CHAPTER 5.III.
In der Welt weit
Aus der Einsamkeit
Wollen sie Dich locken.
"Faust."
(In the wide world, out of the solitude, will these allure thee.)
The next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Mervale looked as if all the
wrongs of injured woman sat upon her brow. Mr. Mervale seemed
the picture of remorseful guilt and avenging bile. He said
little, except to complain of headache, and to request the eggs
to be removed from the table. Clarence Glyndon--impervious,
unconscious, unailing, impenitent--was in noisy spirits, and
talked for three.
"Poor Mervale! he has lost the habit of good-fellowship, madam.
Another night or two, and he will be himself again!"
"Sir," said Mrs. Mervale, launching a premeditated sentence with
more than Johnsonian dignity, "permit me to remind you that Mr.
Mervale is now a married man, the destined father of a family,
and the present master of a household."
"Precisely the reasons why I envy him so much. I myself have a
great mind to marry. Happiness is contagious."
"Do you still take to painting?" asked Mervale, languidly,
endeavouring to turn the tables on his guest.
"Oh, no; I have adopted your advice. No art, no ideal,-- nothing
loftier than Commonplace for me now. If I were to paint again, I
positively think YOU would purchase my pictures. Make haste and
finish your breakfast, man; I wish to consult you. I have come
to England to see after my affairs. My ambition is to make
money; your counsels and experience cannot fail to assist me
here."
"Ah, you were soon disenchanted of your Philosopher's Stone! You
must know, Sarah, that when I last left Glyndon, he was bent upon
turning alchemist and magician."
"You are witty to-day, Mr. Mervale."
"Upon my honour it is true, I told you so before."
Glyndon rose abruptly.
"Why revive those recollections of folly and presumption? Have I
not said that I have returned to my native land to pursue the
healthful avocations of my kind! Oh, yes! what so healthful, so
noble, so fitted to our nature, as what you call the Practical
Life? If we have faculties, what is their use, but to sell them
to advantage! Buy knowledge as we do our goods; buy it at the
cheapest market, sell it at the dearest. Have you not
breakfasted yet?"
The friends walked into the streets, and Mervale shrank from the
irony with which Glyndon complimented him on his respectability,
his station, his pursuits, his happy marriage, and his eight
pictures in their handsome frames. Formerly the sober Mervale
had commanded an influence over his friend: HIS had been the
sarcasm; Glyndon's the irresolute shame at his own peculiarities.
Now this position was reversed. There was a fierce earnestness
in Glyndon's altered temper which awed and silenced the quiet
commonplace of his friend's character. He seemed to take a
malignant delight in persuading himself that the sober life of
the world was contemptible and base.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "how right you were to tell me to marry
respectably; to have a solid position; to live in decorous fear
of the world and one's wife; and to command the envy of the poor,
the good opinion of the rich. You have practised what you
preach. Delicious existence! The merchant's desk and the
curtain lecture! Ha! ha! Shall we have another night of it?"
Mervale, embarrassed and irritated, turned the conversation upon
Glyndon's affairs. He was surprised at the knowledge of the
world which the artist seemed to have suddenly acquired,
surprised still more at the acuteness and energy with which he
spoke of the speculations most in vogue at the market. Yes;
Glyndon was certainly in earnest: he desired to be rich and
respectable,--and to make at least ten per cent for his money!
After spending some days with the merchant, during which time he
contrived to disorganise all the mechanism of the house, to turn
night into day, harmony into discord, to drive poor Mrs. Mervale
half-distracted, and to convince her husband that he was horribly
hen-pecked, the ill-omened visitor left them as suddenly as he
had arrived. He took a house of his own; he sought the society
of persons of substance; he devoted himself to the money-market;
he seemed to have become a man of business; his schemes were bold
and colossal; his calculations rapid and profound. He startled
Mervale by his energy, and dazzled him by his success. Mervale
began to envy him,--to be discontented with his own regular and
slow gains. When Glyndon bought or sold in the funds, wealth
rolled upon him like the tide of a sea; what years of toil could
not have done for him in art, a few months, by a succession of
lucky chances, did for him in speculation. Suddenly, however, he
relaxed his exertions; new objects of ambition seemed to attract
him. If he heard a drum in the streets, what glory like the
soldier's? If a new poem were published, what renown like the
poet's? He began works in literature, which promised great
excellence, to throw them aside in disgust. All at once he
abandoned the decorous and formal society he had courted; he
joined himself, with young and riotous associates; he plunged
into the wildest excesses of the great city, where Gold reigns
alike over Toil and Pleasure. Through all he carried with him a
certain power and heat of soul. In all society he aspired to
command,--in all pursuits to excel. Yet whatever the passion of
the moment, the reaction was terrible in its gloom. He sank, at
times, into the most profound and the darkest reveries. His
fever was that of a mind that would escape memory,--his repose,
that of a mind which the memory seizes again, and devours as a
prey. Mervale now saw little of him; they shunned each other.
Glyndon had no confidant, and no friend.
