CHAPTER VII.
The knowledge of their approaching separation seemed only to augment the tender affection existing between the two friends. Seldom an hour apart, both seemed eager to continue till the last moment their conferences on the bench of the little court.
There was a solemn subject, to which Girardi often endeavoured to lead the way, but Charney invariably evaded the discussion. The old man was, however, too deeply interested in sounding the opinions of the Count to be easily discouraged, and one day an occasion unexpectedly presented itself for the accomplishment of his wishes.
“How unaccountable the chance,” cried Charney, after a short silence, “which united us in this place; naturally divided as we are by difference of birth-place, of languages, of faith, of prejudices! Yet, in spite of all these obstacles, we have met at Fenestrella, to unite in the same religious principles, the same adoration of the one supreme Being.”
“On that point, give me leave to differ with you,” said Girardi, with a smile. “To lose sight of, is not to deny. Our views have never been the same.”
“Certainly not. But which of the two, the bigot or the sceptic, was most mistaken—which the most deserving pity?”
“Yourself,” replied the old man, without hesitation—“yes, my dear young friend, yourself! All extremes are dangerous; but in superstition there is faith, passion, vitality; and in scepticism, universal night—universal death. Superstition is the pure stream diverted from its natural channel, which inundates, submerges, and displaces the vegetable soil, but conveys it elsewhere, and repairs, farther on its course, the injuries it has produced; while scepticism is drought, dearth, sterility; burning and scorching up, transmuting earth to sand, and rendering the mighty Palmyra a ruin of the desert. Not content with placing an eternal bar betwixt us and the Creator, incredulity relaxes the bonds of society and destroys the ties of kindred and affection. In depriving man of his importance as a being eternally responsible, it creates around him isolation and contempt. He is alone in the world—alone with his pride; or, as I said before, alone as a ruin in the desert.”
“Alone with hispride!” murmured Charney, reclining his elbow on the arm of the bench, and his face upon his hand. “Pride! of what?—of knowledge? of science? Oh, why should man labour to destroy the elements of his happiness by seeking to analyze them or to sound their depths? Even if indebted for his joys to a deception, why seek to raise the mask and accelerate the disenchantment of his future life? Is truth so dear to him? Does knowledge suffice the desires of his ambition? Madman! such was my own delusion. ‘I am but a worm,’ said I to myself, ‘a worm destined to annihilation’: then, raising myself in the dust where I was crawling, I felt proud of the discovery—vain of my helpless nakedness. I believed neither in virtue nor happiness; but at the thought of annihilation I stopped proudly short and accorded my unlimited faith. My degradation appeared a triumph to me, for it was assured by a discovery of my own. Was I not justified in my estimation of a theory for which I had givenin exchange no less than my regal mantle—the countless treasure of my immortality?”
The old man extended his hand encouragingly towards his companion.
“Be judged by your own image of the worm,” said Girardi. “The worm, after crawling its season on the earth, fed with bitter leaves, condemned to the slime of the marsh or the dust of the road, constructs his own chrysalis—a temporary coffin—from which to emerge, transformed, purified—to flutter from flower to flower and feed upon their precious perfumes. On two radiant wings the new creature takes its flight towards the skies, even as man, the image of his Creator, rises to the bosom of his God.”
Charney replied by a negative movement of the head.
“Your disease was more deeply rooted than my own,” observed Girardi, with a mournful smile, “for your convalescence, I see, will be more tedious. Have you already forgot the lessons of Picciola?”
“Not one of them!” replied Charney, in a tone of deep emotion. “I believe inGod. I believe in a first cause. I believe in an omniscient Power, the eternal Controller of the universe. But your comparison of the worm supposes the immortality of the soul; and by what is it demonstrated to my reason?”
“By the instincts of the human soul, which irresistibly impel us to look forward with hope and joy. Our life is a life of expectation. From infancy to old age hope is the dominating pole of our destinies. In what savage nation of the earth has not the doctrine of a future state been found existent? And why should not the hope thus conceded be accomplished? Is the power of God more infinite than the mind of his creatures? I do not invoke the authority of revelation and the Holy Scriptures. All convincing to myself: foryouthey possess no authority. The breeze which impelsthe ship is powerless to move the rock: for the rock has no expanding sails to receive its impulse, and its feet are buried in the ponderous immobility of earth. Shall we believe in the eternity of matter, and not in that of the intelligence which serves to regulate our opinions concerning matter? Or are we to suppose that love, virtue, genius, result from the affinity of certain terrestrial molecules? Can that which is devoid of thought enable us to think? Can brute matter be the basis of human intelligence, when human intelligence is able to direct and govern matter? Why, then, do not stocks and stones think and feel as we do?”
“Locke, the great English metaphysician, was inclined to suppose that matter might be endowed with ideas,” observed Charney. “There was contradiction, indeed, in his theory, since he rejected the doctrine of innate ideas, and seemed to admit the possibility of intuitive knowledge.” Then, interrupting himself with a laugh, the Count exclaimed, “Have a care, my kind instructor! I see you would fain involve me once more in the quicksand of doubt, or plunge me into the bottomless pit of metaphysics!”
“I have no knowledge of metaphysics,” said Girardi, gravely.
“And I but little,” observed Charney; “not, however, for want of devoting my time to the study. But let us drop a subject unprofitable, and, perhaps, injurious. You believe—rejoice in your belief! Your faith is dear to me; and if, perchance, I should shake its foundations——”
“I defy you to the contest!” cried Girardi.
“What have you to gain by the result?”
“Your conversion; nothing less, my dear young friend, than your conversion. Just now you quoted Locke. Of that eminent philosopher I know but a single trait—that through life, and even on his death-bed, he asserted the true happiness of mankind to consist in purity of conscience and hope in eternal life.”
“I perfectly comprehend theconsolationto be derived from such a creed, but my better reason forbids me to accept it.I entreat you, let us drop the subject,” said the Count de Charney.
And a constrained silence ensued.
Soon afterwards, something which had been circling overhead suddenly alighted on the foliage of the plant; a greenish insect, of which the narrow corslet was undulated with whitish stripes.
“Sir!” cried Charney, “behold in good time a new text enabling you to enlarge upon the mysteries of creation.”
Girardi took the insect with due precaution: examined it carefully; paused for reflection; and suddenly an expression of triumph developed itself in his countenance. An irresistible argument seemed to have fallen from heaven in his hands. Commencing in his usual professional tone, he gradually assumed a more sublime expression, as the secret object of his lesson penetrated through his language.
“Mere fly-catcher as I am,” he began with an arch smile, “I must restrict myself to my humble attributions, and not presume to affect the pedantry of the scholar.”
“The most enlightened mind,” said Charney, “the mind which has profited most largely by the acquirement of knowledge, is that which soonest discovers the limitation of its own powers, after vainly attempting to penetrate into the hidden mysteries of things. Genius itself breaks its wings against such obstacles, without having extracted from the wall of flints, by which it is obstructed, one spark of the light of truth.”
“We ignoramuses,” observed Girardi, “arrive sooner at our object by taking the most direct road. If we do but open our eyes,Goddeigns to reveal himself in the august sublimity of his works.”
“On that point we are agreed,” interrupted Charney.
“Proceed we then in our course. An herb of the field sufficed to prove to you the existence of a Providence; a butterfly, the law of universal harmony; the insect before us, of which the organization is of a still higher order, may lead us still farther towards conviction.”
Charney, at the instance of his friend, proceeded to examine the little stranger with curious attention.
“Behold this insignificant creature,” resumed Girardi. “All that human genius could effect would not add one tittle to an organization perfectly adapted to its wants and necessities. It has wings to transport it from one place to another; elytra to incase and secure them from the contact of any hard substance. Its breast is defended by a cuirass, its eyes by a curious network that defies the prick of a thorn or the sting of an enemy. It possesses antennæ to interrogate the obstacles that present themselves, feet to attain its prey, iron mandibles to assist in devouring it, in digging the earth for a refuge or a depository for its food or eggs. If a dangerous adversary should approach, it has in reserve an acrid and corrosive fluid, by discharging which it defies its enemies. Instinct teaches it to find its food, to provide its lodging, and exercise its powers of offence and defence. Nor is this a solitary instance. Other insects are endowed with similar delicacy of organization; the imagination recoils with wonder from the multiplicity and variety of provisions invented by nature for the security of the apparently feeble insect tribe. We have still to consider this fragile creature as demonstrating the line of demarcation between mankind and the brute creation.
“Man is sent naked into the world—feeble, helpless—unendowed with the wings of a bird, the swiftness of the stag, the tortuous speed of the serpent; without means of defence against the claws or darts of an enemy, nay, against even the inclemency of the weather. He has no shell, no fleece, no covering of fur, nor even a den or burrow for his hiding-place. Yet by force of his natural powers, he has driven the lion from his cave—despoiled the bear of his shaggy coat for a vestment, and the bull of his horn to form a drinking-cup. He has dug into the entrails of the earth, to bring forth elements of future strength; the very eagle, in traversing the skies, finds itself struck down in the midst of its career to adorn his cap with a trophy of distinction.
“Which of all the animal creation could have supported itself in the midst of such difficulties and such privations? Let us for a moment suppose the disunion of power and action—ofGodand nature. Nature has done wonders for the insect before us; for man, apparently nothing. Because man, an emanation fromGodhimself, and formed after his image, was created feeble and helpless as regards the organization of matter, in order to demonstrate the divine influence of that ethereal spark, which endows him with all the elements of future greatness.”
“Explain to me, at least,” interrupted Charney, “the peculiar value of this precious gift, bestowed, you say, exclusively upon the human species; superior in many points to the animal creation, surely we are inferior in the majority. This very insect, whose wondrous powers you have expounded, inspires me with a sense of inferiority and profound humiliation.”
“From time immemorial,” replied Girardi, “animals have displayed no progress in their powers of operation. What they are to-day, such have they ever been; what to-day they know, they have known from the beginning of the world. If born so lavishly endowed, it is because they are incapable of improvement. They live not by their own will, but by the impulse imparted to them by nature. From the creation untilnow, the beaver has constructed his lodge upon the same plan; the caterpillar and spider woven their cocoons and tissues of the same form; the bee projected his cell of the same hexagon; the lion-ant traced, without a compass, its circles and arches. The character oftheirlabours is that of exactitude and uniformity; that of man, diversity—for human labour arises from a free and creative faculty of mind. Judge therefore between them! Of all created beings, man alone possesses the idea of duty, of responsibility, of contemplation, of piety. Alone of all the earth he is endowed with insight into futurity, and the knowledge of life and death.”
“But is this knowledge an advantage? is it a source of happiness?” demanded the Count. “Why hasGodbestowed upon us reason by which we are led astray, and learning which serves but to perplex us? With all our superiority, how often are we forced to despise ourselves! Why is the exclusively privileged being the only one liable to error? Is not the instinct of animals preferable toourglimmering reason?”
“Both species were not created for the same end.Godrequires not virtue of the brute creation. Weretheyendowed with reason, with liberty of choice as regards their food and lodgment, the equilibrium of the world would be destroyed. The will of the Creator decided that the surface of the globe, and even its depths, should be filled with animated beings—that life should pervade the universe; in pursuance of which, plains, valleys, forests, from the mountain top to the lowest chasms—trees, rocks, rivers, lakes, oceans, from the sandy desert to the marshy swamp—in all climates and latitudes—from one pole to the other—all is peopled—all instinct with life, all blended in one vast sphere of existence. Whether sheltered in the depths of the wilderness, or behind a blade of grass, the lion and the pismire are alike at the post assigned them by nature. Each has his part to play, his place to guard, his predestined line of action; each is enchained within his proper bound; for every square of the infinite chess-boardwas from the first appropriately filled. Man alone is free to range over all, to traverse oceans and deserts; pitch his tent on the sand, or construct a floating palace on the waters; to defy the Alpine snows or the fervours of the torrid zone—
“‘The world is all before him, where to chooseHis place of rest, and Providence his guide!’”
“‘The world is all before him, where to chooseHis place of rest, and Providence his guide!’”
“‘The world is all before him, where to chooseHis place of rest, and Providence his guide!’”
“‘The world is all before him, where to choose
His place of rest, and Providence his guide!’”
“But if Providence indeed exert such influence, from whence the crimes arising in all human communities, and the disasters which overwhelm mankind?” cried Charney. “I sympathize in your admiration of all created things; my reason is overwhelmed when I examine the mighty whole, but on descending to the history of the human species——”
“My friend,” interrupted Girardi, “arraign not the wisdom of the Almighty because of the errors of mankind, the devastations of a hurricane, or the eruptions of a volcano! Immutable laws are imprinted upon matter; and the work of ages is accomplished, whether a vessel founder in a storm, or a city disappear beneath the surface of the earth. Of what account in the sight of the Almighty a few human existences more or less? Does the Supreme Being believe in the reality of death, the darkness of the grave?
“No! ButHehas conferred on our souls the power of self-government, and this is proved by the independence of our passions. I have portrayed animals submitted to the irresistible influence of instinct—possessing only blind tendencies, and the qualities inherent in their several species. Man alone is the parent of his virtues and his vices; man alone is endowed with free agency; because for him this earth is a place of probation. The tree of good and evil which we cultivate here, is to bear its fruits in a higher or a lower region. Do you imagine the omniscientGodso unjust as to leave the afflictions of the virtuous unrewarded? Were this world the limit of our reward and punishment, the man who dies by a stroke of lightning ought to be accounted amalefactor, and the fortune of the prosperous should suffice as a certification of excellence!”
Charney listened in silence: impressed by the simple eloquence of his instructor, his eyes were fixed upon the noble countenance on which the excitement of a mind innately pious was imprinting an almost august character of inspiration.
“But why,” at length murmured the Count, “why has notGodvouchsafed us the positive certainty of our immortality?”
“Doubt was perhaps indispensable,” replied the venerable man, rising and placing his hand affectionately on the shoulder of his youthful companion, “to repress the vanity of human reason. What is the merit of virtue, if its rewards be assured beforehand? What would become of free will? The soul of man is expansive, but not infinite—vast in its power of apprehending its own distinctions, and of appreciating the Creator by the mightiness of his works; yet so limited as to render it profoundly sensible of its dependence upon Providence. Man is permitted a glimpse of his destinies—Faithmust effect the rest.
“Oh! mighty and all-seeingGod!” cried Girardi, suddenly interrupting himself, and clasping his hands in all the fervour of supplication, “lend me the strength of thine arm to upraise from the dust this man who is struggling with his human weakness and the desire to reach thy fountains of light! Lend me thy wisdom to direct the aspirations of this longing and bewildered soul! Lend eloquence to the words of my lips, that they may be endued with the strength and power of the faith that is in me! The humblest of thy creations—a flower, and an insect—have startled the sceptic in his self-security; give grace to these, O Lord! if not to me, to perfect the work thine infinite mercy has begun; and if not by me, by the humble plant before us, be the miracle of thy holiness accomplished!”
The old man was silent. An ecstacy of prayer had taken possession of his soul; and when, at the close of his unuttereddevotions, he turned towards his companion, Charney was bending his head upon his hands, clasped together upon the back of the bench where they were sitting. On raising his head, his countenance bore traces of the most devout meditation.