Summer XXIII. Forms of true happiness

Intro & Preface & Contents

Previous: Summer XXI - XXII. British character and Democracy

A visit from N----. He stayed with me two days, and I wish he could have stayed a third. (Beyond the third day, I am not sure that any man would be wholly welcome. My strength will bear but a certain amount of conversation, even the pleasantest, and before long I desire solitude, which is rest.)

The mere sight of N---, to say nothing of his talk, did me good. If appearances can ever be trusted, there are few men who get more enjoyment out of life.

... If I had not been such a lucky fellow -- if at this moment I were still toiling for bread -- it is probable that he and I would see each other very seldom; for N---- has delicacy, and would shrink from bringing his high-spirited affluence face to face with Grub Street squalor and gloom; whilst I, on the other hand, should hate to think that he kept up my acquaintance from a sense of decency. As it is we are very good friends, quite unembarrassed, and -- for a couple days -- really enjoy the sight and hearing of each other....

As we sat in the garden dusk, the scent of our pipes mingling with that of roses, N--- said to me in a laughing tone: “Come now, tell me how you felt when you first heard of your legacy?” And I could not tell him; I had nothing to say; no vivid recollection of the moment would come back to me... Thinking it over now, I see, of course that it would be impossible to put into words the feeling of that supreme moment of life. It was not joy that possessed me; I did not exult; I did not lose control of myself in any way. But I remember drawing one or two deep sighs, as if all at once relieved of some distressing burden or constraint. Only some hours after did I begin to feel any kind of agitation. That night I did not close my eyes; the night after I slept longer and more soundly than I remember to have done for a score of years. Once or twice in the first week I had a hysterical feeling; I scarce kept myself from shedding tears. And the strange thing is that it seems to have happened so long ago; I seem to have been a free man for many a twelvemonth, instead of only for two. Indeed, that is what I have often thought about forms of true happiness; the brief are quite as satisfying as those that last long. I wanted, before my death, to enjoy liberty from care, and repose in a place I love. That was granted me; and, had I known it only for one whole year, the sum of my enjoyment would have been no whit less than if I live to savour it for a decade.

Alpha.

As I’ve said before, I am too good at imagining worst case scenarios to quite believe in the absolute freedom of the Ryecroft premise -- the most fortunate person, in terms of wealth, can still have, at most any moment, his life turned into what he would have considered hell by an accident, a failure of his health, or the workings of the criminal justice system... to mention just a couple options. How he would view his new life, after it was turned upside down, is another question.

Still, even the illusion that you can live relatively comfortably for longer than you are really eager to live, is a sublime feeling. Concerns that you’ve always held at bay, or tried to ignore, in the outbuildings of your mind can now be brought into full light and dismissed. Your mistakes, including the financial steps you should have taken but didn’t, are now forgiven and forgotten.

Next: Summer XXIV. Garden.