CHAPTER XL.
TIVOLI.--THE SIREN'S CAVE.--THE CONFESSION.
Along the deathly Campagna, a weary and desolate length of way,--through a
mean and squalid row of houses--you thread your course; and behold--Tivoli
bursts upon you!
"Look--look!" cried Constance, with enthusiasm, as she pointed to the
rushing torrent that, through matted trees and cragged precipices,
thundered on.
Astonished at the silence of Godolphin, whom scenery was usually so wont
to kindle and inspire, she turned hastily round, and her whole tide of
feeling was revulsed by the absorbed but intense dejection written on his
countenance. "Why," said she, after a short pause, and affecting a
playful smile, "why, how provoking is this! In general, not a common
patch of green with an old tree in the centre, not a common rivulet with a
willow hanging over it, escapes you. You insist upon our sharing your
raptures--you dilate on the picturesque--you rise into eloquence; nay, you
persuade us into your enthusiasm, or you quarrel with us for our coldness;
and now, with this divinest of earthly scenes around us,--when even Lady
Charlotte is excited, and Mr. Saville forgets himself, you are stricken
into silence and apathy! The reason--if it be not too abstruse?"
"It is here!" said Godolphin, mournfully, and pressing his hand to his
heart.
Constance turned aside; she indulged herself with the hope that he alluded
to former scenes, and despaired of the future from their remembrance. She
connected his melancholy with herself, and knew that, when referred to
her, she could dispel it. Inspired by this idea, and exhilarated by the
beauty of the morning, and the wonderful magnificence of nature, she
indulged her spirits to overflowing. And as her brilliant mind lighted up
every subject it touched, now glowing over description, now flashing into
remark, Godolphin at one time forgot, and at another more keenly felt, the
magnitude of the sacrifice he was about to make. But every one knows that
feeling which, when we are unhappy, illumines (if I may so speak) our
outward seeming from the fierceness of our inward despair,--that
recklessness which is the intoxication of our grief.
By degrees Godolphin broke from his reserve. He seemed to catch the
enthusiasm of Constance; he echoed back--he led into new and more dazzling
directions--the delighted remarks of his beautiful companion. His mind,
if not profoundly learned, at least irregularly rich, in the treasures of
old times, called up a spirit from every object. The waterfall, the ruin,
the hollow cave--the steep bank crested with the olive--the airy temple,
the dark pomp of the cypress grove, and the roar of the headlong
Anio,--all he touched with the magic of the past--clad with the glories of
history and of legend--and decked ever and anon with the flowers of the
eternal Poesy that yet walks, mourning for her children, amongst the vines
and waterfalls of the ancient Tibur. And Constance, as she listened to
him, entranced, until she herself unconsciously grew silent, indulged
without reserve in that, the proudest luxury of love--pride in the beloved
object. Never had the rare and various genius of Godolphin appeared so
worthy of admiration. When his voice ceased, it seemed to Constance like
a sudden blank in the creation.
Godolphin and the young countess were several paces before the little
party, and they now took their way towards the Siren's Cave. The path
that leads to that singular spot is humid with an eternal spray; and it is
so abrupt and slippery, that in order to preserve your footing, you must
cling to the bushes that vegetate around the sides of the precipice.
"Let us dispense with our guide," said Godolphin. "I know every part of
the way, and I am sure you share with me in dislike to these hackneyed
indicators and sign-posts for admiration. Let us leave him to Lady
Charlotte and Saville, and suffer me to be your guide to the cavern."
Constance readily enough assented, and they proceeded. Saville, by no
means liking the difficult and perilous path which was to lead only to a
very cold place, soon halted; and suggested to Lady Charlotte the
propriety of doing the same. Lady Charlotte much preferred the wit of her
companion's conversation to the picturesque. "Besides," as she said, "she
had seen the cave before." Accordingly, they both waited for the return
of the more adventurous countess and her guide.
Unconscious of the defalcation of her friends, and not--from the attention
that every step required--once looking behind, Constance continued. And
now, how delightful to her seemed that rugged way, as, with every moment,
Godolphin's care--Godolphin's hand became necessary; and he, inspired,
inflamed by her company, by her touch, by the softness of her manner, and
the devotion of her attention--no, no! not yet was Lucilla forgotten!
And now they stood within the Siren's Cave. From this spot alone you can
view that terrible descent of waters which rushes to earth like the coming
of a god! The rocks dripped around them--the torrent dashed at their very
feet. Down--down, in thunder, for ever and for ever, dashed the might of
the maddening element; above, all wrath; below, all blackness;--there, the
cataract; here, the abyss. Not a moment's pause to the fury, not a
moment's silence to the roar;--forward to the last glimpse of the sun--the
curse of labour, and the soul of unutterable strength, shall be upon
those waters! The demon, tormented to an eternity, filling his dread
dwelling-place with the unresting and unearthly voice of his rage and
despair, is the only type meet for the spirit of the cataract.
And there--amidst this awful and tremendous eternity of strife and
power--stood two beings whose momentary existence was filled with the
master-passion of humanity. And that passion was yet audible there: the
nature without coal; I not subdue that within. Even amidst the icy
showers of spray that fell around, and would have frozen the veins of
others, Godolphin felt the burning at his heart. Constance was indeed
utterly lost in a whirl and chaos of awe and admiration, which deprived
her of all words. But it was the nature of her wayward lover to be
aroused only to the thorough knowledge of his powers and passions among
the more unfrequent and fierce excitements of life. A wild emotion now
urged him on; something of that turbulent exaggeration of mind which gave
rise to a memorable and disputed saying--"If thou stoodest on a
precipice with thy mistress, hast thou ever felt the desire to plunge with
her into the abyss?--If so--thou hast loved!" No doubt the sentiment is
exaggerated, but there are times when love is exaggerated too. And now
Constance, without knowing it, had clung closer and closer to Godolphin.
His hand at first--now his arm--supported her; and at length, by an
irresistible and maddening impulse, he clasped her to his breast, and
whispered in a voice which was heard by her even amidst the thunder of the
giant waters, "Here, here, my early--my only love, I feel, in spite of
myself, that I never utterly, fully, adored you until now!"
