Part 2 (1/2)
Mr Foster was preparing to reply, when the first dinner-bell rang, and he immediately commenced a precipitate return towards the house; followed by his two companions, who both admitted that he was now leading the way to at least a temporary period of physical amelioration: ”but, alas!” added Mr Escot, after a moment's reflection, ”Epulae NOCUERE repostae![4.3]”
CHAPTER V The Dinner
The sun was now terminating his diurnal course, and the lights were glittering on the festal board. When the ladies had retired, and the Burgundy had taken two or three tours of the table, the following conversation took place:--
_Squire Headlong._ Push about the bottle: Mr Escot, it stands with you. No heeltaps. As to skylight, liberty-hall.
_Mr Mac Laurel._ Really, Squire Headlong, this is the vara nectar itsel. Ye hae saretainly discovered the tarrestrial paradise, but it flows wi' a better leecor than milk an' honey.
_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._ Hem! Mr Mac Laurel! there is a degree of profaneness in that observation, which I should not have looked for in so staunch a supporter of church and state. Milk and honey was the pure food of the antediluvian patriarchs, who knew not the use of the grape, happily for them.--(_Tossing off a b.u.mper of Burgundy._)
_Mr Escot._ Happy, indeed! The first inhabitants of the world knew not the use either of wine or animal food; it is, therefore, by no means incredible that they lived to the age of several centuries, free from war, and commerce, and arbitrary government, and every other species of desolating wickedness. But man was then a very different animal to what he now is: he had not the faculty of speech; he was not enc.u.mbered with clothes; he lived in the open air; his first step out of which, as Hamlet truly observes, is _into his grave_[5.1]. His first dwellings, of course, were the hollows of trees and rocks. In process of time he began to build: thence grew villages; thence grew cities. Luxury, oppression, poverty, misery, and disease kept pace with the progress of his pretended improvements, till, from a free, strong, healthy, peaceful animal, he has become a weak, distempered, cruel, carnivorous slave.
_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._ Your doctrine is orthodox, in so far as you a.s.sert that the original man was not enc.u.mbered with clothes, and that he lived in the open air; but, as to the faculty of speech, that, it is certain, he had, for the authority of Moses----
_Mr Escot._ Of course, sir, I do not presume to dissent from the very exalted authority of that most enlightened astronomer and profound cosmogonist, who had, moreover, the advantage of being inspired; but when I indulge myself with a ramble in the fields of speculation, and attempt to deduce what is probable and rational from the sources of a.n.a.lysis, experience, and comparison, I confess I am too often apt to lose sight of the doctrines of that great fountain of theological and geological philosophy.
_Squire Headlong._ Push about the bottle.
_Mr Foster._ Do you suppose the mere animal life of a wild man, living on acorns, and sleeping on the ground, comparable in felicity to that of a Newton, ranging through unlimited s.p.a.ce, and penetrating into the arcana of universal motion--to that of a Locke, unravelling the labyrinth of mind--to that of a Lavoisier, detecting the minutest combinations of matter, and reducing all nature to its elements--to that of a Shakespeare, piercing and developing the springs of pa.s.sion--or of a Milton, identifying himself, as it were, with the beings of an invisible world?
_Mr Escot._ You suppose extreme cases: but, on the score of happiness, what comparison can you make between the tranquil being of the wild man of the woods and the wretched and turbulent existence of Milton, the victim of persecution, poverty, blindness, and neglect? The records of literature demonstrate that Happiness and Intelligence are seldom sisters. Even if it were otherwise, it would prove nothing. The many are always sacrificed to the few. Where one man advances, hundreds retrograde; and the balance is always in favour of universal deterioration.
_Mr Foster._ Virtue is independent of external circ.u.mstances. The exalted understanding looks into the truth of things, and, in its own peaceful contemplations, rises superior to the world. No philosopher would resign his mental acquisitions for the purchase of any terrestrial good.
_Mr Escot._ In other words, no man whatever would resign his ident.i.ty, which is nothing more than the consciousness of his perceptions, as the price of any acquisition. But every man, without exception, would willingly effect a very material change in his relative situation to other individuals. Unluckily for the rest of your argument, the understanding of literary people is for the most part _exalted_, as you express it, not so much by the love of truth and virtue, as by arrogance and self-sufficiency; and there is, perhaps, less disinterestedness, less liberality, less general benevolence, and more envy, hatred, and uncharitableness among them, than among any other description of men.
(_The eye of Mr Escot, as he p.r.o.nounced these words, rested very innocently and unintentionally on Mr Gall._)
_Mr Gall._ You allude, sir, I presume, to my review.
_Mr Escot._ Pardon me, sir. You will be convinced it is impossible I can allude to your review, when I a.s.sure you that I have never read a single page of it.
_Mr Gall, Mr Treacle, Mr Nightshade, and Mr Mac Laurel._ Never read our review! ! ! !
_Mr Escot._ Never. I look on periodical criticism in general to be a species of shop, where panegyric and defamation are sold, wholesale, retail, and for exportation. I am not inclined to be a purchaser of these commodities, or to encourage a trade which I consider pregnant with mischief.
_Mr Mac Laurel._ I can readily conceive, sir, ye wou'd na wullingly encoorage ony dealer in panegeeric: but, frae the manner in which ye speak o' the first creetics an' scholars o' the age, I shou'd think ye wou'd hae a leetle mair predilaction for deefamation.
_Mr Escot._ I have no predilection, sir, for defamation. I make a point of speaking the truth on all occasions; and it seldom happens that the truth can be spoken without some stricken deer p.r.o.nouncing it a libel.
_Mr Nightshade._ You are perhaps, sir, an enemy to literature in general?
_Mr Escot._ If I were, sir, I should be a better friend to periodical critics.
_Squire Headlong._ Buz!
_Mr Treacle._ May I simply take the liberty to inquire into the basis of your objection?
_Mr Escot._ I conceive that periodical criticism disseminates superficial knowledge, and its perpetual adjunct, vanity; that it checks in the youthful mind the habit of thinking for itself; that it delivers partial opinions, and thereby misleads the judgment; that it is never conducted with a view to the general interests of literature, but to serve the interested ends of individuals, and the miserable purposes of party.