CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CONSTANCE'S UNDIMINISHED LOVE FOR GODOLPHIN.--HER REMORSE AND HER
HOPE.--THE CAPITOL.--THE DIFFERENT THOUGHTS OF GODOLPHIN AND CONSTANCE AT
THE VIEW.--THE TENDER EXPRESSIONS OF CONSTANCE.
All that Constance heard from others of Godolphin's life since they
parted, increased her long-nursed interest in his fate. His desultory
habits, his long absences from cities, which were understood to be passed
in utter and obscure solitude (for the partner of the solitude and its
exact spot were not known), she coupled with the quiet melancholy in his
aspect, with his half-reproachful glances toward herself, and with the
emotions which he had given vent to in their conversation. And of this
objectless and unsatisfactory life she was led to consider herself the
cause. With a bitter pang she recalled his early words, when he said, "My
future is in your hands;" and she contrasted his vivid energies--his
cultivated mind--his high talents--with the life which had rendered them
all so idle to others and unprofitable to himself. Few, very few, know
how powerfully the sentiment that another's happiness is at her control
speaks to a woman's heart. Accustomed to dependence herself, the feeling
that another depends on her is the most soothing aliment to her pride.
This makes a main cause of her love to her children; they would be
incomparably less dear to her if they were made independent of her cares.
And years, which had brought the young countess acquainted with the
nothingness of the world, had softened and deepened the sources of her
affections, in proportion as they had checked those of her ambition. She
could not, she did not, seek to disguise from herself that Godolphin yet
loved her; she anticipated the hour when he would avow that love, and when
she might be permitted to atone for all of disappointment that her former
rejection might have brought to him. She felt, too, that it would be a
noble as well as delightful task, to awaken an intellect so brilliant to
the natural objects of its display; to call forth into active life his
teeming thought, and the rich eloquence with which he could convey it.
Nor in this hope were her more selfish designs, her political schemings,
and her desire of sway over those whom she loved to humble, forgotten; but
they made, however,--to be just,--a small part of her meditations. Her
hopes were chiefly of a more generous order. "I refused thee," she
thought, "when I was poor and dependent--now that I have wealth and rank,
how gladly will I yield them to thy bidding!"
But Godolphin, as if unconscious of this favorable bias of her
inclinations, did not warm from his reserve. On the contrary, his first
abstraction, and his first agitation, had both subsided into a distant and
cool self-possession. They met often, but he avoided all nearer or less
general communication. She saw, however, that his eyes were constantly in
search of her, and that a slight trembling in his voice when he addressed
her, belied the calmness of his manner. Sometimes, too, a word, or a
touch from her, would awaken the ill-concealed emotions--his lips seemed
about to own the triumph of her and of the past; but, as if by a violent
effort, they were again sealed; and not unoften, evidently unwilling to
trust his self-command, he would abruptly depart. In short, Constance
perceived that a strange embarrassment, the causes of which she could not
divine, hung about him, and that his conduct was regulated by some secret
motive, which did not spring from the circumstances that had occurred
between them. For it was evident that he was not withheld by any
resentment toward her from her former rejection: even his looks, his
words, had betrayed that he had done more than forgive. Lady Charlotte
Deerham had heard from Saville of their former attachment: she was a woman
of the world, and thought it but common delicacy to give them all occasion
to renew it. She always, therefore, took occasion to retire from the
immediate vicinity of Constance whenever Godolphin approached, and, as if
by accident, to leave them the opportunity to be sufficiently alone. This
was a danger that Godolphin had, however, hitherto avoided. One day fate
counteracted prudence, and a conference ensued which perplexed Constance
and tried severely the resolution of Godolphin.
They went together to the Capitol, from whose height is beheld perhaps the
most imposing landscape in the world. It was a sight pre-eminently
calculated to arouse and inspire the ambitious and working mind of the
young countess.
"Do you think," said she to Godolphin, who stood beside her, that there
lives any one who could behold these countless monuments of eternal glory,
and not sigh to recall the triteness, or rather burn to rise from the
level, of our ordinary life?"
"Nay," said Godolphin, "to you the view may be an inspiration, to others a
warning. The arch and the ruin you survey speak of change yet more
eloquently than glory. Look on the spot where once was the temple of
Romulus:--there stands the little church of an obscure saint. Just below
you is the Tarpeian Rock: we cannot see it; it is hidden from us by a
crowd of miserable houses. Along the ancient plain of the Campus Martins
behold the numberless spires of a new religion, and the palaces of a
modern race! Amidst them you see the triumphal columns of Trajan and
Marcus lntoninus; but whose are the figures that crown their summits? St.
Peter's and St. Paul's! And this awful wilderness of men's labours--this
scene and token of human revolutions--inspires you with a love of glory;
to me it proves its nothingness. An irresistible--a crushing sense of the
littleness and brief life of our most ardent and sagacious achievements
seems to me to float like a voice over the place!"
"And are you still, then," said Constance, with a half sigh, "dead to all
but the enjoyment of the present moment?"
"No," replied Godolphin, in a low and trembling voice: "I am not dead to
the regret of the past!"
Constance blushed deeply; but Godolphin, as if feeling he had committed
himself too far, continued in a hurried tone:--"Let us turn our eyes,"
said he, "yonder among the olive groves. There
'Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,'
were the summer retreats of Rome's brightest and most enduring spirits.
There was the retirement of Horace and Mecaenas: there Brutus forgot his
harsher genius; and there the inscrutable and profound Augustus indulged
in those graceful relaxations-those sacrifices to wit, and poetry, and
wisdom--which have made us do so unwilling and reserved a justice to the
crimes of his earlier and the hypocrisy of his later years. Here, again,
is a reproach to your ambition," added Godolphin, smiling; "his ambition
made Augustus odious; his occasional forgetfulness of ambition alone
redeems him."
"And what, then," said Constance, "would you consider inactivity the
happiest life for one sensible of talents higher than the common
standard?"
"Nay, let those talents be devoted to the discovery of pleasures, not the
search after labours; the higher our talents, the keener our perceptions;
the keener our perceptions the more intense our capacities for
pleasure:[1]--let pleasure then, be our object. Let us find out what is
best fitted to give our peculiar tastes gratification, and, having found
out, steadily pursue it."
"Out on you! it is a selfish, an ignoble system," said Constance. "You
smile--well, I may be unphilosophical, I do not deny it. But, give me one
hour of glory, rather than a life of luxurious indolence. Oh, would,"
added Constance, kindling as she spoke, "that you--you, Mr.
Godolphin,--with an intellect so formed for high accomplishment--with all
the weapons and energies of life at your command,--would that you could
awaken to a more worthy estimate--pardon me--of the uses of exertion!
Surely, surely, you must be sensible of the calls that your country, that
mankind, have at this epoch of the world, upon all--all, especially,
possessing your advantages and powers. Can we pierce one inch beyond the
surface of society, and not see that great events are hastening to their
birth? Will you let those inferior to yourself hurry on before you, and
sit inactive while they win the reward? Will you have no share in the
bright drama that is already prepared behind the dark curtain of fate, and
which will have a world for its spectators? Ah, how rejoiced, how elated
with myself I should feel, if I could will over one like you to the great
cause of honourable exertion!"
For one instant Godolphin's eye sparkled, and his pale cheek burned--but
the transient emotion faded away as he answered--
"Eight years ago, when she who spoke to me was Constance Vernon, her wish
might have moulded me according to her will. Now," and he struggled with
emotion, and turned away his face,--"now it is too late!"
Constance was smitten to the heart. She laid her hand gently on his arm,
and said, in a sweet and soothing tone, "No, Percy, not too late!"
At that instant, and before Godolphin could reply, they were joined by
Saville and Lady Charlotte Deerham.
[1] I suppose Godolphin by the word pleasure rather signifies happiness.
