"Yes, I am. I believe in that fatalism which he shrouds under the
gauze of an 'Over-soul,'" replied Cornelia impressively.
"Then you are a fair sample of the fallacy of his system, if the
disjointed bits of logic deserve the name."
"How so?"
"He continually exhorts to a happy, contented, and uncomplaining
frame of mind; tells you sternly that 'Discontent is the want of
self-reliance; it is infirmity of will.'"
"You are disposed to be severe," muttered Cornelia, with an angry
flash.
"What? because I expect his professed disciple to obey his
injunctions?"
"Do you, then, conform so irreproachably to your own creed? Pray,
what is it?"
"I have no creed. I am honestly and anxiously hunting one. For a
long time I thought that I had found a sound one in Emerson. But a
careful study of his writings taught me that of all Pyrrhonists he
is the prince. Can a creedless soul aid me in my search? Verily, no.
He exclaims, 'To fill the hour--that is happiness; to fill the hour,
and leave no crevice for repentance or an approval. We live amid
surfaces, and the true art of life is to skate well on them.' Now
this sort of oyster existence does not suit me, Cornelia Graham, nor
will it suit you."
"You do him injustice. He has a creed (true, it is pantheistic),
which he steadfastly adheres to under all circumstances."
"Oh, has he! indeed? Then he flatly contradicts you when he says,
'But lest I should mislead any, when I have my own head, and obey my
whims, let me remind the reader that I am only an experimenter. Do
not set the least value on what I do, or the least discredit on what
I do not, as if I pretended to settle anything as true or false. I
unsettle all things. No facts are to me sacred; none are profane. I
simply experiment, an endless seeker, with no past at my back.' To
my fancy that savors strongly of nihilism, as regards creeds."
"There is no such passage in Emerson!" cried Cornelia, stamping one
foot, unconsciously, on her blazing necklace.
"Yes, the passage is, word for word, as I quoted it, and you will
find it in 'Circles.'"
"I have read 'Circles' several times, and do not remember it. At all
events, it does not sound like Emerson."
"For that matter, his own individual circle of ideas is so much like
St. Augustine's Circle, of which the center is everywhere and the
circumference nowhere,' that I am not prepared to say what may or
may not be found within it. You will ultimately think with me that,
though an earnest and profound thinker, your master is no Memnon,
waking only before the sunlight of truth. His utterances are dim and
contradictory."