CHAPTER VI.
L'ESPRIT de l'homme est plus penetrant que consequent, et embrasse
plus qu'il ne peat lier.*--VAUVENARGUES.
* "The spirit of man is more penetrating than logical, and
gathers more than it can garner."
AND now Maltravers was constantly with the Merton family; there was no
need of excuse for familiarity on his part. Mr. Merton, charmed to find
his advances not rejected, thrust intimacy upon him.
One day they spent the afternoon at Burleigh, and Evelyn and Caroline
finished their survey of the house,--tapestry, and armour, pictures and
all. This led to a visit to the Arabian horses. Caroline observed that
she was very fond of riding, and went into ecstasies with one of the
animals,--the one, of course, with the longest tail. The next day the
horse was in the stables at the rectory, and a gallant epistle apologized
for the costly gift.
Mr. Merton demurred, but Caroline always had her own way; and so the
horse remained (no doubt, in much amazement and disdain) with the
parson's pony, and the brown carriage horses. The gift naturally
conduced to parties on horseback--it was cruel entirely to separate the
Arab from his friends--and how was Evelyn to be left behind?--Evelyn, who
had never yet ridden anything more spirited than an old pony! A
beautiful little horse belonging to an elderly lady, now growing too
stout to ride, was to be sold hard by. Maltravers discovered the
treasure, and apprised Mr. Merton of it--he was too delicate to affect
liberality to the rich heiress. The horse was bought; nothing could go
quieter; Evelyn was not at all afraid. They made two or three little
excursions. Sometimes only Mr. Merton and Maltravers accompanied the
young ladies, sometimes the party was more numerous. Maltravers appeared
to pay equal attention to Caroline and her friend; still Evelyn's
inexperience in equestrian matters was an excuse for his being ever by
her side. They had a thousand opportunities to converse; and Evelyn now
felt more at home with him; her gentle gayety, her fanciful yet chastened
intellect, found a voice. Maltravers was not slow to discover that
beneath her simplicity there lurked sense, judgment, and imagination.
Insensibly his own conversation took a higher flight. With the freedom
which his mature years and reputation gave him, he mingled eloquent
instruction with lighter and more trifling subjects; be directed her
earnest and docile mind, not only to new fields of written knowledge, but
to many of the secrets of Nature, subtle or sublime. He had a wide range
of scientific as well as literary lore; the stars, the flowers, the
phenomena of the physical world, afforded themes on which he descanted
with the fervent love of a poet and the easy knowledge of a sage.
Mr. Merton, observing that little or nothing of sentiment mingled with
their familiar intercourse, felt perfectly at ease; and knowing that
Maltravers had been intimate with Lumley, he naturally concluded that he
was aware of the engagement between Evelyn and his friend. Meanwhile
Maltravers appeared unconscious that such a being as Lord Vargrave
existed.
It is not to be wondered at that the daily presence, the delicate
flattery of attention from a man like Maltravers, should strongly impress
the imagination, if not the heart, of a susceptible girl. Already
prepossessed in his favour, and wholly unaccustomed to a society which
combined so many attractions, Evelyn regarded him with unspeakable
veneration; to the darker shades in his character she was blind,--to her,
indeed, they did not appear. True that once or twice in mixed society
his disdainful and imperious temper broke hastily and harshly forth. To
folly, to pretension, to presumption, he showed but slight forbearance.
The impatient smile, the biting sarcasm, the cold repulse, that might
gall, yet could scarce be openly resented, betrayed that he was one who
affected to free himself from the polished restraints of social
intercourse. He had once been too scrupulous in not wounding vanity; he
was now too indifferent to it. But if sometimes this unamiable trait of
character, as displayed to others, chilled or startled Evelyn, the
contrast of his manner towards herself was a flattery too delicious not
to efface all other recollections. To her ear his voice always softened
its tone; to her capacity of mind ever bent as by sympathy, not
condescension; to her--the young, the timid, the half-informed--to her
alone he did not disdain to exhibit all the stores of his knowledge, all
the best and brightest colours of his mind. She modestly wondered at so
strange a preference. Perhaps a sudden and blunt compliment which
Maltravers once addressed to her may explain it. One day, when she had
conversed more freely and more fully than usual, he broke in upon her
with this abrupt exclamation,--
"Miss Cameron, you must have associated from your childhood with
beautiful minds. I see already that from the world, vile as it is, you
have nothing of contagion to fear. I have heard you talk on the most
various matters, on many of which your knowledge is imperfect; but you
have never uttered one mean idea, or one false sentiment. Truth seems
intuitive to you."
It was indeed this singular purity of heart which made to the
world-wearied man the chief charm in Evelyn Cameron. From this purity
came, as from the heart of a poet, a thousand new and heaven-taught
thoughts which had in them a wisdom of their own,--thoughts that often
brought the stern listener back to youth, and reconciled him with life.
The wise Maltravers learned more from Evelyn than Evelyn did from
Maltravers.
There was, however, another trait--deeper than that of temper--in
Maltravers, and which was, unlike the latter, more manifest to her than
to others,--his contempt for all the things her young and fresh
enthusiasm had been taught to prize, the fame that endeared and hallowed
him to her eyes, the excitement of ambition, and its rewards. He spoke
with such bitter disdain of great names and great deeds. "Children of a
larger growth they were," said he, one day, in answer to her defence of
the luminaries of their kind, "allured by baubles as poor as the rattle
and the doll's house. How many have been made great, as the word is, by
their vices! Paltry craft won command to Themistocles; to escape his
duns, the profligate Caesar heads an army, and achieves his laurels;
Brutus, the aristocrat, stabs his patron, that patricians might again
trample on plebeians, and that posterity might talk of _him_. The love
of posthumous fame--what is it but as puerile a passion for notoriety as
that which made a Frenchman I once knew lay out two thousand pounds in
sugar-plums? To be talked of--how poor a desire! Does it matter whether
it be by the gossips of this age or the next? Some men are urged on to
fame by poverty--that is an excuse for their trouble; but there is no
more nobleness in the motive than in that which makes yon poor ploughman
sweat in the eye of Phoebus. In fact, the larger part of eminent men,
instead of being inspired by any lofty desire to benefit their species or
enrich the human mind, have acted or composed, without any definite
object beyond the satisfying a restless appetite for excitement, or
indulging the dreams of a selfish glory. And when nobler aspirations
have fired them, it has too often been but to wild fanaticism and
sanguinary crime. What dupes of glory ever were animated by a deeper
faith, a higher ambition, than the frantic followers of Mahomet,--taught
to believe that it was virtue to ravage the earth, and that they sprang
from the battle-field into paradise? Religion and liberty, love of
country, what splendid motives to action! Lo, the results, when the
motives are keen, the action once commenced! Behold the Inquisition, the
Days of Terror, the Council of Ten, and the Dungeons of Venice!"
Evelyn was scarcely fit to wrestle with these melancholy fallacies; but
her instinct of truth suggested an answer.
"What would society be if all men thought as you do, and acted up to the
theory? No literature, no art, no glory, no patriotism, no virtue, no
civilization! You analyze men's motives--how can you be sure you judge
rightly? Look to the results,--our benefit, our enlightenment! If the
results be great, Ambition is a virtue, no matter what motive awakened
it. Is it not so?"
Evelyn spoke blushingly and timidly. Maltravers, despite his own tenets,
was delighted with her reply.
"You reason well," said he, with a smile. "But how are we sure that the
results are such as you depict them? Civilization, enlightenment,--they
are vague terms, hollow sounds. Never fear that the world will reason as
I do. Action will never be stagnant while there are such things as gold
and power. The vessel will move on--let the galley-slaves have it to
themselves. What I have seen of life convinces me that progress is not
always improvement. Civilization has evils unknown to the savage state;
and _vice versa_. Men in all states seem to have much the same
proportion of happiness. We judge others with eyes accustomed to dwell
on our own circumstances. I have seen the slave, whom we commiserate,
enjoy his holiday with a rapture unknown to the grave freeman. I have
seen that slave made free, and enriched by the benevolence of his master;
and he has been gay no more. The masses of men in all countries are much
the same. If there are greater comforts in the hardy North, Providence
bestows a fertile earth and a glorious heaven, and a mind susceptible to
enjoyment as flowers to light, on the voluptuous indulgence of the
Italian, or the contented apathy of the Hindoo. In the mighty
organization of good and evil, what can we vain individuals effect? They
who labour most, how doubtful is their reputation! Who shall say whether
Voltaire or Napoleon, Cromwell or Caesar, Walpole or Pitt, has done most
good or most evil? It is a question casuists may dispute on. Some of us
think that poets have been the delight and the lights of men; another
school of philosophy has treated them as the corrupters of the
species,--panderers to the false glory of war, to the effeminacies of
taste, to the pampering of the passions above the reason. Nay, even
those who have effected inventions that change the face of the earth--the
printing-press, gunpowder, the steam-engine,--men hailed as benefactors
by the unthinking herd, or the would-be sages,--have introduced ills
unknown before, adulterating and often counterbalancing the good. Each
new improvement in machinery deprives hundreds of food. Civilization is
the eternal sacrifice of one generation to the next. An awful sense of
the impotence of human agencies has crushed down the sublime aspirations
for mankind which I once indulged. For myself, I float on the great
waters, without pilot or rudder, and trust passively to the winds, that
are the breath of God."
This conversation left a deep impression upon Evelyn; it inspired her
with a new interest in one in whom so many noble qualities lay dulled and
torpid, by the indulgence of a self-sophistry, which, girl as she was,
she felt wholly unworthy of his powers. And it was this error in
Maltravers that, levelling his superiority, brought him nearer to her
heart. Ah, if she could restore him to his race! It was a dangerous
desire, but it intoxicated and absorbed her.
Oh, how sweetly were those fair evenings spent,--the evenings of happy
June! And then, as Maltravers suffered the children to tease him into
talk about the wonders he had seen in the regions far away, how did the
soft and social hues of his character unfold themselves! There is in all
real genius so much latent playfulness of nature it almost seems as if
genius never could grow old. The inscriptions that youth writes upon the
tablets of an imaginative mind are, indeed, never wholly
obliterated,--they are as an invisible writing, which gradually becomes
clear in the light and warmth. Bring genius familiarly with the young,
and it is as young as they are. Evelyn did not yet, therefore, observe
the disparity of _years_ between herself and Maltravers. But the
disparity of knowledge and power served for the present to interdict to
her that sweet feeling of equality in commune, without which love is
rarely a very intense affection in women. It is not so with men. But by
degrees she grew more and more familiar with her stern friend; and in
that familiarity there was perilous fascination to Maltravers. She could
laugh him at any moment out of his most moody reveries; contradict with a
pretty wilfulness his most favourite dogmas; nay, even scold him, with
bewitching gravity, if he was not always at the command of her wishes--or
caprice. At this time it seemed certain that Maltravers would fall in
love with Evelyn; but it rested on more doubtful probabilities whether
Evelyn would fall in love with him.
