Ormond; Or, The Secret Witness. Volume 2 (of 3) Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  I know no task more arduous than a just delineation of the character ofOrmond. To scrutinize and ascertain our own principles is abundantlydifficult. To exhibit these principles to the world with absolutesincerity can hardly be expected. We are prompted to conceal and tofeign by a thousand motives; but truly to portray the motives, andrelate the actions of another, appears utterly impossible. The attempt,however, if made with fidelity and diligence, is not without its use.

  To comprehend the whole truth with regard to the character and conductof another, may be denied to any human being, but different observerswill have, in their pictures, a greater or less portion of this truth.No representation will be wholly false, and some, though not perfectly,may yet be considerably exempt from error.

  Ormond was of all mankind the being most difficult and most deserving tobe studied. A fortunate concurrence of incidents has unveiled hisactions to me with more distinctness than to any other. My knowledge isfar from being absolute, but I am conscious of a kind of duty, first tomy friend, and secondly to mankind, to impart the knowledge I possess.

  I shall omit to mention the means by which I became acquainted with hischaracter, nor shall I enter, at this time, into every part of it. Hispolitical projects are likely to possess an extensive influence on thefuture condition of this western world. I do not conceive myselfauthorized to communicate a knowledge of his schemes, which I gained, insome sort, surreptitiously, or at least, by means of which he was notapprised. I shall merely explain the maxims by which he was accustomedto regulate his private deportment.

  No one could entertain loftier conceptions of human capacity thanOrmond, but he carefully distinguished between men in the abstract, andmen as they are. The former were beings to be impelled, by the breath ofaccident, in a right or a wrong road, but whatever direction they shouldreceive, it was the property of their nature to persist in it. Now thisimpulse had been given. No single being could rectify the error. It wasthe business of the wise man to form a just estimate of things, but notto attempt, by individual efforts, so chimerical an enterprise as thatof promoting the happiness of mankind. Their condition was out of thereach of a member of a corrupt society to control. A mortal poisonpervaded the whole system, by means of which every thing received wasconverted into bane and purulence. Efforts designed to ameliorate thecondition of an individual were sure of answering a contrary purpose.The principles of the social machine must be rectified, before men canbe beneficially active. Our motives may be neutral or beneficent, butour actions tend merely to the production of evil.

  The idea of total forbearance was not less delusive. Man could not beotherwise than a cause of perpetual operation and efficacy. He was partof a machine, and as such had not power to withhold his agency.Contiguousness to other parts, that is, to other men, was all that wasnecessary to render him a powerful concurrent. What then was the conductincumbent on him? Whether he went forward, or stood still, whether hismotives were malignant, or kind, or indifferent, the mass of evil wasequally and necessarily augmented. It did not follow from thesepreliminaries that virtue and duty were terms without a meaning, butthey require us to promote our own happiness and not the happiness ofothers. Not because the former end is intrinsically preferable, notbecause the happiness of others is unworthy of primary consideration,but because it is not to be attained. Our power in the present state ofthings is subjected to certain limits. A man may reasonably hope toaccomplish his end when he proposes nothing but his own good: any otherpoint is inaccessible.

  He must not part with benevolent desire: this is a constituent ofhappiness. He sees the value of general and particular felicity; hesometimes paints it to his fancy, but if this be rarely done, it is inconsequence of virtuous sensibility, which is afflicted on observingthat his pictures are reversed in the real state of mankind. A wise manwill relinquish the pursuit of general benefit, but not the desire ofthat benefit, or the perception of that in which this benefit consists,because these are among the ingredients of virtue and the sources ofhis happiness.

  Principles, in the looser sense of that term, have little influence onpractice. Ormond was, for the most part, governed, like others, by theinfluences of education and present circumstances. It required avigilant discernment to distinguish whether the stream of his actionsflowed from one or the other. His income was large, and he managed itnearly on the same principles as other men. He thought himself entitledto all the splendour and ease which it would purchase, but his taste waselaborate and correct. He gratified his love of the beautiful, becausethe sensations it afforded were pleasing, but made no sacrifices to thelove of distinction. He gave no expensive entertainments for the sake ofexciting the admiration of stupid gazers, or the flattery or envy ofthose who shared them. Pompous equipage and retinue were modes ofappropriating the esteem of mankind which he held in profound contempt.The garb of his attendants was fashioned after the model suggested byhis imagination, and not in compliance with the dictates of custom.

  He treated with systematic negligence the etiquette that regulates theintercourse of persons of a certain class. He every where acted, in thisrespect, as if he were alone, or among familiar associates. The veryappellations of Sir, and Madam, and Mister, were, in his apprehension,servile and ridiculous, and as custom or law had annexed no penalty tothe neglect of these, he conformed to his own opinions. It was easierfor him to reduce his notions of equality to practice than for mostothers. To level himself with others was an act of condescension and notof arrogance. It was of requisite to descend rather than to risk,--atask the most easy, if we regard the obstacle flowing from the prejudiceof mankind, but far most difficult if the motive of the agent beconsidered.

  That in which he chiefly placed his boast, was his sincerity. To this herefused no sacrifice. In consequence of this, his deportment wasdisgusting to weak minds, by a certain air of ferocity and haughtynegligence. He was without the attractions of candour, because heregarded not the happiness of others, but in subservience to hissincerity. Hence it was natural to suppose that the character of thisman was easily understood. He affected to conceal nothing. No oneappeared more exempt from the instigations of vanity. He set light bythe good opinions of others, had no compassion for their prejudices andhazarded assertions in their presence which he knew would be, in thehighest degree, shocking to their previous notions. They might take it,he would say, as they list. Such were his conceptions, and the lastthing he would give up was the use of his tongue. It was his way to giveutterance to the suggestions of his understanding. If they weredisadvantageous to him, the opinions of others, it was well. He did notwant to be regarded in any light but the true one. He was contented tobe rated by the world at his just value. If they esteemed him forqualities which he did not possess, was he wrong in rectifying theirmistake: but in reality, if they valued him for that to which he had noclaim, and which he himself considered as contemptible, he mustnaturally desire to show them their error, and forfeit that praisewhich, in his own opinion, was a badge of infamy.

  In listening to his discourse, no one's claim to sincerity appeared lessquestionable. A somewhat different conclusion would be suggested by asurvey of his actions. In early youth he discovered in himself aremarkable facility in imitating the voice and gestures of others. Hismemory was eloquently retentive, and these qualities would have renderedhis career, in the theatrical profession, illustrious, had not hiscondition raised him above it. His talents were occasionally exerted forthe entertainment of convivial parties and private circles, but hegradually withdrew from such scenes as he advanced in age, and devotedhis abilities to higher purposes.

  His aversion to duplicity had flowed from experience of its evils. Hehad frequently been made its victim; inconsequence of this his temperhad become suspicious, and he was apt to impute deceit on occasions whenothers, of no inconsiderable sagacity, were abundantly disposed toconfidence. One transaction had occurred in his life, in which theconsequences of being misled by false appearances were of the utmostmoment t
o his honour and safety. The usual mode of salving his doubt hedeeded insufficient, and the eagerness of his curiosity tempted him,for, the first time, to employ, for this end, his talent at imitation.He therefore assumed a borrowed character and guise, and performed hispart with so much skill as fully to accomplish life design. He whosemask would have secured him from all other attempts, was thus takenthrough an avenue which his caution had overlooked, and the hypocrisy ofhis pretensions unquestionably ascertained.

  Perhaps, in a comprehensive view, the success of this expedient wasunfortunate. It served to recommend this method of encountering deceit,and informed him of the extent of those powers which are so liable to beabused. A subtlety much inferior to Ormond would suffice to recommendthis mode of action. It was defensible on no other principle thannecessity. The treachery of mankind compelled him to resort to it. Ifthey should deal in a manner as upright and explicit as himself, itwould be superfluous. But since they were in the perpetual use ofstratagems and artifices, it was allowable, he thought, to wield thesame arms.

  It was easy to perceive, however, that this practice was recommended tohim by other considerations. He was delighted with the power itconferred. It enabled him to gain access, as if by supernatural means,to the privacy of others, and baffle their profoundest contrivances tohide themselves from his view. It flattered him with the possession ofsomething like omniscience. It was besides an art, in which, as inothers, every accession of skill was a source of new gratification.Compared with this, the performance of the actor is the sport ofchildren. This profession he was accustomed to treat with mercilessridicule, and no doubt some of his contempt arose from a secretcomparison between the theatrical species of imitation and his own. Heblended in his own person the functions of poet and actor, and hisdramas were not fictitious but real. The end that he proposed was notthe amusement of a playhouse mob. His were scenes in which hope and fearexercised a genuine influence, and in which was maintained thatresemblance to truth so audaciously and grossly violated on the stage.

  It is obvious how many singular conjunctures must have grown out of thispropensity. A mind of uncommon energy like Ormond's, which had occupieda wide sphere of action, and which could not fail of confederating itsefforts with those of minds like itself, must have given birth toinnumerable incidents, not unworthy to be exhibited by the most eloquenthistorian. It is not my business to relate any of these. The fate ofMiss Dudley is intimately connected with him. What influence he obtainedover her destiny, in consequence of this dexterity, will appear in thesequel.

  It arose from these circumstances, that no one was more impenetrablethan Ormond, though no one's real character seemed more easilydiscerned. The projects that occupied his attention were diffused overan ample space; and his instruments and coadjutors were culled from afield, whose bounds were those of the civilized world. To the vulgareye, therefore, he appeared a man of speculation and seclusion, and wasequally inscrutable in his real and assumed characters. In his real, hisintents were too lofty and comprehensive, as well as too assiduouslyshrouded from profane inspection for them to scan. In the latter,appearances were merely calculated to mislead and not to enlighten.

  In his youth he had been guilty of the usual excesses incident to hisage and character. These had disappeared and yielded place to a moreregular and circumspect system of action. In the choice of his pleasureshe still exposed himself to the censure of the world. Yet there was moreof grossness and licentiousness in the expression of his tenets, thanin the tenets themselves. So far as temporance regards the maintenanceof health, no man adhered to its precepts with more fidelity, but heesteemed some species of connection with the other sex as venial, whichmankind in general are vehement in condemning.

  In his intercourse with women he deemed himself superior to theallurements of what is called love. His inferences were drawn from aconsideration of the physical propensities of a human being. In hisscale of enjoyments the gratifications which belonged to these wereplaced at the bottom. Yet he did not entirely disdain them, and whenthey could be purchased without the sacrifice of superior advantages,they were sufficiently acceptable.

  His mistake on this head was the result of his ignorance. He had nothitherto met with a female worthy of his confidence. Their views werelimited and superficial, or their understandings were betrayed by thetenderness of their hearts. He found in them no intellectual energy, nosuperiority to what he accounted vulgar prejudice, and no affinity withthe sentiments which he cherished with most devotion. Their presence hadbeen capable of exciting no emotion which he did not quickly discover tobe vague and sensual; and the uniformity of his experience at lengthinstilled into him a belief, that the intellectual constitution offemales was essentially defective. He denied the reality of that passionwhich claimed a similitude or sympathy of minds as one of itsingredients.