Bastin and Bickley Behold me once more a man without an occupation, but now the possessor of about ?00,000.It was a very considerable fortune, if not a large one in England; nothing like the millions of which I had dreamed, but still enough.To make the most of it and to be sure that it remained, I invested it very well, mostly in large mortgages at four per cent which, if the security is good, do not depreciate in capital value.Never again did I touch a single speculative stock, who desired to think no more about money.It was at this time that I bought the Fulcombe property.
It cost me about ?20,000 of my capital, or with alterations, repairs, etc., say ?50,000, on which sum it may pay a net two and a half per cent, not more.
This ?,700 odd I have always devoted to the upkeep of the place, which is therefore in first-rate order.The rest I live on, or save.
These arrangements, with the beautifying and furnishing of the house and the restoration of the church in memory of my father, occupied and amused me for a year or so, but when they were finished time began to hang heavy on my hands.What was the use of possessing about ?0,000 a year when there was nothing upon which it could be spent? For after all my own wants were few and simple and the acquisition of valuable pictures and costly furniture is limited by space.Oh! in my small way I was like the weary King Ecclesiast.For I too made me great works and had possessions of great and small cattle (I tried farming and lost money over it!) and gathered me silver and gold and the peculiar treasure of kings, which I presume means whatever a man in authority chiefly desires, and so forth.But "behold all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun."So, notwithstanding my wealth and health and the deference which is the rich man's portion, especially when the limit of his riches is not known, it came about that I too "hated life," and this when I was not much over thirty.I did not know what to do;for Society as the word is generally understood, I had no taste;it bored me; horse-racing and cards I loathed, who had already gambled too much on a big scale.The killing of creatures under the name of sport palled upon me, indeed I began to doubt if it were right, while the office of a junior county magistrate in a place where there was no crime, only occupied me an hour or two a month.
Lastly my neighbours were few and with all due deference to them, extremely dull.At least I could not understand them because in them there did not seem to be anything to understand, and I am quite certain that they did not understand me.More, when they came to learn that I was radical in my views and had written certain "dreadful" and somewhat socialistic books in the form of fiction, they both feared and mistrusted me as an enemy to their particular section of the race.As I had not married and showed no inclination to do so, their womenkind also, out of their intimate knowledge, proclaimed that I led an immoral life, though a little reflection would have shown them that there was no one in the neighbourhood which for a time I seldom left, who could possibly have tempted an educated creature to such courses.
Terrible is the lot of a man who, while still young and possessing the intellect necessary to achievement, is deprived of all ambition.And I had none at all.I did not even wish to purchase a peerage or a baronetcy in this fashion or in that, and, as in my father's case, my tastes were so many and so catholic that I could not lose myself in any one of them.They never became more than diversions to me.A hobby is only really amusing when it becomes an obsession.
At length my lonesome friendliness oppressed me so much that Itook steps to mitigate it.In my college life I had two particular friends whom I think I must have selected because they were so absolutely different from myself.
They were named Bastin and Bickley.Bastin--Basil was his Christian name--was an uncouth, shock-headed, flat-footed person of large, rugged frame and equally rugged honesty, with a mind almost incredibly simple.Nothing surprised him because he lacked the faculty of surprise.He was like that kind of fish which lies at the bottom of the sea and takes every kind of food into its great maw without distinguishing its flavour.Metaphorically speaking, heavenly manna and decayed cabbage were just the same to Bastin.He was not fastidious and both were mental pabulum--of a sort--together with whatever lay between these extremes.Yet he was good, so painfully good that one felt that without exertion to himself he had booked a first-class ticket straight to Heaven;indeed that his guardian angel had tied it round his neck at birth lest he should lose it, already numbered and dated like an identification disc.
I am bound to add that Bastin never went wrong because he never felt the slightest temptation to do so.This I suppose constitutes real virtue, since, in view of certain Bible sayings, the person who is tempted and would like to yield to the temptation, is equally a sinner with the person who does yield.
To be truly good one should be too good to be tempted, or too weak to make the effort worth the tempter's while--in short not deserving of his powder and shot.
I need hardly add that Bastin went into the Church; indeed, he could not have gone anywhere else; it absorbed him naturally, as doubtless Heaven will do in due course.Only I think it likely that until they get to know him he will bore the angels so much that they will continually move him up higher.Also if they have any susceptibilities left, probably he will tread upon their toes--an art in which I never knew his equal.However, I always loved Bastin, perhaps because no one else did, a fact of which he remained totally unconscious, or perhaps because of his brutal way of telling one what he conceived to be the truth, which, as he had less imagination than a dormouse, generally it was not.
For if the truth is a jewel, it is one coloured and veiled by many different lights and atmospheres.
