"See, Morley," he said, "how these people think fit to decorate the temples of their God, with heads of devils and serpents! Thus is it with us all, I fear; and if we were to look to the temple which we raise to God in our own hearts, we should find it as full of grinning fooleries as the outside of a French cathedral. The very image that we draw of him, nine times out of ten, if we could embody it, would be no better than the great idol of Juggernaut; and, alas! like that idol, we often make it, in bloody triumph, roll over a crowd of human things, crushing all sweet affections, and joys, and happiness, beneath the wheels of one superstition or another. Is it more drivelling or more foolish to ornament a temple like that with toads, and bats, and dragons of stone, than to suppose that the God who made us and gave us powers of enjoyment, should quarrel with us for using those powers, or tasting pleasure wherever we find it?"
"It must depend upon the kind of pleasure, Lieberg," replied Morley, somewhat sharply. "God will never quarrel with us, I am sure, for that which neither injures ourselves, nor other individuals, nor society in general--which neither degrades the spirit that he has given us, nor takes away from the glory of the giver. But it is a wide subject, Lieberg, which I will not discuss with you in my present mood; one thing, however, is very certain, that man's foolish imaginations can no more alter the nature of God, than those foolish ornaments can affect the prayers that are offered in sincerity beneath those walls. He has told us what he is, and with that we must rest satisfied."
Lieberg made no farther reply, for he was well aware, that one evil thought, that one dark doubt in regard to right and wrong, once implanted in the human mind, remains for its time buried in silence and apparent forgetfulness, till the summer day of temptation causes it to germinate and produce the richest harvest which a tempter can desire. He left the subject, therefore, were it was, and the following morning the two companions proceeded on their way towards the French metropolis.
They stayed not long in that capital, nor shall I pause upon all the events that occurred there. Lieberg took care that Morley should not want temptation, and it was not by any ordinary means that he stimulated him to yield to it. He urged him not, he argued not with him in order to induce him to plunge into the ordinary dissipations of youth, but he proceeded by the sap and mine: every word, every tone, and every look being directed to show without an effort--to impress upon the mind of his companion as a self-evident truth, that a greater or a less degree of vice was an inevitable necessity, an incident in the life of every young man, without which, youth never reached manhood. He took it for granted--or, at least, he seemed to do so--that Morley's views on those subjects must be the same as his own--nay, that he must be already in some degree dipped in the stream, which is certainly neither that of immortality nor oblivion; and he more than once thought fit to suppose that his young companion went hither, or went thither with views which never entered into his head. At the same time, as his acquaintance was very extensive in Paris, he contrived that his fellow-traveller should be cast, whether he liked it or not, into such society as he thought fit.
Tools for any work are never wanting in Paris; a thousand accidents brought about a meeting between Morley and this fair lady, or that beautiful girl; and amidst the bright, the gay, and the fascinating, there were many willing and well-skilled to lead youth upon the flowery path of passion. A moment of strong temptation came, working itself up by various accidents like clouds gathering together for a storm. Lieberg watched it coming, and chose the precise moment when the whole fabric of Morley's good feelings and good principles tottered, for the purpose of making a great effort to overthrow them altogether; but he strove for it, not as other men would have striven.
It was a sombre evening, the moment of danger he knew was to be towards nine o'clock that night, and Lieberg sought not to make his companion pass the hours in any occupation which might banish thought and reflection; on the contrary, it seemed as if a deep and heavy gloom had fallen upon himself; his conversation was of the darkest and desponding character; and, as they sat alone together, he skilfully called up every idea that might pile such a load upon Morley's heart and mind, as would impel him to anything in order to cast it off.
"Such evenings as this make me sad," he said, with his dark, bright eyes resting mournfully upon the young Englishman. "Autumn, indeed, is always to me a time of darkness. It is the death-bed of the year, and still, when I think how many pleasures have slipped by us untasted--how few will ever return again,--when I think of the emptiness of many things that I have sought and cared about, I feel a cloud come over my spirit that I would give worlds to disperse! What a difference, Morley," he continued, looking out of the window--"what a difference between this evening and that on which I some time ago met you in the park, with a beautiful girl hanging on your arm, and looking as if she loved you!"
Morley shrunk as if he had been rending open his heart, and bent down his eyes upon the table, but Lieberg went on--"I, too, was happier then," he continued; "but those dreams fade, and I do believe, after all, that with women, the virtue and the high principle which we admire is but coldness of nature. They will be to all appearance as fond, as attached, as devoted, as may be, but put some small stumbling-block in their way, and we shall find that they will whirl all our happiness to the wind without a hesitation or a care."
Morley stretched out his hand to the Burgundy that stood by with a sort of convulsive grasp, filled the tumbler to the brim, and drank it off without a pause.
"Give me the woman of passion," continued Lieberg--"she who yields to the impetuous torrent of her love without fears of the consequences or thoughts of the future--a thousand to one she betrays me, it is true, but still she is mine while I possess her, and she can never inflict upon me the pang of the cold-hearted, virtuous coquette, who raises love almost to a pitch of agony, and then disappoints it with an agony more terrible, verifying the Icelandic fable of the damned, whose torture is, to be first burned in the heart of Hecla, and then plunged into its eternal snows. There have been periods in my life, Morley, when I have felt more bitterly than you know of; and it is ever in such dull times as this that the memory of all which is sad and dark in the past comes upon me. I wish the Salon was opened; I think I could go and stake my last louis, to see if, by the gambler's feverish joy, I could cast off this oppressive weight upon my breast. Give me the wine, Morley, and let us have the windows closed--I love not the world nor anything in it!"