Vivian Grey | Page 8

later schools did not
consequently grace his diminutive bookcase. In this dilemma he flew to
his father, and confessed by his request that his favourites were not
all-sufficient.
"Father! I wish to make myself master of the latter Platonists. I want

Plotinus, and Porphyry, and Iamblichus, and Syrirnus, and Maximus
Tyrius, and Proclus, and Hierocles, and Sallustius, and Damascius."
Mr. Grey stared at his son, and laughed.
"My dear Vivian! are you quite convinced that the authors you ask for
are all pure Platonists? or have not some of them placed the great end
rather in practical than theoretic virtue, and thereby violated the first
principles of your master? which would be shocking. Are you sure, too,
that these gentlemen have actually 'withdrawn the sacred veil, which
covers from profane eyes the luminous spectacles?' Are you quite
convinced that every one of these worthies lived at least five hundred
years after the great master? for I need not tell so profound a Platonist
as yourself that it was not till that period that even glimpses of the great
master's meaning were discovered. Strange! that TIME should alike
favour the philosophy of theory and the philosophy of facts. Mr. Vivian
Grey, benefiting, I presume, by the lapse of further centuries, is about
to complete the great work which Proclus and Porphyry commenced."
"My dear sir! you are pleased to be amusing this morning."
"My dear boy! I smile, but not with joy. Sit down, and let us have a
little conversation together. Father and son, and father and son on such
terms as we are, should really communicate oftener together than we do.
It has been, perhaps, my fault; it shall not be so again."
"My dear sir!"
"Nay, nay, it shall be my fault now. Whose it shall be in future, Vivian,
time will show. My dear Vivian, you have now spent upwards of a year
under this roof, and your conduct has been as correct as the most rigid
parent might require. I have not wished to interfere with the progress of
your mind, and I regret it. I have been negligent, but not wilfully so. I
do regret it; because, whatever may be your powers, Vivian, I at least
have the advantage of experience. I see you smile at a word which I so
often use. Well, well, were I to talk to you for ever, you would not
understand what I mean by that single word. The time will come when
you will deem that single word everything. Ardent youths in their

closets, Vivian, too often fancy that they are peculiar beings; and I have
no reason to believe that you are an exception to the general rule. In
passing one whole year of your life, as you have done, you doubtless
imagine that you have been spending your hours in a manner which no
others have done before. Trust me, my boy, thousands have done the
same; and, what is of still more importance, thousands are doing, and
will do, the same. Take the advice of one who has committed as many,
ay more, follies than yourself; but who would bless the hour that he had
been a fool if his experience might be of benefit to his beloved son."
"My father!"
"Nay, don't agitate yourself; we are consulting together. Let us see what
is to be done. Try to ascertain, when you are alone, what may be the
chief objects of your existence in this world. I want you to take no
theological dogmas for granted, nor to satisfy your doubts by ceasing to
think; but, whether we are in this world in a state of probation for
another, or whether we cease altogether when we cease to breathe,
human feelings tell me that we have some duties to perform; to our
fellow creatures, to our friends, to ourselves. Pray tell me, my dear boy,
what possible good your perusal of the latter Platonists can produce to
either of these three interests? I trust that my child is not one of those
who look with a glazed eye on the welfare of their fellow-men, and
who would dream away an useless life by idle puzzles of the brain;
creatures who consider their existence as an unprofitable mystery, and
yet are afraid to die. You will find Plotinus in the fourth shelf of the
next room, Vivian."
CHAPTER VII
In England, personal distinction is the only passport to the society of
the great. Whether this distinction arise from fortune, family, or talent,
is immaterial; but certain it is, to enter into high society, a man must
either have blood, a million, or a genius.
The reputation of Mr. Grey had always made him an honoured guest
among the powerful and the great. It was for this reason that