Ernest Maltravers — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
Ernest Maltravers — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
THE tench, no doubt, considers the pond in which he lives as the Great
World. There is no place, however stagnant, which is not the great world
to the creatures that move about, in it. People who have lived all their
lives in a village still talk of the world as if they had ever seen
it! An old woman in a hovel does not put her nose out of her door on a
Sunday without thinking she is going amongst the pomps and vanities
of the great world. _Ergo_, the great world is to all of us the little
circle in which we live. But as fine people set the fashion, so the
circle of fine people is called the Great World _par excellence_. Now
this great world is not a bad thing when we thoroughly understand it;
and the London great world is at least as good as any other. But then
we scarcely do understand that or anything else in our _beaux
jours_,--which, if they are sometimes the most exquisite, are also often
the most melancholy and the most wasted portion of our life. Maltravers
had not yet found out either _the set_ that pleased him or the species
of amusement that really amused. Therefore he drifted on and about
the vast whirlpool, making plenty of friends--going to balls and
dinners--and bored with both as men are who have no object in society.
Now the way society is enjoyed is to have a pursuit, a _metier_ of
some kind, and then to go into the world, either to make the individual
object a social pleasure, or to obtain a reprieve from some toilsome
avocation. Thus, if you are a politician--politics at once make an
object in your closet, and a social tie between others and yourself when
you are in the world. The same may be said of literature, though in a
less degree; and though, as fewer persons care about literature than
politics, your companions must be more select. If you are very young,
you are fond of dancing; if you are very profligate, perhaps you are
fond of flirtations with your friend’s wife. These last are objects in
their way: but they don’t last long, and, even with the most frivolous,
are not occupations that satisfy the whole mind and heart, in which
there is generally an aspiration after something useful. It is not
vanity alone that makes a man of the _mode_ invent a new bit or give
his name to a new kind of carriage; it is the influence of that mystic
yearning after utility, which is one of the master-ties between the
individual and the species.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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