"Forgive me, forgive me, dearest," said Vargrave, soothingly; "I was to blame, forgive me: but you irritated, you maddened me, by your seeming indifference to my prosperity, my fate. I tell you again and again, pride of my soul, I tell you, that you are the only being I love! and if you will allow me, if you will rise superior, as I once fondly hoped, to all the cant and prejudice of convention and education, the only woman I could ever respect, as well as love. Oh, hereafter, when you see me at that height to which I feel that I am born to climb, let me think that to your generosity, your affection, your zeal, I owed the ascent. At present I am on the precipice; without your hand I fall forever. My own fortune is gone; the miserable forfeit due to me, if Evelyn continues to reject my suit, when she has arrived at the age of eighteen, is deeply mortgaged. I am engaged in vast and daring schemes, in which I may either rise to the highest station or lose that which I now hold. In either case, how necessary to me is wealth: in the one instance, to maintain my advancement; in the other, to redeem my fall."
I do not say whether or not De Montaigne was wrong! but Maltravers saw at least that he was faithful to his theories; that all his motives were sincere, all his practice pure. He could not but allow, too, that in his occupations and labours, De Montaigne appeared to feel a sublime enjoyment; that, in linking all the powers of his mind to active and useful objects, De Montaigne was infinitely happier than the Philosophy of Indifference, the scorn of ambition, had made Maltravers. The influence exercised by the large-souled and practical Frenchman over the fate and the history of Maltravers was very peculiar.
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There follows one of two inevitable results: the author,from modesty or self-consciousness, curvets and shiesfrom the one subject which he has been summoned todiscuss and takes refuge in the Russian ballet andAscot;[50] or else he resigns himself to his apotheosis andgobbles more complimentary sugar-plums than are goodfor his soul's digestion; he is fated to spoil the party orto be spoiled by it.
"Daughter, daughter, marry no man,Though a king's son come to woo,If he be not more than blessing or banTo the secret soul of you.""'Tis the King's son, indeed, I ween,And he left me even but now,And he shall make me a dazzling queen,With a gold crown on my brow.""And are you one that a golden crown,Or the lust of a name can lure?You had better wed with a country clown,And keep your young heart pure.""Mother, the King has sworn, and saidThat his son shall wed but me;And I must gang to the prince's bed,Or a traitor I shall be.""Oh, what care you for an old man's wrath?Or what care you for a king?I had rather you fled on an outlaw's path,A rebel, a hunted thing.""Mother, it is my father's will,For the King has promised him fairA goodly earldom of hollow and hill,And a coronet to wear.""Then woe is worth a father's name,For it names your dourest foe!I had rather you came the child of shameThan to have you fathered so.""Mother, I shall have gold enow,Though love be never mine,To buy all else that the world can showOf good and fair and fine.""Oh, what care you for a prince's gold,Or the key of a kingdom's till?I had rather see you a harlot boldThat sins of her own free will."For I have been wife for the stomach's sake,And I know whereof I say;A harlot is sold for a passing slake,But a wife is sold for aye."Body and soul for a lifetime sell,And the price of the sale shall beThat you shall be harlot and slave as wellUntil Death set you free." 2ff7e9595c
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