 | CHAPTER III. Monaldi |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
Maldura was now comparatively gay of heart,
and mixed again with society. The reputation of
his learning procured him the same attentions in
Rome as in Florence; and as there had been no
outward change in him, he had no difficulty in
making acquaintance.
Among the most cordial of these new friends
was a distinguished advocate, a near relation of the
pope, of the name of Landi. He had taken a particular
pleasure in Maldura's conversation, and had
often invited him to his house; but Maldura, with
the perverseness which now began to be the rule
of his conduct, had as often declined these invitations,
and for the very reason that would have induced
another to accept them — because they
were really cordial. He was greedy of admirers,
but his growing habit of distrust shrunk from intimacy.
In a moment of caprice, however, he at
last went.
The advocate received his guest with great
with such encomiums as plainly marked him a
favorite.
It was impossible for any one to look upon Rosalia
Landi with indifference. Her beauty was of
a kind which might be called universal — at least,
in effect, for it was difficult to determine whether
it were more striking or winning; whether it lay
more in the just proportion and harmony of her
features, or in the exquisite and ever-varying expression
that played over them.
For the first time in his life Maldura's heart was
touched. Hitherto he had regarded woman merely
as belonging to the regular materials of poetry;
had examined and analyzed their charms, only to
class and describe them. Now he neither studied
nor thought of studying; he could only feel that
the object before him was lovely; and he felt too
with surprise that her beauty and mind, as they
each alternately won his admiration, each gave
him pain almost proportioned to his pleasure. For
a short time these contending emotions perplexed
him; but a glance into his heart explained all —
she was the first woman with whose fate he had
ever felt a wish to unite his own. From that moment
Maldura marked her for himself.
Yet, sudden as was his love, it was not wholly
affections naturally become subordinate, and take
their color from that; they have no singleness of
feeling towards any object, and can have no sympathy
with any except as it ministers to the paramount
appetite. It was so with Maldura. The
beauty of Rosalia no sooner touched his heart than
it mounted to his brain. He saw her in fancy
gracing his future triumphs, and himself, through
her, the proud object of envy; then her father's
interest, his high connexions, and their influence,
all passed in array before him, to make straight
and easy the opening road of his ambition.
Every time Maldura repeated his visit the stronger
became these motives, and the more confirmed his
love, till at last, thus mingling with all his hopes of
distinction, the image of Rosalia took such hold on
his heart, that he could never think of the one
without calling up the other.
A few weeks after, Maldura waited on the advocate
to solicit permission to address his daughter.
It was readily granted, and in the most flattering
manner. Landi added, that he “should
have his good word, but for the result he must
refer him to his child.”
However sagacious in other things, there is
generally in proud men a remarkable obtuseness
astray where they feel most confident; their habit of
looking at every thing through the misty medium
of self-love, prevents their distinguishing those
minute degrees of good will, esteem, respect, and
so on to exclusive preference, with which a delicate
woman graduates her manner towards those
of the other sex. But that which obscures the
distinctive shades of objects enlarges their outlines;
hence little attentions are easily mistaken for something
more, and, where often repeated, their bare
accumulation soon grows to what is mistaken for
love. Maldura was troubled with no doubts about
the issue of his suit: how it terminated may be
gathered from a part of a conversation between
Rosalia and her father.
“So far, Rosalia,” said her father, “you have
answered well; you have done Maldura justice.
But why stop with his talents? can you find nothing
more to commend?”
Rosalia still continued silent.
“You surely cannot object to his person?”
“Certainly not; I have rarely seen one so handsome.”
“Perhaps you dislike his manners?”
“On the contrary, I think them uncommonly
agreeable: his address, too, is even more than
I believe are entirely his own.”
“Very well! Go on, my dear. — Nay, why
again silent? I fear — say — have you heard any
thing against his morals?”
“Nothing.”
“Or do you object to his disposition?”
“I know nothing of his disposition, and cannot
therefore form any opinion of it.”
“Have a care, Rosalia; there is no species of
detraction more hard and cutting than an icy negative.”
“My dear father, for worlds I would not think
evil — if I could help it.”
“Then you cannot help thinking ill of his disposition?”
“I did not say so. I am willing to believe it
good till I have proof to the contrary.”
“As yet?”
“Not a shadow of one.”
“Then I am satisfied; for I believe it to be
generous and noble. And I believe, also, that my
child is too just to harbor any degree of dislike
without cause.”
Rosalia bowed in assent.
Landi proceeded: “Well, then, since you
highly approve of most of his qualities, and object
not be alarmed, Rosalia, I am a father, not a tyrant.
I am, besides, now an old man, and have
no other hold on the world but in you; and in
guarding you from ill, and leading you to good, I
am only consulting my own happiness.”
“Dearest father!” said Rosalia, “I know, I
feel your goodness; you have ever been the best
of parents; and I should think myself unworthy
any blessing could I wilfully cause you a moment's
pain.”
“I believe it, Rosalia. Neither should I think
better of myself were I disposed to enforce my
own will at the expense of your quiet. — Now that
we understand each other, let me speak plainly.
Signor Maldura has this morning asked permission
to address you. I will not trouble you by repeating
my opinion of his merits; you already know
it, and know that it could not well be higher.
Need I say after this that it would please me to
call him my son? — that I think him, of all the
men I have known, the very man to make my
daughter happy? — Will you not speak, Rosalia?”
“Oh, father!” cried Rosalia, throwing her
arms round his neck.
“Be calm, my child. Let us be rational.”
Landi led her to a chair, and taking a seat by
least I think I know, the cause of your reluctance.
You have a tincture of romance in you, which is
natural enough at your age; and you have formed,
I doubt not, certain peculiar notions of love, which
you hope one day to realize. You have now just
glanced into your heart, and have found in it (as
is very probable) nothing like them. I should
have been surprised if you had; for a real lover is
not half so accommodating as one of the brain.
But the shadows of a youthful imagination pass
away with youth. Then comes a sense of the
substantial and real; and with it a wondering that
we could ever have rejected even the humblest
every-day qualities of the heart and understanding
for these brilliant nothings. It may seem hard to
ask you, who are yet young, to choose between
them. But if I ask it, it is not to give up even
your fancies for any commonplace reality. The
qualities of Maldura are as rare as real. And if he
has not yet thrilled you with any of those tender
emotions — those pleasing pains — which your
imagination may have taught you to associate with
love, do not therefore think him the less fitted to
make you happy. Had he even inspired them,
they could not last; a few months, or a few weeks,
would bring them to an end. Not so will it be
and not so would you find it, when courted and
honored as the wife of the first genius of the
age.”
“My dear father,” said Rosalia, “I would that
I could reason on this subject, but — indeed I
cannot.”
“Strange! You hint not even an objection, and
yet — Do you think I overrate him?”
“No; he deserves all you say of him; but yet — ”
“You would still reject him?”
Rosalia was silent.
“If you esteem, you may certainly love; nay,
it will follow of course.”
“Did you always think so, sir?”
“Perhaps not. When I was young, I was no
doubt fanciful, like others.”
“And yet you did not marry till past thirty.”
“Well, child?”
“My mother died when I was too young to
know her; but I have heard her character so often
from yourself and others, that I have it now as
fresh before me as if she had never been taken
from us. Was she not mild and gentle?”
“As the dew of heaven.”
“And her mind?”
“The seat of every grace and virtue.”
“And her person too was beautiful?”
“Except yourself, I have never seen a creature
so lovely.”
“And did she make you a good wife?”
Landi turned pale. “Rosalia — my child —
why remind me, by these cruel questions, of a loss
which the whole world cannot repair?”
“She was then all you wished; and yet I have
heard that yours was a love-match.”
“No more,” cried Landi, averting his face.
“You have conquered.”
Rosalia pressed his hand to her lips.
“No, my child,” said her father, after a few
minutes, “though my head is old, I find that my
heart is still young as ever. I will not tempt you
to a lukewarm vow: you are a living counterpart
of her who would have rejected a monarch for
your father — like her, too, you shall choose according
to the impulse of your own pure heart.”
Landi, wishing to save his friend pain, lost no
time in communicating the result of this conference.
When Maldura heard it he stood for a
moment like one suddenly waked from sleep,
doubting if the words, which still echoed in his
ears, were really those of another person, or the
mere coinage of his brain. But it was only for a
moment; the compassionate tone of Landi, his
his hand, soon convinced him of their reality. Yet
even then he doubted; not that he had heard
them, but of their truth; he doubted Landi's sincerity,
and thought it a contrivance to rid himself
decently of the connexion. This suspicion brought
the whole man into his face; but he constrained
himself to be civil, whilst he persisted in refusing
to take any denial but from the lady herself.
Landi, finding it in vain to remonstrate, at last
consented that Maldura should wait on Rosalia the
next morning. — The interview was short and decisive.
But never was refusal uttered with more
gentleness and delicacy. And never did rejected
lover hear his own merits more eloquently set forth
than did Maldura, even when the lips of Rosalia
pronounced his doom. “Blame not my will,” she
concluded, “but — if any thing — my heart, that
knows no control but from its own wayward
fancies.”
The character of Rosalia was of that nice mixture
of softness and firmness which makes the perfection
of woman. The first she derived from nature;
the last was the result of principle; and
while from the one she was open to every impression
of the affections, the regular watchfulness of
the other effectually guarded her from all that
or rather just balance between sense and
sensibility, not unfrequently subjected her, with
superficial observers, to the imputation of coldness.
But hers was the coldness of her better judgment,
only occasional, and always with a purpose. When
her heart was opened, and with the sanction of her
principles, the whole woman gave way at once.
It was, no doubt, the consciousness of her disposition
to this prodigal self-abandonment of the
heart that first led her to seek a less fallacious
guide than her own sanguine impulses. Happily
her father's instructions here came to her aid; and
as Landi was a man of sincere piety, it may
readily be inferred that the guide she found in
them was religion. Hence that high standard of
excellence by which she was accustomed to measure
all that approached her.
| CHAPTER III. Monaldi | |