Part 25 (1/2)
I have heard those possessed of rhetoric and imaginative tendency declare that they should have been outwardly great and inwardly free, victorious poets and heroes, if fate had allowed them a certain quant.i.ty of dollars. I have found it impossible to believe them. In early youth, penury may have power to freeze the genial current of the soul, and prevent it, during one short life, from becoming sensible of its true vocation and destiny. But if it _has_ become conscious of these, and yet there is not advance in any and all circ.u.mstances, no change would avail.
No, our poor man must begin higher! He must, in the first place, really believe there is a G.o.d who ruleth--a fact to which few men vitally bear witness, though most are ready to affirm it with the lips.
2. He must sincerely believe that rank and wealth
”are but the guinea's stamp; The man's the gold;”--
take his stand on his claims as a human being, made in G.o.d's own likeness, urge them when the occasion permits, but never be so false to them as to feel put down or injured by the want of mere external advantages.
3. He must accept his lot, while he is in it. If he can change it for the better, let his energies be exerted to do so. But if he cannot, there is none that will not yield an opening to Eden, to the glories of Zion, and even to the subterranean enchantments of our strange estate.
There is none that may not be used with n.o.bleness.
”Who sweeps a room, as for Thy sake Makes that and th' action clean.”
4. Let him examine the subject enough to be convinced that there is not that vast difference between the employments that is supposed, in the means of expansion and refinement. All depends on the spirit as to the use that is made of an occupation. Mahomet was not a wealthy merchant, and profound philosophers have ripened on the benches, not of the lawyers, but the shoemakers. It did not hurt Milton to be a poor schoolmaster, nor Shakspeare to do the errands of a London play-house.
Yes, ”the mind is its own place,” and if it will keep that place, all doors will be opened from it. Upon this subject we hope to offer some hints at a future day, in speaking of the different trades, professions, and modes of labor.
5. Let him remember that from no man can the chief wealth be kept. On all men the sun and stars s.h.i.+ne; for all the oceans swell and rivers flow. All men may be brothers, lovers, fathers, friends; before all lie the mysteries of birth and death. If these wondrous means of wealth and blessing be likely to remain misused or unused, there are quite as many disadvantages in the way of the man of money as of the man who has none.
Few who drain the choicest grape know the ecstasy of bliss and knowledge that follows a full draught of the wine of life. That has mostly been reserved for those on whose thoughts society, as a public, makes but a moderate claim. And if bitterness followed on the joy, if your fountain was frozen after its first gush by the cold winds of the world, yet, moneyless men, ye are at least not wholly ignorant of what a human being has force to know. You have not skimmed over surfaces, and been dozing on beds of down, during the rare and stealthy visits of Love and the Muses. Remember this, and, looking round on the arrangements of the lottery, see if you did not draw a prize in your turn.
It will be seen that our ideal poor man needs to be religious, wise, dignified, and humble, grasping at nothing, claiming all; willing to wait, never willing to give up; servile to none, the servant of all, and esteeming it the glory of a man to serve. The character is rare, but not unattainable. We have, however, found an approach to it more frequent in woman than in man.
THE CELESTIAL EMPIRE.
During a late visit to Boston, I visited with great pleasure the Chinese Museum, which has been opened there.
There was much satisfaction in surveying its rich contents, if merely on account of their splendor and elegance, which, though fantastic to our tastes, presented an obvious standard of its own by which to prize it.
The rich dresses of the imperial court, the magnificent jars, (the largest worth three hundred dollars, and looking as if it was worth much more,) the present-boxes and ivory work, the elegant interiors of the home and counting-room,--all these gave pleasure by their perfection, each in its kind.
But the chief impression was of that unity of existence, so opposite to the European, and, for a change, so pleasant, from its repose and gilded lightness. Their imperial majesties do really seem so ”perfectly serene,” that we fancy we might become so under their sway, if not ”thoroughly virtuous,” as they profess to be. Entirely a new mood would be ours, as we should sup in one of those pleasure boats, by the light of fanciful lanterns, or listen to the tinkling of paG.o.da bells.
The highest conventional refinement, of a certain kind, is apparent in all that belongs to the Chinese. The inviolability of custom has not made their life heavy, but shaped it to the utmost adroitness for their own purposes. We are now somewhat familiar with their literature, and we see pervading it a poetry subtle and aromatic, like the odors of their appropriate beverage. Like that, too, it is all domestic,--never wild.
The social genius, fluttering on the wings of compliment, pervades every thing Chinese. Society has moulded them, body and soul; the youngest children are more social and Chinese than human; and we doubt not the infant, with its first cry, shows its capacity for self-command and obedience to superiors.
Their great man, Confucius, expresses this social genius in its most perfect state and highest form. His golden wisdom is the quintescence of social justice. He never forgets conditions and limits; he is admirably wise, pure, and religious, but never towers above humanity--never soars into solitude. There is no token of the forest or cave in Confucius. Few men could understand him, because his nature was so thoroughly balanced, and his rect.i.tude so pure; not because his thoughts were too deep, or too high for them. In him should be sought the best genius of the Chinese, with that perfect practical good sense whose uses are universal.
At one time I used to change from reading Confucius to one of the great religious books of another Eastern nation; and it was always like leaving the street and the palace for the blossoming forest of the East, where in earlier times we are told the angels walked with men and talked, not of earth, but of heaven.
As we looked at the forms moving about in the Museum, we could not wonder that the Chinese consider us, who call ourselves the civilized world, barbarians, so deficient were those forms in the sort of refinement that the Chinese prize above all. And our people deserve it for their senselessness in viewing _them_ as barbarians, instead of seeing how perfectly they represent their own idea. They are inferior to us in important developments, but, on the whole, approach far nearer their own standard than we do ours. And it is wonderful that an enlightened European can fail to prize the sort of beauty they do develop. Sets of engravings we have seen representing the culture of the tea plant, have brought to us images of an entirely original idyllic loveliness. One long resident in China has observed that nothing can be more enchanting than the smile of love on the regular, but otherwise expressionless face of a Chinese woman. It has the simplicity and abandonment of infantine, with the fulness of mature feeling. It never varies, but it does not tire.
The same sweetness and elegance stereotyped now, but having originally a deep root in their life as a race, may be seen in their poetry and music. The last we have heard, both from the voice and several instruments, at this Museum, for the first time, and were at first tempted to laugh, when something deeper forbade. Like their poetry, the music is of the narrowest monotony, a kind of rosary, a repet.i.tion of phrases, and, in its enthusiasm and conventional excitement, like nothing else in the heavens and on the earth. Yet both the poetry and music have in them an expression of birds, roses, and moonlight; indeed, they suggest that state where ”moonlight, and music, and feeling are one,” though the soul seems to twitter, rather than sing of it.
It is wonderful with how little practical insight travellers in China look on what they see. They seem to be struck by points of repulsion at once, and neither see nor tell us what could give any real clew to their facts. I do not speak now of the recent lecturers in this city, for I have not heard them; but of the many, many books into which I have earlier looked with eager curiosity,--in vain,--I always found the same external facts, and the same prejudices which disabled the observer from piercing beneath them. I feel that I know something of the Chinese when reading Confucius, or looking at the figures on their tea-cups, or drinking a cup of _genuine_ tea--rather an unusual felicity, it is said, in this ingenious city, which shares with the Chinese one trait at least. But the travellers rather take from than add to this knowledge; and a visit to this Museum would give more clear views than all the books I ever read yet.
The juggling was well done, and so solemnly, with the same concentrated look as the music! I saw the juggler afterwards at Ole Bull's concert, and he moved not a muscle while the nightingale was pouring forth its sweetest descant. Probably the avenues wanted for these strains to enter his heart had been closed by the imperial edict long ago. The resemblance borne by this juggler to our Indians is even greater than we have seen in any other case. His brotherhood does not, to us, seem surprising. Our Indians, too, are stereotyped, though in a different way; they are of a mould capable of retaining the impression through ages; and many of the traits of the two races, or two branches of a race, may seem to be identical, though so widely modified by circ.u.mstances. They are all opposite to us, who have made s.h.i.+ps, and balloons, and magnetic telegraphs, as symbolic expressions of our wants, and the means of gratifying them. We must console ourselves with these, and our organs and pianos, for our want of perfect good breeding, serenity, and ”thorough virtue.”