The Desultory Man: Collection of Ancient and Modern British Novels and Romances. Vol. CXLVII.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Desultory Man: Collection of Ancient and Modern British Novels and Romances. Vol. CXLVII.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Fiction
He joined the army formed for the defence of the republic. His
talents, his daring courage, and some of those accidental
circumstances of fortune which decide not only the fate of men but of
empires, combined to raise him above his compeers. His mind readily
embraced every thing that was brilliant. He was naturally witty, and
shrewdly perceiving that a jest would often pass where a reason would
not, he raised up for himself a sort of philosophy which taught him to
laugh at every thing, good or bad, and with this he passed safely and
honourably through all the vicissitudes of a changing state, and found
himself in the end even as he could have wished to have been--selfish,
heartless, rich, respected, and in power.
The life of Armand Villars was different. For a while he looked upon
the grand scene which was playing before him, and rejoiced at the
revival of ancient virtues--for he hoped that it was so--but yet there
was something in it that he distrusted. He looked for the great
independence of soul, the generous self-devotion, the steady purpose
of right, and the stern patriotism which sacrificed all private
feeling to public good. He looked for Roman laws and Roman spirit, and
he found but a wild chaos of idle names, and an empty mockery of
ancient institutions; and, unwilling to yield the favourite illusion,
he turned his eyes away.
It was then that every Frenchman was called to bleed for his country,
and Villars willingly quitted the ungrateful scenes that were passing
in France, to place himself in the ranks of her defenders. In the
field as in the city, the same calm firm spirit still animated him. He
fought as if life had for him no charms, nor death any terrors. But it
was not the courage of romance. There was none of the headlong ardour
of enthusiasm; there was none of the daring of thoughtless temerity;
there was none of the reckless valour of despair. There was in his
bosom alone the one fixed remembrance that he was doing his duty--that
he was fighting for his country--together with that calm reasoning
courage which knows danger and despises it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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