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The Adventures of Hugh Trevor

T >> Thomas Holcroft >> The Adventures of Hugh Trevor





_More meditations relating to Olivia; concluding with a love-letter:
Doubts concerning its conveyance_


It cannot be supposed that Olivia was out of my thoughts. Knowing her
kindness toward Miss Wilmot, I carefully took the first opportunity
to inform the latter of the chief incidents that had passed; and to
concert with her some means, if possible, of obtaining an interview.

Miss Wilmot no longer received any pecuniary aid from Olivia. Wilmot
considered it as a duty to provide for his sister; and had too lofty
a sense of independance to admit the repetition of these favours. Yet
how far that pride of heart, which teaches us, not only that we should
not submit to receive pecuniary assistance from any human being except
from our relations, but that these relations can accept of no relief,
however much they may be in need of it, without tarnishing our honor,
is a question which deserves to be seriously examined. Not but, at
that time, it squared very aptly with my opinions. It may be further
remarked of relations that, as they sometimes think they ought only to
receive aid from each other, so, they most of them imagine that, from
each other, they may unblushingly extort all they can. The generous
Wilmot indeed was in no danger of this last mistake.

But though money was no longer a motive for intercourse, between the
gentle Olivia and Miss Wilmot, there was no danger that either of
the friends would forget the other; and the latter was too sincerely
interested in the happiness both of me and Olivia not to be willing to
promote that happiness, by every means in her power.

What these means should be was the difficulty we had to solve. To use
any kind of stratagem would offend the delicate and justly-feeling
Olivia. To come upon her by surprise, even if the opportunity should
offer itself, would not be a manly and dignified proceeding.

I had always thought highly of that courage which, mild as her manners
were, she never failed to exert on trying occasions. Her defence of me
in the coach was a proof that I had not overestimated her fortitude.
It likewise shewed that she was under mistakes concerning me that
were dangerous, should they remain unexplained; and that, whenever
I thought of them, which was but too often, excited my utmost
indignation.

Bold however as she was in my defence when she supposed me dead, very
different sensations might assail her when she should be convinced
(if she still doubted) that I was living. Her submission to her aunt
seemed to be unlimited, as long as she supposed that to comply would
be less productive of harm than to resist: but I had witnessed that
she would not consent to actions of great moment, which her heart
disapproved.

These facts made it improbable that she would grant me an interview,
without her aunt's knowledge. What then was to be done? A letter, that
should fully explain my thoughts, my plans, my determination, and my
hopes and fears, appeared to be the most eligible mode. Were I to
prompt her to a clandestine correspondence, I was well aware that I
should highly and justly offend her. She would consider it as little
less than an insult. Her conduct was open, her mind superior to
deceit; and to be ignorant of this would be to shew myself unworthy
of her. The lover should disdain to excite his mistress to any action
which he would disapprove in a wife; and this was a rule not to be
infringed, by him who should aspire to the noble-minded Olivia.

To write then I resolved; and in such a manner as to open my whole
soul to her, awaken her affections, call forth her admiration, agitate
her with pity and love, and ensure her perseverance.

Alas! I took the pen in hand, but was miserably deceived. I
had undertaken an impossible task. Thought was too rapid, too
multifarious, too complicate; and the tracing of letters and words
infinitely too slow, and frigid. At last however, after repeated
attempts, I determined on sending the following: with which when
written I was very far from satisfied; but of that I despaired.

* * * * *

'To the woman whom my soul adores how shall I address myself?
Tumultuous thoughts, hopes that vanish, and fears that distract, are
ill fitted for such a talk. Governed by feelings which will admit of
no controul, I can only claim your pardon on the plea of inability to
preserve that silence which it is temerity, or something worse, to
break. My thoughts will have passage, will rush into your presence,
will expose themselves to the worst of calamities, your reproof and
anger. Distracted as I am by a dread of the dangers that may result
from my silence, I persuade myself that these dangers are more
immediate and threatening, though scarcely more painful, than your
disapprobation.

'You have supposed me dead; though by what strange accident I cannot
divine. Under that supposition, it was my miraculous fortune, my
ecstatic bliss, to hear you, with a purity of heart and a dignity
of sentiment such as none but a heart like yours could conceive or
express, avow a former partiality in favour of one who, whatever may
be his other faults, would gladly resign his life to secure your
happiness: of one who, in his over-weening affection has fondly and
foolishly cherished the persuasion that this happiness is inseparable
from his own: nay who partly hopes and partly believes, so blind is
his egotism, that he is the only man on earth who fully comprehends
your wonderful worth and matchless virtues; and who is pursuing the
fixed purpose of his soul, that of finally deserving you, from the
conviction that he through life will be invariable in that admiration,
that tenderness, and that unceasing love without which the life of
Olivia might perhaps be miserable. These may be the dreams of vanity,
and folly: yet, if I do not mistake, they are the dreams of all
lovers. They are indeed the aliment or rather the very essence of
love. What delight can equal that of revelling, in imagination, on the
happiness we can bestow on those who have bliss so ineffable to bestow
upon us?

'What then if I were to see this Olivia mated with a man so dull of
faculty as soon to lose all sense of the wondrous treasure in his
possession: who never perhaps had any discriminating knowledge of
its worth; and who shall be willing to barter it for any vile and
contemptible gewgaw that may allure his depraved taste, or sickly
appetite? Is there no such man? Are these fears wholly groundless?

'At what an immeasurable distance do I seem cast from the enjoyment of
that supreme bliss to which, perhaps, the frenzy only of imagination
could make me aspire! There is but one means by which I can be happy.
Either I am to be the most favoured of mankind, or I am nothing.
Either I rise into godlike existence, or I sink unknown and never to
be remembered. Either we are made for each other, or--I dare not think
on the reverse. It is too distracting.

'Yet I have no hope! What I now write is presumption, is madness! And
why? It is not your beauty, your virtues, or the supreme qualities
of your mind that would raise this gulph of misery between us. No.
Avarice, vanity, and prejudice are my enemies. It is they that would
sacrifice you at their altars. That you will persevere in your refusal
is my only hope.

'How shall I palliate, what I cannot defend, my behaviour while I
overheard you and your aunt? In vain do I plead that I was asleep,
when you came into the coach; and that I first discovered you by the
sound of your voice and the turn of the conversation; that I dreaded
exciting any sudden alarm in you: perhaps it was a vain dread: and
that, when I ought most to have spoken, when I became the subject
of the discourse, I was then chained in silence by unconquerable
emotions. Yet to be a listener? Indeed, indeed, it is a thing that my
soul disdains! But I have done many such things; not knowing, while
they passed, what it was that I did.

'My destiny now is to study the law; and to this my days and nights
shall be devoted: but the distance at which I see myself from the goal
is a thought which I am obliged, by every possible effort, to shut out
of my memory.

'I am in want of consolation; but since your society is denied me, I
know not where it may be found. I own, there are moments in which I
am fearfully agitated. Yet I do not solicit an answer. Let me rather
perish than prompt you to an action of the propriety of which even
I am obliged to doubt; since it cannot I suppose be done without
concealment. Oh that you knew every thought of my heart! You would
then perceive the burning desire I have to make myself every way
worthy of that unutterable bliss to which I aspire.

'Madman! I aspire?

'With what contempt would such daring be treated, by those whom custom
and ties of blood have taught you to revere! I confess this is a
thought which I cannot endure. Yet I can less endure to relinquish
my impossible hopes. Could you conceive what these contradictory and
tormenting sensations are, you would perhaps be induced to pardon some
of the extravagant acts which I heard you so mildly, yet so justly,
censure.

'To be yours then is the end for which I live; and yet my pride and
every other feeling revolts, to think I should entreat you to accept a
pauper, either in wealth or principle. Well, then, I will not waste
my time, in complaint. Let me become worthy of you, or let me perish!
Fool! That is impossible. But if fall I must, I will endeavour to make
my ruin respectable.

'Suffer me to inform you that I have lately acquired a friend whose
virtues are beyond my praise, and who has urged me to accept his aid,
in forwarding my studies and pursuits, as an act of duty incumbent
on us both. Our acquaintance has been short; and so, considering
the serious nature of the subject, was the debate that led to this
conclusion: yet his arguments seemed unanswerable, and I hope I have
not yielded too lightly. Oh that it was allowed me to consult your
exquisite sense of right and wrong! But wishes are vain.

'Thus far I have intruded, yet know not how to end. My only hope that
you will take no offence at what I have written is in the conscious
respect that my heart feels for you; which I think cannot have
misguided my pen; and the knowledge that you are too just lightly to
attribute mean or ill motives to me.

'How languid is all that I have written! Am I so impotent that I can
present none of the images that so eternally haunt me, that wing me
into your presence, furnish me with innumerable arguments which seem
so all-persuasive, melt me in tenderness at one moment, supply me with
the most irresistible elocution the next, and convince you while they
inspire me with raptures inexpressible? Are they all flown, all faded,
all extinct? Where is the fervor that devours me?

'I would pray for your happiness! I would supplicate heaven that no
moment of your bliss should be abridged! Shall it then be disturbed by
me? Oh no. Unless authorised by hopes, as different as they are wild
and improbable, pardon but this, and you shall never more be subject
to the like importunity from

HUGH TREVOR.'

* * * * *

Having written my letter, I had to devise the means of having it
delivered. If it were addressed directly to her, what certainty had I
that it would not be opened by the aunt? Nay was not that indeed the
most probable? And would it in that case ever be seen by Olivia? In my
apprehension certainly not.

I had then to chuse whether I would send a messenger, who should wait
about the house and take some opportunity to deliver it clandestinely;
or commit it to the care either of Mary or Miss Wilmot.

The messenger was a very objectionable expedient: it was mean, and
liable to detection. The medium of Mary was something of the same
kind; and the friendship and intelligence of Miss Wilmot rendered her
intervention much the most desirable.

It was a delicate office to require of her. But she could speak the
truth: she could say that it was to relate some facts which Olivia
might even desire to know, that it contained nothing which I myself
should wish her to conceal, if she thought fit to shew it; that it did
not invite her to any improper correspondence; and that it was the
only one which, under the present circumstances, I meant to obtrude
upon her.

That Miss Wilmot might be convinced I had neither deceived myself nor
her in this account, which I should instruct her to give of it, I
hastened with it to her lodgings, and requested her to read it before
it was sealed. Having ended, she was so well satisfied with the
propriety both of writing and delivering it that she readily undertook
the latter office; and, with her I left it, hoping that Olivia would
soon call, would read it in her presence, and that I should quickly
learn what might be the sensations it should produce.




CHAPTER XIV


_Counsellor Ventilate and the law: Raptures excited by the panegyric
of Blackstone: Dialogues legal and political, with characteristic
traits_


Meantime the appointed interview between me and Counsellor Ventilate
took place. This gentleman was characterized by those manners, and
opinions, which the profession of the law is so eminently calculated
to produce. He had a broad brazen stare, a curl of contempt on his
upper-lip, and a somewhat short supercilious nose. His head was
habitually turned upward, his eye in the contrary direction, as if on
the watch in expectation to detect something which his cunning might
turn to advantage, and his half-opened mouth and dropping jaw seemed
to say, 'What an immense fool is every man I meet!'

His whole manner and aspect appeared to denote that he was in a
continual revery; and that he imagined himself in a court of law;
brow-beating a witness, interrogating an idiot, or detailing cases
and precedents, to shew the subtlety with which he could mislead and
confound his hearers. A split-hair distinction without a difference
gave him rapture; and whenever it happened to puzzle, which was
but too often, he raised his left shoulder and gave a hem of
congratulation to himself: denoting his conviction that he was
indisputably the greatest lawyer in the world! And, if the greatest
lawyer, he was as certainly, according to his own creed, the greatest
man! For the rest of mankind, if put in competition with lawyers, what
were they? What but poor, silly, imbecile creatures?

One standard, by which he delighted to measure his own talents, was
the length to which he could drawl out a reply. Was there a man to be
found who could speak eight hours unceasingly? He would surpass him.
When his turn came, nine should not suffice. He would be more dull,
contradictory, and intolerable, than his rival by an hour, at least.
He would repeat precedents, twist sentences, misconstrue maxims, and
so perplex and entangle his own intellect that his hearers had no way
of getting rid of the pain he excited; except by falling a-sleep,
or determining not to listen. It must be owned however he had some
charity for them; for to sleep he gave them a very sufficient
provocative.

Being one of the retainers of government, he had a seat in the House
of Commons: where he used to rise in his place and address the
Speaker, with no less logic, love of justice, and legislative wisdom,
than he was wont to display when pleading in the courts.

It was in vain that he exposed himself to the ridicule of this
most discerning body, not less witty than virtuous. Of shame he
was incapable. He would again and again rise in his place, totally
forgetful of past flagellation, and again and again convince Mr.
Speaker and the honorable members: persisting to labour, in the hope
of making them all as profound reasoners as himself. No matter that
the thing was impracticable: he would get up and do his duty, and sit
down and receive his own applause.

To mention shame in this case was indeed absurd. How should a man
blush at reproof which he cannot comprehend? His skull was so
admirably fortified, by nature, that it was equally impenetrable
to the heavy batteries of argument or the skirmishing artillery
of wit. Let the cannon roar: he heard it not. He was abstractedly
contemplating those obscure depths in which he remained for ever
seated; and where he had visions innumerable, though he saw nothing.

One favourite and never-failing object, on these occasions, was to
instruct the house in law. And here the devil, who is himself a kind
of lawyer, for he devours his best friends, the devil I say chose
these opportunities to vent his choicest malice. He did not set a
lawyer to confound a lawyer: that were but a stale device. He humbled
him out of the mouths of men who had occasionally read law-books, it
is true: but who had read them without a lawyers' obliquity; and had
enquired what was the simple unadulterated intention of their authors.
Now law, which in all its stages has a quibble in either eye, that
may mean good or may mean ill, is every where, except in a Court
of Justice, capable of a good interpretation. This is not a rule
without an exception: but in many cases at least, law has something
intentionally beneficial in its principle.

For this beneficent vital-spark every body, but a lawyer, is in
search; and it is what every body, but a lawyer, is delighted to
find. No wonder therefore that a lawyer should meet discomfiture, and
confusion, when he pretends to discuss the abstract nature of justice,
in any place except in these aforesaid Courts of Justice.

Thus it happened that Mr. Ventilate was, on all such occasions,
confounded in that honorable house, of which he was an honorable
member: which indeed, when we remember who were his opponents, was
less miraculous than the immaculate conception--Pshaw! I mean the
transmigrations--of Vishnoo.

Much of the conceit and ridicule of the character of Mr. Ventilate was
apparent, even to my eye, at our first meeting. But he was a person
of great practice, and had the reputation of a sound lawyer: which
signifies a man who has patience to read reports, and a facility at
quoting them. Beside, I was in haste; and rather inclined to leap over
an obstacle than to go round it.

Accordingly our arrangements were made, and the next day I attended
at his chambers; with a firm and as I supposed not to be shaken
determination to become one of the greatest lawyers the world ever
beheld.

The first book I was advised to read, as a historical introduction to
and compendium of law, was Blackstone's Commentaries. This author had
acquired too much celebrity for any man of liberal education to be
ignorant of his fame. I therefore began and continued to read him
with all the prepossession that an author himself could wish in his
favour. The panegyric he makes on English laws, and the Constitution
of Britain, gave me delight and animation. The reproof he bestows,
on gentlemen who are ignorant of this branch of learning, and on the
perplexities introduced into our statute-law by such 'ill-judging and
unlearned legislators,' and his praise of the capacity they would
acquire for administering justice, to which sacred function they are
so often called, were this ignorance removed, gave dignity to the
study I was about to pursue.

Then the account given of Servius Sulpicius! who, according to my
learned author, 'left behind him about a hundred and four-score
volumes of his own compiling!' How wonderfully did it move my
admiration! I previously knew that in most countries, which are
denominated civilized, law was voluminous: but I had never till then
imagined that one man could himself compile a hundred and fourscore
volumes! And, as it seems, could compile them at his leisure too:
for his chief business was that of oratory! Beside which it lives on
record that, being a firm patriot, he was a wise and indefatigable
senator! But it appears that Sulpicius could devour law with greater
ease than Milo, or perhaps even than Cacus himself, could oxen.

Neither was it recorded that this prodigy of legal learning began
young. And should I then despair of equalling him? No, no: get me into
one of my trances and, had he compiled as many thousands of volumes, I
should scarcely have suspected that I could not compile as fast as he.

As I read on, how did I deplore the quarrel between Vicarius and his
opponents: or, in other words, between the pandects and the common law
of England: with the ignorance that had nearly been the result! How
rejoice in the institution of those renowned hot-beds of law, the Inns
of Court: by the aid of which, had not the rage for enacting laws kept
pace with the rage for studying them, there were hopes that the whole
kingdom would in time have been so learned in the science that every
man might indeed have become his own lawyer.

How did I regret that I had not studied common-law while at college!
How sympathetic with my author, when he exclaims--'That a science,
which distinguishes the criterions of right and wrong; which teaches
to establish the one, and prevent, punish, or redress the other; which
employs in its theory the noblest faculties of the soul, and exerts in
its practice the cardinal virtues of the heart: a science, which is
universal in its use and extent, accommodated to each individual, yet
comprehending the whole community; that a science like this should
ever have been deemed unnecessary to be studied in a university, is a
matter of astonishment and concern!'

How did I bless the memory of Mr. Viner, who had found a remedy for
this evil, by establishing an Oxford professorship; and how promise
to make myself master of his abridgment, till I had every case it
contained at my tongue's end! What were four and twenty volumes in
folio? Compared to Sulpicius, it was a trifle!

The eulogium that I next came to on a university education, how
grateful was that to my heart! I was not, as my oracle described,
though one of the 'gentlemen of bright imaginations, to be wearied;
however unpromising the search.' Neither was I to be numbered among
those 'many persons of moderate capacity, who confuse themselves at
first setting out; and continue ever dark and puzzled during the
remainder of their lives.' The law being itself so luminous, there
was no fear of that with me.

I met indeed with one overwhelming assertion. 'Such knowledge as is
necessary for a judge is hardly to be acquired by the lucubrations of
twenty years!'

But this to be sure must be meant of dull fellows. As to the limits of
genius, they were unknown.

My pleasure revived in full force, when I arrived at my author's
definition of law: which he states to be--'a rule of civil conduct,
prescribed by the supreme power in a state; commanding what is right,
and prohibiting what is wrong.' What will you say to that, friend
Turl? exclaimed I: putting down the book, and pausing. Can any thing
be more provident, more wise, more desirable?

In short, I found the writer so clearly understood and satisfactorily
explained the nature of law, and the benefits arising from it, that,
for my own part, I began to be ashamed of my former stupidity. It
was all so self-evident that it seemed disgraceful not to know it
as it were by intuition. I was in that precise temper of mind which
renders conviction an easy task: for I was in haste to be rich, and
famous; and the desire of wealth and fame are two of the strongest
provocatives to faith that the sagacity of selfishness has ever yet
discovered.

While I was in the midst of all these admirings, my attention
was roused by a dialogue that passed between two of my senior
fellow-pupils, whose names were Rudge and Trottman, which the former
thus began.

'That was a d---- rascally cause we were concerned in yesterday.'

'Rascally enough. But we got it.'

'I can't say but I was sorry for the poor farmer.'

'Sorry! Ha, ha, ha! You remind me of an unfleshed-recruit: or a young
surgeon, who has just begun to walk the hospitals. Frequent the
Courts, and you will soon learn to forget commiseration, and attend to
nothing but law. Docking of entails gives the lawyer as little concern
as the amputation of limbs does the surgeon: they are both of them
curious only about the manner, and dexterity of the operation.'

'I suppose it will ruin the man.'

'He was a fool for making it a criminal prosecution. He should have
brought an action for damages.'

'It is an aggravating thing for a man to have his daughter seduced, be
beaten himself because he was angry at the injury, and, when he sues
for redress, not only be unable to obtain it, but find his fortune
destroyed, as well as his daughter's character, and his own peace.'

'The law knows nothing concerning him, or his fortune, character,
peace, or daughter. It is and ought to be dead to private feeling.
It must consider nothing but the public benefit: nor must it ever
condescend to vary from its own plain and literal construction.'

'That is strange: for its origin seems to have been in those very
feelings, to which it is so dead.'

'Undoubtedly. But it provides for such feelings each under its
individual class; and if a man, seeking redress, shall seek it under a
wrong head, that is his fault; and not the fault of the law.'

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