CHAPTER VI.
'We have been exploring the happy valley,' said Lord Cadurcis to LadyAnnabel, 'and here is our plunder,' and he gave her the violets.
'You were always fond of flowers,' said Lady Annabel.
'Yes, I imbibed the taste from you,' said Cadurcis, gratified by thegracious remark.
He seated himself at her feet, examined and admired her work, andtalked of old times, but with such infinite discretion, that he didnot arouse a single painful association. Venetia was busied with herfather's poems, and smiled often at the manuscript notes of Cadurcis.Lying, as usual, on the grass, and leaning his head on his left arm,Herbert was listening to Captain Cadurcis, who was endeavouring togive him a clear idea of the Bosphorus. Thus the morning wore away,until the sun drove them into the villa.
'I will show you my library, Lord Cadurcis,' said Herbert.
Cadurcis followed him into a spacious apartment, where he found acollection so considerable that he could not suppress his surprise.'Italian spoils chiefly,' said Herbert; 'a friend of mine purchasedan old library at Bologna for me, and it turned out richer than Iimagined: the rest are old friends that have been with me, many ofthem at least, at college. I brought them back with me from America,for then they were my only friends.'
'Can you find Cabanis?' said Lord Cadurcis.
Herbert looked about. It is in this neighbourhood, I imagine,' hesaid. Cadurcis endeavoured to assist him. 'What is this?' he said;'Plato!'
'I should like to read Plato at Athens,' said Herbert. 'My ambitionnow does not soar beyond such elegant fortune.'
'We are all under great obligations to Plato,' said Cadurcis. 'Iremember, when I was in London, I always professed myself hisdisciple, and it is astonishing what results I experienced. Platoniclove was a great invention.'
Herbert smiled; but, as he saw Cadurcis knew nothing about thesubject, he made no reply.
'Plato says, or at least I think he says, that life is love,' saidCadurcis. 'I have said it myself in a very grand way too; I believe Icribbed it from you. But what does he mean? I am sure I meant nothing;but I dare say you did.'
'I certainly had some meaning,' said Herbert, stopping in his search,and smiling, 'but I do not know whether I expressed it. The principleof every motion, that is of all life, is desire or love: at present;I am in love with the lost volume of Cabanis, and, if it were notfor the desire of obtaining it, I should not now be affording anytestimony of my vitality by looking after it.'
'That is very clear,' said Cadurcis, 'but I was thinking of love inthe vulgar sense, in the shape of a petticoat. Certainly, when I am inlove with a woman, I feel love is life; but, when I am out of love,which often happens, and generally very soon, I still contrive tolive.'
'We exist,' said Herbert, 'because we sympathise. If we did notsympathise with the air, we should die. But, if we only sympathisedwith the air, we should be in the lowest order of brutes, baser thanthe sloth. Mount from the sloth to the poet. It is sympathy that makesyou a poet. It is your desire that the airy children of your brainshould be born anew within another's, that makes you create;therefore, a misanthropical poet is a contradiction in terms.'
'But when he writes a lampoon?' said Cadurcis.
'He desires that the majority, who are not lampooned, should share hishate,' said Herbert.
'But Swift lampooned the species,' said Cadurcis. 'For my part, Ithink life is hatred.'
'But Swift was not sincere, for he wrote the Drapier's Letters at thesame time. Besides, the very fact of your abusing mankind proves thatyou do not hate them; it is clear that you are desirous of obtainingtheir good opinion of your wit. You value them, you esteem them, youlove them. Their approbation causes you to act, and makes you happy.As for sexual love,' said Herbert, 'of which you were speaking, itsquality and duration depend upon the degree of sympathy that subsistsbetween the two persons interested. Plato believed, and I believe withhim, in the existence of a spiritual antitype of the soul, so thatwhen we are born, there is something within us which, from the instantwe live and move, thirsts after its likeness. This propensity developsitself with the development of our nature. The gratification of thesenses soon becomes a very small part of that profound and complicatedsentiment, which we call love. Love, on the contrary, is an universalthirst for a communion, not merely of the senses, but of our wholenature, intellectual, imaginative, and sensitive. He who finds hisantitype, enjoys a love perfect and enduring; time cannot change it,distance cannot remove it; the sympathy is complete. He who loves anobject that approaches his antitype, is proportionately happy, thesympathy is feeble or strong, as it may be. If men were properlyeducated, and their faculties fully developed,' continued Herbert,'the discovery of the antitype would be easy; and, when the dayarrives that it is a matter of course, the perfection of civilisationwill be attained.'
'I believe in Plato,' said Lord Cadurcis, 'and I think I have found myantitype. His theory accounts for what I never could understand.'
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