Chapter III

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.