- end_line
- 2268
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2225
- text
- new zest threw himself into the glowing practice of all those manly
exercises, he so dearly loved. It almost seemed in him, that ere
promising forever to protect, as well as eternally to love, his Lucy, he
must first completely invigorate and embrawn himself into the possession
of such a noble muscular manliness, that he might champion Lucy against
the whole physical world.
Still--even before the occasional reappearance of the face to
him--Pierre, for all his willful ardor in his gymnasticals and other
diversions, whether in-doors or out, or whether by book or foil; still,
Pierre could not but be secretly annoyed, and not a little perplexed, as
to the motive, which, for the first time in his recollection, had
impelled him, not merely to conceal from his mother a singular
circumstance in his life (for that, he felt would have been but venial;
and besides, as will eventually be seen, he could find one particular
precedent for it, in his past experience) but likewise, and
superaddedly, to parry, nay, to evade, and, in effect, to return
something alarmingly like a fib, to an explicit question put to him by
his mother;--such being the guise, in which part of the conversation
they had had that eventful night, now appeared to his fastidious sense.
He considered also, that his evasive answer had not pantheistically
burst from him in a momentary interregnum of self-command. No; his
mother had made quite a lengthy speech to him; during which he well
remembered, he had been carefully, though with trepidation, turning over
in his mind, how best he might recall her from her unwished-for and
untimely scent. Why had this been so? Was this his wont? What
inscrutable thing was it, that so suddenly had seized him, and made him
a falsifyer--ay, a falsifyer and nothing less--to his own
dearly-beloved, and confiding mother? Here, indeed, was something
strange for him; here was stuff for his utmost ethical meditations. But,
nevertheless, on strict introspection, he felt, that he would not
willingly have it otherwise; not willingly would he now undissemble
himself in this matter to his mother. Why was this, too? Was this his
wont? Here, again, was food for mysticism. Here, in imperfect inklings,
tinglings, presentiments, Pierre began to feel--what all mature men, who
are Magians, sooner or later know, and more or less assuredly--that not
always in our actions, are we our own factors. But this conceit was very
dim in Pierre; and dimness is ever suspicious and repugnant to us; and
so, Pierre shrank abhorringly from the infernal catacombs of thought,
down into which, this foetal fancy beckoned him. Only this, though in
secret, did he cherish; only this, he felt persuaded of; namely, that
not for both worlds would he have his mother made a partner to his
sometime mystic mood.
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