Lucile By Owen Meredith [i.e. E. R. B. Lytton] |
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 | Lucile |  |
II.
Eugène de Luvois was a man who, in part
From strong physical health, and that vigour of heart
Which physical health gives, and partly, perchance,
From a generous vanity native to France,
Threw himself, heart and soul, into all that allured
Or engaged his sensations; nor ever endured
To relinquish to failure whate'er he began,
Or accept any rank, save the foremost.
From strong physical health, and that vigour of heart
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From a generous vanity native to France,
Threw himself, heart and soul, into all that allured
Or engaged his sensations; nor ever endured
To relinquish to failure whate'er he began,
Or accept any rank, save the foremost.
A man
Of action by nature, he might have, no doubt,
Been in some sense a great man, had life but laid out
Any great field of action for him, or conceded
To action a really great aim, such as needed
Faith, patience, self-sacrifice.
Of action by nature, he might have, no doubt,
Been in some sense a great man, had life but laid out
Any great field of action for him, or conceded
To action a really great aim, such as needed
Faith, patience, self-sacrifice.
But, on the whole,
From circumstance partly beyond his control,
His life was of trifles made up, and he lived
In a world of frivolities. Still he contrived
The trifles, to which he was wedded, to dower
With so much of his own individual power
(And mere pastime to him was so keen a pursuit),
That these trifles seem'd such as you scarce could impute
To a trifler.
From circumstance partly beyond his control,
His life was of trifles made up, and he lived
In a world of frivolities. Still he contrived
The trifles, to which he was wedded, to dower
With so much of his own individual power
(And mere pastime to him was so keen a pursuit),
That these trifles seem'd such as you scarce could impute
To a trifler.
Both he and Lord Alfred had been
Men of pleasure: but men's pleasant vices, which, seen
In Alfred, appear'd, from the light languid mood
Of soft unconcern with which these were pursued,
As amiable foibles, by strange involution,
In Eugène, from their earnest, intense prosecution,
Appear'd almost criminal.
Men of pleasure: but men's pleasant vices, which, seen
In Alfred, appear'd, from the light languid mood
Of soft unconcern with which these were pursued,
As amiable foibles, by strange involution,
In Eugène, from their earnest, intense prosecution,
Appear'd almost criminal.
Nevertheless,
What in him gave to vice, from its pathos and stress,
A sort of malignity, might have perchance
Had the object been changed by transposed circumstance,
Given vigour to virtue. And therefore, indeed,
Had his life been allied to some fix'd moral creed,
In the practice and forms of a rigid, severe,
And ascetic religion, he might have come near
To each saint in that calendar which he now spurn'd.
In its orbit, however, his intellect turn'd
On a circle so narrow'd as quite to exclude
A spacious humanity. Therefore, both crude
And harsh his religion would ever have been,
As shallow, presumptuous, narrow, and keen,
Was the trite irreligion which now he display'd.
It depended alone upon chance to have made
Persecutor of this man, or martyr. For, closed
In the man, lurk'd two natures the world deems opposed,
A Savonarola's, a Calvin's, alike
Uperceived by himself. It was in him to strike
At whatever the object he sought to attain,
Bold as Brutus, relentless as Philip of Spain,
And undaunted to march, in behalf of his brothers,
To the stake, or to light it, remorseless, for others.
The want of his life was the great want, in fact,
Of a principle, less than of power to act
Upon principle. Life without one living truth!
To the sacred political creed of his youth
The century which he was born to denied
All realisation. Its generous pride
To degenerate protest on all things was sunk;
Its principles, each to a prejudice shrunk.
And thus from his youth he had lived, in constrain'd
Vain resistance, opposed to the race that then reign'd
In the land of his birth, and from this cause alone
Exiled from his due sphere of action, and thrown
Into reckless inertness; whence, early possess'd
Of inherited wealth, he had learn'd to invest
Both his wealth and those passions wealth frees from the cage
Which penury locks, in each vice of an age
All the virtues of which, by the creed he revered,
Were to him illegitimate.
What in him gave to vice, from its pathos and stress,
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Had the object been changed by transposed circumstance,
Given vigour to virtue. And therefore, indeed,
Had his life been allied to some fix'd moral creed,
In the practice and forms of a rigid, severe,
And ascetic religion, he might have come near
To each saint in that calendar which he now spurn'd.
In its orbit, however, his intellect turn'd
On a circle so narrow'd as quite to exclude
A spacious humanity. Therefore, both crude
And harsh his religion would ever have been,
As shallow, presumptuous, narrow, and keen,
Was the trite irreligion which now he display'd.
It depended alone upon chance to have made
Persecutor of this man, or martyr. For, closed
In the man, lurk'd two natures the world deems opposed,
A Savonarola's, a Calvin's, alike
Uperceived by himself. It was in him to strike
At whatever the object he sought to attain,
Bold as Brutus, relentless as Philip of Spain,
And undaunted to march, in behalf of his brothers,
To the stake, or to light it, remorseless, for others.
The want of his life was the great want, in fact,
Of a principle, less than of power to act
Upon principle. Life without one living truth!
To the sacred political creed of his youth
The century which he was born to denied
All realisation. Its generous pride
132
Its principles, each to a prejudice shrunk.
And thus from his youth he had lived, in constrain'd
Vain resistance, opposed to the race that then reign'd
In the land of his birth, and from this cause alone
Exiled from his due sphere of action, and thrown
Into reckless inertness; whence, early possess'd
Of inherited wealth, he had learn'd to invest
Both his wealth and those passions wealth frees from the cage
Which penury locks, in each vice of an age
All the virtues of which, by the creed he revered,
Were to him illegitimate.
Thus, he appear'd
Neither Brutus nor Philip in action and deed,
Neither Calvin nor Savonarola in creed,
But that which the world chose to have him appear,—
The frivolous tyrant of Fashion, a mere
Reformer in coats, cards, and carriages! Still
'Twas this vigour of nature, and tension of will,
Whence his love for Lucile to such passion had grown.
The moment in which with his nature her own
Into contact had come, the intense life in her,
The tenacious embrace of her strong character,
Had seized and possess'd what in him was akin
To the powers within her; and still, as within
Her loftier, larger, more luminous nature,
These powers assumed greater glory and stature,
Her influence over the mind of Eugène
Was not only strong, but so strong as to strain
All his own to a loftier limit.
Neither Brutus nor Philip in action and deed,
Neither Calvin nor Savonarola in creed,
But that which the world chose to have him appear,—
The frivolous tyrant of Fashion, a mere
Reformer in coats, cards, and carriages! Still
'Twas this vigour of nature, and tension of will,
Whence his love for Lucile to such passion had grown.
The moment in which with his nature her own
Into contact had come, the intense life in her,
The tenacious embrace of her strong character,
Had seized and possess'd what in him was akin
To the powers within her; and still, as within
Her loftier, larger, more luminous nature,
These powers assumed greater glory and stature,
Her influence over the mind of Eugène
Was not only strong, but so strong as to strain
133
And so
His whole being seem'd to cling to her, as though
He divined that, in some unaccountable way,
His happier destinies secretly lay
In the light of her dark eyes. And still, in his mind,
To the anguish of losing the woman was join'd
The terror of missing his life's destination,
Of which, as in mystical representation,
The love of the woman, whose aspect benign
Guided, starlike, his soul seem'd the symbol and sign.
For he felt, if the light of that star it should miss,
That there lurk'd in his nature, conceal'd, an abyss
Into which all the current of being might roll,
Devastating a life, and submerging a soul.
His whole being seem'd to cling to her, as though
He divined that, in some unaccountable way,
His happier destinies secretly lay
In the light of her dark eyes. And still, in his mind,
To the anguish of losing the woman was join'd
The terror of missing his life's destination,
Of which, as in mystical representation,
The love of the woman, whose aspect benign
Guided, starlike, his soul seem'd the symbol and sign.
For he felt, if the light of that star it should miss,
That there lurk'd in his nature, conceal'd, an abyss
Into which all the current of being might roll,
Devastating a life, and submerging a soul.
| Lucile | |