Complete Works of Thomas Love Peacock

by Thomas Love Peacock

  How vain the hope! Her form he seemed to clasp,

  But soon as seized, she vanished from his grasp.

  How many times he laid his eager hand

  On her bright form, or on her vesture fair;

  But her white robes, and their vermilion band,

  Deceived his touch, and passed away like air.

  But once, as with a half-turned glance she scanned

  Her foe — Heaven’s will and happy chance were there —

  No breath for pausing might the time allow —

  He seized the golden forelock of her brow.

  Then passed the gloom and tempest from the sky;

  The air at once grew calm and all serene;

  And where rude thorns had clothed the mountain high,

  Was spread a plain, all flowers and vernal green.

  Repentance ceased her scourge. Still standing nigh,

  With placid looks, in her but rarely seen,

  She said: ‘Beware how yet the prize you lose;

  The key of fortune few can wisely use.’

  In the last stanza of the preceding translation, the seventh

  line is the essence of the stanza immediately following; the

  eighth is from a passage several stanzas forward, after

  Orlando has obtained the key, which was the object of his

  search:

  Che mal se trova alcun sotto la Luna,

  Ch’ adopri ben la chiave di Fortuna.

  The first two books of Bojardo’s poem were published in

  1486. The first complete edition was published in 1495.

  The Venetian edition of 1544, from which I have cited this

  passage, and the preceding one in chapter xx., is the

  fifteenth and last complete Italian edition. The original

  work was superseded by the Rifacciamenti of Berni and

  Domenichi. Mr. Panizzi has rendered a great service to

  literature in reprinting the original. He collated all

  accessible editions. Verum opere in longo fas est obrepere

  somnum. He took for his standard,... as I think

  unfortunately, the Milanese edition of 1539. With all the

  care he bestowed on his task, he overlooked one fearful

  perversion in the concluding stanza, which in all editions

  but the Milanese reads thus: Mentre ch’ io canto, ahimè Dio

  redentore...

  ‘She must have anticipated my coming,’ said the young gentleman to himself. ‘She had opened the book at this passage, and has left it to say to me for her — Choose between love and repentance. Four times seven days! That is to ensure calm for the Christmas holidays. The term will pass over Twelfth Night. The lovers of old romance were subjected to a probation of seven years: —

  Seven long years I served thee, fair one,

  Seven long years my fee was scorn.

  ‘But here, perhaps, the case is reversed. She may have feared a probation of seven years for herself; and not without reason. And what have I to expect if I let the four times seven days pass by? Why, then, I can read in her looks — and they are interpreted in the verses before me — I am assigned to repentance, without the hope of a third opportunity. She is not without a leaning towards Lord Curryfin.

  Veggio 1’ Italia tutta a fiamma e a foco,

  Per questi Galli, che con gran furore

  Vengon per disertar non so che loco.

  Perô vi lascio in questo vano amore

  Di Fiordespina ardente a poco a poco:

  Un’ altra fiata, se mi fia concesso,

  Racconterovi il tutto per espresso.

  Even while I sing, ah me, redeeming Heaven!

  I see all Italy in fire and flame,

  Raised by these Gauls, who, by great fury driven,

  Come with destruction for their end and aim.

  The maiden’s heart, by vainest passion riven,

  Not now the rudely-broken song may claim;

  Some future day, if Fate auspicious prove,

  Shall end the tale of Fiordespina’s love.

  The Milanese edition of 1539 was a reprint of that of 1513,

  in which year the French, under Louis XII., had reconquered

  Milan. The Milanese editions read valore for furore.

  It was no doubt in deference to the conquerors that the

  printer of 1513 made this substitution; but it utterly

  perverts the whole force of the passage. The French, under

  Charles VIII., invaded Italy in September 1494, and the

  horror with which their devastations inspired Bojardo not

  only stopped the progress of his poem, but brought his life

  prematurely to a close. He died in December 1494. The

  alteration of this single word changes almost into a

  compliment an expression of cordial detestation.

  She thinks he is passing from her, and on the twenty-ninth day, or perhaps in the meantime, she will try to regain him. Of course she will succeed. What rivalry could stand against her? If her power over him is lessened, it is that she has not chosen to exert it She has but to will it, and he is again her slave. Twenty-eight days! twenty-eight days of doubt and distraction.’ And starting up, he walked out into the park, not choosing the swept path, but wading knee-deep in snow where it lay thickest in the glades. He was recalled to himself by sinking up to his shoulders in a hollow. He emerged with some difficulty, and retraced his steps to the house, thinking that, even in the midst of love’s most dire perplexities, dry clothes and a good fire are better than a hole in the snow.

  CHAPTER XXV

  HARRY AND DOROTHY

  (Greek passage)

  Humerus in Odyssea.

  The youthful suitors, playing each his part,

  Stirred pleasing tumult in each fair one’s heart.

  — Adapted — not translated.

  Harry Hedgerow had found means on several occasions of delivering farm and forest produce at the Tower, to introduce his six friends to the sisters, giving all the young men in turn to understand that they must not think of Miss Dorothy; an injunction which, in the ordinary perverse course of events, might have led them all to think of no one else, and produced a complication very disagreeable for their introducer. It was not so, however. ‘The beauty of it,’ as Harry said to the reverend doctor, was that each had found a distinct favourite among the seven vestals. They had not, however, gone beyond giving pretty intelligible hints. They had not decidedly ventured to declare or propose. They left it to Harry to prosecute his suit to Miss Dorothy, purposing to step in on the rear of his success. They had severally the satisfaction of being assured by various handsome young gipsies, whose hands they had crossed with lucky shillings, that each of them was in love with a fair young woman, who was quite as much in love with him, and whom he would certainly marry before twelve months were over. And they went on their way rejoicing.

  Now Harry was indefatigable in his suit, which he had unbounded liberty to plead; for Dorothy always listened to him complacently, though without departing from the answer she had originally given, that she and her sisters would not part with each other and their young master.

  The sisters had not attached much importance to Mr. Falconer’s absences; for on every occasion of his return the predominant feeling he had seemed to express was that of extreme delight at being once more at home.

  One day, while Mr. Falconer was at the Grange, receiving admonition from Orlando Innamorato, Harry, having the pleasure to find Dorothy alone, pressed his suit as usual, was listened to as usual, and seemed likely to terminate without being more advanced than usual, except in so far as they both found a progressive pleasure, she in listening, and he in being listened to. There was to both a growing charm in thus ‘dallying with the innocence of love,’ and though she always said No with her lips, he began to read Yes in her eyes.

  Harry. Well, but, Miss Dorothy, though you and your sisters will not leave your young
master, suppose somebody should take him away from you, what would you say then?

  Dorothy. What do you mean, Master Harry?

  Harry. Why, suppose he should get married, Miss Dorothy?

  Dorothy. Married!

  Harry. How should you like to see a fine lady in the Tower, looking at you as much as to say, This is mine?

  Dorothy. I will tell you very candidly, I should not like it at all. But what makes you think of such a thing?

  Harry. You know where he is now?

  Dorothy. At Squire Gryll’s, rehearsing a play for Christmas.

  Harry. And Squire Gryll’s niece is a great beauty, and a great fortune.

  Dorothy. Squire Gryll’s niece was here, and my sisters and myself saw a great deal of her. She is a very nice young lady; but he has seen great beauties and great fortunes before; he has always been indifferent to the beauties, and he does not care about fortune. I am sure he would not like to change his mode of life.

  Harry. Ah, Miss Dorothy! you don’t know what it is to fall in love. It tears a man up by the roots, like a gale of wind.

  Dorothy. Is that your case, Master Harry?

  Harry. Indeed it is, Miss Dorothy. If you didn’t speak kindly to me, I do not know what would become of me. But you always speak kindly to me, though you won’t have me.

  Dorothy. I never said won’t, Master Harry.

  Harry. No, but you always say can’t, and that’s the same as won’t, so long as you don’t.

  Dorothy. You are a very good young man, Master Harry. Everybody speaks well of you. And I am really pleased to think you are so partial to me. And if my young master and my sisters were married, and I were disposed to follow their example, I will tell you very truly, you are the only person I should think of, Master Harry.

  Master Harry attempted to speak, but he felt choked in the attempt at utterance; and in default of words, he threw himself on his knees before his beloved, and clasped his hands together with a look of passionate imploring, which was rewarded by a benevolent smile. And they did not change their attitude till the entrance of one of the sisters startled them from their sympathetic reverie.

  Harry having thus made a successful impression on one of the Theban gates, encouraged his six allies to carry on the siege of the others; for which they had ample opportunity, as the absences of the young gentleman became longer, and the rumours of an attachment between him and Miss Gryll obtained more ready belief.

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  DOUBTS AND QUESTIONS

  (Greek passage)

  AlCÆUS.

  Bacchis! ‘’Tis vain to brood on care,

  Since grief no remedy supplies;

  Be ours the sparkling bowl to share,

  And drown our sorrows as they rise.

  Mr. Falconer saw no more of Miss Gryll till the party assembled in the drawing-rooms. She necessarily took the arm of Lord Curryfin for dinner, and it fell to the lot of Mr. Falconer to offer his to Miss Niphet, so that they sat at remote ends of the table, each wishing himself in the other’s place; but Lord Curryfin paid all possible attention to his fair neighbour. Mr. Falconer could see that Miss Gryll’s conversation with Lord Curryfin was very animated and joyous: too merry, perhaps, for love: but cordial to a degree that alarmed him. It was, however, clear by the general mirth at the head of the table, that nothing very confidential or sentimental was passing. Still, a young lady who had placed the destiny of her life on a point of brief suspense ought not to be so merry as Miss Gryll evidently was. He said little to Miss Niphet; and she, with her habit of originating nothing, sat in her normal state of statue-like placidity, listening to the conversation near her. She was on the left hand of Mr. Gryll. Miss Ilex was on his right, and on her right was the Reverend Doctor Opimian. These three kept up an animated dialogue. Mr. MacBorrowdale was in the middle of the table, and amused his two immediate fair neighbours with remarks appertaining to the matter immediately before them, the preparation and arrangement of a good dinner: remarks that would have done honour to Francatelli.

  After a while, Mr. Falconer bethought him that he would try to draw out Miss Niphet.’s opinion on the subject nearest his heart. He said to her: ‘They are very merry at the head of the table.’

  Miss Niphet.. I suppose Lord Curryfin is in the vein for amusing his company, and he generally succeeds in his social purposes.

  Mr. Falconer. You lay stress on social, as if you thought him not successful in all his purposes.

  Miss Niphet. Not in all his inventions, for example. But in the promotion of social enjoyment he has few equals. Of course, it must be in congenial society. There is a power of being pleased, as well as a power of pleasing. With Miss Gryll and Lord Curryfin, both meet in both. No wonder that they amuse those around them.

  Mr. Falconer. In whom there must also be a power of being pleased.

  Miss Niphet.. Most of the guests here have it. If they had not they would scarcely be here. I have seen some dismal persons, any one of whom would be a kill-joy to a whole company. There are none such in this party. I have also seen a whole company all willing to be pleased, but all mute from not knowing what to say to each other: not knowing how to begin. Lord Curryfin would be a blessing to such a party. He would be the steel to their flint.

  Mr. Falconer. Have you known him long?

  Miss Niphet.. Only since I met him here.

  Mr. Falconer. Have you heard that he is a suitor to Miss Gryll?

  Miss Niphet.. I have heard so.

  Mr. Falconer. Should you include the probability of his being accepted in your estimate of his social successes?

  Miss Niphet.. Love affairs are under influences too capricious for the calculation of probabilities.

  Mr. Falconer. Yet I should be very glad to hear your opinion. You know them both so well.

  Miss Niphet. I am disposed to indulge you, because I think it is not mere curiosity that makes you ask the question, Otherwise I should not be inclined to answer it, I do not think he will ever be the affianced lover of Morgana. Perhaps he might have been if he had persevered as he began. But he has been used to smiling audiences. He did not find the exact reciprocity he looked for. He fancied that it was, or would be, for another, I believe he was right.

  Mr. Falconer. Yet you think he might have succeeded if he had persevered.

  Miss Niphet. I can scarcely think otherwise, seeing how much he has to recommend him.

  Mr. Falconer. But he has not withdrawn.

  Miss Nipket. No, and will not. But she is too high-minded to hold him to a proposal not followed up as it commenced even if she had not turned her thoughts elsewhere.

  Mr. Falconer. Do you not think she could recall him to his first ardour if she exerted all her fascinations for the purpose?

  Miss Nipket. It may be so. I do not think she will try. (She added, to herself:) I do not think she would succeed.

  Mr. Falconer did not feel sure she would not try: he thought he saw symptoms of her already doing so. In his opinion Morgana was, and must be, irresistible. But as he had thought his fair neighbour somewhat interested in the subject, he wondered at the apparent impassiveness with which she replied to his questions.

  In the meantime he found, as he had often done before, that the more his mind was troubled, the more Madeira he could drink without disordering his head.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  LOVE IN MEMORY

  Il faut avoir aimé une fois en sa vie, non pour le moment où

  l’on aime, car on n’éprouve alors que des tourmens, des

  regrets, de la jalousie: mais peu à peu ces tourmens-là

  deviennent des souvenirs, qui charment notre arrière

  saison:... et quand vous verrez la vieillesse douce, facile

  et tolérante, vous pourrez dire comme Fontenelle: L’amour a

  passé par-la.

  — Scribe: La Vieille.

  Miss Gryll carefully avoided being alone with Mr. Falconer, in order not to give him an opportunity of speaking on the forbidden sub
ject. She was confident that she had taken the only course which promised to relieve her from a life of intolerable suspense; but she wished to subject her conduct to dispassionate opinion, and she thought she could not submit it to a more calmly-judging person than her old spinster friend, Miss Ilex, who had, moreover, the great advantage of being a woman of the world. She therefore took an early opportunity of telling her what had passed between herself and Mr. Falconer, and asking her judgment on the point.

  Miss Ilex. Why, my dear, if I thought there had been the slightest chance of his ever knowing his own mind sufficiently to come to the desired conclusion himself, I should have advised your giving him a little longer time; but as it is clear to me that he never would have done so, and as you are decidedly partial to him, I think you have taken the best course which was open to you. He had all but declared to you more than once before; but this ‘all but’ would have continued, and you would have sacrificed your life to him for nothing.

  Miss Gryll. But do you think you would in my case have done as I did?

  Miss Ilex. No, my dear, I certainly should not; for, in a case very similar, I did not. It does not follow that I was right. On the contrary, I think you are right, and I was wrong. You have shown true moral courage where it was most needed.

  Miss Gryll. I hope I have not revived any displeasing recollections.

  Miss Ilex. No, my dear, no; the recollections are not displeasing. The day-dreams of youth, however fallacious, are a composite of pain and pleasure: for the sake of the latter the former is endured, nay, even cherished in memory.

  Miss Gryll. Hearing what I hear you were, seeing what I see you are, observing your invariable cheerfulness, I should not have thought it possible that you could have been crossed in love, as your words seem to imply.

  Miss Ilex. I was, my dear, and have been foolish enough to be constant all my life to a single idea; and yet I would not part with this shadow for any attainable reality.