he reveres, while
he still feels on his lips the taste of infidelity, and brings into
the sanctuary of the divinity he worships the tainted atmosphere of the
courtesan?

Baader, who in his lectures eliminated things divine by erotic imagery,
had no doubt observed, like some Catholic writers, the intimate
resemblance between human and heavenly love.

This distress of mind cast a hue of melancholy over the pleasure the
young Venetian felt in his mistress' presence. A woman's instinct has
amazing aptitude for harmony of feeling; it assumes the hue, it vibrates
to the note suggested by her lover. The pungent flavor of coquettish
spice is far indeed from spurring affection so much as this gentle
sympathy of tenderness. The smartness of a coquette too clearly marks
opposition; however transient it is displeasing; but this intimate
comprehension shows a perfect fusion of souls. The hapless Emilio was
touched by the unspoken divination which led the Duchess to pity a fault
unknown to her.

Massimilla, feeling that her strength lay in the absence of any sensual
side to her love, could allow herself to be expansive; she boldly and
confidently poured out her angelic spirit, she stripped it bare, just as
during that diabolical night, La Tinti had displayed the soft lines of
her body, and her firm, elastic flesh. In Emilio's eyes there was as it
were a conflict between the saintly love of this white soul and that of
the vehement and muscular Sicilian.

The day was spent in long looks following on deep meditations. Each of
them gauged the depths of tender feeling, and found it bottomless; a
conviction that brought fond words to their lips. Modesty, the
goddess who in a moment of forgetfulness with Love, was the mother of
Coquettishness, need not have put her hand before her face as she looked
at these lovers. As a crowning joy, an orgy of happiness, Massimilla
pillowed Emilio's head in her arms, and now and then ventured to press
her lips to his; but only as a bird dips its beak into the clear waters
of a spring, looking round lest it should be seen. Their fancy worked
upon this kiss, as a composer develops a subject by the endless
resources of music, and it produced in them such tumultuous and
vibrating echoes as fevered their blood.

The Idea must always be stronger than the Fact, otherwise desire would
be less perfect than satisfaction, and it is in fact the stronger,--it
gives birth to wit. And, indeed, they were perfectly