But nothing could divert him from his aim in life; his
remedy in care was the same as his delight in prosperity: it was with
pleasure, and with pleasure only, that he sought to drive out sorrow;
and, whether he was jealous of his wife or skulking from a bailiff, he
would equally take refuge in a theatre. There, if the house be full and
the company noble, if the songs be tunable, the actors perfect, and the
play diverting, this odd hero of the secret Diary, this private
self-adorer, will speedily be healed of his distresses. Equally pleased with a watch, a coach, a piece of meat, a tune upon the
fiddle, or a fact in hydrostatics, Pepys was pleased yet more by the
beauty, the worth, the mirth, or the mere scenic attitude in life of his
fellow-creatures. He shows himself throughout a sterling humanist. Indeed, he who loves himself, not in idle vanity, but with a plenitude
of knowledge, is the best equipped of all to love his neighbours. And
perhaps it is in this sense that charity may be most properly said to
begin at home. It does not matter what quality a person has: Pepys can
appreciate and love him for it. He "fills his eyes" with the beauty of
Lady Castlemaine; indeed, he may be said to dote upon the thought of her
for years; if a woman be good-looking and not painted, he will walk
miles to have another sight of her; and even when a lady by a mischance
spat upon his clothes, he was immediately consoled when he had observed
that she was pretty. But, on the other hand, he is delighted to see Mrs.
Pett upon her knees, and speaks thus of his Aunt James: "a poor,
religious, well-meaning, good soul, talking of nothing but God Almighty,
and that with so much innocence that mightily pleased me." He is taken
with Pen's merriment and loose songs, but not less taken with the
sterling worth of Coventry. He is jolly with a drunken sailor, but
listens with interest and patience, as he rides the Essex roads, to the
story of a Quaker's spiritual trials and convictions. He lends a
critical ear to the discourse of kings and royal dukes. He spends an
evening at Vauxhall with "Killigrew and young Newport--loose company,"
says he, "but worth a man's being in for once, to know the nature of it,
and their manner of talk and lives." And when a rag-boy lights him home,
he examines him about his business and other ways of livelihood for
destitute children. This is almost half-way to the beginning of
philanthropy; had it only been the fashion, as it is at present, Pepys
had perhaps been a man famous for good deeds. And it is through this
quality that he rises, at times, superior to his surprising egotism; his
interest in the love affairs of others is, indeed, impersonal; he is
filled with concern for my Lady Castlemaine, whom he only knows by
sight, shares in her very jealousies, joys with her in her successes;
and it is not untrue, however strange it seems in his abrupt
presentment, that he loved his maid Jane because she was in love with
his man Tom. Let us hear him, for once, at length: "So the women and W. Hewer and I
walked upon the Downes, where a flock of sheep was; and the most
pleasant and innocent sight that ever I saw in my life. We found a
shepherd and his little boy reading, far from any houses or sight of
people, the Bible to him; so I made the boy read to me, which he did
with the forced tone that children do usually read, that was mighty
pretty; and then I did give him something, and went to the father, and
talked with him. He did content himself mightily in my liking his boy's
reading, and did bless God for him, the most like one of the old
patriarchs that ever I saw in my life, and it brought those thoughts of
the old age of the world in my mind for two or three days after. We took
notice of his woolen knit stockings of two colours mixed, and of his
shoes shod with iron, both at the toe and heels, and with great nails in
the soles of his feet, which was mighty pretty; and taking notice of
them, 'Why,' says the poor man, 'the downes, you see, are full of
stones, and we are faine to shoe ourselves thus; and these,' says he,
'will make the stones fly till they ring before me.' I did give the poor
man something, for which he was mighty thankful, and I tried to cast
stones with his horne crooke. He values his dog mightily, that would
turn a sheep any way which he would have him, when he goes to fold them;
told me there was about eighteen score sheep in his flock, and that he
hath four shillings a week the year round for keeping of them; and Mrs.
Turner, in the common fields here, did gather one of the prettiest
nosegays that ever I saw in my life." And so the story rambles on to the end of that day's pleasuring; with
cups of milk, and glowworms, and people walking at sundown with their
wives and children, and all the way home Pepys still dreaming "of the
old age of the world" and the early innocence of man. This was how he
walked through life, his eyes and ears wide open, and his hand, you will
observe, not shut; and thus he observed the lives, the speech, and the
manners of his fellow-men, with prose fidelity of detail and yet a
lingering glamour of romance. It was "two or three days after" that he extended this passage in the
pages of his Journal, and the style has thus the benefit of some
reflection. It is generally supposed that, as a writer, Pepys must rank
at the bottom of the scale of merit. But a style which is indefatigably
lively, telling, and picturesque through six large volumes of everyday
experience, which deals with the whole matter of a life, and yet is
rarely wearisome, which condescends to the most fastidious particulars,
and yet sweeps all away in the forthright current of the
narrative,--such a style may be ungrammatical, it may be inelegant, it
may be one tissue of mistakes, but it can never be devoid of merit. The
first and the true function of the writer has been thoroughly performed
throughout; and though the manner of his utterance may be childishly
awkward, the matter has been transformed and assimilated by his
unfeigned interest and delight. The gusto of the man speaks out fierily
after all these years. For the difference between Pepys and Shelley, to
return to that half-whimsical approximation, is one of quality but not
one of degree; in his sphere, Pepys felt as keenly, and his is the true
prose of poetry--prose because the spirit of the man was narrow and
earthly, but poetry because he was delightedly alive. Hence, in such a
passage as this about the Epsom shepherd, the result upon the reader's
mind is entire conviction and unmingled pleasure. So, you feel, the
thing fell out, not otherwise; and you would no more change it than you
would change a sublimity of Shakespeare's, a homely touch of Bunyan's,
or a favoured reminiscence of your own. There never was a man nearer being an artist, who yet was not one.