 | CHAPTER VI. A volume from the life of Herbert Barclay |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
When Alfred walked out to Mr. Barclay's,
Herbert, on parting from him, went to Langley's
office. Thither he was in the habit of
resorting daily; for Langley had completely
succeeded in bringing about the intimacy he
had sought. Herbert talked to him freely
and listened credulously. He was confidential,—often
without knowing it; and when
Langley, speaking of himself, described emotions
of which his mind was incapable, motives
foreign to his nature, doings where he
exaggerated his own importance, plans of
public interest in which himself was to be the
chief mover, Herbert felt pleased with the intimacy
and gratified with the confidence of
one, whose feelings were so noble and whose
influence was so extensive. Langley bore
calculated to win his confidence and his good
opinion. The direct flattery which the weak
or egotistical absorb with self-complacency,
and which the obsequious hacks, self-hired to
fortune, pour into the ears of the veteran favorites
of Mammon, to stimulate their vulgar
susceptibilities, he perceived would nauseate
Herbert, who, though unpractised in the detection
of design, possessed a natural delicacy
and modesty that rejected what was
gross, however and whence-ever presented.
Langley did not flatter him,—he flattered his
feelings. He affected sympathy with his desires.
He met the utterance of his undefiled
emotions with such responsive precision, that
Herbert mistook the wordy echo for a soul-pulsating
accord. Thus, within a week after
their first meeting, they were on a footing of
friendly association. Herbert was more with
Langley than with Alfred Grey.
Alfred held himself aloof from the circle
of, what he called, frivolous ambition, into the
attracted. Warm in his feelings, and refined
in his tastes, he avoided the shallow intercourse
which satisfied neither. He was annoyed
that Herbert, whom he believed to be
capable of high things, should take so much
pleasure in superficial amusement. Herbert,
in a delightful animation from the novelty and
liveliness of the scenes in which he found
himself a prominent actor, felt his excitement
dulled by the tone of Alfred, who mingled
with the damnatory remarks on fashionable
society, which jarred the present feelings of
Herbert, personal satire on his associates
which piqued him. He, therefore, did not
seek Alfred so much as he at first had done;
but gave most of the time that was unconsumed
by dinners, balls, and visiting, to Langley,
who not only had made a very favorable
impression on him, but in whom he always
found a ready ear and responding tongue.
An unconscious cause of the attractiveness
of Langley's society to him, was one of the
never failed to introduce. Langley, who had
closely watched Herbert and Miss Walsall in
public, let no opportunity escape when alone
with Herbert of probing his feelings; and the
growing pleasure he perceived Herbert to
evince when Miss Walsall was the theme of
their social dialogue, confirmed him in the
unwelcome conclusion to which observation
in company had led.
The effect of Langley's first suspicion of
an inclination in Herbert towards Miss Walsall
was to determine him to be guarded in
his own attentions. For a moment he considered
whether he could not repulse Herbert's
first advance by an open and bold demonstration
on his own part; but he immediately
reflected, that even should Herbert's
modesty co-operate with this plan, Miss Walsall
would frustrate it; for that she would not
suffer a young man, so calculated to gratify
her fondness of admiration, to be withdrawn
from her through his own timidity. Moreover,
upon her disposition towards himself: he had
as yet no hold upon her feelings, and he
judged that one could only be obtained gradually
and with slow art.
The obstacle which Langley saw thus unexpectedly
thrust in his way, far from discouraging
him from prosecuting his new
scheme, stimulated his resolution; for he was
in all things enterprising; and the selfishness
which suggested the design, incited him, by
another impulse of its flexible activity, to
thwart any one who might, however innocently,
balk its execution. He risked nothing,
and the defeat of a rival wonld swell the
pleasure of triumph.
When Herbert entered Langley's office,
he found Mr. Penniman there. Langley, obobserving
that Herbert hesitated whether he
should not retire, exclaimed:—“We have
finished our business; come in. You are just
in time to save us from the sin of scandal, for
we were talking of you; and 'twould have
had spoken five minutes of a third person
without saying some harm of him.”
“I confess,” said Mr. Penniman, “I was
about to vent some bachelor indignation on
you. What a shame, that a bright young
fellow like you should hide your light under
the bushel of matrimony. I hope, though,
it is only the tattle of this gossiping town.”
“Mr. Grey was telling me, not ten minutes
since,” said Herbert, “that as the newest
comer, I must submit to receive a large share
of—”
“—The braying of the asses and the hissing
of the geese. That was his phraseology,
was it not?” interrupted Penniman. “Your
friend Grey says, that gossip begotten of idleness
by malice is nurtured by ignorance: he
is a fellow of most unsavory similes. But
seriously, Barclay, I am concerned,—not on
your account, for I'll make no affection of
that sort,—but on my own, that you should
think of following the common herd into the
company with you. A man is obliged to turn
selfish in self-defence when he is married.—
You would be totally lost, too, to the world.
It's a pity a promising fellow like you should
be so soon spoilt in that way. Take you
pleasure first. Where do you see happier
men than myself and Langley? A little love,
like a little wine, raises a man's spirits very
pleasantly; but matrimony is an excess of it,
which, like a debauch, sinks him below par.”
“Why Penniman,” said Langley, “since
when have you turned misogamist? I have
heard you discourse quite musically in a different
key, and that not many months back.”
“The report then is true,” rejoined Penniman,
“that you, too, are in the sentimental
vein just now. Well, I have some influence
with Miss Walsall, and I shall use it to defeat
you both.”
“Miss Walsall!” exclaimed Herbert involuntary.
“Ha! ha! ha! Here you have a specimen
said Langley.
“Impertinence, forsooth!” cried Penniman.
“Yes: impertinence to Miss Walsall,” said
Langley. “Such a report is nothing to
me—”
“It seems to be something to our friend
Barclay,” said Penniman. “And I suspect it
will be something to Mary Walsall. We
shall all meet at the Doctor's this evening,
and I'll ask her. She shall know, too, Langley,
of your gallant indignation at the impertinence
of the town towards her for believing
that she has added you to the list of her lovers.”
“You are incorrigible, Penniman,” said
Langley. “When you know him as well
as I do, Mr. Barclay, you wo'nt mind what
he says.”
“Mr. Barclay wo'nt mind what any body
says,” said Penniman, “when he knows the
world as well as we do, Langley: he'll learn
believe what I hear; only what I see. This
is a golden rule, Barclay. It makes one independent.”
“But it is an independence like that of the
hermit,” said Langley, “who needs nothing
because he gives nothing. If you consort
with your fellow-men, they must put faith in
you, and you in them; and, putting faith in
them, you must believe their words. To
gain independence by distrust, is as if you
drowned yourself for the pleasure of a bath.”
“Aye, but I do'nt drown myself,” answered
Penniman; “and for this very reason,—
that I freight not my bark in partnership.—
The entanglements of the passions and the
dependences of confidence are the shoals and
rocks that wreck happiness. I float buoyantly
on the surface of life, taking my pleasure,
not deeply, but gaily, and safely,—and
what is not safe is not pleasure. For this I
need neither to trust nor to be trusted. The
world is to me my inn where I take my ease,
and pay for it.”
“What the cold service of an inn is to the
comfort of the private fireside,” said Langley,
“such is the enjoyment of mercenary
pleasure to the steady happiness of hearty
affection. And, even were it possible to buy
the best pleasures with money, how few are
there who could possess them: the daily labor
of most is just sufficient to earn the necessaries
of life. But nature's laws are not
so niggard, as that the happiness of man
should be dependent upon the amassing of a
superfluity. Within himself he bears the
seed of enjoyment, which, rightly cultivated,
brings forth richly without the manure of
outward wealth.”
“Nor does nature,” said Penniman, “prohibit
me from using the means I possess after
my own fashion for my own pleasure. She
prohibits the abuse of every thing. If I injure
no one, I commit no abuse. And I
avoid committing any, because my gratifications
are independent of others' interests.—
The temptations to selfishness—to sacrifice
I depend not on others' feelings and
wishes nor they on mine. My pleasure gives
pain to no one. I let the world take its
course and I take mine; and surely, if each
one in it made himself as contented as I am,
t'would be a happier world than it is. To
effect the general happiness, the best means
is for every individual to provide for himself
and let others alone.”
“This is impossible,” said Langley. “Let
a man centre his wants and pleasures as
pointedly in himself as the most exclusive
selfishness can demand; still, singly, he not
only cannot provide for himself, but he will
affect the being of the most unconscious ministers
to his gratification. He cannot let
others alone. Though all around him are
willing hirelings that he pays daily, still, he
binds himself to them and they to him: the
bond is mutual interest. A chain joins them,
though it be the artificial chain of gold.—
This conducts the spirit of sympathy, which,
pervades the whole human race, constituting
it ONE, present in every individual of the
universal whole, now manifesting itself in intense
lightning, and now exhibiting its power
by the moral languor which attends its feeble
action, but never totally absent in any sane
being.”—
Here the conversation was arrested by the
entrance of one of Langley's clients. To
neither of them was the interruption unacceptable.
Penniman had not zeal enough to
take interest in an abstract discussion, and
was beginning to feel the prolonging of it a
bore. He immediately rose, telling Langley
as he went out, that he would leave him to
the “amassing of a superfluity.” Langley
cared as little as Penniman for the solution of
a moral problem; for, of the native worth and
majestic beauty of truth, he had as clear a
sense as the trader had of honesty, who at
the end of a prosperous career declared that
“cheating does'nt thrive; honesty is the best
an active mind that grappled willingly with
any subject, and being ambitious, he was
ever eager to join issue where there was opportunity
for display. His intellect was cultivated,
and where his own resources failed,
his good memory supplied him with the
opinions of others, which he quoted with or
without acknowledgment according to circumstances.
He had given this turn to the
conversation to evade the bantering of Penniman,
and was glad to make his escape complete.
To Herbert, the interruption was a
grateful relief. The intimation from Penniman
that Langley was a lover of Miss Walsall,
was a revelation to him. He thought
not of Langley. Jealousy was the unseen
torch that flamed an accumulated heat in his
bosom,—itself was enveloped in the sudden
glare it caused. His own feelings were, as
by a flash of lightning, made known to him.
He loved Miss Walsall. He walked from
Langley's office into the street as if transformed:
was suddenly wrought in him that confused
him with a mysterious delight. He walked
on unconscious of volition in a dim abstraction.
Ordinary objects passed before him
with the lifeless aspect of a dream's creations.
He had gone beyond the confines of the town
before his mind awoke to distinct consciousness.
He turned back with a light step. In
a few moments he was at Dr. Walsall's door.
On entering, he found Langley with Miss
Walsall. He was startled. In Langley's expression,
embarrassment followed surprise.
Miss Walsall was alone collected. A smile
spread over her soft countenance between her
two lovers, as if it grew from their discontent.
Herbert instantly recovered his self-possession.
His discomposure was superficial.
The impulse within him was at that
moment too strong to be susceptible of check
from without. He engaged in conversation
with vivacity.
Miss Walsall's manner in company was fascinating.
of a lady—was united in her a confiding ease
which held the attention her beauty attracted.
An expression of pleasure spoke from her
countenance more engagingly than words to
those who conversed with her; and the attentiveness
which proved its sincerity, won still
more by its own charm. Her eye drew to
itself the gaze by its transparence: the beholder,
deluded by its lucid intentness, ever
looked to it for more than her words conveyed.
She followed rather than led in conversation,
which she supported more by the
encouragement she gave to others than by
direct contribution. She captivated through
her ear rather than through her tongue.—
Some of her companions were more lively or
more copious talkers; but she was unequalled
as a listener.
The wish to please—the predominant one
in her nature—was never stronger than on
this occasion. The attentions of Langley
were no longer equivocal, and Herbert's interest
greeted him in her most winning manner.—
The animation of Herbert soon communicated
itself,—to her, through her ready facility in
harmonising with the mood of others,—and
to Langley, through rivalry. Langley had
never seen Herbert so voluble. He could not
but attribute the change to art. The discovery
made through Penniman to Herbert,
that he, Langley, was a lover of Miss Walsall,
he inferred had determined Herbert to
urge his suit more vigorously, and that under
this influence he had hastened to see her now,
though he was, by invitation, to be at her
house in the evening. The hearty spirit of
Herbert's conversation, he regarded as the
result of this sudden determination. He
himself was actuated by a similar motive, and
although too sagacious to judge Herbert by
himself, he was of too cold a constitution to
ascribe such an effect to the spontaneous glow
of feeling, even had his knowledge of Herbert's
state of mind been more definite than
cause of Herbert's visit and conduct, he
knew how to shape his own course in reference
to them, and accordingly, he at once
raised his mind to a pitch corresponding to
that of Herbert's; for he was capable of marshalling
in a moment his own powers to meet
circumstances, although the impulse which
moved such a nature as Herbert's was not always
within the scope of his penetration.
| CHAPTER VI. A volume from the life of Herbert Barclay | |