Phantastes by George MacDonald

Author:George MacDonald
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy fiction
Publisher: Standard Ebooks
Published: 2018-01-07T22:10:00+00:00

and ever he looked again, and died not, though his heart seemed ready to break with in­ten­sity of life and long­ing. And the more he did for her, the more he loved her; and he hoped that, al­though she never ap­peared to see him, yet she was pleased to think that one un­known would give his life to her. He tried to com­fort him­self over his sep­a­ra­tion from her, by think­ing that per­haps some day she would see him and make signs to him, and that would sat­isfy him; “for,” thought he, “is not this all that a lov­ing soul can do to en­ter into com­mu­nion with an­other? Nay, how many who love, never come nearer than to be­hold each other as in a mir­ror; seem to know and yet never know the in­ward life; never en­ter the other soul; and part at last, with but the vaguest no­tion of the uni­verse on the bor­ders of which they have been hov­er­ing for years? If I could but speak to her, and knew that she heard me, I should be sat­is­fied.” Once he con­tem­plated paint­ing a pic­ture on the wall, which should, of ne­ces­sity, con­vey to the lady a thought of him­self; but, though he had some skill with the pen­cil, he found his hand trem­ble so much when he be­gan the at­tempt, that he was forced to give it up.

One evening, as he stood gaz­ing on his trea­sure, he thought he saw a faint ex­pres­sion of self-con­scious­ness on her coun­te­nance, as if she sur­mised that pas­sion­ate eyes were fixed upon her. This grew; till at last the red blood rose over her neck, and cheek, and brow. Cosmo’s long­ing to ap­proach her be­came al­most deliri­ous. This night she was dressed in an evening cos­tume, re­splen­dent with di­a­monds. This could add noth­ing to her beauty, but it pre­sented it in a new as­pect; en­abled her love­li­ness to make a new man­i­fes­ta­tion of it­self in a new em­bod­i­ment. For es­sen­tial beauty is in­fi­nite; and, as the soul of Na­ture needs an end­less suc­ces­sion of var­ied forms to em­body her love­li­ness, count­less faces of beauty spring­ing forth, not any two the same, at any one of her heart­throbs; so the in­di­vid­ual form needs an in­fi­nite change of its en­vi­ron­ments, to en­able it to un­cover all the phases of its love­li­ness. Di­a­monds glit­tered from amidst her hair, half hid­den in its lux­u­ri­ance, like stars through dark rain-clouds; and the bracelets on her white arms flashed all the col­ors of a rain­bow of light­nings, as she lifted her snowy hands to cover her burn­ing face. But her beauty shone down all its adorn­ment. “If I might have but one of her feet to kiss,” thought Cosmo, “I should be con­tent.” Alas! he de­ceived him­self, for pas­sion is never con­tent. Nor did he know that there are two ways out of her en­chanted house. But, sud­denly, as if the pang had been driven into his heart from with­out, re­veal­ing it­self first in pain, and af­ter­wards in def­i­nite form, the thought darted into his mind, “She has a lover some­where.

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