A Red Wallflower Part 64

'Are you a philosopher, Mr. Dallas!'

'In so far as a philosopher means a lover of knowledge. A philosopher who has attained unto knowledge, I am not;--that sort of knowledge.'

'You have been studying it?'

'I have been studying it for years.'

'What Life is good for?' said the young lady, with again a lift of her eyes which expressed a little disdain and a little impatience. But she saw Pitt's face with a thoughtful earnestness upon it; he was not watching her eyes, as he ought to have been. Her somewhat petulant words he answered simply.

'What question of more moment can there be? I am here, a human creature with such and such powers and capacities; I am here for so many years, not numerous; what is the best thing I can do with them and myself?'

'Get all the good out of them you can.'

'Certainly! but you observe that is no answer to my question of "how."'

'Good is pleasure, isn't it?'

'Is it?'

'I think so.'

'Make pleasure lasting, and perhaps I should agree with you. But how can you do that?'

'You cannot do it, that ever I heard. It is not in the nature of things.'

'Then what is the good of pleasure when it is over, and you have given your life for it?'

'Well, if pleasure won't do, take greatness, then.'

'What sort of greatness?' Pitt asked in the same tone. It was the tone of one who had gone over the ground.

'Any sort will do, I suppose,' said Miss Frere, with half a laugh. 'The thing is, I believe, to be great, no matter how. I never had that ambition myself; but that is the idea, isn't it?'

'What is it worth, supposing it gained?'

'People seem to think it is worth a good deal, by the efforts they make and the things they undergo for it.'

'Yes,' said Pitt thoughtfully; 'they pay a great price, and they have their reward. And, I say, what is it worth?'

'Why, Mr. Dallas,' said the young lady, throwing up her head, 'it is worth a great deal--all it costs. To be n.o.ble, to be distinguished, to be great and remembered in the world,--what is a worthy ambition, if that is not?'

'That is the general opinion; but what is it _worth_, when all is done?

Name any great man you think of as specially great'--

'Napoleon Buonaparte,' said the young lady immediately.

'Do not name _him_,' said Pitt. 'He wore a brilliant crown, but he got it out of the dirt of low pa.s.sions and cold-hearted selfishness. His name will be remembered, but as a splendid example of wickedness. Name some other.'

'Name one yourself,' said Betty. 'I have succeeded so ill.'

'Name them all,' said Pitt. 'Take all the conquerors, from Rameses the Great down to our time; take all the statesmen, from Moses and onward.

Take Apelles, at the head of a long list of wonderful painters; philosophers, from Socrates to Francis Bacon; discoverers and inventors, from the man who first made musical instruments, in the lifetime of Adam our forefather, to Watt and the steam engine. Take any or all of them; _we_ are very glad they lived and worked, _we_ are the better for remembering them; but I ask you, what are they the better for it?'

This appeal, which was evidently meant in deep earnest, moved the mind of the young lady with so great astonishment that she looked at Pitt as at a _lusus naturae_. But he was quite serious and simply matter of fact in his way of putting things. He looked at her, waiting for an answer, but got none.

'We speak of Alexander, and praise him to the skies, him of Macedon, I mean. What is that, do you think, to Alexander now?'

'If it is nothing to him, then what is the use of being great?' said Miss Frere in her bewilderment.

'You are coming back to my question.'

There ensued a pause, during which the st.i.tches of embroidery were taken slowly.

'What do you intend to do with _your_ life, Mr. Dallas, since pleasure and fame are ruled out?' the young lady asked.

'You see, that decision waits on the previous question,' he answered.

'But it has got to be decided,' said Miss Frere, 'or you will be'--

'Nothing. Yes, I am aware of that.'

There was again a pause.

'Miss Frere,' Pitt then began again, 'did you ever see a person whose happiness rested on a lasting foundation?'

The young lady looked at her companion anew as if he were to her a very odd character.

'What do you mean?' she said.

'I mean, a person who was thoroughly happy, not because of circ.u.mstances, but in spite of them?'

'To begin with, I never saw anybody that was "thoroughly happy." I do not believe in the experience.'

'I am obliged to believe in it. I have known a person who seemed to be clean lifted up out of the mud and mire of troublesome circ.u.mstances, and to have got up to a region of permanent clear air and suns.h.i.+ne. I have been envying that person ever since.'

'May I ask, was it a man or a woman?'

'Neither; it was a young girl.'

'It is easy to be happy at _that_ age.'

'Not for her. She had been very unhappy.'

'And got over it?'

'Yes; but not by virtue of her youth or childishness, as you suppose.

She was one of those natures that are born with a great capacity for suffering, and she had begun to find it out early; and it was from the depths of unhappiness that she came out into clear and peaceful suns.h.i.+ne; with nothing to help her either in her external surroundings.'