CHAPTER IV.
I was now placed under the care of a great dragon of learning. My sensations, on my first arrival, at a scene so novel and so strange, cannot easily be expressed. I was long and seriously unhappy. I had so much to learn, to arrive at the level of those who were now my associates, so much to unlearn, to avoid derision and contempt, that my situation was for a time truly pitiable. I was humble, retired, and, as they thought, vulgar; whilst to me, they all appeared insolent, rude, intolerable. I had not been taught, or taught imperfectly, to make Latin verses. This was my first labour, and arduous it was. I conquered, however, the difficulty by perseverance, and became progressively reconciled to my situation. I cannot say more, for perhaps the period of my life, which I look back upon with the smallest degree of satisfaction, is the time consumed in this seminary. Perhaps I should qualify the term, consumed. I became a good scholar, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, but I by no means passed my time to my satisfaction, and lost, as I then thought, and still believe, no unimportant portion of time, in learning to unravel the complicated perplexities of Greek metre, which after all I very imperfectly understood. I could, however, at the time of my departure, compose in Latin with tolerable ease, read any Latin author without difficulty, and Greek with no great degree of labour. At this place and time, when probably the foundation of my literary character was laid, I have not half so much to remember, at all deserving commemoration, as I have of the hours spent at my remote but beloved village. Two incidents present themselves.
My difficulty in making verses long pursued me. The pains I took to conquer this inaptitude, this stupidity, if you please, were inconceivable; many a severe rebuke, and far worse than rebuke, had I to sustain from my Orbilius. At length my luckier stars beamed upon me all at once, in a manner beyond my comprehension. After being tossed about in a tumultuous ocean, the storm subsided, the clouds dispersed, and I saw land. We had always a double portion of verses for our Saturday’s exercise. I am not quite certain that the subject on this occasion was not “Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac.” I always went to this task with a heavy heart, but some how or other, for I cannot explain the process, words seemed to present themselves suitable, and in their proper places, and with little or no exertion I completed my number, with an equal mixture of self-complacency and self-astonishment. On the Monday I showed up, with greater confidence than I had ever before experienced. The master read my verses, sneered, which he was wont to do, and said nothing. I well knew what he meant, but was not discouraged. I felt within myself, that I had crossed the asses’ bridge, and I determined to persevere. I did so, and in the course of the week showed up another and a still better copy of verses. My master, when he had proceeded about half way through them, paused, and looking at me significantly, exclaimed in a half angry tone, Are these verses your own? I replied in a tone which satisfied him of the truth, Yes. I had in consequence, the appellation of good boy, a term very sparingly and reluctantly bestowed.
The other incident was this. I had not yet conquered the difficulty of writing English verse. Indeed I had long given it up in despair. I determined to make another effort. At a certain part of the school we were allowed occasionally to make English verses, instead of hexameters and pentameters; but it was an act of hardihood to do so, for the failure was attended with inevitable disgrace and punishment, derision from the boys, flagellation from the master. I resolved, however, to flesh my maiden sword in the enterprize. I succeeded with one single exception. I had my head full of old English poetry, of which I was exceedingly fond, and I unluckily transferred an obsolete epithet from Spenser, to a version of an ode from Horace. It was not unaptly applied, but it marks the extreme shrewdness and felicity with which boys catch the opportunity of conferring a cognomen. It gave me a nick-name, and I could not complain, that it was either absurd or unjust.
I know not whether it be worth the mention, but here it was that I first had lessons in the French language, from a raw-boned Scotchman, whose dialect was as much like the Parisian, as the barbarous vocabulary of Oonalashka resembles the polished language of Moscow.
I would now give the character of my instructor, but as I wish my secret not to be disclosed, I am aware that I must use no common circumspection. I do not now indeed dread the lightning of his eye, the thunder of his voice, or the weight of his arm; but I do not wish the bonds of complacency and civility, so long established between us, to be broken. If any one therefore shall think he can individually apply what follows, be it at his peril, not mine.
My master then, be it known, was a most extraordinary personage; not less distinguished in literature than in politics. Indeed they who know him best, and do not love him least, have constantly been of opinion, that if he had consecrated more of his time to the first pursuit, and much less to the latter, he would have enjoyed a far larger portion both of public esteem and of public honours. As a master, he was severe, wayward, and irregular. What he imposed in the form of exercise, was not always consistent with the time and capacities to be employed. He would, in solemnity of tone and manner, declare from his awful tribunal, that henceforth he should be in the school at six, and punish those who were absent with the utmost severity. He would observe this for two or three mornings, when it passed away like a dream, and was heard of no more.
Prejudice against individual boys, and strong partiality in favour of others, is perhaps in some degree unavoidable, but he did not always take the trouble to conceal or disguise it. I was not in his favour; but at this distance of time, and at a period when no foolish self-love predominates, I verily believe that he had no justifiable motive for his dislike. An anecdote here occurs, not much worth relating, perhaps, except to demonstrate, that confusion and perplexity of countenance and demeanour, on being accused of an offence, do not always demonstrate guilt.
A very reprehensible act of indelicacy had been perpetrated in the apartment of one of the upper boys, such as it might be reasonably supposed no gentleman would commit. It could only have been done by one in the higher part of the school, or by a servant; the lower school was denied the opportunity of access. The upper boys were assembled by the master in his library, a place which none of us ever approached without dismay. After a long preparatory discourse, each was called upon to declare his innocence upon his honour. Why he suspected me, I never could imagine, but he from time to time cast such terror-striking looks on me, that they were irresistible. I declared myself innocent upon my honour, but I was so perplexed and agitated, that I must have appeared guilty to every one but the real culprit himself.
It requires at this moment no ordinary effort of charity and forbearance, entirely to forgive so great an act of cruelty and injustice. The injury done to me was incalculable. It inflicted a deep wound upon my mind; it debased and depreciated me in the eyes of my peers; it checked every ingenuous ardour, and drove me almost to despondency. Every thing unseemly which occurred afterwards, was imputed to my agency, and my situation became intolerable. I could specify many instances of similar undeserved personalities, but I had justice rendered me afterwards. My Orbilius, at a subsequent period, whether he discovered his error, or found that I was not cast in the mould which he had imagined, made honourable atonement. I accepted it, and peace was made.
And now for the other side of the picture, for the person of whom I am speaking had very contradictory qualities. His taste was exquisite, acute, accurate, elegant, and this he seemed to communicate and inspire. It was really delightful to hear him read, and I do not think that this accomplishment, which is never sufficiently cultivated, can possibly be carried to a greater degree of perfection, than it was by him. He possessed also extraordinary powers of eloquence; his easy flow of words could only be equalled by his nervous, appropriate, and happy disposition of them. He was proud of this talent, and somewhat ostentatious in the display of it. When he gave the upper boys a subject for a theme, he would descant upon the subject in all its ramifications, for the best part of an hour. Very amusing indeed, and instructive also, but somewhat superfluous as to the immediate object, of enabling boys to compose an essay of twenty lines. This gift, delightful as it was, was accompanied by one evil; when not among boys, it disposed him to disputation, and in disputation no small portion of his life was passed. I cannot say that he was ill-humoured, but when touched, no minister could be more sore. With great powers and great learning, much opportunity and earnest invitation, he has done but little to secure a posthumous reputation. A few disputative tracts, originating in personal and local altercation, some scattered volumes, manifesting his political creed, attachments, and speculations, and a few sermons on particular subjects and occasions, form the entire works of an individual, who might have enlightened, instructed, and adorned society. I know not whether he yet lives. If he shall be removed to a better world—Requiescat in pace.
Medioque ut limine curras
Icare, ait, moneo.