Angelo succeeded completely in his views; Montmorency not only yielded
to his earnest desire, of being permitted to prolong his stay with him
for a few days, but, when at the end of that indefinite period, Angelo
spoke not of departing, Montmorency, though he conceived the propriety
of the movement, could not compel himself to urge it. Spite of his
systematic reserve, he began again to taste the charm of society, of
conversing with a human being of his own sex, of a superior mind, of
polished taste, of manners elegant and refined; sometimes he reproached
himself for the irresistible pleasure which he took in the company of
the being chance had thrown in his way. He feared lest he should cause
him to deviate in his abhorrence of mankind, or bring him back to the
slavish dependence of hanging upon others for some charm to enliven the
vapidness of existence. “Yet surely,” would he cry, “I cannot be
deceived in this youth; but, if I am, what matter? I seek no friendship
from him; I place no reliance, I expect no favor, what, if he be even a
villain at heart, which I think improbable; circumstances will never
place it in his power to make me a sufferer; the entertainment of his
company I may use without danger, as from poison the chemist extracts a
salutary medicine.” But Montmorency did not consider, that confidence
grows from association; that, from long indulgence in luxury, it becomes
necessary; nor, from a view of relative situations, could he pierce
into the future, or discern the probable arrival of a period in which he
might bitterly repent having, in a single instance, deviated from the
resolution he had formed, of never more suffering his heart to relax, or
his opinion to vary, in favor of any human being whatever.
Meantime, the fair and innocent Gabrielle became sensible of a species
of happiness, different from any she had ever yet experienced, and
which, from its novelty, delighted. She enjoyed a sort of halcyon
pleasure, which, to dissipate, it were only necessary for her to
anticipate the departure of Angelo. When she thought on this, a deep
sigh rose involuntarily from her heart; she felt a void there, as though
suddenly she had lost a dear friend,--even as she conceived she might
feel, if she were to lose her father. At this depressing idea,
surrounding objects seemed divested of every charm; occupations, which
formerly had attached her with interest, now lost their power to please;
nay, often her employment was thrown aside; and, with her head languidly
leaning on her hand, she contemplated the image of Angelo, scarcely
conscious perhaps that she had done so, till roused by his presence into
painful confusion. Unsophisticated Gabrielle! she knew love only in its
feeling, and knew not yet that it was love; it was, with her, a pure
emanation of the soul; a refined mysterious sentiment, that disordered
her, she knew not how, with an emotion she could not define. In her
breast it was delicacy’s self, divested of every degrading or ignoble
idea attendant upon that passion, in minds less pure, contaminated too
by more intimate acquaintance with its effects on the minds of others.
Yet still in this genuine, uncorrupted state, was it conceived with a
degree of enthusiasm, of ardour that, even in infancy, gave warning of
the pitch to which it must arrive, if thus proportionably encreasing,
till it reached its climax; if, indeed, it be possible to define the
precise period at which love may be said to have attained its climax, in
certain minds.
Nor was this evolution in the mind of Gabrielle surprising; nurtured and
educated in profound seclusion, beholding no one in the semblance of
man, save a few Mountaineers, blunt and unprepossessing in their manners
and appearance, having no society, save that of her venerable father, or
occasionally of a respectable female, who resided nearest to them. The
majestic Montmorency, whose noble, yet care-worn features, whose silver
hair, whitened by the joint power of grief and age, whose fine figure
yet slightly bending from the same cause, could scarcely give her an
idea of a being possessing the grace, elegance, and beauty of Angelo;
consequently her surprise being stronger, the feelings that accompanied
it were stronger likewise. Thus total seclusion from the world has its
dangers, if not similar, yet not inferior, to those that may be incurred
by too close an intercourse with it.
Some weeks elapsed, and Angelo was still an inmate at the cottage of
Montmorency; Montmorency endeavouring to shut the eyes of his mind
against the pleasure he took in his society,--and Gabrielle, in her
virgin breast, fondly cherishing the dangerous image that now revelled
there uncontrouled. The heart of Angelo, too, participated in the havoc
he had caused; a passion wilder, fiercer, less refined then hers,
internally consumed him; his person underwent some change; he became
pale and haggard, while fanned by the breezes of health, and Montmorency
expressed apprehension, that the keen air of the mountains, where he
dwelt, was too powerful for him. Thus the mind of man, by a resistless
infatuation, often blindly leads him to his own destruction.
Montmorency, from extending his ideas further than his reason could
profit by them, by including in his condemnation and mistrust the whole
of mankind, forgot carefully to examine the limited sphere wherein he
moved, and to guard against those nearer evils, which he viewed so
clearly at a distance. So, often the sage, intent on observing the
course of the heavens, beholds not the precipice at his feet; and the
traveller in the valley, anticipating the distant storm, sees not the
overwhelming avalanche, that rushes down the mountain’s steep.
One day Gabrielle, overcome more by the intenseness of her own
sensations than actual weariness, seated herself in a rocky recess,
there to muse in secret over the terrible feelings that oppressed her;
for the calmness of the first infancy of her love had now passed by; it
was no more a gentle and delicious sensation, but a turbulent and uneasy
passion, that blended itself with every idea, that monopolized every
feeling, that made every former pleasure appear inane and wearisome,
that distracted her mind by day, and revelled in her dreams by night.
Suddenly the object of her thoughts appeared before her. Gabrielle was
frequently in the habits of walking with Angelo; often, too, the
conversation would involuntarily become so mutually interesting, that,
on her side at least, a pause of confusion would ensue. She did not shun
him, for she was unconscious of artifice; but she started and arose, for
she feared lest the tender trouble of her heart should be discovered
through her eyes. Angelo gently took her hand, and walked on with her in
silence, as he contemplated the celestial beauty which innocence
diffuses over those with whom it dwells. Something of vague compunction
shot through his heart, as involuntarily he asked himself the question,
of what he could propose by the indulgence of the passion which occupied
him? The pang was, however transient, expelled from his breast by
sensations more welcome, though more dangerous. He desired ardently to
make known the extent of them to the object that had inspired them, and
to ascertain how far they were returned.
Though his eyes had already told the fair girl that no common feelings
actuated him towards her, though her’s had already betrayed to him, that
the soft confession was not received without the deepest emotion; yet,
so full of vanity is the heart of man, that it is not enough for him to
feel that he is loved? he must have a direct avowal of it, for sweet is
the offering that is accompanied with such incense. At length, unable to
restrain the powerful sensations that battled in his bosom for vent, he
suddenly stopped, almost resistlessly urged to give them expression; but
he found the attempt vain; for it was not that pride, dignity, or
severity, awed him in Gabrielle; it was her innocence, her agitation,
the result of the purest modesty that was depicted in her countenance,
that he feared to offend, and which took from him the power of
prosecuting his wish. Unable to declare his love, unable even to utter a
word, he cast himself at her feet, and, fixing his eyes upon her
countenance, endeavoured to temper even the ardour of their glances,
lest they should convey to her chaste bosom anger or alarm.
Gabrielle, ready to sink into the earth, dared not behold him; her eyes
wandered round in search of relief, and momentarily fixed upon every
object, save the eyes of Angelo, which she dreaded to encounter. At this
moment, when the hearts of both overflowed with the sweetest and most
dangerous sensations, when conviction was on the verge of being conveyed
from each to the other, of the strongest and most ardent love, at that
very moment Montmorency appeared, descending the rock on which they
were. Gabrielle, overwhelmed with the first painful confusion that
attends the fear of having acted wrong, hastened forward to join him,
while Angelo followed her footsteps, uncertain whether to grieve, or to
rejoice at the interruption, and said in a low voice as he drew near
her, “do not, dearest Gabrielle, appear as if flying from me; uneasy
ideas will be instilled into the mind of your father.” Involuntarily
Gabrielle slackened her pace, while a feeling of troubled delight
thrilled through her breast, at the tender appellation bestowed on her
by Angelo.
The good Montmorency saw them advancing together, but saw no more; three
score winters, and the tears that he had shed, had not improved the
brilliancy of his sight. He began to consider Angelo, if not as the best
of human beings, so little contaminated by the vices of the world, and
so far removed from it at present, that he might, without danger at
least, be associated with. He therefore beheld their approach with
pleasure, unalloyed by suspicion, and welcomed them with a smile.
Entering immediately into conversation with Angelo, Gabrielle had
sufficient time to recover herself, and to collect her scattered ideas.
Angelo had confessed to her nothing; he had not spoken, but in his
silence there was an eloquence, at least to her heart, that spoke
enough. She endeavoured to join in the conversation, but the effort was
feeble, and attended with embarrassment. Soon, therefore, as they
reached the cottage, she took the first opportunity of escaping to the
solitude of her chamber. Here, a burst of tears relieved her
full-charged heart; she felt she was adored, though she had not been
told so; this delicious conviction was followed by a transport so
exquisite, that her whole frame trembled: then undefined terrors,
doubts, and apprehensions succeeded to her happiness; peace appeared for
ever banished from her bosom, and the most gloomy terrors crowded, in
sad perspective, on imagination’s eye. But still, still, her fascinated
heart reverted to the fond idea, which formed now the chief, nay only
interest of her life; on that she paused, on that she dwelt, till the
very excess of the delight she experienced awakened her again to renewed
pain, to the agonizing thought of the time when it should exist no
longer, or to the tormenting fear, that all was even now but sweet
delusion.
Thus, in the very midst of solitude, guarded from all communion with
mankind by impervious rocks, and mountains nearly impassable, was the
heart of the virgin surprised by love, and pierced, as in revenge, by
the most terrible of his darts. Though no direct confession had escaped
the lips of either, yet there now appeared a sort of mutual
understanding between the hearts of both; the words, ‘I love,’ seemed
unnecessary to be uttered by either, for the meaning of those words was
sufficiently expressed in their looks, their eyes, their manners towards
each other. Yet, though both fondly loved, how differently did they
love; Gabrielle, with all the enthusiasm, purity, and warmth of an
innocent heart, Angelo with all the wildness, furor, and uncontrolled
passion of one accustomed to give the reins to inclination, and rushing
to attain the object of his wishes. The love of Gabrielle was such as an
angel need not have blushed to know; that of Angelo, such as a mortal
should endeavour to overcome.
When souls once understand each other, the reciprocation of love is
unconfined; it emanates in the tenderest expressions, in a resistless
interchange of sentiments. Could Gabrielle have lived always thus, in
the presence of the object beloved, gazing on his countenance, listening
to each word fondly treasured, she imagined, that she could have been
for ever happy; but Angelo, whose passion had increased, not only beyond
his power, but beyond his wish to conquer, resolved that she must become
his.
The constant view of an object that had inspired him with sensations so
ardent, who was near, and yet so distant from him, became too much for
his reason to combat; the struggle was more than he could endure, and he
felt that Gabrielle must decide whether happiness or misery must be his
lot. So far did the violence of his present sensations obtain the
mastery over every other consideration, that he determined at once to
make known to her the state of his mind, while an idea, (as yet to
himself, even vague and indefinite) of some attempt to prove the extent
of his power over her heart, glanced through his mind. Hurried on by his
invincible impulses, he seized the first moment, when he beheld her
alone, and, after endeavouring, in compliance with her evident wish, to
converse with, and answer her, upon a few uninteresting topics, he
suddenly exclaimed, seizing her hand with impatience: “But all this is
idle, Gabrielle--I have things of higher importance,”--he paused--“which
claim attention,”--another pause.--“I--I can no longer live without you;
I am abrupt, I feel it--but--say, say, at once--what hope can you give
me?--what reply?--on your answer depends my life.”
“Alas,” said Gabrielle, in a timid voice, but neither surprised, nor
affecting to be so, “what hope _can_ I give you?--what reply?”
“You give me then no hope? Ah, Gabrielle, you do not love me, or else,
having lived in this profound seclusion, you are too ignorant of the
dreadful power of the passions over the human heart, to pity or conceive
the pangs which are consuming mine.”
And Gabrielle, indeed, knew nought of the dreadful power of the
passions; the precise meaning of Angelo’s words were not clear to her;
but her heart taught her fully to comprehend that pangs might be
attendant upon love. Still she spoke not, for she was unused to the
language of artifice; and her genuine modesty would not suffer her to
speak the language of nature. Angelo’s impatience became unbounded:
“Say, Gabrielle, say,” he cried, unable to restrain his violence, “you
will give me then no hope?”
“Give not way to this transport, Angelo, it will injure you;--say, my
dear friend, how would you have me act?”
“Your friend,” cried the passionate Angelo, throwing her hand from him;
then seizing it again, he said, “tell me, Gabrielle, do you love me?”
“Yes, Angelo,--I think, I am sure--I do.”
“But how,--how cold, girl? As you love your father?”
“Oh no, with a different love; a more pleasing love, as it were, and yet
more painful; it gives me only pleasure, Angelo, to love my father, but
in loving you, I sometimes feel a pain.”
The eyes of Angelo sparkled with fond conviction; he gazed in the face
of Gabrielle, and, in a faultering voice, he said, “Will you then be
mine, Gabrielle?”
“I do not understand you,” answered Gabrielle; “I think my heart is
your’s, and as for my society, it is your’s likewise, so long as you
remain in this part of Switzerland.” And, as she uttered the last words,
a profound sigh rose heavily from her bosom.
“Ah, but, beloved Gabrielle, I know not how long I may remain here;
besides, you are only my friend, my adored mistress, not wholly mine,
not my wife.”
But though Angelo gave utterance to the term wife, he meant such as it
is understood only in the language of love, not as it is considered in
the estimation of the world; yet, to the chaste ears of Gabrielle, he
durst not offer a word bearing other than honorable construction.
Gabrielle paused a while, and then said, “And from what you have
observed, Angelo, how am I to infer that you wish me to act?”
“Dare I say, Gabrielle?--hear me then;--quit with me for ever the roof
of your father.”
What had obtained to Angelo attention till now? It was the pure, the
guiltless innocence of Gabrielle; but, though innocent, she possessed
strong reason, principle, and a pride, inherited from her noble father.
She did not start back, like a world-taught heroine, in affected
surprise, but she remained motionless at the last words of Angelo; she
remained rooted to the spot, as though her reluctant feet durst no
longer assimilate their movements to his. In her countenance was
depicted scorn and resentment; she regarded him steadily, and the stern
expression of her features gave way gradually to a marked sorrow, as
though she grieved for him, that he should be a creature so base.
“Poor, poor, Angelo!” at length she said, and hurried onwards.
In an instant the precipitate Angelo was sensible of his error; he felt
that he was lowered in the esteem of Gabrielle, and that he had alarmed
the genuine delicacy of her virtue, and sound principles. He rushed
after her, and, in the most impassioned language, implored forgiveness.
Gabrielle heard him, but she felt that he did not merit forgiveness,
and did not even cast a look, upon him. He accused himself, he
acknowledged his fault, and only ventured to urge, in extenuation, that
excessive love had deprived him of the power of right reason. Gabrielle
was silent; her natural fine sense taught her, that it was impossible
but he that loved must value above all the virtue of his mistress, and
respect her duties and her principles; yet, in love, the heart of woman
is weak, contrary to the suggestions of her better reason; when at
length she turned her eyes upon him, and beheld his countenance suffused
with tears, the deep contrition, and the grief that was depicted in it,
she felt a strong wish to extend her hand towards him, and pronounce, “I
forgive you, Angelo, and pity your errors.” In all probability, she
would have yielded to the powerful pleadings of her heart in his favor,
which would have compromised her own dignity, and given Angelo too
great an advantage over her, had not her guardian angel, once more, in
the shape of her father, interposed to prevent this act of weakness, and
yet a little delay her advancement in the path of danger.
Now, with the gratitude of an innocent and pious mind, she beheld his
approach; for, however she might have perceived him before, under the
conviction of having done wrong, she now felt that his appearance had
preserved her from the commission of an error. To Angelo, however, it
conveyed a two-fold pain; first in the interruption it had given, thus
preventing him from the expected triumph of ascertaining his influence
over the heart of the innocent girl, by irritating, and softening her,
in the same moment; and next, in the reproachful whisper of conscience,
to have such ends in view.
So is there often a strange inconsistency in the mind of man; he shall
have sufficient virtue to condemn, what he shall not have fortitude to
resist. Angelo felt strongly that he was acting a base and dishonourable
part, and the blandishment of his heart could not bring over his reason
to tell him otherwise. But, though he felt that his passion, if
indulged, would bear down all before it, either he had not, or would
not, find arguments to overcome it; he had neither courage to fly, nor
to desist, and, while guilt stared him in the face, while remorse
pressed heavy on his soul, he madly permitted its violence to conquer
and drag him onwards.