England -- Fiction; Gay men -- Fiction; Italy -- Fiction; Paranormal fiction
bargain came under the diabolical protection, for in all history you
will not find a family so consistently prosperous nor one so infamous.
For more than a century after his death, the eldest son of the house
made, on his twenty-first birthday, his formal choice as to whether he
accepted for himself the legendary bargain, or dissociated himself from
it, and during that period one only, Philip, the third Earl, would have
no part in it, and he, within a month of his accession to his lordship,
was smitten with a mysterious and terrible disease of which he soon
died.
The rest all claimed their inheritance and mightily prospered, but in
the eighteenth century their belief in so extravagant a legend faded in
the light of more modern materialism. The solemn ritual of choice was
performed no more, but, though the formality was given up, the
subsequent successors to the bargain mostly acted up to the spirit of
it, and their lives, if not their lips, acknowledged it. For, in
general, their wickednesses have been as notable as their prosperity;
pity, and its greater kinsman, love, can find no seed-cranny in their
hearts where they can take root, but both alike wither in that iron
soil. The Staniers have always been loveless folk, and it is strange
that, though love is alien to their natures, they have often so madly
inspired it, and with a glance have kindled in others the fire which is
powerless to warm them. They sate their passions, and, when that is
done, toss the outworn minister away, or, if that minister is wife and
mother to their children, she freezes in the Arctic cold of
lovelessness. Many a bride has come to Stanier all ardent and a-flame,
on whom that congealing blight has fallen, which has turned her into a
figure of ice doing the honours of the house with stately courtesy,
wearing the great jewels which are the insignia of her servitude, and
bearing beautiful sons for the perpetuation of the race. The love that
adorned her advent was frozen, maybe, into hate and horror of him with
whom she was indissolubly one, and whose soul was in pawn to Satan.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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