picture of Arthur, it is a +totally erroneous one. He was far too casual and too retiring to be +that; he had no appearance of self-importance, though an invincible +reserve of self-respect. The prig wears chain armor outside, and +runs at you with his lance when he catches a glimpse of you. Arthur +wore his chain armor under his shirt, and it was not till you closed +with him that you felt how sharp his dagger was. + +I give a perfectly disinterested sketch of him, which a lady, who met +him several times, wrote out at my request. It is hard for me to help +speaking from inside knowledge. + +"Dear Mr. Carr, + +"You ask me to give you my impression of Mr. Hamilton, in writing. +What your motive is I can't conceive, as he was not a person I took +much interest in, though I know that some people do. Unless, perhaps, +you mean to put him into a book. + +"I met him at a country house in Shropshire. He came down rather late +for breakfast, and when he was asked how he was, he quoted something +about 'being apt to be rather fatigued with his night's rest.' I +remember it very clearly, because it struck me as being so pointless +at the time. He went out shooting most of the day, and I think, +as far as I can remember, he was a good shot. He smoked a fearful +amount, 'all the time,' in fact; they were always attacking him for +that. When he came in he used to have some tea in the nursery. We +found that out the last day--the children were sent for, and Mr. +Hamilton came down with them, looking rather sheepish, and saying +that he had tried sitting on at one side of the table, with the +nursery maid at the other, after the children had gone, but that +it didn't do. I remember we were very much amused at the idea; +the picture was such a ridiculous one. + +"The children certainly seemed to like him extraordinarily--they +would talk to no one else: and I can't think why, because children +are so impressionable, and he had quite the gravest face I ever +saw--almost forbidding. However, so it was. + +"He used to disappear to his room, to read and write, before dinner. +At dinner he was often very good fun. I have heard him tell some very +funny stories, not very racy perhaps, but amusing; and these, coming +from that grave face, were very ridiculous. He always made friends +with the younger ladies. He never seemed to flirt, and yet he used to +say things to them in public that even I felt inclined to pull him up +for. And then he used to ask them to go out walks with him, and, +what's more, he went out with certainly two, alone; and you know that +is rather a marked thing. + +"He looked about forty, but he always gravitated toward the young +people; made great friends with boys, and in a curious way, too. +Generally, if men make friends with schoolboys in a country house +it is at the loss of their dignity--they run the risk of having to +swallow all sorts of practical jokes, such as getting water thrown +on their head and salt put into their tea; but he never compromised +himself, and they always behaved to him with respect, but were quite +impatient if he wouldn't come with them everywhere. I overheard him +talking to a boy once, and I didn't so much wonder; he spoke in such +an affectionate way, and boys like to feel that grown-up people take +the trouble to like them. + +"He was very friendly with the governess, and would try to include +her in the conversation. I can't say he succeeded, for we were down +on that. I don't myself consider it good form to encourage your +governess to have opinions. + +"Everybody was always very deferential to him. He always made a +sensation if he came into the room. No one could help looking at him. +He wasn't one of those tame sneaking creatures that are to be met +in country houses, of whom no one takes the least notice; he was +much more inclined to take no notice of any one else; but it was +impossible to forget he was in the room. And the servants were +invariably respectful to him, quite as if he was a real swell; and +yet he didn't dress well and hadn't a servant of his own. He was just +the sort of man you would have thought flunkeys would have despised. + +"But I have let my pen run on to an unconscionable length. It reminds +me of the remark with which he dismissed the subject of poor old Sir +Charles W---- who was staying there. We had been discussing him, and +asked Mr. Hamilton what he thought of him. 'A talking jackass,' was +his only reply, in his most chilling tones. + +"I fear I am open to the same imputation. + + "Very truly yours, + "Laura F----. + +"I should like to know what you want this for; however, happily, I +have put it in a form you can't make much use of." + + +I was much amused at the way in which he treated gossip about himself. + +I told him some stories about him that I had picked up. They related +to a certain absent-mindedness which he was supposed to possess. + +"I am afraid they are not true," he said first. "I should welcome any +hint of absence of mind in myself as a sign that the abstract could +exclude the concrete, which is unfortunately not the case with me." +Then, in a moment, he said, "People have no business to tell such +stories. I should not mind their not being true, if they were only +characteristic." + +"By which you mean," said a gentleman who was sitting next him, "that +you don't care about veracity, only you can't stand dullness." + +"Not at all," said Arthur, quickly. "Veracity is not the question in +gossip at all. It is all hearsay. You have not to judge of the actual +truth of a scandalous story, but you have to judge of the probable +truth of it, and if it is obviously uncharacteristic it is wrong to +repeat it. It becomes scandal then, and not till then." + +When he was living in London, which was, for the time being, his +home, he lived a regular life, combining more reading with a sociable +life than many people would have thought possible. He had two rooms +in a house in Russell Square. He breakfasted at half-past nine and +read till four, when he went down to his club and talked, or strolled +in the park. He made hardly any engagements, except for the evening; +and admitted hardly anyone, except two or three friends, to see him +at his rooms, and then only after one o'clock, before which hour +he was absolutely invisible. He was so dreadfully angry with his +landlady for showing a gentleman in once in the middle of the +morning, that she literally refused ever to do it again. "He's a good +regular lodger, sir, and doesn't think of money, but he said to me, +'Mrs. Laing, I _don't choose to be disturbed_ before one. If I find +my orders disregarded again, I shall leave the house _that day_.' +I daren't do it, sir. You wouldn't like to deprive me of my lodger, +I know, sir." The last pathetic plea could not be gainsaid, so Arthur +had his way. + +Four evenings he devoted to going out, and the other three dining +quietly at home and reading. By the time he left London his reading, +always wide, had become prodigious. His own library was good, and he +had a ticket for the British Museum Reading-room and belonged to two +circulating libraries. He made a point of reading new books (1) if he +was strongly recommended them by specialists; (2) if they reached a +second edition within a month; (3) if they were republished after a +period of neglect--this he held to be the best test of a book. + +It was characteristic of his natural indolence that he chose the very +easiest method of reading--that is to say, he always read, if he +could, _in_ a translation, or if the style of the original was the +object, _with_ one. This, like his posture, nearly recumbent, was +deliberately adopted. "I find," he said, "that the _reflective_ part +of my brain works best when I have as little either bodily or _purely_ +intellectual to distract me as possible. And it is the reflective +part," he says, "that I always preferred to cultivate, and that +latterly I have devoted my whole attention to. It is through the +reflective part that one gets the highest influence over people. +Training the reflective function is the training of character, while +the training of the purely physical side often, and the training of +the intellectual side not uncommonly, have a distinctly deteriorative +effect. + +"By the reflective part, I mean all that deals with the _connection_ of +things, the discovery of principles, the laws that regulate emotion +and influence, the motives of human nature, the basis of existence, +the solution of the problem of life and being--that vast class of +subjects which lie just below, and animate concrete facts, and which +are the only things worthy of the devotion of a philosopher, though +no knowledge is unworthy of his _attention_. + +"I am not quite clear what position I intend to take up in the world +at large. This only is certain, that if I am going to teach, and I +have a vague sense that I am destined for that, it is necessary first +to know something, to be _sure_ of something." + +All his days were alike, except that on Sunday he used to frequent +city churches in the afternoon, or go to Westminster Abbey and St. +Paul's. His father was a friend of a canon at the former place, and +Arthur was generally certain of a stall; and I used often to see his +tall form there, with his eyes "indwelling wistfully," "reputans +secum," as Virgil says, lost in speculations and wonders, and a whole +host of melancholy broodings over life and death to which he rarely +gave voice, but which formed a perpetual background to his thoughts. +He varied this by visits to his father in Hampshire, and occasional +trips to the country, not unfrequently alone, the object and +occupation of which he never told me, except to say once that he had +explored, he thought, every considerable "solitude" in England. + +There is one thing that I must not forget to mention--his dreams. He +never slept, he told me, without innumerable dreams, and he not +unfrequently told me of them. They always struck me as curiously +vivid. I subjoin the following from one of his diaries. They are +often given at full length. This is one of the most interesting I +can find. + +"_January_ 8.--Slept badly; toward morning dreamed that I was walking +with two or three friends, and accompanied by a tall man whom I did +not know, wrapped in a cloak, through a very dark wood. I seemed to +be in a very heavy mood. We came upon a building brightly lighted, +and, entering, found a hall with many people dining. There was +much wine and talk, and a great deal of laughing and merriment. +We appeared to be invisible. + +"I began to moralize aloud. I said, 'Yes, and this is the way in +which lives pass: a little laughter and a few jests and a song or +two; forgetful, all the time, that the lights must be extinguished +and the wine spilled, and that night laps them round,'--catching, +as I said this, a glimpse of the dark trees swaying outside. + +"But the man in the cloak took me up. 'This shows,' he said, 'how +superficial your view is--how little you look below the surface +of things. This laughter and light talk are but the signs and +symbols of qualities of which your bitter character knows +nothing--goodfellowship, kindliness, brave hopefulness, and many +things beside.' + +"Then he turned to me impressively, and said, 'What you want is +_deepening_.' + +"I woke with the word ringing in my ears." + + +Besides this, there was a curious little peculiarity in him that I +have never heard of in anyone else: a capacity for seeing little +waking visions with strange distinctness. + +His description of this is as follows: + +"I have the power, or rather something in me is able (for I can not +resist it), of suddenly producing a picture on the retina, of such +vividness as to blot out everything around me. I have it generally +when I am a little tired with exercise or brain-work or people: it is +prefaced by seeing a bright blue spot, which moves, or rather rushes, +across my field of vision, and is immediately succeeded by the +picture. + +"A crumbling sandstone temple, among fields of blue flowers--an +obelisk carved with figures, in a wood--a gray indistinct marsh, with +mist rising from it, and by the edge a white bird, egret or something +similar, of dazzling whiteness--a green lane, with cows in it. I +could go on for ever enumerating them. They pass in a fraction of a +second, three or four succeeding one another. My eyes are not shut, +nor do I look different. I have always seen them. I was alarmed about +them once, and went to a doctor; but he said he could not explain +it--it was probably a nervous idiosyncrasy: and I felt all the better +for my habit having a name." + +One more thing I must mention about him, which I have discovered +since his death. I must add _that I never had the least suspicion of +it in his life_. + +He was the victim during this time of a depression of mind; not +constant, but from which he never felt secure. I subjoin a few +entries from his diaries. + +"Very troubled and gloomy: a strange heart-sinking--a blank misgiving +without any adequate cause upon me all day. One can not help feeling +during such times--and, alas! they are becoming very familiar to +me--that some mysterious warfare may be being fought out somewhere +over one's only half-conscious soul: that some strange decision may +be pending." And again: "For the last week, my mind--though I have +reiterated again and again to myself that it is purely physical--has +steadily refused to take any view of life, to have any outlook, +except the most dismal. I am a little better to-day--well enough to +see the humour of it, though God knows it is black enough while it +lasts." + +In one letter he wrote to me, I find the following words: it never +occurred to me at the time that they were the gradual fruits of his +own experience on the subject: + +"Physical and mental depression is a most fearful enemy. Other things +give you trouble at intervals--toothache, headache, etc., are all +spasmodic afflictions, and, moreover, can be much mitigated by +circumstances. But with depression it is not so: it poisons any +cup--it turns all the cheerful little daily duties of life into +miseries, unutterable burdens; death is the only future event which +you can contemplate with satisfaction. It admits of no comfort: the +whispered suggestion of the mind, 'You will be better soon,' falls on +deaf ears. No physical suffering that I have ever felt, and I have +not been without my share, is in the least comparable to it; the +agony of foreboding remorse and gloom with which it involves past, +present, and future--there is nothing like it. It is the valley of +the Shadow of Death. + +"But when one first realizes how purely physical it is, it is an era. +I endured it for two years first: now I am prepared. I may even say +that though all sense of enjoyment dies under it, my friends, the +company I am in, generally suspect nothing." + +This was literally the case. I knew his spirits were never very high; +but he seemed to me to maintain, what is far more valuable, a genial +equable flow of cheerfulness, such as one would give much to possess. + +Among his occasional diversions at this time, I must place visiting +some of the worst houses in one of the worst quarters in London. + +It was not then a fashionable habit, and he never spoke of it or made +capital out of his experience; but he went to have an acquaintance +that should be _teres et rotundus_ with all phases of life. He never +attempted to relieve misery by indiscriminate charity; his principles +were strongly against it. + +"I don't profess to understand the economical condemnation of +indiscriminate charity. I don't see why one set of people should not +spend in necessaries what another set would only spend in luxuries. + +"But I do understand this: that it does infinite harm, by accustoming +the poor to think that all the help they will get from the upper +classes till they rise up themselves and lay hands upon it, will be +indiscriminate half-sovereigns. The clergy are beginning to disabuse +them of this idea. It is a fact which does appeal to them when they +see a man that they recognize belongs by right to the 'high life' and +could drive in his carriage, or at any rate in somebody else's, and +have meat four times a day--when they see such a man coming and +staying among them, certainly not for pleasure or money, or even, +for a long time, at least, love, it impresses them far more than the +Non-conformists or Revivalists who attempt the same kind of thing. + +"And that's the sort of help I want them to look for--intelligent +sympathy and interest in them. To most of them no amount of relief or +education could do any good now; it would only produce a rank foliage +of vice, which is slightly restrained by hard labour and hard food. +Sensualism is a taint in their blood now. + +"They want elevating and refining in some way, and you can only do it +with brutes through their affections." + +His manner with poor people was very good--direct, asking +straightforward questions and not making his opinions palatable, and +yet behaving to them with perfect courtesy, as to equals. + +We were staying in a house together in the country once, and heard +that a certain farmer was in trouble of some kind--we were not +exactly told what. + +Arthur had struck up a friendship with this man on a previous visit, +and so he determined to go over and see him. He asked me to ride with +him, and I agreed. I will describe the episode precisely as I can +remember it: + +We rode along, talking of various things, over the fresh Sussex +downs, and at last turned into a lane, overhung on both sides with +twisted tree-roots of fantastic shape, writhing and sprawling out of +the crumbling bank of yellow sand. Presently we came to a gap in the +bank, and found we were close to the farm. It lay down to the right, +in a little hollow, and was approached by a short drive inclosed by +stone walls overgrown by stonecrop and pennywort, and fringed with +daffodils and snap-dragons: to the left, the wall was overtopped by +the elders of a copse; to the right, it formed one side of a fruit +garden. + +The drive ended in a flagged yard, upon which our horse's hoofs made +a sudden clatter, scaring a dozen ducks into pools and other coigns +of vantage, and rousing the house-dog, who, with ringing chain and +surly grumbles, came out blinking, to indulge in several painful +barks, waiting, as dogs will, with eyes shut and nose strained in +the air, for the effect of each bark, and consciously enjoying the +tuneful echo. A stern-featured, middle-aged woman came out quickly, +almost as if annoyed at the interruption, but on seeing who it was +she dropped a quick courtsey, and spoke sharply to the dog. + +Arthur went forward, holding out his hand. + +"We were so sorry to hear at the house," he said, "that there was +trouble here. I did not learn quite clearly what it was, but I +thought I would ride over to see if there was anything I could do." + +Arthur knew quite enough of the poor to be sure that it was always +best to plunge straight into the subject in hand, be it never so +grim or painful. Life has no veneering for them; they look hard +realities in the face and meet them as they can. They are the true +philosophers, and their straightforwardness about grief and disease +is not callousness; it is directness, and generally means as much, +if not more, feeling than the hysterical wailings of more cultivated +emotion, more organized nerves. + +"Yes, sir," she said to me, with that strange dignity of language +that trouble gives to the poor, just raising her apron to her eyes, +"it's my master, sir--Mr. Keighley, sir. The doctor has given him +up, and he's only waiting to die. It don't give him much pain, his +complaint; and it leaves his head terrible clear. But he's fearful +afraid to die, sir; and that's where it is. + +"Not that he's not lived a good life; been to church and paid his +rent and tithe reg'lar, been sober and industrious and good to his +people; but I think, sir," she said, "that there's one kind of +trembling and fearfulness that we can't get over: he keeps saying +that he's afraid to meet his God. He won't say as he's got anything +on his mind; and, truthfully, I don't think he has. But he can't go +easy, sir; and I think a sight of your face, if I may make so bold, +would do him, maybe, a deal of good." + +"I shall be very glad to see him, if he cares to see me," said +Arthur. "Has Mr. Spencer" (the clergyman) "been here?" + +"Yes, sir," said the woman; "but he don't seem to do George no good. +He's prayed with him--the Church prayers out of his blue prayer-book; +but, after that, all he could say was, 'you must prepare to meet your +God; are you at peace with Him? Remember the judgment;' when I can't +help thinking that God would be much more pleased if George could +forget it. He can't like to see us crawling to meet Him, and cryin' +for fear, like as Watch does if his master has beat him for stealin'. +But I dare not say so to him, sir--we never know, and I have no +right to set myself up over the parson's head." + +I confess that I felt frightfully helpless as we followed her into +the house. There was a bright fire burning; a table spread in a +troubled untidy manner, with some unfinished food, hardly tasted, +upon it. + +She said apologetically, "You see, sir, it's hard work to keep things +in order, with George lying ill like this. I have to be always with +him." + +"Of course," said Arthur, gently. "I know how hard it is to keep up +heart at all; still it is worth trying: we often do better than we +expect." + +His sweet voice and sympathetic face made the poor woman almost break +down; she pushed hastily on, and, saying something incoherently about +leading the way, ushered us through a kitchen and up a short flight +of stairs. I would have given a great deal to have been allowed to +stay behind. But Arthur walked simply on behind the woman. + +"I won't tell him you're here," she said; "he'd say he wasn't fit to +see you. But it won't harm him; maybe it'll even cheer him up a bit." +She pushed the door open just above; I could distinguish the sound of +hard breathing, with every now and then a kind of catch in the +breath, and a moan; then we found ourselves inside the room. + +The sick man was lying propped up on pillows, with a curious wistful +and troubled look on his face, which altered very quickly as we came +in. Much of his suffering was nervous, so-called; and a distraction, +any new impression which diverted his mind, was very helpful to him. + +"George," said the woman, "here is Mr. Hamilton and his friend come +over from the Squire's to see you." + +He gave a grateful murmur, and pointed to a chair. + +"I am so sorry," said Arthur, simply, "to see you in such suffering, +Mr. Keighley. We heard you were in trouble, so we thought we would +ride over and see if we could do anything for you." + +"Thank you, sir, kindly," said the sick man, feebly. "But I'm past +doin' anything for now. Doctor's giv'n me up; he gives me a week. But +thank you all the same." + +He closed his eyes for a moment; and then, looking round quickly, +fingering the counterpane, he said, "Ah, sir, this isn't a place for +you to be in; but I take it very kindly of you. Ah! Ah! It seems as +if it might have been made a bit easier, might dyin'. It's hard +work--it's terrible hard. It's bad enough by itself, having to go out +into the dark--and all alone; but it's full of worse terrors than +even that. The air's full of them. When I am lyin' here still, with +my eyes shut, prayin' for it all to be over, I seem to hear them +buzzin' and whisperin' in the air. Then it comes, all on a sudden, +on me--here"--putting his hand to his heart. "It makes me sick and +trembling--with fear and horror--I can't bear it. It's comin' now. +Ah! Ah! Ah!" + +I remember feeling inexpressibly shocked and horrified. I was not +used to such scenes. The room seemed to swim; I could hardly stand +or see. To settle myself, I spoke to the woman about wines and +medicines; but I seemed to hear my own voice hollow and from a +distance, and started at the sound of it. + +But Arthur knelt simply down by the bedside and said, "I think it +will make it easier if you can only fix your thoughts on one thing. I +know the effort is hard; but think that there's a loving hand waiting +to take yours; there's One that loves you, better than you have +ever loved anyone yourself, waiting the other side of the darkness. +Oh, only think of that, and it will not be hard! Dear friend," he +said--"for I may call you that--we have all of us the same passage +before us, but we have all the same hope: and He hears the words you +speak to Him. He has been here, He is here now, to listen to your +very thoughts. He has seen your trouble, and wished He could help +you--why He can not I am not able to tell you; but it will all be +well. + +"Let me say one prayer with you." And he began in his low quiet +voice. The woman knelt down beside him, shaken with sobbing. Till, at +the words "Suffer us not, for any pains of death, to fall from thee," +poor George put out his old withered hand and took Arthur's, and +smiled through his pain--"the first time he ever smiled since his +illness began," his wife told us after his death, "and he smiled +many times after that." + +He did not speak to us again; the effort had been too great. The +woman accompanied us down-stairs, showing, in her troubled officious +hurry to anticipate Arthur's wishes, and the way in which she hung +about the gate as we rode out, what it had been to her. + +We rode home almost in silence. Arthur, as we got near to the lodge, +turned to me, and said, half apologetically, "We must speak to simple +people in the language that they can understand. Fortunately, there +is one language we can all understand." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +It was a hot summer, and Arthur a little overtasked his strength. +London, and a London season, is far more tiring than far greater +physical exertions in pure air and with rational hours. He complained +of feeling liable to faintness after standing about in hot rooms. It +did not cause him, however, any serious alarm, till one evening he +fainted after a dinner-party at which I was present, and we had some +difficulty in bringing him round. + +After this, for several days he spoke of an invincible languor which +held him throughout the day, which he could not get rid of; and he +was altogether so unlike his usual self, and so prostrate, that at +last, with the greatest difficulty, I prevailed on him to see a +doctor--a thing he particularly disliked. + +He made an appointment with a celebrated physician in Wimpole Street. +As he was far from well on the morning he was to go there, I insisted +on accompanying him. + +He was in very cheerful spirits, and was eagerly discussing a book +which had just been published; he could not make up his mind whether +it had been written by a man or a woman. He said that there was +always one character in a book, not always the hero or heroine, +through whose eyes the writer seemed to look, whose mental analysis +seemed to have the ring not of description, but confession, and this +would be found to be, he maintained, of the sex of the writer. In +the particular case under discussion, where the hero was a man, he +professed to discover the "spy," as he called this character, in a +woman. + +In the middle of the discussion we drew up at Dr. Hall's door, and +were immediately shown into one of those rooms with a professional +and suspicious calm about it. "'Five minutes before the drop falls,' +it seems to say; 'make your mind quite easy; feel chatty,'" said +Arthur. + +He looked curiously about him, and commented humorously on the +selection of literature, till a patient was ushered out, and we were +called in. + +Dr. Hall was not the least what one is inclined to think a celebrated +doctor should be. Arthur had been describing his ideal to me--"tall +and pale; stoops slightly, but very distinguished-looking, with +piercing grey eyes, a kindly reassuring manner, and grey whiskers cut +straight." + +Dr. Hall was a small sallow man, with rather an agitated fussy +manner, and eyes that never seemed to be looking at you. He was neat, +almost dapper, in his dress, and was rather like the butler in a +small establishment. + +He put one or two questions to Arthur; stethoscoped him, hovering all +about restlessly; suddenly caught up his left hand and pushed aside +the first finger; "Ah, cigarette-smoker--we must put a stop to that +at once, if you please. What is your usual allowance?" + +"It varies," said Arthur, "but I fear it is never less than twenty." + +"Four, after this date," said Dr. Hall. + +"Just come into my other room a moment," he said presently, and led +the way. + +Arthur followed, giving me a cheerful wink. They remained about ten +minutes, during which time I speculated, and read a little book about +Epping Forest, which was on the table; looked out of the window, and +felt rather ill myself. + +At last, the tall door creaked, and Arthur came out, followed by the +doctor. + +"I hope you will see, sir," he said to me, "that Mr. Hamilton is +particular in following my directions, if you have any influence +with him." + +"I am afraid I haven't got the temperament of a patient," said +Arthur, smiling. "But I am very much obliged to you. Good morning." + +"What did he say to you?" I said, as soon as we were in our cab +again. + +"Oh, he spoke to me like a father," said Arthur: "gave me a lot of +wretched directions which I know I shan't attend to. But we have +wasted much too much time medically already this morning." And he +changed the subject to the discussion which we had been carrying on +before. + +A few days after this I went to see him, and found him much better. + +"What do you think?" he said: "I am going to undertake the charge of +a human being. Do you remember our conversation about adopting +children, and the educational experiments we meant to try? I shall +have the chance now." + +On my inquiring what had happened, he told me his experience at +Teheran, related in a former chapter; and said that, on reflection, +he had thought well to accept the commission, adding that he had been +surprised to find waiting for him, when he had returned home at a +late hour a few nights before his visit to Dr. Hall, a tall foreign +gentleman, who had introduced himself as a friend of Mr. Bruce's (so +the recluse chose to call himself), and as the bearer of a message +from him, the purport of which was to ask whether he would accept +Mr. Bruce's commission. + +"I am authorized to state," the stranger added, "in the event of your +acquiescing, that the method of procedure will be left entirely to +yourself; that no question will be asked or conditions made; the boy +will be sent to London or to any other address you may appoint; that +L400 a year, quarterly, will be placed to your credit at the +Westminster Bank for all necessary expenses; and that a draft in your +name, for any further sum that you may think requisite, will be +honoured. + +"If you would forward your answer to Morley's Hotel, to the address +on my card, any time within the next week, I shall be grateful. My +instructions are not to press for an immediate answer." And the +gentleman bowed himself out. + +He showed me a short letter which he had written accepting the +charge; and, shortly after, I rose to go. But he detained me rather +pointedly; and after a short time, in which he appeared to be +considering something, he begged me to sit down again, and consider +whether I would listen to a short statement of facts on which he +wanted my advice. "They are," he said, "I fear, a little painful, +and therefore I do not press it; but I should be sincerely obliged +to you." + +He then said, "I did not at the time tell you, my dear Chris, what +Doctor Hall said to me the other day, because I thought it better to +tell no one; but the events of the last week have caused me to change +my mind. I feel that I must be perfectly open. + +"The fact was, that he warned me that I showed unequivocal symptoms +of a dangerous heart disease. He could not answer for anything, he +said. I had seen that something was wrong from his expression, so I +insisted on knowing everything." + +I can hardly describe my sensations at this announcement--I felt the +room swim and shake; and yet it was made in such a deliberate +matter-of-fact tone, that it flashed across me for an instant that +Arthur was joking, and together with it came a curiously dismal sense +of unreality, that is well known to all those who have passed through +any great strain or emotional crisis, as if, suddenly, the soul had +fallen out of everything, and they were nothing but lifeless empty +husks, hollow and phantasmal. + +"But," I gasped, "you never said anything of this at the time: +you--you behaved just as usual." + +"I certainly tried to," he said. "And curiously enough, I did not +either realize or fear the news at the time; it left my feelings +almost blank. I won't deny that it has caused me some painful thought +since.... He gave me a few simple directions: I was to avoid bracing +climates, hard physical work, or, indeed, mental effort--anything +exhausting; to keep regular hours, avoid hot rooms and society and +smoking; but that I might do, in moderation, anything that interested +me, write or read; and, above all things, I was to avoid agitation. + +"I think I intend to put his ideas into practice; not much with the +idea of saving my life, for I don't feel particularly anxious about +that, but because I think that, on the whole, it is the most sensible +kind of life to lead. And the fact that I had already accepted the +charge of this boy has finally decided me; it was too late to draw +back. I shall settle in some quiet place, and try and educate him for +the University. I don't at all expect to be dull; and it evidently +wouldn't do to thrust him straight into English life yet--he wants +Anglicizing gradually. I hope he will be an average Englishman by the +time he gets to Cambridge." + +Arthur heard the next day, from Mr. Bruce's agent, that the boy would +arrive in the course of a month, so he determined to try and have +things ready by then for their retirement. + +We went energetically to house agents, and the result was that we +were at last blessed by success. + +Cornwall was the county that we selected; its warm indolent climate +seemed to answer our requirements best, and Arthur would not leave +England. + +Close to Truro there is a little village called St. Uny Trevise. You +have to leave the high-road to get to it. Its grey church tower is a +conspicuous landmark for several miles round, standing out above a +small wood of wind-swept oaks, on the top of a long broad-backed +down, lately converted into farm-land, and ploughed up. About half a +mile from this, going by strangely winding deep lanes, you reach the +bottom of a wooded dell, very lonely and quiet, with a stream running +at the bottom, that spreads out into marshes and rush-beds, with here +and there a broad brown pool. Crossing the little ford, for there is +only a rude bridge for foot-passengers, and ascending the opposite +hill, you find yourself at last, after going up the steep overhung +road, at the gate of a somewhat larger house than usual in those +desolations. + +The gate-posts are stone, with granite balls at the top, and there is +a short drive, which brings you to a square mottled front of brown +stone, with two large projections, or small wings, on each side. + +This is a small manor, known as Tredennis, anciently belonging to the +Templeton family, whose pictures ornament the hall. It had been used +latterly merely as a farmhouse; but a local solicitor, desiring that +a somewhat more profitable arrangement might be made respecting it, +had the manor put up at the extremely moderate rent of L60, and +banished the farmer to an adjoining tenement. + +There was a terraced garden, very rich in flowers in the summer. It +faced south and west, commanding a view of a winding valley, very +peaceful and still, a great part of which was overgrown with stunted +oak copses, or divided into large sloping fields. At the end, the +water of a tidal creek--Tressillian water--caught the eye. The only +sounds that ever penetrated to the ear were the cries of birds, or +the sound of sheep-bells, or the lowing of cows, with an occasional +halloo from the farm, children calling among the copses, or the +shrill whistle from over the hills, telling of the train, that, +burrowing among the downs, tied one to the noisier world. + +Truro has been much opened up since then. It has a bishop, and the +rudiments of a cathedral. It has burst into a local and spasmodic +life. But when I knew it through Arthur, it was the sleepiest and +laziest town alive, with the water rippling through the streets. +Old-world farmers, with their strange nasal dialect, used to haunt +the streets on market day, like the day on which we first drove +through it on our way to Tredennis. Arthur was well and serene. He +took the keenest delight in the fragrance of retirement that hung +about the place: people to whose minds and ears modern ideas, modern +weariness, had never penetrated; who lived a serious indolent life, +their one diversion the sermon and the prayer-meeting, their one +dislike "London ways." + +We reached the house in the evening, losing our way more than once in +our endeavour to discover it. Two sitting-rooms were furnished, +both large airy rooms looking upon the garden, and a bedroom and +dressing-room up-stairs, which Arthur and his charge were to occupy. +The housekeeper and her handmaiden, who were to be his servants, were +already installed, and had arranged in a certain fashion the new +furniture that Arthur had sent down, jostling with the old, and his +books. As we sat, the first evening, with our cigarettes, in the +dusk, watching the green sky over the quiet hills, a wonderful +sensation of repose seemed to pass into one from the place. "I feel +as if I might be very happy here," said Arthur, "if I were allowed; +and perhaps work out my old idea a little more about the meaning of +external things." + +I was to return to London in a day or two, to see about any +commission that might have been neglected, and to bring down the +boy, who was now daily expected. + +In my absence I received the following letter from Arthur. The serene +mood had had its reaction. + +"I have told you, I think, of the depressing effect that a new place +has on me till I get habituated to it. There is a constant sense of +unrest, just as there is about a new person, that racks the nerves. + +"I have been very anxious and 'heavy' to-day, as the Psalms have it: +dispirited about the future and the present, and remorseful about the +past. You don't mind my speaking freely, do you? I feel so weak and +womanish, I must tell some one. I have no one to lean on here. + +"I can't see what to make of my life, or, rather, what can possibly +be made of it. I have taken hitherto all the rebuffs I have had--and +they have not been few--as painful steps in an education which was to +fit me for something. I was having, I hoped, experience which was to +enable me to sympathize with human beings fully, when I came to speak +to them, to teach them, to lead them, as I have all my life believed +I some day should. + +"You won't think it conceited if I say this to you, my dear Chris? +I don't feel to myself as if I was like other people. I have met +several people better and on a higher level than myself, but no one +on quite the same level--no one, to put it shortly, quite so _sure_ +as I am. + +"Does that explain itself? I mean that I have for many years been +conscious of a kind of inward law that I dare not disobey, and which +has constrained me into obedience--once unwilling, now willing, and +even enthusiastic. In others, it has always seemed to me that there +is strife and [Greek: dipsyxia]--one great factor pulling one way +and one another; but it has never been so with me--there has never +been a serious strain. I have always known what I meant, and have +generally done it; and little by little, as I have lived, comparing +this inner presence with what I can see of moral laws, of Divine +government, I have come to observe that the two are almost identical, +though there are certain variations which I have not yet accounted +for. + +"Mind, this has been in my case a _negative_ influence; it has never +urged a course upon me; it has always withheld me. Even in a dilemma +of any kind, it never has said, 'Do this;' it is always, 'Avoid +that.' So that I have had to take my line, as I have done in +practical things, though never in opposition to its warnings. + +"I had always thought that I was being educated to the point of +describing this subjective law to others, and helping them to some +such position. I have always felt that I had a message to deliver, +though the manner and method of delivering it I felt I had to +discover. + +"And so I was led from point to point. I was educated without any +special domestic attachments. I was shown that I was not to believe +in my friends. And then, at Cambridge, it came upon me that this was +what was meant--that I was not to devote myself to mean, selfish +objects; that I was not even to be solaced by individual love: but +that I was to speak to the world the way of inward happiness by the +simplification of the complex issues, the human intricacies, which +have gathered round and obscured the whole problem. + +"Then I gradually gave up, or thought I was giving up, human +ambitions. I took a course which I saw was not to end in human fame, +or wealth, or happiness of the ordinary kinds; and that I might test +my capacities a little more and learn myself, and also familiarize +myself with more aspects of the great question which I was going to +face, I travelled among the cities of men and the solitudes of the +earth. + +"And at last I thought I had found the way; but I will not tell you +what it was, for I now see that I was mistaken. I thought I saw that +my duty was to come back and speak the first words to the society in +which most naturally I moved; and I came to London, as you know. And +then I began to write; but I failed there. I was not disheartened, +for I felt that I was being led, and that that was not the way. And +once I thought that I was to be pointed out the path by the love of a +daring woman; but that went from me too, as you know, and so I waited +to be shown how to speak. + +"But it is not to be; for while I waited, this has fallen upon me; +and this is more than I can bear. It is terrible enough, as a human +being, to look Death in the face, and question of the blind eye what +are the secrets he knows; but I have passed through that before, and +I can truly say I do not dread that now. It is rather with an intense +and reverent curiosity that I look forward to death, as the messenger +that will tell me that my work here is over, and I am to learn God's +ways elsewhere. No, it is not that; but it is the utter aimlessness +and failure of my life. I have not attracted men's praise--I did not +hope to do that. I have not even attracted their attention. I have +not communicated the least grain of what I feel I _know_. + +"Far from looking upon me as a man who at least sees clearer than +others, as having a truth of price which they might be glad to learn, +they look upon me as a man who has failed even to live life upon +their basis, classing me with those utter failures who fail in life +because they have no sense of proportion, because they can not +comprehend the complex issues among which they have to fight. + +"And now I am laid aside, a useless weapon; I am not even physically +capable of writing, even if the world would hear me; and I am forced +back upon myself, upon a feeble life, necessarily self-centered, to +nurse and coddle myself as though I was a poor failing dotard, with +one avenue alone--and how precarious!--through which I may perhaps +speak my little message to the world--the education of a child to +carry on my torch. + +"I have written to you my whole mind, not because I want you to +reassure me--no, that is impossible; but because I am weak and +miserable. I must unburden myself to some one--must confess that I +have indeed broken down. + +"And, further, what is the Death, into whose antechamber I have +already passed? Is it indeed true that, as I have so passionately +denied, I have fallen into the grasp of a power which is waging an +equal war with truth and light and goodness? Shall I be sacrificed to +the struggle, without having made the world a whit better, or richer, +or stronger, with the only memory of me a quiet life with few follies +and fewer deeds of power, to be laid away in the dark? + +"And yet I have a lingering hope that this is a leading too; that I +shall somehow emerge. My dear Chris, come and see me again as soon as +you can. You will be even more welcome if you bring my boy, Edward +Bruce, as I understand we are to call him--_attamen ipse veni_. + + "I am your affectionate friend, + "Arthur Hamilton. + +"Flora"--his collie, of whom he was very fond--"is sitting watching +me with such liquid eyes that I must go and take her out. We have not +walked as far as the creek yet; the first effect of valetudinarian +habits is, I find, to make one feel really ill." + + +On the 4th of August, Tuesday, at 11.15, a card was brought to me, +and immediately afterward a tall gentleman appeared, with a boy of +about fourteen, whom I knew at once to be Edward Bruce. + +The gentleman, after a few polite words of inquiry after Arthur, +retired, the boy saying good-bye to him affectionately. He left me +his address for a few days, in case I should wish to see him. + +Edward Bruce was a boy of extraordinary beauty--there was no denying +that. Personal descriptions are always disappointing; but, not to be +prolix, he had such eyes, with so much passion and fire in them, that +they could only be the inheritance of many generations of love and +hate and quick emotions; his eyelids drooped languidly, but when he +opened his eyes and looked full at you!--I felt relieved to think I +should not have to conduct his education; I could not have denied +him anything. His hair was brown and curly, cut short, but of that +fineness and glossy aspect that showed that till lately it had been +allowed its own way. + +The boy had beautiful lips and white regular teeth, with that +exquisite complexion that is the result of perfect health and +physical condition. He did not speak English very well, but acquired +it fast. He always spoke slowly, and with a very pure articulation. +His voice was clear, high-pitched, and thrilling--I have no other +word for it. + +On the following day I took him down to Tredennis. The boy was +interested and excited, and asked many questions of a very +unsophisticated kind. + +"Why do people stare at me so?" he said, turning round from the +window of the carriage, in Bristol, where he stood devouring the +crowd with hungry eyes. I could not explain to him. He thought it was +because of his foreign look, and was much disgusted. "I made them +_dress_ me like an Englishman," he said, surveying himself. To be +English, that was his aim. + +I found that his father had inculcated this idea in him thoroughly, +and had impressed upon him the dignity of the position. It was, I was +told afterward, the one argument that never failed to make him +attentive in his lessons. + +It was not till he was driving away from Truro into the country that +he found leisure to think of his father and brother, and wonder what +they would be doing. I had the greatest difficulty in explaining that +the hours of the day were different, and that it was early morning +there. + +"No," he said, "it is impossible; I feel like the evening--Martin +can not be feeling like the morning." + +He was rather disappointed as we got further and further into the +lovely country. "I have lived among trees all my life," he said. "I +want to live among people now, in cities, and hear what they say and +do what they do. I love them." And he waved his hand to the lights of +the town in the valley below us, as a sign of farewell. + +At last we drove into the dark gates of Tredennis, and drew up before +the house. + +Arthur came out to meet us. "Where is Edward?" he said. + +The boy sprang out to meet him, and would have kissed him; but Arthur +just grasped his hand, retaining it for a moment, and then let him +go. The boy kept close to him, examining him attentively, when we got +inside the house, with restless, affectionate glances. + +"What makes you so pale?" he said. + +"Ah!" said Arthur, with a smile, "no one else can tell except +ourselves what makes our face so white; but you will be white like +this soon," he said: "it is our dark English days, not like your +Persian sun." + +"Then I shall be glad to be like that," said the boy, "if that is how +the English look." + +He went off on a tour of exploration about the house, soon +discovering his room, with which he was enraptured. + +In the garden, later on in the evening, he came to Arthur with a +letter in his hand. "This is for you," he said. "I had almost +forgotten it. But it is too dark to read it here; I shall fetch you a +light." And he brought the lamp out of the house, and stood holding +it, as it burnt unwavering in the still night air. + +Arthur read it and handed it to me, while the great moths and +transparent delicate flies came and blundered against it. + + +"Edward will give you this letter himself. His hand will touch your +hand. It has come about as I anticipated, neither sooner nor later; +and I am glad. + +"Dear friend, all is not well with you; I heard it in the night. But +the passages of the house are often dark, though the hills are full +of light; yet the Master's messengers pass to and fro between the +high halls bearing lamps; such a messenger I send you. + +"You must not be dismayed, either now or later, for all is well. In +our mysteries, when the youth first tastes the chalice, he can hardly +keep his mind upon the Red Wine of Life, the Blood of the Earth, as +he would fain do, for thinking of the cup, and how tremblingly he +holds it, and for fear that the crimson juice be spilt; but all the +while, though he sees it not, the priest's hand encircles the gold +stem. + +"Martin, _my_ son (for Edward is now yours--mine no longer), is even +nearer the end than when I spoke with you; and you too are nearer, +far nearer, though you know it not. And even in this little letter, +I have spoken words to you which, if you had but light to read them, +would make all plain. + +"The hour is at hand; the clock has jarred and is silent again, but +the gear murmurs on in the darkness, waiting for the silver chiming +of the bell. + + "I am your friend always, + "B. + "TEHERAN, + "Midsummer." + +"A curious document," I said. + +"Yes," said Arthur, musingly; "curious too, as literally true." And +he pointed to the boy holding the lamp. + +"Edward," he said to the boy, "put back that lamp, and come here and +speak to me." + +The boy went quickly and promptly, delighting in little acts of +obedience, as the young do. + +When he returned, Arthur said, "Your father says in this letter that +you are to be my son for the future. Will you? are you content to +change?" + +"Yes," said the boy, shyly; but he came and leant against his new +father's shoulder where he sat, and, in the pretty demonstrative +manner so natural to unsophisticated children, encircled his arm with +his hands. + +Arthur put his arm round the boy's neck, and stroked his hair +caressingly. + +"Very well," he said, "then you must always obey me as well as you +did just now; and we will make an Englishman of you, and, what is +more, a good man." + +And we sat in silence, looking down the valley. Every now and then an +owl called in his flute-like notes across the thickets, and we heard +the cry of the seabirds from the creek; and the soft wind came gently +up, rustling the fir over our heads, stirring among the leaves of the +tall syringa, and wandering off into the warm dusk. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The next day I had to return to London on business, taking leave of +the strange household with some regret. Arthur insisted on driving me +to the station. He talked very brightly of his experiment, and argued +at some length as to how far association could be depended upon as an +element in education; and how to distinguish those natures early that +were loyal to association and those to whom it would be of no +authority. + +"I have always divided," he said, "the great influences by which +ordinary people are determined to action into two classes; and I have +connected them with the two staves that the prophet cut, and named +'Beauty and Bands.' + +"Some people are worked upon by Beauty--direct influences of good; +they choose a thing because it is fair; they refrain from action +because it is unlovely; they take nothing for granted, but have an +innate fastidious standard which the ugly and painful offend. + +"Others are more amenable to Bands--home traditions, domestic +affections: they do not act and refrain from action on a thing's own +merits because it is good or bad; but because some one that they have +loved would have so acted or so refrained from acting--'My mother +would not have done so;' 'Henry would have disliked it.' The idea is +fancifully put, but it holds good, I think." + +Shortly after my return to London, I got two letters from him of +considerable importance. I give them both. The first is apropos of +the education of Edward Bruce. + + "Tredennis, August 30. + +"My Dear Friend, + +"I want you to get me the inclosed list of books, which I find are +culpably absent from my library. It is a very engrossing prospect, +this child's mind: it is a blank parchment, ready for any writing, +and apparently anxious for it too. + +"'Insight into all seemly and generous acts and affairs,' wrote +Milton, as the end of his self-education--something like that I +intend, if I am allowed, to give this child. I have the greatest +contempt for knowledge and erudition _qua_ knowledge and erudition. +A man who has laboriously edited the Fathers seems to me only to +deserve the respect due to a man who has carried through an arduous +task, and one that must have been, to anyone of human feelings and +real enthusiasm for ideas, uncongenial at first. Erudition touches +the human race very little, but on the 'omne ignotum' principle, men +are always ready to admire it, and often to pay it highly, and so +there is a constant hum of these busy idlers all about the human +hive. The man who works a single practical idea into ordinary +people's minds, who adds his voice to the cry, 'It is better to give +up than to take: it is nobler to suffer silently than to win praise: +better to love than to organize,' whether it be by novel, poem, +sermon, or article, has done more, far more, to leaven humanity. I +long to open people's eyes to that; I learnt it late myself. Before +God, if I can I will make this boy enlightened, should I live to do +it; or at least not at the mercy of every vagrant prophet and bawler +of conventional ideas. + + "Ever your friend, + "Arthur Hamilton" + +The next explains itself. + + "Tredennis, September 15. + +"My Dear Friend, + +"As you write to inquire so affectionately about my health, I +think it would be very wrong of me not to answer you fully; so I will +take 'health' to mean well-being, and not confine myself to its +paltry physiological usage. + +"In the last month I have really turned a corner, and gained serenity +and patience in my outlook. I do not mean that I am either patient or +serene yet, but I have long and considerable spaces of both, when I +feel content to let God make or mar me as He will, and realise that +perhaps in His mind those two words may bear a precisely contrary +sense. + +"One thing I wish to tell you, which I am afraid you will be rather +shocked to hear. I have not told you before, from a culpable +reticence; for I believe that there must be either complete +confidence between friends or none at all-- + +"Do you remember a very gloomy and depressed letter that I wrote to +you the other day? When I wrote it I was deliberately contemplating +an action which I have now given up: I mean a voluntary exit from +this world's disappointments--suicide, in fact. + +"For many years I have carried about a quietus with me. I began the +habit at Cambridge. Men have often asked me what is the curious +little flask with a secret fastening, that stands on my +dressing-table. It is prussic acid. The morning before I wrote that +letter, the impulse was so strong upon me that I determined, if +matters should not shift a little, to take it on the following +evening. I made, in fact, most methodical arrangements. I seemed so +completely to have missed my mark. The superstitions against the +practice I did not regard, as they are merely the produce of a more +imaginative and anxious system of morality. I did not see why God, +for His own purposes--and, what is more, I believe He does--should +not remove a man by suicide, if He allows him to die by a horrible +disease or relegates him to insanity. Suicide is only a symptom of a +certain pitch of mental distress: its incidental result is death, but +so it is of many practices not immoral. + +"It required considerable nerve, I confess, to make the resolution; +but once made, I did not flinch. I considered the impulse to be a +true leading, quite as true as the other intuitions which I have +before now successfully followed, so I made my arrangements all day. +It gave me a wonderful sense of calm and certainty--there was a +feeling of repose about the completion of a restless existence, as +if I was at last about to slide into quiet waters, and be taught +directly, and not by obscure and painful monitions. + +"At nine o'clock I went to my room. There was a full moon, which +shone in at the open window; the garden was wonderfully still and +fragrant. + +"I found myself wondering whether, when the thing was over, I should +awake to consciousness at once; whether the freed soul would have, so +to speak, a local origin, a _terminus a quo_: in plain words, whether +my spirit would pass through the house and through the quiet garden +to some mysterious home, taking in the earthly impression as it +soared past with a single complete undimmed sense--or whether I +should step, as it were, straight into a surrounding sea of sensation +and be merged at once, feeling through all space and time and matter +by the spiritual fibres of which I should make a part. Do you +understand me? I have often wondered at that. + +"At last I drew out the flask, and touched the spring. It opens by +pressing a penknife into one of a number of rivets; you can then +unscrew it. + +"When it was open I discovered that the little vial inside had been +broken, and that somehow or other the life-giving fluid had +evaporated unperceived. I had not opened it for a year or more. + +"I saw at once that God intended it not to be at _my_ time--that +was very clear; and after considerable reflection and a wakeful +night, I came to the conclusion that my divine Impulse did not lead +me to adopt a course of action, but only to _avoid_ a course--the +fact which I developed in my letter to you. And then came the resolve, +tardy and weak at first, but gaining ground, warning me that perhaps +it was an inglorious flight; though I knew it was pardonable, I felt +as if God might meet me with 'Not wrong, but if you are really bent +on the highest, you must do better than this.' It might, I felt, be +losing a great opportunity--the opportunity of facing a hopeless +situation, a thing I had never done. + +"And so I came to the conclusion to fight on, and my reward is coming +slowly; contentment seems to return, and Edward is an ever-increasing +joy; he fills my life and thoughts. Oh, if I can only make him good; +put him in the way of inward happiness! I break out into prayer and +aspirations for him in his presence when I think of the utterly +heedless way in which he regards the future, and the awful, the +momentous issues it contains. He, dear lad, thinks nothing of it, +except as a sign of my love for him. We have no misunderstandings, +and I seem somehow to love the world better, more passionately, since +he came to me. + +"I send you a few flowers from our garden, and Edward sends his love, +if that is respectful enough. + + "I am your affectionate friend, + "Arthur Hamilton." + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Down at Tredennis the year begun to fly with the speed of which +uneventful enjoyable monotony alone possesses the secret. + +"Our days are very similar here, and I find them very agreeable. +Edward thinks the same, he assures me, though I feel it may arise +in his case from a want of breadth of view and lack of experience +to argue from. + +"In the summer months we get up early, and generally bathe in the +stream, where I have contrived to get one of the pools sufficiently +enlarged; as the weather gets colder I am compelled by my doctor to +relinquish this. Then we read and write till breakfast, which we have +at eight o'clock. In winter this is the first event of the day; in +the morning we work for an hour or two and then go out, returning to +lunch; after which we sun ourselves till five o'clock, or drive; and +then, after tea, work again for three hours: the day thus concludes. + +"I certainly don't coddle my boy, and I don't think I pet him, for I +have the deepest horror of that practice: nothing is so weakening +for both parties; it develops sentimentalism, and all mawkishness I +abhor!--though I am what you would call ridiculously fond of him. +However, you must come and see us, and give me your most candid +opinion, criticism, and censure on my educational methods. + +"We drive into Truro once a week to market, and Edward goes in on +messages, and for some mathematical training to the clergyman there. +I should like to find some _aequalis_ to make a companion for him. +He is English enough for anything, but I am afraid of his not keeping +his appropriate boyishness if he is always hanging about with an old +and serious valetudinarian like myself. But I don't like any of the +families hereabouts, and can't get to know the ones I _do_ like well +enough to find some one to my mind. I am very fastidious about my +selection." + +And again: + +"Our Sundays are very peaceful days in this lazy land of the West. +We go to church--a very necessary part of an Englishman's +education--lunch immediately, and then loaf on the downs over the +creek, and I read to him till he yawns or goes to sleep; then we +both play with Flora among the heather--or botanize--and go to +church again." + +This letter led me, knowing as I did how pronounced Arthur's views +were, to ask him why he took Edward to church, and the line that he +intended to take with him generally with regard to religious matters. + +"I have given the question," he writes, "a great deal of thought, and +feel my way fairly clear now. Ideally, as an experiment, I should +like to tell a boy nothing about religion--teach him merely his moral +duty--till he is of age; then put the Bible into his hands. There +would be, of course, a great deal--the 'purely mythological or +Herodotean element,' as Strauss calls it--and the miraculous element +generally, that he would probably at first reject; but if he was +of an appreciative nature--and I am presupposing that, because +I don't think the theory of education is for the apathetic and +unsensitive--he would see, I believe, not only the extraordinary +sublimity of language and expression, but the unparalleled audacity +and magnificence of thought and aspiration. That he would realize the +points in which these conceptions were wild, deficient, or childish, +would not blind him, I think, to the grandeur of the other side. + +"As a matter of fact, we mix up moral duty with intellectual and +spiritual so clumsily, and force it so inopportunely and immaturely +upon our children, that if in later years questionings begin to +arise, or complications in any part of life, the smash that follows +is terrific: the whole thing goes by the board. + +"For instance: many a man who undergoes a moral conversion will +reject his whole intellectual growth angrily and contemptuously as +savoring of the times of vanity. In my scheme such a waste would be +impossible; the two would be on different planes and not inextricably +intertwined. + +"Besides, I think that young men suffer terribly from the shock +inflicted on their affection and traditional sentiment. + +"They grow up with certain stereotyped conceptions on religious +subjects, certain dogmas imperfectly understood but crudely imagined +and gradually crystallized into some uncouth shape. + +"The prejudices of children, and ideas that have grown with them, +are, I think, ineradicable in many cases. + +"Let us take three instances of such ordinary conceptions--'Grace,' +'the Resurrection of the Body,' 'The Holy Spirit.' + +"Here are three vast conceptions. The anxious parent endeavours to +explain them to the child: who, in his turn, receives three grotesque +and whimsical ideas which represent themselves to him something in +the following shape: + +"_Grace_. The quality which he detests in his schoolfellows; in +which the 'model boys' are pre-eminent; which he knows he dislikes +and loathes, and yet is rather ashamed to say so. The boy who +'rebukes' his schoolfellows for irreverent or loose conversation, the +boy who is always ready in his odious way to do a kindness, the boy +who is never late for school--these seem to him to be the kind of +figures that the clergyman is holding up in his sermon as ideal types +of character, to be imitated and reverenced, and for whom he has in +his young soul the most undisguised and wholesome loathing. + +"Of course it is a misconception--but whose fault? Do you blame a +tender wayward mind for not having a philosophical grasp of the +ideal? Whereas, if you weren't ashamed to let him understand that the +young rascal who is always in mischief and behindhand with his work, +but who is yet affectionate, generous, and pure, though he is +quarrelsome and not particular in his talk, is a far finer fellow, +both in point of view of this world and the next than the smooth-faced +prig who thanks his Lord that he is not as this publican. + +"_The Resurrection of the Body_. Intelligent people who are also +reverent and good, in their anxiety to be faithful to the letter of +dogma as well as to its spirit, prefer to cling to these words rather +than confess, what is quite certain, that an absolutely literal +sense was attached to these words by the framers of them; they were +scientifically ignorant of the fact that matter is disintegrated and +disseminated so rigorously that there may be component particles of +a hundred of his predecessors in one human body now existent. No +symbolical _interpretation_ of the words nowadays will account for +their being the expression of what was erroneously believed to be +a possibility; and to say, as I have heard a Church dignitary of +poetical and metaphysical mind say, that the phrase means that the +power resident in every individuality to assimilate to itself certain +particles will not desert the individuality even after death, but +will continue to assert itself in some way--possibly in a spiritual +or unmaterial manner--to say this, is to state a strong scientific +probability; but, after all, it is only a probability at best, and is +certainly not what the words as they stand in the Creed were meant +to mean by the persons who framed them and the first worshippers +who repeated them. In the case of children the effect is at once +laughable and lamentable. They are made to retain the phrase; no +explanation is offered, and, if sought for, shirked. And so it +resolves itself into a wonder, dimly conscious of profanity, as to +whether Tim Jones the carpenter with the wooden leg, will have a new +one; and whether papa will have the wart on his cheek or not, and how +he will look without it. Of course these are elementary speculations; +but they are true ones, for they were literally my own at an early +age. Such speculations are certainly better avoided; and, indeed, +all early speculation on dogmatic questions at all is better not +suggested. + +"_The Holy Spirit_. When I was a child, the dogma of the Trinity caused +me the most terrible perplexity, which was all the more distressing +because it was shrouded in a kind of awful remoteness, by the +reticence, the bewildered and serious reticence, with which my elders +approached the subject; but besides the identification with and the +appearance as a dove, the term Comforter--and Paraclete, as some of +the hymn-books had it--the expression, '_proceeding from_ the +Father and the Son,' mystified me completely. The three aspects of +the central Unity--God as Creator, as the Ideal of Humanity, as +the Inspirer of it--is a very subtle and advanced idea; yet it is +maintained that symbols should be taught first, before they are +understood, so that gradually the growing mind should come to realize +and appropriate what it already knows. + +"This is a very sophistical and ingenious defence. But it seems to +break down in practice. How many people reject the idea when +realized, simply, as I hold, on account of the grotesque and +fantastic conceptions that the immature and overstrained mind +collected about it--conceptions which no amount of _reason_ is later +able to overcome! And how many never grow to realize it at all! +Besides, even of those who do, it is admitted that almost all need a +reconstruction _some time_, a breaking-up of what would otherwise be +crystallized formulae, a _conversion_, in fact. Have you ever seen +a high nature grow up from boyhood to manhood in undisturbed +possession of a vital faith? I confess that I never have! + +"I can not help feeling a dismal possibility, that future students of +religion, looking over a nineteenth century 'child's catechism,' will +laugh, or rather drop their hands in blind amazement--for in truth it +is no laughing matter--at the metaphysical conglomerate of dogma, +driven like a nail into the heads of careless and innocent children +(such, at least, as have had, like myself, the advantage of a +religious bringing-up), just as we turn over with regretful amusement +and pathetic wonder the doctrinal farrago of a Buddhist or a Hindu. + +"And all this because people can't wait. He must have a 'dogmatic +basis,' they say, the sinew and bone of religion, when the poor +child's head can not even take in their ideas, let alone his emotion +appreciate them. + +"The consequence is, that I can't bring myself to use these words +except in societies where I know I shall not be misunderstood. + +"Influence, the indestructibility of matter, aspiration--those are +what Grace, the Resurrection of the Body, the Holy Spirit mean to me +now; great and living and integral parts of my creed, which I not +only glow to reflect about, but which surround and penetrate my life +daily and hourly with ever-increasing thankfulness. + +"Yet, on the other hand, some people depend so much on tradition: +they never have a reconstruction of ideas; memories and associations +are all in all to them. They are the 'Bands' people of my former +classification. + +"And so I want to give Edward both. I take him to church. When he +asks me questions I will answer them, but I am glad to say he does +not at present. I send him out before the sermon: that is responsible +for a good deal of harm. 'Ye shall call upon him to avoid sermons' +should be in the rubric of _my_ baptismal service. + +"Then we read some of the Old Testament history as 'history of the +Jews,' and Job and Isaiah and the Psalms as poetry--and I am glad to +say he is very fond of them; and parts of the Gospels in Greek, as +the life and character of a hero. It is the greatest mistake to +impose them upon children as authoritative and divine all at once. It +at once diminishes their interest: we ought to work slowly up through +the human side. + +"The Pauline Epistles I have given him to read in extracts. I believe +they are best in extracts--one can omit the controversial element. +And he has taken, as children do, to the Revelation enormously, and +gets much mysterious delight from it. + +"A long and wearisome letter this, and not, I feel, satisfactory. I +haven't done justice to the side of tradition, the _jussum et +traditum_, but that is the fault of my mind. I have only been +professing to represent the other side. + +"I would like to thrash the matter out further. I wish you would come +down and see us. Tredennis has a sombre beauty, even in winter--a +'season of mists' with us. The magnolia on the south wall is +blooming, though we are only two days off Christmas. Our love to you. + + "Arthur Hamilton." + +I subjoin another extract, on the education of the moral faculty. + +"I have always held that the concentration of thought upon morality +is a very dangerous system of life. Morality should be an incidental +basis to life, not to be brooded over unless some grave disorder +should arise. We breathe, and eat, and sleep, and pay no heed to +those processes; and indeed both physiologists and moralists exclaim, +in the case of those natural processes, that the healthier we are the +more unconscious will those processes be. + +"So it should be with moral things. If a grave obstruction or +contradiction befall any one; if he behaves in a way that violates +his usefulness, or his own or others' self-respect; then, if he will +not reform himself, we must warn him, or treat him as a physician +would: but to abuse a healthy nature for not considering the reasons +of things, not having a moral system, not 'preparing for death,' +when, by the very constitution of his nature, he does not require +one, is a very grave blunder. Moral anxiety is a sign of moral +_malaise_, or, far more commonly, a sign of physical disorder. + +"It is an ascertained fact that those periods when morals have been +imposed on man as his sole and proper business and subject for +contemplation have been unprogressive, introspective, feeble times. + +"No, leave morals out of the question directly, unless you see there +is grave cause for interference. Give one or two plain warnings, or +rather commands. + +"Try to raise the _tone_ generally; try to make the young soul +generous, ardent, aspiring. If you can do that, the fouler things +will fall off like husks. Above all things, make him devoted to +you--that is generally possible with a little trouble; and let him +never see or hear you think or say a low thought, or do a sordid +thing. If he loves you he will imitate you; and while the virtuous +habit is forming, he will have the constant thought, 'Would my father +have done this? What would he say, how would he look, if he could see +me?' Imagination is sometimes a saving power." + +I venture to insert a letter in which he touches delicately on the +subject of sexual sin. He would never speak of it, but this was +written in answer to a definite question of mine apropos of a common +friend of ours. + +"I must confess that I do not realize the strength of this particular +temptation, but I am willing to allow for its being almost infinitely +strong. I don't know what has preserved me. It is the one thing about +which I never venture to judge a man in the least, because, from all +I hear and see, it must hurry people away in a manner of which those +who have not experienced it can not form any conception. + +"You ask me what I think the probable effect that yielding to such +temptation has on a man's character. Of course, some drift into +hopeless sensualists. About those I have my own gospel, though I do +not preach it; it is a scarcely formulated hope. But of those that +recover, or are recovered, all depends upon the kind of repentance. +The morbid repentance that sometimes ensues is very disabling. All +dwelling on such falls is very fatal: all thoughts of what might have +been, all reflections about the profaned temple and the desecrated +shrine, though they can not be escaped, yet must not be indulged. +I always advise people resolutely to try and forget them in _any_ +possible way--banish them, drown them, beat them down. + +"But a manly repentance may temper and brace the character in a way +that no other repented fall can. It is the brooding natures which +make me tremble; in healthier natures it is the refiner's fire which +stings and consecrates: '_Sanat dum ferit_.' + +"But the subject is very repugnant to me. I don't like thinking or +talking about it, because it has its other side; the thought of a +woman in connection with such things is so unutterably ghastly; it is +one of the problems about which I say most earnestly 'God knows.'" + +One other letter of this period, is worth, I think, inserting here. + + "Tredennis, August 29. + +"I had an instructive parable thrown in my way to-day, containing an +obvious lesson for Eddy, and a further meaning for myself. Eddy came +running to me about eleven, to tell me there was a man in the garden. +I hurried to the spot he indicated; and there, in a kind of nook +formed by a fernery, his head resting in a great glowing circle of +St. John's wort, and his feet tucked up under him, lay a drunken +tramp, asleep. He was in the last stage of disease; his face was +white and fallen away, except his nose and eyes, which were red and +bloodshot; he had a horrible sore on his neck; he was unshaven and +fearfully dirty; he had on torn trousers; a flannel shirt, open at +the neck; and a swallow-tail coat, green with age, buttoned round +him. His hat, such as it was, lay on the ground at his side. Edward +regarded him with unfeigned curiosity and dismay. While we stood +watching him, he began to stir and shift uneasily in his sleep, as a +watched person will, and presently woke and rolled to his feet with +a torrent of the foulest language. He was three-parts drunk. He +watched us for a moment suspiciously, and then gave a bolt. How he +accomplished it I don't know, for he was very unsteady on his feet; +but he got to the wall, and dropped over it into the road, and was +out of sight before we could get there. He evidently had some dim +idea that he had been trespassing. + +"Edward inquired what sort of a man he was. + +"'An English gentleman, in all probability,' I said, 'who has got +into that state by always doing as he liked.' And I went on to point +out, as simply as I could, that everybody has two sets of desires, +and that you must make up your mind which to gratify early in life, +determining to face this kind of ending if you fix upon one set. +'Early in life,' I said, 'when this gentleman was a well-dressed +clean boy like you, one of the voices used to whisper to him at his +ear, "Eat as much as you can; that is what you really like best;" +while the other said, "If you eat rather less, you will be able to +play football, or read your book better; besides, you will be your +own master and less of a beast." + +"'But he wouldn't listen; and this is the result.' + +"Edward seemed to ponder it deeply. He tried to starve himself to-day +at lunch; and I refrained from pointing out to him that abstinence +from meat at lunch was not the _unum necessarium_, for fear of +confusing the ingenuous mind. I like to see people grasp the concrete +issue in one of its bearings. The principle will gradually develop +itself; from denying themselves in one point, they will or may grow +to be generally temperate; when confronted with overmastering and +baser impulses, it may be they will say, 'Let me be [Greek: egkrates +emautou] even here.' + +"So much for Edward's lesson; now for my own. My first impulse was to +loathe and reject the poor object, body and soul. He was merely the +embodiment of long-continued vice. His body was a diseased framework, +breaking quickly up, conscious of no pleasure but appetite, and now +merely existing and held together by the desire of gratifying it; the +little vitality it possessed, just gathering enough volume in the +quiet intervals to satiate one of its three jaded cravings--lust, +hunger, and thirst, and feebly groping after alcoholic and other +stimulants to repair its exhaustion; the soul in her dreamy intervals +drowsily recounting or contemplating lust past and to come--a ghastly +spectacle! + +"And yet I am bound to think, and do record it as my deliberate +belief, that that poor, wretched, withered, gross soul is destined +to as sure a hope of glory as any of us: ay, and may be nearer it, +too, than many of us, as it is expiating its willfulness in more +terrible and direct punishment. There is not a single spasm in that +decayed and nerveless frame, not a single horror of all the gloomy +forebodings and irrational shudderings of the sickening delirium, not +a single mile of the grim dusty roads he wearily traverses, which is +not needed to bring him to the truth. The soul may be so clouded that +it may not even be taking note of its punishment, may not be even +conscious of it, may hardly calculate how low it has fallen and how +wretched and hopeless the remainder of its earthly days are bound to +be; but I assert that it is none of it blind suffering; that not +a pang is unintentionally given, or thrown away; that I shall +hand-in-hand with that soul go some day up the golden stairs that +lead to the Father, and we shall say one to another, 'My brother, you +despised me on earth; you took for a mark of the neglect and +disfavour of God what was only a sign of His constant care; you took +for an indwelling of foul spirits what was only a testimony of my +distance from the truth.' + +"And we shall speak together of new things, so marvellous that they +will banish memory for ever. + +"Who would have thought that the sight of a drunken tramp in a +hedgerow would have brought one so close to a sight of God's +purposes? + +"Yet so it is, my friend. God keeps showing me by the strangest of +surprises that He is all about us. This very incident, so seemingly +trivial, is yet a part of my life already, it has set its mark upon +me. All his life he has been led, from bad to worse, into drink, +and haunted by all the other devils of sin, and piloted across the +country thus, so that the lines of our lives cut at this instant +never to cut again. There are no such things as _chance_ meetings. +There is no smaller or greater in the sight of God. It is as much a +purpose of his life that he should preach this sermon to Edward and +myself to-day, as that he should be shown by God's own strokes what +happiness really is, by the strong contrast of the bitterness of +sin." + +The idea of the purpose of God underlying every incident, however +apparently trivial, was much in his thoughts just then. + +"We often are taught how momentous every thing and every moment is, +by the charging of some trivial incident with tremendous issues. A +man fires off his gun. He has done so thousands of times already, and +yet, like Mr. Jamieson, my neighbour, on this one January morning he +kills his own son, converting in a single instant, by a trivial +incident, the whole of the rest of his life from sweet into bitter, +by the terrible punishment which falls upon 'carelessness.' God seems +to be asking us to weigh the fact, that in a chain of events the +tiniest link is every bit as important and necessary in its place as +the largest. + +"And so I begin to take more and more account of little things. The +very people we pass in the street once, it may be never to pass +again, the stream of faces that flows past us in London--has all +that no real connection with our life, except to stir a faint and +vague emotion about the size of life and our own infinitesimal share +in it? I think it must be something more. Of course, one lets drop +grain after grain of golden truth that God slips into our hands. I +keep feeling that if we could only truly yield ourselves up for a +single instant, put ourselves utterly and wholly in God's hands for a +second, the meaning of the whole would flash upon us, and our lesson +would be learnt. I think perhaps that comes in death. I remember the +only time I took an anaesthetic (when the body really momentarily +dies--that is, the functions are temporarily suspended), the great +sensation was, after a brief passage of storm and agony, the sense of +serenity and repose upon a lesson learnt, a truth grasped, so remote +and so connected with infinite ideas, that the coming back into life +was like the waking after years of experience; a phantom emotion, +I expect; but, like many phantoms, a very good copy of the real one. +That is what I expect dying to be like. + +"I was going to say that I try not to let even little things--things +that are thrust in my way curiously and without apparent reason that +is--go uninterpreted. Why should I, for instance, have been +introduced by my clergyman to the friend who was staying with him +this morning, when I met them in the lane? and why should he have +come in to lunch, and talked dull and trivial talk till three +o'clock, and interrupted all our plans? There seems some design in +it all; and yet one is so impotent to grasp what it can be. + +"Yet I suppose no one has failed to notice several small coincidences +in their lives, of what might almost be called a providential kind. + +"I read in a book about Laennec's method, without the vaguest idea of +who Laennec was, or what his method was. The next day, I see, in +a chart in the village school-room, 'Laennec, inventor of the +stethoscope;' and, the day following, I find and read his biography +in a volume that I happen to take up to pass five minutes. And yet we +say 'by chance.' + +"Or I come across an expression of which I haven't grasped the +precise meaning, 'gene,' let us say, or 'eclectic,' and the next day +I hear the rector and curate discussing them. These are real cases. + +"Or I am interrupted in my writing by Edward, who takes the letters +to the post, and forces this from under my hand, as I write: not, +surely, only to spare you the receipt of a dull and immature letter. + + "Arthur Hamilton." + +I have only one other letter of any especial interest about this +date. + +"If only a book could be written about a hermit, a man that +deliberately left the world, retiring, not to an impracticable +distance--let us say to a small farm, in a country village, with half +an acre of garden--and there let no sound from the world without +reach him, except incidentally, and lived a pure and uncontaminated +life, watching his garden, and turning over, very slowly, such +experience as he had gained in life, with the intention, if anything +came of it, of telling the world any solution that occurred to him +of the great question--'Is one bound to meet life in the ordinary +manner, by plunging into it and swimming up the stream, or does one +meet it best by abjuring it?' There is much to be said for both +views. I am not at all sure that these or similar lives are not +lived, and that the only practical bearing of them is that a man +is _not_ bound to tell his discoveries of our enigmas. I mean, I +can conceive a man, under such circumstances, reaching a very high +standpoint, arriving at very lofty knowledge of the problems of fate +and life, and at the same time finding a ban laid upon him, a tacit +[Greek: anagke], not to reveal it to others, it being hinted to +him that those who would attain to it at all must attain to it as he +has himself attained, by finding out the way themselves." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +About this time he made the acquaintance of some neighbours whom he +approved, and found companions for Edward Bruce in the boys of the +family, who were home for the holidays. The boy brightened up so much +under the new surroundings, that Arthur determined to get a boy of +the same age to educate with Edward, and he accordingly inserted an +advertisement in the _Times_. I have it before me now, in the +fast-yellowing paper. + +"A gentleman is anxious to find a companion to be educated with his +adopted son; he offers him board and teaching free, but must see, +personally, both the parent or guardian and the boy whom it is +proposed to send." + +But the advertisement was withdrawn, as a friend of mine, a certain +General Ellis, not very well off, and with a large family, offered +to send a boy of his to Tredennis--an offer which Arthur accepted +provisionally. He had the boy to stay with him for a fortnight, and +at the end of the time agreed to take him. + +As the boys were not to go to a public school, and as neither of them +looked forward to teaching as a career, the object of their teaching +was to make them as quick in grasp of a subject as possible, as +enthusiastic as possible, and as cultivated. Arthur favoured me with +a letter, or rather a treatise, upon their education, fragments of +which I submit to my readers. + +"My aim will be to make them, generally speaking, as adequate as +possible to playing a worthy part in the world. I want them to be as +open-minded on all subjects as possible, to have no fixed prejudices +on any subject, and yet to have an adequate basis of knowledge on +important matters, enough not to leave them at the mercy of any new +book or theory on any subject which handles its facts in at all a +one-sided way--so that on reading a brilliant but narrow book on any +point, they may be able to say, 'This and that argument have weight, +they are valid; but he has suppressed this, and distorted that, +which, if seen fairly and in a good light, would go far to contradict +the other.' Then they must be without _prejudice_; they must not close +their eyes or turn their backs on any view, because it is 'dangerous' +or 'damaging' or 'subversive' or 'unpractical.' They must not be +afraid to face an idea because of its probable consequences if its +truth is proved. They must not call anything common or unclean. + +"For this they must have a basis of knowledge on these points; +history, political economy, philosophy, science. The first three I am +fairly competent to give them; that is to say, I am studying these +hard myself now, and I can, at any rate, keep well ahead of them; and +I have managed to win their educational confidence, which is a great +thing. They take for granted that a thing which is dull is necessary, +and follow me with faith; while, I am thankful to say, they are keen +enough not to want driving when a thing is interesting. + +"Then they must know French and German, and a modicum of Greek and +Latin. These last I teach them by a free use of translations; +rudiments of grammar first, and then we attack the books, and let +grammar be incidental. We don't compose in any of these languages; +it's a mere waste of time. + +"I teach them logic and Euclid, and get them taught some mathematics. +Then as to science, by reading myself with them we get on very well +together. And I have bought a few chemicals, and we try experiments +freely, which is very satisfactory. + +"Music I teach them both, and harmony. They don't much like it, but +they will be glad some day. I make them practise regularly. I don't +believe any but very exceptionally gifted boys like that; but they +are so awfully thankful when they get to my age if they have been +kept at it. + +"Then as to the external [Greek: paideia], there is my difficulty. I am +not allowed to take any active exertion myself, and, indeed, it tells +on me if I do, so that I have become a kind of thermometer, hopeless +and headachy and listless the next day, if I overdo myself the very +least; so that I have merely to encourage them by precept, not by +example. They have ponies and bicycles, and scamper about all over +the country. Edward has been brought home once in a cart, but not +seriously damaged; and I like to leave them to themselves in these +things--they won't damage themselves a bit the less for fussing and +fretting over them, and they will lose ever so much independence and +go. Then I teach them to shoot, and they are very fair shots with a +pea-gun. And we also do a little carpentering, so we are well +employed. They aren't showy performers at any game, but, as they +won't be at school, that makes very little difference to them; it is +handiness in general sports that is valuable afterward. + +"You would think that this was a tremendous programme, but it is not; +it is mostly reading and talking, with a certain amount of writing. +They have to analyse a chapter of a book of some kind every day; +sometimes history, sometimes philosophy. We do both history and +philosophy as much as possible by means of biographies. Lewes's book +is an excellent text-book, and not a bit too advanced if you will +talk it over with them carefully; clever boys are never really +puzzled by meanings of words. In history we get the greatest man we +can find in a period, and work out his view of all current events; +and they have to write dialogues in character, and enjoy it immensely +too. I don't press them to read for themselves very much, and I don't +make ordinary English literature their task-books, because one always +may be boring a boy, and I don't want to run the risk of boring them +with things that I want them to enjoy as much as I did. + +"I read to them for an hour or so every evening--novels, plays, +anything that they seem to like. They are at liberty to choose. + +"I don't know that they would 'go down' at present--certainly not +among their compeers. They talk quite naturally and straightforwardly +about all kinds of topics of general interest, and they are +tremendously keen about their games, but I think some people might +call them prigs. However, I keep them in a constant and wholesome +contempt of their own abilities, and never let them despise or +criticize anyone unfavourably; not by 'rebuking' it, but by +indicating a point of view--and one can always find one--in which +the person under fire is infinitely their superior. + +"And they are as affectionate as they can be--they like one another +and me; and they aren't easily disturbed by circumstances, not having +had their morbid sensibilities developed, their innocent perceptions +dimmed by alcoholic or other dissipations." + +I select, rather at random, one or two other passages from his +letters at this time. + +"I have just been reading Emerson's Essays. They certainly kindle +one's belief in the greatness of life and the nobility of little +things; but, after all, the great refreshment of such books to me +is--not that they give me new working ideas; I hardly know a book +that has ever done that; the stock of ideas is almost constant in the +world; but because they show that others are on the same track of +admiration and hope as one's self for a goal only hinted at and +conjectured to be glorious--on the same track, and farther advanced +upon it; like older people, they fill in with experience what one has +only guessed at. I find myself saying, 'I expect that life will be +like this and that: it will confirm this and that idea in startling +ways:' and then one of these great souls comes softly to me, and +says, 'It is true.'" + +And again: + +"There are a great number of conventional ideas which are largely +current, not only conversationally and among ordinary people, +but in books--good and sensible books, written by people of +experience--which are, in my opinion, radically and absolutely +false, and yet no one takes the trouble to question them. I am always +coming across them. Such as this: _No one is more incapable of +affection than a profligate._ This, in my judgement, is a ludicrous +error, though it is the statement of no less a moral physician than +Lacordaire. If by affection you mean 'sustained, pure, disinterested +emotion,' such as patriotism--well and good; but affection!--the two +most affectionate persons I have ever known were thoroughly +dissolute; and I mean by affection, not a slobbering sentimental +passion of a purely sensual type, but an affection quite untainted, +to all appearances leading them to make considerable sacrifices for +the sake of it, and causing them the acutest misery when not +reciprocated. In so far as profligates are selfish brutal natures, +as they often are, it is true; but that is not the case with half +of them. They are not unfrequently people of infirm will, strong +affections, and a violent animal nature. It is selfishness, regard to +personal _comfort_ at all hazards, which is the hopeless nature, +and can not be raised except through pain. + +"Speaking of Lacordaire, another favourite position of his will +illustrate my point. He was constantly inveighing in his seminary +against desultory reading. Homer, Plutarch, Racine, Bossuet, and a +few other books, are all he wishes a man to have read. He calls +miscellaneous reading a subtle dissipation, a moral poison. + +"It seems to me to depend entirely upon temperament. Some natures are +like _mills_, converting everything that comes in their way into grist; +and in that case, no doubt, it is deleterious. They are people of +slow-revolving mind, to whom statements in books are of the nature of +authorities. Lacordaire was one, I think. + +"But there are others who are like sieves; who want a constant +passing of materials of all kinds over them to let a little fall +through; people who draw from a huge jumble of miscellaneous facts, +theories, and thoughts, a little sediment of truth of the precise +size to suit them. Such a person was Macaulay. + +"I believe that interference does more harm than good. If you thrust +books upon a mind of the first type, the result is confusion and +weariness. If you deny them to the latter, all you get is poverty of +ideas, and morbidity, and mawkishness. I make a rule never to +interfere with anybody's reading." + + +Four years passed. I went during that time once to Tredennis--in the +summer, when I took my scanty holiday; for I was in a Government +office where only six weeks were allowed. Arthur was generally away +in the summer. He took Edward Bruce to several friends' houses; +to his own home in Hampshire, now for a long time in the hands of +strangers. He wanted to make him a real Englishman. It was arranged +that he should go to Cambridge in October. He matriculated at +Trinity, Arthur's own college; and he was looking forward with great +delight to the prospect. + +I went down to stay at Tredennis for a week in July. I got to the +house through the quiet sultry lanes about the middle of the +afternoon, having started very early from town. As I came up the +little drive I could see through the trees an animated game of +lawn-tennis proceeding on the lawn in front of the house, between two +flannelled combatants. At the sound of the wheels they broke off the +game, and Edward came up to greet me. He was now nearly nineteen, and +had lost none of the beauty of his boyhood; a small brown moustache +which fringed his upper lip being, to my eyes, almost the only sign +of his advancing years. He introduced me to his friend, a young Eton +man, possessed of that frank nonchalance which it is the privilege of +that institution to bestow. I inquired where Arthur was. Edward told +me that he had gone down to the stream for a stroll. "We'll go down +and find him," he said, putting his arm in mine, with that same +demonstrativeness that had always characterized him, and that won +people to him so quickly. + +We crossed one or two adjacent fields which sloped down to the +stream, conspicuous by its fringe of alder and hazel; and after +crossing by a gravel-pit, we came on a level reach of it, all stifled +with high water-plants, figwort, and loosestrife, and willow-herb, +and great sprawling docks, till, down by a little runnel where it +took a sudden turn round a shoal of gravel, we came upon the faint +fragrance of a cigarette; then Flora ran forward to meet us; and, on +turning the corner, we found a great long figure lying on the bank, +with hat half pulled over his eyes, gazing dreamily up into the +shifting willow leaves and the blue above. + +Our voices, which had been drowned by the sound of the running water, +aroused him, and he sat up, and, on seeing me, got slowly to his feet +with a delightful smile of welcome on his face. "How are you, my dear +man?" he said. "I didn't expect you so early, or I should have been +at home to meet you--in fact, I should have driven down to Truro, +only I am not quite the thing to-day." + +I looked rather anxiously at him, to see how he appeared to be, and +was much struck with the change in him. There had crept into his face +what has been called a look of "doom." The Stuarts are said to have +had it. I can not describe it in any other way. It was that of a man +waiting for something, bravely and calmly, but still with a certain +sort of apprehension. He looked very solemn and grave when he was not +speaking, and he was apt to get a kind of brooding look, which did +not disperse till one spoke to him. He was thinner, too, and paler, +though the old lock of hair still dangled over his forehead, and his +eyes had the old affectionate look. + +He was playful and humorous in a quiet way. I have forgotten what we +talked about--we discussed people and things vaguely; I can only +remember one little remark he made which struck me as being highly +characteristic. I had said, in reply to some question as to one of +our friends, "Oh, he's perfectly crazy." "Yes," said Arthur, mildly: +"he has certainly got some curious mannerisms." + +I ventured to remonstrate with him about the cigarette, but he said +gravely that he had given up thinking about his health, it was so +very inferior, and that he had come to the conclusion that nothing +in moderation made him either better or worse; "and an occasional +cigarette," he said, "adds so much to my general serenity, that I +feel sure it is perfectly justifiable." + +I had a very delightful week there. He talked a good deal, when he +was in the mood, about the books he had been reading and the thoughts +he had been thinking; but his physical languor at times, especially +in the mornings, was very painful to see. He did not get up till very +late, and complained to me more than once of a terrible listlessness +and dejection to which he was liable during the earlier part of the +day. But he spoke little of his own sufferings, or rather _malaise_, +which I gathered was very great, only saying once or twice, "It is +fortunate how habituated one gets to things, even to enduring +discomfort. If I can only get my mind occupied, it hardly ever +distracts me now." And again--"I think the only really valuable +experiences are those that we can not lay down and take up at will, +but which continue with us, invariable, unaltering, day after day, +meeting us at every moment and tempering every mood." And once--"In +spite of everything, I would not for an instant go back. I have every +now and then, on breezy sunny mornings or after rain, an intense gush +of yearning for the peculiar unconscious delight--the index of +perfect physical health--of childhood; but I never deliberately wish +that things were otherwise. I enjoy nature more, far more, than ever +I did. The signs of spring are a deep and constant joy to me. I can +lie down by the stream, and watch the water flowing and the flowers +bending and stirring and the animals that run busily about, and be +absolutely absorbed, without a thought of myself or even other +people. This I never could do before, and it has been sent me, I +often think, as a kind of alleviation. I have had it ever since I +settled here at Tredennis; and altogether I feel the stronger and +the more content for all this suffering and the inevitable end, which +can not be far off. No; I wouldn't change, even with you, my dear +Chris, or even with Edward"--as that superb piece of physical +vitality crossed the lawn. + +"When I first came," he told me, "quite at first, I seemed to have +lost my hold of nature--to be discordant and out of joint with her. +On those bright still mornings we so often have here in the early +summer, I seemed to be only a sad spectator, not a part of it all. +The sunset over the hills there, and the deliberate red glow of the +creek, all seemed to mock me. Even Edward, fond as he was of me, +seemed to have no real connection with me. I was isolated and +despairing. But very gradually, like the dispersing of a cloud, it +came back. I began again to feel myself a performer in the drama, not +a gloomy spectator of it--there must be the sufferer, the condemned, +to make the tragedy complete, and they may be enacted well--till the +sense of God's Fatherhood came back to me. So that I can be and feel +myself a part of the vast economy, diseased and inefficient though I +am--feel that I am one with the life that throbs in the trees and +water, and that forces itself up at every cranny and nestles in every +ledge--can wait patiently for my move, the transference of my vital +energy--as strong as ever, it seems to me, though the engines are +weaker--to some other portion of the frame of things." + +He spoke of spiritualism with great contempt. "The more I see of +spiritualists and the less I see of phenomena," he said, "the more +discontented with it I am. It is nothing but a fashionable +drawing-room game." + +He dwelt a good deal on the subjective interpretation of nature. One +evening--we had been listening to the owls crying--he said, +abstractedly: + +"We put strange meanings enough, God knows, into faces that never +owned them. We hear dreary hopelessness in the moaning of the wind; +wild sorrow in the tossing of the trees; and read into the work-a-day +cries of birds, content, humour, melancholy, and a thousand other +unknown feelings." + +He spoke much about the country and its effect on people. "Wisdom," +he said, "is generally reared among fields and woody places, and when +she is nearly grown she wanders into the cities of men, to see if she +can not rule there; and then the test really comes. If she is genuine +and strong, she says her say and makes her protest, and passes back +again, uncontaminated, into the quiet villages, as pure and free as +ever. That is the case with genius. But if the spring of her energy +is not all her own--is not quite untainted, she parts with her +old grace and glory, losing it in hard unloving talk, in selfish +intercourse, in striving after the advantages of comfort and wealth. +She stays, and is dissipated--she is conformed to the image of the +world. That is what happens to mere talent." + +The only other conversation with him that impressed itself very +distinctly upon my mind was about religion. He had been thinking--so +he told me--very deeply about Christianity, its strength and +weakness. "Its weakness, nowadays," he said, "is the mistake of +confusing it with the principles advocated by any one of the bodies +that profess to represent it. When one sees in the world so many +bodies--backed by wealth, tradition, prestige--shouting, 'We are the +only authorized exponents of Christ's truth; we are the only genuine +succession of the apostles;' when we see Churches who claim and +make much of possessing the succession (which they have in reality +forfeited by secession), and yet demand the right to be heretical +if the main stream is, as they say, 'corrupted' (for once introduce +that principle, and you can never limit subdivision, and equitable +subdivision too)--it is no wonder weaker intellects are confused and +distressed, and from their inability to decide between five or six +sole possessors of the truth, fall outside teaching and encouragement +altogether, though they could have got what they wanted in any of +these bodies. + +"But, in spite of the hopeless strife of Churches, the fundamental +attraction of Christianity for human nature remains every bit as +strong--to be able to say to all people, 'Imagine and idealize the +best human being possible; put into him all the best qualities of all +the best people you have ever known--give him strength, sympathy, +power beyond the most powerful on earth, and add to that a great +deep individual affection for _you yourself_, of a kind that is +never moved by insults, or chilled by coldness, or diverted by +ingratitude;'--say to them, 'And he has been waiting quietly for +you for years, for the least sign of affection on your part, never +disgusted, never impatient, always ready to turn and welcome you.' + +"Think what a hold you establish, saying this, over all people +conscious of unhappiness of any kind, over all those refined natures +coarsening under a vile _entourage_, over all unsatisfied hearts +craving for a friend that their surroundings can not give them, over +all who have lost delight for whatever cause in common familiar +things, and have nowhere to turn. When one reflects how many human +beings fall under one or other of these heads, one does not wonder +at it." + +I returned to London, feeling wonderfully refreshed and invigorated, +both in body and mind, by my visit. Then, as ever, I could not help +feeling a subtle influence in Arthur's conversation and presence, +that defied analysis and yet was undoubtedly there. He seemed to +encourage one to hope, or rather believe, in the ultimate tendency to +good in all things, to wait and watch the developments and the bents +of life, rather than to fret over particular events--and this without +a vague optimism that refuses to take count of what is unsatisfactory +and foul, but looking causes and consequences fairly in the face. "I +never quite understood the parable of the tares," he said to me, just +before I went, "till I found these words in a book the other day: +'The root of the common darnel (_lolium_) or dandelion, with +saltpeter, make a very cheap and effective sheep-drench. It can be +applied successfully in cases of fluke.'" + + +In October, 1883, as had been arranged, Edward went up to Trinity +College, Cambridge. I had a short letter from Arthur telling me. It +ended characteristically thus: "I don't in the least care that Edward +should be distinguished academically. I do care very much what sort +of a character he is. What one does, matters so very much less than +how one does it. It is the method, not the thing, which shows what +the man is. I shall be very much disgusted if he _means_ to work and +doesn't, but merely drifts; whereas, if he is idle on principle, I +don't much care. 'Do what you mean to do,' is what I have always told +him. If I hear that he is doing fairly well and making friends, and +finds himself at home, I shall be content, but nothing more. But if I +hear that he is influential and takes his own line, I shall be very +much pleased, even if that line is not quite the most respectable, or +that influence is not now for the best." + +This letter was dated November 1st. On November the 9th, Edward Bruce +was killed by a fall from a dog-cart, driving into Cambridge from +Ely. He had driven over there with a friend, a pleasant but somewhat +reckless man. They had dined at Ely, and were returning in the +evening, both in the highest spirits. Edward was driving; the horse +took fright, in a little village called Drayton, at a dog that ran +across the road. Edward was thrown out on to his head, and, entangled +in the reins, was dragged for some distance. The other escaped with a +few bruises. + +Arthur was acquainted with the terrible news by telegraph. He came up +to Cambridge at once, ill and broken with the shock as he was. They +told me that he looked terribly pale, but with a quiet self-possessed +manner he made all arrangements and settled all bills. The poor boy +was buried in the north-west corner of the cemetery at Cambridge. +Arthur put up a little tablet to him at Trinity and at St. Uny +Trevise. + + In Memory of + E. B., + BORN AT TEHERAN; + DIED AT CAMBRIDGE, NOV. 9, 1883. + "What I do thou knowest not now, but + thou shalt know hereafter." + +Arthur had an interview with Edward's companion on the fatal +occasion. I subjoin the latter's account of it. He requested me, when +I wrote to him to ask him for some particulars relating to Edward +Bruce, to make what use I wished of the letter. + +"I can't describe the effect the accident had on me. It half drove me +mad, I think. I was very much attached to Edward Bruce, as, indeed, +we all were. I don't attempt to condone the fault. It was due +entirely to my carelessness. I pressed him to drive faster than he +was willing to do. I laughed at his scruples. I whipped the horse on +myself. I never clearly knew what happened--for I was stunned +myself--till I woke up and was told. + +"When Mr. Hamilton came to see me, I was sitting in my room, over my +breakfast, which I could not eat. His card was brought in by my gyp, +and it made me faint and sick. He came in with his hand out, looking +very pale, but smiling just as he used to smile, only more sadly. +'Don't reproach me,' I said; 'I can't bear it.' 'Reproach you!' he +said--and I shall never forget the tone of affectionate wonder with +which it came, or the relief it was to me to hear it--'Reproach you! +I know how you loved him.' I broke down at that, and cried +wretchedly. I found him sitting by me. He put his hand on my shoulder +and stroked my hair. 'I have only one more thing to say,' he said, at +last. 'You will not mind my saying it, will you? Eddy had told me all +about you--he was very open with me--that you were not doing justice +to your opportunities here, not fulfilling your own ideals and +possibilities. All I ask of you is to let this be the impulse to +rise; do not let any morbid or fantastic remorse stand in your way, +and baffle you. You know that he would have been the first to have +forgiven any share of the fault that may be yours. What I wish most +earnestly for you--it is what he, if he had lived, would have wished +most--is that you should become a nobler man--as you can, I know; as +you will, I believe.' I could not speak, or answer him then; but I +have tried to do what he begged me. Perhaps you do not know--I hope +you do not--what a struggle an attempt to forget is. I could not have +believed that a memory could hang so heavily round my neck. + +"He wrote to me once after, and sent me Edward's riding-whip and +flask. I never saw him again. From what Edward told me, and from the +little I saw of him myself, I knew that he was the humblest and +gravest of men. In his dealing with me, he showed himself the most +truly loving." + +I was at Tredennis for a week just after this. At the end of that +time he begged me not to stay--he could bear it better alone. My +impression was that he was like a man half dazed with grief. He sat +very silent, and would do nothing; if he ever spoke, it was with +evident effort. He did not appear to be ill, only crushed and +overwhelmed. Once he broke down. He was looking over some books, and +found a notebook of Edward's, of some subject they had been reading +together. Edward had tired of the subject, and the last page was +occupied with a pen-and-ink sketch of Arthur himself, the discovery +of which, done as it had been during working hours, had been the +occasion of some affectionate strictures. He shut the book up +quickly, and literally moaned. + +Then, after a little, his frosty silence broke up, and he wrote me +several letters about his boy, very full and detailed, with numbers +of little stories, and ending with a passionate burst of grief at the +loss. They are too private for publication. + +One very notable one, some six months after, must be given here. + +"People talk and write about instantaneous momentary _conversions_--I +never realized what was meant till a week ago. Day after day, all +that time, I had been filled with gloomy, reproachful, or bitter +thoughts of God and the providence which took Edward from me. It was +intolerable that he should be swept away into silence, leaving me +so worn and hopeless, and, worst of all, so dissatisfied and +discontented with the hand that did it--my vaunted philosophy +failing and giving out utterly. I _knew_ it was right, but could +not _feel_ it. + +"But last night as I sat, as I have so often done, burning and racked +with recollection and regret, a kind of peace stole over me. It was +quite sudden, quite abnormal; not that afterglow of hope that +sometimes follows a dark plunge of despair, but a gentle firm trust +that seemed, without explaining, yet to make all things plain; not +ebbing and flowing, not changing with physical sensation or mental +weariness, but deep, abiding, sustaining. You may think it rash of me +thus, after so short an interval, to write so assuredly of it; but +even if I lost the sense (and I shall not) the memory of that moment +would support me; 'If I go down into hell, thou art there also,' is +the only sentence that expresses it. + +"But I shall not lose it; it has been with me in many moods--and my +moods are many and very variable, as you know. I can't express it in +words; but I feel no more doubt about Edward's well-being, no more +inclination to fret or murmur, besides an all-embracing and pervading +sense of satisfied content that penetrates everywhere and applies +itself to everything; those are the chief manifestations. + +"It is as if he had come to me himself and whispered that all was +well, or, better still, as if the great Power that held both him and +me and all men within His grasp, had sent His messenger to strengthen +me. My friend, all the struggles and miseries of my life have paled +to nothing in the light of this. If this is to be won by suffering, +pray that you may suffer; though I feel, indeed, as if I had not +earned or deserved a tenth part of it--it is the free gift of God. +It is to this that we shall all come." + +He still lived at Tredennis; spending much of his time in visiting +and talking to the people round about, the cottagers and farmers. +He was very weak in the mornings, and mostly read, or often was too +feeble even for that; but later in the day his strength used somewhat +to revive, and he would walk along the lanes with Flora, now growing +older and more sedate, trotting by him. He was known and loved in +the circle of the hills. "Oh, sir," as a poor woman said to me, +with tears in her eyes, after he was gone, "I can't tell you how it +was--he spoke very little of Him--but he seemed to remind me of the +Lord Jesus, if I am not wrong to say it, more than all Mr. Robert's +sermons or the pictures in the school-house. He was so kind and +gentle; he seemed to bring God with him!" + +But the end was not far off. He got very much weaker in the spring: +he suffered from violent paroxysms of pain, depriving him of sight +and power of speech, and wearing him out terribly. On the 21st of +April I was telegraphed for; he wished to see me. + +I came in the evening; he was conscious, and seemed glad to see me, +though he was very weak. He said to me, "When I was at Cambridge, my +windows overlooked a space of grass, very evenly green in the spring; +but in a hot summer the lines of old foundations and buildings +used to come out, burning the grass above them with the heat they +retained; it is just the same," he added, "with things that I thought +I had forgotten--they come out very truthfully now." + +He often spoke to me of his grief that he had never seen Edward's +face after he left Tredennis to go to Cambridge, for he had been +fearfully disfigured, cut and bruised by the accident, and he had +no picture of him; "But perhaps it is because I was too fond of his +face," he said. + +He had several terrible spasms while I was with him, and the doctor +said that if he had such another he could not last out the night. +Once, after waking from the prolonged and weary sleep of prostration +which used to follow these collapses, he said to me, with a smile, +"I saw him." + +Once he said, "I have just dreamed of a tall man, who came to me and +said, 'You will be surprised when you meet Edward; he is delighting +everyone there with his conversation; he is so much wiser; and he has +grown so much handsomer," adding, with a smile, "though I still think +that an impossibility." + +About six o'clock on the morning of the 24th he seemed very uneasy in +his sleep. On waking, he said, "I should like to receive the +Sacrament." + +I confess that I thought that he was wandering; he had given up this +religious observance for years. He repeated it, adding, "I am not +wandering; I know what I am saying." + +I went at once to the rectory. The rector was away, and I was +directed to the curate, who lived in the village. + +I went straight to him, and made my request. He refused to comply. I +will do him the justice to say that he appeared to be profoundly +concerned and distressed. "I can't act without my rector in this," he +said. "I daren't take the responsibility. He hasn't attended the +Communion for years; I know his opinions are distinctly unchristian; +and in my last talk to the rector, he confessed to me that if Mr. +Hamilton (speaking hypothetically) were to present himself for +Communion, he should be obliged to refuse him." + +I spoke very hastily, and I think unfairly. Mr. J---- tried to +remonstrate, but I would not hear him. + +When I came back, Arthur was asleep. As soon as he awoke, before he +was quite conscious, he said, "It is like a river; it flows very +smoothly, and carries me off my feet; but the sun is on it, and it is +very clear." + +I told him about the _rencontre_. He smiled faintly, and said, "Ask +him to come and see me, at any rate; he can't refuse that." I sent +the message at once. + +At nine o'clock he had a fearful spasm; so terrible that I could not +endure to see it, and left the room. While I was down-stairs, the +curate arrived. He had come of his own accord, bringing the vessels +with him. It had been, he pleaded, only a momentary hesitation. + +In half an hour I was told that he would like to see us. The doctor +was with him; as we entered, he told me, "He can not last an hour." +Then, to the curate, "You may begin the service, if you like, though +I doubt if he can hear you; he certainly will not be able to +receive." + +He was very gray about the eyes and temples, and looked fearfully +exhausted. His eyes were closed. The curate began in a quiet voice, +rather agitated. When he was near the end, Arthur opened his eyes +fully and saw him. The curate went forward. Arthur held out his hand. +"Thank you for coming," he said. + +The curate grasped his hand, and said, "Can you forgive me for not +coming at once?" + +"You were doing your duty," said Arthur; adding, with a half-smile, +"and you are doing it now," as he saw the open book. + +Then he began to wander. I heard him say this: "He seems to halt. +Yes! but it is only seeming." + +Then for ten minutes he was very still. Then he gave an uneasy +movement, and half raised himself. + +"He is going," said the doctor. + +Suddenly he opened his eyes. "All three," he said. They were his last +words. The curate began to say a prayer; we none of us interrupted +him. There was a convulsive movement, and all was over. The doctor +went out. We cried like children by the bed. + + + + +RECAPITULATION + + +I had rather intended to say no more; to let the Life speak for +itself. I had imagined that a moral destroyed, rather than enhanced, +the effect of a story; that a descriptive catalogue rather interfered +with one's appreciation of a picture than otherwise; but a friend to +whom I showed my little collection, and to whose opinion I greatly +defer, expressed surprise at the abruptness of the close. "You seem +to leave the end," he said, "tangled and unravelled; one wants the +threads just gathered together again." So I will try and discharge +this task. + +The difficulty is not to arrive at a deterministic theory of life for +most men. Anyone who will take things as he finds them, and fairly +come to a conclusion about them, not hampered by fetters of authority +or tradition, but independently arriving at his own solution, must +inevitably arrive at this; there is no logical escape. But the +difficulty lies in the application of this determinism to life. So +many people persist in saying that it is only a logical account of +the existence of the world, only an ontological solution, not a +life-philosophy. The best man, who can not confute it, only says +mournfully that it will not do for an ethical system; nothing good +can come out of it in practice. + +The writer is one of those who believe that truth, however painful, +is essentially practical. That truth when seen must be applied, must +be worked out into life, is his cherished idea. But he, as much as +anyone, has felt the usual (alas!) and bitter consequences of +determinism; has seen the victim of the thought sit, as it were, +with his hands tied; has seen the determinist sink into temporary +fatalism, and has seen effort relaxed and ideals growing hourly dim. + +He was beginning to suffer in this manner himself when, at Cambridge, +he met Arthur; and met in him not only an inspiring acquaintance, an +encouraging friend, but a man who was far ahead of him on the same +path where he had only ventured to imprint a few trembling footsteps, +and then draw back appalled at the sombre prospect. Arthur was like +one further up the pass, who had turned a corner, so to speak, and +saw the road plain. + +He found a thoroughgoing determinist who was still faithful to the +voice of duty, still striving upwards; he found that his theories, +far from giving him a sense of gloom and hopelessness, rather +bestowed on him a frank expectant habit of soul; a readiness to weigh +circumstances, however small, to overlook nothing as trivial or +common; and a serene trust in an invisible all-ruling Father +([Greek: pantokrator], as he used to say), who really was +ordering the world in the smallest details when He seemed to be +ordering it least, and who wished the best for His children--far +better than they had insight to wish for themselves, and who +thus could be trusted not to be inflicting any useless blow, any +meaningless torment, even when things looked blackest and the world +most unintelligible. + +I do not maintain that Arthur never flagged or swerved from this; the +letter on page 164 will show it was far otherwise: but this was his +deliberate habit of mind; this was the ideal that he was faithful to, +with all allowances for a humanity, and a humanity sorely tried. + +He was an ambitious man by nature; I am sure of that: _that_ he +conquered. He was indolent by nature, averse to detail, and motion, +and change: _that_ he conquered by deliberate rough travel. He +disliked new people: _that_ he set himself to conquer. In the prime +of his life, being of a nature to which health and ordinary enjoyments +of life were very delightful and precious, death was suddenly and +hopelessly set before him; he loved and was disappointed; and the +one charge that was given him, the education of his friend's boy, +was overwhelmed and ended in a moment by a little act of boyish +carelessness. Keenly sensitive to physical pain, the last years of +his life were racked with it, every week, almost every day. + +Such are the materials of a life. Apparently self-regarding in idea, +and prematurely cut short in fact, it has left results on a small +circle of friends that will never die. And why? + +Because, in spite of every trial and every rebuff, he preserved at +heart a serenity that was not thoughtlessness, a cheerfulness that +was not hilarity, a humour that was not cynicism. The biographer has +thought fit to give expression to his darkest hours, and they were +not few; they may appear in the life to have the preponderance, +but he would not cut them out. No life is inspiriting that is not +occasionally weak and faulty. What would David be without his sins; +Peter, without his fall? There was no depth of the despairing spirit, +I say it deliberately, that Arthur had not sounded--and he had not +been, as it were, lowered--deaf, blind, and unconscious--into the +abysmal deeps; it was with an eye alert to mark every ledge of the +dark walls, an ear quick to catch the smallest murmur from below, a +sense keen to experience and record every new depth gained, every +qualm of heart-sickness encountered. Naturally prone to serious +contemplation of life's enigmas, there was not one that life did not +bring with shocking vividness to his touch. + +Further, I believe that some will be found to say, "The teaching of +this life is so selfish; it is all self-contemplation, miserable +self-weariness, gloomy reveries bounded by the narrowest horizons. +If ever he turns to others' evil case, it is with the melancholy +satisfaction of the hypochondriac, who finds his own symptoms +repeated with less or greater variations in others' cases." To these +I could only reply, "You have totally misunderstood the life. It is +not a selfish one. The deepest self-communings are necessary to one +who would know human nature, because self is the only human creature +that can be known with a perfect intimacy. 'No one but yourself can +tell,' as Arthur once wrote to me, 'what ruled the lines in your +face.'" But Arthur, above all others that I have ever known, had +passed from the particular to the general. Plato's praise of love +was based on the principle that the philosopher passed from the love +of one fair form to the love of abstract beauty. The fault is that +so many never pass the initiation. Arthur did cross the threshold; +he passed from the contemplation of his own suffering to the +consideration of the root of all human suffering. He found his best +comfort in doing all he could (and God allowed him little latitude) +to alleviate the sufferings of others. I have letters from various of +his friends, dealing, with his firm and faithful touch, with crisis +after crisis in their lives. No one who had trusted him with his +confidence once, ever shrank from doing it again. I am forced to +admit that, far more than many of his authorized brethren, he +discharged the priestly office. He was self-constituted, or rather +called, to be a priest of God. + +The great mystery of _effectiveness_ he never solved, I think, quite +to his own satisfaction. His life has solved it for me ever since I was +able to regard it _en masse_. It was a great puzzle to him what to +make, for instance, of infants who died at or before birth. "'Saved +from this wicked world' is such a horrible statement in such cases," +he used to say. "If that is the best that can happen to us, what +_can_ we make of life?" And so he was always very urgent about the +influence of example opposed to the influence of precept. "My +father," he said to me, "once spoke to me rather sharply about not +attending at family prayers. He did not attend very closely himself. +I was an observant boy, and I knew it. The very fact that he should +have noticed me proved it. So all I felt was that prayer didn't +matter really, but that, however I felt, I must behave as if I was +devout; whereas, if he had prayed in rapt fervency, unconscious of +anything, I should have been ashamed, I think, to wander. I should +have perceived the beauty of prayer. Ah, my dear friend," he added, +"never speak to a child about a thing unless you _know_ you always +do it yourself, and even then with extreme and tender caution." + +Acting then, on this principle, he did not give us lectures and +rules: but we saw how a man was meeting life, not shirking any of its +problems, and beset by most of its trials. And we wondered what was +the secret spring of his well-being; and when we came to examine it, +we were amazed to find that it was in the strength of principles +resulting from a rigid and logical classification of phenomena. + +So much is said nowadays about the dissidence of the spiritual and +intellectual worlds. Many people, conscious of intellect, are yet +strangely at sea when they are told of their _spiritual_ side. There +appears to be nothing within them answering to that description. +There are, indeed, certain qualities or characteristics, but those +seem not to exist independent of their intellectual and physical +economies, but to permeate both. They do not understand that what is +meant is the faculty of emotional generalization. _That_ they could +understand. Arthur arrived at his principles purely through logical +methods and intellectual operations. He could not, he often +confessed, separate the intellectual and the spiritual. From some +expressions, however, which dropped from him in a letter, part of +which is given on p. 209, I am vaguely aware that he was +reconsidering that point (and it has been suggested to me that such +an explanation will suit his last words); but, in any case, he was of +the greatest possible comfort to us who knew him, because he was an +instance (the only one) of a man who had arrived at his principles +from a purely intellectual basis. + +And let me, finally, correct the impression, if I have by chance, in +developing this latter point, given any colour to the idea that his +character was hard, logical, unaffectionate, unloving. Arthur was +the tenderest, most sympathetic, most loving soul I have ever met; +nothing else would explain his influence. He was not demonstrative, +and was often misunderstood. His tendency was to dissimulate the +strongest of his feelings. Yet I have seen him turn red and pale at +the sight of a letter in the handwriting of a friend he loved; I have +seen him literally tremble with emotion when Edward Bruce, in his +impulsive boyish way, would, with eager demonstrative affection, +throw his arm round his neck, or take his hand. The tears gather in +my eyes as I write, when I recall a few words of his a few days +before he died, when he called me to him. It was after one of those +terrible paroxysms of pain. He was very white and feeble, but +smiling. He took my hand, and said, "What a wonderful thing it is +that pain takes away one's power of thinking of anything except +people. It hurries one away, somewhere, deep, deep down; yet one can +bear to touch the bottom. But when loving anyone carries one away, +one goes down deeper and deeper, and yet feels that there is a +fathomless gulf beyond." + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Memoirs of Arthur Hamilton, B. A. 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