Part 8 (1/2)
I began to fancy, as the danger became nearer and still nearer, that neither of those great men had been surrounded by obstructions such as encompa.s.sed me. To plough on across the waves, and either to be drowned or succeed; to tell a new truth about the heavens, and either to perish or become great for ever!--either was within the compa.s.s of a man who had only his own life to risk. My life,--how willingly could I run any risk, did but the question arise of risking it! How often I felt, in these days, that there is a fort.i.tude needed by man much greater than that of jeopardising his life! Life! what is it? Here was that poor Crasweller, belying himself and all his convictions just to gain one year more of it, and then when the year was gone he would still have his deposition before him! Is it not so with us all? For me I feel,--have felt for years,--tempted to rush on, and pa.s.s through the gates of death. That man should shudder at the thought of it does not appear amiss to me. The unknown future is always awful; and the unknown future of another world, to be approached by so great a change of circ.u.mstances,--by the loss of our very flesh and blood and body itself,--has in it something so fearful to the imagination that the man who thinks of it cannot but be struck with horror as he acknowledges that by himself too it has to be encountered. But it has to be encountered; and though the change be awful, it should not therefore, by the sane judgment, be taken as a change necessarily for the worst. Knowing the great goodness of the Almighty, should we not be prepared to accept it as a change probably for the better; as an alteration of our circ.u.mstances, by which our condition may be immeasurably improved? Then one is driven back to consider the circ.u.mstances by which such change may be effected.
To me it seems rational to suppose that as we leave this body so shall we enter that new phase of life in which we are destined to live;--but with all our higher resolves somewhat sharpened, and with our lower pa.s.sions, alas! made stronger also. That theory by which a human being shall jump at once to a perfection of bliss, or fall to an eternity of evil and misery, has never found credence with me. For myself, I have to say that, while acknowledging my many drawbacks, I have so lived as to endeavour to do good to others, rather than evil, and that therefore I look to my departure from this world with awe indeed, but still with satisfaction. But I cannot look with satisfaction to a condition of life in which, from my own imbecility, I must necessarily retrograde into selfishness. It may be that He who judges of us with a wisdom which I cannot approach, shall take all this into account, and that He shall so mould my future being as to fit it to the best at which I had arrived in this world; still I cannot but fear that a taint of that selfishness which I have hitherto avoided, but which will come if I allow myself to become old, may remain, and that it will be better for me that I should go hence while as yet my own poor wants are not altogether uppermost in my mind. But then, in arranging this matter, I am arranging it for my fellow-citizens, and not for myself. I have to endeavour to think how Crasweller's mind may be affected rather than my own. He dreads his departure with a trembling, currish fear; and I should hardly be doing good to him were I to force him to depart in a frame of mind so poor and piteous. But then, again, neither is it altogether of Crasweller that I must think,--not of Crasweller or of myself.
How will the coming ages of men be affected by such a change as I propose, should such a change become the normal condition of Death?
Can it not be brought about that men should arrange for their own departure, so as to fall into no senile weakness, no slippered selfishness, no ugly whinings of undefined want, before they shall go hence, and be no more thought of? These are the ideas that have actuated me, and to them I have been brought by seeing the conduct of those around me. Not for Crasweller, or Barnes, or Tallowax, will this thing be good,--nor for those old women who are already lying about their ages in their cottages,--nor for myself, who am, I know, too apt to boast of myself, that even though old age should come upon me, I may be able to avoid the worst of its effects; but for those untold generations to come, whose lives may be modelled for them under the knowledge that at a certain Fixed Period they shall depart hence with all circ.u.mstances of honour and glory.
I was, however, quite aware that it would be useless to spend my energy in dilating on this to Mr Graybody. He simply was willing to shuffle off his mortal coil, because he found it uncomfortable in the wearing. In all likelihood, had his time come as nigh as that of Crasweller, he too, like Crasweller, would impotently implore the grace of another year. He would ape madness like Barnes, or arm himself with a carving-knife like Tallowax, or swear that there was a flaw in the law, as Exors was disposed to do. He too would clamorously swear that he was much younger, as did the old women.
Was not the world peopled by Craswellers, Tallowaxes, Exorses, and old women? Had I a right to hope to alter the feelings which nature herself had implanted in the minds of men? But still it might be done by practice,--by practice; if only we could arrive at the time in which practice should have become practice. Then, as I was about to depart from the door of Graybody's house, I whispered to myself again the names of Galileo and Columbus.
”You think that he will come on the thirtieth?” said Graybody, as he took my hand at parting.
”I think,” replied I, ”that you and I, as loyal citizens of the Republic, are bound to suppose that he will do his duty as a citizen.” Then I went, leaving him standing in doubt at his door.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER VII.
COLUMBUS AND GALILEO.
I had left Graybody with a lie on my tongue. I said that I was bound to suppose that Crasweller would do his duty as a citizen,--by which I had meant Graybody to understand that I expected my old friend to submit to deposition. Now I expected nothing of the kind, and it grieved me to think that I should be driven to such false excuses.
I began to doubt whether my mind would hold its proper bent under the strain thus laid upon it, and to ask myself whether I was in all respects sane in entertaining the ideas which filled my mind. Galileo and Columbus,--Galileo and Columbus! I endeavoured to comfort myself with these names,--but in a vain, delusive manner; and though I used them constantly, I was beginning absolutely to hate them. Why could I not return to my wool-shed, and be contented among my bales, and my s.h.i.+ps, and my credits, as I was of yore, before this theory took total possession of me? I was doing good then. I robbed no one. I a.s.sisted very many in their walks of life. I was happy in the praises of all my fellow-citizens. My health was good, and I had ample scope for my energies then, even as now. But there came on me a day of success,--a day, shall I say, of glory or of wretchedness? or shall I not most truly say of both?--and I persuaded my fellow-citizens to undertake this sad work of the Fixed Period. From that moment all quiet had left me, and all happiness. Still, it is not necessary that a man should be happy. I doubt whether Caesar was happy with all those enemies around him,--Gauls, and Britons, and Romans. If a man be doing his duty, let him not think too much of that condition of mind which he calls happiness. Let him despise happiness and do his duty, and he will in one sense be happy. But if there creep upon him a doubt as to his duty, if he once begin to feel that he may perhaps be wrong, then farewell all peace of mind,--then will come that condition in which a man is tempted to ask himself whether he be in truth of sane mind.
What should I do next? The cricketing Englishmen, I knew, were going.
Two or three days more would see their gallant s.h.i.+p steam out of the harbour. As I returned in my cab to the city, I could see the English colours fluttering from her topmast, and the flag of the English cricket-club waving from her stern. But I knew well that they had discussed the question of the Fixed Period among them, and that there was still time for them to go home and send back some English mandate which ought to be inoperative, but which we should be unable to disobey. And letters might have been written before this,--treacherous letters, calling for the a.s.sistance of another country in opposition to the councils of their own.
But what should I do next? I could not enforce the law _vi et armis_ against Crasweller. I had sadly but surely acknowledged so much as that to myself. But I thought that I had seen signs of relenting about the man,--some symptoms of sadness which seemed to bespeak a yielding spirit. He only asked for a year. He was still in theory a supporter of the Fixed Period,--pleading his own little cause, however, by a direct falsehood. Could I not talk him into a generous a.s.sent? There would still be a year for him. And in old days there had been a spice of manliness in his bosom, to which it might be possible that I should bring him back. Though the hope was poor, it seemed at present to be my only hope.
As I returned, I came round by the quays, dropping my cab at the corner of the street. There was the crowd of Englishmen, all going off to the vessel to see their bats and bicycles disposed of, and among them was Jack the hero. They were standing at the water's-edge, while three long-boats were being prepared to take them off. ”Here's the President,” said Sir Kennington Oval; ”he has not seen our yacht yet: let him come on board with us.” They were very gracious; so I got into one boat, and Jack into another, and old Crasweller, who had come with his guests from Little Christchurch, into the third; and we were pulled off to the yacht. Jack, I perceived, was quite at home there. He had dined there frequently, and had slept on board; but to me and Crasweller it was altogether new. ”Yes,” said Lord Marylebone; ”if a fellow is to make his home for a month upon the seas, it is as well to make it as comfortable as possible. Each of us has his own crib, with a bath to himself, and all the et-ceteras. This is where we feed. It is not altogether a bad shop for grubbing.” As I looked round I thought that I had never seen anything more palatial and beautiful. ”This is where we pretend to sit,” continued the lord; ”where we are supposed to write our letters and read our books. And this,” he said, opening another door, ”is where we really sit, and smoke our pipes, and drink our brandy-and-water. We came out under the rule of that tyrant King MacNuffery. We mean to go back as a republic. And I, as being the only lord, mean to elect myself president. You couldn't give me any wrinkles as to a pleasant mode of governing? Everybody is to be allowed to do exactly what he pleases, and n.o.body is to be interfered with unless he interferes with somebody else. We mean to take a wrinkle from you fellows in Britannula, where everybody seems, under your presidency, to be as happy as the day is long.”
”We have no Upper House with us, my lord,” said I.
”You have got rid, at any rate, of one terrible bother. I daresay we shall drop it before long in England. I don't see why we should continue to sit merely to register the edicts of the House of Commons, and be told that we're a pack of fools when we hesitate.” I told him that it was the unfortunate destiny of a House of Lords to be made to see her own unfitness for legislative work.
”But if we were abolished,” continued he, ”then I might get into the other place and do something. You have to be elected a Peer of Parliament, or you can sit nowhere. A s.h.i.+p can only be a s.h.i.+p, after all; but if we must live in a s.h.i.+p, we are not so bad here. Come and take some tiffin.” An Englishman, when he comes to our side of the globe, always calls his lunch tiffin.
I went back to the other room with Lord Marylebone; and as I took my place at the table, I heard that the a.s.sembled cricketers were all discussing the Fixed Period.
”I'd be shot,” said Mr Puddlebrane, ”if they should deposit me, and bleed me to death, and cremate me like a big pig.” Then he perceived that I had entered the saloon, and there came a sudden silence across the table.
”What sort of wind will be blowing next Friday at two o'clock?” asked Sir Lords Longstop.
It was evident that Sir Lords had only endeavoured to change the conversation because of my presence; and it did not suit me to allow them to think that I was afraid to talk of the Fixed Period. ”Why should you object to be cremated, Mr Puddlebrane,” said I, ”whether like a big pig or otherwise? It has not been suggested that any one shall cremate you while alive.”
”Because my father and mother were buried. And all the Puddlebranes were always buried. There are they, all to be seen in Puddlebrane Church, and I should like to appear among them.”