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.""Ah, you were soon disenchanted of your Philosopher's Stone! You must know, Sarah, that when Ilast left Glyndon, he was bent upon turning alchemist and magician.""You are witty to-day, Mr.Mervale.""Upon my honour it is true, I told you so before."Glyndon rose abruptly."Why revive those recollections of folly and presumption? Have I not said that I have returned to mynative land to pursue the healthful avocations of my kind! Oh, yes! what so healthful, so noble, sofitted to our nature, as what you call the Practical Life? If we have faculties, what is their use, but tosell them to advantage! Buy knowledge as we do our goods; buy it at the cheapest market, sell it atthe dearest.Have you not breakfasted yet?"The friends walked into the streets, and Mervale shrank from the irony with which Glyndoncomplimented him on his respectability, his station, his pursuits, his happy marriage, and his eightpictures in their handsome frames.Formerly the sober Mervale had commanded an influence overhis friend: HIS had been the sarcasm; Glyndon's the irresolute shame at his own peculiarities.Nowthis position was reversed.There was a fierce earnestness in Glyndon's altered temper which awedand silenced the quiet commonplace of his friend's character.He seemed to take a malignantdelight in persuading himself that the sober life of the world was contemptible and base."Ah!" he exclaimed, "how right you were to tell me to marry respectably; to have a solid position; tolive in decorous fear of the world and one's wife; and to command the envy of the poor, the goodopinion of the rich.You have practised what you preach.Delicious existence! The merchant's deskand the curtain lecture! Ha! ha! Shall we have another night of it?"Mervale, embarrassed and irritated, turned the conversation upon Glyndon's affairs.He wassurprised at the knowledge of the world which the artist seemed to have suddenly acquired,surprised still more at the acuteness and energy with which he spoke of the speculations most invogue at the market.Yes; Glyndon was certainly in earnest: he desired to be rich and respectable,--and to make at least ten per cent for his money!After spending some days with the merchant, during which time he contrived to disorganise all themechanism of the house, to turn night into day, harmony into discord, to drive poor Mrs.Mervalehalf-distracted, and to convince her husband that he was horribly hen-pecked, the ill-omened visitorleft them as suddenly as he had arrived.He took a house of his own; he sought the society ofpersons of substance; he devoted himself to the money-market; he seemed to have become a manof business; his schemes were bold and colossal; his calculations rapid and profound.He startledMervale by his energy, and dazzled him by his success.Mervale began to envy him,--to bediscontented with his own regular and slow gains.When Glyndon bought or sold in the funds,wealth rolled upon him like the tide of a sea; what years of toil could not have done for him in art, afew months, by a succession of lucky chances, did for him in speculation.Suddenly, however, herelaxed his exertions; new objects of ambition seemed to attract him.If he heard a drum in thestreets, what glory like the soldier's? If a new poem were published, what renown like the poet's?He began works in literature, which promised great excellence, to throw them aside in disgust.All atonce he abandoned the decorous and formal society he had courted; he joined himself, with youngand riotous associates; he plunged into the wildest excesses of the great city, where Gold reignsalike over Toil and Pleasure.Through all he carried with him a certain power and heat of soul.In allsociety he aspired to command,--in all pursuits to excel.Yet whatever the passion of the moment,the reaction was terrible in its gloom.He sank, at times, into the most profound and the darkestreveries.His fever was that of a mind that would escape memory,--his repose, that of a mind whichthe memory seizes again, and devours as a prey.Mervale now saw little of him; they shunned eachother.Glyndon had no confidant, and no friend.CHAPTER 5.IV.Ich fuhle Dich mir nahe;Die Einsamkeit belebt;Wie uber seinen WeltenDer Unsichtbare schwebt.Uhland.(I feel thee near to me,The loneliness takes life,--As over its worldThe Invisible hovers.)From this state of restlessness and agitation rather than continuous action, Glyndon was arousedby a visitor who seemed to exercise the most salutary influence over him.His sister, an orphan withhimself, had resided in the country with her aunt.In the early years of hope and home he had lovedthis girl, much younger than himself, with all a brother's tenderness.On his return to England, hehad seemed to forget her existence.She recalled herself to him on her aunt's death by a touchingand melancholy letter: she had now no home but his,--no dependence save on his affection; hewept when he read it, and was impatient till Adela arrived.This girl, then about eighteen, concerned beneath a gentle and calm exterior much of the romanceor enthusiasm that had, at her own age, characterised her brother [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]