It was in the midst of this noise about Bertram's new book that the scene is presumed to be re-opened. He had resigned his fellowship, and pocketed his thousand pounds. Neither of these events had much depressed¹ his spirits, and he appeared now to his friends to be a happy man in spite of his love troubles. At the same time, Harcourt also was sufficiently² elate. He had made his great speech with considerable éclat, and his sails were full of wind—of wind of a more substantial character than that by which Bertram's vessel³ was wafted⁴.

And just now Harcourt and Bertram were again much together. A few months since it had appeared to Harcourt that Bertram intended to do nothing in the world, to make no figure. Even now there was but little hope of his doing much as a barrister; but it seemed probable that he might at any rate make himself known as an author. Such triumphs, as Harcourt well knew, were very barren; but still it was well to know men who were in any way triumphant⁵; and therefore the barrister, himself so triumphant, considered it judicious⁶ not to drop his friend.

It may be said that Bertram had given up all idea of practising as a barrister. He still intended to go through the form of being called; but his profession was to be that of an author. He had all manner of works in hand: poems, plays, political pamphlets, infidel essays, histories, and a narrative⁷ of his travels in the East. He had made up his mind fully⁸ that there were in England only two occupations worthy⁹ of an Englishman. A man should be known either as a politician or as an author. It behoved a man to speak out what was in him with some audible voice, so that the world might hear. He might do so either by word of mouth, or by pen and paper; by the former in Parliament, by the latter at his desk. Each form of speech had its own advantage. Fate, which had made Harcourt a member of Parliament, seemed to intend him, Bertram, to be an author.

分享到：