Robert Orange: Being a Continuation of the History of Robert Orange
Thomas Hobbes · en
Men cannot
be happy on sentiment alone; hence, therefore, the dreadful
hesitations, self-doubts, and terror which assail so frequently the
interior peace of all men drawn, like Orange, by certain qualities
of temperament, toward the mortification of their humanity. Laying
aside the proud idea of the independence, vigour, and
spiritual-mindedness which this practice is held to secure, there
is one drawback which, with a view to that class who are really
willing to endure many afflictions for the sake of any one definite
advantage, ought not to be overlooked. The weak, under such
discipline, become sugary: the strong grow hard. Robert has
backbone; he is a man of ability, perhaps even genius, but there is
always a danger that, either from the accumulation of scruples or
the want of romantic incentive, he may throw up the political game
and bury himself in a monastery where his dreams may find their
sole expression in prayer. Another point occurs to me. Will the
rank and file ever trust a person so far above their comprehension?
The very word "mystical" is a word of reproach in the mouth of the
world. People continually ask questions about Robert. No questions,
on the other hand, are asked about Aumerle. Aumerle lives like the
rest of us: he does everything he ought not to do--he surprises
nobody: he delivers his neighbours over to the absolute power of
accomplished facts. (A way of saying that he doesn't care a rap
about the fellow who falls among thieves.) Dear Valérie! What a
pleasure it is to write to you! I can utter my inmost thoughts. I
am often suspected of callousness. This letter will show you how
truly I feel the sorrows of my few real friends. I cannot bear to
think that Orange should be beaten, as it were, by Parflete. A more
fawning, wretched creature than Parflete one never saw. I shall
not be set right in my own idea of the Divine Justice unless this
battle, at any rate, is to the strong. Write to me. I don't want to
whine, but I may tell you that I am not happy.
Your affectionate friend,
BEAUCLERK R.