There have been souls of a heroic stamp for whom this world seemed
expressly made; as if this fair creation had at last succeeded, for it seems
to be thrown away on the saint. Such seem to be an essential part of their
age if we consider them in time, and of the scenery if we consider them in
Nature. They lie out before us ill-defined and uncertain, like some scraggy
hillside or pasture, which varies from day to day and from hour to hour, with
the revolutions of Nature, so that the eye of the forester never rests twice
upon the same scene; one knows not what may occur — he may hear a fox
bark or a partridge drum. They are planted deep in Nature and have more root
than others. They are earth-born
(γηγενεις), as was said of
the Titans.
They are brothers of the sun and moon, they belong, so to speak, to
the natural family of man. Their breath is a kind of wind, their step like
that of a quadruped, their moods the seasons, and they are as serene as
Nature. Their eyes are deep-set like moles or glow worms, they move free and
unconstrained through Nature as her guests, their motions easy and natural as
if their course were already determined for them; as of rivers flowing
through valleys, not as somewhat finding a place in Nature, but for whom a
place is already found. We love to hear them speak though we do not hear what
they say. The very air seems forward to modulate itself into speech for them,
and their words are of its own substance, and fall naturally on the ear, like
the rustling of leaves and the crackling of the fire. They have the heavens
for their abettors, for they never stood from under them, and they look at
the stars with an answering ray. The distinctions of better and best, sense
and nonsense, seem trivial and petty, when such great healthy indifferences
come along. We lay aside the trick of thinking well to attend to their
thoughtless and happy natures, and are inclined to show a divine politeness
and heavenly good-breeding, for they compel it. They are great natures. It
takes a good deal to support them. Theirs is no thin diet. The very air they
breathe seems rich, and, as it were, perfumed.
They are so remarkable as to be least remarked at first, since they are most
in harmony with the time and place, and if we wonder at all it will be at
ourselves and not at them. Mountains do not rise perpendicularly, but the
lower eminences hide the higher, and we at last reach their top by a gentle
acclivity. We must abide a long time in their midst and at their base, as we
spend many days at the Notch of
the White
Mountains in order to be impressed by the scenery. Let us not think that
Alexander will conquer Asia the first time we are introduced to him, though
smaller men may be in haste to re-enact their exploits then.
“Would you have
Such an Herculean actor in the scene,
And not his hydra?”
“They must sweat no less
To fit their properties than to express their parts.”
The presence of heroic souls enhances the beauty and ampleness of Nature
herself. Where they walk, as
Virgil says of the abodes
of the blessed —
Largior hic campos aether et lumine vestit
Purpureo: solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.
Here a more copious air invests the fields, and clothes with purple light;
and they know their own sun and their own stars.
But, alas! What is Truth? That which we know not.
