Fashion, also, in its excess, is but a relief against ennui; and it is rather strong evidence of the universal prevalence of listlessness, that a change in dress at Paris, can, within a few months, be imitated in St. Louis. Yet, in the young and the fair, a milder sentiment influences conduct. In them, the latent consciousness of beauty, the charm of an existence that is opening in the fulness of its attractions, the becoming loveliness of innocence and youth, the simple cheerfulness of inexperience, lead to a modest and decorous display. Broadway, the unrivalled Broadway, is not without its loungers; yet the young and the gay are not discontented ones. They move in the strength of their own beauty, like the patriot statesman, neither shunning, nor yet courting admiration; and tripping along the brilliant street, half coveting half refusing attention,
"They feel that they are happier than they know."
From Broadway we pass to the crowded haunts of business. Is there ennui there? Do the money changers grow weary of profits? Is business so dull that bankers have nothing to do? Are doubtful notes so uncommon, that there is no latitude for shaving? Have the underwriters nothing at sea to be anxious about? Do the insurers on life omit to look after those who have taken out policies, and exhort them to temperance and exercise? These are all busy enough; too much engaged, and too little romantic to be much moved by sentimental regrets. But there are those, who plunge headlong into affairs from the restlessness of their nature, and who hurry into bold speculations, because they cannot endure to be idle. Now, business, like poetry, requires a tranquil mind. But there are those, who venture upon the career of business, under the impulse of ennui. How shall the young and haughty heirs of large fortunes rid themselves of their time, and acquit themselves in the eye of the public of their imagined responsibilities? One writes a tale for the Souvenirs, another speculates in the stocks. The former is laughed at, yet hoards an estate; the latter is food for hungry sharks. Then comes bankruptcy; sober thought repels the fiend that had been making a waste of life, or the same passion drives its possessor to become a busy body and zealot in the current excitement of the times; or absolute despair, ennui in its intensity, leads to insanity.
For the mad house, too, as well as the debtor's gaol, is in part peopled by the same blighting power, and nature recovers itself from a state of languid apathy, only by the terrific excitement of frenzy. Or a passion for suicide ensues; the mind revels in the contemplation of the grave, and covets the aspect of the countenance of death as the face of a familiar friend. The mind invests itself in the sombre shades of a melancholy longing after eternal rest—a longing which is sometimes connected with unqualified disbelief, and sometimes associates itself with an undefined desire of a purely spiritual existence.
We might multiply examples of the very extensive prevalence of that unhappy languor of which we are treating. Let us aim rather at observing the limit of its power.
It was a foolish philosophy, which believed in ennui as an evidence and a means of human perfectibility. The only exertions which it is capable of producing, are of a subordinate character. It may give to passion a fearful intensity, consequent on a state of moral disease; but human virtue must be the result of far higher causes. The exercise of principle, the generous force of purified emotions, cheerful desire, and willing industry, are the parents of real greatness. If we look through the various departments of public and of intellectual action, we shall find the mark of inferiority upon every thing which has sprung from ennui. In philosophy, it might produce the follies of Cynic oddity, but not the sublime lessons of Pythagoras or Socrates. In poetry, it may produce effusions from persons of quality, devoid of wit, but it never could have pointed the satire of Pope. In the mechanic arts it may contrive a balloon, but never could invent a steam-boat. In religion, it stumbles at a thousand knotty points in metaphysical theology, but it never led the soul to intercourse with heaven, or to the contemplation of divine truth.
The celebrated son of Philip was a man of exalted genius; and political wisdom had its share in his career. Ennui could never have produced Macedonia's madman, but it may well put in its claim to the Swede. Or let us look rather for a conqueror, who dreamed that he had genius to rival Achilles, and yet never had a settled plan of action. The famous king of Epirus has seemed to be an historical puzzle, so uncertain was his purpose, so wavering his character. Will you know the whole truth about him? Pyrrhus was an ennuyé.
When a painter, in the pursuit of his vocation, is obliged to give a likeness of a person that has neither beauty nor soul, he may perhaps draw figures in the air, or spoil his picture by an inconsiderate flourish of his pencil. He dislikes his task, and his work will show it.
When a poet writes a song for hire, or solely to be sung to some favourite air, it is more than probable his verses will be languid, and his meaning doubtful. Thus, for example,—
"The smiles of joy, the tears of wo
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow."