Lucile [40]
no doubt, say the flatterers, flattering in tune, Some vestal whose virtue no tongue dare impugn Has at last found a Mars--who, of course, shall be nameless, That vestal that yields to Mars ONLY is blameless! Hark! hears he a name which, thus syllabled, stirs All his heart into tumult? . . . Lucile de Nevers With the Duke's coupled gayly, in some laughing, light, Free allusion? Not so as might give him the right To turn fiercely round on the speaker, but yet To a trite and irreverent compliment set!
XVIII.
Slowly, slowly, usurping that place in his soul Where the thought of Lucile was enshrined, did there roll Back again, back again, on its smooth downward course O'er his nature, with gather'd momentum and force, THE WORLD.
XIX.
"No!" he mutter'd, "she cannot have sinn'd! True! women there are (self-named women of mind!) Who love rather liberty--liberty, yes! To choose and to leave--than the legalized stress Of the lovingest marriage. But she--is she so? I will not believe it. Lucile! O no, no! Not Lucile! "But the world? and, ah, what would it say? O the look of that man, and his laughter, to-day! The gossip's light question! the slanderous jest! She is right! no, we could not be happy. 'Tis best As it is. I will write to her--write, O my heart! And accept her farewell. OUR farewell! must we part-- Part thus, then--forever, Lucile? Is it so? Yes! I feel it. We could not be happy, I know. 'Twas a dream! we must waken!"
XX.
With head bow'd, as though By the weight of the heart's resignation, and slow Moody footsteps, he turned to his inn. Drawn apart From the gate, in the courtyard, and ready to start, Postboys mounted, portmanteaus packed up and made fast, A travelling-carriage, unnoticed, he pass'd. He order'd his horse to be ready anon: Sent, and paid, for the reckoning, and slowly pass'd on, And ascended the staircase, and enter'd his room. It was twilight. The chamber was dark in the gloom Of the evening. He listlessly kindled a light On the mantel-piece; there a large card caught his sight-- A large card, a stout card, well-printed and plain, Nothing flourishing, flimsy, affected, or vain. It gave a respectable look to the slab That it lay on. The name was--
SIR RIDLEY MACNAB.
Full familiar to him was the name that he saw, For 'twas that of his own future uncle-in-law. Mrs. Darcy's rich brother, the banker, well known As wearing the longest philacteried gown Of all the rich Pharisees England can boast of, A shrewd Puritan Scot, whose sharp wits made the most of This world and the next; having largely invested Not only where treasure is never molested By thieves, moth, or rust; but on this earthly ball Where interest was high, and security small. Of mankind there was never a theory yet Not by some individual instance upset: And so to that sorrowful verse of the Psalm Which declares that the wicked expand like the palm In a world where the righteous are stunted and pent, A cheering exception did Ridley present. Like the worthy of Uz, Heaven prosper'd his piety. The leader of every religious society, Christian knowledge he labor'd t though life to promote With personal profit, and knew how to quote Both the Stocks and the Scripture, with equal advantage To himself and admiring friends, in this Cant-Age.
XXI.
Whilst over this card Alfred vacantly brooded, A waiter his head through the doorway protruded; "Sir Ridley MacNab with Milord wish'd to speak." Alfred Vargrave could feel there were tears on his cheek; He brushed them away with a gesture of pride. He glanced at the glass; when his own face he eyed, He was scared by its pallor. Inclining his head, He with tones calm, unshaken, and silvery, said, "Sir Ridley may enter." In three minutes more That benign apparition appeared at the door. Sir Ridley, released for a while from the cares Of business, and minded to breathe the pure airs Of the blue Pyrenees, and enjoy his release, In
XVIII.
Slowly, slowly, usurping that place in his soul Where the thought of Lucile was enshrined, did there roll Back again, back again, on its smooth downward course O'er his nature, with gather'd momentum and force, THE WORLD.
XIX.
"No!" he mutter'd, "she cannot have sinn'd! True! women there are (self-named women of mind!) Who love rather liberty--liberty, yes! To choose and to leave--than the legalized stress Of the lovingest marriage. But she--is she so? I will not believe it. Lucile! O no, no! Not Lucile! "But the world? and, ah, what would it say? O the look of that man, and his laughter, to-day! The gossip's light question! the slanderous jest! She is right! no, we could not be happy. 'Tis best As it is. I will write to her--write, O my heart! And accept her farewell. OUR farewell! must we part-- Part thus, then--forever, Lucile? Is it so? Yes! I feel it. We could not be happy, I know. 'Twas a dream! we must waken!"
XX.
With head bow'd, as though By the weight of the heart's resignation, and slow Moody footsteps, he turned to his inn. Drawn apart From the gate, in the courtyard, and ready to start, Postboys mounted, portmanteaus packed up and made fast, A travelling-carriage, unnoticed, he pass'd. He order'd his horse to be ready anon: Sent, and paid, for the reckoning, and slowly pass'd on, And ascended the staircase, and enter'd his room. It was twilight. The chamber was dark in the gloom Of the evening. He listlessly kindled a light On the mantel-piece; there a large card caught his sight-- A large card, a stout card, well-printed and plain, Nothing flourishing, flimsy, affected, or vain. It gave a respectable look to the slab That it lay on. The name was--
SIR RIDLEY MACNAB.
Full familiar to him was the name that he saw, For 'twas that of his own future uncle-in-law. Mrs. Darcy's rich brother, the banker, well known As wearing the longest philacteried gown Of all the rich Pharisees England can boast of, A shrewd Puritan Scot, whose sharp wits made the most of This world and the next; having largely invested Not only where treasure is never molested By thieves, moth, or rust; but on this earthly ball Where interest was high, and security small. Of mankind there was never a theory yet Not by some individual instance upset: And so to that sorrowful verse of the Psalm Which declares that the wicked expand like the palm In a world where the righteous are stunted and pent, A cheering exception did Ridley present. Like the worthy of Uz, Heaven prosper'd his piety. The leader of every religious society, Christian knowledge he labor'd t though life to promote With personal profit, and knew how to quote Both the Stocks and the Scripture, with equal advantage To himself and admiring friends, in this Cant-Age.
XXI.
Whilst over this card Alfred vacantly brooded, A waiter his head through the doorway protruded; "Sir Ridley MacNab with Milord wish'd to speak." Alfred Vargrave could feel there were tears on his cheek; He brushed them away with a gesture of pride. He glanced at the glass; when his own face he eyed, He was scared by its pallor. Inclining his head, He with tones calm, unshaken, and silvery, said, "Sir Ridley may enter." In three minutes more That benign apparition appeared at the door. Sir Ridley, released for a while from the cares Of business, and minded to breathe the pure airs Of the blue Pyrenees, and enjoy his release, In