revelled Sacripante with his heels:—
Tears started into her eyes at the recollection of the dog. She paused for a moment.
Miss Gryll. I see the remembrance is painful Do not proceed.
Miss Ilex. No, my dear. I would not, if I could, forget that dog. Well, my young gentleman, as I have said, was a sort of universal lover, and made a sort of half-declaration to half the young women he knew: sincerely for the moment to all: but with more permanent earnestness, more constant return, to me than to any other. If I had met him with equal earnestness, if I could have said or implied to him in any way, 'Take me while you may, or think of me no more,' I am persuaded I should not now write myself spinster. But I wrapped myself up in reserve. I thought it fitting that all advances should come from him: that I should at most show nothing more than willingness to hear, not even the semblance of anxiety to receive them. So nothing came of our love but remembrance and regret. Another girl, whom I am sure he loved less, but who understood him better, acted towards him as I ought to have done, and became his wife. Therefore, my dear, I applaud your moral courage, and regret that I had it not when the occasion required it.
Miss Gryll. My lover, if I may so call him, differs from yours in this: that he is not wandering in his habits, nor versatile in his affections.
Miss Ilex. The peculiar system of domestic affection in which he was brought up, and which his maturer years have confirmed, presents a greater obstacle to you than any which my lover's versatility presented to me, if I had known how to deal with it.
Miss Gryll. But how was it, that, having so many admirers as you must have had, you still remained single?
Miss Ilex. Because I had fixed my heart on one who was not like any one else. If he had been one of a class, such as most persons in this world are, I might have replaced the first idea by another; but his soul was like a star, and dwelt apart.
Con umile sembiante e gesto umano:
Come intorno al padrone il can saltella,
Che sia due giorni o tre stato lontano.
Bajardo ancora avea memoria d' ella,
Che in Albracca il servia già di sua mano.
—Orlando Furioso, c. i. s. 75.
Miss Gryll. A very erratic star, apparently. A comet, rather.
Miss Ilex. No, For the qualities which he loved and admired in the object of his temporary affection existed more in his imagination than in her. She was only the framework of the picture of his fancy. He was true to his idea, though not to the exterior semblance on which he appended it, and to or from which he so readily transferred it. Unhappily for myself, he was more of a reality to me than I was to him.
Miss Gryll. His marriage could scarcely have been a happy one. Did you ever meet him again?
Miss Ilex. Not of late years, but for a time occasionally in general society, which he very sparingly entered. Our intercourse was friendly; but he never knew, never imagined, how well I loved him, nor even, perhaps, that I had loved him at all. I had kept my secret only too well. He retained his wandering habits, disappearing from time to time, but always returning home, I believe he had no cause to complain of his wife. Yet I cannot help thinking that I could have fixed him and kept him at home. Your case is in many respects similar to mine; but the rivalry to me was in a wandering fancy: to you it is in fixed domestic affections. Still, you were in as much danger as I was of being the victim of an idea and a punctilio: and you have taken the only course to save you from it. I regret that I gave in to the punctilio: but I would not part with the idea. I find a charm in the recollection far preferable to
the minds of those who have never loved, or never earnestly.
CHAPTER XXVIII
ARISTOPHANES IN LONDON
fere totus mundus exerceat histrioniam.—Petronius Arbiter.
I do not draw the rope of contention,{1} while it is agreed
amongst us, that almost the whole world practises acting.
1 A metaphor apparently taken from persons pulling in
opposite directions at each end of a rope. I cannot see, as
some have done, that it has anything in common with Horace's
Tortum digna sequi potius quant ducere funern: 'More
worthy to follow than to lead the tightened cord': which is
a metaphor taken from a towing line, or any line acting in a
similar manner, where one draws and another is drawn. Horace
applies it to money, which he says should be the slave, and
not the master of its possessor.
All the world's a stage.—Shakespeare.
En el teatro del mundo
Todos son représentantes.—Calderon.
Tous les comédiens ne sont pas au théâtre.
—French Proverb.
Rain came, and thaw, followed by drying wind. The roads were in good order for the visitors to the Aristophanic comedy. The fifth day of Christmas was fixed for the performance. The theatre was brilliantly lighted, with spermaceti candles in glass chandeliers for the audience, and argand lamps for the stage. In addition to Mr. Gryll's own houseful of company, the beauty and fashion of the surrounding country, which comprised an extensive circle, adorned the semicircular seats; which, however, were not mere stone benches, but were backed, armed, and padded into comfortable stalls. Lord Curryfin was in his glory, in the capacity of stage-manager.
The curtain rising, as there was no necessity for its being made to fall,{1} discovered the scene, which was on the London bank of the Thames, on the terrace of a mansion occupied by the Spirit-rapping Society, with an archway in the centre of the building, showing a street in the background. Gryllus was lying asleep. Circe, standing over him, began the dialogue.
curtain had been made to fall it would have been folded up
in mid air, destroying the effect of the scene. Being raised
from below, it was invisible when not in use.
Wake, Gryllus, and arise in human form.
GRYLLUS
I have slept soundly, and had pleasant dreams.
CIRCE
I, too, have soundly slept—Divine how long.
GRYLLUS
Why, judging by the sun, some fourteen hours.
CIRCE
Three thousand years»
GRYLLUS
That is a nap indeed.
But this is not your garden, nor your palace.
Where are we now?
CIRCE
Three thousand years ago,
This land was forest, and a bright pure river
Ran through it to and from the Ocean stream.
Now, through a wilderness of human forms,
And human dwellings, a polluted flood
Rolls up and down, charged with all earthly poisons,
Poisoning the air in turn.
GRYLLUS
I see vast masses
Of strange unnatural things.
CIRCE
Houses, and ships,
And boats, and chimneys vomiting black smoke,
Horses, and carriages of every form,
And restless bipeds, rushing here and there
For profit or for pleasure, as they phrase it.
GRYLLUS
Oh, Jupiter and Bacchus! what a crowd,
Flitting, like shadows without mind or purpose,
Such as Ulysses saw in Erebus.
But wherefore are we here?
CIRCE
There have arisen
Some mighty masters of the invisible world,
And these have summoned us.
GRYLLUS
With what design?
CIRCE
That they themselves must tell. Behold they come,
Carrying a mystic table, around which
They work their magic spells. Stand by, and mark.
[Three spirit-rappers appeared, carrying a table, which they
placed on one side of the stage:]
1. Carefully the table place,
Let our gifted brother trace
A ring around the enchanted space
2. Let him tow'rd the table point
With his first fore-finger joint,
And with mesmerised beginning
Set the sentient oak-slab spinning.
3. Now it spins around, around,
Sending forth a murmuring sound,
By the initiate understood
As of spirits in the wood.
ALL.
Once more Circe we invoke.
CIRCE
Here: not bound in ribs of oak,
Nor, from wooden disk revolving,
In strange sounds strange riddles solving,
But in native form appearing,
Plain to sight, as clear to heating.
THE THREE
Thee with wonder we behold.
By thy hair of burning gold,
By thy face with radiance bright,
By thine eyes of beaming light,
We confess thee, mighty one,
For the daughter of the Sun.
On thy form we gaze appalled.
CIRCE
Cryllus, loo, your summons called.
THE THREE
Hira of yore thy powerful spell
Doomed in swinish shape to dwell;
Vet such life he reckoned then
Happier than the life of men,
Now, when carefully he ponders
All our scientific wonders,
Steam-driven myriads, all in motion,
On the land and on the ocean,
Going, for the sake of going,
Wheresoever waves are flowing,
Wheresoever winds are blowing;
Converse through the sea transmitted,
Swift as ever thought has flitted;
All the glories of our time,
Past the praise of loftiest rhyme;
Will he, seeing these, indeed,
Still retain his ancient creed,
Ranking, in his mental plan,
Life of beast o'er life of man?
CIRCE
Speak, Gryllus.
GRYLLUS
It is early yet to judge:
But all the novelties I yet have seen
Seem changes for the worse.
THE THREE
If we could show him
Our triumphs in succession, one by one,
'Twould surely change his judgment: and herein
How might'st thou aid us, Circe!
CIRCE
I will do so:
And calling down, like Socrates, of yore,
The clouds to aid us, they shall shadow forth,
In bright succession, all that they behold,
From air, on earth and sea. I wave my wand:
And lo! they come, even as they came in Athens,
Shining like virgins of ethereal life.
The Chorus of Clouds descended, and a dazzling array of
female beauty was revealed by degrees through folds of misty
gauze. They sang their first choral song:
CHORUS OF CLOUDS{1}
Clouds ever-flowing, conspicuously soaring,
From loud-rolling Ocean, whose stream{2} gave us birth
To heights, whence we look over torrents down-pouring
To the deep quiet vales of the fruit-giving earth,—
As the broad eye of Æther, unwearied in brightness,
Dissolves our mist-veil in glittering rays,
Our forms we reveal from its vapoury lightness,
In semblance immortal, with far-seeing gaze.
1 The first stanza is pretty closely adapted from the
strophe of Aristophanes. The second is only a distant
imitation of the antistrophe.
2 In Homer, and all the older poets, the ocean is a river
surrounding the earth, and the seas are inlets from it.
Shower-bearing Virgins, we seek not the regions
Whence Pallas, the Muses, and Bacchus have fled,
But the city, where Commerce embodies her legions,
And Mammon exalts his omnipotent head.
All joys of thought, feeling, and taste are before us,
Wherever the beams of his favour are warm:
Though transient full oft as the veil of our chorus,
Now golden with glory, now passing in storm.
Reformers, scientific, moral, educational, political, passed in succession, each answering a question of Gryllus. Gryllus observed, that so far from everything being better than it had been, it seemed that everything was wrong and wanted mending. The chorus sang its second song.
Seven competitive examiners entered with another table, and sat down on the opposite side of the stage to the spirit-rappers. They brought forward Hermogenes{1} as a crammed fowl to argue with Gryllus. Gryllus had the best of the argument; but the examiners adjudged the victory to Hermogenes. The chorus sang its third song.
Circe, at the request of the spirit-rappers, whose power was limited to the production of sound, called up several visible spirits, all illustrious in their day, but all appearing as in the days of their early youth, 'before their renown was around them.' They were all subjected to competitive examination, and were severally pronounced disqualified for the pursuit in which they had shone. At last came one whom Circe recommended to the examiners as a particularly promising youth. He was a candidate for military life. Every question relative to his profession he answered to the purpose. To every question not so relevant he replied that he did not know and did not care. This drew on him a reprimand. He was pronounced disqualified, and ordered to join the rejected, who were ranged in a line along the back of the scene. A touch of Circe's wand changed them into their semblance of maturer years. Among them were Hannibal and Oliver Cromwell; and in the foreground was the last candidate, Richard Coeur-de-Lion. Richard flourished his battle-axe over the heads of the examiners, who jumped up in great trepidation, overturned their table, tumbled over one another, and escaped as best they might in haste and terror. The heroes vanished. The chorus sang its fourth song.
As before the pike will fly
Dace and roach and such small fry;
As the leaf before the gale,
As the chaff beneath the flail;
As before the wolf the flocks,
As before the hounds the fox;
As before the cat the mouse,
As the rat from falling house;
As the fiend before the spell
Of holy water, book, and bell;
As the ghost from dawning day,—
So has fled, in gaunt dismay,
This septemvirate of quacks
From the shadowy attacks
Of Coeur-de-Lion's battle-axe.
[Illustration: Coeur-de-Lion's battle-axe. 260-221]
Could he in corporeal might,
Plain to feeling as to sight,
Rise again to solar light,
How his arm would put to flight
All the forms of Stygian night
That round us rise in grim array,
Darkening the meridian day:
Bigotry, whose chief employ
Is embittering earthly joy;
Chaos, throned in pedant state,
Teaching echo how to prate;
And 'Ignorance, with looks profound,'
Not 'with eye that loves the ground,'
But stalking wide, with lofty crest,
In science's pretentious vest.
And now, great masters of the realms of shade,
To end the task which called us down from air,
We shall present, in pictured show arrayed,
Of this your modern world the triumphs rare,
That Gryllus's benighted spirit
May wake to your transcendent merit,
And, with profoundest admiration thrilled,
He may with willing mind assume his place
In your steam-nursed, steam-borne, steam-killed,
And gas-enlightened race.
CIRCE
Speak, Gryllus, what you see,
I see the ocean,
And o'er its face ships passing wide and far;
Some with expanded sails before the breeze,
And some with neither sails nor oars, impelled
By some invisible power against the wind,
Scattering the spray before them, But of many
One is on fire, and one has struck on rocks
And melted in the waves like fallen snow.
Two crash together in the middle sea,
And go to pieces on the instant, leaving
No soul to tell the tale, and one is hurled
In fragments to the sky, strewing the deep
With death and wreck. I had rather live with Circe
Even as I was, than flit about the world
In those enchanted ships which some Alastor
Must have devised as traps for mortal ruin.
Look yet again.
Now the whole scene is changed.
I see long chains of strange machines on wheels,
With one in front of each, purring white smoke
From a black hollow column. Fast and far
They speed, like yellow leaves before the gale,
When autumn winds are strongest. Through their windows
I judge them thronged with people; but distinctly
Their speed forbids my seeing.
SPIRIT-RAPPER
This is one
Of the great glories of our modern time,
* Men are become as birds,' and skim like swallows
The surface of the world.
GRYLLUS
For what good end?
SPIRIT-RAPPER
The end is in itself—the end of skimming
The surface of the world.
GRYLLUS
If that be all,
I had rather sit in peace in my old home:
But while I look, two of them meet and clash,
And pile their way with ruin. One is rolled
Down a steep bank; one through a broken bridge
Is dashed into a flood. Dead, dying, wounded,
Are there as in a battle-field. Are these
Your modern triumphs? Jove preserve me from them.
SPIRIT-RAPPER
These ills are rare. Millions are borne in safety
Where ore incurs mischance. Look yet again.
GRYLLUS
I see a mass of light brighter than that
Which burned in Circe's palace, and beneath it
A motley crew, dancing to joyous music.
But from that light explosion comes, and flame;
And forth the dancers rush in haste and fear
From their wide-blazing hall.
SPIRIT-RAPPER
Oh, Circe! Circe!
Thou show'st him all the evil of our arts
In more than just proportion to the good.
Good without evil is not given to man.
Jove, from his urns dispensing good and ill,
Gives all unmixed to some, and good and ill
Mingled to many—good unmixed to none.{1}
Our arts are good. The inevitable ill
That mixes with them, as with all things human,
Is as a drop of water in a goblet
Full of old wine.
1 This is the true sense of the Homeric passage:—
(Greek passage)
Homer: ii. xxiv.
There are only two distributions: good and ill mixed, and
unmixed ill. None, as Heyne has observed, receive unmixed
good. Ex dolio bonorum....
GRYLLUS
More than one drop, I fear,
And those of bitter water.
CIRCE
There is yet
An ample field of scientific triumph:
What shall we show him next?
SFIRIT-RAPPER
Pause we awhile,
He is not in the mood to feel conviction
Of our superior greatness. He is all
For rural comfort and domestic ease,
But our impulsive days are all for moving:
Sometimes with some ulterior end, but still
For moving, moving, always. There is nothing
Common between us in our points of judgment.
He takes his stand upon tranquillity,
We ours upon excitement. There we place
The being, end, and aim of mortal life,
The many are with us: some few, perhaps,
With him. We put the question to the vote
By universal suffrage. Aid us, Circe I
On tajismanic wings youi spells can waft
The question and reply* Are we not wiser,
Happier, and better, than the men of old,
Of Homer's days, of Athens, and of Rome?
VOICES WITHOUT
Ay. No. Ay, ay. No. Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay,
We are the wisest race the earth has known,
The most advanced in all the arts of life,
In science and in morals.
...nemo meracius accipit: hoc memorare omisit. This sense is
implied, not expressed. Pope missed it in his otherwise
beautiful translation.
Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood,
The source of evil one, and one of good;
From thence the cup of mortal man he fills,
Blessings to these, to those distributes ills,
To most he mingles both: the wretch decreed
To taste the bad, unmixed, is curst indeed;
Pursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven,
He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.
—Pope.
The ays have it.
What is that wondrous sound, that seems like thunder
Mixed with gigantic laughter?
CIRCE
It is Jupiter,
Who laughs at your presumption; half in anger,
And half in mockery. Now, my worthy masters,
You must in turn experience in yourselves
The mighty magic thus far tried on others.
The table turned slowly, and by degrees went on spinning
with accelerated speed. The legs assumed motion, and it
danced off the stage. The arms of the chairs put forth
hands, and pinched the spirit-rappers, who sprang up and ran
off, pursued by their chairs. This piece of mechanical
pantomime was a triumph of Lord Curryfin's art, and afforded
him ample satisfaction for the failure of his resonant
vases.
CIRCE
Now, Gryllus, we may seek our ancient home
In my enchanted isle.
GRYLLUS
Not yet, not yet.
Good signs are toward of a joyous supper.
Therein the modern world may have its glory,
And I, like an impartial judge, am ready
To do it ample justice. But, perhaps,
As all we hitherto have seen are shadows,
So too may be the supper.
CIRCE
Fear not, Gryllus.
That you will find a sound reality,
To which the land and air, seas, lakes, and rivers,
Have sent their several tributes. Now, kind friends,
Who with your smiles have graciously rewarded
Our humble, but most earnest aims to please,
And with your presence at our festal board
Will charm the winter midnight, Music gives
The signal: Welcome and old wine await you.
THE CHORUS
Shadows to-night have offered portraits true
Of many follies which the world enthrall.
'Shadows we are, and shadows we pursue':
But, in the banquet's well-illumined hall,
Realides, delectable to all,
Invite you now our festal joy to share.
Could we our Attic prototype recall,
One compound word should give our bill of fare: {1}
But where our language fails, our hearts true welcome bear.
1 As at the end of the Ecclesusæ
Miss Gryll was resplendent as Circe; and Miss Niphet., as leader of the chorus, looked like Melpomene herself, slightly unbending her tragic severity into that solemn smile which characterised the chorus of the old comedy. The charm of the first acted irresistibly on Mr. Falconer. The second would have completed, if anything had been wanted to complete it, the conquest of Lord Curryfin.
The supper passed off joyously, and it was a late hour of the morning before the company dispersed.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE BALD VENUS—INEZ DE CASTRO—THE UNITY OF LOVE
One imaged form shall ever live enshrined,
And hear the vows, to first affection due,
Still breathed: for love that ceases ne'er was true.
—Leyden's Scenes of Infancy.
An interval of a week was interposed between the comedy and the intended ball. Mr. Falconer having no fancy for balls, and disturbed beyond endurance by the interdict which Miss Gryll had laid on him against speaking, for four times seven days, on the subject nearest his heart, having discharged with becoming self-command his share in the Aristophanic comedy, determined to pass his remaining days of probation in the Tower, where he found, in the attentions of the seven sisters, not a perfect Nepenthe, but the only possible antidote to intense vexation of spirit. It is true, his two Hebes, pouring out his Madeira, approximated as nearly as anything could do to Helen's administration of the true Nepenthe. He might have sung of Madeira, as Redi's Bacchus sang of one of his favourite wines:—
Che mandar suole in esilio
Ogni male inrimediabile:
Egli è d'Elena il Nepente,
Che fa stare il mondo allegro,
Dai pensieri
Foschi e neri
Sempre sciolto, e sempre esente.{1}
1 Redi: Bacco in Toscana.
Matters went on quietly at the Grange. One evening, Mr. Gryll said quietly to the Reverend Doctor Opimian—
'I have heard you, doctor, more than once, very eulogistic of hair as indispensable to beauty. What say you to the bald Venus of the Romans—Venus Calva?'
The Rev. Dr. Opimian. Why, sir, if it were a question whether the Romans had any such deity, I would unhesitatingly maintain the negatur. Where do you find her?
Mr. Gryll. In the first place, I find her in several dictionaries.
The Rev. Dr. Opimian. A dictionary is nothing without an authority. You have no authority but that of one or two very late writers, and two or three old grammarians, who had found the word and guessed at its meaning. You do not find her in any genuine classic. A bald Venus! It is as manifest a contradiction in terms as hot ice, or black snow.
Lord Curryfin. Yet I have certainly read, though I cannot at this moment say where, that there was in Rome a temple to Venus Calva, and that it was so dedicated in consequence of one of two circumstances: the first being that through some divine anger the hair of the Roman women fell off, and that Ancus Martius set up a bald statue of his wife, which served as an expiation, for all the women recovered their hair, and the worship of the Bald Venus was instituted; the other being, that when Rome was taken by the Gauls, and when they had occupied the city, and were besieging the Capitol, the besieged having no materials to make bowstrings, the women cut off their hair for the purpose, and after the war a statue of the Bald Venus was raised in honour of the women.
The Rev. Dr. Opimian. I have seen the last story transferred to the time of the younger Maximin.{1} But when two or three explanations, of which only one can possibly be true, are given of any real or supposed fact, we may safely conclude that all are false. These are ridiculous myths, founded on the misunderstanding of an obsolete word. Some hold that Calva, as applied to Venus, signifies pure; but I hold with others that it signifies alluring, with a sense of deceit. You will find the cognate verbs, calvo and calvor, active,{2}
2 Est et Venus Calva ob hanc causam, quod cum Galli
Capitolium obsiderent, et deessent funes Romanis ad tormenta
facienda, prima. Domitia crinem suum, post caeterae matron,
imitatae earn, exsecuerune, unde facta tormenta; et post
bellum statua Veneri hoc nomine collocata est: licet alii
Calvam Venerem quasi puram tradant: alii Calvam, quod corda
calviat, id est, fallat atque éludât. Quidam dicunt,
porrigine olim capillos cecidisse fominis, et Ancum regem
suae uxori statuam Calvam posuisse, quod constitit piaculo;
nam mox omnibus fominis capilli renati sunt: unde institutum
ut Calva Venus coleretur.
—Servius ad Aen. i.
passive,{1} and deponent,{2} in Servius, Plautus, and Sallust. Nobody pretends that the Greeks had a bald Venus. The Venus Calva of the Romans was the Aphrodite Dolie of the Greeks.{3} Beauty cannot co-exist with baldness; but it may and does co-exist with deceit. Homer makes deceitful allurement an essential element in the girdle of Venus.{4} Sappho addresses her as craft-weaving Venus.{5} Why should I multiply examples, when poetry so abounds with complaints of deceitful love that I will be bound every one of this company could, without a moment's hesitation, find a quotation in point?—Miss Gryll, to begin with.
Thinking himself to be deceitfully allured.
2 Nam ubi domi sola sum, sopor manus calvitur.
—Plautus in Casina.
For when I am at home alone, sleep alluringly deceives my hands.
3 (Greek passage)
4 (Greek passage)
5 (Greek passage)
Miss Gryll. Oh, doctor, with every one who has a memory for poetry, it must be l'embarras de richesses. We could occupy the time till midnight in going round and round on the subject. We should soon come to an end with instances of truth and constancy.
The Rev. Dr. Opimian. Not so soon, perhaps. If we were to go on accumulating examples, I think I could find you a Penelope for a Helen, a Fiordiligi for an Angelica, an Imogene for a Calista, a Sacripant for a Rinaldo, a Romeo for an Angelo, to nearly the end of the chapter. I will not say quite, for I am afraid at the end of the catalogue the numbers of the unfaithful would predominate.
Miss Ilex. Do you think, doctor, you would find many examples of love that is one, and once for all; love never transferred from its first object to a second?
The Rev. Dr. Opimian. Plato holds that such is the essence of love, and poetry and romance present it in many instances.
Miss Ilex. And the contrary in many more.
The Rev. Dr. Opimian. If we look, indeed, into the realities of life, as they offer themselves to us in our own experience, in history, in biography, we shall find few instances of constancy to first love; but it would be possible to compile a volume of illustrious examples of love which, though it may have previously ranged, is at last fixed in single, unchanging constancy. Even Inez de Castro was only the second love of Don Pedro of Portugal; yet what an instance is there of love enduring in the innermost heart, as if it had been engraved on marble.
Miss Gryll. What is that story, doctor? I know it but imperfectly.
The Rev. Dr. Opimian. Inez de Castro was the daughter, singularly beautiful and accomplished, of a Castilian nobleman, attached to the court of Alphonso the Fourth of Portugal. When very young, she became the favourite and devoted friend of Constance, the wife of the young Prince Don Pedro. The princess died early, and the grief of Inez touched the heart of Pedro, who found no consolation but in her society. Thence grew love, which resulted in secret marriage. Pedro and Inez lived in seclusion at Coimbra, perfectly happy in each other, and in two children who were born to them, till three of Alphonso's courtiers, moved by I know not what demon of mischief—for I never could discover an adequate motive—induced the king to attempt the dissolution of the marriage, and failing in this, to authorise them to murder Inez during a brief absence of her husband. Pedro raised a rebellion, and desolated the estates of the assassins, who escaped, one into France, and two into Castile. Pedro laid down his arms on the entreaty of his mother, but would never again see his father, and lived with his two children in the strictest retirement in the scene of his ruined happiness. When Alphonso died, Pedro determined not to assume the crown till he had punished the assassins of his wife. The one who had taken refuge in France was dead; the others were given up by the King of Castile. They were put to death, their bodies were burned, and their ashes were scattered to the winds. He then proceeded to the ceremony of his coronation. The mortal form of Inez, veiled and in royal robes, was enthroned by his side: he placed the queenly crown on her head, and commanded all present to do her homage. He raised in a monastery, side by side, two tombs of white marble, one for her, one for himself. He visited the spot daily, and remained inconsolable till he rejoined her in death. This is the true history, which has been sadly perverted by fiction.
Miss Ilex. There is, indeed, something grand in that long-enduring constancy: something terribly impressive in that veiled spectral image of robed and crowned majesty. You have given this, doctor, as an instance that the first love is not necessarily the strongest, and this, no doubt, is frequently true. Even Romeo had loved Rosalind before he saw Juliet. But love which can be so superseded is scarcely love. It is acquiescence in a semblance: acquiescence, which may pass for love through the entire space of life, if the latent sympathy should never meet its perfect counterpart.
The Rev. Dr. Opimian. Which it very seldom does; but acquiescence in the semblance is rarely enduring, and hence there are few examples of lifelong constancy. But I hold with Plato that true love is single, indivisible, unalterable.
Miss Ilex. In this sense, then, true love is first love; for the love which endures to the end of life, though it may be the second in semblance, is the first in reality.
The next morning Lord Curryfin said to Miss Niphet. 'You took no part in the conversation of last evening. You gave no opinion on the singleness and permanence of love.'
Miss Niphet. I mistrust the experience of others, and I have none of my own.
Lord Curryfin. Your experience, when it comes, cannot but confirm the theory. The love which once dwells on you can never turn to another.
Miss Niphet.. I do not know that I ought to wish to inspire such an attachment.
Lord Curryfin. Because you could not respond to it?
Miss Niphet.. On the contrary; because I think it possible I might respond to it too well.
She paused a moment, and then, afraid of trusting herself to carry on the dialogue, she said: 'Come into the hall, and play at battledore and shuttlecock.'
He obeyed the order: but in the exercise her every movement developed some new grace, that maintained at its highest degree the intensity of his passionate admiration.
CHAPTER XXX
A CAPTIVE KNIGHT—RICHARD AND ALICE
—dum fata, sînunt. jungamus amores:
mox veniet tenebris. Mors adoperta caput:
jam subrepet incra otas, nee amare deeebii,
dicere nee ucuio blandîtias capite.
Let us, while Fate allows, in love combine,
Ere our last night its shade around us throw,
Or Ages slow-creeping quench the fire divine,
And tender words befit not locks of snow.
The shuttlecock had been some time on the wing, struck to and fro with unerring aim, and to all appearances would never have touched the ground, if Lord Curryfin had not seen, or fancied he saw, symptoms of fatigue on the part of his fair antagonist. He therefore, instead of returning the shuttlecock, struck it upward, caught it in his hand, and presented it to her, saying, 'I give in. The victory is yours.' She answered, 'The victory is yours, as it always is, in courtesy.'
She said this with a melancholy smile, more fascinating to him than the most radiant expression from another. She withdrew to the drawing-room, motioning to him not to follow.
In the drawing-room she found Miss Gryll, who appeared to be reading; at any rate, a book was open before her.
Miss Gryll. You did not see me just now, as I passed through the hall. You saw only two things: the shuttlecock, and your partner in the game.
Miss Niphet.. It is not possible to play, and see anything but the shuttlecock.
Miss Gryll. And the hand that strikes it.
Miss Niphet.. That comes unavoidably into sight.
Miss Gryll. My dear Alice, you are in love, and do not choose to confess it.
Miss Niphet.. I have no right to be in love with your suitor.
Miss Gryll. He was my suitor, and has not renounced his pursuit; but he is your lover. I ought to have seen long ago, that from the moment his eyes rested on you all else was nothing to him. With all that habit of the world which enables men to conceal their feelings in society, with all his exertion to diffuse his attentions as much as possible among all the young ladies in his company, it must have been manifest to a careful observer, that when it came, as it seemed in ordinary course, to be your turn to be attended to, the expression of his features was changed from complacency and courtesy to delight and admiration. I could not have failed to see it, if I had not been occupied with other thoughts. Tell me candidly, do you not think it is so?
Miss Niphet. Indeed, my dear Morgana, I did not designedly enter into rivalry with you; but I do think you conjecture rightly.
Miss Gryll. And if he were free to offer himself to you, and if he did so offer himself, you would accept him?
Miss Niphet.. Assuredly I would.
Miss Gryll. Then, when you next see him, he shall be free. I have set my happiness on another cast, and I will stand the hazard of the die.
Miss Niphet.. You are very generous, Morgana: for I do not think you give up what you do not value.
Miss Gryll. No, indeed. I value him highly. So much so, that I have hesitated, and might have finally inclined to him, if I had not perceived his invincible preference of you. I am sorry, for your sake and his, that I did not clearly perceive it sooner; but you see what it is to be spoiled by admirers. I did not think it possible that any one could be preferred to me. I ought to have thought it possible, but I had no experience in that direction. So now you see a striking specimen of mortified vanity.
Miss Niphet.. You have admirers in abundance, Morgana: more than have often fallen to the lot of the most attractive young women. And love is such a capricious thing, that to be the subject of it is no proof of superior merit. There are inexplicable affinities of sympathy, that make up an irresistible attraction, heaven knows how.
Miss Gryll. And these inexplicable affinities Lord Curryfin has found in you, and you in him.
Miss Niphet.. He has never told me so.
Miss Gryll. Not in words: but looks and actions have spoken for him. You have both struggled to conceal your feelings from others, perhaps even from yourselves. But you are both too ingenuous to dissemble successfully. You suit each other thoroughly: and I have no doubt you will find in each other the happiness I most cordially wish you.
Miss Gryll soon found an opportunity of conversing with Lord Curryfin, and began with him somewhat sportively: 'I have been thinking,' she said, 'of an old song which contains a morsel of good advice—