CHAPTER XXVIII.“I am astonished my dear Gondimar,” said Viviani one day, addressing him, “at the description which you gave me of Lady Avondale. I have seen her since we conversed together about her, more than once; and there is not, I think, much trace left of that excessive timidity of manner—that monastic rigidity in her opinions and conduct, of which you made mention in one of your letters from Castle Delaval.” “I was wrong, utterly wrong,” said Gondimar, “and you may now rank this model of purity, this paragon of wives, this pupil of nature, whom I have so often praised to you, on a level with the rest of her fellow mortals.” “Not on a level—not on a level,” replied Viviani with gravity; “but falling as I fear, far beneath it.”The Count then repeated in a solemn tone the description of Rome which Lucian has placed in the mouth of Nigrinus applying the enumeration of vices, temptations and corruptions, attributed to the fairest capital of the world, to London; and then asked of Gondimar, if it were possible for one like Calantha to sojourn long amidst such scenes, without in some measure acquiring the manners, if not falling into the errors to which the eyes and ears were every hour accustomed? He spoke of her with regret, as he thus pronounced her on the verge of ruin:—“a prey,” he said indignantly, “for the spoiler—the weak and willing victim of vanity.” “The courts of her father are overrun with petitioners and mendicants,” said Gondimar: “her apartments are filled with flatterers who feed upon her credulity: she is in love with ruin: it stalks about in every possible shape, and in every shape, she hails it:—woeis it; victim of prosperity, luxury and self indulgence.”“And Avondale,” said Viviani. “Lord Avondale,” replied the Count, “knows not, thinks not, comprehends not her danger or his own. But the hour of perdition approaches; the first years of peace and love are past; folly succeeds; and vice is the after game. These are the three stages in woman’s life. Calantha is swiftly passing through the second:—the third will succeed. The days and months once glided away in a dream of joy, dangerous and illusive—in a dream, I repeat; for all that depends on the excess and durability of any violent passion, must be called a dream. Such passion, even though sanctioned by the most sacred ties, if it engrosses every thought, is not innocent—cannot be lawful. It plants the seeds of corruption which flourish and gain strength hereafter. This is the climate in which they will soonest ripen:—thisis the garden and soil, where they take the most rapid, and the deepest root.” “And think you, that Calantha and Avondale, are already weary of each other? that the warm and vivid imagination of youthful love is satiated with excess? or that disappointment has followed upon a nearer view?” “All passion,” replied Gondimar—falling back and impressively raising his hand—“all passion is founded on”...“Friend,” said Viviani, “thy prate is unmercifully tedious,”—“I half believe that thou art thyself in love with this Calantha; but for an explanation and detail of that master passion, I know not why I applied to you: Calantha is the object of your pursuit not mine.” “Of my pursuit! in truth I believe you feel more interest in her conduct than I do, I am old and weary of these follies; life is just opening upon you; Calantha is your idol” “No,” replied Viviani, with a smile of scorn. “It is not that partycoloured butterfly, which ranges ever from flower to flower, spreading its light pinions in the summer breeze, or basking in the smiles of fortune, for which my life is consumed, my soul is scorched with living fire, and my mind is impaired and lost! Oh would to heaven that it were! No arts, no crimes were then required to win and to enjoy. The pulse of passion beats high within her, and pleads for the lover who dares to ask. Wild fancy, stimulated by keen sensibility and restless activity of mind, without employment, render her easy to be approached, and easy to be influenced and worked upon. Love is the nature of these favourites of fortune: from earliest infancy—they feel its power! and their souls enervated, live but upon its honied vows. Chaste—pure! What are these terms? The solitary recluse is not chaste, as I have heard; and these, never—never.”“Yet Lady Margaret you say is unmoved.”“What of Lady Margaret?” interrupted Viviani, while bitter smiles quivered upon his lip. “Do you mark the pavement of stone upon which you tread? Do you see the steel of which this sabre is composed—once heated by the flames, now hard and insensible?—so cold,—so petrified is the heart, when it has once given full vent to passion. Marble is that heart which only beats for my destruction. The time is not yet arrived, but I will dash the cup of joy from her lips; then drink the dregs myself, and die.” “Mere jealous threats,” said Gondimar. “The curse of innocent blood is on her,” replied Viviani, as his livid cheeks and lips resumed a purple dye. “Name her no more.” “Explain yourself,” cried his astonished friend. “You frequently allude to scenes of deeper guilt and horror, than I dare even suffer myself to imagine possible.” “The heart of man is unfathomable,” repliedViviani;—“that which seems, is not:—that which is, seems not: we should neither trust our eyes nor ears, in a world like this. But time, which ripens all things, shall disclose the secrets even of the dead.”A short time after this conversation with Gondimar, Viviani took leave of him. He informed him fully of his projects; and Lady Margaret was also consulted upon the occasion. “What is become of your menaced vengeance,” she said, smiling upon him, in their last parting interview. He laughed at the remembrance of his words. “Am I the object now of your abhorrence,” she said, placing her white hand carelessly upon his head. “Not absolutely,” replied the young Count, shrinking, however, from the pressure of that hand. “Touch me not,” he whispered more earnestly, “it thrills through my soul.—Keep those endearments for Dartford: leave me inpeace.” Immediately after this he left London; and by the first letter Lady Margaret received from him, she found that he was preparing to embark.
“I am astonished my dear Gondimar,” said Viviani one day, addressing him, “at the description which you gave me of Lady Avondale. I have seen her since we conversed together about her, more than once; and there is not, I think, much trace left of that excessive timidity of manner—that monastic rigidity in her opinions and conduct, of which you made mention in one of your letters from Castle Delaval.” “I was wrong, utterly wrong,” said Gondimar, “and you may now rank this model of purity, this paragon of wives, this pupil of nature, whom I have so often praised to you, on a level with the rest of her fellow mortals.” “Not on a level—not on a level,” replied Viviani with gravity; “but falling as I fear, far beneath it.”
The Count then repeated in a solemn tone the description of Rome which Lucian has placed in the mouth of Nigrinus applying the enumeration of vices, temptations and corruptions, attributed to the fairest capital of the world, to London; and then asked of Gondimar, if it were possible for one like Calantha to sojourn long amidst such scenes, without in some measure acquiring the manners, if not falling into the errors to which the eyes and ears were every hour accustomed? He spoke of her with regret, as he thus pronounced her on the verge of ruin:—“a prey,” he said indignantly, “for the spoiler—the weak and willing victim of vanity.” “The courts of her father are overrun with petitioners and mendicants,” said Gondimar: “her apartments are filled with flatterers who feed upon her credulity: she is in love with ruin: it stalks about in every possible shape, and in every shape, she hails it:—woeis it; victim of prosperity, luxury and self indulgence.”
“And Avondale,” said Viviani. “Lord Avondale,” replied the Count, “knows not, thinks not, comprehends not her danger or his own. But the hour of perdition approaches; the first years of peace and love are past; folly succeeds; and vice is the after game. These are the three stages in woman’s life. Calantha is swiftly passing through the second:—the third will succeed. The days and months once glided away in a dream of joy, dangerous and illusive—in a dream, I repeat; for all that depends on the excess and durability of any violent passion, must be called a dream. Such passion, even though sanctioned by the most sacred ties, if it engrosses every thought, is not innocent—cannot be lawful. It plants the seeds of corruption which flourish and gain strength hereafter. This is the climate in which they will soonest ripen:—thisis the garden and soil, where they take the most rapid, and the deepest root.” “And think you, that Calantha and Avondale, are already weary of each other? that the warm and vivid imagination of youthful love is satiated with excess? or that disappointment has followed upon a nearer view?” “All passion,” replied Gondimar—falling back and impressively raising his hand—“all passion is founded on”...“Friend,” said Viviani, “thy prate is unmercifully tedious,”—“I half believe that thou art thyself in love with this Calantha; but for an explanation and detail of that master passion, I know not why I applied to you: Calantha is the object of your pursuit not mine.” “Of my pursuit! in truth I believe you feel more interest in her conduct than I do, I am old and weary of these follies; life is just opening upon you; Calantha is your idol” “No,” replied Viviani, with a smile of scorn. “It is not that partycoloured butterfly, which ranges ever from flower to flower, spreading its light pinions in the summer breeze, or basking in the smiles of fortune, for which my life is consumed, my soul is scorched with living fire, and my mind is impaired and lost! Oh would to heaven that it were! No arts, no crimes were then required to win and to enjoy. The pulse of passion beats high within her, and pleads for the lover who dares to ask. Wild fancy, stimulated by keen sensibility and restless activity of mind, without employment, render her easy to be approached, and easy to be influenced and worked upon. Love is the nature of these favourites of fortune: from earliest infancy—they feel its power! and their souls enervated, live but upon its honied vows. Chaste—pure! What are these terms? The solitary recluse is not chaste, as I have heard; and these, never—never.”
“Yet Lady Margaret you say is unmoved.”“What of Lady Margaret?” interrupted Viviani, while bitter smiles quivered upon his lip. “Do you mark the pavement of stone upon which you tread? Do you see the steel of which this sabre is composed—once heated by the flames, now hard and insensible?—so cold,—so petrified is the heart, when it has once given full vent to passion. Marble is that heart which only beats for my destruction. The time is not yet arrived, but I will dash the cup of joy from her lips; then drink the dregs myself, and die.” “Mere jealous threats,” said Gondimar. “The curse of innocent blood is on her,” replied Viviani, as his livid cheeks and lips resumed a purple dye. “Name her no more.” “Explain yourself,” cried his astonished friend. “You frequently allude to scenes of deeper guilt and horror, than I dare even suffer myself to imagine possible.” “The heart of man is unfathomable,” repliedViviani;—“that which seems, is not:—that which is, seems not: we should neither trust our eyes nor ears, in a world like this. But time, which ripens all things, shall disclose the secrets even of the dead.”
A short time after this conversation with Gondimar, Viviani took leave of him. He informed him fully of his projects; and Lady Margaret was also consulted upon the occasion. “What is become of your menaced vengeance,” she said, smiling upon him, in their last parting interview. He laughed at the remembrance of his words. “Am I the object now of your abhorrence,” she said, placing her white hand carelessly upon his head. “Not absolutely,” replied the young Count, shrinking, however, from the pressure of that hand. “Touch me not,” he whispered more earnestly, “it thrills through my soul.—Keep those endearments for Dartford: leave me inpeace.” Immediately after this he left London; and by the first letter Lady Margaret received from him, she found that he was preparing to embark.