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Updated: May 23, 2025
So saying, the lofty Constance sank down, overpowered with the bitterness of her feelings, and covered her face with her hands. Was Radclyffe a man that he could see this unmoved? that he could hear those beautiful lips breathe complaints for the want of love, and not acknowledge the love that burned at his own heart?
He looked hard in Radclyffe's face, and, after a pause of some moments, replied slowly, "I believe you are right after all; and I have learned in a few short sentences the secret of a discontented life." Godolphin would have sought other opportunities of conversing with Radclyffe, but events soon parted them. Parliament was dissolved! What an historical event is recorded in those words!
"I am at a loss for a compliment in return, as you may suppose," answered Radclyffe; "but Lady Erpingham deserves a penance for even hinting at the possibility of being ever less charming than she is; so I shall hold my tongue." "Alas!" said Constance, gravely, "how little, save the mere triumphs of youth and beauty, is left to our sex!
I have not even the tenderness of a child to look to the future is all blank!" Time, which, sooner or later, repays perseverance, although in a deceitful coin, had brought to Radclyffe a solid earnest of future honors. His name had risen high in the science of his country; it was equally honoured by the many and the few; he had become a marked man, one of whom all predicted a bright hereafter.
"I still like it passably," answered Godolphin; but the gloss is gone from the delusion. I am grown mournfully fastidious. I must have excellent acting an excellent play. A slight fault a slight deviation from nature robs me of my content at the whole." "The same fault in your character pervading all things," said Radclyffe, half smiling.
"Not so," answered Radclyffe; "because when a man is striving for what he fancies a laudable object, the goodness of his intentions comforts him for a failure in success, whereas your selfishly ambitious man has no consolation in his defeats; he is humbled by the external world, and has no inner world to apply to for consolation."
Radclyffe was impressed, despite himself, by the solemn novelty of this language, and the deep mournfulness with which the soothsayer's last sentence died away. "And how," said he, after a pause, "how, and by what arts would you so awaken the imaginative faculty?" "Ask not until the time comes for the trial," answered Liebhur.
Lady Erpingham is the handsomest woman of her time: and, as if that were not enough, half the fine women in London admit you at their feet. Yet you are not happy." "Ay: but who is?" cried Godolphin, energetically. "I am," said Radclyffe, drily. "You! humph!" "You disbelieve me." "I have no right to do so: but are you not ambitious?
Lady Erpingham is the handsomest woman of her time: and, as if that were not enough, half the fine women in London admit you at their feet. Yet you are not happy." "Ay: but who is?" cried Godolphin, energetically. "I am," said Radclyffe, drily. "You! humph!" "You disbelieve me." "I have no right to do so: but are you not ambitious?
And is not ambition full of anxiety, care, mortification at defeat, disappointment in success? Does not the very word ambition that is, a desire to be something you are not prove you discontented with what you are?" "You speak of a vulgar ambition," said Radclyffe. "Most august sage! and what species of ambition is yours?" "Not that which you describe.
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