The Sorrows of Satan: or, The Strange Experience of One Geoffrey Tempest, Millionaire: A Romance — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The Sorrows of Satan: or, The Strange Experience of One Geoffrey Tempest, Millionaire: A Romance
John Stuart Mill · en
really not necessary."
And Sibyl had readily accepted his suggestion, keeping generally however
to white and pale mauve colourings in her numerous and wonderful
toilettes, in order not to outrage the proprieties too openly in the
opinions of persons known to her, whom she might possibly meet casually
in the foreign towns we visited. No word of regret passed her lips, and
no tears were shed for her mother's loss. She only said,
"What a good thing her sufferings are over!"
Then, with a little sarcastic smile, she had added--
"I wonder when we shall receive the Elton-Chesney wedding cards!"
I did not reply, for I was pained and grieved at her lack of all gentle
feeling in the matter, and I was also, to a certain extent,
superstitiously affected by the fact of the death occurring on our
marriage-day. However this was now a thing of the past; a month had
elapsed,--a month in which the tearing-down of illusions had gone on
daily and hourly,--till I was left to contemplate the uncurtained bare
prose of life and the knowledge that I had wedded a beautiful feminine
animal with the soul of a shameless libertine. Here I pause and ask
myself,--Was not I also a libertine? Yes,--I freely admit it,--but the
libertinage of a man, while it may run to excess in hot youth, generally
resolves itself, under the influence of a great love, into a strong
desire for undefiled sweetness and modesty in the woman beloved. If a
man has indulged in both folly and sin, the time comes at last, when, if
he has any good left in him at all, he turns back upon himself and
lashes his own vices with the scorpion-whip of self-contempt till he
smarts with the rage and pain of it,--and then, aching in every pulse
with his deserved chastisement, he kneels in spirit at the feet of some
pure, true-hearted woman whose white soul, like an angel, hovers
compassionately above him, and there lays down his life, saying "Do what
you will with it,--it is yours!" And woe to her who plays lightly with
such a gift, or works fresh injury upon it! No man, even if he has in
his day, indulged in 'rapid' living, should choose a 'rapid' woman for
his wife,--he had far better put a loaded pistol to his head and make an
end of it!