 | CHAPTER XII. Ormond, or, The secret witness |  |
12. CHAPTER XII.
I know no task more arduous than a just delineation
of the character of Ormond. To scrutinize
and ascertain our own principles are abundantly
difficult. To exhibit these principles to
the world with absolute sincerity, can scarcely
be expected. We are prompted to conceal and
to feign by a thousand motives; but truly to
pourtray the motives, and relate the actions of
another, appears utterly impossible. The attempt,
however, if made with fidelity and diligence, is
not without its use.
To comprehend the whole truth, with regard
to the character and conduct of another, may be
denied to any human being, but different observers
will have, in their pictures, a greater or less
portion of this truth. No representation will be
wholly false, and some though not perfectly, may
yet be considerably exempt from error.
Ormond was, of all mankind, the being most
difficult and most deserving to be studied. A
fortunate concurrence of incidents has unveiled
his actions to me with more distinctness than to
any other. My knowledge is far from being absolute,
but I am conscious of a kind of duty, first
to my friend, and secondly to mankind, to impart
the knowledge I possess.
I shall omit to mention the means by which I
became acquainted with his character, nor shall
I enter, at this time, into every part of it. His
political projects are likely to possess an extensive
influence on the future condition of this western
world. I do not conceive myself authorized
which I gained, in some sort, surreptitiously, or
at least, by means of which he was not apprized.
I shall merely explain the maxims by which he
was accustomed to regulate his private deportment.
No one could entertain loftier conceptions of
human capacity than Ormond, but he carefully
distinguished between men, in the abstract, and
men as they are. The former were beings to be
impelled, by the breath of accident, in a right or
a wrong road, but whatever direction they should
receive, it was the property of their nature to
persist in it. Now this impulse had been given.
No single being could rectify the error. It was
the business of the wise man to form a just estimate
of things, but not to attempt, by individual
efforts, so chimerical an enterprize as that of promoting
the happiness of mankind. Their condition
was out of the reach of a member of a corrupt
society to controul. A mortal poison pervaded
the whole system by means of which every
thing received was converted into bane and purulence.
Efforts designed to ameliorate the condition
of an individual, were sure of answering a
contrary purpose. The principles of the social
machine must be rectified, before men can be beneficially
active. Our motives may be neutral or
beneficent, but our actions tend merely to the
production of evil.
The idea of total forbearance was not less delusive.
Man could not be otherwise than an cause
of perpetual operation and efficacy. He was
part of a machine, and as such had not power to
withhold his agency. Contiguousuess to other
parts, that is, to other men, was all that was necessary
to render him a powerful concurrent.
What then was the conduct incumbent on him?
his motives were malignant, or kind, or indifferent,
the mass of evil was equally and necessarily
augmented. It did not follow from these preliminaries
that virtue and duty were terms without
a meaning, but they require us to promote our
own happiness and not the happiness of others.
Not because the former end is intrinsically preferable,
not because the happiness of others is
unworthy of primary consideration, but because
it is not to be attained. Our power in the present
state of things is subjected to certain limits.
A man may reasonably hope to accomplish his
end, when he proposes nothing but his own good:
Any other point is inaccessible.
He must not part with benevolent desire: This
is a constituent of happiness. He sees the value
of general and particular felicity; he sometimes
paints it to his fancy, but if this be rarely done, it
is in consequence of virtuous sensibility, which is
afflicted on observing that his pictures are reversed
in the real state of mankind. A wise man
will relinquish the pursuit of general benefit, but
not the desire of that benefit, or the perception
of that in which this benefit consists, because
these are among the ingredients of virtue and the
sources of his happiness.
Principles, in the looser sense of that term,
have little influence on practice. Ormond was,
for the most part, governed, like others, by the
influences of education and present circumstances.
It required a vigilant discernment to distinguish
whether the stream of his actions flowed
from one or the other. His income was large,
and he managed it nearly on the same principles
as other men. He thought himself entitled to all
the splendour and ease which it would purchase,
but his taste was claborate and correct. He gratified
it afforded were pleasing, but made no
sacrifices to the love of distinction. He gave no
expensive entertainments for the sake of exciting
the admiration of stupid gazers, or the flattery or
envy of those who shared them. Pompous equipage
and retinue were modes of appropriating the
esteem of mankind which he held in profound
contempt. The garb of his attendants was fashioned
after the model suggested by his imagination,
and not in compliance with the dictates of
custom.
He treated with systematic negligence, the ettiquette
that regulates the intercourse of persons
of a certain class. He, every where, acted, in
this respect, as if he were alone, or among familiar
associates. The very appellations of Sir, and
Madam, and Mister, were, in his apprehension,
servile and ridiculous, and as custom or law had
annexed no penalty to the neglect of these, he
conformed to his own opinions. It was easier for
him to reduce his notions of equality to practice
than for most others. To level himself with others
was an act of condescension and not of arrogance.
It was requisite to descend rather than to rise; a
task the most easy, if we regard the obstacles
flowing from the prejudice of mankind, but far
most difficult, if the motives of the agent be considered.
That in which he chiefly placed his boast, was
his sincerity. To this he refused no sacrifice. In
consequence of this, his deportment was disgusting
to weak minds, by a certain air of ferocity and
haughty negligence. He was without the attractions
of candour, because he regarded not the
happiness of others, but in subservience to his
sincerity. Hence it was natural to suppose that
the character of this man was easily understood.
more exempt from the instigations of vanity.
He set light by the good opinions of others, had
no compassion for their prejudices, and hazarded
assertions in their presence which he knew would
be, in the highest degree, shocking to their previous
notions. They might take it, he would
say, as they list. Such were his conceptions, and
the last thing he wonld give up was the use of
his tongue. It was his way to give utterance to
the suggestions of his understanding. If they
were disadvantageous to him in the opinions of
others, it was well. He did not wish to be regarded
in any light, but the true one. He was
contented to be rated by the world, at his just
value. If they esteemed him for qualities he did
not possess, was he wrong in rectifying their mistake:
But in reality, if they valued him for that
to which he had no claim, and which he himself
considered as contemptible, he must naturally desire
to shew them their error, and forfeit that
praise which, in his own opinion, was a badge of
infamy.
In listening to his discourse, no one's claim to
sincerity appeared less questionable. A somewhat
different conclusion would be suggested by
a survey of his actions. In early youth he discovered
in himself a remarkable facility in imitating
the voice and gestures of others. His memory
was eminently retentive, and these qualities would
have rendered his career, in the theatrical profession,
illustrious, had not his condition raised him
above it. His talents were occasionally exerted
for the entertainment of convivial parties, and
private circle but he gradually withdrew from
such scenes, as he advanced in age, and devoted
his abilities to higher purposes.
His aversion to duplicity had flowed from experience
of its evils. He had frequently been
made its victim; In consequence of this his temper
had become suspicious, and he was apt to impute
deceit on occasions when others, of no inconsiderable
sagacity, were abundantly disposed to
confidence. One transaction had occurred in his
life, in which the consequences of being misled
by false appearances were of the utmost moment
to his honor and safety. The usual mode of solving
his doubts, he deemed insufficient, and the
eagerness of his curiosity tempted him, for the
first time, to employ, for this end, his talents at
imitation. He therefore assumed a borrowed
character and guise, and performed his part with
so much skill as fully to accomplish his design.
He whose mask would have secured him from all
other attempts, was thus taken through an avenue
which his caution had overlooked, and the hypocrisy
of his pretensions unquestionably ascertained.
Perhaps, in a comprehensive view, the success
of this expedient was unfortunate. It served to
recommend this method of encountering deceit,
and informed him of the extent of those powers
which are so liable to be abused. A subtlety
much inferior to Ormond's would suffice to recommend
this mode of action. It was defensible
on no other principle than necessity. The treachery
of mankind compelled him to resort to it. If
they should deal in a manner as upright and explicit
as himself, it would be superfluous. But
since they were in the perpetual use of stratagems
and artifices, it was allowable, he thought, to
wield the same arms.
It was easy to perceive, however, that this
practice was recommended to him by other considerations.
He was delighted with the power
it conferred. It enabled him to gain access, as if
and baffle their profoundest contrivances to hide
themselves from his view. It flattered him with
the possession of something like Omniscience. It
was besides an art, in which, as in others, every
accession of skill, was a source of new gratification.
Compared with this the performance of
the actor is the sport of children. This profession
he was accustomed to treat with merciless
ridicule, and no doubt, some of his contempt
arose from a secret comparison, between the theatrical
species of imitation and his own. He
blended in his own person the functions of poet
and actor, and his dramas were not fictitious but
real. The end that he proposed was not the
amusement of a play-house mob. His were
scenes in which hope and fear exercised a genuine
influence, and in which was maintained that
resemblance to truth, so audaciously and grossly
violated on the stage.
It is obvious how many singular conjunctures
must have grown out of this propensity. A mind
of uncommon energy like Ormond's, which had
occupied a wide sphere of action, and which
could not fail of confederating its efforts with
those of minds like itself, must have given birth
to innumerable incidents, not unworthy to be
exhibited by the most eloquent historian. It is
not my business to relate any of these. The fate
of Miss Dudley is intimately connected with his.
What influence he obtained over her destiny, in
consequence of this dexterity, will appear in the
sequel.
It arose from these circumstanees, that no one
was more impenetrable than Ormond, though no
one's real character seemed more easily discerned.
The projects that occupied his attention
were diffused over an ample space; and his instruments
field, whose bounds were those of the civilized
world. To the vulgar eye, therefore, he appeared
a man of speculation and seclusion, and
was equally inscrutible in his real and assumed
characters. In his real, his intents were too lofty
and comprehensive, as well as too assiduously
shrowded from profane inspection, for them to
scan. In the latter, appearances were merely
calculated to mislead and not to enlighten.
In his youth he had been guilty of the usual excesses
incident to his age and character. These
had disappeared and yielded place to a more regular
and circumspect system of action. In the
choice of his pleasures he still exposed himself to
the censure of the world. Yet there was more of
grossness and licentiousness in the expression of
his tenets, than in the tenets themselves. So far
as temperance regards the maintainance of health,
no man adhered to its precepts with more fidelity,
but he esteemed some species of connection
with the other sex as venial, which mankind in
general are vehement in condemning.
In his intercourse with women, he deemed himself
superior to the allurements of what is called
love. His inferences were drawn from a consideration
of the physical propensities of an human
being. In his scale of enjoyments the gratifications
which belonged to these, were placed at
the bottom. Yet he did not entirely disdain
them, and when they could be purchased without
the sacrifice of superior advantages, they were
sufficiently acceptable.
His mistake on this head was the result of his
ignorance. He had not hitherto met with a female
worthy of his confidence. Their views
were limited and superficial, or their understandings
were betrayed by the tenderness of their
no superiority to what he accounted vulgar
prejudice, and no affinity with the sentiments
which he cherished with most devotion. Their
presence had been capable of exciting no emotion
which he did not quickly discover to be vague
and sensual; and the uniformity of his experience
at length instilled into him a belief, that the
intellectual constitution of females was essentially
defective. He denied the reality of that passion
which claimed a similitude or sympathy of minds
as one of its ingredients.
| CHAPTER XII. Ormond, or, The secret witness | |