“But I do not see in his pursuits that kind of demand for stimuli which poets are supposed to have? I think that drinking is rather an effect than a cause.”
Such questions and such answers, with such conclusions, were frequent. Accident at length led me to a closer knowledge of the circumstances of one person, whose fame seemed to pale before the effectual fires of some hidden conflagration.
Blackstone had taken his place at the bar of his native county, and extended his practice to the various courts of the State, so that he seemed, in a few years, to have got possession of a position for which many had given a life time of labor. The amount of his business at the bar did not hinder him from distinguishing himself in the halls of the legislature, and his commanding eloquence commended him to the people of both parties as a representative in Congress, where his career fulfilled all the expectations of his warmest political friends, and justified the vote in his favor of his political opponents.
Years passed away, and the habits of this popular and eminent citizen were less exemplary than the fame of his talents would require, and while his many friends had to confess a bitter disappointment, he seemed dissatisfied with himself, and constantly in need of something which no one seemed able to impart. He lost the high position which he had reached, and the world wondered at the change; all, of course, censured the recusant, and blamed him justly, because there was that in his habits which shocked the temperate. “No man in these days,” it was said with emphasis, “no man can expect to sustain himself in any public position who neglects the proprieties of life by indulging in intemperate use of spirituous liquor.”
Here was a cause for the lapse in the upward course. To drink too much is to be unable to ascend—we do not mean a play upon a vulgar designation for inebriety, when we say that he who drinks too much has in him a too heavy load to take with him to the temple of desirable fame.
But admitting intemperance as the proximate cause of the change in the man’s conduct—may we not be allowed to suspect that there was a remote cause—some less potent influence working the evil, but producing through the agency of liquor? In other words we did inquire into the circumstances of Blackstone and found that there was a remote cause, and we found also what that cause was:
Blackstone’s fine person and commanding talents, gave him the welcome entrée of the first families of West Virginia: whether these are equal to the real F. F. V. of the eastern portion of the State, we do not know, but they were glad to find Blackstone among them. He married a young woman of good education—we mean of considerable school learning—and she was beside handsome and agreeable. She admired the position which Blackstone had achieved—was pleased with the fame of her husband, and not a little elated at the distinction which his character and popularity conferred on her. The world all saw that Mrs. B. was proud of her husband—the world as usual made a mistake. She was proud of being Blackstone’s wife. The reflected honor was most grateful, and she enjoyed it. She appreciated the distinction which she possessed, almost as highly as she did the abundant supply of money which her husband’s position at the bar enabled him to supply.
But Mrs. Blackstone never thought much about the manner in which the money was acquired, and never for a moment thought of the ingredients of her husband’s fame. She knew that Mr. B. was a distinguished lawyer, but it never occurred to her that the maintenance of his position demanded as much exertion as did the attainment thereof. She knew by common fame, by the newspapers, and by other tokens, that her husband was one of the most distinguished speakers of that speaking portion of the country, and she knew, because all said, that his speeches in the halls of legislation or at the courts of justice were not merely verbal outpourings, they contained deep thought and persuasive arguments, and constant instruction. But it never occurred to Mrs. B. that these gigantic works of her husband were the result of efforts; that without due preparation he would have failed in the midst of his argument, and that each glorious exposition of the law to the court, each elucidation of the constitution to the Legislature demanded that its successor should be as well sustained, should add to his fame for learning and acumen, and that consequently new study, new labor, new intensity of application, could alone secure to the gifted speaker the fame which his antecedent argument had acquired. To her, we say, such an idea never occurred. She seemed to think, or at least her conduct would warrant the conclusion that she thought, the eloquence and the learning of her husband were as little the result of exertions as was his physical proportion, and that one of his great speeches was as easily made as was a pedestrian movement from his house to the office. The truth is, she thought nothing about it.
A friend whose business calls him frequently to the West, tells us that he was at one time an inmate of Mr. Blackstone’s family for some weeks—that on one occasion the whole town had been wrapt in admiration at one of his magnificent addresses in the court-house—it was a speech which if it had been the only one of any man’s life would have insured enviable fame. Our informant, roused from the deep absorption which the speech produced, hastened at its close to the dwelling of Mr. B., that he might sit and enjoy the rich effect which the language and tone had produced upon his mind. Mrs. B. was in the parlor, and he informed her of the unexampled efforts and success of her husband. She merely remarked that she had heard him speak often before their marriage but never since.
Of course, a lady was not going to laud her husband; she was modest.