The Quest of the Simple Life | Page 8

most and best out
of life? The obvious answer is that the best things of life are not to be
bought with money; it would be nearer the truth to quote the prophetic
paradox, they are bought 'without money and without price.' I was
present once at a dinner given by a millionaire newspaper proprietor to
a crowd of journalists, on the occasion of the founding of a new
magazine. The millionaire ate little, spoke little, and sat throughout the
feast with an anxious cloud upon his brow. I recognised the same
furtive look of apprehension in his eyes that I had seen in the eyes of
my stock-broking friend long before. As I glanced round the room I
found myself able to pick out all the men of wealth by that same look.
It would seem that the anxieties of getting money only beget the more
torturing anxiety of how to keep it. That, I am persuaded, was the
dominant thought of my millionaire host throughout the meal; he knew
the fear and fever of the gambler risking an enormous stake, the
agitation of the soldier on the eve of a battle, in which victory is highly
problematical. But that crowd of hungry journalists, how they did eat!
What laughter sat on those boyish faces, what zest of life, what
capacity of pleasure! There was not one of them whose daily bread was
not precarious; not one perhaps who had a decent balance at the bank;
yet they were so gay, so resolutely cheerful, so frankly interested in life

and in themselves, that I could fancy those gloomy eyes at the head of
the table watched them with a sort of envy, I think there must be
something fatal to gaiety in the mere responsibilities of wealth; I am
sure that there is something corrupting in the labours of its acquisition.
I think I had rather be a vagrant, with a crust in my knapsack, a blue
sky above me, and the adventurous road before me, than look upon the
world with a pair of eyes so laughterless as his who was our host that
night.
Again I protest that I make no railing accusation against wealth in itself.
I am so far convinced of the truly beneficent utilities of wealth, that I
would quite willingly take the risks of a moderate competence, should
any one be disposed to make experiment with my virtues. There is
some magnanimity in this offer, for I can no more foretell the effects of
the bacillus of wealth upon my moral nature, than can the physician
who offers his body for inoculation with the germ of some dire disease
that science may be served. It argues some lack of imagination among
millionaires that it has occurred to no one of the tribe to endow a man
instead of an institution, if it were only by way of change. It would at
least prove an interesting experiment, and it would be cheap at the price
of the few unmissed thousands which the millionaire would pay for it.
To such an experiment I would be willing to submit, if it were only to
ascertain whether I have been right or wrong in my supposition that I
am better qualified by nature than my fellows for the right
administration of wealth; but there is one thing I would never do, I
would never undertake that laborious quest of wealth, which robs men
of the power to enjoy it when it is obtained.
It is there that the pinch comes; granted that some degree of
competence is needed for a free and various use of life, is it worth
while to destroy the power of living in attaining the means to live?
What is a man better for his wealth if he does not know how to use it?
A fool may steal a ship, but it takes a wise man to navigate her towards
the islands of the Blest. I am told sometimes that there is a romance in
business; no doubt there is, but it is pretty often the romance of piracy;
and the pleasures of the rich man are very often nothing better than the
pleasures of the pirate: a barbaric wading in gold, a reckless piling up

of treasure, which he has not the sense to use. As long as there are
shouting crews upon the sea and flaming ships, he is happy; but give
him at last the gold which he has striven to win, and he knows nothing
better than to sit like the successful pirate in a common ale-house, and
make his boast to boon companions. I believe that the dullest men in all
the world are very rich men; and I have sometimes thought that it
cannot need a very high