Tell us not that the Past, examined by cold Philosophy, was no
better and no loftier than the Present; it is not thus seen by pure
and generous eyes. Let the Past perish, when it ceases to reflect on
its magic mirror the beautiful Romance which is its noblest reality,
though perchance but the shadow of Delusion.
Yet Violante was not merely the dreamer. In her, life was so
puissant and rich, that action seemed necessary to its glorious
development--action, but still in the woman's sphere--action to
bless and to refine and to exalt all around her, and to pour
whatever else of ambition was left unsatisfied into sympathy with
the aspirations of man. Despite her father's fears of the bleak air
of England, in that air she had strengthened the delicate health
of her childhood. Her elastic step--her eyes full of sweetness and
light--her bloom, at once soft and luxuriant--all spoke of the
vital powers fit to sustain a mind of such exquisite mould, and the
emotions of a heart that, once aroused, could ennoble the passions
of the South with the purity and devotion of the North.
Solitude makes some natures more timid, some more bold. Violante was
fearless. When she spoke, her eyes frankly met your own; and she was
so ignorant of evil, that as yet she seemed nearly unacquainted with
shame. From this courage, combined with affluence of idea, came a
delightful flow of happy converse. Though possessing so imperfectly
the accomplishments ordinarily taught to young women, and which may
be cultured to the utmost, and yet leave the thoughts so barren, and
the talk so vapid--she had that accomplishment which most pleases
the taste, and commands the love, of the man of talent; especially
if his talent be not so actively employed as to make him desire
only relaxation where he seeks companionship--the accomplishment
of facility in intellectual interchange--the charm that clothes in
musical words beautiful womanly ideas.
"I hear him sigh at this distance," said Violante softly, as she
still watched her father; "and methinks this is a new grief, and
not for his country. He spoke twice yesterday of that dear English
friend, and wished that he were here."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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