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diff --git a/2664-h/2664-h.htm b/2664-h/2664-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba7fd1c --- /dev/null +++ b/2664-h/2664-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19785 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Zanoni, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Zanoni, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Zanoni + +Author: Edward Bulwer Lytton + +Release Date: February 18, 2006 [EBook #2664] +Last Updated: August 29, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZANONI *** + + + + +Produced by Dave Ceponis, Sue Asscher and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + ZANONI + </h1> + <h3> + BY + </h3> + <h2> + EDWARD BULWER LYTTON + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> (PLATE: “Thou art good and fair,” said Viola. Drawn by P. + Kauffmann, etched by Deblois.) <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h4> + DEDICATORY EPISTLE First prefixed to the Edition of 1845 + </h4> + <p> + TO JOHN GIBSON, R.A., SCULPTOR. + </p> + <p> + In looking round the wide and luminous circle of our great living + Englishmen, to select one to whom I might fitly dedicate this work,—one + who, in his life as in his genius, might illustrate the principle I have + sought to convey; elevated by the ideal which he exalts, and serenely + dwelling in a glorious existence with the images born of his imagination,—in + looking round for some such man, my thoughts rested upon you. Afar from + our turbulent cabals; from the ignoble jealousy and the sordid strife + which degrade and acerbate the ambition of Genius,—in your Roman + Home, you have lived amidst all that is loveliest and least perishable in + the past, and contributed with the noblest aims, and in the purest spirit, + to the mighty heirlooms of the future. Your youth has been devoted to + toil, that your manhood may be consecrated to fame: a fame unsullied by + one desire of gold. You have escaped the two worst perils that beset the + artist in our time and land,—the debasing tendencies of commerce, + and the angry rivalries of competition. You have not wrought your marble + for the market,—you have not been tempted, by the praises which our + vicious criticism has showered upon exaggeration and distortion, to lower + your taste to the level of the hour; you have lived, and you have + laboured, as if you had no rivals but in the dead,—no purchasers, + save in judges of what is best. In the divine priesthood of the beautiful, + you have sought only to increase her worshippers and enrich her temples. + The pupil of Canova, you have inherited his excellences, while you have + shunned his errors,—yours his delicacy, not his affectation. Your + heart resembles him even more than your genius: you have the same noble + enthusiasm for your sublime profession; the same lofty freedom from envy, + and the spirit that depreciates; the same generous desire not to war with + but to serve artists in your art; aiding, strengthening, advising, + elevating the timidity of inexperience, and the vague aspirations of + youth. By the intuition of a kindred mind, you have equalled the learning + of Winckelman, and the plastic poetry of Goethe, in the intimate + comprehension of the antique. Each work of yours, rightly studied, is in + itself a CRITICISM, illustrating the sublime secrets of the Grecian Art, + which, without the servility of plagiarism, you have contributed to revive + amongst us; in you we behold its three great and long-undetected + principles,—simplicity, calm, and concentration. + </p> + <p> + But your admiration of the Greeks has not led you to the bigotry of the + mere antiquarian, nor made you less sensible of the unappreciated + excellence of the mighty modern, worthy to be your countryman,—though + till his statue is in the streets of our capital, we show ourselves not + worthy of the glory he has shed upon our land. You have not suffered even + your gratitude to Canova to blind you to the superiority of Flaxman. When + we become sensible of our title-deeds to renown in that single name, we + may look for an English public capable of real patronage to English Art,—and + not till then. + </p> + <p> + I, artist in words, dedicate, then, to you, artist whose ideas speak in + marble, this well-loved work of my matured manhood. I love it not the less + because it has been little understood and superficially judged by the + common herd: it was not meant for them. I love it not the more because it + has found enthusiastic favorers amongst the Few. My affection for my work + is rooted in the solemn and pure delight which it gave me to conceive and + to perform. If I had graven it on the rocks of a desert, this apparition + of my own innermost mind, in its least-clouded moments, would have been to + me as dear; and this ought, I believe, to be the sentiment with which he + whose Art is born of faith in the truth and beauty of the principles he + seeks to illustrate, should regard his work. Your serener existence, + uniform and holy, my lot denies,—if my heart covets. But our true + nature is in our thoughts, not our deeds: and therefore, in books—which + ARE his thoughts—the author’s character lies bare to the discerning + eye. It is not in the life of cities,—in the turmoil and the crowd; + it is in the still, the lonely, and more sacred life, which for some + hours, under every sun, the student lives (his stolen retreat from the + Agora to the Cave), that I feel there is between us the bond of that + secret sympathy, that magnetic chain, which unites the everlasting + brotherhood of whose being Zanoni is the type. + </p> + <p> + E.B.L. London, May, 1845. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR1"> INTRODUCTION I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1853. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR2"> INTRODUCTION II. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> <big><b>ZANONI.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> <b>BOOK I. — THE MUSICIAN.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER 1.I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER 1.II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER 1.III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER 1.IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER 1.V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER 1.VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER 1.VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER 1.VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER 1.IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER 1.X. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> <b>BOOK II. — ART, LOVE, AND WONDER.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER 2.I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER 2.II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER 2.III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER 2.IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER 2.V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER 2.VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER 2.VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER 2.VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER 2.IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER 2.X. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> <b>BOOK III. — THEURGIA.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER 3.I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER 3.II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER 3.III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER 3.IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER 3.V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER 3.VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER 3.VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER 3.VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER 3.IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER 3.X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER 3.XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER 3.XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER 3.XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER 3.XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER 3.XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER 3.XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER 3.XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER 3.XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> <b>BOOK IV. — THE DWELLER OF THE + THRESHOLD.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER 4.I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER 4.II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER 4.III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER 4.IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER 4.V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER 4.VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER 4.VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER 4.VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER 4.IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER 4.X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER 4.XI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> <b>BOOK V. — THE EFFECTS OF THE ELIXIR.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER 5.I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER 5.II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER 5.III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER 5.IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER 5.V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER 5.VI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> <b>BOOK VI. — SUPERSTITION DESERTING + FAITH.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER 6.I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER 6.II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER 6.III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER 6.IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER 6.V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0061"> CHAPTER 6.VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0062"> CHAPTER 6.VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0063"> CHAPTER 6.VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0064"> CHAPTER 6.IX. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> <b>BOOK VII. — THE REIGN OF TERROR.</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0065"> CHAPTER 7.I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0066"> CHAPTER 7.II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0067"> CHAPTER 7.III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0068"> CHAPTER 7.IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0069"> CHAPTER 7.V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0070"> CHAPTER 7.VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0071"> CHAPTER 7.VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0072"> CHAPTER 7.VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0073"> CHAPTER 7.IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0074"> CHAPTER 7.X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0075"> CHAPTER 7.XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0076"> CHAPTER 7.XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0077"> CHAPTER 7.XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0078"> CHAPTER 7.XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0079"> CHAPTER 7.XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0080"> CHAPTER 7.XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0081"> CHAPTER 7.XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0093"> NOTE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0094"> “ZANONI EXPLAINED. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR1" id="link2H_INTR1"> <br /> <br /> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION. + </h2> + <p> + One of the peculiarities of Bulwer was his passion for occult studies. + They had a charm for him early in life, and he pursued them with the + earnestness which characterised his pursuit of other studies. He became + absorbed in wizard lore; he equipped himself with magical implements,—with + rods for transmitting influence, and crystal balls in which to discern + coming scenes and persons; and communed with spiritualists and mediums. + The fruit of these mystic studies is seen in “Zanoni” and “A strange + Story,” romances which were a labour of love to the author, and into which + he threw all the power he possessed,—power re-enforced by + multifarious reading and an instinctive appreciation of Oriental thought. + These weird stories, in which the author has formulated his theory of + magic, are of a wholly different type from his previous fictions, and, in + place of the heroes and villains of every day life, we have beings that + belong in part to another sphere, and that deal with mysterious and occult + agencies. Once more the old forgotten lore of the Cabala is unfolded; the + furnace of the alchemist, whose fires have been extinct for centuries, is + lighted anew, and the lamp of the Rosicrucian re-illumined. No other works + of the author, contradictory as have been the opinions of them, have + provoked such a diversity of criticism as these. To some persons they + represent a temporary aberration of genius rather than any serious thought + or definite purpose; while others regard them as surpassing in bold and + original speculation, profound analysis of character, and thrilling + interest, all of the author’s other works. The truth, we believe, lies + midway between these extremes. It is questionable whether the introduction + into a novel of such subjects as are discussed in these romances be not an + offence against good sense and good taste; but it is as unreasonable to + deny the vigour and originality of their author’s conceptions, as to deny + that the execution is imperfect, and, at times, bungling and absurd. + </p> + <p> + It has been justly said that the present half century has witnessed the + rise and triumphs of science, the extent and marvels of which even Bacon’s + fancy never conceived, simultaneously with superstitions grosser than any + which Bacon’s age believed. “The one is, in fact, the natural reaction + from the other. The more science seeks to exclude the miraculous, and + reduce all nature, animate and inanimate, to an invariable law of + sequences, the more does the natural instinct of man rebel, and seek an + outlet for those obstinate questionings, those ‘blank misgivings of a + creature moving about in worlds not realised,’ taking refuge in delusions + as degrading as any of the so-called Dark Ages.” It was the revolt from + the chilling materialism of the age which inspired the mystic creations of + “Zanoni” and “A Strange Story.” Of these works, which support and + supplement each other, one is the contemplation of our actual life through + a spiritual medium, the other is designed to show that, without some + gleams of the supernatural, man is not man, nor nature nature. + </p> + <p> + In “Zanoni” the author introduces us to two human beings who have achieved + immortality: one, Mejnour, void of all passion or feeling, calm, + benignant, bloodless, an intellect rather than a man; the other, Zanoni, + the pupil of Mejnour, the representative of an ideal life in its utmost + perfection, possessing eternal youth, absolute power, and absolute + knowledge, and withal the fullest capacity to enjoy and to love, and, as a + necessity of that love, to sorrow and despair. By his love for Viola + Zanoni is compelled to descend from his exalted state, to lose his eternal + calm, and to share in the cares and anxieties of humanity; and this + degradation is completed by the birth of a child. Finally, he gives up the + life which hangs on that of another, in order to save that other, the + loving and beloved wife, who has delivered him from his solitude and + isolation. Wife and child are mortal, and to outlive them and his love for + them is impossible. But Mejnour, who is the impersonation of thought,—pure + intellect without affection,—lives on. + </p> + <p> + Bulwer has himself justly characterised this work, in the Introduction, as + a romance and not a romance, as a truth for those who can comprehend it, + and an extravagance for those who cannot. The most careless or + matter-of-fact reader must see that the work, like the enigmatical + “Faust,” deals in types and symbols; that the writer intends to suggest to + the mind something more subtle and impalpable than that which is embodied + to the senses. What that something is, hardly two persons will agree. The + most obvious interpretation of the types is, that in Zanoni the author + depicts to us humanity, perfected, sublimed, which lives not for self, but + for others; in Mejnour, as we have before said, cold, passionless, + self-sufficing intellect; in Glyndon, the young Englishman, the mingled + strength and weakness of human nature; in the heartless, selfish artist, + Nicot, icy, soulless atheism, believing nothing, hoping nothing, trusting + and loving nothing; and in the beautiful, artless Viola, an exquisite + creation, pure womanhood, loving, trusting and truthful. As a work of art + the romance is one of great power. It is original in its conception, and + pervaded by one central idea; but it would have been improved, we think, + by a more sparing use of the supernatural. The inevitable effect of so + much hackneyed diablerie—of such an accumulation of wonder upon + wonder—is to deaden the impression they would naturally make upon + us. In Hawthorne’s tales we see with what ease a great imaginative artist + can produce a deeper thrill by a far slighter use of the weird and the + mysterious. + </p> + <p> + The chief interest of the story for the ordinary reader centres, not in + its ghostly characters and improbable machinery, the scenes in Mejnour’s + chamber in the ruined castle among the Apennines, the colossal and + appalling apparitions on Vesuvius, the hideous phantom with its burning + eye that haunted Glyndon, but in the loves of Viola and the mysterious + Zanoni, the blissful and the fearful scenes through which they pass, and + their final destiny, when the hero of the story sacrifices his own + “charmed life” to save hers, and the Immortal finds the only true + immortality in death. Among the striking passages in the work are the + pathetic sketch of the old violinist and composer, Pisani, with his + sympathetic “barbiton” which moaned, groaned, growled, and laughed + responsive to the feelings of its master; the description of Viola’s and + her father’s triumph, when “The Siren,” his masterpiece, is performed at + the San Carlo in Naples; Glyndon’s adventure at the Carnival in Naples; + the death of his sister; the vivid pictures of the Reign of Terror in + Paris, closing with the downfall of Robespierre and his satellites; and + perhaps, above all, the thrilling scene where Zanoni leaves Viola asleep + in prison when his guards call him to execution, and she, unconscious of + the terrible sacrifice, but awaking and missing him, has a vision of the + procession to the guillotine, with Zanoni there, radiant in youth and + beauty, followed by the sudden vanishing of the headsman,—the + horror,—and the “Welcome” of her loved one to Heaven in a myriad of + melodies from the choral hosts above. + </p> + <p> + “Zanoni” was originally published by Saunders and Otley, London, in three + volumes 12mo., in 1842. A translation into French, made by M. Sheldon + under the direction of P. Lorain, was published in Paris in the + “Bibliotheque des Meilleurs Romans Etrangers.” + </p> + <p> + W.M. <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1853. + </h2> + <p> + As a work of imagination, “Zanoni” ranks, perhaps, amongst the highest of + my prose fictions. In the Poem of “King Arthur,” published many years + afterwards, I have taken up an analogous design, in the contemplation of + our positive life through a spiritual medium; and I have enforced, through + a far wider development, and, I believe, with more complete and enduring + success, that harmony between the external events which are all that the + superficial behold on the surface of human affairs, and the subtle and + intellectual agencies which in reality influence the conduct of + individuals, and shape out the destinies of the world. As man has two + lives,—that of action and that of thought,—so I conceive that + work to be the truest representation of humanity which faithfully + delineates both, and opens some elevating glimpse into the sublimest + mysteries of our being, by establishing the inevitable union that exists + between the plain things of the day, in which our earthly bodies perform + their allotted part, and the latent, often uncultivated, often invisible, + affinities of the soul with all the powers that eternally breathe and move + throughout the Universe of Spirit. + </p> + <p> + I refer those who do me the honour to read “Zanoni” with more attention + than is given to ordinary romance, to the Poem of “King Arthur,” for + suggestive conjecture into most of the regions of speculative research, + affecting the higher and more important condition of our ultimate being, + which have engaged the students of immaterial philosophy in my own age. + </p> + <p> + Affixed to the “Note” with which this work concludes, and which treats of + the distinctions between type and allegory, the reader will find, from the + pen of one of our most eminent living writers, an ingenious attempt to + explain the interior or typical meanings of the work now before him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR2" id="link2H_INTR2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION. + </h2> + <p> + It is possible that among my readers there may be a few not unacquainted + with an old-book shop, existing some years since in the neighbourhood of + Covent Garden; I say a few, for certainly there was little enough to + attract the many in those precious volumes which the labour of a life had + accumulated on the dusty shelves of my old friend D—. There were to + be found no popular treatises, no entertaining romances, no histories, no + travels, no “Library for the People,” no “Amusement for the Million.” But + there, perhaps, throughout all Europe, the curious might discover the most + notable collection, ever amassed by an enthusiast, of the works of + alchemist, cabalist, and astrologer. The owner had lavished a fortune in + the purchase of unsalable treasures. But old D— did not desire to + sell. It absolutely went to his heart when a customer entered his shop: he + watched the movements of the presumptuous intruder with a vindictive + glare; he fluttered around him with uneasy vigilance,—he frowned, he + groaned, when profane hands dislodged his idols from their niches. If it + were one of the favourite sultanas of his wizard harem that attracted you, + and the price named were not sufficiently enormous, he would not + unfrequently double the sum. Demur, and in brisk delight he snatched the + venerable charmer from your hands; accede, and he became the picture of + despair,—nor unfrequently, at the dead of night, would he knock at + your door, and entreat you to sell him back, at your own terms, what you + had so egregiously bought at his. A believer himself in his Averroes and + Paracelsus, he was as loth as the philosophers he studied to communicate + to the profane the learning he had collected. + </p> + <p> + It so chanced that some years ago, in my younger days, whether of + authorship or life, I felt a desire to make myself acquainted with the + true origin and tenets of the singular sect known by the name of + Rosicrucians. Dissatisfied with the scanty and superficial accounts to be + found in the works usually referred to on the subject, it struck me as + possible that Mr. D—’s collection, which was rich, not only in + black-letter, but in manuscripts, might contain some more accurate and + authentic records of that famous brotherhood,—written, who knows? by + one of their own order, and confirming by authority and detail the + pretensions to wisdom and to virtue which Bringaret had arrogated to the + successors of the Chaldean and Gymnosophist. Accordingly I repaired to + what, doubtless, I ought to be ashamed to confess, was once one of my + favourite haunts. But are there no errors and no fallacies, in the + chronicles of our own day, as absurd as those of the alchemists of old? + Our very newspapers may seem to our posterity as full of delusions as the + books of the alchemists do to us; not but what the press is the air we + breathe,—and uncommonly foggy the air is too! + </p> + <p> + On entering the shop, I was struck by the venerable appearance of a + customer whom I had never seen there before. I was struck yet more by the + respect with which he was treated by the disdainful collector. “Sir,” + cried the last, emphatically, as I was turning over the leaves of the + catalogue,—“sir, you are the only man I have met, in five-and-forty + years that I have spent in these researches, who is worthy to be my + customer. How—where, in this frivolous age, could you have acquired + a knowledge so profound? And this august fraternity, whose doctrines, + hinted at by the earliest philosophers, are still a mystery to the latest; + tell me if there really exists upon the earth any book, any manuscript, in + which their discoveries, their tenets, are to be learned?” + </p> + <p> + At the words, “august fraternity,” I need scarcely say that my attention + had been at once aroused, and I listened eagerly for the stranger’s reply. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think,” said the old gentleman, “that the masters of the school + have ever consigned, except by obscure hint and mystical parable, their + real doctrines to the world. And I do not blame them for their + discretion.” + </p> + <p> + Here he paused, and seemed about to retire, when I said, somewhat + abruptly, to the collector, “I see nothing, Mr. D—, in this + catalogue which relates to the Rosicrucians!” + </p> + <p> + “The Rosicrucians!” repeated the old gentleman, and in his turn he + surveyed me with deliberate surprise. “Who but a Rosicrucian could explain + the Rosicrucian mysteries! And can you imagine that any members of that + sect, the most jealous of all secret societies, would themselves lift the + veil that hides the Isis of their wisdom from the world?” + </p> + <p> + “Aha!” thought I, “this, then, is ‘the august fraternity’ of which you + spoke. Heaven be praised! I certainly have stumbled on one of the + brotherhood.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” I said aloud, “if not in books, sir, where else am I to obtain + information? Nowadays one can hazard nothing in print without authority, + and one may scarcely quote Shakespeare without citing chapter and verse. + This is the age of facts,—the age of facts, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the old gentleman, with a pleasant smile, “if we meet again, + perhaps, at least, I may direct your researches to the proper source of + intelligence.” And with that he buttoned his greatcoat, whistled to his + dog, and departed. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that I did meet again with the old gentleman, exactly four + days after our brief conversation in Mr. D—’s bookshop. I was + riding leisurely towards Highgate, when, at the foot of its classic hill, + I recognised the stranger; he was mounted on a black pony, and before him + trotted his dog, which was black also. + </p> + <p> + If you meet the man whom you wish to know, on horseback, at the + commencement of a long hill, where, unless he has borrowed a friend’s + favourite hack, he cannot, in decent humanity to the brute creation, ride + away from you, I apprehend that it is your own fault if you have not gone + far in your object before you have gained the top. In short, so well did I + succeed, that on reaching Highgate the old gentleman invited me to rest at + his house, which was a little apart from the village; and an excellent + house it was,—small, but commodious, with a large garden, and + commanding from the windows such a prospect as Lucretius would recommend + to philosophers: the spires and domes of London, on a clear day, + distinctly visible; here the Retreat of the Hermit, and there the Mare + Magnum of the world. + </p> + <p> + The walls of the principal rooms were embellished with pictures of + extraordinary merit, and in that high school of art which is so little + understood out of Italy. I was surprised to learn that they were all from + the hand of the owner. My evident admiration pleased my new friend, and + led to talk upon his part, which showed him no less elevated in his + theories of art than an adept in the practice. Without fatiguing the + reader with irrelevant criticism, it is necessary, perhaps, as elucidating + much of the design and character of the work which these prefatory pages + introduce, that I should briefly observe, that he insisted as much upon + the connection of the arts, as a distinguished author has upon that of the + sciences; that he held that in all works of imagination, whether expressed + by words or by colours, the artist of the higher schools must make the + broadest distinction between the real and the true,—in other words, + between the imitation of actual life, and the exaltation of Nature into + the Ideal. + </p> + <p> + “The one,” said he, “is the Dutch School, the other is the Greek.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said I, “the Dutch is the most in fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in painting, perhaps,” answered my host, “but in literature—” + </p> + <p> + “It was of literature I spoke. Our growing poets are all for simplicity + and Betty Foy; and our critics hold it the highest praise of a work of + imagination, to say that its characters are exact to common life, even in + sculpture—” + </p> + <p> + “In sculpture! No, no! THERE the high ideal must at least be essential!” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me; I fear you have not seen Souter Johnny and Tam O’Shanter.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the old gentleman, shaking his head, “I live very much out of + the world, I see. I suppose Shakespeare has ceased to be admired?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary; people make the adoration of Shakespeare the excuse for + attacking everybody else. But then our critics have discovered that + Shakespeare is so REAL!” + </p> + <p> + “Real! The poet who has never once drawn a character to be met with in + actual life,—who has never once descended to a passion that is + false, or a personage who is real!” + </p> + <p> + I was about to reply very severely to this paradox, when I perceived that + my companion was growing a little out of temper. And he who wishes to + catch a Rosicrucian, must take care not to disturb the waters. I thought + it better, therefore, to turn the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Revenons a nos moutons,” said I; “you promised to enlighten my ignorance + as to the Rosicrucians.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” quoth he, rather sternly; “but for what purpose? Perhaps you + desire only to enter the temple in order to ridicule the rites?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you take me for! Surely, were I so inclined, the fate of the Abbe + de Villars is a sufficient warning to all men not to treat idly of the + realms of the Salamander and the Sylph. Everybody knows how mysteriously + that ingenious personage was deprived of his life, in revenge for the + witty mockeries of his ‘Comte de Gabalis.’” + </p> + <p> + “Salamander and Sylph! I see that you fall into the vulgar error, and + translate literally the allegorical language of the mystics.” + </p> + <p> + With that the old gentleman condescended to enter into a very interesting, + and, as it seemed to me, a very erudite relation, of the tenets of the + Rosicrucians, some of whom, he asserted, still existed, and still + prosecuted, in august secrecy, their profound researches into natural + science and occult philosophy. + </p> + <p> + “But this fraternity,” said he, “however respectable and virtuous,—virtuous + I say, for no monastic order is more severe in the practice of moral + precepts, or more ardent in Christian faith,—this fraternity is but + a branch of others yet more transcendent in the powers they have obtained, + and yet more illustrious in their origin. Are you acquainted with the + Platonists?” + </p> + <p> + “I have occasionally lost my way in their labyrinth,” said I. “Faith, they + are rather difficult gentlemen to understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet their knottiest problems have never yet been published. Their + sublimest works are in manuscript, and constitute the initiatory learning, + not only of the Rosicrucians, but of the nobler brotherhoods I have + referred to. More solemn and sublime still is the knowledge to be gleaned + from the elder Pythagoreans, and the immortal masterpieces of Apollonius.” + </p> + <p> + “Apollonius, the imposter of Tyanea! are his writings extant?” + </p> + <p> + “Imposter!” cried my host; “Apollonius an imposter!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon; I did not know he was a friend of yours; and if you + vouch for his character, I will believe him to have been a very + respectable man, who only spoke the truth when he boasted of his power to + be in two places at the same time.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so difficult?” said the old gentleman; “if so, you have never + dreamed!” + </p> + <p> + Here ended our conversation; but from that time an acquaintance was formed + between us which lasted till my venerable friend departed this life. Peace + to his ashes! He was a person of singular habits and eccentric opinions; + but the chief part of his time was occupied in acts of quiet and + unostentatious goodness. He was an enthusiast in the duties of the + Samaritan; and as his virtues were softened by the gentlest charity, so + his hopes were based upon the devoutest belief. He never conversed upon + his own origin and history, nor have I ever been able to penetrate the + darkness in which they were concealed. He seemed to have seen much of the + world, and to have been an eye-witness of the first French Revolution, a + subject upon which he was equally eloquent and instructive. At the same + time he did not regard the crimes of that stormy period with the + philosophical leniency with which enlightened writers (their heads safe + upon their shoulders) are, in the present day, inclined to treat the + massacres of the past: he spoke not as a student who had read and + reasoned, but as a man who had seen and suffered. The old gentleman seemed + alone in the world; nor did I know that he had one relation, till his + executor, a distant cousin, residing abroad, informed me of the very + handsome legacy which my poor friend had bequeathed me. This consisted, + first, of a sum about which I think it best to be guarded, foreseeing the + possibility of a new tax upon real and funded property; and, secondly, of + certain precious manuscripts, to which the following volumes owe their + existence. + </p> + <p> + I imagine I trace this latter bequest to a visit I paid the Sage, if so I + may be permitted to call him, a few weeks before his death. + </p> + <p> + Although he read little of our modern literature, my friend, with the + affable good-nature which belonged to him, graciously permitted me to + consult him upon various literary undertakings meditated by the desultory + ambition of a young and inexperienced student. And at that time I sought + his advice upon a work of imagination, intended to depict the effects of + enthusiasm upon different modifications of character. He listened to my + conception, which was sufficiently trite and prosaic, with his usual + patience; and then, thoughtfully turning to his bookshelves, took down an + old volume, and read to me, first, in Greek, and secondly, in English, + some extracts to the following effect:— + </p> + <p> + “Plato here expresses four kinds of mania, by which I desire to understand + enthusiasm and the inspiration of the gods: Firstly, the musical; + secondly, the telestic or mystic; thirdly, the prophetic; and fourthly, + that which belongs to love.” + </p> + <p> + The author he quoted, after contending that there is something in the soul + above intellect, and stating that there are in our nature distinct + energies,—by the one of which we discover and seize, as it were, on + sciences and theorems with almost intuitive rapidity, by another, through + which high art is accomplished, like the statues of Phidias,—proceeded + to state that “enthusiasm, in the true acceptation of the word, is, when + that part of the soul which is above intellect is excited to the gods, and + thence derives its inspiration.” + </p> + <p> + The author, then pursuing his comment upon Plato, observes, that “one of + these manias may suffice (especially that which belongs to love) to lead + back the soul to its first divinity and happiness; but that there is an + intimate union with them all; and that the ordinary progress through which + the soul ascends is, primarily, through the musical; next, through the + telestic or mystic; thirdly, through the prophetic; and lastly, through + the enthusiasm of love.” + </p> + <p> + While with a bewildered understanding and a reluctant attention I listened + to these intricate sublimities, my adviser closed the volume, and said + with complacency, “There is the motto for your book,—the thesis for + your theme.” + </p> + <p> + “Davus sum, non Oedipus,” said I, shaking my head, discontentedly. “All + this may be exceedingly fine, but, Heaven forgive me,—I don’t + understand a word of it. The mysteries of your Rosicrucians, and your + fraternities, are mere child’s play to the jargon of the Platonists.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet, not till you rightly understand this passage, can you understand the + higher theories of the Rosicrucians, or of the still nobler fraternities + you speak of with so much levity.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if that be the case, I give up in despair. Why not, since you are so + well versed in the matter, take the motto for a book of your own?” + </p> + <p> + “But if I have already composed a book with that thesis for its theme, + will you prepare it for the public?” + </p> + <p> + “With the greatest pleasure,” said I,—alas, too rashly! + </p> + <p> + “I shall hold you to your promise,” returned the old gentleman, “and when + I am no more, you will receive the manuscripts. From what you say of the + prevailing taste in literature, I cannot flatter you with the hope that + you will gain much by the undertaking. And I tell you beforehand that you + will find it not a little laborious.” + </p> + <p> + “Is your work a romance?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a romance, and it is not a romance. It is a truth for those who can + comprehend it, and an extravagance for those who cannot.” + </p> + <p> + At last there arrived the manuscripts, with a brief note from my deceased + friend, reminding me of my imprudent promise. + </p> + <p> + With mournful interest, and yet with eager impatience, I opened the packet + and trimmed my lamp. Conceive my dismay when I found the whole written in + an unintelligible cipher. I present the reader with a specimen: + </p> + <p> + (Several strange characters.) + </p> + <p> + and so on for nine hundred and forty mortal pages in foolscap. I could + scarcely believe my eyes: in fact, I began to think the lamp burned + singularly blue; and sundry misgivings as to the unhallowed nature of the + characters I had so unwittingly opened upon, coupled with the strange + hints and mystical language of the old gentleman, crept through my + disordered imagination. Certainly, to say no worse of it, the whole thing + looked UNCANNY! I was about, precipitately, to hurry the papers into my + desk, with a pious determination to have nothing more to do with them, + when my eye fell upon a book, neatly bound in blue morocco, and which, in + my eagerness, I had hitherto overlooked. I opened this volume with great + precaution, not knowing what might jump out, and—guess my delight—found + that it contained a key or dictionary to the hieroglyphics. Not to weary + the reader with an account of my labours, I am contented with saying that + at last I imagined myself capable of construing the characters, and set to + work in good earnest. Still it was no easy task, and two years elapsed + before I had made much progress. I then, by way of experiment on the + public, obtained the insertion of a few desultory chapters, in a + periodical with which, for a few months, I had the honour to be connected. + They appeared to excite more curiosity than I had presumed to anticipate; + and I renewed, with better heart, my laborious undertaking. But now a new + misfortune befell me: I found, as I proceeded, that the author had made + two copies of his work, one much more elaborate and detailed than the + other; I had stumbled upon the earlier copy, and had my whole task to + remodel, and the chapters I had written to retranslate. I may say then, + that, exclusive of intervals devoted to more pressing occupations, my + unlucky promise cost me the toil of several years before I could bring it + to adequate fulfilment. The task was the more difficult, since the style + in the original is written in a kind of rhythmical prose, as if the author + desired that in some degree his work should be regarded as one of poetical + conception and design. To this it was not possible to do justice, and in + the attempt I have doubtless very often need of the reader’s indulgent + consideration. My natural respect for the old gentleman’s vagaries, with a + muse of equivocal character, must be my only excuse whenever the language, + without luxuriating into verse, borrows flowers scarcely natural to prose. + Truth compels me also to confess, that, with all my pains, I am by no + means sure that I have invariably given the true meaning of the cipher; + nay, that here and there either a gap in the narrative, or the sudden + assumption of a new cipher, to which no key was afforded, has obliged me + to resort to interpolations of my own, no doubt easily discernible, but + which, I flatter myself, are not inharmonious to the general design. This + confession leads me to the sentence with which I shall conclude: If, + reader, in this book there be anything that pleases you, it is certainly + mine; but whenever you come to something you dislike,—lay the blame + upon the old gentleman! + </p> + <p> + London, January, 1842. + </p> + <p> + N.B.—The notes appended to the text are sometimes by the author, + sometimes by the editor. I have occasionally (but not always) marked the + distinction; where, however, this is omitted, the ingenuity of the reader + will be rarely at fault. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ZANONI. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK I. — THE MUSICIAN. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Due Fontane + Chi di diverso effeto hanno liquore! + + “Ariosto, Orland. Fur.” Canto 1.7. + + (Two Founts + That hold a draught of different effects.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Vergina era + D’ alta belta, ma sua belta non cura: + .... + Di natura, d’ amor, de’ cieli amici + Le negligenze sue sono artifici. + + “Gerusal. Lib.,” canto ii. xiv.-xviii. + + (She was a virgin of a glorious beauty, but regarded not her + beauty...Negligence itself is art in those favoured by Nature, by + love, and by the heavens.) +</pre> + <p> + At Naples, in the latter half of the last century, a worthy artist named + Gaetano Pisani lived and flourished. He was a musician of great genius, + but not of popular reputation; there was in all his compositions something + capricious and fantastic which did not please the taste of the Dilettanti + of Naples. He was fond of unfamiliar subjects into which he introduced + airs and symphonies that excited a kind of terror in those who listened. + The names of his pieces will probably suggest their nature. I find, for + instance, among his MSS., these titles: “The Feast of the Harpies,” “The + Witches at Benevento,” “The Descent of Orpheus into Hades,” “The Evil + Eye,” “The Eumenides,” and many others that evince a powerful imagination + delighting in the fearful and supernatural, but often relieved by an airy + and delicate fancy with passages of exquisite grace and beauty. It is true + that in the selection of his subjects from ancient fable, Gaetano Pisani + was much more faithful than his contemporaries to the remote origin and + the early genius of Italian Opera. + </p> + <p> + That descendant, however effeminate, of the ancient union between Song and + Drama, when, after long obscurity and dethronement, it regained a punier + sceptre, though a gaudier purple, by the banks of the Etrurian Arno, or + amidst the lagunes of Venice, had chosen all its primary inspirations from + the unfamiliar and classic sources of heathen legend; and Pisani’s + “Descent of Orpheus” was but a bolder, darker, and more scientific + repetition of the “Euridice” which Jacopi Peri set to music at the august + nuptials of Henry of Navarre and Mary of Medicis.* Still, as I have said, + the style of the Neapolitan musician was not on the whole pleasing to ears + grown nice and euphuistic in the more dulcet melodies of the day; and + faults and extravagances easily discernible, and often to appearance + wilful, served the critics for an excuse for their distaste. Fortunately, + or the poor musician might have starved, he was not only a composer, but + also an excellent practical performer, especially on the violin, and by + that instrument he earned a decent subsistence as one of the orchestra at + the Great Theatre of San Carlo. Here formal and appointed tasks + necessarily kept his eccentric fancies in tolerable check, though it is + recorded that no less than five times he had been deposed from his desk + for having shocked the conoscenti, and thrown the whole band into + confusion, by impromptu variations of so frantic and startling a nature + that one might well have imagined that the harpies or witches who inspired + his compositions had clawed hold of his instrument. + </p> + <p> + The impossibility, however, to find any one of equal excellence as a + performer (that is to say, in his more lucid and orderly moments) had + forced his reinstalment, and he had now, for the most part, reconciled + himself to the narrow sphere of his appointed adagios or allegros. The + audience, too, aware of his propensity, were quick to perceive the least + deviation from the text; and if he wandered for a moment, which might also + be detected by the eye as well as the ear, in some strange contortion of + visage, and some ominous flourish of his bow, a gentle and admonitory + murmur recalled the musician from his Elysium or his Tartarus to the sober + regions of his desk. Then he would start as if from a dream, cast a + hurried, frightened, apologetic glance around, and, with a crestfallen, + humbled air, draw his rebellious instrument back to the beaten track of + the glib monotony. But at home he would make himself amends for this + reluctant drudgery. And there, grasping the unhappy violin with ferocious + fingers, he would pour forth, often till the morning rose, strange, wild + measures that would startle the early fisherman on the shore below with a + superstitious awe, and make him cross himself as if mermaid or sprite had + wailed no earthly music in his ear. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (*Orpheus was the favourite hero of early Italian Opera, or + Lyrical Drama. The Orfeo of Angelo Politiano was produced in + 1475. The Orfeo of Monteverde was performed at Venice in + 1667.) +</pre> + <p> + This man’s appearance was in keeping with the characteristics of his art. + The features were noble and striking, but worn and haggard, with black, + careless locks tangled into a maze of curls, and a fixed, speculative, + dreamy stare in his large and hollow eyes. All his movements were + peculiar, sudden, and abrupt, as the impulse seized him; and in gliding + through the streets, or along the beach, he was heard laughing and talking + to himself. Withal, he was a harmless, guileless, gentle creature, and + would share his mite with any idle lazzaroni, whom he often paused to + contemplate as they lay lazily basking in the sun. Yet was he thoroughly + unsocial. He formed no friends, flattered no patrons, resorted to none of + the merry-makings so dear to the children of music and the South. He and + his art seemed alone suited to each other,—both quaint, primitive, + unworldly, irregular. You could not separate the man from his music; it + was himself. Without it he was nothing, a mere machine! WITH it, he was + king over worlds of his own. Poor man, he had little enough in this! At a + manufacturing town in England there is a gravestone on which the epitaph + records “one Claudius Phillips, whose absolute contempt for riches, and + inimitable performance on the violin, made him the admiration of all that + knew him!” Logical conjunction of opposite eulogies! In proportion, O + Genius, to thy contempt for riches will be thy performance on thy violin! + </p> + <p> + Gaetano Pisani’s talents as a composer had been chiefly exhibited in music + appropriate to this his favourite instrument, of all unquestionably the + most various and royal in its resources and power over the passions. As + Shakespeare among poets is the Cremona among instruments. Nevertheless, he + had composed other pieces of larger ambition and wider accomplishment, and + chief of these, his precious, his unpurchased, his unpublished, his + unpublishable and imperishable opera of the “Siren.” This great work had + been the dream of his boyhood, the mistress of his manhood; in advancing + age “it stood beside him like his youth.” Vainly had he struggled to place + it before the world. Even bland, unjealous Paisiello, Maestro di Capella, + shook his gentle head when the musician favoured him with a specimen of + one of his most thrilling scenas. And yet, Paisiello, though that music + differs from all Durante taught thee to emulate, there may—but + patience, Gaetano Pisani! bide thy time, and keep thy violin in tune! + </p> + <p> + Strange as it may appear to the fairer reader, this grotesque personage + had yet formed those ties which ordinary mortals are apt to consider their + especial monopoly,—he was married, and had one child. What is more + strange yet, his wife was a daughter of quiet, sober, unfantastic England: + she was much younger than himself; she was fair and gentle, with a sweet + English face; she had married him from choice, and (will you believe it?) + she yet loved him. How she came to marry him, or how this shy, unsocial, + wayward creature ever ventured to propose, I can only explain by asking + you to look round and explain first to ME how half the husbands and half + the wives you meet ever found a mate! Yet, on reflection, this union was + not so extraordinary after all. The girl was a natural child of parents + too noble ever to own and claim her. She was brought into Italy to learn + the art by which she was to live, for she had taste and voice; she was a + dependant and harshly treated, and poor Pisani was her master, and his + voice the only one she had heard from her cradle that seemed without one + tone that could scorn or chide. And so—well, is the rest natural? + Natural or not, they married. This young wife loved her husband; and young + and gentle as she was, she might almost be said to be the protector of the + two. From how many disgraces with the despots of San Carlo and the + Conservatorio had her unknown officious mediation saved him! In how many + ailments—for his frame was weak—had she nursed and tended him! + Often, in the dark nights, she would wait at the theatre with her lantern + to light him and her steady arm to lean on; otherwise, in his abstract + reveries, who knows but the musician would have walked after his “Siren” + into the sea! And then she would so patiently, perhaps (for in true love + there is not always the finest taste) so DELIGHTEDLY, listen to those + storms of eccentric and fitful melody, and steal him—whispering + praises all the way—from the unwholesome night-watch to rest and + sleep! + </p> + <p> + I said his music was a part of the man, and this gentle creature seemed a + part of the music; it was, in fact, when she sat beside him that whatever + was tender or fairy-like in his motley fantasia crept into the harmony as + by stealth. Doubtless her presence acted on the music, and shaped and + softened it; but, he, who never examined how or what his inspiration, knew + it not. All that he knew was, that he loved and blessed her. He fancied he + told her so twenty times a day; but he never did, for he was not of many + words, even to his wife. His language was his music,—as hers, her + cares! He was more communicative to his barbiton, as the learned Mersennus + teaches us to call all the varieties of the great viol family. Certainly + barbiton sounds better than fiddle; and barbiton let it be. He would talk + to THAT by the hour together,—praise it, scold it, coax it, nay (for + such is man, even the most guileless), he had been known to swear at it; + but for that excess he was always penitentially remorseful. And the + barbiton had a tongue of his own, could take his own part, and when HE + also scolded, had much the best of it. He was a noble fellow, this Violin!—a + Tyrolese, the handiwork of the illustrious Steiner. There was something + mysterious in his great age. How many hands, now dust, had awakened his + strings ere he became the Robin Goodfellow and Familiar of Gaetano Pisani! + His very case was venerable,—beautifully painted, it was said, by + Caracci. An English collector had offered more for the case than Pisani + had ever made by the violin. But Pisani, who cared not if he had inhabited + a cabin himself, was proud of a palace for the barbiton. His barbiton, it + was his elder child! He had another child, and now we must turn to her. + </p> + <p> + How shall I describe thee, Viola? Certainly the music had something to + answer for in the advent of that young stranger. For both in her form and + her character you might have traced a family likeness to that singular and + spirit-like life of sound which night after night threw itself in airy and + goblin sport over the starry seas...Beautiful she was, but of a very + uncommon beauty,—a combination, a harmony of opposite attributes. + Her hair of a gold richer and purer than that which is seen even in the + North; but the eyes, of all the dark, tender, subduing light of more than + Italian—almost of Oriental—splendour. The complexion + exquisitely fair, but never the same,—vivid in one moment, pale the + next. And with the complexion, the expression also varied; nothing now so + sad, and nothing now so joyous. + </p> + <p> + I grieve to say that what we rightly entitle education was much neglected + for their daughter by this singular pair. To be sure, neither of them had + much knowledge to bestow; and knowledge was not then the fashion, as it is + now. But accident or nature favoured young Viola. She learned, as of + course, her mother’s language with her father’s. And she contrived soon to + read and to write; and her mother, who, by the way, was a Roman Catholic, + taught her betimes to pray. But then, to counteract all these + acquisitions, the strange habits of Pisani, and the incessant watch and + care which he required from his wife, often left the child alone with an + old nurse, who, to be sure, loved her dearly, but who was in no way + calculated to instruct her. + </p> + <p> + Dame Gionetta was every inch Italian and Neapolitan. Her youth had been + all love, and her age was all superstition. She was garrulous, fond,—a + gossip. Now she would prattle to the girl of cavaliers and princes at her + feet, and now she would freeze her blood with tales and legends, perhaps + as old as Greek or Etrurian fable, of demon and vampire,—of the + dances round the great walnut-tree at Benevento, and the haunting spell of + the Evil Eye. All this helped silently to weave charmed webs over Viola’s + imagination that afterthought and later years might labour vainly to + dispel. And all this especially fitted her to hang, with a fearful joy, + upon her father’s music. Those visionary strains, ever struggling to + translate into wild and broken sounds the language of unearthly beings, + breathed around her from her birth. Thus you might have said that her + whole mind was full of music; associations, memories, sensations of + pleasure or pain,—all were mixed up inexplicably with those sounds + that now delighted and now terrified; that greeted her when her eyes + opened to the sun, and woke her trembling on her lonely couch in the + darkness of the night. The legends and tales of Gionetta only served to + make the child better understand the signification of those mysterious + tones; they furnished her with words to the music. It was natural that the + daughter of such a parent should soon evince some taste in his art. But + this developed itself chiefly in the ear and the voice. She was yet a + child when she sang divinely. A great Cardinal—great alike in the + State and the Conservatorio—heard of her gifts, and sent for her. + From that moment her fate was decided: she was to be the future glory of + Naples, the prima donna of San Carlo. + </p> + <p> + The Cardinal insisted upon the accomplishment of his own predictions, and + provided her with the most renowned masters. To inspire her with + emulation, his Eminence took her one evening to his own box: it would be + something to see the performance, something more to hear the applause + lavished upon the glittering signoras she was hereafter to excel! Oh, how + gloriously that life of the stage, that fairy world of music and song, + dawned upon her! It was the only world that seemed to correspond with her + strange childish thoughts. It appeared to her as if, cast hitherto on a + foreign shore, she was brought at last to see the forms and hear the + language of her native land. Beautiful and true enthusiasm, rich with the + promise of genius! Boy or man, thou wilt never be a poet, if thou hast not + felt the ideal, the romance, the Calypso’s isle that opened to thee when + for the first time the magic curtain was drawn aside, and let in the world + of poetry on the world of prose! + </p> + <p> + And now the initiation was begun. She was to read, to study, to depict by + a gesture, a look, the passions she was to delineate on the boards; + lessons dangerous, in truth, to some, but not to the pure enthusiasm that + comes from art; for the mind that rightly conceives art is but a mirror + which gives back what is cast on its surface faithfully only—while + unsullied. She seized on nature and truth intuitively. Her recitations + became full of unconscious power; her voice moved the heart to tears, or + warmed it into generous rage. But this arose from that sympathy which + genius ever has, even in its earliest innocence, with whatever feels, or + aspires, or suffers. + </p> + <p> + It was no premature woman comprehending the love or the jealousy that the + words expressed; her art was one of those strange secrets which the + psychologists may unriddle to us if they please, and tell us why children + of the simplest minds and the purest hearts are often so acute to + distinguish, in the tales you tell them, or the songs you sing, the + difference between the true art and the false, passion and jargon, Homer + and Racine,—echoing back, from hearts that have not yet felt what + they repeat, the melodious accents of the natural pathos. Apart from her + studies, Viola was a simple, affectionate, but somewhat wayward child,—wayward, + not in temper, for that was sweet and docile; but in her moods, which, as + I before hinted, changed from sad to gay and gay to sad without an + apparent cause. If cause there were, it must be traced to the early and + mysterious influences I have referred to, when seeking to explain the + effect produced on her imagination by those restless streams of sound that + constantly played around it; for it is noticeable that to those who are + much alive to the effects of music, airs and tunes often come back, in the + commonest pursuits of life, to vex, as it were, and haunt them. The music, + once admitted to the soul, becomes also a sort of spirit, and never dies. + It wanders perturbedly through the halls and galleries of the memory, and + is often heard again, distinct and living as when it first displaced the + wavelets of the air. Now at times, then, these phantoms of sound floated + back upon her fancy; if gay, to call a smile from every dimple; if + mournful, to throw a shade upon her brow,—to make her cease from her + childishmirth, and sit apart and muse. + </p> + <p> + Rightly, then, in a typical sense, might this fair creature, so airy in + her shape, so harmonious in her beauty, so unfamiliar in her ways and + thoughts,—rightly might she be called a daughter, less of the + musician than the music, a being for whom you could imagine that some fate + was reserved, less of actual life than the romance which, to eyes that can + see, and hearts that can feel, glides ever along WITH the actual life, + stream by stream, to the Dark Ocean. + </p> + <p> + And therefore it seemed not strange that Viola herself, even in childhood, + and yet more as she bloomed into the sweet seriousness of virgin youth, + should fancy her life ordained for a lot, whether of bliss or woe, that + should accord with the romance and reverie which made the atmosphere she + breathed. Frequently she would climb through the thickets that clothed the + neighbouring grotto of Posilipo,—the mighty work of the old + Cimmerians,—and, seated by the haunted Tomb of Virgil, indulge those + visions, the subtle vagueness of which no poetry can render palpable and + defined; for the Poet that surpasses all who ever sang, is the heart of + dreaming youth! Frequently there, too, beside the threshold over which the + vine-leaves clung, and facing that dark-blue, waveless sea, she would sit + in the autumn noon or summer twilight, and build her castles in the air. + Who doth not do the same,—not in youth alone, but with the dimmed + hopes of age! It is man’s prerogative to dream, the common royalty of + peasant and of king. But those day-dreams of hers were more habitual, + distinct, and solemn than the greater part of us indulge. They seemed like + the Orama of the Greeks,—prophets while phantasma. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fu stupor, fu vaghezza, fu diletto! + “Gerusal. Lib.,” cant. ii. xxi. + + (“Desire it was, ‘t was wonder, ‘t was delight.” + Wiffen’s Translation.) +</pre> + <p> + Now at last the education is accomplished! Viola is nearly sixteen. The + Cardinal declares that the time is come when the new name must be + inscribed in the Libro d’Oro,—the Golden Book set apart to the + children of Art and Song. Yes, but in what character?—to whose + genius is she to give embodiment and form? Ah, there is the secret! + Rumours go abroad that the inexhaustible Paisiello, charmed with her + performance of his “Nel cor piu non me sento,” and his “Io son Lindoro,” + will produce some new masterpiece to introduce the debutante. Others + insist upon it that her forte is the comic, and that Cimarosa is hard at + work at another “Matrimonia Segreto.” But in the meanwhile there is a + check in the diplomacy somewhere. The Cardinal is observed to be out of + humour. He has said publicly,—and the words are portentous,—“The + silly girl is as mad as her father; what she asks is preposterous!” + Conference follows conference; the Cardinal talks to the poor child very + solemnly in his closet,—all in vain. Naples is distracted with + curiosity and conjecture. The lecture ends in a quarrel, and Viola comes + home sullen and pouting: she will not act,—she has renounced the + engagement. + </p> + <p> + Pisani, too inexperienced to be aware of all the dangers of the stage, had + been pleased at the notion that one, at least, of his name would add + celebrity to his art. The girl’s perverseness displeased him. However, he + said nothing,—he never scolded in words, but he took up the faithful + barbiton. Oh, faithful barbiton, how horribly thou didst scold! It + screeched, it gabbled, it moaned, it growled. And Viola’s eyes filled with + tears, for she understood that language. She stole to her mother, and + whispered in her ear; and when Pisani turned from his employment, lo! both + mother and daughter were weeping. He looked at them with a wondering + stare; and then, as if he felt he had been harsh, he flew again to his + Familiar. And now you thought you heard the lullaby which a fairy might + sing to some fretful changeling it had adopted and sought to soothe. + Liquid, low, silvery, streamed the tones beneath the enchanted bow. The + most stubborn grief would have paused to hear; and withal, at times, out + came a wild, merry, ringing note, like a laugh, but not mortal laughter. + It was one of his most successful airs from his beloved opera,—the + Siren in the act of charming the waves and the winds to sleep. Heaven + knows what next would have come, but his arm was arrested. Viola had + thrown herself on his breast, and kissed him, with happy eyes that smiled + through her sunny hair. At that very moment the door opened,—a + message from the Cardinal. Viola must go to his Eminence at once. Her + mother went with her. All was reconciled and settled; Viola had her way, + and selected her own opera. O ye dull nations of the North, with your + broils and debates,—your bustling lives of the Pnyx and the Agora!—you + cannot guess what a stir throughout musical Naples was occasioned by the + rumour of a new opera and a new singer. But whose the opera? No cabinet + intrigue ever was so secret. Pisani came back one night from the theatre, + evidently disturbed and irate. Woe to thine ears hadst thou heard the + barbiton that night! They had suspended him from his office,—they + feared that the new opera, and the first debut of his daughter as prima + donna, would be too much for his nerves. And his variations, his diablerie + of sirens and harpies, on such a night, made a hazard not to be + contemplated without awe. To be set aside, and on the very night that his + child, whose melody was but an emanation of his own, was to perform,—set + aside for some new rival: it was too much for a musician’s flesh and + blood. For the first time he spoke in words upon the subject, and gravely + asked—for that question the barbiton, eloquent as it was, could not + express distinctly—what was to be the opera, and what the part? And + Viola as gravely answered that she was pledged to the Cardinal not to + reveal. Pisani said nothing, but disappeared with the violin; and + presently they heard the Familiar from the house-top (whither, when + thoroughly out of humour, the musician sometimes fled), whining and + sighing as if its heart were broken. + </p> + <p> + The affections of Pisani were little visible on the surface. He was not + one of those fond, caressing fathers whose children are ever playing round + their knees; his mind and soul were so thoroughly in his art that domestic + life glided by him, seemingly as if THAT were a dream, and the heart the + substantial form and body of existence. Persons much cultivating an + abstract study are often thus; mathematicians proverbially so. When his + servant ran to the celebrated French philosopher, shrieking, “The house is + on fire, sir!” “Go and tell my wife then, fool!” said the wise man, + settling back to his problems; “do <i>I</i> ever meddle with domestic + affairs?” But what are mathematics to music—music, that not only + composes operas, but plays on the barbiton? Do you know what the + illustrious Giardini said when the tyro asked how long it would take to + learn to play on the violin? Hear, and despair, ye who would bend the bow + to which that of Ulysses was a plaything, “Twelve hours a day for twenty + years together!” Can a man, then, who plays the barbiton be always playing + also with his little ones? No, Pisani; often, with the keen susceptibility + of childhood, poor Viola had stolen from the room to weep at the thought + that thou didst not love her. And yet, underneath this outward abstraction + of the artist, the natural fondness flowed all the same; and as she grew + up, the dreamer had understood the dreamer. And now, shut out from all + fame himself; to be forbidden to hail even his daughter’s fame!—and + that daughter herself to be in the conspiracy against him! Sharper than + the serpent’s tooth was the ingratitude, and sharper than the serpent’s + tooth was the wail of the pitying barbiton! + </p> + <p> + The eventful hour is come. Viola is gone to the theatre,—her mother + with her. The indignant musician remains at home. Gionetta bursts into the + room: my Lord Cardinal’s carriage is at the door,—the Padrone is + sent for. He must lay aside his violin; he must put on his brocade coat + and his lace ruffles. Here they are,—quick, quick! And quick rolls + the gilded coach, and majestic sits the driver, and statelily prance the + steeds. Poor Pisani is lost in a mist of uncomfortable amaze. He arrives + at the theatre; he descends at the great door; he turns round and round, + and looks about him and about: he misses something,—where is the + violin? Alas! his soul, his voice, his self of self, is left behind! It is + but an automaton that the lackeys conduct up the stairs, through the tier, + into the Cardinal’s box. But then, what bursts upon him! Does he dream? + The first act is over (they did not send for him till success seemed no + longer doubtful); the first act has decided all. He feels THAT by the + electric sympathy which ever the one heart has at once with a vast + audience. He feels it by the breathless stillness of that multitude; he + feels it even by the lifted finger of the Cardinal. He sees his Viola on + the stage, radiant in her robes and gems,—he hears her voice + thrilling through the single heart of the thousands! But the scene, the + part, the music! It is his other child,—his immortal child; the + spirit-infant of his soul; his darling of many years of patient obscurity + and pining genius; his masterpiece; his opera of the Siren! + </p> + <p> + This, then, was the mystery that had so galled him,—this the cause + of the quarrel with the Cardinal; this the secret not to be proclaimed + till the success was won, and the daughter had united her father’s triumph + with her own! And there she stands, as all souls bow before her,—fairer + than the very Siren he had called from the deeps of melody. Oh, long and + sweet recompense of toil! Where is on earth the rapture like that which is + known to genius when at last it bursts from its hidden cavern into light + and fame! + </p> + <p> + He did not speak, he did not move; he stood transfixed, breathless, the + tears rolling down his cheeks; only from time to time his hands still + wandered about,—mechanically they sought for the faithful + instrument, why was it not there to share his triumph? + </p> + <p> + At last the curtain fell; but on such a storm and diapason of applause! Up + rose the audience as one man, as with one voice that dear name was + shouted. She came on, trembling, pale, and in the whole crowd saw but her + father’s face. The audience followed those moistened eyes; they recognised + with a thrill the daughter’s impulse and her meaning. The good old + Cardinal drew him gently forward. Wild musician, thy daughter has given + thee back more than the life thou gavest! + </p> + <p> + “My poor violin!” said he, wiping his eyes, “they will never hiss thee + again now!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></a> + <!-- H2 anchor --> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fra si contrarie tempre in ghiaccio e in foco, + In riso e in pianto, e fra paura e speme + L’ingannatrice Donna— + “Gerusal. Lib.,” cant. iv. xciv. + + (Between such contrarious mixtures of ice and fire, laughter and + tears,—fear and hope, the deceiving dame.) +</pre> + <p> + Now notwithstanding the triumph both of the singer and the opera, there + had been one moment in the first act, and, consequently, BEFORE the + arrival of Pisani, when the scale seemed more than doubtful. It was in a + chorus replete with all the peculiarities of the composer. And when the + Maelstrom of Capricci whirled and foamed, and tore ear and sense through + every variety of sound, the audience simultaneously recognised the hand of + Pisani. A title had been given to the opera which had hitherto prevented + all suspicion of its parentage; and the overture and opening, in which the + music had been regular and sweet, had led the audience to fancy they + detected the genius of their favourite Paisiello. Long accustomed to + ridicule and almost to despise the pretensions of Pisani as a composer, + they now felt as if they had been unduly cheated into the applause with + which they had hailed the overture and the commencing scenas. An ominous + buzz circulated round the house: the singers, the orchestra,—electrically + sensitive to the impression of the audience,—grew, themselves, + agitated and dismayed, and failed in the energy and precision which could + alone carry off the grotesqueness of the music. + </p> + <p> + There are always in every theatre many rivals to a new author and a new + performer,—a party impotent while all goes well, but a dangerous + ambush the instant some accident throws into confusion the march of + success. A hiss arose; it was partial, it is true, but the significant + silence of all applause seemed to forebode the coming moment when the + displeasure would grow contagious. It was the breath that stirred the + impending avalanche. At that critical moment Viola, the Siren queen, + emerged for the first time from her ocean cave. As she came forward to the + lamps, the novelty of her situation, the chilling apathy of the audience,—which + even the sight of so singular a beauty did not at the first arouse,—the + whispers of the malignant singers on the stage, the glare of the lights, + and more—far more than the rest—that recent hiss, which had + reached her in her concealment, all froze up her faculties and suspended + her voice. And, instead of the grand invocation into which she ought + rapidly to have burst, the regal Siren, retransformed into the trembling + girl, stood pale and mute before the stern, cold array of those countless + eyes. + </p> + <p> + At that instant, and when consciousness itself seemed about to fail her, + as she turned a timid beseeching glance around the still multitude, she + perceived, in a box near the stage, a countenance which at once, and like + magic, produced on her mind an effect never to be analysed nor forgotten. + It was one that awakened an indistinct, haunting reminiscence, as if she + had seen it in those day-dreams she had been so wont from infancy to + indulge. She could not withdraw her gaze from that face, and as she gazed, + the awe and coldness that had before seized her, vanished like a mist from + before the sun. + </p> + <p> + In the dark splendour of the eyes that met her own there was indeed so + much of gentle encouragement, of benign and compassionate admiration,—so + much that warmed, and animated, and nerved,—that any one, actor or + orator, who has ever observed the effect that a single earnest and kindly + look in the crowd that is to be addressed and won, will produce upon his + mind, may readily account for the sudden and inspiriting influence which + the eye and smile of the stranger exercised on the debutante. + </p> + <p> + And while yet she gazed, and the glow returned to her heart, the stranger + half rose, as if to recall the audience to a sense of the courtesy due to + one so fair and young; and the instant his voice gave the signal, the + audience followed it by a burst of generous applause. For this stranger + himself was a marked personage, and his recent arrival at Naples had + divided with the new opera the gossip of the city. And then as the + applause ceased, clear, full, and freed from every fetter, like a spirit + from the clay, the Siren’s voice poured forth its entrancing music. From + that time Viola forgot the crowd, the hazard, the whole world,—except + the fairy one over with she presided. It seemed that the stranger’s + presence only served still more to heighten that delusion, in which the + artist sees no creation without the circle of his art, she felt as if that + serene brow, and those brilliant eyes, inspired her with powers never + known before: and, as if searching for a language to express the strange + sensations occasioned by his presence, that presence itself whispered to + her the melody and the song. + </p> + <p> + Only when all was over, and she saw her father and felt his joy, did this + wild spell vanish before the sweeter one of the household and filial love. + Yet again, as she turned from the stage, she looked back involuntarily, + and the stranger’s calm and half-melancholy smile sank into her heart,—to + live there, to be recalled with confused memories, half of pleasure, and + half of pain. + </p> + <p> + Pass over the congratulations of the good Cardinal-Virtuoso, astonished at + finding himself and all Naples had been hitherto in the wrong on a subject + of taste,—still more astonished at finding himself and all Naples + combining to confess it; pass over the whispered ecstasies of admiration + which buzzed in the singer’s ear, as once more, in her modest veil and + quiet dress, she escaped from the crowd of gallants that choked up every + avenue behind the scenes; pass over the sweet embrace of father and child, + returning through the starlit streets and along the deserted Chiaja in the + Cardinal’s carriage; never pause now to note the tears and ejaculations of + the good, simple-hearted mother,—see them returned; see the + well-known room, venimus ad larem nostrum (We come to our own house.); see + old Gionetta bustling at the supper; and hear Pisani, as he rouses the + barbiton from its case, communicating all that has happened to the + intelligent Familiar; hark to the mother’s merry, low, English laugh. Why, + Viola, strange child, sittest thou apart, thy face leaning on thy fair + hands, thine eyes fixed on space? Up, rouse thee! Every dimple on the + cheek of home must smile to-night. (“Ridete quidquid est domi + cachinnorum.” Catull. “ad Sirm. Penin.”) + </p> + <p> + And a happy reunion it was round that humble table: a feast Lucullus might + have envied in his Hall of Apollo, in the dried grapes, and the dainty + sardines, and the luxurious polenta, and the old lacrima a present from + the good Cardinal. The barbiton, placed on a chair—a tall, + high-backed chair—beside the musician, seemed to take a part in the + festive meal. Its honest varnished face glowed in the light of the lamp; + and there was an impish, sly demureness in its very silence, as its + master, between every mouthful, turned to talk to it of something he had + forgotten to relate before. The good wife looked on affectionately, and + could not eat for joy; but suddenly she rose, and placed on the artist’s + temples a laurel wreath, which she had woven beforehand in fond + anticipation; and Viola, on the other side her brother, the barbiton, + rearranged the chaplet, and, smoothing back her father’s hair, whispered, + “Caro Padre, you will not let HIM scold me again!” + </p> + <p> + Then poor Pisani, rather distracted between the two, and excited both by + the lacrima and his triumph, turned to the younger child with so naive and + grotesque a pride, “I don’t know which to thank the most. You give me so + much joy, child,—I am so proud of thee and myself. But he and I, + poor fellow, have been so often unhappy together!” + </p> + <p> + Viola’s sleep was broken,—that was natural. The intoxication of + vanity and triumph, the happiness in the happiness she had caused, all + this was better than sleep. But still from all this, again and again her + thoughts flew to those haunting eyes, to that smile with which forever the + memory of the triumph, of the happiness, was to be united. Her feelings, + like her own character, were strange and peculiar. They were not those of + a girl whose heart, for the first time reached through the eye, sighs its + natural and native language of first love. It was not so much admiration, + though the face that reflected itself on every wave of her restless + fancies was of the rarest order of majesty and beauty; nor a pleased and + enamoured recollection that the sight of this stranger had bequeathed: it + was a human sentiment of gratitude and delight, mixed with something more + mysterious, of fear and awe. Certainly she had seen before those features; + but when and how? Only when her thoughts had sought to shape out her + future, and when, in spite of all the attempts to vision forth a fate of + flowers and sunshine, a dark and chill foreboding made her recoil back + into her deepest self. It was a something found that had long been sought + for by a thousand restless yearnings and vague desires, less of the heart + than mind; not as when youth discovers the one to be beloved, but rather + as when the student, long wandering after the clew to some truth in + science, sees it glimmer dimly before him, to beckon, to recede, to + allure, and to wane again. She fell at last into unquiet slumber, vexed by + deformed, fleeting, shapeless phantoms; and, waking, as the sun, through a + veil of hazy cloud, glinted with a sickly ray across the casement, she + heard her father settled back betimes to his one pursuit, and calling + forth from his Familiar a low mournful strain, like a dirge over the dead. + </p> + <p> + “And why,” she asked, when she descended to the room below,—“why, my + father, was your inspiration so sad, after the joy of last night?” + </p> + <p> + “I know not, child. I meant to be merry, and compose an air in honour of + thee; but he is an obstinate fellow, this,—and he would have it so.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + E cosi i pigri e timidi desiri + Sprona. + “Gerusal. Lib.,” cant. iv. lxxxviii. + + (And thus the slow and timid passions urged.) +</pre> + <p> + It was the custom of Pisani, except when the duties of his profession made + special demand on his time, to devote a certain portion of the mid-day to + sleep,—a habit not so much a luxury as a necessity to a man who + slept very little during the night. In fact, whether to compose or to + practice, the hours of noon were precisely those in which Pisani could not + have been active if he would. His genius resembled those fountains full at + dawn and evening, overflowing at night, and perfectly dry at the meridian. + During this time, consecrated by her husband to repose, the signora + generally stole out to make the purchases necessary for the little + household, or to enjoy (as what woman does not?) a little relaxation in + gossip with some of her own sex. And the day following this brilliant + triumph, how many congratulations would she have to receive! + </p> + <p> + At these times it was Viola’s habit to seat herself without the door of + the house, under an awning which sheltered from the sun without + obstructing the view; and there now, with the prompt-book on her knee, on + which her eye roves listlessly from time to time, you may behold her, the + vine-leaves clustering from their arching trellis over the door behind, + and the lazy white-sailed boats skimming along the sea that stretched + before. + </p> + <p> + As she thus sat, rather in reverie than thought, a man coming from the + direction of Posilipo, with a slow step and downcast eyes, passed close by + the house, and Viola, looking up abruptly, started in a kind of terror as + she recognised the stranger. She uttered an involuntary exclamation, and + the cavalier turning, saw, and paused. + </p> + <p> + He stood a moment or two between her and the sunlit ocean, contemplating + in a silence too serious and gentle for the boldness of gallantry, the + blushing face and the young slight form before him; at length he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Are you happy, my child,” he said, in almost a paternal tone, “at the + career that lies before you? From sixteen to thirty, the music in the + breath of applause is sweeter than all the music your voice can utter!” + </p> + <p> + “I know not,” replied Viola, falteringly, but encouraged by the liquid + softness of the accents that addressed her,—“I know not whether I am + happy now, but I was last night. And I feel, too, Excellency, that I have + you to thank, though, perhaps, you scarce know why!” + </p> + <p> + “You deceive yourself,” said the cavalier, with a smile. “I am aware that + I assisted to your merited success, and it is you who scarce know how. The + WHY I will tell you: because I saw in your heart a nobler ambition than + that of the woman’s vanity; it was the daughter that interested me. + Perhaps you would rather I should have admired the singer?” + </p> + <p> + “No; oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I believe you. And now, since we have thus met, I will pause to + counsel you. When next you go to the theatre, you will have at your feet + all the young gallants of Naples. Poor infant! the flame that dazzles the + eye can scorch the wing. Remember that the only homage that does not sully + must be that which these gallants will not give thee. And whatever thy + dreams of the future,—and I see, while I speak to thee, how + wandering they are, and wild,—may only those be fulfilled which + centre round the hearth of home.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, as Viola’s breast heaved beneath its robe. And with a burst of + natural and innocent emotions, scarcely comprehending, though an Italian, + the grave nature of his advice, she exclaimed,— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Excellency, you cannot know how dear to me that home is already. And + my father,—there would be no home, signor, without him!” + </p> + <p> + A deep and melancholy shade settled over the face of the cavalier. He + looked up at the quiet house buried amidst the vine-leaves, and turned + again to the vivid, animated face of the young actress. + </p> + <p> + “It is well,” said he. “A simple heart may be its own best guide, and so, + go on, and prosper. Adieu, fair singer.” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, Excellency; but,” and something she could not resist—an + anxious, sickening feeling of fear and hope,—impelled her to the + question, “I shall see you again, shall I not, at San Carlo?” + </p> + <p> + “Not, at least, for some time. I leave Naples to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” and Viola’s heart sank within her; the poetry of the stage was + gone. + </p> + <p> + “And,” said the cavalier, turning back, and gently laying his hand on + hers,—“and, perhaps, before we meet, you may have suffered: known + the first sharp griefs of human life,—known how little what fame can + gain, repays what the heart can lose; but be brave and yield not,—not + even to what may seem the piety of sorrow. Observe yon tree in your + neighbour’s garden. Look how it grows up, crooked and distorted. Some wind + scattered the germ from which it sprang, in the clefts of the rock; choked + up and walled round by crags and buildings, by Nature and man, its life + has been one struggle for the light,—light which makes to that life + the necessity and the principle: you see how it has writhed and twisted; + how, meeting the barrier in one spot, it has laboured and worked, stem and + branches, towards the clear skies at last. What has preserved it through + each disfavour of birth and circumstances,—why are its leaves as + green and fair as those of the vine behind you, which, with all its arms, + can embrace the open sunshine? My child, because of the very instinct that + impelled the struggle,—because the labour for the light won to the + light at length. So with a gallant heart, through every adverse accident + of sorrow and of fate to turn to the sun, to strive for the heaven; this + it is that gives knowledge to the strong and happiness to the weak. Ere we + meet again, you will turn sad and heavy eyes to those quiet boughs, and + when you hear the birds sing from them, and see the sunshine come aslant + from crag and housetop to be the playfellow of their leaves, learn the + lesson that Nature teaches you, and strive through darkness to the light!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he moved on slowly, and left Viola wondering, silent, saddened + with his dim prophecy of coming evil, and yet, through sadness, charmed. + Involuntarily her eyes followed him,—involuntarily she stretched + forth her arms, as if by a gesture to call him back; she would have given + worlds to have seen him turn,—to have heard once more his low, calm, + silvery voice; to have felt again the light touch of his hand on hers. As + moonlight that softens into beauty every angle on which it falls, seemed + his presence,—as moonlight vanishes, and things assume their common + aspect of the rugged and the mean, he receded from her eyes, and the + outward scene was commonplace once more. + </p> + <p> + The stranger passed on, through that long and lovely road which reaches at + last the palaces that face the public gardens, and conducts to the more + populous quarters of the city. + </p> + <p> + A group of young, dissipated courtiers, loitering by the gateway of a + house which was open for the favourite pastime of the day,—the + resort of the wealthier and more high-born gamesters,—made way for + him, as with a courteous inclination he passed them by. + </p> + <p> + “Per fede,” said one, “is not that the rich Zanoni, of whom the town + talks?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay; they say his wealth is incalculable!” + </p> + <p> + “THEY say,—who are THEY?—what is the authority? He has not + been many days at Naples, and I cannot yet find any one who knows aught of + his birthplace, his parentage, or, what is more important, his estates!” + </p> + <p> + “That is true; but he arrived in a goodly vessel, which THEY SAY is his + own. See,—no, you cannot see it here; but it rides yonder in the + bay. The bankers he deals with speak with awe of the sums placed in their + hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Whence came he?” + </p> + <p> + “From some seaport in the East. My valet learned from some of the sailors + on the Mole that he had resided many years in the interior of India.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I am told that in India men pick up gold like pebbles, and that there + are valleys where the birds build their nests with emeralds to attract the + moths. Here comes our prince of gamesters, Cetoxa; be sure that he already + must have made acquaintance with so wealthy a cavalier; he has that + attraction to gold which the magnet has to steel. Well, Cetoxa, what fresh + news of the ducats of Signor Zanoni?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Cetoxa, carelessly, “my friend—” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha! hear him; his friend—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; my friend Zanoni is going to Rome for a short time; when he returns, + he has promised me to fix a day to sup with me, and I will then introduce + him to you, and to the best society of Naples! Diavolo! but he is a most + agreeable and witty gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + “Pray tell us how you came so suddenly to be his friend.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Belgioso, nothing more natural. He desired a box at San Carlo; + but I need not tell you that the expectation of a new opera (ah, how + superb it is,—that poor devil, Pisani; who would have thought it?) + and a new singer (what a face,—what a voice!—ah!) had engaged + every corner of the house. I heard of Zanoni’s desire to honour the talent + of Naples, and, with my usual courtesy to distinguished strangers, I sent + to place my box at his disposal. He accepts it,—I wait on him + between the acts; he is most charming; he invites me to supper. Cospetto, + what a retinue! We sit late,—I tell him all the news of Naples; we + grow bosom friends; he presses on me this diamond before we part,—is + a trifle, he tells me: the jewellers value it at 5000 pistoles!—the + merriest evening I have passed these ten years.” + </p> + <p> + The cavaliers crowded round to admire the diamond. + </p> + <p> + “Signor Count Cetoxa,” said one grave-looking sombre man, who had crossed + himself two or three times during the Neapolitan’s narrative, “are you not + aware of the strange reports about this person; and are you not afraid to + receive from him a gift which may carry with it the most fatal + consequences? Do you not know that he is said to be a sorcerer; to possess + the mal-occhio; to—” + </p> + <p> + “Prithee, spare us your antiquated superstitions,” interrupted Cetoxa, + contemptuously. “They are out of fashion; nothing now goes down but + scepticism and philosophy. And what, after all, do these rumours, when + sifted, amount to? They have no origin but this,—a silly old man of + eighty-six, quite in his dotage, solemnly avers that he saw this same + Zanoni seventy years ago (he himself, the narrator, then a mere boy) at + Milan; when this very Zanoni, as you all see, is at least as young as you + or I, Belgioso.” + </p> + <p> + “But that,” said the grave gentleman,—“THAT is the mystery. Old + Avelli declares that Zanoni does not seem a day older than when they met + at Milan. He says that even then at Milan—mark this—where, + though under another name, this Zanoni appeared in the same splendour, he + was attended also by the same mystery. And that an old man THERE + remembered to have seen him sixty years before, in Sweden.” + </p> + <p> + “Tush,” returned Cetoxa, “the same thing has been said of the quack + Cagliostro,—mere fables. I will believe them when I see this diamond + turn to a wisp of hay. For the rest,” he added gravely, “I consider this + illustrious gentleman my friend; and a whisper against his honour and + repute will in future be equivalent to an affront to myself.” + </p> + <p> + Cetoxa was a redoubted swordsman, and excelled in a peculiarly awkward + manoeuvre, which he himself had added to the variations of the stoccata. + The grave gentleman, however anxious for the spiritual weal of the count, + had an equal regard for his own corporeal safety. He contented himself + with a look of compassion, and, turning through the gateway, ascended the + stairs to the gaming-tables. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha!” said Cetoxa, laughing, “our good Loredano is envious of my + diamond. Gentlemen, you sup with me to-night. I assure you I never met a + more delightful, sociable, entertaining person, than my dear friend the + Signor Zanoni.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Quello Ippogifo, grande e strano augello + Lo porta via. + “Orlando Furioso,” c. vi. xviii. + + (That hippogriff, great and marvellous bird, bears him away.) +</pre> + <p> + And now, accompanying this mysterious Zanoni, am I compelled to bid a + short farewell to Naples. Mount behind me,—mount on my hippogriff, + reader; settle yourself at your ease. I bought the pillion the other day + of a poet who loves his comfort; it has been newly stuffed for your + special accommodation. So, so, we ascend! Look as we ride aloft,—look!—never + fear, hippogriffs never stumble; and every hippogriff in Italy is + warranted to carry elderly gentlemen,—look down on the gliding + landscapes! There, near the ruins of the Oscan’s old Atella, rises Aversa, + once the stronghold of the Norman; there gleam the columns of Capua, above + the Vulturnian Stream. Hail to ye, cornfields and vineyards famous for the + old Falernian! Hail to ye, golden orange-groves of Mola di Gaeta! Hail to + ye, sweet shrubs and wild flowers, omnis copia narium, that clothe the + mountain-skirts of the silent Lautulae! Shall we rest at the Volscian + Anxur,—the modern Terracina,—where the lofty rock stands like + the giant that guards the last borders of the southern land of love? Away, + away! and hold your breath as we flit above the Pontine Marshes. Dreary + and desolate, their miasma is to the gardens we have passed what the rank + commonplace of life is to the heart when it has left love behind. + </p> + <p> + Mournful Campagna, thou openest on us in majestic sadness. Rome, + seven-hilled Rome! receive us as Memory receives the way-worn; receive us + in silence, amidst ruins! Where is the traveller we pursue? Turn the + hippogriff loose to graze: he loves the acanthus that wreathes round yon + broken columns. Yes, that is the arch of Titus, the conqueror of + Jerusalem,—that the Colosseum! Through one passed the triumph of the + deified invader; in one fell the butchered gladiators. Monuments of + murder, how poor the thoughts, how mean the memories ye awaken, compared + with those that speak to the heart of man on the heights of Phyle, or by + thy lone mound, grey Marathon! We stand amidst weeds and brambles and long + waving herbage. Where we stand reigned Nero,—here were his + tessellated floors; here, + </p> + <p> + “Mighty in the heaven, a second heaven,” + </p> + <p> + hung the vault of his ivory roofs; here, arch upon arch, pillar on pillar, + glittered to the world the golden palace of its master,—the Golden + House of Nero. How the lizard watches us with his bright, timorous eye! We + disturb his reign. Gather that wild flower: the Golden House is vanished, + but the wild flower may have kin to those which the stranger’s hand + scattered over the tyrant’s grave; see, over this soil, the grave of Rome, + Nature strews the wild flowers still! + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this desolation is an old building of the middle ages. + Here dwells a singular recluse. In the season of the malaria the native + peasant flies the rank vegetation round; but he, a stranger and a + foreigner, no associates, no companions, except books and instruments of + science. He is often seen wandering over the grass-grown hills, or + sauntering through the streets of the new city, not with the absent brow + and incurious air of students, but with observant piercing eyes that seem + to dive into the hearts of the passers-by. An old man, but not infirm,—erect + and stately, as if in his prime. None know whether he be rich or poor. He + asks no charity, and he gives none,—he does no evil, and seems to + confer no good. He is a man who appears to have no world beyond himself; + but appearances are deceitful, and Science, as well as Benevolence, lives + in the Universe. This abode, for the first time since thus occupied, a + visitor enters. It is Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + You observe those two men seated together, conversing earnestly. Years + long and many have flown away since they met last,—at least, bodily, + and face to face. But if they are sages, thought can meet thought, and + spirit spirit, though oceans divide the forms. Death itself divides not + the wise. Thou meetest Plato when thine eyes moisten over the Phaedo. May + Homer live with all men forever! + </p> + <p> + They converse; they confess to each other; they conjure up the past, and + repeople it; but note how differently do such remembrances affect the two. + On Zanoni’s face, despite its habitual calm, the emotions change and go. + HE has acted in the past he surveys; but not a trace of the humanity that + participates in joy and sorrow can be detected on the passionless visage + of his companion; the past, to him, as is now the present, has been but as + Nature to the sage, the volume to the student,—a calm and spiritual + life, a study, a contemplation. + </p> + <p> + From the past they turn to the future. Ah! at the close of the last + century, the future seemed a thing tangible,—it was woven up in all + men’s fears and hopes of the present. + </p> + <p> + At the verge of that hundred years, Man, the ripest born of Time, + </p> + <p> + (“An des Jahrhunderts Neige, Der reifste Sohn der Zeit.” “Die Kunstler.”) + </p> + <p> + stood as at the deathbed of the Old World, and beheld the New Orb, + blood-red amidst cloud and vapour,—uncertain if a comet or a sun. + Behold the icy and profound disdain on the brow of the old man,—the + lofty yet touching sadness that darkens the glorious countenance of + Zanoni. Is it that one views with contempt the struggle and its issue, and + the other with awe or pity? Wisdom contemplating mankind leads but to the + two results,—compassion or disdain. He who believes in other worlds + can accustom himself to look on this as the naturalist on the revolutions + of an ant-hill, or of a leaf. What is the Earth to Infinity,—what + its duration to the Eternal? Oh, how much greater is the soul of one man + than the vicissitudes of the whole globe! Child of heaven, and heir of + immortality, how from some star hereafter wilt thou look back on the + ant-hill and its commotions, from Clovis to Robespierre, from Noah to the + Final Fire. The spirit that can contemplate, that lives only in the + intellect, can ascend to its star, even from the midst of the + burial-ground called Earth, and while the sarcophagus called Life immures + in its clay the everlasting! + </p> + <p> + But thou, Zanoni,—thou hast refused to live ONLY in the intellect; + thou hast not mortified the heart; thy pulse still beats with the sweet + music of mortal passion; thy kind is to thee still something warmer than + an abstraction,—thou wouldst look upon this Revolution in its + cradle, which the storms rock; thou wouldst see the world while its + elements yet struggle through the chaos! + </p> + <p> + Go! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Precepteurs ignorans de ce faible univers.—Voltaire. + (Ignorant teachers of this weak world.) + + Nous etions a table chez un de nos confreres a l’Academie, + Grand Seigneur et homme d’esprit.—La Harpe. + (We supped with one of our confreres of the Academy,—a great + nobleman and wit.) +</pre> + <p> + One evening, at Paris, several months after the date of our last chapter, + there was a reunion of some of the most eminent wits of the time, at the + house of a personage distinguished alike by noble birth and liberal + accomplishments. Nearly all present were of the views that were then the + mode. For, as came afterwards a time when nothing was so unpopular as the + people, so that was the time when nothing was so vulgar as aristocracy. + The airiest fine gentleman and the haughtiest noble prated of equality, + and lisped enlightenment. + </p> + <p> + Among the more remarkable guests were Condorcet, then in the prime of his + reputation, the correspondent of the king of Prussia, the intimate of + Voltaire, the member of half the academies of Europe,—noble by + birth, polished in manners, republican in opinions. There, too, was the + venerable Malesherbes, “l’amour et les delices de la Nation.” (The idol + and delight of the nation (so-called by his historian, Gaillard).) There + Jean Silvain Bailly, the accomplished scholar,—the aspiring + politician. It was one of those petits soupers for which the capital of + all social pleasures was so renowned. The conversation, as might be + expected, was literary and intellectual, enlivened by graceful pleasantry. + Many of the ladies of that ancient and proud noblesse—for the + noblesse yet existed, though its hours were already numbered—added + to the charm of the society; and theirs were the boldest criticisms, and + often the most liberal sentiments. + </p> + <p> + Vain labour for me—vain labour almost for the grave English language—to + do justice to the sparkling paradoxes that flew from lip to lip. The + favourite theme was the superiority of the moderns to the ancients. + Condorcet on this head was eloquent, and to some, at least, of his + audience, most convincing. That Voltaire was greater than Homer few there + were disposed to deny. Keen was the ridicule lavished on the dull pedantry + which finds everything ancient necessarily sublime. + </p> + <p> + “Yet,” said the graceful Marquis de —, as the champagne danced to + his glass, “more ridiculous still is the superstition that finds + everything incomprehensible holy! But intelligence circulates, Condorcet; + like water, it finds its level. My hairdresser said to me this morning, + ‘Though I am but a poor fellow, I believe as little as the finest + gentleman!’” “Unquestionably, the great Revolution draws near to its final + completion,—a pas de geant, as Montesquieu said of his own immortal + work.” + </p> + <p> + Then there rushed from all—wit and noble, courtier and republican—a + confused chorus, harmonious only in its anticipation of the brilliant + things to which “the great Revolution” was to give birth. Here Condrocet + is more eloquent than before. + </p> + <p> + “Il faut absolument que la Superstition et le Fanatisme fassent place a la + Philosophie. (It must necessarily happen that superstition and fanaticism + give place to philosophy.) Kings persecute persons, priests opinion. + Without kings, men must be safe; and without priests, minds must be free.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” murmured the marquis, “and as ce cher Diderot has so well sung,— + </p> + <p> + ‘Et des boyaux du dernier pretre Serrez le cou du dernier roi.’” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (And throttle the neck of the last king with the string from + the bowels of the last priest.) +</pre> + <p> + “And then,” resumed Condorcet,—“then commences the Age of Reason!—equality + in instruction, equality in institutions, equality in wealth! The great + impediments to knowledge are, first, the want of a common language; and + next, the short duration of existence. But as to the first, when all men + are brothers, why not a universal language? As to the second, the organic + perfectibility of the vegetable world is undisputed, is Nature less + powerful in the nobler existence of thinking man? The very destruction of + the two most active causes of physical deterioration—here, luxurious + wealth; there, abject penury,—must necessarily prolong the general + term of life. (See Condorcet’s posthumous work on the Progress of the + Human Mind.—Ed.) The art of medicine will then be honoured in the + place of war, which is the art of murder: the noblest study of the acutest + minds will be devoted to the discovery and arrest of the causes of + disease. Life, I grant, cannot be made eternal; but it may be prolonged + almost indefinitely. And as the meaner animal bequeaths its vigour to its + offspring, so man shall transmit his improved organisation, mental and + physical, to his sons. Oh, yes, to such a consummation does our age + approach!” + </p> + <p> + The venerable Malesherbes sighed. Perhaps he feared the consummation might + not come in time for him. The handsome Marquis de — and the ladies, + yet handsomer than he, looked conviction and delight. + </p> + <p> + But two men there were, seated next to each other, who joined not in the + general talk: the one a stranger newly arrived in Paris, where his wealth, + his person, and his accomplishments, had already made him remarked and + courted; the other, an old man, somewhere about seventy,—the witty + and virtuous, brave, and still light-hearted Cazotte, the author of “Le + Diable Amoureux.” + </p> + <p> + These two conversed familiarly, and apart from the rest, and only by an + occasional smile testified their attention to the general conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the stranger,—“yes, we have met before.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I could not forget your countenance; yet I task in vain my + recollections of the past.” + </p> + <p> + “I will assist you. Recall the time when, led by curiosity, or perhaps the + nobler desire of knowledge, you sought initiation into the mysterious + order of Martines de Pasqualis.” + </p> + <p> + (It is so recorded of Cazotte. Of Martines de Pasqualis little is known; + even the country to which he belonged is matter of conjecture. Equally so + the rites, ceremonies, and nature of the cabalistic order he established. + St. Martin was a disciple of the school, and that, at least, is in its + favour; for in spite of his mysticism, no man more beneficent, generous, + pure, and virtuous than St. Martin adorned the last century. Above all, no + man more distinguished himself from the herd of sceptical philosophers by + the gallantry and fervour with which he combated materialism, and + vindicated the necessity of faith amidst a chaos of unbelief. It may also + be observed, that Cazotte, whatever else he learned of the brotherhood of + Martines, learned nothing that diminished the excellence of his life and + the sincerity of his religion. At once gentle and brave, he never ceased + to oppose the excesses of the Revolution. To the last, unlike the Liberals + of his time, he was a devout and sincere Christian. Before his execution, + he demanded a pen and paper to write these words: “Ma femme, mes enfans, + ne me pleurez pas; ne m’oubliez pas, mais souvenez-vous surtout de ne + jamais offenser Dieu.” (“My wife, my children, weep not for me; forget me + not, but remember above everything never to offend God.)—Ed.) + </p> + <p> + “Ah, is it possible! You are one of that theurgic brotherhood?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, I attended their ceremonies but to see how vainly they sought to + revive the ancient marvels of the cabala.” + </p> + <p> + “Such studies please you? I have shaken off the influence they once had on + my own imagination.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not shaken it off,” returned the stranger, bravely; “it is on + you still,—on you at this hour; it beats in your heart; it kindles + in your reason; it will speak in your tongue!” + </p> + <p> + And then, with a yet lower voice, the stranger continued to address him, + to remind him of certain ceremonies and doctrines,—to explain and + enforce them by references to the actual experience and history of his + listener, which Cazotte thrilled to find so familiar to a stranger. + </p> + <p> + Gradually the old man’s pleasing and benevolent countenance grew overcast, + and he turned, from time to time, searching, curious, uneasy glances + towards his companion. + </p> + <p> + The charming Duchesse de G— archly pointed out to the lively guests + the abstracted air and clouded brow of the poet; and Condorcet, who liked + no one else to be remarked, when he himself was present, said to Cazotte, + “Well, and what do YOU predict of the Revolution,—how, at least, + will it affect us?” + </p> + <p> + At that question Cazotte started; his cheeks grew pale, large drops stood + on his forehead; his lips writhed; his gay companions gazed on him in + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Speak!” whispered the stranger, laying his hand gently upon the arm of + the old wit. + </p> + <p> + At that word Cazotte’s face grew locked and rigid, his eyes dwelt vacantly + on space, and in a low, hollow voice, he thus answered + </p> + <p> + (The following prophecy (not unfamiliar, perhaps, to some of my readers), + with some slight variations, and at greater length, in the text of the + authority I am about to cite, is to be found in La Harpe’s posthumous + works. The MS. is said to exist still in La Harpe’s handwriting, and the + story is given on M. Petitot’s authority, volume i. page 62. It is not for + me to enquire if there be doubts of its foundation on fact.—Ed.),— + </p> + <p> + “You ask how it will affect yourselves,—you, its most learned, and + its least selfish agents. I will answer: you, Marquis de Condorcet, will + die in prison, but not by the hand of the executioner. In the peaceful + happiness of that day, the philosopher will carry about with him not the + elixir but the poison.” + </p> + <p> + “My poor Cazotte,” said Condorcet, with his gentle smile, “what have + prisons, executioners, and poison to do with an age of liberty and + brotherhood?” + </p> + <p> + “It is in the names of Liberty and Brotherhood that the prisons will reek, + and the headsman be glutted.” + </p> + <p> + “You are thinking of priestcraft, not philosophy, Cazotte,” said + Champfort. + </p> + <p> + (Champfort, one of those men of letters who, though misled by the first + fair show of the Revolution, refused to follow the baser men of action + into its horrible excesses, lived to express the murderous philanthropy of + its agents by the best bon mot of the time. Seeing written on the walls, + “Fraternite ou la Mort,” he observed that the sentiment should be + translated thus, “Sois mon frere, ou je te tue.” (“Be my brother, or I + kill thee.”)) “And what of me?” + </p> + <p> + “You will open your own veins to escape the fraternity of Cain. Be + comforted; the last drops will not follow the razor. For you, venerable + Malesherbes; for you, Aimar Nicolai; for you, learned Bailly,—I see + them dress the scaffold! And all the while, O great philosophers, your + murderers will have no word but philosophy on their lips!” + </p> + <p> + The hush was complete and universal when the pupil of Voltaire—the + prince of the academic sceptics, hot La Harpe—cried with a sarcastic + laugh, “Do not flatter me, O prophet, by exemption from the fate of my + companions. Shall <i>I</i> have no part to play in this drama of your + fantasies.” + </p> + <p> + At this question, Cazotte’s countenance lost its unnatural expression of + awe and sternness; the sardonic humour most common to it came back and + played in his brightening eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, La Harpe, the most wonderful part of all! YOU will become—a + Christian!” + </p> + <p> + This was too much for the audience that a moment before seemed grave and + thoughtful, and they burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, while + Cazotte, as if exhausted by his predictions, sank back in his chair, and + breathed hard and heavily. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Madame de G—, “you who have predicted such grave things + concerning us, must prophesy something also about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + A convulsive tremor shook the involuntary prophet,—it passed, and + left his countenance elevated by an expression of resignation and calm. + “Madame,” said he, after a long pause, “during the siege of Jerusalem, we + are told by its historian that a man, for seven successive days, went + round the ramparts, exclaiming, ‘Woe to thee, Jerusalem,—woe to + myself!’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Cazotte, well?” + </p> + <p> + “And on the seventh day, while he thus spoke, a stone from the machines of + the Romans dashed him into atoms!” + </p> + <p> + With these words, Cazotte rose; and the guests, awed in spite of + themselves, shortly afterwards broke up and retired. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Qui donc t’a donne la mission s’annoncer au peuple que la + divinite n’existe pas? Quel avantage trouves-tu a persuader a + l’homme qu’une force aveugle preside a ses destinees et frappe au + hasard le crime et la vertu?—Robespierre, “Discours,” Mai 7, + 1794. + + (Who then invested you with the mission to announce to the people + that there is no God? What advantage find you in persuading man + that nothing but blind force presides over his destinies, and + strikes haphazard both crime and virtue?) +</pre> + <p> + It was some time before midnight when the stranger returned home. His + apartments were situated in one of those vast abodes which may be called + an epitome of Paris itself,—the cellars rented by mechanics, + scarcely removed a step from paupers, often by outcasts and fugitives from + the law, often by some daring writer, who, after scattering amongst the + people doctrines the most subversive of order, or the most libellous on + the characters of priest, minister, and king, retired amongst the rats, to + escape the persecution that attends the virtuous; the ground-floor + occupied by shops; the entresol by artists; the principal stories by + nobles; and the garrets by journeymen or grisettes. + </p> + <p> + As the stranger passed up the stairs, a young man of a form and + countenance singularly unprepossessing emerged from a door in the + entresol, and brushed beside him. His glance was furtive, sinister, + savage, and yet timorous; the man’s face was of an ashen paleness, and the + features worked convulsively. The stranger paused, and observed him with + thoughtful looks, as he hurried down the stairs. While he thus stood, he + heard a groan from the room which the young man had just quitted; the + latter had pulled to the door with hasty vehemence, but some fragment, + probably of fuel, had prevented its closing, and it now stood slightly + ajar; the stranger pushed it open and entered. He passed a small anteroom, + meanly furnished, and stood in a bedchamber of meagre and sordid + discomfort. Stretched on the bed, and writhing in pain, lay an old man; a + single candle lit the room, and threw its feeble ray over the furrowed and + death-like face of the sick person. No attendant was by; he seemed left + alone, to breathe his last. “Water,” he moaned feebly,—“water:—I + parch,—I burn!” The intruder approached the bed, bent over him, and + took his hand. “Oh, bless thee, Jean, bless thee!” said the sufferer; + “hast thou brought back the physician already? Sir, I am poor, but I can + pay you well. I would not die yet, for that young man’s sake.” And he sat + upright in his bed, and fixed his dim eyes anxiously on his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “What are your symptoms, your disease?” + </p> + <p> + “Fire, fire, fire in the heart, the entrails: I burn!” + </p> + <p> + “How long is it since you have taken food?” + </p> + <p> + “Food! only this broth. There is the basin, all I have taken these six + hours. I had scarce drunk it ere these pains began.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger looked at the basin; some portion of the contents was yet + left there. + </p> + <p> + “Who administered this to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Jean! Who else should? I have no servant,—none! I am poor, + very poor, sir. But no! you physicians do not care for the poor. I AM + RICH! can you cure me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if Heaven permit. Wait but a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + The old man was fast sinking under the rapid effects of poison. The + stranger repaired to his own apartments, and returned in a few moments + with some preparation that had the instant result of an antidote. The pain + ceased, the blue and livid colour receded from the lips; the old man fell + into a profound sleep. The stranger drew the curtains round the bed, took + up the light, and inspected the apartment. The walls of both rooms were + hung with drawings of masterly excellence. A portfolio was filled with + sketches of equal skill,—but these last were mostly subjects that + appalled the eye and revolted the taste: they displayed the human figure + in every variety of suffering,—the rack, the wheel, the gibbet; all + that cruelty has invented to sharpen the pangs of death seemed yet more + dreadful from the passionate gusto and earnest force of the designer. And + some of the countenances of those thus delineated were sufficiently + removed from the ideal to show that they were portraits; in a large, bold, + irregular hand was written beneath these drawings, “The Future of the + Aristocrats.” In a corner of the room, and close by an old bureau, was a + small bundle, over which, as if to hide it, a cloak was thrown carelessly. + Several shelves were filled with books; these were almost entirely the + works of the philosophers of the time,—the philosophers of the + material school, especially the Encyclopedistes, whom Robespierre + afterwards so singularly attacked when the coward deemed it unsafe to + leave his reign without a God. + </p> + <p> + (“Cette secte (les Encyclopedistes) propagea avec beaucoup de zele + l’opinion du materialisme, qui prevalut parmi les grands et parmi les + beaux esprits; on lui doit en partie cette espece de philosophie pratique + qui, reduisant l’Egoisme en systeme regarde la societe humaine comme une + guerre de ruse, le succes comme la regle du juste et de l’injuste, la + probite comme une affaire de gout, ou de bienseance, le monde comme le + patrimoine des fripons adroits.”—“Discours de Robespierre,” Mai 7, + 1794. (This sect (the Encyclopaedists) propagate with much zeal the + doctrine of materialism, which prevails among the great and the wits; we + owe to it partly that kind of practical philosophy which, reducing Egotism + to a system, looks upon society as a war of cunning; success the rule of + right and wrong, honesty as an affair of taste or decency: and the world + as the patrimony of clever scoundrels.)) + </p> + <p> + A volume lay on a table,—it was one of Voltaire, and the page was + opened at his argumentative assertion of the existence of the Supreme + Being. (“Histoire de Jenni.”) The margin was covered with pencilled notes, + in the stiff but tremulous hand of old age; all in attempt to refute or to + ridicule the logic of the sage of Ferney: Voltaire did not go far enough + for the annotator! The clock struck two, when the sound of steps was heard + without. The stranger silently seated himself on the farther side of the + bed, and its drapery screened him, as he sat, from the eyes of a man who + now entered on tiptoe; it was the same person who had passed him on the + stairs. The new-comer took up the candle and approached the bed. The old + man’s face was turned to the pillow; but he lay so still, and his + breathing was so inaudible, that his sleep might well, by that hasty, + shrinking, guilty glance, be mistaken for the repose of death. The + new-comer drew back, and a grim smile passed over his face: he replaced + the candle on the table, opened the bureau with a key which he took from + his pocket, and loaded himself with several rouleaus of gold that he found + in the drawers. At this time the old man began to wake. He stirred, he + looked up; he turned his eyes towards the light now waning in its socket; + he saw the robber at his work; he sat erect for an instant, as if + transfixed, more even by astonishment than terror. At last he sprang from + his bed. + </p> + <p> + “Just Heaven! do I dream! Thou—thou—thou, for whom I toiled + and starved!—THOU!” + </p> + <p> + The robber started; the gold fell from his hand, and rolled on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he said, “art thou not dead yet? Has the poison failed?” + </p> + <p> + “Poison, boy! Ah!” shrieked the old man, and covered his face with his + hands; then, with sudden energy, he exclaimed, “Jean! Jean! recall that + word. Rob, plunder me if thou wilt, but do not say thou couldst murder one + who only lived for thee! There, there, take the gold; I hoarded it but for + thee. Go! go!” and the old man, who in his passion had quitted his bed, + fell at the feet of the foiled assassin, and writhed on the ground,—the + mental agony more intolerable than that of the body, which he had so + lately undergone. The robber looked at him with a hard disdain. “What have + I ever done to thee, wretch?” cried the old man,—“what but loved and + cherished thee? Thou wert an orphan,—an outcast. I nurtured, nursed, + adopted thee as my son. If men call me a miser, it was but that none might + despise thee, my heir, because Nature has stunted and deformed thee, when + I was no more. Thou wouldst have had all when I was dead. Couldst thou not + spare me a few months or days,—nothing to thy youth, all that is + left to my age? What have I done to thee?” + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast continued to live, and thou wouldst make no will.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” + </p> + <p> + “TON DIEU! Thy God! Fool! Hast thou not told me, from my childhood, that + there is NO God? Hast thou not fed me on philosophy? Hast thou not said, + ‘Be virtuous, be good, be just, for the sake of mankind: but there is no + life after this life’? Mankind! why should I love mankind? Hideous and + misshapen, mankind jeer at me as I pass the streets. What hast thou done + to me? Thou hast taken away from me, who am the scoff of this world, the + hopes of another! Is there no other life? Well, then, I want thy gold, + that at least I may hasten to make the best of this!” + </p> + <p> + “Monster! Curses light on thy ingratitude, thy—” + </p> + <p> + “And who hears thy curses? Thou knowest there is no God! Mark me; I have + prepared all to fly. See,—I have my passport; my horses wait + without; relays are ordered. I have thy gold.” (And the wretch, as he + spoke, continued coldly to load his person with the rouleaus). “And now, + if I spare thy life, how shall I be sure that thou wilt not inform against + mine?” He advanced with a gloomy scowl and a menacing gesture as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + The old man’s anger changed to fear. He cowered before the savage. “Let me + live! let me live!—that—that—” + </p> + <p> + “That—what?” + </p> + <p> + “I may pardon thee! Yes, thou hast nothing to fear from me. I swear it!” + </p> + <p> + “Swear! But by whom and what, old man? I cannot believe thee, if thou + believest not in any God! Ha, ha! behold the result of thy lessons.” + </p> + <p> + Another moment and those murderous fingers would have strangled their + prey. But between the assassin and his victim rose a form that seemed + almost to both a visitor from the world that both denied,—stately + with majestic strength, glorious with awful beauty. + </p> + <p> + The ruffian recoiled, looked, trembled, and then turned and fled from the + chamber. The old man fell again to the ground insensible. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To know how a bad man will act when in power, reverse all the + doctrines he preaches when obscure.—S. Montague. + + Antipathies also form a part of magic (falsely) so-called. Man + naturally has the same instinct as the animals, which warns them + involuntarily against the creatures that are hostile or fatal to + their existence. But HE so often neglects it, that it becomes + dormant. Not so the true cultivator of the Great Science, etc. + + —Trismegistus the Fourth (a Rosicrucian). +</pre> + <p> + When he again saw the old man the next day, the stranger found him calm, + and surprisingly recovered from the scene and sufferings of the night. He + expressed his gratitude to his preserver with tearful fervour, and stated + that he had already sent for a relation who would make arrangements for + his future safety and mode of life. “For I have money yet left,” said the + old man; “and henceforth have no motive to be a miser.” He proceeded then + briefly to relate the origin and circumstances of his connection with his + intended murderer. + </p> + <p> + It seems that in earlier life he had quarrelled with his relations,—from + a difference in opinions of belief. Rejecting all religion as a fable, he + yet cultivated feelings that inclined him—for though his intellect + was weak, his dispositions were good—to that false and exaggerated + sensibility which its dupes so often mistake for benevolence. He had no + children; he resolved to adopt an enfant du peuple. He resolved to educate + this boy according to “reason.” He selected an orphan of the lowest + extraction, whose defects of person and constitution only yet the more + moved his pity, and finally engrossed his affection. In this outcast he + not only loved a son, he loved a theory! He brought him up most + philosophically. Helvetius had proved to him that education can do all; + and before he was eight years old, the little Jean’s favourite expressions + were, “La lumiere et la vertu.” (Light and virtue.) The boy showed + talents, especially in art. + </p> + <p> + The protector sought for a master who was as free from “superstition” as + himself, and selected the painter David. That person, as hideous as his + pupil, and whose dispositions were as vicious as his professional + abilities were undeniable, was certainly as free from “superstition” as + the protector could desire. It was reserved for Robespierre hereafter to + make the sanguinary painter believe in the Etre Supreme. The boy was early + sensible of his ugliness, which was almost preternatural. His benefactor + found it in vain to reconcile him to the malice of Nature by his + philosophical aphorisms; but when he pointed out to him that in this world + money, like charity, covers a multitude of defects, the boy listened + eagerly and was consoled. To save money for his protege,—for the + only thing in the world he loved,—this became the patron’s passion. + Verily, he had met with his reward. + </p> + <p> + “But I am thankful he has escaped,” said the old man, wiping his eyes. + “Had he left me a beggar, I could never have accused him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, for you are the author of his crimes.” + </p> + <p> + “How! I, who never ceased to inculcate the beauty of virtue? Explain + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! if thy pupil did not make this clear to thee last night from his + own lips, an angel might come from heaven to preach to thee in vain.” + </p> + <p> + The old man moved uneasily, and was about to reply, when the relative he + had sent for—and who, a native of Nancy, happened to be at Paris at + the time—entered the room. He was a man somewhat past thirty, and of + a dry, saturnine, meagre countenance, restless eyes, and compressed lips. + He listened, with many ejaculations of horror, to his relation’s recital, + and sought earnestly, but in vain, to induce him to give information + against his protege. + </p> + <p> + “Tush, tush, Rene Dumas!” said the old man, “you are a lawyer. You are + bred to regard human life with contempt. Let any man break a law, and you + shout, ‘Execute him!’” + </p> + <p> + “I!” cried Dumas, lifting up his hands and eyes: “venerable sage, how you + misjudge me! I lament more than any one the severity of our code. I think + the state never should take away life,—no, not even the life of a + murderer. I agree with that young statesman,—Maximilien Robespierre,—that + the executioner is the invention of the tyrant. My very attachment to our + advancing revolution is, that it must sweep away this legal butchery.” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer paused, out of breath. The stranger regarded him fixedly and + turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “You change countenance, sir,” said Dumas; “you do not agree with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I was at that moment repressing a vague fear which seemed + prophetic.” + </p> + <p> + “And that—” + </p> + <p> + “Was that we should meet again, when your opinions on Death and the + philosophy of Revolutions might be different.” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” + </p> + <p> + “You enchant me, Cousin Rene,” said the old man, who had listened to his + relation with delight. “Ah, I see you have proper sentiments of justice + and philanthropy. Why did I not seek to know you before? You admire the + Revolution;—you, equally with me, detest the barbarity of kings and + the fraud of priests?” + </p> + <p> + “Detest! How could I love mankind if I did not?” + </p> + <p> + “And,” said the old man, hesitatingly, “you do not think, with this noble + gentleman, that I erred in the precepts I instilled into that wretched + man?” + </p> + <p> + “Erred! Was Socrates to blame if Alcibiades was an adulterer and a + traitor?” + </p> + <p> + “You hear him, you hear him! But Socrates had also a Plato; henceforth you + shall be a Plato to me. You hear him?” exclaimed the old man, turning to + the stranger. + </p> + <p> + But the latter was at the threshold. Who shall argue with the most + stubborn of all bigotries,—the fanaticism of unbelief? + </p> + <p> + “Are you going?” exclaimed Dumas, “and before I have thanked you, blessed + you, for the life of this dear and venerable man? Oh, if ever I can repay + you,—if ever you want the heart’s blood of Rene Dumas!” Thus volubly + delivering himself, he followed the stranger to the threshold of the + second chamber, and there, gently detaining him, and after looking over + his shoulder, to be sure that he was not heard by the owner, he whispered, + “I ought to return to Nancy. One would not lose one’s time,—you + don’t think, sir, that that scoundrel took away ALL the old fool’s money?” + </p> + <p> + “Was it thus Plato spoke of Socrates, Monsieur Dumas?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha!—you are caustic. Well, you have a right. Sir, we shall meet + again.” + </p> + <p> + “AGAIN!” muttered the stranger, and his brow darkened. He hastened to his + chamber; he passed the day and the night alone, and in studies, no matter + of what nature,—they served to increase his gloom. + </p> + <p> + What could ever connect his fate with Rene Dumas, or the fugitive + assassin? Why did the buoyant air of Paris seem to him heavy with the + steams of blood; why did an instinct urge him to fly from those sparkling + circles, from that focus of the world’s awakened hopes, warning him from + return?—he, whose lofty existence defied—but away these dreams + and omens! He leaves France behind. Back, O Italy, to thy majestic wrecks! + On the Alps his soul breathes the free air once more. Free air! Alas! let + the world-healers exhaust their chemistry; man never shall be as free in + the marketplace as on the mountain. But we, reader, we too escape from + these scenes of false wisdom clothing godless crime. Away, once more + </p> + <p> + “In den heitern Regionen Wo die reinen Formen wohnen.” + </p> + <p> + Away, to the loftier realm where the pure dwellers are. Unpolluted by the + Actual, the Ideal lives only with Art and Beauty. Sweet Viola, by the + shores of the blue Parthenope, by Virgil’s tomb, and the Cimmerian cavern, + we return to thee once more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Che non vuol che ‘l destrier piu vada in alto, + Poi lo lega nel margine marino + A un verde mirto in mezzo un lauro E UN PINO. + “Orlando Furioso,” c. vi. xxiii. + + (As he did not wish that his charger (the hippogriff) should take + any further excursions into the higher regions for the present, + he bound him at the sea-shore to a green myrtle between a laurel + and a pine.) +</pre> + <p> + O Musician! art thou happy now? Thou art reinstalled at thy stately desk,—thy + faithful barbiton has its share in the triumph. It is thy masterpiece + which fills thy ear; it is thy daughter who fills the scene,—the + music, the actress, so united, that applause to one is applause to both. + They make way for thee, at the orchestra,—they no longer jeer and + wink, when, with a fierce fondness, thou dost caress thy Familiar, that + plains, and wails, and chides, and growls, under thy remorseless hand. + They understand now how irregular is ever the symmetry of real genius. The + inequalities in its surface make the moon luminous to man. Giovanni + Paisiello, Maestro di Capella, if thy gentle soul could know envy, thou + must sicken to see thy Elfrida and thy Pirro laid aside, and all Naples + turned fanatic to the Siren, at whose measures shook querulously thy + gentle head! But thou, Paisiello, calm in the long prosperity of fame, + knowest that the New will have its day, and comfortest thyself that the + Elfrida and the Pirro will live forever. Perhaps a mistake, but it is by + such mistakes that true genius conquers envy. “To be immortal,” says + Schiller, “live in the whole.” To be superior to the hour, live in thy + self-esteem. The audience now would give their ears for those variations + and flights they were once wont to hiss. No!—Pisani has been + two-thirds of a life at silent work on his masterpiece: there is nothing + he can add to THAT, however he might have sought to improve on the + masterpieces of others. Is not this common? The least little critic, in + reviewing some work of art, will say, “pity this, and pity that;” “this + should have been altered,—that omitted.” Yea, with his wiry + fiddlestring will he creak out his accursed variations. But let him sit + down and compose himself. He sees no improvement in variations THEN! Every + man can control his fiddle when it is his own work with which its vagaries + would play the devil. + </p> + <p> + And Viola is the idol, the theme of Naples. She is the spoiled sultana of + the boards. To spoil her acting may be easy enough,—shall they spoil + her nature? No, I think not. There, at home, she is still good and simple; + and there, under the awning by the doorway,—there she still sits, + divinely musing. How often, crook-trunked tree, she looks to thy green + boughs; how often, like thee, in her dreams, and fancies, does she + struggle for the light,—not the light of the stage-lamps. Pooh, + child! be contented with the lamps, even with the rush-lights. A farthing + candle is more convenient for household purposes than the stars. + </p> + <p> + Weeks passed, and the stranger did not reappear; months had passed, and + his prophecy of sorrow was not yet fulfilled. One evening Pisani was taken + ill. His success had brought on the long-neglected composer pressing + applications for concerti and sonata, adapted to his more peculiar science + on the violin. He had been employed for some weeks, day and night, on a + piece in which he hoped to excel himself. He took, as usual, one of those + seemingly impracticable subjects which it was his pride to subject to the + expressive powers of his art,—the terrible legend connected with the + transformation of Philomel. The pantomime of sound opened with the gay + merriment of a feast. The monarch of Thrace is at his banquet; a sudden + discord brays through the joyous notes,—the string seems to screech + with horror. The king learns the murder of his son by the hands of the + avenging sisters. Swift rage the chords, through the passions of fear, of + horror, of fury, and dismay. The father pursues the sisters. Hark! what + changes the dread—the discord—into that long, silvery, + mournful music? The transformation is completed; and Philomel, now the + nightingale, pours from the myrtle-bough the full, liquid, subduing notes + that are to tell evermore to the world the history of her woes and wrongs. + Now, it was in the midst of this complicated and difficult attempt that + the health of the over-tasked musician, excited alike by past triumph and + new ambition, suddenly gave way. He was taken ill at night. The next + morning the doctor pronounced that his disease was a malignant and + infectious fever. His wife and Viola shared in their tender watch; but + soon that task was left to the last alone. The Signora Pisani caught the + infection, and in a few hours was even in a state more alarming than that + of her husband. The Neapolitans, in common with the inhabitants of all + warm climates, are apt to become selfish and brutal in their dread of + infectious disorders. Gionetta herself pretended to be ill, to avoid the + sick-chamber. The whole labour of love and sorrow fell on Viola. It was a + terrible trial,—I am willing to hurry over the details. The wife + died first! + </p> + <p> + One day, a little before sunset, Pisani woke partially recovered from the + delirium which had preyed upon him, with few intervals, since the second + day of the disease; and casting about him his dizzy and feeble eyes, he + recognised Viola, and smiled. He faltered her name as he rose and + stretched his arms. She fell upon his breast, and strove to suppress her + tears. + </p> + <p> + “Thy mother?” he said. “Does she sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “She sleeps,—ah, yes!” and the tears gushed forth. + </p> + <p> + “I thought—eh! I know not WHAT I have thought. But do not weep: I + shall be well now,—quite well. She will come to me when she wakes,—will + she?” + </p> + <p> + Viola could not speak; but she busied herself in pouring forth an anodyne, + which she had been directed to give the sufferer as soon as the delirium + should cease. The doctor had told her, too, to send for him the instant so + important a change should occur. + </p> + <p> + She went to the door and called to the woman who, during Gionetta’s + pretended illness, had been induced to supply her place; but the hireling + answered not. She flew through the chambers to search for her in vain,—the + hireling had caught Gionetta’s fears, and vanished. What was to be done? + The case was urgent,—the doctor had declared not a moment should be + lost in obtaining his attendance; she must leave her father,—she + must go herself! She crept back into the room,—the anodyne seemed + already to have taken benign effect; the patient’s eyes were closed, and + he breathed regularly, as in sleep. She stole away, threw her veil over + her face, and hurried from the house. + </p> + <p> + Now the anodyne had not produced the effect which it appeared to have + done; instead of healthful sleep, it had brought on a kind of light-headed + somnolence, in which the mind, preternaturally restless, wandered about + its accustomed haunts, waking up its old familiar instincts and + inclinations. It was not sleep,—it was not delirium; it was the + dream-wakefulness which opium sometimes induces, when every nerve grows + tremulously alive, and creates a corresponding activity in the frame, to + which it gives a false and hectic vigour. Pisani missed something,—what, + he scarcely knew; it was a combination of the two wants most essential to + his mental life,—the voice of his wife, the touch of his Familiar. + He rose,—he left his bed, he leisurely put on his old dressing-robe, + in which he had been wont to compose. He smiled complacently as the + associations connected with the garment came over his memory; he walked + tremulously across the room, and entered the small cabinet next to his + chamber, in which his wife had been accustomed more often to watch than + sleep, when illness separated her from his side. The room was desolate and + void. He looked round wistfully, and muttered to himself, and then + proceeded regularly, and with a noiseless step, through the chambers of + the silent house, one by one. + </p> + <p> + He came at last to that in which old Gionetta—faithful to her own + safety, if nothing else—nursed herself, in the remotest corner of + the house, from the danger of infection. As he glided in,—wan, + emaciated, with an uneasy, anxious, searching look in his haggard eyes,—the + old woman shrieked aloud, and fell at his feet. He bent over her, passed + his thin hands along her averted face, shook his head, and said in a + hollow voice,— + </p> + <p> + “I cannot find them; where are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Who, dear master? Oh, have compassion on yourself; they are not here. + Blessed saints! this is terrible; he has touched me; I am dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Dead! who is dead? Is any one dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! don’t talk so; you must know it well: my poor mistress,—she + caught the fever from you; it is infectious enough to kill a whole city. + San Gennaro protect me! My poor mistress, she is dead,—buried, too; + and I, your faithful Gionetta, woe is me! Go, go—to—to bed + again, dearest master,—go!” + </p> + <p> + The poor musician stood for one moment mute and unmoving, then a slight + shiver ran through his frame; he turned and glided back, silent and + spectre-like, as he had entered. He came into the room where he had been + accustomed to compose,—where his wife, in her sweet patience, had so + often sat by his side, and praised and flattered when the world had but + jeered and scorned. In one corner he found the laurel-wreath she had + placed on his brows that happy night of fame and triumph; and near it, + half hid by her mantilla, lay in its case the neglected instrument. + </p> + <p> + Viola was not long gone: she had found the physician; she returned with + him; and as they gained the threshold, they heard a strain of music from + within,—a strain of piercing, heart-rending anguish. It was not like + some senseless instrument, mechanical in its obedience to a human hand,—it + was as some spirit calling, in wail and agony from the forlorn shades, to + the angels it beheld afar beyond the Eternal Gulf. They exchanged glances + of dismay. They hurried into the house; they hastened into the room. + Pisani turned, and his look, full of ghastly intelligence and stern + command, awed them back. The black mantilla, the faded laurel-leaf, lay + there before him. Viola’s heart guessed all at a single glance; she sprung + to his knees; she clasped them,—“Father, father, <i>I</i> am left + thee still!” + </p> + <p> + The wail ceased,—the note changed; with a confused association—half + of the man, half of the artist—the anguish, still a melody, was + connected with sweeter sounds and thoughts. The nightingale had escaped + the pursuit,—soft, airy, bird-like, thrilled the delicious notes a + moment, and then died away. The instrument fell to the floor, and its + chords snapped. You heard that sound through the silence. The artist + looked on his kneeling child, and then on the broken chords... “Bury me by + her side,” he said, in a very calm, low voice; “and THAT by mine.” And + with these words his whole frame became rigid, as if turned to stone. The + last change passed over his face. He fell to the ground, sudden and heavy. + The chords THERE, too,—the chords of the human instrument were + snapped asunder. As he fell, his robe brushed the laurel-wreath, and that + fell also, near but not in reach of the dead man’s nerveless hand. + </p> + <p> + Broken instrument, broken heart, withered laurel-wreath!—the setting + sun through the vine-clad lattice streamed on all! So smiles the eternal + Nature on the wrecks of all that make life glorious! And not a sun that + sets not somewhere on the silenced music,—on the faded laurel! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 1.X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Che difesa miglior ch’ usbergo e scudo, + E la santa innocenza al petto ignudo! + “Ger. Lib.,” c. viii. xli. + + (Better defence than shield or breastplate is holy innocence + to the naked breast.) +</pre> + <p> + And they buried the musician and his barbiton together, in the same + coffin. That famous Steiner—primeval Titan of the great Tyrolese + race—often hast thou sought to scale the heavens, and therefore must + thou, like the meaner children of men, descend to the dismal Hades! Harder + fate for thee than thy mortal master. For THY soul sleeps with thee in the + coffin. And the music that belongs to HIS, separate from the instrument, + ascends on high, to be heard often by a daughter’s pious ears when the + heaven is serene and the earth sad. For there is a sense of hearing that + the vulgar know not. And the voices of the dead breathe soft and frequent + to those who can unite the memory with the faith. + </p> + <p> + And now Viola is alone in the world,—alone in the home where + loneliness had seemed from the cradle a thing that was not of nature. And + at first the solitude and the stillness were insupportable. Have you, ye + mourners, to whom these sibyl leaves, weird with many a dark enigma, shall + be borne, have you not felt that when the death of some best-loved one has + made the hearth desolate,—have you not felt as if the gloom of the + altered home was too heavy for thought to bear?—you would leave it, + though a palace, even for a cabin. And yet,—sad to say,—when + you obey the impulse, when you fly from the walls, when in the strange + place in which you seek your refuge nothing speaks to you of the lost, + have ye not felt again a yearning for that very food to memory which was + just before but bitterness and gall? Is it not almost impious and profane + to abandon that dear hearth to strangers? And the desertion of the home + where your parents dwelt, and blessed you, upbraids your conscience as if + you had sold their tombs. + </p> + <p> + Beautiful was the Etruscan superstition that the ancestors become the + household gods. Deaf is the heart to which the Lares call from the + desolate floors in vain. At first Viola had, in her intolerable anguish, + gratefully welcomed the refuge which the house and family of a kindly + neighbour, much attached to her father, and who was one of the orchestra + that Pisani shall perplex no more, had proffered to the orphan. But the + company of the unfamiliar in our grief, the consolation of the stranger, + how it irritates the wound! And then, to hear elsewhere the name of + father, mother, child,—as if death came alone to you,—to see + elsewhere the calm regularity of those lives united in love and order, + keeping account of happy hours, the unbroken timepiece of home, as if + nowhere else the wheels were arrested, the chain shattered, the hands + motionless, the chime still! No, the grave itself does not remind us of + our loss like the company of those who have no loss to mourn. Go back to + thy solitude, young orphan,—go back to thy home: the sorrow that + meets thee on the threshold can greet thee, even in its sadness, like the + smile upon the face of the dead. And there, from thy casement, and there, + from without thy door, thou seest still the tree, solitary as thyself, and + springing from the clefts of the rock, but forcing its way to light,—as, + through all sorrow, while the seasons yet can renew the verdure and bloom + of youth, strives the instinct of the human heart! Only when the sap is + dried up, only when age comes on, does the sun shine in vain for man and + for the tree. + </p> + <p> + Weeks and months—months sad and many—again passed, and Naples + will not longer suffer its idol to seclude itself from homage. The world + ever plucks us back from ourselves with a thousand arms. And again Viola’s + voice is heard upon the stage, which, mystically faithful to life, is in + nought more faithful than this, that it is the appearances that fill the + scene; and we pause not to ask of what realities they are the proxies. + When the actor of Athens moved all hearts as he clasped the burial urn, + and burst into broken sobs; how few, there, knew that it held the ashes of + his son! Gold, as well as fame, was showered upon the young actress; but + she still kept to her simple mode of life, to her lowly home, to the one + servant whose faults, selfish as they were, Viola was too inexperienced to + perceive. And it was Gionetta who had placed her when first born in her + father’s arms! She was surrounded by every snare, wooed by every + solicitation that could beset her unguarded beauty and her dangerous + calling. But her modest virtue passed unsullied through them all. It is + true that she had been taught by lips now mute the maiden duties enjoined + by honour and religion. And all love that spoke not of the altar only + shocked and repelled her. But besides that, as grief and solitude ripened + her heart, and made her tremble at times to think how deeply it could + feel, her vague and early visions shaped themselves into an ideal of love. + And till the ideal is found, how the shadow that it throws before it + chills us to the actual! With that ideal, ever and ever, unconsciously, + and with a certain awe and shrinking, came the shape and voice of the + warning stranger. Nearly two years had passed since he had appeared at + Naples. Nothing had been heard of him, save that his vessel had been + directed, some months after his departure, to sail for Leghorn. By the + gossips of Naples, his existence, supposed so extraordinary, was wellnigh + forgotten; but the heart of Viola was more faithful. Often he glided + through her dreams, and when the wind sighed through that fantastic tree, + associated with his remembrance, she started with a tremor and a blush, as + if she had heard him speak. + </p> + <p> + But amongst the train of her suitors was one to whom she listened more + gently than to the rest; partly because, perhaps, he spoke in her mother’s + native tongue; partly because in his diffidence there was little to alarm + and displease; partly because his rank, nearer to her own than that of + lordlier wooers, prevented his admiration from appearing insult; partly + because he himself, eloquent and a dreamer, often uttered thoughts that + were kindred to those buried deepest in her mind. She began to like, + perhaps to love him, but as a sister loves; a sort of privileged + familiarity sprung up between them. If in the Englishman’s breast arose + wild and unworthy hopes, he had not yet expressed them. Is there danger to + thee here, lone Viola, or is the danger greater in thy unfound ideal? + </p> + <p> + And now, as the overture to some strange and wizard spectacle, closes this + opening prelude. Wilt thou hear more? Come with thy faith prepared. I ask + not the blinded eyes, but the awakened sense. As the enchanted Isle, + remote from the homes of men,— + </p> + <p> + “Ove alcun legno Rado, o non mai va dalle nostre sponde,”—“Ger.Lib.,” + cant. xiv. 69. + </p> + <p> + (Where ship seldom or never comes from our coasts.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +is the space in the weary ocean of actual life to which the Muse or +Sibyl (ancient in years, but ever young in aspect), offers thee no +unhallowed sail,— + + “Quinci ella in cima a una montagna ascende + Disabitata, e d’ ombre oscura e bruna; + E par incanto a lei nevose rende + Le spalle e i fianchi; e sensa neve alcuna + Gli lascia il capo verdeggiante e vago; + E vi fonda un palagio appresso un lago.” + + (There, she a mountain’s lofty peak ascends, Unpeopled, + shady, shagg’d with forests brown, Whose sides, by power of + magic, half-way down She heaps with slippery ice and frost + and snow, But sunshiny and verdant leaves the crown With + orange-woods and myrtles,—speaks, and lo! Rich from the + bordering lake a palace rises slow. Wiffin’s “Translation.”) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II. — ART, LOVE, AND WONDER. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Diversi aspetti in un confusi e misti. + “Ger. Lib,” cant. iv. 7. + + Different appearances, confused and mixt in one. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Centauri, e Sfingi, e pallide Gorgoni. + “Ger. Lib.,” c. iv. v. + + (Centaurs and Sphinxes and pallid Gorgons.) +</pre> + <p> + One moonlit night, in the Gardens at Naples, some four or five gentleman + were seated under a tree, drinking their sherbet, and listening, in the + intervals of conversation, to the music which enlivened that gay and + favourite resort of an indolent population. One of this little party was a + young Englishman, who had been the life of the whole group, but who, for + the last few moments, had sunk into a gloomy and abstracted reverie. One + of his countrymen observed this sudden gloom, and, tapping him on the + back, said, “What ails you, Glyndon? Are you ill? You have grown quite + pale,—you tremble. Is it a sudden chill? You had better go home: + these Italian nights are often dangerous to our English constitutions.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am well now; it was a passing shudder. I cannot account for it + myself.” + </p> + <p> + A man, apparently of about thirty years of age, and of a mien and + countenance strikingly superior to those around him, turned abruptly, and + looked steadfastly at Glyndon. + </p> + <p> + “I think I understand what you mean,” said he; “and perhaps,” he added, + with a grave smile, “I could explain it better than yourself.” Here, + turning to the others, he added, “You must often have felt, gentlemen, + each and all of you, especially when sitting alone at night, a strange and + unaccountable sensation of coldness and awe creep over you; your blood + curdles, and the heart stands still; the limbs shiver; the hair bristles; + you are afraid to look up, to turn your eyes to the darker corners of the + room; you have a horrible fancy that something unearthly is at hand; + presently the whole spell, if I may so call it, passes away, and you are + ready to laugh at your own weakness. Have you not often felt what I have + thus imperfectly described?—if so, you can understand what our young + friend has just experienced, even amidst the delights of this magical + scene, and amidst the balmy whispers of a July night.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” replied Glyndon, evidently much surprised, “you have defined + exactly the nature of that shudder which came over me. But how could my + manner be so faithful an index to my impressions?” + </p> + <p> + “I know the signs of the visitation,” returned the stranger, gravely; + “they are not to be mistaken by one of my experience.” + </p> + <p> + All the gentleman present then declared that they could comprehend, and + had felt, what the stranger had described. + </p> + <p> + “According to one of our national superstitions,” said Mervale, the + Englishman who had first addressed Glyndon, “the moment you so feel your + blood creep, and your hair stand on end, some one is walking over the spot + which shall be your grave.” + </p> + <p> + “There are in all lands different superstitions to account for so common + an occurrence,” replied the stranger: “one sect among the Arabians holds + that at that instant God is deciding the hour either of your death, or of + some one dear to you. The African savage, whose imagination is darkened by + the hideous rites of his gloomy idolatry, believes that the Evil Spirit is + pulling you towards him by the hair: so do the Grotesque and the Terrible + mingle with each other.” + </p> + <p> + “It is evidently a mere physical accident,—a derangement of the + stomach, a chill of the blood,” said a young Neapolitan, with whom Glyndon + had formed a slight acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “Then why is it always coupled in all nations with some superstitious + presentiment or terror,—some connection between the material frame + and the supposed world without us? For my part, I think—” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, what do you think, sir?” asked Glyndon, curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” continued the stranger, “that it is the repugnance and horror + with which our more human elements recoil from something, indeed, + invisible, but antipathetic to our own nature; and from a knowledge of + which we are happily secured by the imperfection of our senses.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a believer in spirits, then?” said Mervale, with an incredulous + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, it was not precisely of spirits that I spoke; but there may be forms + of matter as invisible and impalpable to us as the animalculae in the air + we breathe,—in the water that plays in yonder basin. Such beings may + have passions and powers like our own—as the animalculae to which I + have compared them. The monster that lives and dies in a drop of water—carnivorous, + insatiable, subsisting on the creatures minuter than himself—is not + less deadly in his wrath, less ferocious in his nature, than the tiger of + the desert. There may be things around us that would be dangerous and + hostile to men, if Providence had not placed a wall between them and us, + merely by different modifications of matter.” + </p> + <p> + “And think you that wall never can be removed?” asked young Glyndon, + abruptly. “Are the traditions of sorcerer and wizard, universal and + immemorial as they are, merely fables?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps yes,—perhaps no,” answered the stranger, indifferently. + “But who, in an age in which the reason has chosen its proper bounds, + would be mad enough to break the partition that divides him from the boa + and the lion,—to repine at and rebel against the law which confines + the shark to the great deep? Enough of these idle speculations.” + </p> + <p> + Here the stranger rose, summoned the attendant, paid for his sherbet, and, + bowing slightly to the company, soon disappeared among the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that gentleman?” asked Glyndon, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + The rest looked at each other, without replying, for some moments. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw him before,” said Mervale, at last. + </p> + <p> + “Nor I.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I.” + </p> + <p> + “I know him well,” said the Neapolitan, who was, indeed, the Count Cetoxa. + “If you remember, it was as my companion that he joined you. He visited + Naples about two years ago, and has recently returned; he is very rich,—indeed, + enormously so. A most agreeable person. I am sorry to hear him talk so + strangely to-night; it serves to encourage the various foolish reports + that are circulated concerning him.” + </p> + <p> + “And surely,” said another Neapolitan, “the circumstance that occurred but + the other day, so well known to yourself, Cetoxa, justifies the reports + you pretend to deprecate.” + </p> + <p> + “Myself and my countryman,” said Glyndon, “mix so little in Neapolitan + society, that we lose much that appears well worthy of lively interest. + May I enquire what are the reports, and what is the circumstance you refer + to?” + </p> + <p> + “As to the reports, gentlemen,” said Cetoxa, courteously, addressing + himself to the two Englishmen, “it may suffice to observe, that they + attribute to the Signor Zanoni certain qualities which everybody desires + for himself, but damns any one else for possessing. The incident Signor + Belgioso alludes to, illustrates these qualities, and is, I must own, + somewhat startling. You probably play, gentlemen?” (Here Cetoxa paused; + and as both Englishmen had occasionally staked a few scudi at the public + gaming-tables, they bowed assent to the conjecture.) Cetoxa continued. + “Well, then, not many days since, and on the very day that Zanoni returned + to Naples, it so happened that I had been playing pretty high, and had + lost considerably. I rose from the table, resolved no longer to tempt + fortune, when I suddenly perceived Zanoni, whose acquaintance I had before + made (and who, I may say, was under some slight obligation to me), + standing by, a spectator. Ere I could express my gratification at this + unexpected recognition, he laid his hand on my arm. ‘You have lost much,’ + said he; ‘more than you can afford. For my part, I dislike play; yet I + wish to have some interest in what is going on. Will you play this sum for + me? the risk is mine,—the half profits yours.’ I was startled, as + you may suppose, at such an address; but Zanoni had an air and tone with + him it was impossible to resist; besides, I was burning to recover my + losses, and should not have risen had I had any money left about me. I + told him I would accept his offer, provided we shared the risk as well as + profits. ‘As you will,’ said he, smiling; ‘we need have no scruple, for + you will be sure to win.’ I sat down; Zanoni stood behind me; my luck + rose,—I invariably won. In fact, I rose from the table a rich man.” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no foul play at the public tables, especially when foul play + would make against the bank?” This question was put by Glyndon. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” replied the count. “But our good fortune was, indeed, + marvellous,—so extraordinary that a Sicilian (the Sicilians are all + ill-bred, bad-tempered fellows) grew angry and insolent. ‘Sir,’ said he, + turning to my new friend, ‘you have no business to stand so near to the + table. I do not understand this; you have not acted fairly.’ Zanoni + replied, with great composure, that he had done nothing against the rules,—that + he was very sorry that one man could not win without another man losing; + and that he could not act unfairly, even if disposed to do so. The + Sicilian took the stranger’s mildness for apprehension, and blustered more + loudly. In fact, he rose from the table, and confronted Zanoni in a manner + that, to say the least of it, was provoking to any gentleman who has some + quickness of temper, or some skill with the small-sword.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” interrupted Belgioso, “the most singular part of the whole to me + was, that this Zanoni, who stood opposite to where I sat, and whose face I + distinctly saw, made no remark, showed no resentment. He fixed his eyes + steadfastly on the Sicilian; never shall I forget that look! it is + impossible to describe it,—it froze the blood in my veins. The + Sicilian staggered back as if struck. I saw him tremble; he sank on the + bench. And then—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, then,” said Cetoxa, “to my infinite surprise, our gentleman, thus + disarmed by a look from Zanoni, turned his whole anger upon me, THE—but + perhaps you do not know, gentlemen, that I have some repute with my + weapon?” + </p> + <p> + “The best swordsman in Italy,” said Belgioso. + </p> + <p> + “Before I could guess why or wherefore,” resumed Cetoxa, “I found myself + in the garden behind the house, with Ughelli (that was the Sicilian’s + name) facing me, and five or six gentlemen, the witnesses of the duel + about to take place, around. Zanoni beckoned me aside. ‘This man will + fall,’ said he. ‘When he is on the ground, go to him, and ask whether he + will be buried by the side of his father in the church of San Gennaro?’ + ‘Do you then know his family?’ I asked with great surprise. Zanoni made me + no answer, and the next moment I was engaged with the Sicilian. To do him + justice, his imbrogliato was magnificent, and a swifter lounger never + crossed a sword; nevertheless,” added Cetoxa, with a pleasing modesty, “he + was run through the body. I went up to him; he could scarcely speak. ‘Have + you any request to make,—any affairs to settle?’ He shook his head. + ‘Where would you wish to be interred?’ He pointed towards the Sicilian + coast. ‘What!’ said I, in surprise, ‘NOT by the side of your father, in + the church of San Gennaro?’ As I spoke, his face altered terribly; he + uttered a piercing shriek,—the blood gushed from his mouth, and he + fell dead. The most strange part of the story is to come. We buried him in + the church of San Gennaro. In doing so, we took up his father’s coffin; + the lid came off in moving it, and the skeleton was visible. In the hollow + of the skull we found a very slender wire of sharp steel; this caused + surprise and inquiry. The father, who was rich and a miser, had died + suddenly, and been buried in haste, owing, it was said, to the heat of the + weather. Suspicion once awakened, the examination became minute. The old + man’s servant was questioned, and at last confessed that the son had + murdered the sire. The contrivance was ingenious: the wire was so slender + that it pierced to the brain, and drew but one drop of blood, which the + grey hairs concealed. The accomplice will be executed.” + </p> + <p> + “And Zanoni,—did he give evidence, did he account for—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” interrupted the count: “he declared that he had by accident visited + the church that morning; that he had observed the tombstone of the Count + Ughelli; that his guide had told him the count’s son was in Naples,—a + spendthrift and a gambler. While we were at play, he had heard the count + mentioned by name at the table; and when the challenge was given and + accepted, it had occurred to him to name the place of burial, by an + instinct which he either could not or would not account for.” + </p> + <p> + “A very lame story,” said Mervale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! but we Italians are superstitious,—the alleged instinct was + regarded by many as the whisper of Providence. The next day the stranger + became an object of universal interest and curiosity. His wealth, his + manner of living, his extraordinary personal beauty, have assisted also to + make him the rage; besides, I have had the pleasure in introducing so + eminent a person to our gayest cavaliers and our fairest ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “A most interesting narrative,” said Mervale, rising. “Come, Glyndon; + shall we seek our hotel? It is almost daylight. Adieu, signor!” + </p> + <p> + “What think you of this story?” said Glyndon, as the young men walked + homeward. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it is very clear that this Zanoni is some imposter,—some + clever rogue; and the Neapolitan shares the booty, and puffs him off with + all the hackneyed charlatanism of the marvellous. An unknown adventurer + gets into society by being made an object of awe and curiosity; he is more + than ordinarily handsome, and the women are quite content to receive him + without any other recommendation than his own face and Cetoxa’s fables.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot agree with you. Cetoxa, though a gambler and a rake, is a + nobleman of birth and high repute for courage and honour. Besides, this + stranger, with his noble presence and lofty air,—so calm, so + unobtrusive,—has nothing in common with the forward garrulity of an + imposter.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Glyndon, pardon me; but you have not yet acquired any knowledge + of the world! The stranger makes the best of a fine person, and his grand + air is but a trick of the trade. But to change the subject,—how + advances the love affair?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Viola could not see me to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not marry her. What would they all say at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us enjoy the present,” said Glyndon, with vivacity; “we are young, + rich, good-looking; let us not think of to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo, Glyndon! Here we are at the hotel. Sleep sound, and don’t dream of + Signor Zanoni.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Prende, giovine audace e impaziente, + L’occasione offerta avidamente. + “Ger. Lib.,” c. vi. xxix. + + (Take, youth, bold and impatient, the offered occasion eagerly.) +</pre> + <p> + Clarence Glyndon was a young man of fortune, not large, but easy and + independent. His parents were dead, and his nearest relation was an only + sister, left in England under the care of her aunt, and many years younger + than himself. Early in life he had evinced considerable promise in the art + of painting, and rather from enthusiasm than any pecuniary necessity for a + profession, he determined to devote himself to a career in which the + English artist generally commences with rapture and historical + composition, to conclude with avaricious calculation and portraits of + Alderman Simpkins. Glyndon was supposed by his friends to possess no + inconsiderable genius; but it was of a rash and presumptuous order. He was + averse from continuous and steady labour, and his ambition rather sought + to gather the fruit than to plant the tree. In common with many artists in + their youth, he was fond of pleasure and excitement, yielding with little + forethought to whatever impressed his fancy or appealed to his passions. + He had travelled through the more celebrated cities of Europe, with the + avowed purpose and sincere resolution of studying the divine masterpieces + of his art. But in each, pleasure had too often allured him from ambition, + and living beauty distracted his worship from the senseless canvas. Brave, + adventurous, vain, restless, inquisitive, he was ever involved in wild + projects and pleasant dangers,—the creature of impulse and the slave + of imagination. + </p> + <p> + It was then the period when a feverish spirit of change was working its + way to that hideous mockery of human aspirations, the Revolution of + France; and from the chaos into which were already jarring the sanctities + of the World’s Venerable Belief, arose many shapeless and unformed + chimeras. Need I remind the reader that, while that was the day for + polished scepticism and affected wisdom, it was the day also for the most + egregious credulity and the most mystical superstitions,—the day in + which magnetism and magic found converts amongst the disciples of Diderot; + when prophecies were current in every mouth; when the salon of a + philosophical deist was converted into an Heraclea, in which necromancy + professed to conjure up the shadows of the dead; when the Crosier and the + Book were ridiculed, and Mesmer and Cagliostro were believed. In that + Heliacal Rising, heralding the new sun before which all vapours were to + vanish, stalked from their graves in the feudal ages all the phantoms that + had flitted before the eyes of Paracelsus and Agrippa. Dazzled by the dawn + of the Revolution, Glyndon was yet more attracted by its strange + accompaniments; and natural it was with him, as with others, that the + fancy which ran riot amidst the hopes of a social Utopia, should grasp + with avidity all that promised, out of the dusty tracks of the beaten + science, the bold discoveries of some marvellous Elysium. + </p> + <p> + In his travels he had listened with vivid interest, at least, if not with + implicit belief, to the wonders told of each more renowned Ghost-seer, and + his mind was therefore prepared for the impression which the mysterious + Zanoni at first sight had produced upon it. + </p> + <p> + There might be another cause for this disposition to credulity. A remote + ancestor of Glyndon’s on the mother’s side, had achieved no inconsiderable + reputation as a philosopher and alchemist. Strange stories were afloat + concerning this wise progenitor. He was said to have lived to an age far + exceeding the allotted boundaries of mortal existence, and to have + preserved to the last the appearance of middle life. He had died at + length, it was supposed, of grief for the sudden death of a + great-grandchild, the only creature he had ever appeared to love. The + works of this philosopher, though rare, were extant, and found in the + library of Glyndon’s home. Their Platonic mysticism, their bold + assertions, the high promises that might be detected through their + figurative and typical phraseology, had early made a deep impression on + the young imagination of Clarence Glyndon. His parents, not alive to the + consequences of encouraging fancies which the very enlightenment of the + age appeared to them sufficient to prevent or dispel, were fond, in the + long winter nights, of conversing on the traditional history of this + distinguished progenitor. And Clarence thrilled with a fearful pleasure + when his mother playfully detected a striking likeness between the + features of the young heir and the faded portrait of the alchemist that + overhung their mantelpiece, and was the boast of their household and the + admiration of their friends,—the child is, indeed, more often than + we think for, “the father of the man.” + </p> + <p> + I have said that Glyndon was fond of pleasure. Facile, as genius ever must + be, to cheerful impression, his careless artist-life, ere artist-life + settles down to labour, had wandered from flower to flower. He had + enjoyed, almost to the reaction of satiety, the gay revelries of Naples, + when he fell in love with the face and voice of Viola Pisani. But his + love, like his ambition, was vague and desultory. It did not satisfy his + whole heart and fill up his whole nature; not from want of strong and + noble passions, but because his mind was not yet matured and settled + enough for their development. As there is one season for the blossom, + another for the fruit; so it is not till the bloom of fancy begins to + fade, that the heart ripens to the passions that the bloom precedes and + foretells. Joyous alike at his lonely easel or amidst his boon companions, + he had not yet known enough of sorrow to love deeply. For man must be + disappointed with the lesser things of life before he can comprehend the + full value of the greatest. It is the shallow sensualists of France, who, + in their salon-language, call love “a folly,”—love, better + understood, is wisdom. Besides, the world was too much with Clarence + Glyndon. His ambition of art was associated with the applause and + estimation of that miserable minority of the surface that we call the + Public. + </p> + <p> + Like those who deceive, he was ever fearful of being himself the dupe. He + distrusted the sweet innocence of Viola. He could not venture the hazard + of seriously proposing marriage to an Italian actress; but the modest + dignity of the girl, and something good and generous in his own nature, + had hitherto made him shrink from any more worldly but less honourable + designs. Thus the familiarity between them seemed rather that of kindness + and regard than passion. He attended the theatre; he stole behind the + scenes to converse with her; he filled his portfolio with countless + sketches of a beauty that charmed him as an artist as well as lover; and + day after day he floated on through a changing sea of doubt and + irresolution, of affection and distrust. The last, indeed, constantly + sustained against his better reason by the sober admonitions of Mervale, a + matter-of-fact man! + </p> + <p> + The day following that eve on which this section of my story opens, + Glyndon was riding alone by the shores of the Neapolitan sea, on the other + side of the Cavern of Posilipo. It was past noon; the sun had lost its + early fervour, and a cool breeze sprung up voluptuously from the sparkling + sea. Bending over a fragment of stone near the roadside, he perceived the + form of a man; and when he approached, he recognised Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman saluted him courteously. “Have you discovered some + antique?” said he, with a smile; “they are common as pebbles on this + road.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Zanoni; “it was but one of those antiques that have their + date, indeed, from the beginning of the world, but which Nature eternally + withers and renews.” So saying, he showed Glyndon a small herb with a + pale-blue flower, and then placed it carefully in his bosom. + </p> + <p> + “You are an herbalist?” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, I am told, a study full of interest.” + </p> + <p> + “To those who understand it, doubtless.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the knowledge, then, so rare?” + </p> + <p> + “Rare! The deeper knowledge is perhaps rather, among the arts, LOST to the + modern philosophy of commonplace and surface! Do you imagine there was no + foundation for those traditions which come dimly down from remoter ages,—as + shells now found on the mountain-tops inform us where the seas have been? + What was the old Colchian magic, but the minute study of Nature in her + lowliest works? What the fable of Medea, but a proof of the powers that + may be extracted from the germ and leaf? The most gifted of all the + Priestcrafts, the mysterious sisterhoods of Cuth, concerning whose + incantations Learning vainly bewilders itself amidst the maze of legends, + sought in the meanest herbs what, perhaps, the Babylonian Sages explored + in vain amidst the loftiest stars. Tradition yet tells you that there + existed a race (“Plut. Symp.” l. 5. c. 7.) who could slay their enemies + from afar, without weapon, without movement. The herb that ye tread on may + have deadlier powers than your engineers can give to their mightiest + instruments of war. Can you guess that to these Italian shores, to the old + Circaean Promontory, came the Wise from the farthest East, to search for + plants and simples which your Pharmacists of the Counter would fling from + them as weeds? The first herbalists—the master chemists of the world—were + the tribe that the ancient reverence called by the name of Titans. + (Syncellus, page 14.—“Chemistry the Invention of the Giants.”) I + remember once, by the Hebrus, in the reign of — But this talk,” said + Zanoni, checking himself abruptly, and with a cold smile, “serves only to + waste your time and my own.” He paused, looked steadily at Glyndon, and + continued, “Young man, think you that vague curiosity will supply the + place of earnest labour? I read your heart. You wish to know me, and not + this humble herb: but pass on; your desire cannot be satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not the politeness of your countrymen,” said Glyndon, somewhat + discomposed. “Suppose I were desirous to cultivate your acquaintance, why + should you reject my advances?” + </p> + <p> + “I reject no man’s advances,” answered Zanoni; “I must know them if they + so desire; but ME, in return, they can never comprehend. If you ask my + acquaintance, it is yours; but I would warn you to shun me.” + </p> + <p> + “And why are you, then, so dangerous?” + </p> + <p> + “On this earth, men are often, without their own agency, fated to be + dangerous to others. If I were to predict your fortune by the vain + calculations of the astrologer, I should tell you, in their despicable + jargon, that my planet sat darkly in your house of life. Cross me not, if + you can avoid it. I warn you now for the first time and last.” + </p> + <p> + “You despise the astrologers, yet you utter a jargon as mysterious as + theirs. I neither gamble nor quarrel; why, then, should I fear you?” + </p> + <p> + “As you will; I have done.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me speak frankly,—your conversation last night interested and + perplexed me.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it: minds like yours are attracted by mystery.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon was piqued at these words, though in the tone in which they were + spoken there was no contempt. + </p> + <p> + “I see you do not consider me worthy of your friendship. Be it so. + Good-day!” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni coldly replied to the salutation; and as the Englishman rode on, + returned to his botanical employment. + </p> + <p> + The same night, Glyndon went, as usual, to the theatre. He was standing + behind the scenes watching Viola, who was on the stage in one of her most + brilliant parts. The house resounded with applause. Glyndon was + transported with a young man’s passion and a young man’s pride: “This + glorious creature,” thought he, “may yet be mine.” + </p> + <p> + He felt, while thus wrapped in delicious reverie, a slight touch upon his + shoulder; he turned, and beheld Zanoni. “You are in danger,” said the + latter. “Do not walk home to-night; or if you do, go not alone.” + </p> + <p> + Before Glyndon recovered from his surprise, Zanoni disappeared; and when + the Englishman saw him again, he was in the box of one of the Neapolitan + nobles, where Glyndon could not follow him. + </p> + <p> + Viola now left the stage, and Glyndon accosted her with an unaccustomed + warmth of gallantry. But Viola, contrary to her gentle habit, turned with + an evident impatience from the address of her lover. Taking aside + Gionetta, who was her constant attendant at the theatre, she said, in an + earnest whisper,— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gionetta! He is here again!—the stranger of whom I spoke to + thee!—and again, he alone, of the whole theatre, withholds from me + his applause.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is he, my darling?” said the old woman, with fondness in her voice. + “He must indeed be dull—not worth a thought.” + </p> + <p> + The actress drew Gionetta nearer to the stage, and pointed out to her a + man in one of the boxes, conspicuous amongst all else by the simplicity of + his dress, and the extraordinary beauty of his features. + </p> + <p> + “Not worth a thought, Gionetta!” repeated Viola,—“Not worth a + thought! Alas, not to think of him, seems the absence of thought itself!” + </p> + <p> + The prompter summoned the Signora Pisani. “Find out his name, Gionetta,” + said she, moving slowly to the stage, and passing by Glyndon, who gazed at + her with a look of sorrowful reproach. + </p> + <p> + The scene on which the actress now entered was that of the final + catastrophe, wherein all her remarkable powers of voice and art were + pre-eminently called forth. The house hung on every word with breathless + worship; but the eyes of Viola sought only those of one calm and unmoved + spectator; she exerted herself as if inspired. Zanoni listened, and + observed her with an attentive gaze, but no approval escaped his lips; no + emotion changed the expression of his cold and half-disdainful aspect. + Viola, who was in the character of one who loved, but without return, + never felt so acutely the part she played. Her tears were truthful; her + passion that of nature: it was almost too terrible to behold. She was + borne from the stage exhausted and insensible, amidst such a tempest of + admiring rapture as Continental audiences alone can raise. The crowd stood + up, handkerchiefs waved, garlands and flowers were thrown on the stage,—men + wiped their eyes, and women sobbed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “By heavens!” said a Neapolitan of great rank, “She has fired me beyond + endurance. To-night—this very night—she shall be mine! You + have arranged all, Mascari?” + </p> + <p> + “All, signor. And the young Englishman?” + </p> + <p> + “The presuming barbarian! As I before told thee, let him bleed for his + folly. I will have no rival.” + </p> + <p> + “But an Englishman! There is always a search after the bodies of the + English.” + </p> + <p> + “Fool! is not the sea deep enough, or the earth secret enough, to hide one + dead man? Our ruffians are silent as the grave itself; and I!—who + would dare to suspect, to arraign the Prince di —? See to it,—this + night. I trust him to you. Robbers murder him, you understand,—the + country swarms with them; plunder and strip him, the better to favour such + report. Take three men; the rest shall be my escort.” + </p> + <p> + Mascari shrugged his shoulders, and bowed submissively. + </p> + <p> + The streets of Naples were not then so safe as now, and carriages were + both less expensive and more necessary. The vehicle which was regularly + engaged by the young actress was not to be found. Gionetta, too aware of + the beauty of her mistress and the number of her admirers to contemplate + without alarm the idea of their return on foot, communicated her distress + to Glyndon, and he besought Viola, who recovered but slowly, to accept his + own carriage. Perhaps before that night she would not have rejected so + slight a service. Now, for some reason or other, she refused. Glyndon, + offended, was retiring sullenly, when Gionetta stopped him. “Stay, + signor,” said she, coaxingly: “the dear signora is not well,—do not + be angry with her; I will make her accept your offer.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon stayed, and after a few moments spent in expostulation on the part + of Gionetta, and resistance on that of Viola, the offer was accepted. + Gionetta and her charge entered the carriage, and Glyndon was left at the + door of the theatre to return home on foot. The mysterious warning of + Zanoni then suddenly occurred to him; he had forgotten it in the interest + of his lover’s quarrel with Viola. He thought it now advisable to guard + against danger foretold by lips so mysterious. He looked round for some + one he knew: the theatre was disgorging its crowds; they hustled, and + jostled, and pressed upon him; but he recognised no familiar countenance. + While pausing irresolute, he heard Mervale’s voice calling on him, and, to + his great relief, discovered his friend making his way through the throng. + </p> + <p> + “I have secured you,” said he, “a place in the Count Cetoxa’s carriage. + Come along, he is waiting for us.” + </p> + <p> + “How kind in you! how did you find me out?” + </p> + <p> + “I met Zanoni in the passage,—‘Your friend is at the door of + the theatre,’ said he; ‘do not let him go home on foot to-night; the + streets of Naples are not always safe.’ I immediately remembered that some + of the Calabrian bravos had been busy within the city the last few weeks, + and suddenly meeting Cetoxa—but here he is.” + </p> + <p> + Further explanation was forbidden, for they now joined the count. As + Glyndon entered the carriage and drew up the glass, he saw four men + standing apart by the pavement, who seemed to eye him with attention. + </p> + <p> + “Cospetto!” cried one; “that is the Englishman!” Glyndon imperfectly heard + the exclamation as the carriage drove on. He reached home in safety. + </p> + <p> + The familiar and endearing intimacy which always exists in Italy between + the nurse and the child she has reared, and which the “Romeo and Juliet” + of Shakespeare in no way exaggerates, could not but be drawn yet closer + than usual, in a situation so friendless as that of the orphan-actress. In + all that concerned the weaknesses of the heart, Gionetta had large + experience; and when, three nights before, Viola, on returning from the + theatre, had wept bitterly, the nurse had succeeded in extracting from her + a confession that she had seen one,—not seen for two weary and + eventful years,—but never forgotten, and who, alas! had not evinced + the slightest recognition of herself. Gionetta could not comprehend all + the vague and innocent emotions that swelled this sorrow; but she resolved + them all, with her plain, blunt understanding, to the one sentiment of + love. And here, she was well fitted to sympathise and console. Confidante + to Viola’s entire and deep heart she never could be,—for that heart + never could have words for all its secrets. But such confidence as she + could obtain, she was ready to repay by the most unreproving pity and the + most ready service. + </p> + <p> + “Have you discovered who he is?” asked Viola, as she was now alone in the + carriage with Gionetta. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he is the celebrated Signor Zanoni, about whom all the great ladies + have gone mad. They say he is so rich!—oh! so much richer than any + of the Inglesi!—not but what the Signor Glyndon—” + </p> + <p> + “Cease!” interrupted the young actress. “Zanoni! Speak of the Englishman + no more.” + </p> + <p> + The carriage was now entering that more lonely and remote part of the city + in which Viola’s house was situated, when it suddenly stopped. + </p> + <p> + Gionetta, in alarm, thrust her head out of the window, and perceived, by + the pale light of the moon, that the driver, torn from his seat, was + already pinioned in the arms of two men; the next moment the door was + opened violently, and a tall figure, masked and mantled, appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Fear not, fairest Pisani,” said he, gently; “no ill shall befall you.” As + he spoke, he wound his arm round the form of the fair actress, and + endeavoured to lift her from the carriage. But Gionetta was no ordinary + ally,—she thrust back the assailant with a force that astonished + him, and followed the shock by a volley of the most energetic reprobation. + </p> + <p> + The mask drew back, and composed his disordered mantle. + </p> + <p> + “By the body of Bacchus!” said he, half laughing, “she is well protected. + Here, Luigi, Giovanni! seize the hag!—quick!—why loiter ye?” + </p> + <p> + The mask retired from the door, and another and yet taller form presented + itself. “Be calm, Viola Pisani,” said he, in a low voice; “with me you are + indeed safe!” He lifted his mask as he spoke, and showed the noble + features of Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + “Be calm, be hushed,—I can save you.” He vanished, leaving Viola + lost in surprise, agitation, and delight. There were, in all, nine masks: + two were engaged with the driver; one stood at the head of the + carriage-horses; a fourth guarded the well-trained steeds of the party; + three others (besides Zanoni and the one who had first accosted Viola) + stood apart by a carriage drawn to the side of the road. To these three + Zanoni motioned; they advanced; he pointed towards the first mask, who was + in fact the Prince di —, and to his unspeakable astonishment the + prince was suddenly seized from behind. + </p> + <p> + “Treason!” he cried. “Treason among my own men! What means this?” + </p> + <p> + “Place him in his carriage! If he resist, his blood be on his own head!” + said Zanoni, calmly. + </p> + <p> + He approached the men who had detained the coachman. + </p> + <p> + “You are outnumbered and outwitted,” said he; “join your lord; you are + three men,—we six, armed to the teeth. Thank our mercy that we spare + your lives. Go!” + </p> + <p> + The men gave way, dismayed. The driver remounted. + </p> + <p> + “Cut the traces of their carriage and the bridles of their horses,” said + Zanoni, as he entered the vehicle containing Viola, which now drove on + rapidly, leaving the discomfited ravisher in a state of rage and stupor + impossible to describe. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to explain this mystery to you,” said Zanoni. “I discovered the + plot against you,—no matter how; I frustrated it thus: The head of + this design is a nobleman, who has long persecuted you in vain. He and two + of his creatures watched you from the entrance of the theatre, having + directed six others to await him on the spot where you were attacked; + myself and five of my servants supplied their place, and were mistaken for + his own followers. I had previously ridden alone to the spot where the men + were waiting, and informed them that their master would not require their + services that night. They believed me, and accordingly dispersed. I then + joined my own band, whom I had left in the rear; you know all. We are at + your door.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, + For all the day they view things unrespected; + But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, + And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. + Shakespeare. + + Zanoni followed the young Neapolitan into her house; Gionetta + vanished,—they were left alone. +</pre> + <p> + Alone, in that room so often filled, in the old happy days, with the wild + melodies of Pisani; and now, as she saw this mysterious, haunting, yet + beautiful and stately stranger, standing on the very spot where she had + sat at her father’s feet, thrilled and spellbound,—she almost + thought, in her fantastic way of personifying her own airy notions, that + that spiritual Music had taken shape and life, and stood before her + glorious in the image it assumed. She was unconscious all the while of her + own loveliness. She had thrown aside her hood and veil; her hair, somewhat + disordered, fell over the ivory neck which the dress partially displayed; + and as her dark eyes swam with grateful tears, and her cheek flushed with + its late excitement, the god of light and music himself never, amidst his + Arcadian valleys, wooed, in his mortal guise, maiden or nymph more fair. + </p> + <p> + Zanoni gazed at her with a look in which admiration seemed not unmingled + with compassion. He muttered a few words to himself, and then addressed + her aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Viola, I have saved you from a great peril; not from dishonour only, but + perhaps from death. The Prince di —, under a weak despot and a venal + administration, is a man above the law. He is capable of every crime; but + amongst his passions he has such prudence as belongs to ambition; if you + were not to reconcile yourself to your shame, you would never enter the + world again to tell your tale. The ravisher has no heart for repentance, + but he has a hand that can murder. I have saved you, Viola. Perhaps you + would ask me wherefore?” Zanoni paused, and smiled mournfully, as he + added, “You will not wrong me by the thought that he who has preserved is + not less selfish than he who would have injured. Orphan, I do not speak to + you in the language of your wooers; enough that I know pity, and am not + ungrateful for affection. Why blush, why tremble at the word? I read your + heart while I speak, and I see not one thought that should give you shame. + I say not that you love me yet; happily, the fancy may be roused long + before the heart is touched. But it has been my fate to fascinate your + eye, to influence your imagination. It is to warn you against what could + bring you but sorrow, as I warned you once to prepare for sorrow itself, + that I am now your guest. The Englishman, Glyndon, loves thee well,—better, + perhaps, than I can ever love; if not worthy of thee, yet, he has but to + know thee more to deserve thee better. He may wed thee, he may bear thee + to his own free and happy land,—the land of thy mother’s kin. Forget + me; teach thyself to return and deserve his love; and I tell thee that + thou wilt be honoured and be happy.” + </p> + <p> + Viola listened with silent, inexpressible emotion, and burning blushes, to + this strange address, and when he had concluded, she covered her face with + her hands, and wept. And yet, much as his words were calculated to humble + or irritate, to produce indignation or excite shame, those were not the + feelings with which her eyes streamed and her heart swelled. The woman at + that moment was lost in the child; and AS a child, with all its exacting, + craving, yet innocent desire to be loved, weeps in unrebuking sadness when + its affection is thrown austerely back upon itself,—so, without + anger and without shame, wept Viola. + </p> + <p> + Zanoni contemplated her thus, as her graceful head, shadowed by its + redundant tresses, bent before him; and after a moment’s pause he drew + near to her, and said, in a voice of the most soothing sweetness, and with + a half smile upon his lip,— + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember, when I told you to struggle for the light, that I + pointed for example to the resolute and earnest tree? I did not tell you, + fair child, to take example by the moth, that would soar to the star, but + falls scorched beside the lamp. Come, I will talk to thee. This Englishman—” + </p> + <p> + Viola drew herself away, and wept yet more passionately. + </p> + <p> + “This Englishman is of thine own years, not far above thine own rank. Thou + mayst share his thoughts in life,—thou mayst sleep beside him in the + same grave in death! And I—but THAT view of the future should + concern us not. Look into thy heart, and thou wilt see that till again my + shadow crossed thy path, there had grown up for this thine equal a pure + and calm affection that would have ripened into love. Hast thou never + pictured to thyself a home in which thy partner was thy young wooer?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Viola, with sudden energy,—“never but to feel that + such was not the fate ordained me. And, oh!” she continued, rising + suddenly, and, putting aside the tresses that veiled her face, she fixed + her eyes upon the questioner,—“and, oh! whoever thou art that thus + wouldst read my soul and shape my future, do not mistake the sentiment + that, that—” she faltered an instant, and went on with downcast + eyes,—“that has fascinated my thoughts to thee. Do not think that I + could nourish a love unsought and unreturned. It is not love that I feel + for thee, stranger. Why should I? Thou hast never spoken to me but to + admonish,—and now, to wound!” Again she paused, again her voice + faltered; the tears trembled on her eyelids; she brushed them away and + resumed. “No, not love,—if that be love which I have heard and read + of, and sought to simulate on the stage,—but a more solemn, fearful, + and, it seems to me, almost preternatural attraction, which makes me + associate thee, waking or dreaming, with images that at once charm and + awe. Thinkest thou, if it were love, that I could speak to thee thus; + that,” she raised her looks suddenly to his, “mine eyes could thus search + and confront thine own? Stranger, I ask but at times to see, to hear thee! + Stranger, talk not to me of others. Forewarn, rebuke, bruise my heart, + reject the not unworthy gratitude it offers thee, if thou wilt, but come + not always to me as an omen of grief and trouble. Sometimes have I seen + thee in my dreams surrounded by shapes of glory and light; thy looks + radiant with a celestial joy which they wear not now. Stranger, thou hast + saved me, and I thank and bless thee! Is that also a homage thou wouldst + reject?” With these words, she crossed her arms meekly on her bosom, and + inclined lowlily before him. Nor did her humility seem unwomanly or + abject, nor that of mistress to lover, of slave to master, but rather of a + child to its guardian, of a neophyte of the old religion to her priest. + Zanoni’s brow was melancholy and thoughtful. He looked at her with a + strange expression of kindness, of sorrow, yet of tender affection, in his + eyes; but his lips were stern, and his voice cold, as he replied,— + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what you ask, Viola? Do you guess the danger to yourself—perhaps + to both of us—which you court? Do you know that my life, separated + from the turbulent herd of men, is one worship of the Beautiful, from + which I seek to banish what the Beautiful inspires in most? As a calamity, + I shun what to man seems the fairest fate,—the love of the daughters + of earth. At present I can warn and save thee from many evils; if I saw + more of thee, would the power still be mine? You understand me not. What I + am about to add, it will be easier to comprehend. I bid thee banish from + thy heart all thought of me, but as one whom the Future cries aloud to + thee to avoid. Glyndon, if thou acceptest his homage, will love thee till + the tomb closes upon both. I, too,” he added with emotion,—“I, too, + might love thee!” + </p> + <p> + “You!” cried Viola, with the vehemence of a sudden impulse of delight, of + rapture, which she could not suppress; but the instant after, she would + have given worlds to recall the exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Viola, I might love thee; but in that love what sorrow and what + change! The flower gives perfume to the rock on whose heart it grows. A + little while, and the flower is dead; but the rock still endures,—the + snow at its breast, the sunshine on its summit. Pause,—think well. + Danger besets thee yet. For some days thou shalt be safe from thy + remorseless persecutor; but the hour soon comes when thy only security + will be in flight. If the Englishman love thee worthily, thy honour will + be dear to him as his own; if not, there are yet other lands where love + will be truer, and virtue less in danger from fraud and force. Farewell; + my own destiny I cannot foresee except through cloud and shadow. I know, + at least, that we shall meet again; but learn ere then, sweet flower, that + there are more genial resting-places than the rock.” + </p> + <p> + He turned as he spoke, and gained the outer door where Gionetta discreetly + stood. Zanoni lightly laid his hand on her arm. With the gay accent of a + jesting cavalier, he said,— + </p> + <p> + “The Signor Glyndon woos your mistress; he may wed her. I know your love + for her. Disabuse her of any caprice for me. I am a bird ever on the + wing.” + </p> + <p> + He dropped a purse into Gionetta’s hand as he spoke, and was gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Les Intelligences Celestes se font voir, et see communiquent plus + volontiers, dans le silence et dans la tranquillite de la + solitude. On aura donc une petite chambre ou un cabinet secret, + etc. + + “Les Clavicules de Rabbi Salomon,” chapter 3; traduites + exactement du texte Hebreu par M. Pierre Morissoneau, Professeur + des Langues Orientales, et Sectateur de la Philosophie des Sages + Cabalistes. (Manuscript Translation.) + + (The Celestial Intelligences exhibit and explain themselves most + freely in silence and the tranquillity of solitude. One will + have then a little chamber, or a secret cabinet, etc.) +</pre> + <p> + The palace retained by Zanoni was in one of the less frequented quarters + of the city. It still stands, now ruined and dismantled, a monument of the + splendour of a chivalry long since vanished from Naples, with the lordly + races of the Norman and the Spaniard. + </p> + <p> + As he entered the rooms reserved for his private hours, two Indians, in + the dress of their country, received him at the threshold with the grave + salutations of the East. They had accompanied him from the far lands in + which, according to rumour, he had for many years fixed his home. But they + could communicate nothing to gratify curiosity or justify suspicion. They + spoke no language but their own. With the exception of these two his + princely retinue was composed of the native hirelings of the city, whom + his lavish but imperious generosity made the implicit creatures of his + will. In his house, and in his habits, so far as they were seen, there was + nothing to account for the rumours which were circulated abroad. He was + not, as we are told of Albertus Magnus or the great Leonardo da Vinci, + served by airy forms; and no brazen image, the invention of magic + mechanism, communicated to him the influences of the stars. None of the + apparatus of the alchemist—the crucible and the metals—gave + solemnity to his chambers, or accounted for his wealth; nor did he even + seem to interest himself in those serener studies which might be supposed + to colour his peculiar conversation with abstract notions, and often with + recondite learning. No books spoke to him in his solitude; and if ever he + had drawn from them his knowledge, it seemed now that the only page he + read was the wide one of Nature, and that a capacious and startling memory + supplied the rest. Yet was there one exception to what in all else seemed + customary and commonplace, and which, according to the authority we have + prefixed to this chapter, might indicate the follower of the occult + sciences. Whether at Rome or Naples, or, in fact, wherever his abode, he + selected one room remote from the rest of the house, which was fastened by + a lock scarcely larger than the seal of a ring, yet which sufficed to + baffle the most cunning instruments of the locksmith: at least, one of his + servants, prompted by irresistible curiosity, had made the attempt in + vain; and though he had fancied it was tried in the most favourable time + for secrecy,—not a soul near, in the dead of night, Zanoni himself + absent from home,—yet his superstition, or his conscience, told him + the reason why the next day the Major Domo quietly dismissed him. He + compensated himself for this misfortune by spreading his own story, with a + thousand amusing exaggerations. He declared that, as he approached the + door, invisible hands seemed to pluck him away; and that when he touched + the lock, he was struck, as by a palsy, to the ground. One surgeon, who + heard the tale, observed, to the distaste of the wonder-mongers, that + possibly Zanoni made a dexterous use of electricity. Howbeit, this room, + once so secured, was never entered save by Zanoni himself. + </p> + <p> + The solemn voice of Time, from the neighbouring church at last aroused the + lord of the palace from the deep and motionless reverie, rather resembling + a trance than thought, in which his mind was absorbed. + </p> + <p> + “It is one more sand out of the mighty hour-glass,” said he, murmuringly, + “and yet time neither adds to, nor steals from, an atom in the Infinite! + Soul of mine, the luminous, the Augoeides (Augoeides,—a word + favoured by the mystical Platonists, sphaira psuches augoeides, otan mete + ekteinetai epi ti, mete eso suntreche mete sunizane, alla photi lampetai, + o ten aletheian opa ten panton, kai ten en aute.—Marc. Ant., lib. 2.—The + sense of which beautiful sentence of the old philosophy, which, as Bayle + well observes, in his article on Cornelius Agrippa, the modern Quietists + have (however impotently) sought to imitate, is to the effect that ‘the + sphere of the soul is luminous when nothing external has contact with the + soul itself; but when lit by its own light, it sees the truth of all + things and the truth centred in itself.’), why descendest thou from thy + sphere,—why from the eternal, starlike, and passionless Serene, + shrinkest thou back to the mists of the dark sarcophagus? How long, too + austerely taught that companionship with the things that die brings with + it but sorrow in its sweetness, hast thou dwelt contented with thy + majestic solitude?” + </p> + <p> + As he thus murmured, one of the earliest birds that salute the dawn broke + into sudden song from amidst the orange-trees in the garden below his + casement; and as suddenly, song answered song; the mate, awakened at the + note, gave back its happy answer to the bird. He listened; and not the + soul he had questioned, but the heart replied. He rose, and with restless + strides paced the narrow floor. “Away from this world!” he exclaimed at + length, with an impatient tone. “Can no time loosen its fatal ties? As the + attraction that holds the earth in space, is the attraction that fixes the + soul to earth. Away from the dark grey planet! Break, ye fetters: arise, + ye wings!” + </p> + <p> + He passed through the silent galleries, and up the lofty stairs, and + entered the secret chamber.... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I and my fellows + Are ministers of Fate. + —“The Tempest.” + </pre> + <p> + The next day Glyndon bent his steps towards Zanoni’s palace. The young + man’s imagination, naturally inflammable, was singularly excited by the + little he had seen and heard of this strange being,—a spell, he + could neither master nor account for, attracted him towards the stranger. + Zanoni’s power seemed mysterious and great, his motives kindly and + benevolent, yet his manners chilling and repellent. Why at one moment + reject Glyndon’s acquaintance, at another save him from danger? How had + Zanoni thus acquired the knowledge of enemies unknown to Glyndon himself? + His interest was deeply roused, his gratitude appealed to; he resolved to + make another effort to conciliate the ungracious herbalist. + </p> + <p> + The signor was at home, and Glyndon was admitted into a lofty saloon, + where in a few moments Zanoni joined him. + </p> + <p> + “I am come to thank you for your warning last night,” said he, “and to + entreat you to complete my obligation by informing me of the quarter to + which I may look for enmity and peril.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a gallant,” said Zanoni, with a smile, and in the English + language, “and do you know so little of the South as not to be aware that + gallants have always rivals?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you serious?” said Glyndon, colouring. + </p> + <p> + “Most serious. You love Viola Pisani; you have for rival one of the most + powerful and relentless of the Neapolitan princes. Your danger is indeed + great.” + </p> + <p> + “But pardon me!—how came it known to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I give no account of myself to mortal man,” replied Zanoni, haughtily; + “and to me it matters nothing whether you regard or scorn my warning.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I may not question you, be it so; but at least advise me what to + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you follow my advice?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you are constitutionally brave; you are fond of excitement and + mystery; you like to be the hero of a romance. Were I to advise you to + leave Naples, would you do so while Naples contains a foe to confront or a + mistress to pursue?” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said the young Englishman, with energy. “No! and you + cannot reproach me for such a resolution.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is another course left to you: do you love Viola Pisani truly + and fervently?—if so, marry her, and take a bride to your native + land.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” answered Glyndon, embarrassed; “Viola is not of my rank. Her + profession, too, is—in short, I am enslaved by her beauty, but I + cannot wed her.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Your love, then, is but selfish lust, and I advise you to your own + happiness no more. Young man, Destiny is less inexorable than it appears. + The resources of the great Ruler of the Universe are not so scanty and so + stern as to deny to men the divine privilege of Free Will; all of us can + carve out our own way, and God can make our very contradictions harmonise + with His solemn ends. You have before you an option. Honourable and + generous love may even now work out your happiness, and effect your + escape; a frantic and selfish passion will but lead you to misery and + doom.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you pretend, then, to read the future?” + </p> + <p> + “I have said all that it pleases me to utter.” + </p> + <p> + “While you assume the moralist to me, Signor Zanoni,” said Glyndon, with a + smile, “are you yourself so indifferent to youth and beauty as to act the + stoic to its allurements?” + </p> + <p> + “If it were necessary that practice square with precept,” said Zanoni, + with a bitter smile, “our monitors would be but few. The conduct of the + individual can affect but a small circle beyond himself; the permanent + good or evil that he works to others lies rather in the sentiments he can + diffuse. His acts are limited and momentary; his sentiments may pervade + the universe, and inspire generations till the day of doom. All our + virtues, all our laws, are drawn from books and maxims, which ARE + sentiments, not from deeds. In conduct, Julian had the virtues of a + Christian, and Constantine the vices of a Pagan. The sentiments of Julian + reconverted thousands to Paganism; those of Constantine helped, under + Heaven’s will, to bow to Christianity the nations of the earth. In + conduct, the humblest fisherman on yonder sea, who believes in the + miracles of San Gennaro, may be a better man than Luther; to the + sentiments of Luther the mind of modern Europe is indebted for the noblest + revolution it has known. Our opinions, young Englishman, are the angel + part of us; our acts, the earthly.” + </p> + <p> + “You have reflected deeply for an Italian,” said Glyndon. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that I was an Italian?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you not? And yet, when I hear you speak my own language as a native, + I—” + </p> + <p> + “Tush!” interrupted Zanoni, impatiently turning away. Then, after a pause, + he resumed in a mild voice, “Glyndon, do you renounce Viola Pisani? Will + you take some days to consider what I have said?” + </p> + <p> + “Renounce her,—never!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will marry her?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so; she will then renounce you. I tell you that you have rivals.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the Prince di —; but I do not fear him.” + </p> + <p> + “You have another whom you will fear more.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Myself.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon turned pale, and started from his seat. + </p> + <p> + “You, Signor Zanoni!—you,—and you dare to tell me so?” + </p> + <p> + “Dare! Alas! there are times when I wish that I could fear.” + </p> + <p> + These arrogant words were not uttered arrogantly, but in a tone of the + most mournful dejection. Glyndon was enraged, confounded, and yet awed. + However, he had a brave English heart within his breast, and he recovered + himself quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Signor,” said he, calmly, “I am not to be duped by these solemn phrases + and these mystical assumptions. You may have powers which I cannot + comprehend or emulate, or you may be but a keen imposter.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, proceed!” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, then,” continued Glyndon, resolutely, though somewhat + disconcerted,—“I mean you to understand, that, though I am not to be + persuaded or compelled by a stranger to marry Viola Pisani, I am not the + less determined never tamely to yield her to another.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni looked gravely at the young man, whose sparkling eyes and + heightened colour testified the spirit to support his words, and replied, + “So bold! well; it becomes you. But take my advice; wait yet nine days, + and tell me then if you will marry the fairest and the purest creature + that ever crossed your path.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you love her, why—why—” + </p> + <p> + “Why am I anxious that she should wed another?—to save her from + myself! Listen to me. That girl, humble and uneducated though she be, has + in her the seeds of the most lofty qualities and virtues. She can be all + to the man she loves,—all that man can desire in wife. Her soul, + developed by affection, will elevate your own; it will influence your + fortunes, exalt your destiny; you will become a great and a prosperous + man. If, on the contrary, she fall to me, I know not what may be her lot; + but I know that there is an ordeal which few can pass, and which hitherto + no woman has survived.” + </p> + <p> + As Zanoni spoke, his face became colourless, and there was something in + his voice that froze the warm blood of the listener. + </p> + <p> + “What is this mystery which surrounds you?” exclaimed Glyndon, unable to + repress his emotion. “Are you, in truth, different from other men? Have + you passed the boundary of lawful knowledge? Are you, as some declare, a + sorcerer, or only a—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” interrupted Zanoni, gently, and with a smile of singular but + melancholy sweetness; “have you earned the right to ask me these + questions? Though Italy still boast an Inquisition, its power is rivelled + as a leaf which the first wind shall scatter. The days of torture and + persecution are over; and a man may live as he pleases, and talk as it + suits him, without fear of the stake and the rack. Since I can defy + persecution, pardon me if I do not yield to curiosity.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon blushed, and rose. In spite of his love for Viola, and his natural + terror of such a rival, he felt himself irresistibly drawn towards the + very man he had most cause to suspect and dread. He held out his hand to + Zanoni, saying, “Well, then, if we are to be rivals, our swords must + settle our rights; till then I would fain be friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Friends! You know not what you ask.” + </p> + <p> + “Enigmas again!” + </p> + <p> + “Enigmas!” cried Zanoni, passionately; “ay! can you dare to solve them? + Not till then could I give you my right hand, and call you friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I could dare everything and all things for the attainment of superhuman + wisdom,” said Glyndon, and his countenance was lighted up with wild and + intense enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + Zanoni observed him in thoughtful silence. + </p> + <p> + “The seeds of the ancestor live in the son,” he muttered; “he may—yet—” + He broke off abruptly; then, speaking aloud, “Go, Glyndon,” said he; “we + shall meet again, but I will not ask your answer till the hour presses for + decision.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Tis certain that this man has an estate of fifty thousand + livres, and seems to be a person of very great accomplishments. + But, then, if he’s a wizard, are wizards so devoutly given as + this man seems to be? In short, I could make neither head nor + tail on’t + + —The Count de Gabalis, Translation affixed to the + second edition of the “Rape of the Lock.” + </pre> + <p> + Of all the weaknesses which little men rail against, there is none that + they are more apt to ridicule than the tendency to believe. And of all the + signs of a corrupt heart and a feeble head, the tendency of incredulity is + the surest. + </p> + <p> + Real philosophy seeks rather to solve than to deny. While we hear, every + day, the small pretenders to science talk of the absurdities of alchemy + and the dream of the Philosopher’s Stone, a more erudite knowledge is + aware that by alchemists the greatest discoveries in science have been + made, and much which still seems abstruse, had we the key to the mystic + phraseology they were compelled to adopt, might open the way to yet more + noble acquisitions. The Philosopher’s Stone itself has seemed no visionary + chimera to some of the soundest chemists that even the present century has + produced. (Mr. Disraeli, in his “Curiosities of Literature” (article + “Alchem”), after quoting the sanguine judgments of modern chemists as to + the transmutation of metals, observes of one yet greater and more recent + than those to which Glyndon’s thoughts could have referred, “Sir Humphry + Davy told me that he did not consider this undiscovered art as impossible; + but should it ever be discovered, it would certainly be useless.”) Man + cannot contradict the Laws of Nature. But are all the laws of Nature yet + discovered? + </p> + <p> + “Give me a proof of your art,” says the rational inquirer. “When I have + seen the effect, I will endeavour, with you, to ascertain the causes.” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat to the above effect were the first thoughts of Clarence Glyndon + on quitting Zanoni. But Clarence Glyndon was no “rational inquirer.” The + more vague and mysterious the language of Zanoni, the more it imposed upon + him. A proof would have been something tangible, with which he would have + sought to grapple. And it would have only disappointed his curiosity to + find the supernatural reduced to Nature. He endeavoured in vain, at some + moments rousing himself from credulity to the scepticism he deprecated, to + reconcile what he had heard with the probable motives and designs of an + imposter. Unlike Mesmer and Cagliostro, Zanoni, whatever his pretensions, + did not make them a source of profit; nor was Glyndon’s position or rank + in life sufficient to render any influence obtained over his mind, + subservient to schemes, whether of avarice or ambition. Yet, ever and + anon, with the suspicion of worldly knowledge, he strove to persuade + himself that Zanoni had at least some sinister object in inducing him to + what his English pride and manner of thought considered a derogatory + marriage with the poor actress. Might not Viola and the Mystic be in + league with each other? Might not all this jargon of prophecy and menace + be but artifices to dupe him? + </p> + <p> + He felt an unjust resentment towards Viola at having secured such an ally. + But with that resentment was mingled a natural jealousy. Zanoni threatened + him with rivalry. Zanoni, who, whatever his character or his arts, + possessed at least all the external attributes that dazzle and command. + Impatient of his own doubts, he plunged into the society of such + acquaintances as he had made at Naples—chiefly artists, like + himself, men of letters, and the rich commercialists, who were already + vying with the splendour, though debarred from the privileges, of the + nobles. From these he heard much of Zanoni, already with them, as with the + idler classes, an object of curiosity and speculation. + </p> + <p> + He had noticed, as a thing remarkable, that Zanoni had conversed with him + in English, and with a command of the language so complete that he might + have passed for a native. On the other hand, in Italian, Zanoni was + equally at ease. Glyndon found that it was the same in languages less + usually learned by foreigners. A painter from Sweden, who had conversed + with him, was positive that he was a Swede; and a merchant from + Constantinople, who had sold some of his goods to Zanoni, professed his + conviction that none but a Turk, or at least a native of the East, could + have so thoroughly mastered the soft Oriental intonations. Yet in all + these languages, when they came to compare their several recollections, + there was a slight, scarce perceptible distinction, not in pronunciation, + nor even accent, but in the key and chime, as it were, of the voice, + between himself and a native. This faculty was one which Glyndon called to + mind, that sect, whose tenets and powers have never been more than most + partially explored, the Rosicrucians, especially arrogated. He remembered + to have heard in Germany of the work of John Bringeret (Printed in 1615.), + asserting that all the languages of the earth were known to the genuine + Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross. Did Zanoni belong to this mystical + Fraternity, who, in an earlier age, boasted of secrets of which the + Philosopher’s Stone was but the least; who considered themselves the heirs + of all that the Chaldeans, the Magi, the Gymnosophists, and the Platonists + had taught; and who differed from all the darker Sons of Magic in the + virtue of their lives, the purity of their doctrines, and their insisting, + as the foundation of all wisdom, on the subjugation of the senses, and the + intensity of Religious Faith?—a glorious sect, if they lied not! + And, in truth, if Zanoni had powers beyond the race of worldly sages, they + seemed not unworthily exercised. The little known of his life was in his + favour. Some acts, not of indiscriminate, but judicious generosity and + beneficence, were recorded; in repeating which, still, however, the + narrators shook their heads, and expressed surprise how a stranger should + have possessed so minute a knowledge of the quiet and obscure distresses + he had relieved. Two or three sick persons, when abandoned by their + physicians, he had visited, and conferred with alone. They had recovered: + they ascribed to him their recovery; yet they could not tell by what + medicines they had been healed. They could only depose that he came, + conversed with them, and they were cured; it usually, however, happened + that a deep sleep had preceded the recovery. + </p> + <p> + Another circumstance was also beginning to be remarked, and spoke yet more + in his commendation. Those with whom he principally associated—the + gay, the dissipated, the thoughtless, the sinners and publicans of the + more polished world—all appeared rapidly, yet insensibly to + themselves, to awaken to purer thoughts and more regulated lives. Even + Cetoxa, the prince of gallants, duellists, and gamesters, was no longer + the same man since the night of the singular events which he had related + to Glyndon. The first trace of his reform was in his retirement from the + gaming-houses; the next was his reconciliation with an hereditary enemy of + his house, whom it had been his constant object for the last six years to + entangle in such a quarrel as might call forth his inimitable manoeuvre of + the stoccata. Nor when Cetoxa and his young companions were heard to speak + of Zanoni, did it seem that this change had been brought about by any + sober lectures or admonitions. They all described Zanoni as a man keenly + alive to enjoyment: of manners the reverse of formal,—not precisely + gay, but equable, serene, and cheerful; ever ready to listen to the talk + of others, however idle, or to charm all ears with an inexhaustible fund + of brilliant anecdote and worldly experience. All manners, all nations, + all grades of men, seemed familiar to him. He was reserved only if + allusion were ever ventured to his birth or history. + </p> + <p> + The more general opinion of his origin certainly seemed the more + plausible. His riches, his familiarity with the languages of the East, his + residence in India, a certain gravity which never deserted his most + cheerful and familiar hours, the lustrous darkness of his eyes and hair, + and even the peculiarities of his shape, in the delicate smallness of the + hands, and the Arab-like turn of the stately head, appeared to fix him as + belonging to one at least of the Oriental races. And a dabbler in the + Eastern tongues even sought to reduce the simple name of Zanoni, which a + century before had been borne by an inoffensive naturalist of Bologna (The + author of two works on botany and rare plants.), to the radicals of the + extinct language. Zan was unquestionably the Chaldean appellation for the + sun. Even the Greeks, who mutilated every Oriental name, had retained the + right one in this case, as the Cretan inscription on the tomb of Zeus (Ode + megas keitai Zan.—“Cyril contra Julian.” (Here lies great Jove.)) + significantly showed. As to the rest, the Zan, or Zaun, was, with the + Sidonians, no uncommon prefix to On. Adonis was but another name for + Zanonas, whose worship in Sidon Hesychius records. To this profound and + unanswerable derivation Mervale listened with great attention, and + observed that he now ventured to announce an erudite discovery he himself + had long since made,—namely, that the numerous family of Smiths in + England were undoubtedly the ancient priests of the Phrygian Apollo. + “For,” said he, “was not Apollo’s surname, in Phrygia, Smintheus? How + clear all the ensuing corruptions of the august name,—Smintheus, + Smitheus, Smithe, Smith! And even now, I may remark that the more ancient + branches of that illustrious family, unconsciously anxious to approximate + at least by a letter nearer to the true title, take a pious pleasure in + writing their names Smith<i>e</i>!” + </p> + <p> + The philologist was much struck with this discovery, and begged Mervale’s + permission to note it down as an illustration suitable to a work he was + about to publish on the origin of languages, to be called “Babel,” and + published in three quartos by subscription. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Learn to be poor in spirit, my son, if you would penetrate that + sacred night which environs truth. Learn of the Sages to allow + to the Devils no power in Nature, since the fatal stone has shut + ‘em up in the depth of the abyss. Learn of the Philosophers + always to look for natural causes in all extraordinary events; + and when such natural causes are wanting, recur to God.—The + Count de Gabalis. +</pre> + <p> + All these additions to his knowledge of Zanoni, picked up in the various + lounging-places and resorts that he frequented, were unsatisfactory to + Glyndon. That night Viola did not perform at the theatre; and the next + day, still disturbed by bewildered fancies, and averse to the sober and + sarcastic companionship of Mervale, Glyndon sauntered musingly into the + public gardens, and paused under the very tree under which he had first + heard the voice that had exercised upon his mind so singular an influence. + The gardens were deserted. He threw himself on one of the seats placed + beneath the shade; and again, in the midst of his reverie, the same cold + shudder came over him which Zanoni had so distinctly defined, and to which + he had ascribed so extraordinary a cause. + </p> + <p> + He roused himself with a sudden effort, and started to see, seated next + him, a figure hideous enough to have personated one of the malignant + beings of whom Zanoni had spoken. It was a small man, dressed in a fashion + strikingly at variance with the elaborate costume of the day: an + affectation of homeliness and poverty approaching to squalor, in the loose + trousers, coarse as a ship’s sail; in the rough jacket, which appeared + rent wilfully into holes; and the black, ragged, tangled locks that + streamed from their confinement under a woollen cap, accorded but ill with + other details which spoke of comparative wealth. The shirt, open at the + throat, was fastened by a brooch of gaudy stones; and two pendent massive + gold chains announced the foppery of two watches. + </p> + <p> + The man’s figure, if not absolutely deformed, was yet marvellously + ill-favoured; his shoulders high and square; his chest flattened, as if + crushed in; his gloveless hands were knotted at the joints, and, large, + bony, and muscular, dangled from lean, emaciated wrists, as if not + belonging to them. His features had the painful distortion sometimes seen + in the countenance of a cripple,—large, exaggerated, with the nose + nearly touching the chin; the eyes small, but glowing with a cunning fire + as they dwelt on Glyndon; and the mouth was twisted into a grin that + displayed rows of jagged, black, broken teeth. Yet over this frightful + face there still played a kind of disagreeable intelligence, an expression + at once astute and bold; and as Glyndon, recovering from the first + impression, looked again at his neighbour, he blushed at his own dismay, + and recognised a French artist, with whom he had formed an acquaintance, + and who was possessed of no inconsiderable talents in his calling. + </p> + <p> + Indeed, it was to be remarked that this creature, whose externals were so + deserted by the Graces, particularly delighted in designs aspiring to + majesty and grandeur. Though his colouring was hard and shallow, as was + that generally of the French school at the time, his DRAWINGS were + admirable for symmetry, simple elegance, and classic vigour; at the same + time they unquestionably wanted ideal grace. He was fond of selecting + subjects from Roman history, rather than from the copious world of Grecian + beauty, or those still more sublime stories of scriptural record from + which Raphael and Michael Angelo borrowed their inspirations. His grandeur + was that not of gods and saints, but mortals. His delineation of beauty + was that which the eye cannot blame and the soul does not acknowledge. In + a word, as it was said of Dionysius, he was an Anthropographos, or Painter + of Men. It was also a notable contradiction in this person, who was + addicted to the most extravagant excesses in every passion, whether of + hate or love, implacable in revenge, and insatiable in debauch, that he + was in the habit of uttering the most beautiful sentiments of exalted + purity and genial philanthropy. The world was not good enough for him; he + was, to use the expressive German phrase, A WORLD-BETTERER! Nevertheless, + his sarcastic lip often seemed to mock the sentiments he uttered, as if it + sought to insinuate that he was above even the world he would construct. + </p> + <p> + Finally, this painter was in close correspondence with the Republicans of + Paris, and was held to be one of those missionaries whom, from the + earliest period of the Revolution, the regenerators of mankind were + pleased to despatch to the various states yet shackled, whether by actual + tyranny or wholesome laws. Certainly, as the historian of Italy (Botta.) + has observed, there was no city in Italy where these new doctrines would + be received with greater favour than Naples, partly from the lively temper + of the people, principally because the most hateful feudal privileges, + however partially curtailed some years before by the great minister, + Tanuccini, still presented so many daily and practical evils as to make + change wear a more substantial charm than the mere and meretricious bloom + on the cheek of the harlot, Novelty. This man, whom I will call Jean + Nicot, was, therefore, an oracle among the younger and bolder spirits of + Naples; and before Glyndon had met Zanoni, the former had not been among + the least dazzled by the eloquent aspirations of the hideous + philanthropist. + </p> + <p> + “It is so long since we have met, cher confrere,” said Nicot, drawing his + seat nearer to Glyndon’s, “that you cannot be surprised that I see you + with delight, and even take the liberty to intrude on your meditations. + </p> + <p> + “They were of no agreeable nature,” said Glyndon; “and never was intrusion + more welcome.” + </p> + <p> + “You will be charmed to hear,” said Nicot, drawing several letters from + his bosom, “that the good work proceeds with marvellous rapidity. + Mirabeau, indeed, is no more; but, mort Diable! the French people are now + a Mirabeau themselves.” With this remark, Monsieur Nicot proceeded to read + and to comment upon several animated and interesting passages in his + correspondence, in which the word virtue was introduced twenty-seven + times, and God not once. And then, warmed by the cheering prospects thus + opened to him, he began to indulge in those anticipations of the future, + the outline of which we have already seen in the eloquent extravagance of + Condorcet. All the old virtues were dethroned for a new Pantheon: + patriotism was a narrow sentiment; philanthropy was to be its successor. + No love that did not embrace all mankind, as warm for Indus and the Pole + as for the hearth of home, was worthy the breast of a generous man. + Opinion was to be free as air; and in order to make it so, it was + necessary to exterminate all those whose opinions were not the same as + Mons. Jean Nicot’s. Much of this amused, much revolted Glyndon; but when + the painter turned to dwell upon a science that all should comprehend, and + the results of which all should enjoy,—a science that, springing + from the soil of equal institutions and equal mental cultivation, should + give to all the races of men wealth without labour, and a life longer than + the Patriarchs’, without care,—then Glyndon listened with interest + and admiration, not unmixed with awe. “Observe,” said Nicot, “how much + that we now cherish as a virtue will then be rejected as meanness. Our + oppressors, for instance, preach to us of the excellence of gratitude. + Gratitude, the confession of inferiority! What so hateful to a noble + spirit as the humiliating sense of obligation? But where there is equality + there can be no means for power thus to enslave merit. The benefactor and + the client will alike cease, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And in the mean time,” said a low voice, at hand,—“in the mean + time, Jean Nicot?” + </p> + <p> + The two artists started, and Glyndon recognised Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + He gazed with a brow of unusual sternness on Nicot, who, lumped together + as he sat, looked up at him askew, and with an expression of fear and + dismay upon his distorted countenance. + </p> + <p> + Ho, ho! Messire Jean Nicot, thou who fearest neither God nor Devil, why + fearest thou the eye of a man? + </p> + <p> + “It is not the first time I have been a witness to your opinions on the + infirmity of gratitude,” said Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + Nicot suppressed an exclamation, and, after gloomily surveying Zanoni with + an eye villanous and sinister, but full of hate impotent and unutterable, + said, “I know you not,—what would you of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Your absence. Leave us!” + </p> + <p> + Nicot sprang forward a step, with hands clenched, and showing his teeth + from ear to ear, like a wild beast incensed. Zanoni stood motionless, and + smiled at him in scorn. Nicot halted abruptly, as if fixed and fascinated + by the look, shivered from head to foot, and sullenly, and with a visible + effort, as if impelled by a power not his own, turned away. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon’s eyes followed him in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “And what know you of this man?” said Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + “I know him as one like myself,—a follower of art.” + </p> + <p> + “Of ART! Do not so profane that glorious word. What Nature is to God, art + should be to man,—a sublime, beneficent, genial, and warm creation. + That wretch may be a PAINTER, not an ARTIST.” + </p> + <p> + “And pardon me if I ask what YOU know of one you thus disparage?” + </p> + <p> + “I know thus much, that you are beneath my care if it be necessary to warn + you against him; his own lips show the hideousness of his heart. Why + should I tell you of the crimes he has committed? He SPEAKS crime!” + </p> + <p> + “You do not seem, Signor Zanoni, to be one of the admirers of the dawning + Revolution. Perhaps you are prejudiced against the man because you dislike + the opinions?” + </p> + <p> + “What opinions?” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon paused, somewhat puzzled to define; but at length he said, “Nay, I + must wrong you; for you, of all men, I suppose, cannot discredit the + doctrine that preaches the infinite improvement of the human species.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right; the few in every age improve the many; the many now may be + as wise as the few were; but improvement is at a standstill, if you tell + me that the many now are as wise as the few ARE.” + </p> + <p> + “I comprehend you; you will not allow the law of universal equality!” + </p> + <p> + “Law! If the whole world conspired to enforce the falsehood they could not + make it LAW. Level all conditions to-day, and you only smooth away all + obstacles to tyranny to-morrow. A nation that aspires to EQUALITY is unfit + for FREEDOM. Throughout all creation, from the archangel to the worm, from + Olympus to the pebble, from the radiant and completed planet to the nebula + that hardens through ages of mist and slime into the habitable world, the + first law of Nature is inequality.” + </p> + <p> + “Harsh doctrine, if applied to states. Are the cruel disparities of life + never to be removed?” + </p> + <p> + “Disparities of the PHYSICAL life? Oh, let us hope so. But disparities of + the INTELLECTUAL and the MORAL, never! Universal equality of intelligence, + of mind, of genius, of virtue!—no teacher left to the world! no men + wiser, better than others,—were it not an impossible condition, WHAT + A HOPELESS PROSPECT FOR HUMANITY! No, while the world lasts, the sun will + gild the mountain-top before it shines upon the plain. Diffuse all the + knowledge the earth contains equally over all mankind to-day, and some men + will be wiser than the rest to-morrow. And THIS is not a harsh, but a + loving law,—the REAL law of improvement; the wiser the few in one + generation, the wiser will be the multitude the next!” + </p> + <p> + As Zanoni thus spoke, they moved on through the smiling gardens, and the + beautiful bay lay sparkling in the noontide. A gentle breeze just cooled + the sunbeam, and stirred the ocean; and in the inexpressible clearness of + the atmosphere there was something that rejoiced the senses. The very soul + seemed to grow lighter and purer in that lucid air. + </p> + <p> + “And these men, to commence their era of improvement and equality, are + jealous even of the Creator. They would deny an intelligence,—a + God!” said Zanoni, as if involuntarily. “Are you an artist, and, looking + on the world, can you listen to such a dogma? Between God and genius there + is a necessary link,—there is almost a correspondent language. Well + said the Pythagorean (Sextus, the Pythagorean.), ‘A good intellect is the + chorus of divinity.’” + </p> + <p> + Struck and touched with these sentiments, which he little expected to fall + from one to whom he ascribed those powers which the superstitions of + childhood ascribe to the darker agencies, Glyndon said: “And yet you have + confessed that your life, separated from that of others, is one that man + should dread to share. Is there, then, a connection between magic and + religion?” + </p> + <p> + “Magic!” And what is magic! When the traveller beholds in Persia the ruins + of palaces and temples, the ignorant inhabitants inform him they were the + work of magicians. What is beyond their own power, the vulgar cannot + comprehend to be lawfully in the power of others. But if by magic you mean + a perpetual research amongst all that is more latent and obscure in + Nature, I answer, I profess that magic, and that he who does so comes but + nearer to the fountain of all belief. Knowest thou not that magic was + taught in the schools of old? But how, and by whom? As the last and most + solemn lesson, by the Priests who ministered to the Temple. (Psellus de + Daemon (MS.)) And you, who would be a painter, is not there a magic also + in that art you would advance? Must you not, after long study of the + Beautiful that has been, seize upon new and airy combinations of a beauty + that is to be? See you not that the grander art, whether of poet or of + painter, ever seeking for the TRUE, abhors the REAL; that you must seize + Nature as her master, not lackey her as her slave? + </p> + <p> + “You demand mastery over the past, a conception of the future. Has not the + art that is truly noble for its domain the future and the past? You would + conjure the invisible beings to your charm; and what is painting but the + fixing into substance the Invisible? Are you discontented with this world? + This world was never meant for genius! To exist, it must create another. + What magician can do more; nay, what science can do as much? There are two + avenues from the little passions and the drear calamities of earth; both + lead to heaven and away from hell,—art and science. But art is more + godlike than science; science discovers, art creates. You have faculties + that may command art; be contented with your lot. The astronomer who + catalogues the stars cannot add one atom to the universe; the poet can + call a universe from the atom; the chemist may heal with his drugs the + infirmities of the human form; the painter, or the sculptor, fixes into + everlasting youth forms divine, which no disease can ravage, and no years + impair. Renounce those wandering fancies that lead you now to myself, and + now to yon orator of the human race; to us two, who are the antipodes of + each other! Your pencil is your wand; your canvas may raise Utopias fairer + than Condorcet dreams of. I press not yet for your decision; but what man + of genius ever asked more to cheer his path to the grave than love and + glory?” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Glyndon, fixing his eyes earnestly on Zanoni, “if there be a + power to baffle the grave itself—” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni’s brow darkened. “And were this so,” he said, after a pause, “would + it be so sweet a lot to outlive all you loved, and to recoil from every + human tie? Perhaps the fairest immortality on earth is that of a noble + name.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not answer me,—you equivocate. I have read of the long lives + far beyond the date common experience assigns to man,” persisted Glyndon, + “which some of the alchemists enjoyed. Is the golden elixir but a fable?” + </p> + <p> + “If not, and these men discovered it, they died, because they refused to + live! There may be a mournful warning in your conjecture. Turn once more + to the easel and the canvas!” + </p> + <p> + So saying, Zanoni waved his hand, and, with downcast eyes and a slow step, + bent his way back into the city. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Goddess Wisdom. + + To some she is the goddess great; + To some the milch cow of the field; + Their care is but to calculate + What butter she will yield. + From Schiller. +</pre> + <p> + This last conversation with Zanoni left upon the mind of Glyndon a + tranquillising and salutary effect. + </p> + <p> + From the confused mists of his fancy glittered forth again those happy, + golden schemes which part from the young ambition of art, to play in the + air, to illumine the space like rays that kindle from the sun. And with + these projects mingled also the vision of a love purer and serener than + his life yet had known. His mind went back into that fair childhood of + genius, when the forbidden fruit is not yet tasted, and we know of no land + beyond the Eden which is gladdened by an Eve. Insensibly before him there + rose the scenes of a home, with his art sufficing for all excitement, and + Viola’s love circling occupation with happiness and content; and in the + midst of these fantasies of a future that might be at his command, he was + recalled to the present by the clear, strong voice of Mervale, the man of + common-sense. + </p> + <p> + Whoever has studied the lives of persons in whom the imagination is + stronger than the will, who suspect their own knowledge of actual life, + and are aware of their facility to impressions, will have observed the + influence which a homely, vigorous, worldly understanding obtains over + such natures. It was thus with Glyndon. His friend had often extricated + him from danger, and saved him from the consequences of imprudence; and + there was something in Mervale’s voice alone that damped his enthusiasm, + and often made him yet more ashamed of noble impulses than weak conduct. + For Mervale, though a downright honest man, could not sympathise with the + extravagance of generosity any more than with that of presumption and + credulity. He walked the straight line of life, and felt an equal contempt + for the man who wandered up the hill-sides, no matter whether to chase a + butterfly, or to catch a prospect of the ocean. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you your thoughts, Clarence,” said Mervale, laughing, “though + I am no Zanoni. I know them by the moisture of your eyes, and the + half-smile on your lips. You are musing upon that fair perdition,—the + little singer of San Carlo.” + </p> + <p> + The little singer of San Carlo! Glyndon coloured as he answered,— + </p> + <p> + “Would you speak thus of her if she were my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “No! for then any contempt I might venture to feel would be for yourself. + One may dislike the duper, but it is the dupe that one despises.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure that I should be the dupe in such a union? Where can I find + one so lovely and so innocent,—where one whose virtue has been tried + by such temptation? Does even a single breath of slander sully the name of + Viola Pisani?” + </p> + <p> + “I know not all the gossip of Naples, and therefore cannot answer; but I + know this, that in England no one would believe that a young Englishman, + of good fortune and respectable birth, who marries a singer from the + theatre of Naples, has not been lamentably taken in. I would save you from + a fall of position so irretrievable. Think how many mortifications you + will be subjected to; how many young men will visit at your house,—and + how many young wives will as carefully avoid it.” + </p> + <p> + “I can choose my own career, to which commonplace society is not + essential. I can owe the respect of the world to my art, and not to the + accidents of birth and fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, you still persist in your second folly,—the absurd + ambition of daubing canvas. Heaven forbid I should say anything against + the laudable industry of one who follows such a profession for the sake of + subsistence; but with means and connections that will raise you in life, + why voluntarily sink into a mere artist? As an accomplishment in leisure + moments, it is all very well in its way; but as the occupation of + existence, it is a frenzy.” + </p> + <p> + “Artists have been the friends of princes.” + </p> + <p> + “Very rarely so, I fancy, in sober England. There in the great centre of + political aristocracy, what men respect is the practical, not the ideal. + Just suffer me to draw two pictures of my own. Clarence Glyndon returns to + England; he marries a lady of fortune equal to his own, of friends and + parentage that advance rational ambition. Clarence Glyndon, thus a wealthy + and respectable man, of good talents, of bustling energies then + concentrated, enters into practical life. He has a house at which he can + receive those whose acquaintance is both advantage and honour; he has + leisure which he can devote to useful studies; his reputation, built on a + solid base, grows in men’s mouths. He attaches himself to a party; he + enters political life; and new connections serve to promote his objects. + At the age of five-and-forty, what, in all probability, may Clarence + Glyndon be? Since you are ambitious I leave that question for you to + decide! Now turn to the other picture. Clarence Glyndon returns to England + with a wife who can bring him no money, unless he lets her out on the + stage; so handsome, that every one asks who she is, and every one hears,—the + celebrated singer, Pisani. Clarence Glyndon shuts himself up to grind + colours and paint pictures in the grand historical school, which nobody + buys. There is even a prejudice against him, as not having studied in the + Academy,—as being an amateur. Who is Mr. Clarence Glyndon? Oh, the + celebrated Pisani’s husband! What else? Oh, he exhibits those large + pictures! Poor man! they have merit in their way; but Teniers and Watteau + are more convenient, and almost as cheap. Clarence Glyndon, with an easy + fortune while single, has a large family which his fortune, unaided by + marriage, can just rear up to callings more plebeian than his own. He + retires into the country, to save and to paint; he grows slovenly and + discontented; ‘the world does not appreciate him,’ he says, and he runs + away from the world. At the age of forty-five what will be Clarence + Glyndon? Your ambition shall decide that question also!” + </p> + <p> + “If all men were as worldly as you,” said Glyndon, rising, “there would + never have been an artist or a poet!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we should do just as well without them,” answered Mervale. “Is it + not time to think of dinner? The mullets here are remarkably fine!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wollt ihr hoch auf ihren Flugeln schweben, + Werft die Angst des Irdischen von euch! + Fliehet aus dem engen dumpfen Leben + In des Ideales Reich! + “Das Ideal und das Leben.” + + Wouldst thou soar heavenward on its joyous wing? + Cast off the earthly burden of the Real; + High from this cramped and dungeoned being, spring + Into the realm of the Ideal. +</pre> + <p> + As some injudicious master lowers and vitiates the taste of the student by + fixing his attention to what he falsely calls the Natural, but which, in + reality, is the Commonplace, and understands not that beauty in art is + created by what Raphael so well describes,—namely, THE IDEA OF + BEAUTY IN THE PAINTER’S OWN MIND; and that in every art, whether its + plastic expression be found in words or marble, colours or sounds, the + servile imitation of Nature is the work of journeymen and tyros,—so + in conduct the man of the world vitiates and lowers the bold enthusiasm of + loftier natures by the perpetual reduction of whatever is generous and + trustful to all that is trite and coarse. A great German poet has well + defined the distinction between discretion and the larger wisdom. In the + last there is a certain rashness which the first disdains,— + </p> + <p> + “The purblind see but the receding shore, Not that to which the bold wave + wafts them o’er.” + </p> + <p> + Yet in this logic of the prudent and the worldly there is often a + reasoning unanswerable of its kind. + </p> + <p> + You must have a feeling,—a faith in whatever is self-sacrificing and + divine, whether in religion or in art, in glory or in love; or + Common-sense will reason you out of the sacrifice, and a syllogism will + debase the Divine to an article in the market. + </p> + <p> + Every true critic in art, from Aristotle and Pliny, from Winkelman and + Vasari to Reynolds and Fuseli, has sought to instruct the painter that + Nature is not to be copied, but EXALTED; that the loftiest order of art, + selecting only the loftiest combinations, is the perpetual struggle of + Humanity to approach the gods. The great painter, as the great author, + embodies what is POSSIBLE to MAN, it is true, but what is not COMMON to + MANKIND. There is truth in Hamlet; in Macbeth, and his witches; in + Desdemona; in Othello; in Prospero, and in Caliban; there is truth in the + cartoons of Raphael; there is truth in the Apollo, the Antinous, and the + Laocoon. But you do not meet the originals of the words, the cartoons, or + the marble, in Oxford Street or St. James’s. All these, to return to + Raphael, are the creatures of the idea in the artist’s mind. This idea is + not inborn, it has come from an intense study. But that study has been of + the ideal that can be raised from the positive and the actual into + grandeur and beauty. The commonest model becomes full of exquisite + suggestions to him who has formed this idea; a Venus of flesh and blood + would be vulgarised by the imitation of him who has not. + </p> + <p> + When asked where he got his models, Guido summoned a common porter from + his calling, and drew from a mean original a head of surpassing beauty. It + resembled the porter, but idealised the porter to the hero. It was true, + but it was not real. There are critics who will tell you that the Boor of + Teniers is more true to Nature than the Porter of Guido! The commonplace + public scarcely understand the idealising principle, even in art; for high + art is an acquired taste. + </p> + <p> + But to come to my comparison. Still less is the kindred principle + comprehended in conduct. And the advice of worldly prudence would as often + deter from the risks of virtue as from the punishments of vice; yet in + conduct, as in art, there is an idea of the great and beautiful, by which + men should exalt the hackneyed and the trite of life. Now Glyndon felt the + sober prudence of Mervale’s reasonings; he recoiled from the probable + picture placed before him, in his devotion to the one master-talent he + possessed, and the one master-passion that, rightly directed, might purify + his whole being as a strong wind purifies the air. + </p> + <p> + But though he could not bring himself to decide in the teeth of so + rational a judgment, neither could he resolve at once to abandon the + pursuit of Viola. Fearful of being influenced by Zanoni’s counsels and his + own heart, he had for the last two days shunned an interview with the + young actress. But after a night following his last conversation with + Zanoni, and that we have just recorded with Mervale,—a night + coloured by dreams so distinct as to seem prophetic, dreams that appeared + so to shape his future according to the hints of Zanoni that he could have + fancied Zanoni himself had sent them from the house of sleep to haunt his + pillow,—he resolved once more to seek Viola; and though without a + definite or distinct object, he yielded himself up to the impulse of his + heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 2.X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O sollecito dubbio e fredda tema + Che pensando l’accresci. + Tasso, Canzone vi. + + (O anxious doubt and chilling fear that grows by thinking.) +</pre> + <p> + She was seated outside her door,—the young actress! The sea before + her in that heavenly bay seemed literally to sleep in the arms of the + shore; while, to the right, not far off, rose the dark and tangled crags + to which the traveller of to-day is duly brought to gaze on the tomb of + Virgil, or compare with the cavern of Posilipo the archway of Highgate + Hill. There were a few fisherman loitering by the cliffs, on which their + nets were hung to dry; and at a distance the sound of some rustic pipe + (more common at that day than at this), mingled now and then with the + bells of the lazy mules, broke the voluptuous silence,—the silence + of declining noon on the shores of Naples; never, till you have enjoyed + it, never, till you have felt its enervating but delicious charm, believe + that you can comprehend all the meaning of the Dolce far niente (The + pleasure of doing nothing.); and when that luxury has been known, when you + have breathed that atmosphere of fairy-land, then you will no longer + wonder why the heart ripens into fruit so sudden and so rich beneath the + rosy skies and the glorious sunshine of the South. + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the actress were fixed on the broad blue deep beyond. In the + unwonted negligence of her dress might be traced the abstraction of her + mind. Her beautiful hair was gathered up loosely, and partially bandaged + by a kerchief whose purple colour served to deepen the golden hue of her + tresses. A stray curl escaped and fell down the graceful neck. A loose + morning-robe, girded by a sash, left the breeze. That came ever and anon + from the sea, to die upon the bust half disclosed; and the tiny slipper, + that Cinderella might have worn, seemed a world too wide for the tiny foot + which it scarcely covered. It might be the heat of the day that deepened + the soft bloom of the cheeks, and gave an unwonted languor to the large, + dark eyes. In all the pomp of her stage attire,—in all the flush of + excitement before the intoxicating lamps,—never had Viola looked so + lovely. + </p> + <p> + By the side of the actress, and filling up the threshold,—stood + Gionetta, with her arms thrust to the elbow in two huge pockets on either + side of her gown. + </p> + <p> + “But I assure you,” said the nurse, in that sharp, quick, ear-splitting + tone in which the old women of the South are more than a match for those + of the North,—“but I assure you, my darling, that there is not a + finer cavalier in all Naples, nor a more beautiful, than this Inglese; and + I am told that all these Inglesi are much richer than they seem. Though + they have no trees in their country, poor people! and instead of + twenty-four they have only twelve hours to the day, yet I hear that they + shoe their horses with scudi; and since they cannot (the poor heretics!) + turn grapes into wine, for they have no grapes, they turn gold into + physic, and take a glass or two of pistoles whenever they are troubled + with the colic. But you don’t hear me, little pupil of my eyes,—you + don’t hear me!” + </p> + <p> + “And these things are whispered of Zanoni!” said Viola, half to herself, + and unheeding Gionetta’s eulogies on Glyndon and the English. + </p> + <p> + “Blessed Maria! do not talk of this terrible Zanoni. You may be sure that + his beautiful face, like his yet more beautiful pistoles, is only + witchcraft. I look at the money he gave me the other night, every quarter + of an hour, to see whether it has not turned into pebbles.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you then really believe,” said Viola, with timid earnestness, “that + sorcery still exists?” + </p> + <p> + “Believe! Do I believe in the blessed San Gennaro? How do you think he + cured old Filippo the fisherman, when the doctor gave him up? How do you + think he has managed himself to live at least these three hundred years? + How do you think he fascinates every one to his bidding with a look, as + the vampires do?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, is this only witchcraft? It is like it,—it must be!” murmured + Viola, turning very pale. Gionetta herself was scarcely more superstitious + than the daughter of the musician. And her very innocence, chilled at the + strangeness of virgin passion, might well ascribe to magic what hearts + more experienced would have resolved to love. + </p> + <p> + “And then, why has this great Prince di — been so terrified by him? + Why has he ceased to persecute us? Why has he been so quiet and still? Is + there no sorcery in all that?” + </p> + <p> + “Think you, then,” said Viola, with sweet inconsistency, “that I owe that + happiness and safety to his protection? Oh, let me so believe! Be silent, + Gionetta! Why have I only thee and my own terrors to consult? O beautiful + sun!” and the girl pressed her hand to her heart with wild energy; “thou + lightest every spot but this. Go, Gionetta! leave me alone,—leave + me!” + </p> + <p> + “And indeed it is time I should leave you; for the polenta will be + spoiled, and you have eat nothing all day. If you don’t eat you will lose + your beauty, my darling, and then nobody will care for you. Nobody cares + for us when we grow ugly,—I know that; and then you must, like old + Gionetta, get some Viola of your own to spoil. I’ll go and see to the + polenta.” + </p> + <p> + “Since I have known this man,” said the girl, half aloud,—“since his + dark eyes have haunted me, I am no longer the same. I long to escape from + myself,—to glide with the sunbeam over the hill-tops; to become + something that is not of earth. Phantoms float before me at night; and a + fluttering, like the wing of a bird, within my heart, seems as if the + spirit were terrified, and would break its cage.” + </p> + <p> + While murmuring these incoherent rhapsodies, a step that she did not hear + approached the actress, and a light hand touched her arm. + </p> + <p> + “Viola!—bellissima!—Viola!” + </p> + <p> + She turned, and saw Glyndon. The sight of his fair young face calmed her + at once. His presence gave her pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Viola,” said the Englishman, taking her hand, and drawing her again to + the bench from which she had risen, as he seated himself beside her, “you + shall hear me speak! You must know already that I love thee! It has not + been pity or admiration alone that has led me ever and ever to thy dear + side; reasons there may have been why I have not spoken, save by my eyes, + before; but this day—I know not how it is—I feel a more + sustained and settled courage to address thee, and learn the happiest or + the worst. I have rivals, I know,—rivals who are more powerful than + the poor artist; are they also more favoured?” + </p> + <p> + Viola blushed faintly; but her countenance was grave and distressed. + Looking down, and marking some hieroglyphical figures in the dust with the + point of her slipper, she said, with some hesitation, and a vain attempt + to be gay, “Signor, whoever wastes his thoughts on an actress must submit + to have rivals. It is our unhappy destiny not to be sacred even to + ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do not love this destiny, glittering though it seem; your heart + is not in the vocation which your gifts adorn.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no!” said the actress, her eyes filling with tears. “Once I loved to + be the priestess of song and music; now I feel only that it is a miserable + lot to be slave to a multitude.” + </p> + <p> + “Fly, then, with me,” said the artist, passionately; “quit forever the + calling that divides that heart I would have all my own. Share my fate now + and forever,—my pride, my delight, my ideal! Thou shalt inspire my + canvas and my song; thy beauty shall be made at once holy and renowned. In + the galleries of princes, crowds shall gather round the effigy of a Venus + or a Saint, and a whisper shall break forth, ‘It is Viola Pisani!’ Ah! + Viola, I adore thee; tell me that I do not worship in vain.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art good and fair,” said Viola, gazing on her lover, as he pressed + nearer to her, and clasped her hand in his; “but what should I give thee + in return?” + </p> + <p> + “Love, love,—only love!” + </p> + <p> + “A sister’s love?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, speak not with such cruel coldness!” + </p> + <p> + “It is all I have for thee. Listen to me, signor: when I look on your + face, when I hear your voice, a certain serene and tranquil calm creeps + over and lulls thoughts,—oh, how feverish, how wild! When thou art + gone, the day seems a shade more dark; but the shadow soon flies. I miss + thee not; I think not of thee: no, I love thee not; and I will give myself + only where I love.” + </p> + <p> + “But I would teach thee to love me; fear it not. Nay, such love as thou + describest, in our tranquil climates, is the love of innocence and youth.” + </p> + <p> + “Of innocence!” said Viola. “Is it so? Perhaps—” She paused, and + added, with an effort, “Foreigner! and wouldst thou wed the orphan? Ah, + THOU at least art generous! It is not the innocence thou wouldst destroy!” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon drew back, conscience-stricken. + </p> + <p> + “No, it may not be!” she said, rising, but not conscious of the thoughts, + half of shame, half suspicion, that passed through the mind of her lover. + “Leave me, and forget me. You do not understand, you could not comprehend, + the nature of her whom you think to love. From my childhood upward, I have + felt as if I were marked out for some strange and preternatural doom; as + if I were singled from my kind. This feeling (and, oh! at times it is one + of delirious and vague delight, at others of the darkest gloom) deepens + within me day by day. It is like the shadow of twilight, spreading slowly + and solemnly around. My hour approaches: a little while, and it will be + night!” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, Glyndon listened with visible emotion and perturbation. + “Viola!” he exclaimed, as she ceased, “your words more than ever enchain + me to you. As you feel, I feel. I, too, have been ever haunted with a + chill and unearthly foreboding. Amidst the crowds of men I have felt + alone. In all my pleasures, my toils, my pursuits, a warning voice has + murmured in my ear, ‘Time has a dark mystery in store for thy manhood.’ + When you spoke, it was as the voice of my own soul.” + </p> + <p> + Viola gazed upon him in wonder and fear. Her countenance was as white as + marble; and those features, so divine in their rare symmetry, might have + served the Greek with a study for the Pythoness, when, from the mystic + cavern and the bubbling spring, she first hears the voice of the inspiring + god. Gradually the rigour and tension of that wonderful face relaxed, the + colour returned, the pulse beat: the heart animated the frame. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she said, turning partially aside,—“tell me, have you + seen—do you know—a stranger in this city,—one of whom + wild stories are afloat?” + </p> + <p> + “You speak of Zanoni? I have seen him: I know him,—and you? Ah, he, + too, would be my rival!—he, too, would bear thee from me!” + </p> + <p> + “You err,” said Viola, hastily, and with a deep sigh; “he pleads for you: + he informed me of your love; he besought me not—not to reject it.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange being! incomprehensible enigma! Why did you name him?” + </p> + <p> + “Why! ah, I would have asked whether, when you first saw him, the + foreboding, the instinct, of which you spoke, came on you more fearfully, + more intelligibly than before; whether you felt at once repelled from him, + yet attracted towards him; whether you felt,” and the actress spoke with + hurried animation, “that with HIM was connected the secret of your life?” + </p> + <p> + “All this I felt,” answered Glyndon, in a trembling voice, “the first time + I was in his presence. Though all around me was gay,—music, amidst + lamp-lit trees, light converse near, and heaven without a cloud above,—my + knees knocked together, my hair bristled, and my blood curdled like ice. + Since then he has divided my thoughts with thee.” + </p> + <p> + “No more, no more!” said Viola, in a stifled tone; “there must be the hand + of fate in this. I can speak to you no more now. Farewell!” She sprung + past him into the house, and closed the door. Glyndon did not follow her, + nor, strange as it may seem, was he so inclined. The thought and + recollection of that moonlit hour in the gardens, of the strange address + of Zanoni, froze up all human passion. Viola herself, if not forgotten, + shrunk back like a shadow into the recesses of his breast. He shivered as + he stepped into the sunlight, and musingly retraced his steps into the + more populous parts of that liveliest of Italian cities. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III. — THEURGIA. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + —i cavalier sen vanno + dove il pino fatal gli attende in porto. + Gerus. Lib., cant. xv (Argomento.) + + The knights came where the fatal bark + Awaited them in the port. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + But that which especially distinguishes the brotherhood is their + marvellous knowledge of all the resources of medical art. They + work not by charms, but simples. + —“MS. Account of the Origin and Attributes of the true + Rosicrucians,” by J. Von D—. +</pre> + <p> + At this time it chanced that Viola had the opportunity to return the + kindness shown to her by the friendly musician whose house had received + and sheltered her when first left an orphan on the world. Old Bernardi had + brought up three sons to the same profession as himself, and they had + lately left Naples to seek their fortunes in the wealthier cities of + Northern Europe, where the musical market was less overstocked. There was + only left to glad the household of his aged wife and himself, a lively, + prattling, dark-eyed girl of some eight years old, the child of his second + son, whose mother had died in giving her birth. It so happened that, about + a month previous to the date on which our story has now entered, a + paralytic affection had disabled Bernardi from the duties of his calling. + He had been always a social, harmless, improvident, generous fellow—living + on his gains from day to day, as if the day of sickness and old age never + was to arrive. Though he received a small allowance for his past services, + it ill sufficed for his wants,; neither was he free from debt. Poverty + stood at his hearth,—when Viola’s grateful smile and liberal hand + came to chase the grim fiend away. But it is not enough to a heart truly + kind to send and give; more charitable is it to visit and console. “Forget + not thy father’s friend.” So almost daily went the bright idol of Naples + to the house of Bernardi. Suddenly a heavier affliction than either + poverty or the palsy befell the old musician. His grandchild, his little + Beatrice, fell ill, suddenly and dangerously ill, of one of those rapid + fevers common to the South; and Viola was summoned from her strange and + fearful reveries of love or fancy, to the sick-bed of the young sufferer. + </p> + <p> + The child was exceedingly fond of Viola, and the old people thought that + her mere presence would bring healing; but when Viola arrived, Beatrice + was insensible. Fortunately there was no performance that evening at San + Carlo, and she resolved to stay the night and partake its fearful cares + and dangerous vigil. + </p> + <p> + But during the night the child grew worse, the physician (the leechcraft + has never been very skilful at Naples) shook his powdered head, kept his + aromatics at his nostrils, administered his palliatives, and departed. Old + Bernardi seated himself by the bedside in stern silence; here was the last + tie that bound him to life. Well, let the anchor break and the battered + ship go down! It was an iron resolve, more fearful than sorrow. An old + man, with one foot in the grave, watching by the couch of a dying child, + is one of the most awful spectacles in human calamities. The wife was more + active, more bustling, more hopeful, and more tearful. Viola took heed of + all three. But towards dawn, Beatrice’s state became so obviously + alarming, that Viola herself began to despair. At this time she saw the + old woman suddenly rise from before the image of the saint at which she + had been kneeling, wrap herself in her cloak and hood, and quietly quit + the chamber. Viola stole after her. + </p> + <p> + “It is cold for thee, good mother, to brave the air; let me go for the + physician?” + </p> + <p> + “Child, I am not going to him. I have heard of one in the city who has + been tender to the poor, and who, they say, has cured the sick when + physicians failed. I will go and say to him, ‘Signor, we are beggars in + all else, but yesterday we were rich in love. We are at the close of life, + but we lived in our grandchild’s childhood. Give us back our wealth,—give + us back our youth. Let us die blessing God that the thing we love survives + us.’” + </p> + <p> + She was gone. Why did thy heart beat, Viola? The infant’s sharp cry of + pain called her back to the couch; and there still sat the old man, + unconscious of his wife’s movements, not stirring, his eyes glazing fast + as they watched the agonies of that slight frame. By degrees the wail of + pain died into a low moan,—the convulsions grew feebler, but more + frequent; the glow of fever faded into the blue, pale tinge that settles + into the last bloodless marble. + </p> + <p> + The daylight came broader and clearer through the casement; steps were + heard on the stairs,—the old woman entered hastily; she rushed to + the bed, cast a glance on the patient, “She lives yet, signor, she lives!” + </p> + <p> + Viola raised her eyes,—the child’s head was pillowed on her bosom,—and + she beheld Zanoni. He smiled on her with a tender and soft approval, and + took the infant from her arms. Yet even then, as she saw him bending + silently over that pale face, a superstitious fear mingled with her hopes. + “Was it by lawful—by holy art that—” her self-questioning + ceased abruptly; for his dark eye turned to her as if he read her soul, + and his aspect accused her conscience for its suspicion, for it spoke + reproach not unmingled with disdain. + </p> + <p> + “Be comforted,” he said, gently turning to the old man, “the danger is not + beyond the reach of human skill;” and, taking from his bosom a small + crystal vase, he mingled a few drops with water. No sooner did this + medicine moisten the infant’s lips, than it seemed to produce an + astonishing effect. The colour revived rapidly on the lips and cheeks; in + a few moments the sufferer slept calmly, and with the regular breathing of + painless sleep. And then the old man rose, rigidly, as a corpse might + rise,—looked down, listened, and creeping gently away, stole to the + corner of the room, and wept, and thanked Heaven! + </p> + <p> + Now, old Bernardi had been, hitherto, but a cold believer; sorrow had + never before led him aloft from earth. Old as he was, he had never before + thought as the old should think of death,—that endangered life of + the young had wakened up the careless soul of age. Zanoni whispered to the + wife, and she drew the old man quietly from the room. + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou fear to leave me an hour with thy charge, Viola? Thinkest thou + still that this knowledge is of the Fiend?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Viola, humbled and yet rejoiced, “forgive me, forgive me, + signor. Thou biddest the young live and the old pray. My thoughts never + shall wrong thee more!” + </p> + <p> + Before the sun rose, Beatrice was out of danger; at noon Zanoni escaped + from the blessings of the aged pair, and as he closed the door of the + house, he found Viola awaiting him without. + </p> + <p> + She stood before him timidly, her hands crossed meekly on her bosom, her + downcast eyes swimming with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Do not let me be the only one you leave unhappy!” + </p> + <p> + “And what cure can the herbs and anodynes effect for thee? If thou canst + so readily believe ill of those who have aided and yet would serve thee, + thy disease is of the heart; and—nay, weep not! nurse of the sick, + and comforter of the sad, I should rather approve than chide thee. Forgive + thee! Life, that ever needs forgiveness, has, for its first duty, to + forgive.” + </p> + <p> + “No, do not forgive me yet. I do not deserve a pardon; for even now, while + I feel how ungrateful I was to believe, suspect, aught injurious and false + to my preserver, my tears flow from happiness, not remorse. Oh!” she + continued, with a simple fervour, unconscious, in her innocence and her + generous emotions, of all the secrets she betrayed,—“thou knowest + not how bitter it was to believe thee not more good, more pure, more + sacred than all the world. And when I saw thee,—the wealthy, the + noble, coming from thy palace to minister to the sufferings of the hovel,—when + I heard those blessings of the poor breathed upon thy parting footsteps, I + felt my very self exalted,—good in thy goodness, noble at least in + those thoughts that did NOT wrong thee.” + </p> + <p> + “And thinkest thou, Viola, that in a mere act of science there is so much + virtue? The commonest leech will tend the sick for his fee. Are prayers + and blessings a less reward than gold?” + </p> + <p> + “And mine, then, are not worthless? Thou wilt accept of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Viola!” exclaimed Zanoni, with a sudden passion, that covered her + face with blushes, “thou only, methinks, on all the earth, hast the power + to wound or delight me!” He checked himself, and his face became grave and + sad. “And this,” he added, in an altered tone, “because, if thou wouldst + heed my counsels, methinks I could guide a guileless heart to a happy + fate.” + </p> + <p> + “Thy counsels! I will obey them all. Mould me to what thou wilt. In thine + absence, I am as a child that fears every shadow in the dark; in thy + presence, my soul expands, and the whole world seems calm with a celestial + noonday. Do not deny to me that presence. I am fatherless and ignorant and + alone!” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni averted his face, and, after a moment’s silence, replied calmly,— + </p> + <p> + “Be it so. Sister, I will visit thee again!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy. + Shakespeare. +</pre> + <p> + Who so happy as Viola now! A dark load was lifted from her heart: her step + seemed to tread on air; she would have sung for very delight as she went + gayly home. It is such happiness to the pure to love,—but oh, such + more than happiness to believe in the worth of the one beloved. Between + them there might be human obstacles,—wealth, rank, man’s little + world. But there was no longer that dark gulf which the imagination + recoils to dwell on, and which separates forever soul from soul. He did + not love her in return. Love her! But did she ask for love? Did she + herself love? No; or she would never have been at once so humble and so + bold. How merrily the ocean murmured in her ear; how radiant an aspect the + commonest passer-by seemed to wear! She gained her home,—she looked + upon the tree, glancing, with fantastic branches, in the sun. “Yes, + brother mine!” she said, laughing in her joy, “like thee, I HAVE struggled + to the light!” + </p> + <p> + She had never hitherto, like the more instructed Daughters of the North, + accustomed herself to that delicious Confessional, the transfusion of + thought to writing. Now, suddenly, her heart felt an impulse; a new-born + instinct, that bade it commune with itself, bade it disentangle its web of + golden fancies,—made her wish to look upon her inmost self as in a + glass. Upsprung from the embrace of Love and Soul—the Eros and the + Psyche—their beautiful offspring, Genius! She blushed, she sighed, + she trembled as she wrote. And from the fresh world that she had built for + herself, she was awakened to prepare for the glittering stage. How dull + became the music, how dim the scene, so exquisite and so bright of old. + Stage, thou art the Fairy Land to the vision of the worldly. Fancy, whose + music is not heard by men, whose scenes shift not by mortal hand, as the + stage to the present world, art thou to the future and the past! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes. + Shakespeare. +</pre> + <p> + The next day, at noon, Zanoni visited Viola; and the next day and the next + and again the next,—days that to her seemed like a special time set + apart from the rest of life. And yet he never spoke to her in the language + of flattery, and almost of adoration, to which she had been accustomed. + Perhaps his very coldness, so gentle as it was, assisted to this + mysterious charm. He talked to her much of her past life, and she was + scarcely surprised (she now never thought of TERROR) to perceive how much + of that past seemed known to him. + </p> + <p> + He made her speak to him of her father; he made her recall some of the + airs of Pisani’s wild music. And those airs seemed to charm and lull him + into reverie. + </p> + <p> + “As music was to the musician,” said he, “may science be to the wise. Your + father looked abroad in the world; all was discord to the fine sympathies + that he felt with the harmonies that daily and nightly float to the throne + of Heaven. Life, with its noisy ambition and its mean passions, is so poor + and base! Out of his soul he created the life and the world for which his + soul was fitted. Viola, thou art the daughter of that life, and wilt be + the denizen of that world.” + </p> + <p> + In his earlier visits he did not speak of Glyndon. The day soon came on + which he renewed the subject. And so trustful, obedient, and entire was + the allegiance that Viola now owned to his dominion, that, unwelcome as + that subject was, she restrained her heart, and listened to him in + silence. + </p> + <p> + At last he said, “Thou hast promised thou wilt obey my counsels, and if, + Viola, I should ask thee, nay adjure, to accept this stranger’s hand, and + share his fate, should he offer to thee such a lot,—wouldst thou + refuse?” + </p> + <p> + And then she pressed back the tears that gushed to her eyes; and with a + strange pleasure in the midst of pain,—the pleasure of one who + sacrifices heart itself to the one who commands that heart,—she + answered falteringly, “If thou CANST ordain it, why—” + </p> + <p> + “Speak on.” + </p> + <p> + “Dispose of me as thou wilt!” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni stood in silence for some moments: he saw the struggle which the + girl thought she concealed so well; he made an involuntary movement + towards her, and pressed her hand to his lips; it was the first time he + had ever departed even so far from a certain austerity which perhaps made + her fear him and her own thoughts the less. + </p> + <p> + “Viola,” said he, and his voice trembled, “the danger that I can avert no + more, if thou linger still in Naples, comes hourly near and near to thee! + On the third day from this thy fate must be decided. I accept thy promise. + Before the last hour of that day, come what may, I shall see thee again, + HERE, at thine own house. Till then, farewell!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Between two worlds life hovers like a star + ‘Twixt night and morn. + —Byron. +</pre> + <p> + When Glyndon left Viola, as recorded in the concluding chapter of the + second division of this work, he was absorbed again in those mystical + desires and conjectures which the haunting recollection of Zanoni always + served to create. And as he wandered through the streets, he was scarcely + conscious of his own movements till, in the mechanism of custom, he found + himself in the midst of one of the noble collections of pictures which + form the boast of those Italian cities whose glory is in the past. Thither + he had been wont, almost daily, to repair, for the gallery contained some + of the finest specimens of a master especially the object of his + enthusiasm and study. There, before the works of Salvator, he had often + paused in deep and earnest reverence. The striking characteristic of that + artist is the “Vigour of Will;” void of the elevated idea of abstract + beauty, which furnishes a model and archetype to the genius of more + illustrious order, the singular energy of the man hews out of the rock a + dignity of his own. His images have the majesty, not of the god, but the + savage; utterly free, like the sublimer schools, from the common-place of + imitation,—apart, with them, from the conventional littleness of the + Real,—he grasps the imagination, and compels it to follow him, not + to the heaven, but through all that is most wild and fantastic upon earth; + a sorcery, not of the starry magian, but of the gloomy wizard,—a man + of romance whose heart beat strongly, griping art with a hand of iron, and + forcing it to idealise the scenes of his actual life. Before this powerful + will, Glyndon drew back more awed and admiring than before the calmer + beauty which rose from the soul of Raphael, like Venus from the deep. + </p> + <p> + And now, as awaking from his reverie, he stood opposite to that wild and + magnificent gloom of Nature which frowned on him from the canvas, the very + leaves on those gnome-like, distorted trees seemed to rustle sibylline + secrets in his ear. Those rugged and sombre Apennines, the cataract that + dashed between, suited, more than the actual scenes would have done, the + mood and temper of his mind. The stern, uncouth forms at rest on the crags + below, and dwarfed by the giant size of the Matter that reigned around + them, impressed him with the might of Nature and the littleness of Man. As + in genius of the more spiritual cast, the living man, and the soul that + lives in him, are studiously made the prominent image; and the mere + accessories of scene kept down, and cast back, as if to show that the + exile from paradise is yet the monarch of the outward world,—so, in + the landscapes of Salvator, the tree, the mountain, the waterfall, become + the principal, and man himself dwindles to the accessory. The Matter seems + to reign supreme, and its true lord to creep beneath its stupendous + shadow. Inert matter giving interest to the immortal man, not the immortal + man to the inert matter. A terrible philosophy in art! + </p> + <p> + While something of these thoughts passed through the mind of the painter, + he felt his arm touched, and saw Nicot by his side. + </p> + <p> + “A great master,” said Nicot, “but I do not love the school.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not love, but I am awed by it. We love the beautiful and serene, but + we have a feeling as deep as love for the terrible and dark.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Nicot, thoughtfully. “And yet that feeling is only a + superstition. The nursery, with its tales of ghosts and goblins, is the + cradle of many of our impressions in the world. But art should not seek to + pander to our ignorance; art should represent only truths. I confess that + Raphael pleases me less, because I have no sympathy with his subjects. His + saints and virgins are to me only men and women.” + </p> + <p> + “And from what source should painting, then, take its themes?” + </p> + <p> + “From history, without doubt,” returned Nicot, pragmatically,—“those + great Roman actions which inspire men with sentiments of liberty and + valour, with the virtues of a republic. I wish the cartoons of Raphael had + illustrated the story of the Horatii; but it remains for France and her + Republic to give to posterity the new and the true school, which could + never have arisen in a country of priestcraft and delusion.” + </p> + <p> + “And the saints and virgins of Raphael are to you only men and women?” + repeated Glyndon, going back to Nicot’s candid confession in amaze, and + scarcely hearing the deductions the Frenchman drew from his proposition. + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly. Ha, ha!” and Nicot laughed hideously, “do you ask me to + believe in the calendar, or what?” + </p> + <p> + “But the ideal?” + </p> + <p> + “The ideal!” interrupted Nicot. “Stuff! The Italian critics, and your + English Reynolds, have turned your head. They are so fond of their ‘gusto + grande,’ and their ‘ideal beauty that speaks to the soul!‘—soul!—IS + there a soul? I understand a man when he talks of composing for a refined + taste,—for an educated and intelligent reason; for a sense that + comprehends truths. But as for the soul,—bah!—we are but + modifications of matter, and painting is modification of matter also.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon turned his eyes from the picture before him to Nicot, and from + Nicot to the picture. The dogmatist gave a voice to the thoughts which the + sight of the picture had awakened. He shook his head without reply. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Nicot, abruptly, “that imposter,—Zanoni!—oh! I + have now learned his name and quackeries, forsooth,—what did he say + to thee of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Of thee? Nothing; but to warn me against thy doctrines.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! was that all?” said Nicot. “He is a notable inventor, and since, + when we met last, I unmasked his delusions, I thought he might retaliate + by some tale of slander.” + </p> + <p> + “Unmasked his delusions!—how?” + </p> + <p> + “A dull and long story: he wished to teach an old doting friend of mine + his secrets of prolonged life and philosophical alchemy. I advise thee to + renounce so discreditable an acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + With that Nicot nodded significantly, and, not wishing to be further + questioned, went his way. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon’s mind at that moment had escaped to his art, and the comments and + presence of Nicot had been no welcome interruption. He turned from the + landscape of Salvator, and his eye falling on a Nativity by Coreggio, the + contrast between the two ranks of genius struck him as a discovery. That + exquisite repose, that perfect sense of beauty, that strength without + effort, that breathing moral of high art, which speaks to the mind through + the eye, and raises the thoughts, by the aid of tenderness and love, to + the regions of awe and wonder,—ay! THAT was the true school. He + quitted the gallery with reluctant steps and inspired ideas; he sought his + own home. Here, pleased not to find the sober Mervale, he leaned his face + on his hands, and endeavoured to recall the words of Zanoni in their last + meeting. Yes, he felt Nicot’s talk even on art was crime; it debased the + imagination itself to mechanism. Could he, who saw nothing in the soul but + a combination of matter, prate of schools that should excel a Raphael? + Yes, art was magic; and as he owned the truth of the aphorism, he could + comprehend that in magic there may be religion, for religion is an + essential to art. His old ambition, freeing itself from the frigid + prudence with which Mervale sought to desecrate all images less + substantial than the golden calf of the world, revived, and stirred, and + kindled. The subtle detection of what he conceived to be an error in the + school he had hitherto adopted, made more manifest to him by the grinning + commentary of Nicot, seemed to open to him a new world of invention. He + seized the happy moment,—he placed before him the colours and the + canvas. Lost in his conceptions of a fresh ideal, his mind was lifted + aloft into the airy realms of beauty; dark thoughts, unhallowed desires, + vanished. Zanoni was right: the material world shrunk from his gaze; he + viewed Nature as from a mountain-top afar; and as the waves of his unquiet + heart became calm and still, again the angel eyes of Viola beamed on them + as a holy star. + </p> + <p> + Locking himself in his chamber, he refused even the visits of Mervale. + Intoxicated with the pure air of his fresh existence, he remained for + three days, and almost nights, absorbed in his employment; but on the + fourth morning came that reaction to which all labour is exposed. He woke + listless and fatigued; and as he cast his eyes on the canvas, the glory + seemed to have gone from it. Humiliating recollections of the great + masters he aspired to rival forced themselves upon him; defects before + unseen magnified themselves to deformities in his languid and discontented + eyes. He touched and retouched, but his hand failed him; he threw down his + instruments in despair; he opened his casement: the day without was bright + and lovely; the street was crowded with that life which is ever so joyous + and affluent in the animated population of Naples. He saw the lover, as he + passed, conversing with his mistress by those mute gestures which have + survived all changes of languages, the same now as when the Etruscan + painted yon vases in the Museo Borbonico. Light from without beckoned his + youth to its mirth and its pleasures; and the dull walls within, lately + large enough to comprise heaven and earth, seemed now cabined and confined + as a felon’s prison. He welcomed the step of Mervale at his threshold, and + unbarred the door. + </p> + <p> + “And is that all you have done?” said Mervale, glancing disdainfully at + the canvas. “Is it for this that you have shut yourself out from the sunny + days and moonlit nights of Naples?” + </p> + <p> + “While the fit was on me, I basked in a brighter sun, and imbibed the + voluptuous luxury of a softer moon.” + </p> + <p> + “You own that the fit is over. Well, that is some sign of returning sense. + After all, it is better to daub canvas for three days than make a fool of + yourself for life. This little siren?” + </p> + <p> + “Be dumb! I hate to hear you name her.” + </p> + <p> + Mervale drew his chair nearer to Glyndon’s, thrust his hands deep in his + breeches-pockets, stretched his legs, and was about to begin a serious + strain of expostulation, when a knock was heard at the door, and Nicot, + without waiting for leave, obtruded his ugly head. + </p> + <p> + “Good-day, mon cher confrere. I wished to speak to you. Hein! you have + been at work, I see. This is well,—very well! A bold outline,—great + freedom in that right hand. But, hold! is the composition good? You have + not got the great pyramidal form. Don’t you think, too, that you have lost + the advantage of contrast in this figure; since the right leg is put + forward, surely the right arm should be put back? Peste! but that little + finger is very fine!” + </p> + <p> + Mervale detested Nicot. For all speculators, Utopians, alterers of the + world, and wanderers from the high road, were equally hateful to him; but + he could have hugged the Frenchman at that moment. He saw in Glyndon’s + expressive countenance all the weariness and disgust he endured. After so + wrapped a study, to be prated to about pyramidal forms and right arms and + right legs, the accidence of the art, the whole conception to be + overlooked, and the criticism to end in approval of the little finger! + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Glyndon, peevishly, throwing the cloth over his design, “enough + of my poor performance. What is it you have to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + “In the first place,” said Nicot, huddling himself together upon a stool,—“in + the first place, this Signor Zanoni,—this second Cagliostro,—who + disputes my doctrines! (no doubt a spy of the man Capet) I am not + vindictive; as Helvetius says, ‘our errors arise from our passions.’ I + keep mine in order; but it is virtuous to hate in the cause of mankind; I + would I had the denouncing and the judging of Signor Zanoni at Paris.” And + Nicot’s small eyes shot fire, and he gnashed his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any new cause to hate him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Nicot, fiercely. “Yes, I hear he is courting the girl I mean + to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “You! Whom do you speak of?” + </p> + <p> + “The celebrated Pisani! She is divinely handsome. She would make my + fortune in a republic. And a republic we shall have before the year is + out.” + </p> + <p> + Mervale rubbed his hands, and chuckled. Glyndon coloured with rage and + shame. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know the Signora Pisani? Have you ever spoken to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. But when I make up my mind to anything, it is soon done. I am + about to return to Paris. They write me word that a handsome wife advances + the career of a patriot. The age of prejudice is over. The sublimer + virtues begin to be understood. I shall take back the handsomest wife in + Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet! What are you about?” said Mervale, seizing Glyndon as he saw + him advance towards the Frenchman, his eyes sparkling, and his hands + clenched. + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” said Glyndon, between his teeth, “you know not of whom you thus + speak. Do you affect to suppose that Viola Pisani would accept YOU?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if she could get a better offer,” said Mervale, looking up to the + ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “A better offer? You don’t understand me,” said Nicot. “I, Jean Nicot, + propose to marry the girl; marry her! Others may make her more liberal + offers, but no one, I apprehend, would make one so honourable. I alone + have pity on her friendless situation. Besides, according to the dawning + state of things, one will always, in France, be able to get rid of a wife + whenever one wishes. We shall have new laws of divorce. Do you imagine + that an Italian girl—and in no country in the world are maidens, it + seems, more chaste (though wives may console themselves with virtues more + philosophical)—would refuse the hand of an artist for the + settlements of a prince? No; I think better of the Pisani than you do. I + shall hasten to introduce myself to her.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you all success, Monsieur Nicot,” said Mervale, rising, and + shaking him heartily by the hand. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon cast at them both a disdainful glance. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, Monsieur Nicot,” said he, at length, constraining his lips into + a bitter smile,—“perhaps you may have rivals.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better,” replied Monsieur Nicot, carelessly, kicking his + heels together, and appearing absorbed in admiration at the size of his + large feet. + </p> + <p> + “I myself admire Viola Pisani.” + </p> + <p> + “Every painter must!” + </p> + <p> + “I may offer her marriage as well as yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be folly in you, though wisdom in me. You would not know how + to draw profit from the speculation! Cher confrere, you have prejudices.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not dare to say you would make profit from your own wife?” + </p> + <p> + “The virtuous Cato lent his wife to a friend. I love virtue, and I cannot + do better than imitate Cato. But to be serious,—I do not fear you as + a rival. You are good-looking, and I am ugly. But you are irresolute, and + I decisive. While you are uttering fine phrases, I shall say, simply, ‘I + have a bon etat. Will you marry me?’ So do your worst, cher confrere. Au + revoir, behind the scenes!” + </p> + <p> + So saying, Nicot rose, stretched his long arms and short legs, yawned till + he showed all his ragged teeth from ear to ear, pressed down his cap on + his shaggy head with an air of defiance, and casting over his left + shoulder a glance of triumph and malice at the indignant Glyndon, + sauntered out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Mervale burst into a violent fit of laughter. “See how your Viola is + estimated by your friend. A fine victory, to carry her off from the + ugliest dog between Lapland and the Calmucks.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon was yet too indignant to answer, when a new visitor arrived. It + was Zanoni himself. Mervale, on whom the appearance and aspect of this + personage imposed a kind of reluctant deference, which he was unwilling to + acknowledge, and still more to betray, nodded to Glyndon, and saying, + simply, “More when I see you again,” left the painter and his unexpected + visitor. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Zanoni, lifting the cloth from the canvas, “that you have + not slighted the advice I gave you. Courage, young artist; this is an + escape from the schools: this is full of the bold self-confidence of real + genius. You had no Nicot—no Mervale—at your elbow when this + image of true beauty was conceived!” + </p> + <p> + Charmed back to his art by this unlooked-for praise, Glyndon replied + modestly, “I thought well of my design till this morning; and then I was + disenchanted of my happy persuasion.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, rather, that, unaccustomed to continuous labour, you were fatigued + with your employment.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true. Shall I confess it? I began to miss the world without. It + seemed to me as if, while I lavished my heart and my youth upon visions of + beauty, I was losing the beautiful realities of actual life. And I envied + the merry fisherman, singing as he passed below my casement, and the lover + conversing with his mistress.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” said Zanoni, with an encouraging smile, “do you blame yourself for + the natural and necessary return to earth, in which even the most habitual + visitor of the Heavens of Invention seeks his relaxation and repose? Man’s + genius is a bird that cannot be always on the wing; when the craving for + the actual world is felt, it is a hunger that must be appeased. They who + command best the ideal, enjoy ever most the real. See the true artist, + when abroad in men’s thoroughfares, ever observant, ever diving into the + heart, ever alive to the least as to the greatest of the complicated + truths of existence; descending to what pedants would call the trivial and + the frivolous. From every mesh in the social web, he can disentangle a + grace. And for him each airy gossamer floats in the gold of the sunlight. + Know you not that around the animalcule that sports in the water there + shines a halo, as around the star (The monas mica, found in the purest + pools, is encompassed with a halo. And this is frequent amongst many other + species of animalcule.) that revolves in bright pastime through the space? + True art finds beauty everywhere. In the street, in the market-place, in + the hovel, it gathers food for the hive of its thoughts. In the mire of + politics, Dante and Milton selected pearls for the wreath of song. + </p> + <p> + “Who ever told you that Raphael did not enjoy the life without, carrying + everywhere with him the one inward idea of beauty which attracted and + imbedded in its own amber every straw that the feet of the dull man + trampled into mud? As some lord of the forest wanders abroad for its prey, + and scents and follows it over plain and hill, through brake and jungle, + but, seizing it at last, bears the quarry to its unwitnessed cave,—so + Genius searches through wood and waste, untiringly and eagerly, every + sense awake, every nerve strained to speed and strength, for the scattered + and flying images of matter, that it seizes at last with its mighty + talons, and bears away with it into solitudes no footstep can invade. Go, + seek the world without; it is for art the inexhaustible pasture-ground and + harvest to the world within!” + </p> + <p> + “You comfort me,” said Glyndon, brightening. “I had imagined my weariness + a proof of my deficiency! But not now would I speak to you of these + labours. Pardon me, if I pass from the toil to the reward. You have + uttered dim prophecies of my future, if I wed one who, in the judgment of + the sober world, would only darken its prospects and obstruct its + ambition. Do you speak from the wisdom which is experience, or that which + aspires to prediction?” + </p> + <p> + “Are they not allied? Is it not he best accustomed to calculation who can + solve at a glance any new problem in the arithmetic of chances?” + </p> + <p> + “You evade my question.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but I will adapt my answer the better to your comprehension, for it + is upon this very point that I have sought you. Listen to me!” Zanoni + fixed his eyes earnestly on his listener, and continued: “For the + accomplishment of whatever is great and lofty, the clear perception of + truths is the first requisite,—truths adapted to the object desired. + The warrior thus reduces the chances of battle to combinations almost of + mathematics. He can predict a result, if he can but depend upon the + materials he is forced to employ. At such a loss he can cross that bridge; + in such a time he can reduce that fort. Still more accurately, for he + depends less on material causes than ideas at his command, can the + commander of the purer science or diviner art, if he once perceive the + truths that are in him and around, foretell what he can achieve, and in + what he is condemned to fail. But this perception of truths is disturbed + by many causes,—vanity, passion, fear, indolence in himself, + ignorance of the fitting means without to accomplish what he designs. He + may miscalculate his own forces; he may have no chart of the country he + would invade. It is only in a peculiar state of the mind that it is + capable of perceiving truth; and that state is profound serenity. Your + mind is fevered by a desire for truth: you would compel it to your + embraces; you would ask me to impart to you, without ordeal or + preparation, the grandest secrets that exist in Nature. But truth can no + more be seen by the mind unprepared for it, than the sun can dawn upon the + midst of night. Such a mind receives truth only to pollute it: to use the + simile of one who has wandered near to the secret of the sublime Goetia + (or the magic that lies within Nature, as electricity within the cloud), + ‘He who pours water into the muddy well, does but disturb the mud.’” + (“Iamb. de Vit. Pythag.”) + </p> + <p> + “What do you tend to?” + </p> + <p> + “This: that you have faculties that may attain to surpassing power, that + may rank you among those enchanters who, greater than the magian, leave + behind them an enduring influence, worshipped wherever beauty is + comprehended, wherever the soul is sensible of a higher world than that in + which matter struggles for crude and incomplete existence. + </p> + <p> + “But to make available those faculties, need I be a prophet to tell you + that you must learn to concentre upon great objects all your desires? The + heart must rest, that the mind may be active. At present you wander from + aim to aim. As the ballast to the ship, so to the spirit are faith and + love. With your whole heart, affections, humanity, centred in one object, + your mind and aspirations will become equally steadfast and in earnest. + Viola is a child as yet; you do not perceive the high nature the trials of + life will develop. Pardon me, if I say that her soul, purer and loftier + than your own, will bear it upward, as a secret hymn carries aloft the + spirits of the world. Your nature wants the harmony, the music which, as + the Pythagoreans wisely taught, at once elevates and soothes. I offer you + that music in her love.” + </p> + <p> + “But am I sure that she does love me?” + </p> + <p> + “Artist, no; she loves you not at present; her affections are full of + another. But if I could transfer to you, as the loadstone transfers its + attraction to the magnet, the love that she has now for me,—if I + could cause her to see in you the ideal of her dreams—” + </p> + <p> + “Is such a gift in the power of man?” + </p> + <p> + “I offer it to you, if your love be lawful, if your faith in virtue and + yourself be deep and loyal; if not, think you that I would disenchant her + with truth to make her adore a falsehood?” + </p> + <p> + “But if,” persisted Glyndon,—“if she be all that you tell me, and if + she love you, how can you rob yourself of so priceless a treasure?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shallow and mean heart of man!” exclaimed Zanoni, with unaccustomed + passion and vehemence, “dost thou conceive so little of love as not to + know that it sacrifices all—love itself—for the happiness of + the thing it loves? Hear me!” And Zanoni’s face grew pale. “Hear me! I + press this upon you, because I love her, and because I fear that with me + her fate will be less fair than with yourself. Why,—ask not, for I + will not tell you. Enough! Time presses now for your answer; it cannot + long be delayed. Before the night of the third day from this, all choice + will be forbid you!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Glyndon, still doubting and suspicious,—“but why this + haste?” + </p> + <p> + “Man, you are not worthy of her when you ask me. All I can tell you here, + you should have known yourself. This ravisher, this man of will, this son + of the old Visconti, unlike you,—steadfast, resolute, earnest even + in his crimes,—never relinquishes an object. But one passion + controls his lust,—it is his avarice. The day after his attempt on + Viola, his uncle, the Cardinal —, from whom he has large + expectations of land and gold, sent for him, and forbade him, on pain of + forfeiting all the possessions which his schemes already had parcelled + out, to pursue with dishonourable designs one whom the Cardinal had heeded + and loved from childhood. This is the cause of his present pause from his + pursuit. While we speak, the cause expires. Before the hand of the clock + reaches the hour of noon, the Cardinal — will be no more. At this + very moment thy friend, Jean Nicot, is with the Prince di —.” + </p> + <p> + “He! wherefore?” + </p> + <p> + “To ask what dower shall go with Viola Pisani, the morning that she leaves + the palace of the prince.” + </p> + <p> + “And how do you know all this?” + </p> + <p> + “Fool! I tell thee again, because a lover is a watcher by night and day; + because love never sleeps when danger menaces the beloved one!” + </p> + <p> + “And you it was that informed the Cardinal —?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and what has been my task might as easily have been thine. Speak,—thine + answer!” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have it on the third day from this.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so. Put off, poor waverer, thy happiness to the last hour. On the + third day from this, I will ask thee thy resolve.” + </p> + <p> + “And where shall we meet?” + </p> + <p> + “Before midnight, where you may least expect me. You cannot shun me, + though you may seek to do so!” + </p> + <p> + “Stay one moment! You condemn me as doubtful, irresolute, suspicious. Have + I no cause? Can I yield without a struggle to the strange fascination you + exert upon my mind? What interest can you have in me, a stranger, that you + should thus dictate to me the gravest action in the life of man? Do you + suppose that any one in his senses would not pause, and deliberate, and + ask himself, ‘Why should this stranger care thus for me?’” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said Zanoni, “if I told thee that I could initiate thee into + the secrets of that magic which the philosophy of the whole existing world + treats as a chimera, or imposture; if I promised to show thee how to + command the beings of air and ocean, how to accumulate wealth more easily + than a child can gather pebbles on the shore, to place in thy hands the + essence of the herbs which prolong life from age to age, the mystery of + that attraction by which to awe all danger and disarm all violence and + subdue man as the serpent charms the bird,—if I told thee that all + these it was mine to possess and to communicate, thou wouldst listen to me + then, and obey me without a doubt!” + </p> + <p> + “It is true; and I can account for this only by the imperfect associations + of my childhood,—by traditions in our house of—” + </p> + <p> + “Your forefather, who, in the revival of science, sought the secrets of + Apollonius and Paracelsus.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” said Glyndon, amazed, “are you so well acquainted with the annals + of an obscure lineage?” + </p> + <p> + “To the man who aspires to know, no man who has been the meanest student + of knowledge should be unknown. You ask me why I have shown this interest + in your fate? There is one reason which I have not yet told you. There is + a fraternity as to whose laws and whose mysteries the most inquisitive + schoolmen are in the dark. By those laws all are pledged to warn, to aid, + and to guide even the remotest descendants of men who have toiled, though + vainly, like your ancestor, in the mysteries of the Order. We are bound to + advise them to their welfare; nay, more,—if they command us to it, + we must accept them as our pupils. I am a survivor of that most ancient + and immemorial union. This it was that bound me to thee at the first; + this, perhaps, attracted thyself unconsciously, Son of our Brotherhood, to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “If this be so, I command thee, in the name of the laws thou obeyest, to + receive me as thy pupil!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you ask?” said Zanoni, passionately. “Learn, first, the + conditions. No neophyte must have, at his initiation, one affection or + desire that chains him to the world. He must be pure from the love of + woman, free from avarice and ambition, free from the dreams even of art, + or the hope of earthly fame. The first sacrifice thou must make is—Viola + herself. And for what? For an ordeal that the most daring courage only can + encounter, the most ethereal natures alone survive! Thou art unfit for the + science that has made me and others what we are or have been; for thy + whole nature is one fear!” + </p> + <p> + “Fear!” cried Glyndon, colouring with resentment, and rising to the full + height of his stature. + </p> + <p> + “Fear! and the worst fear,—fear of the world’s opinion; fear of the + Nicots and the Mervales; fear of thine own impulses when most generous; + fear of thine own powers when thy genius is most bold; fear that virtue is + not eternal; fear that God does not live in heaven to keep watch on earth; + fear, the fear of little men; and that fear is never known to the great.” + </p> + <p> + With these words Zanoni abruptly left the artist, humbled, bewildered, and + not convinced. He remained alone with his thoughts till he was aroused by + the striking of the clock; he then suddenly remembered Zanoni’s prediction + of the Cardinal’s death; and, seized with an intense desire to learn its + truth, he hurried into the streets,—he gained the Cardinal’s palace. + Five minutes before noon his Eminence had expired, after an illness of + less than an hour. Zanoni’s visit had occupied more time than the illness + of the Cardinal. Awed and perplexed, he turned from the palace, and as he + walked through the Chiaja, he saw Jean Nicot emerge from the portals of + the Prince di —. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Two loves I have of comfort and despair, + Which like two spirits do suggest me still. + —Shakespeare. +</pre> + <p> + Venerable Brotherhood, so sacred and so little known, from whose secret + and precious archives the materials for this history have been drawn; ye + who have retained, from century to century, all that time has spared of + the august and venerable science,—thanks to you, if now, for the + first time, some record of the thoughts and actions of no false and + self-styled luminary of your Order be given, however imperfectly, to the + world. Many have called themselves of your band; many spurious pretenders + have been so-called by the learned ignorance which still, baffled and + perplexed, is driven to confess that it knows nothing of your origin, your + ceremonies or doctrines, nor even if you still have local habitation on + the earth. Thanks to you if I, the only one of my country, in this age, + admitted, with a profane footstep, into your mysterious Academe (The + reader will have the goodness to remember that this is said by the author + of the original MS., not by the editor.), have been by you empowered and + instructed to adapt to the comprehension of the uninitiated, some few of + the starry truths which shone on the great Shemaia of the Chaldean Lore, + and gleamed dimly through the darkened knowledge of latter disciples, + labouring, like Psellus and Iamblichus, to revive the embers of the fire + which burned in the Hamarin of the East. Though not to us of an aged and + hoary world is vouchsafed the NAME which, so say the earliest oracles of + the earth, “rushes into the infinite worlds,” yet is it ours to trace the + reviving truths, through each new discovery of the philosopher and + chemist. The laws of attraction, of electricity, and of the yet more + mysterious agency of that great principal of life, which, if drawn from + the universe, would leave the universe a grave, were but the code in which + the Theurgy of old sought the guides that led it to a legislation and + science of its own. To rebuild on words the fragments of this history, it + seems to me as if, in a solemn trance, I was led through the ruins of a + city whose only remains were tombs. From the sarcophagus and the urn I + awake the genius (The Greek Genius of Death.) of the extinguished Torch, + and so closely does its shape resemble Eros, that at moments I scarcely + know which of ye dictates to me,—O Love! O Death! + </p> + <p> + And it stirred in the virgin’s heart,—this new, unfathomable, and + divine emotion! Was it only the ordinary affection of the pulse and the + fancy, of the eye to the Beautiful, of the ear to the Eloquent, or did it + not justify the notion she herself conceived of it,—that it was born + not of the senses, that it was less of earthly and human love than the + effect of some wondrous but not unholy charm? I said that, from that day + in which, no longer with awe and trembling, she surrendered herself to the + influence of Zanoni, she had sought to put her thoughts into words. Let + the thoughts attest their own nature. + </p> + <p> + THE SELF CONFESSIONAL. + </p> + <p> + “Is it the daylight that shines on me, or the memory of thy presence? + Wherever I look, the world seems full of thee; in every ray that trembles + on the water, that smiles upon the leaves, I behold but a likeness to + thine eyes. What is this change, that alters not only myself, but the face + of the whole universe? + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “How instantaneously leaped into life the power with which thou swayest my + heart in its ebb and flow. Thousands were around me, and I saw but thee. + That was the night in which I first entered upon the world which crowds + life into a drama, and has no language but music. How strangely and how + suddenly with thee became that world evermore connected! What the delusion + of the stage was to others, thy presence was to me. My life, too, seemed + to centre into those short hours, and from thy lips I heard a music, mute + to all ears but mine. I sit in the room where my father dwelt. Here, on + that happy night, forgetting why THEY were so happy, I shrunk into the + shadow, and sought to guess what thou wert to me; and my mother’s low + voice woke me, and I crept to my father’s side, close—close, from + fear of my own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! sweet and sad was the morrow to that night, when thy lips warned me + of the future. An orphan now,—what is there that lives for me to + think of, to dream upon, to revere, but thou! + </p> + <p> + “How tenderly thou hast rebuked me for the grievous wrong that my thoughts + did thee! Why should I have shuddered to feel thee glancing upon my + thoughts like the beam on the solitary tree, to which thou didst once + liken me so well? It was—it was, that, like the tree, I struggled + for the light, and the light came. They tell me of love, and my very life + of the stage breathes the language of love into my lips. No; again and + again, I know THAT is not the love that I feel for thee!—it is not a + passion, it is a thought! I ask not to be loved again. I murmur not that + thy words are stern and thy looks are cold. I ask not if I have rivals; I + sigh not to be fair in thine eyes. It is my SPIRIT that would blend itself + with thine. I would give worlds, though we were apart, though oceans + rolled between us, to know the hour in which thy gaze was lifted to the + stars,—in which thy heart poured itself in prayer. They tell me thou + art more beautiful than the marble images that are fairer than all human + forms; but I have never dared to gaze steadfastly on thy face, that memory + might compare thee with the rest. Only thine eyes and thy soft, calm smile + haunt me; as when I look upon the moon, all that passes into my heart is + her silent light. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “Often, when the air is calm, I have thought that I hear the strains of my + father’s music; often, though long stilled in the grave, have they waked + me from the dreams of the solemn night. Methinks, ere thou comest to me + that I hear them herald thy approach. Methinks I hear them wail and moan, + when I sink back into myself on seeing thee depart. Thou art OF that + music,—its spirit, its genius. My father must have guessed at thee + and thy native regions, when the winds hushed to listen to his tones, and + the world deemed him mad! I hear where I sit, the far murmur of the sea. + Murmur on, ye blessed waters! The waves are the pulses of the shore. They + beat with the gladness of the morning wind,—so beats my heart in the + freshness and light that make up the thoughts of thee! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “Often in my childhood I have mused and asked for what I was born; and my + soul answered my heart and said, ‘THOU WERT BORN TO WORSHIP!’ Yes; I know + why the real world has ever seemed to me so false and cold. I know why the + world of the stage charmed and dazzled me. I know why it was so sweet to + sit apart and gaze my whole being into the distant heavens. My nature is + not formed for this life, happy though that life seem to others. It is its + very want to have ever before it some image loftier than itself! Stranger, + in what realm above, when the grave is past, shall my soul, hour after + hour, worship at the same source as thine? + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “In the gardens of my neighbour there is a small fountain. I stood by it + this morning after sunrise. How it sprung up, with its eager spray, to the + sunbeams! And then I thought that I should see thee again this day, and so + sprung my heart to the new morning which thou bringest me from the skies. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “I HAVE seen, I have LISTENED to thee again. How bold I have become! I ran + on with my childlike thoughts and stories, my recollections of the past, + as if I had known thee from an infant. Suddenly the idea of my presumption + struck me. I stopped, and timidly sought thine eyes. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, and when you found that the nightingale refused to sing?’— + </p> + <p> + “‘Ah!’ I said, ‘what to thee this history of the heart of a child?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Viola,’ didst thou answer, with that voice, so inexpressibly calm and + earnest!—‘Viola, the darkness of a child’s heart is often but + the shadow of a star. Speak on! And thy nightingale, when they caught and + caged it, refused to sing?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And I placed the cage yonder, amidst the vine-leaves, and took up my + lute, and spoke to it on the strings; for I thought that all music was its + native language, and it would understand that I sought to comfort it.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ saidst thou. ‘And at last it answered thee, but not with song,—in + a sharp, brief cry; so mournful, that thy hands let fall the lute, and the + tears gushed from thine eyes. So softly didst thou unbar the cage, and the + nightingale flew into yonder thicket; and thou heardst the foliage rustle, + and, looking through the moonlight, thine eyes saw that it had found its + mate. It sang to thee then from the boughs a long, loud, joyous jubilee. + And musing, thou didst feel that it was not the vine-leaves or the + moonlight that made the bird give melody to night, and that the secret of + its music was the presence of a thing beloved.’ + </p> + <p> + “How didst thou know my thoughts in that childlike time better than I knew + myself! How is the humble life of my past years, with its mean events, so + mysteriously familiar to thee, bright stranger! I wonder,—but I do + not again dare to fear thee! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “Once the thought of him oppressed and weighed me down. As an infant that + longs for the moon, my being was one vague desire for something never to + be attained. Now I feel rather as if to think of thee sufficed to remove + every fetter from my spirit. I float in the still seas of light, and + nothing seems too high for my wings, too glorious for my eyes. It was mine + ignorance that made me fear thee. A knowledge that is not in books seems + to breathe around thee as an atmosphere. How little have I read!—how + little have I learned! Yet when thou art by my side, it seems as if the + veil were lifted from all wisdom and all Nature. I startle when I look + even at the words I have written; they seem not to come from myself, but + are the signs of another language which thou hast taught my heart, and + which my hand traces rapidly, as at thy dictation. Sometimes, while I + write or muse, I could fancy that I heard light wings hovering around me, + and saw dim shapes of beauty floating round, and vanishing as they smiled + upon me. No unquiet and fearful dream ever comes to me now in sleep, yet + sleep and waking are alike but as one dream. In sleep I wander with thee, + not through the paths of earth, but through impalpable air—an air + which seems a music—upward and upward, as the soul mounts on the + tones of a lyre! Till I knew thee, I was as a slave to the earth. Thou + hast given to me the liberty of the universe! Before, it was life; it + seems to me now as if I had commenced eternity! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “Formerly, when I was to appear upon the stage, my heart beat more loudly. + I trembled to encounter the audience, whose breath gave shame or renown; + and now I have no fear of them. I see them, heed them, hear them not! I + know that there will be music in my voice, for it is a hymn that I pour to + thee. Thou never comest to the theatre; and that no longer grieves me. + Thou art become too sacred to appear a part of the common world, and I + feel glad that thou art not by when crowds have a right to judge me. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “And he spoke to me of ANOTHER: to another he would consign me! No, it is + not love that I feel for thee, Zanoni; or why did I hear thee without + anger, why did thy command seem to me not a thing impossible? As the + strings of the instrument obey the hand of the master, thy look modulates + the wildest chords of my heart to thy will. If it please thee,—yes, + let it be so. Thou art lord of my destinies; they cannot rebel against + thee! I almost think I could love him, whoever it be, on whom thou wouldst + shed the rays that circumfuse thyself. Whatever thou hast touched, I love; + whatever thou speakest of, I love. Thy hand played with these vine leaves; + I wear them in my bosom. Thou seemest to me the source of all love; too + high and too bright to be loved thyself, but darting light into other + objects, on which the eye can gaze less dazzled. No, no; it is not love + that I feel for thee, and therefore it is that I do not blush to nourish + and confess it. Shame on me if I loved, knowing myself so worthless a + thing to thee! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “ANOTHER!—my memory echoes back that word. Another! Dost thou mean + that I shall see thee no more? It is not sadness,—it is not despair + that seizes me. I cannot weep. It is an utter sense of desolation. I am + plunged back into the common life; and I shudder coldly at the solitude. + But I will obey thee, if thou wilt. Shall I not see thee again beyond the + grave? O how sweet it were to die! + </p> + <p> + “Why do I not struggle from the web in which my will is thus entangled? + Hast thou a right to dispose of me thus? Give me back—give me back + the life I knew before I gave life itself away to thee. Give me back the + careless dreams of my youth,—-my liberty of heart that sung aloud as + it walked the earth. Thou hast disenchanted me of everything that is not + of thyself. Where was the sin, at least, to think of thee,—to see + thee? Thy kiss still glows upon my hand; is that hand mine to bestow? Thy + kiss claimed and hallowed it to thyself. Stranger, I will NOT obey thee. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “Another day,—one day of the fatal three is gone! It is strange to + me that since the sleep of the last night, a deep calm has settled upon my + breast. I feel so assured that my very being is become a part of thee, + that I cannot believe that my life can be separated from thine; and in + this conviction I repose, and smile even at thy words and my own fears. + Thou art fond of one maxim, which thou repeatest in a thousand forms,—that + the beauty of the soul is faith; that as ideal loveliness to the sculptor, + faith is to the heart; that faith, rightly understood, extends over all + the works of the Creator, whom we can know but through belief; that it + embraces a tranquil confidence in ourselves, and a serene repose as to our + future; that it is the moonlight that sways the tides of the human sea. + That faith I comprehend now. I reject all doubt, all fear. I know that I + have inextricably linked the whole that makes the inner life to thee; and + thou canst not tear me from thee, if thou wouldst! And this change from + struggle into calm came to me with sleep,—a sleep without a dream; + but when I woke, it was with a mysterious sense of happiness,—an + indistinct memory of something blessed,—as if thou hadst cast from + afar off a smile upon my slumber. At night I was so sad; not a blossom + that had not closed itself up, as if never more to open to the sun; and + the night itself, in the heart as on the earth, has ripened the blossoms + into flowers. The world is beautiful once more, but beautiful in repose,—not + a breeze stirs thy tree, not a doubt my soul!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tu vegga o per violenzia o per inganno + Patire o disonore o mortal danno. + “Orlando Furioso,” Cant. xlii. i. + + (Thou art about, either through violence or artifice, to suffer + either dishonour or mortal loss.) +</pre> + <p> + It was a small cabinet; the walls were covered with pictures, one of which + was worth more than the whole lineage of the owner of the palace. Oh, yes! + Zanoni was right. The painter IS a magician; the gold he at least wrings + from his crucible is no delusion. A Venetian noble might be a fribble, or + an assassin,—a scoundrel, or a dolt; worthless, or worse than + worthless, yet he might have sat to Titian, and his portrait may be + inestimable,—a few inches of painted canvas a thousand times more + valuable than a man with his veins and muscles, brain, will, heart, and + intellect! + </p> + <p> + In this cabinet sat a man of about three-and-forty,—dark-eyed, + sallow, with short, prominent features, a massive conformation of jaw, and + thick, sensual, but resolute lips; this man was the Prince di —. His + form, above the middle height, and rather inclined to corpulence, was clad + in a loose dressing-robe of rich brocade. On a table before him lay an + old-fashioned sword and hat, a mask, dice and dice-box, a portfolio, and + an inkstand of silver curiously carved. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mascari,” said the prince, looking up towards his parasite, who + stood by the embrasure of the deep-set barricadoed window,—“well! + the Cardinal sleeps with his fathers. I require comfort for the loss of so + excellent a relation; and where a more dulcet voice than Viola Pisani’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Is your Excellency serious? So soon after the death of his Eminence?” + </p> + <p> + “It will be the less talked of, and I the less suspected. Hast thou + ascertained the name of the insolent who baffled us that night, and + advised the Cardinal the next day?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Sapient Mascari! I will inform thee. It was the strange Unknown.” + </p> + <p> + “The Signor Zanoni! Are you sure, my prince?” + </p> + <p> + “Mascari, yes. There is a tone in that man’s voice that I never can + mistake; so clear, and so commanding, when I hear it I almost fancy there + is such a thing as conscience. However, we must rid ourselves of an + impertinent. Mascari, Signor Zanoni hath not yet honoured our poor house + with his presence. He is a distinguished stranger,—we must give a + banquet in his honour.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, and the Cyprus wine! The cypress is a proper emblem of the grave.” + </p> + <p> + “But this anon. I am superstitious; there are strange stories of Zanoni’s + power and foresight; remember the death of Ughelli. No matter, though the + Fiend were his ally, he should not rob me of my prize; no, nor my + revenge.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Excellency is infatuated; the actress has bewitched you.” + </p> + <p> + “Mascari,” said the prince, with a haughty smile, “through these veins + rolls the blood of the old Visconti—of those who boasted that no + woman ever escaped their lust, and no man their resentment. The crown of + my fathers has shrunk into a gewgaw and a toy,—their ambition and + their spirit are undecayed! My honour is now enlisted in this pursuit,—Viola + must be mine!” + </p> + <p> + “Another ambuscade?” said Mascari, inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, why not enter the house itself?—the situation is lonely, and + the door is not made of iron.” + </p> + <p> + “But what if, on her return home, she tell the tale of our violence? A + house forced,—a virgin stolen! Reflect; though the feudal privileges + are not destroyed, even a Visconti is not now above the law.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he not, Mascari? Fool! in what age of the world, even if the Madmen of + France succeed in their chimeras, will the iron of law not bend itself, + like an osier twig, to the strong hand of power and gold? But look not so + pale, Mascari; I have foreplanned all things. The day that she leaves this + palace, she will leave it for France, with Monsieur Jean Nicot.” + </p> + <p> + Before Mascari could reply, the gentleman of the chamber announced the + Signor Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + The prince involuntarily laid his hand upon the sword placed on the table, + then with a smile at his own impulse, rose, and met his visitor at the + threshold, with all the profuse and respectful courtesy of Italian + simulation. + </p> + <p> + “This is an honour highly prized,” said the prince. “I have long desired + to clasp the hand of one so distinguished.” + </p> + <p> + “And I give it in the spirit with which you seek it,” replied Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + The Neapolitan bowed over the hand he pressed; but as he touched it a + shiver came over him, and his heart stood still. Zanoni bent on him his + dark, smiling eyes, and then seated himself with a familiar air. + </p> + <p> + “Thus it is signed and sealed; I mean our friendship, noble prince. And + now I will tell you the object of my visit. I find, Excellency, that, + unconsciously perhaps, we are rivals. Can we not accommodate out + pretensions!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the prince, carelessly, “you, then, were the cavalier who + robbed me of the reward of my chase. All stratagems fair in love, as in + war. Reconcile our pretensions! Well, here is the dice-box; let us throw + for her. He who casts the lowest shall resign his claim.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this a decision by which you will promise to be bound?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, on my faith.” + </p> + <p> + “And for him who breaks his word so plighted, what shall be the forfeit?” + </p> + <p> + “The sword lies next to the dice-box, Signor Zanoni. Let him who stands + not by his honour fall by the sword.” + </p> + <p> + “And you invoke that sentence if either of us fail his word? Be it so; let + Signor Mascari cast for us.” + </p> + <p> + “Well said!—Mascari, the dice!” + </p> + <p> + The prince threw himself back in his chair; and, world-hardened as he was, + could not suppress the glow of triumph and satisfaction that spread itself + over his features. Mascari took up the three dice, and rattled them + noisily in the box. Zanoni, leaning his cheek on his hand, and bending + over the table, fixed his eyes steadfastly on the parasite; Mascari in + vain struggled to extricate from that searching gaze; he grew pale, and + trembled, he put down the box. + </p> + <p> + “I give the first throw to your Excellency. Signor Mascari, be pleased to + terminate our suspense.” + </p> + <p> + Again Mascari took up the box; again his hand shook so that the dice + rattled within. He threw; the numbers were sixteen. + </p> + <p> + “It is a high throw,” said Zanoni, calmly; “nevertheless, Signor Mascari, + I do not despond.” + </p> + <p> + Mascari gathered up the dice, shook the box, and rolled the contents once + more on the table: the number was the highest that can be thrown,—eighteen. + </p> + <p> + The prince darted a glance of fire at his minion, who stood with gaping + mouth, staring at the dice, and trembling from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “I have won, you see,” said Zanoni; “may we be friends still?” + </p> + <p> + “Signor,” said the prince, obviously struggling with anger and confusion, + “the victory is yours. But pardon me, you have spoken lightly of this + young girl,—will anything tempt you to yield your claim?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do not think so ill of my gallantry; and,” resumed Zanoni, with a + stern meaning in his voice, “forget not the forfeit your own lips have + named.” + </p> + <p> + The prince knit his brow, but constrained the haughty answer that was his + first impulse. + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” he said, forcing a smile; “I yield. Let me prove that I do not + yield ungraciously; will you favour me with your presence at a little + feast I propose to give in honour,” he added, with a sardonic mockery, “of + the elevation of my kinsman, the late Cardinal, of pious memory, to the + true seat of St. Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, indeed, a happiness to hear one command of yours I can obey.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni then turned the conversation, talked lightly and gayly, and soon + afterwards departed. + </p> + <p> + “Villain!” then exclaimed the prince, grasping Mascari by the collar, “you + betrayed me!” + </p> + <p> + “I assure your Excellency that the dice were properly arranged; he should + have thrown twelve; but he is the Devil, and that’s the end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no time to be lost,” said the prince, quitting his hold of his + parasite, who quietly resettled his cravat. + </p> + <p> + “My blood is up,—I will win this girl, if I die for it! What noise + is that?” + </p> + <p> + “It is but the sword of your illustrious ancestor that has fallen from the + table.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Il ne faut appeler aucun ordre si ce n’est en tems clair et + serein. + “Les Clavicules du Rabbi Salomon.” + + (No order of spirits must be invoked unless the weather be clear + and serene.) +</pre> + <p> + Letter from Zanoni to Mejnour. + </p> + <p> + My art is already dim and troubled. I have lost the tranquillity which is + power. I cannot influence the decisions of those whom I would most guide + to the shore; I see them wander farther and deeper into the infinite ocean + where our barks sail evermore to the horizon that flies before us! Amazed + and awed to find that I can only warn where I would control, I have looked + into my own soul. It is true that the desires of earth chain me to the + present, and shut me from the solemn secrets which Intellect, purified + from all the dross of the clay, alone can examine and survey. The stern + condition on which we hold our nobler and diviner gifts darkens our vision + towards the future of those for whom we know the human infirmities of + jealousy or hate or love. Mejnour, all around me is mist and haze; I have + gone back in our sublime existence; and from the bosom of the imperishable + youth that blooms only in the spirit, springs up the dark poison-flower of + human love. + </p> + <p> + This man is not worthy of her,—I know that truth; yet in his nature + are the seeds of good and greatness, if the tares and weeds of worldly + vanities and fears would suffer them to grow. If she were his, and I had + thus transplanted to another soil the passion that obscures my gaze and + disarms my power, unseen, unheard, unrecognised, I could watch over his + fate, and secretly prompt his deeds, and minister to her welfare through + his own. But time rushes on! Through the shadows that encircle me, I see, + gathering round her, the darkest dangers. No choice but flight,—no + escape save with him or me. With me!—the rapturous thought,—the + terrible conviction! With me! Mejnour, canst thou wonder that I would save + her from myself? A moment in the life of ages,—a bubble on the + shoreless sea. What else to me can be human love? And in this exquisite + nature of hers,—more pure, more spiritual, even in its young + affections than ever heretofore the countless volumes of the heart, race + after race, have given to my gaze: there is yet a deep-buried feeling that + warns me of inevitable woe. Thou austere and remorseless Hierophant,—thou + who hast sought to convert to our brotherhood every spirit that seemed to + thee most high and bold,—even thou knowest, by horrible experience, + how vain the hope to banish FEAR from the heart of woman. + </p> + <p> + My life would be to her one marvel. Even if, on the other hand, I sought + to guide her path through the realms of terror to the light, think of the + Haunter of the Threshold, and shudder with me at the awful hazard! I have + endeavoured to fill the Englishman’s ambition with the true glory of his + art; but the restless spirit of his ancestor still seems to whisper in + him, and to attract to the spheres in which it lost its own wandering way. + There is a mystery in man’s inheritance from his fathers. Peculiarities of + the mind, as diseases of the body, rest dormant for generations, to revive + in some distant descendant, baffle all treatment and elude all skill. Come + to me from thy solitude amidst the wrecks of Rome! I pant for a living + confidant,—for one who in the old time has himself known jealousy + and love. I have sought commune with Adon-Ai; but his presence, that once + inspired such heavenly content with knowledge, and so serene a confidence + in destiny, now only troubles and perplexes me. From the height from which + I strive to search into the shadows of things to come, I see confused + spectres of menace and wrath. Methinks I behold a ghastly limit to the + wondrous existence I have held,—methinks that, after ages of the + Ideal Life, I see my course merge into the most stormy whirlpool of the + Real. Where the stars opened to me their gates, there looms a scaffold,—thick + steams of blood rise as from a shambles. What is more strange to me, a + creature here, a very type of the false ideal of common men,—body + and mind, a hideous mockery of the art that shapes the Beautiful, and the + desires that seek the Perfect, ever haunts my vision amidst these + perturbed and broken clouds of the fate to be. By that shadowy scaffold it + stands and gibbers at me, with lips dropping slime and gore. Come, O + friend of the far-time; for me, at least, thy wisdom has not purged away + thy human affections. According to the bonds of our solemn order, reduced + now to thee and myself, lone survivors of so many haughty and glorious + aspirants, thou art pledged, too, to warn the descendant of those whom thy + counsels sought to initiate into the great secret in a former age. The + last of that bold Visconti who was once thy pupil is the relentless + persecutor of this fair child. With thoughts of lust and murder, he is + digging his own grave; thou mayest yet daunt him from his doom. And I also + mysteriously, by the same bond, am pledged to obey, if he so command, a + less guilty descendant of a baffled but nobler student. If he reject my + counsel, and insist upon the pledge, Mejnour, thou wilt have another + neophyte. Beware of another victim! Come to me! This will reach thee with + all speed. Answer it by the pressure of one hand that I can dare to clasp! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Il lupo + Ferito, credo, mi conobbe e ‘ncontro + Mi venne con la bocca sanguinosa. + “Aminta,” At. iv. Sc. i. + + (The wounded wolf, I think, knew me, and came to meet me with its + bloody mouth.) +</pre> + <p> + At Naples, the tomb of Virgil, beetling over the cave of Posilipo, is + reverenced, not with the feelings that should hallow the memory of the + poet, but the awe that wraps the memory of the magician. To his charms + they ascribe the hollowing of that mountain passage; and tradition yet + guards his tomb by the spirits he had raised to construct the cavern. This + spot, in the immediate vicinity of Viola’s home, had often attracted her + solitary footsteps. She had loved the dim and solemn fancies that beset + her as she looked into the lengthened gloom of the grotto, or, ascending + to the tomb, gazed from the rock on the dwarfed figures of the busy crowd + that seemed to creep like insects along the windings of the soil below; + and now, at noon, she bent thither her thoughtful way. She threaded the + narrow path, she passed the gloomy vineyard that clambers up the rock, and + gained the lofty spot, green with moss and luxuriant foliage, where the + dust of him who yet soothes and elevates the minds of men is believed to + rest. From afar rose the huge fortress of St. Elmo, frowning darkly amidst + spires and domes that glittered in the sun. Lulled in its azure splendour + lay the Siren’s sea; and the grey smoke of Vesuvius, in the clear + distance, soared like a moving pillar into the lucid sky. Motionless on + the brink of the precipice, Viola looked upon the lovely and living world + that stretched below; and the sullen vapour of Vesuvius fascinated her eye + yet more than the scattered gardens, or the gleaming Caprea, smiling + amidst the smiles of the sea. She heard not a step that had followed her + on her path and started to hear a voice at hand. So sudden was the + apparition of the form that stood by her side, emerging from the bushes + that clad the crags, and so singularly did it harmonise in its uncouth + ugliness with the wild nature of the scene immediately around her, and the + wizard traditions of the place, that the colour left her cheek, and a + faint cry broke from her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Tush, pretty trembler!—do not be frightened at my face,” said the + man, with a bitter smile. “After three months’ marriage, there is no + different between ugliness and beauty. Custom is a great leveller. I was + coming to your house when I saw you leave it; so, as I have matters of + importance to communicate, I ventured to follow your footsteps. My name is + Jean Nicot, a name already favourably known as a French artist. The art of + painting and the art of music are nearly connected, and the stage is an + altar that unites the two.” + </p> + <p> + There was something frank and unembarrassed in the man’s address that + served to dispel the fear his appearance had occasioned. He seated + himself, as he spoke, on a crag beside her, and, looking up steadily into + her face, continued:— + </p> + <p> + “You are very beautiful, Viola Pisani, and I am not surprised at the + number of your admirers. If I presume to place myself in the list, it is + because I am the only one who loves thee honestly, and woos thee fairly. + Nay, look not so indignant! Listen to me. Has the Prince di — ever + spoken to thee of marriage; or the beautiful imposter Zanoni, or the young + blue-eyed Englishman, Clarence Glyndon? It is marriage,—it is a + home, it is safety, it is reputation, that I offer to thee; and these last + when the straight form grows crooked, and the bright eyes dim. What say + you?” and he attempted to seize her hand. + </p> + <p> + Viola shrunk from him, and silently turned to depart. He rose abruptly and + placed himself on her path. + </p> + <p> + “Actress, you must hear me! Do you know what this calling of the stage is + in the eyes of prejudice,—that is, of the common opinion of mankind? + It is to be a princess before the lamps, and a Pariah before the day. No + man believes in your virtue, no man credits your vows; you are the puppet + that they consent to trick out with tinsel for their amusement, not an + idol for their worship. Are you so enamoured of this career that you scorn + even to think of security and honour? Perhaps you are different from what + you seem. Perhaps you laugh at the prejudice that would degrade you, and + would wisely turn it to advantage. Speak frankly to me; I have no + prejudice either. Sweet one, I am sure we should agree. Now, this Prince + di —, I have a message from him. Shall I deliver it?” + </p> + <p> + Never had Viola felt as she felt then, never had she so thoroughly seen + all the perils of her forelorn condition and her fearful renown. Nicot + continued:— + </p> + <p> + “Zanoni would but amuse himself with thy vanity; Glyndon would despise + himself, if he offered thee his name, and thee, if thou wouldst accept it; + but the Prince di — is in earnest, and he is wealthy. Listen!” + </p> + <p> + And Nicot approached his lips to her, and hissed a sentence which she did + not suffer him to complete. She darted from him with one glance of + unutterable disdain. As he strove to regain his hold of her arm, he lost + his footing, and fell down the sides of the rock till, bruised and + lacerated, a pine-branch saved him from the yawning abyss below. She heard + his exclamation of rage and pain as she bounded down the path, and, + without once turning to look behind, regained her home. By the porch stood + Glyndon, conversing with Gionetta. She passed him abruptly, entered the + house, and, sinking on the floor, wept loud and passionately. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon, who had followed her in surprise, vainly sought to soothe and + calm her. She would not reply to his questions; she did not seem to listen + to his protestations of love, till suddenly, as Nicot’s terrible picture + of the world’s judgment of that profession which to her younger thoughts + had seemed the service of Song and the Beautiful, forced itself upon her, + she raised her face from her hands, and, looking steadily upon the + Englishman, said, “False one, dost thou talk of me of love?” + </p> + <p> + “By my honour, words fail to tell thee how I love!” + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou give me thy home, thy name? Dost thou woo me as thy wife?” And + at that moment, had Glyndon answered as his better angel would have + counselled, perhaps, in that revolution of her whole mind which the words + of Nicot had effected, which made her despise her very self, sicken of her + lofty dreams, despair of the future, and distrust her whole ideal,—perhaps, + I say, in restoring her self-esteem,—he would have won her + confidence, and ultimately secured her love. But against the prompting of + his nobler nature rose up at that sudden question all those doubts which, + as Zanoni had so well implied, made the true enemies of his soul. Was he + thus suddenly to be entangled into a snare laid for his credulity by + deceivers? Was she not instructed to seize the moment to force him into an + avowal which prudence must repent? Was not the great actress rehearsing a + premeditated part? He turned round, as these thoughts, the children of the + world, passed across him, for he literally fancied that he heard the + sarcastic laugh of Mervale without. Nor was he deceived. Mervale was + passing by the threshold, and Gionetta had told him his friend was within. + Who does not know the effect of the world’s laugh? Mervale was the + personation of the world. The whole world seemed to shout derision in + those ringing tones. He drew back,—he recoiled. Viola followed him + with her earnest, impatient eyes. At last, he faltered forth, “Do all of + thy profession, beautiful Viola, exact marriage as the sole condition of + love?” Oh, bitter question! Oh, poisoned taunt! He repented it the moment + after. He was seized with remorse of reason, of feeling, and of + conscience. He saw her form shrink, as it were, at his cruel words. He saw + the colour come and go, to leave the writhing lips like marble; and then, + with a sad, gentle look of self-pity, rather than reproach, she pressed + her hands tightly to her bosom, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “He was right! Pardon me, Englishman; I see now, indeed, that I am the + Pariah and the outcast.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear me. I retract. Viola, Viola! it is for you to forgive!” + </p> + <p> + But Viola waved him from her, and, smiling mournfully as she passed him + by, glided from the chamber; and he did not dare to detain her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dafne: Ma, chi lung’ e d’Amor? + Tirsi: Chi teme e fugge. + Dafne: E che giova fuggir da lui ch’ ha l’ ali? + Tirsi: AMOR NASCENTE HA CORTE L’ ALI! + “Aminta,” At. ii. Sc. ii. + + (Dafne: But, who is far from Love? + Tirsi: He who fears and flies. + Dafne: What use to flee from one who has wings? + Tirsi: The wings of Love, while he yet grows, are short.) +</pre> + <p> + When Glyndon found himself without Viola’s house, Mervale, still loitering + at the door, seized his arm. Glyndon shook him off abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Thou and thy counsels,” said he, bitterly, “have made me a coward and a + wretch. But I will go home,—I will write to her. I will pour out my + whole soul; she will forgive me yet.” + </p> + <p> + Mervale, who was a man of imperturbable temper, arranged his ruffles, + which his friend’s angry gesture had a little discomposed, and not till + Glyndon had exhausted himself awhile by passionate exclamations and + reproaches, did the experienced angler begin to tighten the line. He then + drew from Glyndon the explanation of what had passed, and artfully sought + not to irritate, but soothe him. Mervale, indeed, was by no means a bad + man; he had stronger moral notions than are common amongst the young. He + sincerely reproved his friend for harbouring dishonourable intentions with + regard to the actress. “Because I would not have her thy wife, I never + dreamed that thou shouldst degrade her to thy mistress. Better of the two + an imprudent match than an illicit connection. But pause yet, do not act + on the impulse of the moment.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is no time to lose. I have promised to Zanoni to give him my + answer by to-morrow night. Later than that time, all option ceases.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mervale, “this seems suspicious. Explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + And Glyndon, in the earnestness of his passion, told his friend what had + passed between himself and Zanoni,—suppressing only, he scarce knew + why, the reference to his ancestor and the mysterious brotherhood. + </p> + <p> + This recital gave to Mervale all the advantage he could desire. Heavens! + with what sound, shrewd common-sense he talked. How evidently some + charlatanic coalition between the actress, and perhaps,—who knows?—her + clandestine protector, sated with possession! How equivocal the character + of one,—the position of the other! What cunning in the question of + the actress! How profoundly had Glyndon, at the first suggestion of his + sober reason, seen through the snare. What! was he to be thus mystically + cajoled and hurried into a rash marriage, because Zanoni, a mere stranger, + told him with a grave face that he must decide before the clock struck a + certain hour? + </p> + <p> + “Do this at least,” said Mervale, reasonably enough,—“wait till the + time expires; it is but another day. Baffle Zanoni. He tells thee that he + will meet thee before midnight to-morrow, and defies thee to avoid him. + Pooh! let us quit Naples for some neighbouring place, where, unless he be + indeed the Devil, he cannot possibly find us. Show him that you will not + be led blindfold even into an act that you meditate yourself. Defer to + write to her, or to see her, till after to-morrow. This is all I ask. Then + visit her, and decide for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon was staggered. He could not combat the reasonings of his friend; + he was not convinced, but he hesitated; and at that moment Nicot passed + them. He turned round, and stopped, as he saw Glyndon. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and do you think still of the Pisani?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and you—” + </p> + <p> + “Have seen and conversed with her. She shall be Madame Nicot before this + day week! I am going to the cafe, in the Toledo; and hark ye, when next + you meet your friend Signor Zanoni, tell him that he has twice crossed my + path. Jean Nicot, though a painter, is a plain, honest man, and always + pays his debts.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a good doctrine in money matters,” said Mervale; “as to revenge, it + is not so moral, and certainly not so wise. But is it in your love that + Zanoni has crossed your path? How that, if your suit prosper so well?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask Viola Pisani that question. Bah! Glyndon, she is a prude only to + thee. But I have no prejudices. Once more, farewell.” + </p> + <p> + “Rouse thyself, man!” said Mervale, slapping Glyndon on the shoulder. + “What think you of your fair one now?” + </p> + <p> + “This man must lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you write to her at once?” + </p> + <p> + “No; if she be really playing a game, I could renounce her without a sigh. + I will watch her closely; and, at all events, Zanoni shall not be the + master of my fate. Let us, as you advise, leave Naples at daybreak + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O chiunque tu sia, che fuor d’ogni uso + Pieghi Natura ad opre altere e strane, + E, spiando i segreti, entri al piu chiuso + Spazi’ a tua voglia delle menti umane—Deh, Dimmi! + “Gerus. Lib.,” Cant. x. xviii. + + (O thou, whoever thou art, who through every use bendest Nature + to works foreign and strange; and by spying into her secrets, + enterest at thy will into the closest recesses of the human + mind,—O speak! O tell me!) +</pre> + <p> + Early the next morning the young Englishmen mounted their horses, and took + the road towards Baiae. Glyndon left word at his hotel, that if Signor + Zanoni sought him, it was in the neighbourhood of that once celebrated + watering-place of the ancients that he should be found. + </p> + <p> + They passed by Viola’s house, but Glyndon resisted the temptation of + pausing there; and after threading the grotto of Posilipo, they wound by a + circuitous route back into the suburbs of the city, and took the opposite + road, which conducts to Portici and Pompeii. It was late at noon when they + arrived at the former of these places. Here they halted to dine; for + Mervale had heard much of the excellence of the macaroni at Portici, and + Mervale was a bon vivant. + </p> + <p> + They put up at an inn of very humble pretensions, and dined under an + awning. Mervale was more than usually gay; he pressed the lacrima upon his + friend, and conversed gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear friend, we have foiled Signor Zanoni in one of his + predictions at least. You will have no faith in him hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + “The ides are come, not gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Tush! If he be the soothsayer, you are not the Caesar. It is your vanity + that makes you credulous. Thank Heaven, I do not think myself of such + importance that the operations of Nature should be changed in order to + frighten me.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should the operations of Nature be changed? There may be a deeper + philosophy than we dream of,—a philosophy that discovers the secrets + of Nature, but does not alter, by penetrating, its courses.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you relapse into your heretical credulity; you seriously suppose + Zanoni to be a prophet,—a reader of the future; perhaps an associate + of genii and spirits!” + </p> + <p> + Here the landlord, a little, fat, oily fellow, came up with a fresh bottle + of lacrima. He hoped their Excellencies were pleased. He was most touched—touched + to the heart, that they liked the macaroni. Were their Excellencies going + to Vesuvius? There was a slight eruption; they could not see it where they + were, but it was pretty, and would be prettier still after sunset. + </p> + <p> + “A capital idea!” cried Mervale. “What say you, Glyndon?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not yet seen an eruption; I should like it much.” + </p> + <p> + “But is there no danger?” asked the prudent Mervale. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all; the mountain is very civil at present. It only plays a + little, just to amuse their Excellencies the English.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, order the horses, and bring the bill; we will go before it is dark. + Clarence, my friend,—nunc est bibendum; but take care of the pede + libero, which will scarce do for walking on lava!” + </p> + <p> + The bottle was finished, the bill paid; the gentlemen mounted, the + landlord bowed, and they bent their way, in the cool of the delightful + evening, towards Resina. + </p> + <p> + The wine, perhaps the excitement of his thoughts, animated Glyndon, whose + unequal spirits were, at times, high and brilliant as those of a schoolboy + released; and the laughter of the Northern tourists sounded oft and + merrily along the melancholy domains of buried cities. + </p> + <p> + Hesperus had lighted his lamp amidst the rosy skies as they arrived at + Resina. Here they quitted their horses, and took mules and a guide. As the + sky grew darker and more dark, the mountain fire burned with an intense + lustre. In various streaks and streamlets, the fountain of flame rolled + down the dark summit, and the Englishmen began to feel increase upon them, + as they ascended, that sensation of solemnity and awe which makes the very + atmosphere that surrounds the Giant of the Plains of the Antique Hades. + </p> + <p> + It was night, when, leaving the mules, they ascended on foot, accompanied + by their guide, and a peasant who bore a rude torch. The guide was a + conversable, garrulous fellow, like most of his country and his calling; + and Mervale, who possessed a sociable temper, loved to amuse or to + instruct himself on every incidental occasion. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Excellency,” said the guide, “your countrymen have a strong passion + for the volcano. Long life to them, they bring us plenty of money! If our + fortunes depended on the Neapolitans, we should starve.” + </p> + <p> + “True, they have no curiosity,” said Mervale. “Do you remember, Glyndon, + the contempt with which that old count said to us, ‘You will go to + Vesuvius, I suppose? I have never been; why should I go? You have cold, + you have hunger, you have fatigue, you have danger, and all for nothing + but to see fire, which looks just as well in a brazier as on a mountain.’ + Ha! ha! the old fellow was right.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Excellency,” said the guide, “that is not all: some cavaliers think + to ascend the mountain without our help. I am sure they deserve to tumble + into the crater.” + </p> + <p> + “They must be bold fellows to go alone; you don’t often find such.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes among the French, signor. But the other night—I never was + so frightened—I had been with an English party, and a lady had left + a pocket-book on the mountain, where she had been sketching. She offered + me a handsome sum to return for it, and bring it to her at Naples. So I + went in the evening. I found it, sure enough, and was about to return, + when I saw a figure that seemed to emerge from the crater itself. The air + there was so pestiferous that I could not have conceived a human creature + could breathe it, and live. I was so astounded that I stood still as a + stone, till the figure came over the hot ashes, and stood before me, face + to face. Santa Maria, what a head!” + </p> + <p> + “What! hideous?” + </p> + <p> + “No; so beautiful, but so terrible. It had nothing human in its aspect.” + </p> + <p> + “And what said the salamander?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing! It did not even seem to perceive me, though I was near as I am + to you; but its eyes seemed to emerge prying into the air. It passed by me + quickly, and, walking across a stream of burning lava, soon vanished on + the other side of the mountain. I was curious and foolhardy, and resolved + to see if I could bear the atmosphere which this visitor had left; but + though I did not advance within thirty yards of the spot at which he had + first appeared, I was driven back by a vapour that wellnigh stifled me. + Cospetto! I have spat blood ever since.” + </p> + <p> + “Now will I lay a wager that you fancy this fire-king must be Zanoni,” + whispered Mervale, laughing. + </p> + <p> + The little party had now arrived nearly at the summit of the mountain; and + unspeakably grand was the spectacle on which they gazed. From the crater + arose a vapour, intensely dark, that overspread the whole background of + the heavens; in the centre whereof rose a flame that assumed a form + singularly beautiful. It might have been compared to a crest of gigantic + feathers, the diadem of the mountain, high-arched, and drooping downward, + with the hues delicately shaded off, and the whole shifting and tremulous + as the plumage on a warrior’s helmet. + </p> + <p> + The glare of the flame spread, luminous and crimson, over the dark and + rugged ground on which they stood, and drew an innumerable variety of + shadows from crag and hollow. An oppressive and sulphureous exhalation + served to increase the gloomy and sublime terror of the place. But on + turning from the mountain, and towards the distant and unseen ocean, the + contrast was wonderfully great; the heavens serene and blue, the stars + still and calm as the eyes of Divine Love. It was as if the realms of the + opposing principles of Evil and of Good were brought in one view before + the gaze of man! Glyndon—once more the enthusiast, the artist—was + enchained and entranced by emotions vague and undefinable, half of delight + and half of pain. Leaning on the shoulder of his friend, he gazed around + him, and heard with deepening awe the rumbling of the earth below, the + wheels and voices of the Ministry of Nature in her darkest and most + inscrutable recess. Suddenly, as a bomb from a shell, a huge stone was + flung hundreds of yards up from the jaws of the crater, and falling with a + mighty crash upon the rock below, split into ten thousand fragments, which + bounded down the sides of the mountain, sparkling and groaning as they + went. One of these, the largest fragment, struck the narrow space of soil + between the Englishmen and the guide, not three feet from the spot where + the former stood. Mervale uttered an exclamation of terror, and Glyndon + held his breath, and shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Diavolo!” cried the guide. “Descend, Excellencies,—descend! we have + not a moment to lose; follow me close!” + </p> + <p> + So saying, the guide and the peasant fled with as much swiftness as they + were able to bring to bear. Mervale, ever more prompt and ready than his + friend, imitated their example; and Glyndon, more confused than alarmed, + followed close. But they had not gone many yards, before, with a rushing + and sudden blast, came from the crater an enormous volume of vapour. It + pursued,—it overtook, it overspread them. It swept the light from + the heavens. All was abrupt and utter darkness; and through the gloom was + heard the shout of the guide, already distant, and lost in an instant + amidst the sound of the rushing gust and the groans of the earth beneath. + Glyndon paused. He was separated from his friend, from the guide. He was + alone,—with the Darkness and the Terror. The vapour rolled sullenly + away; the form of the plumed fire was again dimly visible, and its + struggling and perturbed reflection again shed a glow over the horrors of + the path. Glyndon recovered himself, and sped onward. Below, he heard the + voice of Mervale calling on him, though he no longer saw his form. The + sound served as a guide. Dizzy and breathless, he bounded forward; when—hark!—a + sullen, slow rolling sounded in his ear! He halted,—and turned back + to gaze. The fire had overflowed its course; it had opened itself a + channel amidst the furrows of the mountain. The stream pursued him fast—fast; + and the hot breath of the chasing and preternatural foe came closer and + closer upon his cheek! He turned aside; he climbed desperately with hands + and feet upon a crag that, to the right, broke the scathed and blasted + level of the soil. The stream rolled beside and beneath him, and then + taking a sudden wind round the spot on which he stood, interposed its + liquid fire,—a broad and impassable barrier between his + resting-place and escape. There he stood, cut off from descent, and with + no alternative but to retrace his steps towards the crater, and thence + seek, without guide or clew, some other pathway. + </p> + <p> + For a moment his courage left him; he cried in despair, and in that + overstrained pitch of voice which is never heard afar off, to the guide, + to Mervale, to return to aid him. + </p> + <p> + No answer came; and the Englishman, thus abandoned solely to his own + resources, felt his spirit and energy rise against the danger. He turned + back, and ventured as far towards the crater as the noxious exhalation + would permit; then, gazing below, carefully and deliberately he chalked + out for himself a path by which he trusted to shun the direction the + fire-stream had taken, and trod firmly and quickly over the crumbling and + heated strata. + </p> + <p> + He had proceeded about fifty yards, when he halted abruptly; an + unspeakable and unaccountable horror, not hitherto experienced amidst all + his peril, came over him. He shook in every limb; his muscles refused his + will,—he felt, as it were, palsied and death-stricken. The horror, I + say, was unaccountable, for the path seemed clear and safe. The fire, + above and behind, burned clear and far; and beyond, the stars lent him + their cheering guidance. No obstacle was visible,—no danger seemed + at hand. As thus, spell-bound, and panic-stricken, he stood chained to the + soil,—his breast heaving, large drops rolling down his brow, and his + eyes starting wildly from their sockets,—he saw before him, at some + distance, gradually shaping itself more and more distinctly to his gaze, a + colossal shadow; a shadow that seemed partially borrowed from the human + shape, but immeasurably above the human stature; vague, dark, almost + formless; and differing, he could not tell where or why, not only from the + proportions, but also from the limbs and outline of man. + </p> + <p> + The glare of the volcano, that seemed to shrink and collapse from this + gigantic and appalling apparition, nevertheless threw its light, redly and + steadily, upon another shape that stood beside, quiet and motionless; and + it was, perhaps, the contrast of these two things—the Being and the + Shadow—that impressed the beholder with the difference between them,—the + Man and the Superhuman. It was but for a moment—nay, for the tenth + part of a moment—that this sight was permitted to the wanderer. A + second eddy of sulphureous vapours from the volcano, yet more rapidly, yet + more densely than its predecessor, rolled over the mountain; and either + the nature of the exhalation, or the excess of his own dread, was such, + that Glyndon, after one wild gasp for breath, fell senseless on the earth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.XI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Was hab’ich, + Wenn ich nicht Alles habe?—sprach der Jungling. + “Das Verschleierte Bild zu Sais.” + + (“What have I, if I possess not All?” said the youth.) +</pre> + <p> + Mervale and the Italians arrived in safety at the spot where they had left + the mules; and not till they had recovered their own alarm and breath did + they think of Glyndon. But then, as the minutes passed, and he appeared + not, Mervale, whose heart was as good at least as human hearts are in + general, grew seriously alarmed. He insisted on returning to search for + his friend; and by dint of prodigal promises prevailed at last on the + guide to accompany him. The lower part of the mountain lay calm and white + in the starlight; and the guide’s practised eye could discern all objects + on the surface at a considerable distance. They had not, however, gone + very far, before they perceived two forms slowly approaching them. + </p> + <p> + As they came near, Mervale recognised the form of his friend. “Thank + Heaven, he is safe!” he cried, turning to the guide. + </p> + <p> + “Holy angels befriend us!” said the Italian, trembling,—“behold the + very being that crossed me last Friday night. It is he, but his face is + human now!” + </p> + <p> + “Signor Inglese,” said the voice of Zanoni, as Glyndon—pale, wan, + and silent—returned passively the joyous greeting of Mervale,—“Signor + Inglese, I told your friend that we should meet to-night. You see you have + NOT foiled my prediction.” + </p> + <p> + “But how?—but where?” stammered Mervale, in great confusion and + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I found your friend stretched on the ground, overpowered by the mephitic + exhalation of the crater. I bore him to a purer atmosphere; and as I know + the mountain well, I have conducted him safely to you. This is all our + history. You see, sir, that were it not for that prophecy which you + desired to frustrate, your friend would ere this time have been a corpse; + one minute more, and the vapour had done its work. Adieu; goodnight, and + pleasant dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my preserver, you will not leave us?” said Glyndon, anxiously, and + speaking for the first time. “Will you not return with us?” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni paused, and drew Glyndon aside. “Young man,” said he, gravely, “it + is necessary that we should again meet to-night. It is necessary that you + should, ere the first hour of morning, decide on your own fate. I know + that you have insulted her whom you profess to love. It is not too late to + repent. Consult not your friend: he is sensible and wise; but not now is + his wisdom needed. There are times in life when, from the imagination, and + not the reason, should wisdom come,—this, for you, is one of them. I + ask not your answer now. Collect your thoughts,—recover your jaded + and scattered spirits. It wants two hours of midnight. Before midnight I + will be with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Incomprehensible being!” replied the Englishman, “I would leave the life + you have preserved in your own hands; but what I have seen this night has + swept even Viola from my thoughts. A fiercer desire than that of love + burns in my veins,—the desire not to resemble but to surpass my + kind; the desire to penetrate and to share the secret of your own + existence—the desire of a preternatural knowledge and unearthly + power. I make my choice. In my ancestor’s name, I adjure and remind thee + of thy pledge. Instruct me; school me; make me thine; and I surrender to + thee at once, and without a murmur, the woman whom, till I saw thee, I + would have defied a world to obtain.” + </p> + <p> + “I bid thee consider well: on the one hand, Viola, a tranquil home, a + happy and serene life; on the other hand, all is darkness,—darkness, + that even these eyes cannot penetrate.” + </p> + <p> + “But thou hast told me, that if I wed Viola, I must be contented with the + common existence,—if I refuse, it is to aspire to thy knowledge and + thy power.” + </p> + <p> + “Vain man, knowledge and power are not happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “But they are better than happiness. Say!—if I marry Viola, wilt + thou be my master,—my guide? Say this, and I am resolved. + </p> + <p> + “It were impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I renounce her? I renounce love. I renounce happiness. Welcome + solitude,—welcome despair; if they are the entrances to thy dark and + sublime secret.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not take thy answer now. Before the last hour of night thou shalt + give it in one word,—ay or no! Farewell till then.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni waved his hand, and, descending rapidly, was seen no more. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon rejoined his impatient and wondering friend; but Mervale, gazing + on his face, saw that a great change had passed there. The flexile and + dubious expression of youth was forever gone. The features were locked, + rigid, and stern; and so faded was the natural bloom, that an hour seemed + to have done the work of years. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.XII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Was ist’s + Das hinter diesem Schleier sich verbirgt? + “Das Verschleierte Bild zu Sais.” + + (What is it that conceals itself behind this veil?) +</pre> + <p> + On returning from Vesuvius or Pompeii, you enter Naples through its most + animated, its most Neapolitan quarter,—through that quarter in which + modern life most closely resembles the ancient; and in which, when, on a + fair-day, the thoroughfare swarms alike with Indolence and Trade, you are + impressed at once with the recollection of that restless, lively race from + which the population of Naples derives its origin; so that in one day you + may see at Pompeii the habitations of a remote age; and on the Mole, at + Naples, you may imagine you behold the very beings with whom those + habitations had been peopled. + </p> + <p> + But now, as the Englishmen rode slowly through the deserted streets, + lighted but by the lamps of heaven, all the gayety of day was hushed and + breathless. Here and there, stretched under a portico or a dingy booth, + were sleeping groups of houseless Lazzaroni,—a tribe now merging its + indolent individuality amidst an energetic and active population. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman rode on in silence; for Glyndon neither appeared to heed + nor hear the questions and comments of Mervale, and Mervale himself was + almost as weary as the jaded animal he bestrode. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the silence of earth and ocean was broken by the sound of a + distant clock that proclaimed the quarter preceding the last hour of + night. Glyndon started from his reverie, and looked anxiously round. As + the final stroke died, the noise of hoofs rung on the broad stones of the + pavement, and from a narrow street to the right emerged the form of a + solitary horseman. He neared the Englishmen, and Glyndon recognised the + features and mien of Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + “What! do we meet again, signor?” said Mervale, in a vexed but drowsy + tone. + </p> + <p> + “Your friend and I have business together,” replied Zanoni, as he wheeled + his steed to the side of Glyndon. “But it will be soon transacted. Perhaps + you, sir, will ride on to your hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Alone!” + </p> + <p> + “There is no danger!” returned Zanoni, with a slight expression of disdain + in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “None to me; but to Glyndon?” + </p> + <p> + “Danger from me! Ah, perhaps you are right.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, my dear Mervale,” said Glyndon; “I will join you before you reach + the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + Mervale nodded, whistled, and pushed his horse into a kind of amble. + </p> + <p> + “Now your answer,—quick?” + </p> + <p> + “I have decided. The love of Viola has vanished from my heart. The pursuit + is over.” + </p> + <p> + “You have decided?” + </p> + <p> + “I have; and now my reward.” + </p> + <p> + “Thy reward! Well; ere this hour to-morrow it shall await thee.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni gave the rein to his horse; it sprang forward with a bound: the + sparks flew from its hoofs, and horse and rider disappeared amidst the + shadows of the street whence they had emerged. + </p> + <p> + Mervale was surprised to see his friend by his side, a minute after they + had parted. + </p> + <p> + “What has passed between you and Zanoni?” + </p> + <p> + “Mervale, do not ask me to-night! I am in a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wonder at it, for even I am in a sleep. Let us push on.” + </p> + <p> + In the retirement of his chamber, Glyndon sought to recollect his + thoughts. He sat down on the foot of his bed, and pressed his hands + tightly to his throbbing temples. The events of the last few hours; the + apparition of the gigantic and shadowy Companion of the Mystic, amidst the + fires and clouds of Vesuvius; the strange encounter with Zanoni himself, + on a spot in which he could never, by ordinary reasoning, have calculated + on finding Glyndon, filled his mind with emotions, in which terror and awe + the least prevailed. A fire, the train of which had been long laid, was + lighted at his heart,—the asbestos-fire that, once lit, is never to + be quenched. All his early aspirations—his young ambition, his + longings for the laurel—were merged in one passionate yearning to + surpass the bounds of the common knowledge of man, and reach that solemn + spot, between two worlds, on which the mysterious stranger appeared to + have fixed his home. + </p> + <p> + Far from recalling with renewed affright the remembrance of the apparition + that had so appalled him, the recollection only served to kindle and + concentrate his curiosity into a burning focus. He had said aright,—LOVE + HAD VANISHED FROM HIS HEART; there was no longer a serene space amidst its + disordered elements for human affection to move and breathe. The + enthusiast was rapt from this earth; and he would have surrendered all + that mortal beauty ever promised, that mortal hope ever whispered, for one + hour with Zanoni beyond the portals of the visible world. + </p> + <p> + He rose, oppressed and fevered with the new thoughts that raged within + him, and threw open his casement for air. The ocean lay suffused in the + starry light, and the stillness of the heavens never more eloquently + preached the morality of repose to the madness of earthly passions. But + such was Glyndon’s mood that their very hush only served to deepen the + wild desires that preyed upon his soul; and the solemn stars, that are + mysteries in themselves, seemed, by a kindred sympathy, to agitate the + wings of the spirit no longer contented with its cage. As he gazed, a star + shot from its brethren, and vanished from the depth of space! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.XIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O, be gone! + By Heaven, I love thee better than myself, + For I came hither armed against myself. + —“Romeo and Juliet.” + </pre> + <p> + The young actress and Gionetta had returned from the theatre; and Viola + fatigued and exhausted, had thrown herself on a sofa, while Gionetta + busied herself with the long tresses which, released from the fillet that + bound them, half-concealed the form of the actress, like a veil of threads + of gold. As she smoothed the luxuriant locks, the old nurse ran gossiping + on about the little events of the night, the scandal and politics of the + scenes and the tireroom. Gionetta was a worthy soul. Almanzor, in Dryden’s + tragedy of “Almahide,” did not change sides with more gallant indifference + than the exemplary nurse. She was at last grieved and scandalised that + Viola had not selected one chosen cavalier. But the choice she left wholly + to her fair charge. Zegri or Abencerrage, Glyndon or Zanoni, it had been + the same to her, except that the rumours she had collected respecting the + latter, combined with his own recommendations of his rival, had given her + preference to the Englishman. She interpreted ill the impatient and heavy + sigh with which Viola greeted her praises of Glyndon, and her wonder that + he had of late so neglected his attentions behind the scenes, and she + exhausted all her powers of panegyric upon the supposed object of the + sigh. “And then, too,” she said, “if nothing else were to be said against + the other signor, it is enough that he is about to leave Naples.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave Naples!—Zanoni?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, darling! In passing by the Mole to-day, there was a crowd round some + outlandish-looking sailors. His ship arrived this morning, and anchors in + the bay. The sailors say that they are to be prepared to sail with the + first wind; they were taking in fresh stores. They—” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me, Gionetta! Leave me!” + </p> + <p> + The time had already passed when the girl could confide in Gionetta. Her + thoughts had advanced to that point when the heart recoils from all + confidence, and feels that it cannot be comprehended. Alone now, in the + principal apartment of the house, she paced its narrow boundaries with + tremulous and agitated steps: she recalled the frightful suit of Nicot,—the + injurious taunt of Glyndon; and she sickened at the remembrance of the + hollow applauses which, bestowed on the actress, not the woman, only + subjected her to contumely and insult. In that room the recollection of + her father’s death, the withered laurel and the broken chords, rose + chillingly before her. Hers, she felt, was a yet gloomier fate,—the + chords may break while the laurel is yet green. The lamp, waning in its + socket, burned pale and dim, and her eyes instinctively turned from the + darker corner of the room. Orphan, by the hearth of thy parent, dost thou + fear the presence of the dead! + </p> + <p> + And was Zanoni indeed about to quit Naples? Should she see him no more? + Oh, fool, to think that there was grief in any other thought! The past!—that + was gone! The future!—there was no future to her, Zanoni absent! But + this was the night of the third day on which Zanoni had told her that, + come what might, he would visit her again. It was, then, if she might + believe him, some appointed crisis in her fate; and how should she tell + him of Glyndon’s hateful words? The pure and the proud mind can never + confide its wrongs to another, only its triumphs and its happiness. But at + that late hour would Zanoni visit her,—could she receive him? + Midnight was at hand. Still in undefined suspense, in intense anxiety, she + lingered in the room. The quarter before midnight sounded, dull and + distant. All was still, and she was about to pass to her sleeping-room, + when she heard the hoofs of a horse at full speed; the sound ceased, there + was a knock at the door. Her heart beat violently; but fear gave way to + another sentiment when she heard a voice, too well known, calling on her + name. She paused, and then, with the fearlessness of innocence, descended + and unbarred the door. + </p> + <p> + Zanoni entered with a light and hasty step. His horseman’s cloak fitted + tightly to his noble form, and his broad hat threw a gloomy shade over his + commanding features. + </p> + <p> + The girl followed him into the room she had just left, trembling and + blushing deeply, and stood before him with the lamp she held shining + upward on her cheek and the long hair that fell like a shower of light + over the half-clad shoulders and heaving bust. + </p> + <p> + “Viola,” said Zanoni, in a voice that spoke deep emotion, “I am by thy + side once more to save thee. Not a moment is to be lost. Thou must fly + with me, or remain the victim of the Prince di —. I would have made + the charge I now undertake another’s; thou knowest I would,—thou + knowest it!—but he is not worthy of thee, the cold Englishman! I + throw myself at thy feet; have trust in me, and fly.” + </p> + <p> + He grasped her hand passionately as he dropped on his knee, and looked up + into her face with his bright, beseeching eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Fly with thee!” said Viola, scarce believing her senses. + </p> + <p> + “With me. Name, fame, honour,—all will be sacrificed if thou dost + not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—then,” said the wild girl, falteringly, and turning aside her + face,—“then I am not indifferent to thee; thou wouldst not give me + to another?” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni was silent; but his breast heaved, his cheeks flushed, his eyes + darted dark and impassioned fire. + </p> + <p> + “Speak!” exclaimed Viola, in jealous suspicion of his silence. + </p> + <p> + “Indifferent to me! No; but I dare not yet say that I love thee.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what matters my fate?” said Viola, turning pale, and shrinking from + his side; “leave me,—I fear no danger. My life, and therefore my + honour, is in mine own hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Be not so mad,” said Zanoni. “Hark! do you hear the neigh of my steed?—it + is an alarm that warns us of the approaching peril. Haste, or you are + lost!” + </p> + <p> + “Why dost thou care for me?” said the girl, bitterly. “Thou hast read my + heart; thou knowest that thou art become the lord of my destiny. But to be + bound beneath the weight of a cold obligation; to be the beggar on the + eyes of indifference; to cast myself on one who loves me not,—THAT + were indeed the vilest sin of my sex. Ah, Zanoni, rather let me die!” + </p> + <p> + She had thrown back her clustering hair from her face while she spoke; and + as she now stood, with her arms drooping mournfully, and her hands clasped + together with the proud bitterness of her wayward spirit, giving new zest + and charm to her singular beauty, it was impossible to conceive a sight + more irresistible to the eye and the heart. + </p> + <p> + “Tempt me not to thine own danger,—perhaps destruction!” exclaimed + Zanoni, in faltering accents. “Thou canst not dream of what thou wouldst + demand,—come!” and, advancing, he wound his arm round her waist. + “Come, Viola; believe at least in my friendship, my honour, my protection—” + </p> + <p> + “And not thy love,” said the Italian, turning on him her reproachful eyes. + Those eyes met his, and he could not withdraw from the charm of their + gaze. He felt her heart throbbing beneath his own; her breath came warm + upon his cheek. He trembled,—HE! the lofty, the mysterious Zanoni, + who seemed to stand aloof from his race. With a deep and burning sigh, he + murmured, “Viola, I love thee! Oh!” he continued passionately, and, + releasing his hold, he threw himself abruptly at her feet, “I no more + command,—as woman should be wooed, I woo thee. From the first glance + of those eyes, from the first sound of thy voice, thou becamest too + fatally dear to me. Thou speakest of fascination,—it lives and it + breathes in thee! I fled from Naples to fly from thy presence,—it + pursued me. Months, years passed, and thy sweet face still shone upon my + heart. I returned, because I pictured thee alone and sorrowful in the + world, and knew that dangers, from which I might save thee, were gathering + near thee and around. Beautiful Soul! whose leaves I have read with + reverence, it was for thy sake, thine alone, that I would have given thee + to one who might make thee happier on earth than I can. Viola! Viola! thou + knowest not—never canst thou know—how dear thou art to me!” + </p> + <p> + It is in vain to seek for words to describe the delight—the proud, + the full, the complete, and the entire delight—that filled the heart + of the Neapolitan. He whom she had considered too lofty even for love,—more + humble to her than those she had half-despised! She was silent, but her + eyes spoke to him; and then slowly, as aware, at last, that the human love + had advanced on the ideal, she shrank into the terrors of a modest and + virtuous nature. She did not dare,—she did not dream to ask him the + question she had so fearlessly made to Glyndon; but she felt a sudden + coldness,—a sense that a barrier was yet between love and love. “Oh, + Zanoni!” she murmured, with downcast eyes, “ask me not to fly with thee; + tempt me not to my shame. Thou wouldst protect me from others. Oh, protect + me from thyself!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor orphan!” said he, tenderly, “and canst thou think that I ask from + thee one sacrifice,—still less the greatest that woman can give to + love? As my wife I woo thee, and by every tie, and by every vow that can + hallow and endear affection. Alas! they have belied love to thee indeed, + if thou dost not know the religion that belongs to it! They who truly love + would seek, for the treasure they obtain, every bond that can make it + lasting and secure. Viola, weep not, unless thou givest me the holy right + to kiss away thy tears!” + </p> + <p> + And that beautiful face, no more averted, drooped upon his bosom; and as + he bent down, his lips sought the rosy mouth: a long and burning kiss,—danger, + life, the world was forgotten! Suddenly Zanoni tore himself from her. + </p> + <p> + “Hearest thou the wind that sighs, and dies away? As that wind, my power + to preserve thee, to guard thee, to foresee the storm in thy skies, is + gone. No matter. Haste, haste; and may love supply the loss of all that it + has dared to sacrifice! Come.” + </p> + <p> + Viola hesitated no more. She threw her mantle over her shoulders, and + gathered up her dishevelled hair; a moment, and she was prepared, when a + sudden crash was heard below. + </p> + <p> + “Too late!—fool that I was, too late!” cried Zanoni, in a sharp tone + of agony, as he hurried to the door. He opened it, only to be borne back + by the press of armed men. The room literally swarmed with the followers + of the ravisher, masked, and armed to the teeth. + </p> + <p> + Viola was already in the grasp of two of the myrmidons. Her shriek smote + the ear of Zanoni. He sprang forward; and Viola heard his wild cry in a + foreign tongue. She saw the blades of the ruffians pointed at his breast! + She lost her senses; and when she recovered, she found herself gagged, and + in a carriage that was driven rapidly, by the side of a masked and + motionless figure. The carriage stopped at the portals of a gloomy + mansion. The gates opened noiselessly; a broad flight of steps, + brilliantly illumined, was before her. She was in the palace of the Prince + di —. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.XIV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ma lasciamo, per Dio, Signore, ormai + Di parlar d’ ira, e di cantar di morte. + “Orlando Furioso,” Canto xvii. xvii. + + (But leave me, I solemnly conjure thee, signor, to speak of + wrath, and to sing of death.) +</pre> + <p> + The young actress was led to, and left alone in a chamber adorned with all + the luxurious and half-Eastern taste that at one time characterised the + palaces of the great seigneurs of Italy. Her first thought was for Zanoni. + Was he yet living? Had he escaped unscathed the blades of the foe,—her + new treasure, the new light of her life, her lord, at last her lover? + </p> + <p> + She had short time for reflection. She heard steps approaching the + chamber; she drew back, but trembled not. A courage not of herself, never + known before, sparkled in her eyes, and dilated her stature. Living or + dead, she would be faithful still to Zanoni! There was a new motive to the + preservation of honour. The door opened, and the prince entered in the + gorgeous and gaudy custume still worn at that time in Naples. + </p> + <p> + “Fair and cruel one,” said he, advancing with a half-sneer upon his lip, + “thou wilt not too harshly blame the violence of love.” He attempted to + take her hand as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said he, as she recoiled, “reflect that thou art now in the power + of one that never faltered in the pursuit of an object less dear to him + than thou art. Thy lover, presumptuous though he be, is not by to save + thee. Mine thou art; but instead of thy master, suffer me to be thy + slave.” + </p> + <p> + “Prince,” said Viola, with a stern gravity, “your boast is in vain. Your + power! I am NOT in your power. Life and death are in my own hands. I will + not defy; but I do not fear you. I feel—and in some feelings,” added + Viola, with a solemnity almost thrilling, “there is all the strength, and + all the divinity of knowledge—I feel that I am safe even here; but + you—you, Prince di —, have brought danger to your home and + hearth!” + </p> + <p> + The Neapolitan seemed startled by an earnestness and boldness he was but + little prepared for. He was not, however, a man easily intimidated or + deterred from any purpose he had formed; and, approaching Viola, he was + about to reply with much warmth, real or affected, when a knock was heard + at the door of the chamber. The sound was repeated, and the prince, chafed + at the interruption, opened the door and demanded impatiently who had + ventured to disobey his orders, and invade his leisure. Mascari presented + himself, pale and agitated: “My lord,” said he, in a whisper, “pardon me; + but a stranger is below, who insists on seeing you; and, from some words + he let fall, I judged it advisable even to infringe your commands.” + </p> + <p> + “A stranger!—and at this hour! What business can he pretend? Why was + he even admitted?” + </p> + <p> + “He asserts that your life is in imminent danger. The source whence it + proceeds he will relate to your Excellency alone.” + </p> + <p> + The prince frowned; but his colour changed. He mused a moment, and then, + re-entering the chamber and advancing towards Viola, he said,— + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, fair creature, I have no wish to take advantage of my power. + I would fain trust alone to the gentler authorities of affection. Hold + yourself queen within these walls more absolutely than you have ever + enacted that part on the stage. To-night, farewell! May your sleep be + calm, and your dreams propitious to my hopes.” + </p> + <p> + With these words he retired, and in a few moments Viola was surrounded by + officious attendants, whom she at length, with some difficulty, dismissed; + and, refusing to retire to rest, she spent the night in examining the + chamber, which she found was secured, and in thoughts of Zanoni, in whose + power she felt an almost preternatural confidence. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the prince descended the stairs and sought the room into which + the stranger had been shown. + </p> + <p> + He found the visitor wrapped from head to foot in a long robe, half-gown, + half-mantle, such as was sometimes worn by ecclesiastics. The face of this + stranger was remarkable. So sunburnt and swarthy were his hues, that he + must, apparently, have derived his origin amongst the races of the + farthest East. His forehead was lofty, and his eyes so penetrating yet so + calm in their gaze that the prince shrank from them as we shrink from a + questioner who is drawing forth the guiltiest secret of our hearts. + </p> + <p> + “What would you with me?” asked the prince, motioning his visitor to a + seat. + </p> + <p> + “Prince of —,” said the stranger, in a voice deep and sweet, but + foreign in its accent,—“son of the most energetic and masculine race + that ever applied godlike genius to the service of Human Will, with its + winding wickedness and its stubborn grandeur; descendant of the great + Visconti in whose chronicles lies the history of Italy in her palmy day, + and in whose rise was the development of the mightiest intellect, ripened + by the most restless ambition,—I come to gaze upon the last star in + a darkening firmament. By this hour to-morrow space shall know it not. + Man, unless thy whole nature change, thy days are numbered!” + </p> + <p> + “What means this jargon?” said the prince, in visible astonishment and + secret awe. “Comest thou to menace me in my own halls, or wouldst thou + warn me of a danger? Art thou some itinerant mountebank, or some + unguessed-of friend? Speak out, and plainly. What danger threatens me?” + </p> + <p> + “Zanoni and thy ancestor’s sword,” replied the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha!” said the prince, laughing scournfully; “I half-suspected thee + from the first. Thou art then the accomplice or the tool of that most + dexterous, but, at present, defeated charlatan? And I suppose thou wilt + tell me that if I were to release a certain captive I have made, the + danger would vanish, and the hand of the dial would be put back?” + </p> + <p> + “Judge of me as thou wilt, Prince di —. I confess my knowledge of + Zanoni. Thou, too, wilt know his power, but not till it consume thee. I + would save, therefore I warn thee. Dost thou ask me why? I will tell thee. + Canst thou remember to have heard wild tales of thy grandsire; of his + desire for a knowledge that passes that of the schools and cloisters; of a + strange man from the East who was his familiar and master in lore against + which the Vatican has, from age to age, launched its mimic thunder? Dost + thou call to mind the fortunes of thy ancestor?—how he succeeded in + youth to little but a name; how, after a career wild and dissolute as + thine, he disappeared from Milan, a pauper, and a self-exile; how, after + years spent, none knew in what climes or in what pursuits, he again + revisited the city where his progenitors had reigned; how with him came + the wise man of the East, the mystic Mejnour; how they who beheld him, + beheld with amaze and fear that time had ploughed no furrow on his brow; + that youth seemed fixed, as by a spell, upon his face and form? Dost thou + not know that from that hour his fortunes rose? Kinsmen the most remote + died; estate upon estate fell into the hands of the ruined noble. He + became the guide of princes, the first magnate of Italy. He founded anew + the house of which thou art the last lineal upholder, and transferred his + splendour from Milan to the Sicilian realms. Visions of high ambition were + then present with him nightly and daily. Had he lived, Italy would have + known a new dynasty, and the Visconti would have reigned over + Magna-Graecia. He was a man such as the world rarely sees; but his ends, + too earthly, were at war with the means he sought. Had his ambition been + more or less, he had been worthy of a realm mightier than the Caesars + swayed; worthy of our solemn order; worthy of the fellowship of Mejnour, + whom you now behold before you.” + </p> + <p> + The prince, who had listened with deep and breathless attention to the + words of his singular guest, started from his seat at his last words. + “Imposter!” he cried, “can you dare thus to play with my credulity? Sixty + years have flown since my grandsire died; were he living, he had passed + his hundred and twentieth year; and you, whose old age is erect and + vigorous, have the assurance to pretend to have been his contemporary! But + you have imperfectly learned your tale. You know not, it seems, that my + grandsire, wise and illustrious indeed, in all save his faith in a + charlatan, was found dead in his bed, in the very hour when his colossal + plans were ripe for execution, and that Mejnour was guilty of his murder.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” answered the stranger, in a voice of great sadness, “had he but + listened to Mejnour,—had he but delayed the last and most perilous + ordeal of daring wisdom until the requisite training and initiation had + been completed,—your ancestor would have stood with me upon an + eminence which the waters of Death itself wash everlastingly, but cannot + overflow. Your grandsire resisted my fervent prayers, disobeyed my most + absolute commands, and in the sublime rashness of a soul that panted for + secrets, which he who desires orbs and sceptres never can obtain, + perished, the victim of his own frenzy.” + </p> + <p> + “He was poisoned, and Mejnour fled.” + </p> + <p> + “Mejnour fled not,” answered the stranger, proudly—“Mejnour could + not fly from danger; for to him danger is a thing long left behind. It was + the day before the duke took the fatal draft which he believed was to + confer on the mortal the immortal boon, that, finding my power over him + was gone, I abandoned him to his doom. But a truce with this: I loved your + grandsire! I would save the last of his race. Oppose not thyself to + Zanoni. Yield not thy soul to thine evil passions. Draw back from the + precipice while there is yet time. In thy front, and in thine eyes, I + detect some of that diviner glory which belonged to thy race. Thou hast in + thee some germs of their hereditary genius, but they are choked up by + worse than thy hereditary vices. Recollect that by genius thy house rose; + by vice it ever failed to perpetuate its power. In the laws which regulate + the universe, it is decreed that nothing wicked can long endure. Be wise, + and let history warn thee. Thou standest on the verge of two worlds, the + past and the future; and voices from either shriek omen in thy ear. I have + done. I bid thee farewell!” + </p> + <p> + “Not so; thou shalt not quit these walls. I will make experiment of thy + boasted power. What, ho there!—ho!” + </p> + <p> + The prince shouted; the room was filled with his minions. + </p> + <p> + “Seize that man!” he cried, pointing to the spot which had been filled by + the form of Mejnour. To his inconceivable amaze and horror, the spot was + vacant. The mysterious stranger had vanished like a dream; but a thin and + fragrant mist undulated, in pale volumes, round the walls of the chamber. + “Look to my lord,” cried Mascari. The prince had fallen to the floor + insensible. For many hours he seemed in a kind of trance. When he + recovered, he dismissed his attendants, and his step was heard in his + chamber, pacing to and fro, with heavy and disordered strides. Not till an + hour before his banquet the next day did he seem restored to his wonted + self. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.XV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oime! come poss’ io + Altri trovar, se me trovar non posso. + “Amint.,” At. i. Sc. ii. + + (Alas! how can I find another when I cannot find myself?) +</pre> + <p> + The sleep of Glyndon, the night after his last interview with Zanoni, was + unusually profound; and the sun streamed full upon his eyes as he opened + them to the day. He rose refreshed, and with a strange sentiment of + calmness that seemed more the result of resolution than exhaustion. The + incidents and emotions of the past night had settled into distinct and + clear impressions. He thought of them but slightly,—he thought + rather of the future. He was as one of the initiated in the old Egyptian + mysteries who have crossed the gate only to long more ardently for the + penetralia. + </p> + <p> + He dressed himself, and was relieved to find that Mervale had joined a + party of his countrymen on an excursion to Ischia. He spent the heat of + noon in thoughtful solitude, and gradually the image of Viola returned to + his heart. It was a holy—for it was a HUMAN—image. He had + resigned her; and though he repented not, he was troubled at the thought + that repentance would have come too late. + </p> + <p> + He started impatiently from his seat, and strode with rapid steps to the + humble abode of the actress. + </p> + <p> + The distance was considerable, and the air oppressive. Glyndon arrived at + the door breathless and heated. He knocked; no answer came. He lifted the + latch and entered. He ascended the stairs; no sound, no sight of life met + his ear and eye. In the front chamber, on a table, lay the guitar of the + actress, and some manuscript parts in the favourite operas. He paused, + and, summoning courage, tapped at the door which seemed to lead into the + inner apartment. The door was ajar; and, hearing no sound within, he + pushed it open. It was the sleeping-chamber of the young actress, that + holiest ground to a lover; and well did the place become the presiding + deity: none of the tawdry finery of the profession was visible, on the one + hand; none of the slovenly disorder common to the humbler classes of the + South, on the other. All was pure and simple; even the ornaments were + those of an innocent refinement,—a few books, placed carefully on + shelves, a few half-faded flowers in an earthen vase, which was modelled + and painted in the Etruscan fashion. The sunlight streamed over the snowy + draperies of the bed, and a few articles of clothing on the chair beside + it. Viola was not there; but the nurse!—was she gone also? He made + the house resound with the name of Gionetta, but there was not even an + echo to reply. At last, as he reluctantly quitted the desolate abode, he + perceived Gionetta coming towards him from the street. + </p> + <p> + The poor old woman uttered an exclamation of joy on seeing him; but, to + their mutual disappointment, neither had any cheerful tidings or + satisfactory explanation to afford the other. Gionetta had been aroused + from her slumber the night before by the noise in the rooms below; but ere + she could muster courage to descend, Viola was gone! She found the marks + of violence on the door without; and all she had since been able to learn + in the neighbourhood was, that a Lazzarone, from his nocturnal + resting-place on the Chiaja, had seen by the moonlight a carriage, which + he recognised as belonging to the Prince di —, pass and repass that + road about the first hour of morning. Glyndon, on gathering from the + confused words and broken sobs of the old nurse the heads of this account, + abruptly left her, and repaired to the palace of Zanoni. There he was + informed that the signor was gone to the banquet of the Prince di —, + and would not return till late. Glyndon stood motionless with perplexity + and dismay; he knew not what to believe, or how to act. Even Mervale was + not at hand to advise him. His conscience smote him bitterly. He had had + the power to save the woman he had loved, and had foregone that power; but + how was it that in this Zanoni himself had failed? How was it that he was + gone to the very banquet of the ravisher? Could Zanoni be aware of what + had passed? If not, should he lose a moment in apprising him? Though + mentally irresolute, no man was more physically brave. He would repair at + once to the palace of the prince himself; and if Zanoni failed in the + trust he had half-appeared to arrogate, he, the humble foreigner, would + demand the captive of fraud and force, in the very halls and before the + assembled guests of the Prince di —. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.XVI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ardua vallatur duris sapientia scrupis. + Hadr. Jun., “Emblem.” xxxvii. + + (Lofty wisdom is circled round with rugged rocks.) +</pre> + <p> + We must go back some hours in the progress of this narrative. It was the + first faint and gradual break of the summer dawn; and two men stood in a + balcony overhanging a garden fragrant with the scents of the awakening + flowers. The stars had not yet left the sky,—the birds were yet + silent on the boughs: all was still, hushed, and tranquil; but how + different the tranquillity of reviving day from the solemn repose of + night! In the music of silence there are a thousand variations. These men, + who alone seemed awake in Naples, were Zanoni and the mysterious stranger + who had but an hour or two ago startled the Prince di — in his + voluptuous palace. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the latter; “hadst thou delayed the acceptance of the Arch-gift + until thou hadst attained to the years, and passed through all the + desolate bereavements that chilled and seared myself ere my researches had + made it mine, thou wouldst have escaped the curse of which thou + complainest now,—thou wouldst not have mourned over the brevity of + human affection as compared to the duration of thine own existence; for + thou wouldst have survived the very desire and dream of the love of woman. + Brightest, and, but for that error, perhaps the loftiest, of the secret + and solemn race that fills up the interval in creation between mankind and + the children of the Empyreal, age after age wilt thou rue the splendid + folly which made thee ask to carry the beauty and the passions of youth + into the dreary grandeur of earthly immortality.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not repent, nor shall I,” answered Zanoni. “The transport and the + sorrow, so wildly blended, which have at intervals diversified my doom, + are better than the calm and bloodless tenor of thy solitary way—thou, + who lovest nothing, hatest nothing, feelest nothing, and walkest the world + with the noiseless and joyless footsteps of a dream!” + </p> + <p> + “You mistake,” replied he who had owned the name of Mejnour,—“though + I care not for love, and am dead to every PASSION that agitates the sons + of clay, I am not dead to their more serene enjoyments. I carry down the + stream of the countless years, not the turbulent desires of youth, but the + calm and spiritual delights of age. Wisely and deliberately I abandoned + youth forever when I separated my lot from men. Let us not envy or + reproach each other. I would have saved this Neapolitan, Zanoni (since so + it now pleases thee to be called), partly because his grandsire was but + divided by the last airy barrier from our own brotherhood, partly because + I know that in the man himself lurk the elements of ancestral courage and + power, which in earlier life would have fitted him for one of us. Earth + holds but few to whom Nature has given the qualities that can bear the + ordeal. But time and excess, that have quickened his grosser senses, have + blunted his imagination. I relinquish him to his doom.” + </p> + <p> + “And still, then, Mejnour, you cherish the desire to revive our order, + limited now to ourselves alone, by new converts and allies. Surely—surely—thy + experience might have taught thee, that scarcely once in a thousand years + is born the being who can pass through the horrible gates that lead into + the worlds without! Is not thy path already strewed with thy victims? Do + not their ghastly faces of agony and fear—the blood-stained suicide, + the raving maniac—rise before thee, and warn what is yet left to + thee of human sympathy from thy insane ambition?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” answered Mejnour; “have I not had success to counterbalance + failure? And can I forego this lofty and august hope, worthy alone of our + high condition,—the hope to form a mighty and numerous race with a + force and power sufficient to permit them to acknowledge to mankind their + majestic conquests and dominion, to become the true lords of this planet, + invaders, perchance, of others, masters of the inimical and malignant + tribes by which at this moment we are surrounded: a race that may proceed, + in their deathless destinies, from stage to stage of celestial glory, and + rank at last amongst the nearest ministrants and agents gathered round the + Throne of Thrones? What matter a thousand victims for one convert to our + band? And you, Zanoni,” continued Mejnour, after a pause,—“you, even + you, should this affection for a mortal beauty that you have dared, + despite yourself, to cherish, be more than a passing fancy; should it, + once admitted into your inmost nature, partake of its bright and enduring + essence,—even you may brave all things to raise the beloved one into + your equal. Nay, interrupt me not. Can you see sickness menace her; danger + hover around; years creep on; the eyes grow dim; the beauty fade, while + the heart, youthful still, clings and fastens round your own,—can + you see this, and know it is yours to—” + </p> + <p> + “Cease!” cried Zanoni, fiercely. “What is all other fate as compared to + the death of terror? What, when the coldest sage, the most heated + enthusiast, the hardiest warrior with his nerves of iron, have been found + dead in their beds, with straining eyeballs and horrent hair, at the first + step of the Dread Progress,—thinkest thou that this weak woman—from + whose cheek a sound at the window, the screech of the night-owl, the sight + of a drop of blood on a man’s sword, would start the colour—could + brave one glance of—Away! the very thought of such sights for her + makes even myself a coward!” + </p> + <p> + “When you told her you loved her,—when you clasped her to your + breast, you renounced all power to foresee her future lot, or protect her + from harm. Henceforth to her you are human, and human only. How know you, + then, to what you may be tempted; how know you what her curiosity may + learn and her courage brave? But enough of this,—you are bent on + your pursuit?” + </p> + <p> + “The fiat has gone forth.” + </p> + <p> + “And to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, at this hour, our bark will be bounding over yonder ocean, and + the weight of ages will have fallen from my heart! I compassionate thee, O + foolish sage,—THOU hast given up THY youth!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.XVII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Alch: Thou always speakest riddles. Tell me if thou art that + fountain of which Bernard Lord Trevizan writ? + + Merc: I am not that fountain, but I am the water. The fountain + compasseth me about. + + Sandivogius, “New Light of Alchymy.” + </pre> + <p> + The Prince di — was not a man whom Naples could suppose to be + addicted to superstitious fancies. Still, in the South of Italy, there was + then, and there still lingers a certain spirit of credulity, which may, + ever and anon, be visible amidst the boldest dogmas of their philosophers + and sceptics. In his childhood, the prince had learned strange tales of + the ambition, the genius, and the career of his grandsire,—and + secretly, perhaps influenced by ancestral example, in earlier youth he + himself had followed science, not only through her legitimate course, but + her antiquated and erratic windings. I have, indeed, been shown in Naples + a little volume, blazoned with the arms of the Visconti, and ascribed to + the nobleman I refer to, which treats of alchemy in a spirit half-mocking + and half-reverential. + </p> + <p> + Pleasure soon distracted him from such speculations, and his talents, + which were unquestionably great, were wholly perverted to extravagant + intrigues, or to the embellishment of a gorgeous ostentation with + something of classic grace. His immense wealth, his imperious pride, his + unscrupulous and daring character, made him an object of no inconsiderable + fear to a feeble and timid court; and the ministers of the indolent + government willingly connived at excesses which allured him at least from + ambition. The strange visit and yet more strange departure of Mejnour + filled the breast of the Neapolitan with awe and wonder, against which all + the haughty arrogance and learned scepticism of his maturer manhood + combated in vain. The apparition of Mejnour served, indeed, to invest + Zanoni with a character in which the prince had not hitherto regarded him. + He felt a strange alarm at the rival he had braved,—at the foe he + had provoked. When, a little before his banquet, he had resumed his + self-possession, it was with a fell and gloomy resolution that he brooded + over the perfidious schemes he had previously formed. He felt as if the + death of the mysterious Zanoni were necessary for the preservation of his + own life; and if at an earlier period of their rivalry he had determined + on the fate of Zanoni, the warnings of Mejnour only served to confirm his + resolve. + </p> + <p> + “We will try if his magic can invent an antidote to the bane,” said he, + half-aloud, and with a stern smile, as he summoned Mascari to his + presence. The poison which the prince, with his own hands, mixed into the + wine intended for his guest, was compounded from materials, the secret of + which had been one of the proudest heir-looms of that able and evil race + which gave to Italy her wisest and guiltiest tyrants. Its operation was + quick yet not sudden: it produced no pain,—it left on the form no + grim convulsion, on the skin no purpling spot, to arouse suspicion; you + might have cut and carved every membrane and fibre of the corpse, but the + sharpest eyes of the leech would not have detected the presence of the + subtle life-queller. For twelve hours the victim felt nothing save a + joyous and elated exhilaration of the blood; a delicious languor followed, + the sure forerunner of apoplexy. No lancet then could save! Apoplexy had + run much in the families of the enemies of the Visconti! + </p> + <p> + The hour of the feast arrived,—the guests assembled. There were the + flower of the Neapolitan seignorie, the descendants of the Norman, the + Teuton, the Goth; for Naples had then a nobility, but derived it from the + North, which has indeed been the Nutrix Leonum,—the nurse of the + lion-hearted chivalry of the world. + </p> + <p> + Last of the guests came Zanoni; and the crowd gave way as the dazzling + foreigner moved along to the lord of the palace. The prince greeted him + with a meaning smile, to which Zanoni answered by a whisper, “He who plays + with loaded dice does not always win.” + </p> + <p> + The prince bit his lip, and Zanoni, passing on, seemed deep in + conversation with the fawning Mascari. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the prince’s heir?” asked the guest. + </p> + <p> + “A distant relation on the mother’s side; with his Excellency dies the + male line.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the heir present at our host’s banquet?” + </p> + <p> + “No; they are not friends.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter; he will be here to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Mascari stared in surprise; but the signal for the banquet was given, and + the guests were marshalled to the board. As was the custom then, the feast + took place not long after mid-day. It was a long, oval hall, the whole of + one side opening by a marble colonnade upon a court or garden, in which + the eye rested gratefully upon cool fountains and statues of whitest + marble, half-sheltered by orange-trees. Every art that luxury could invent + to give freshness and coolness to the languid and breezeless heat of the + day without (a day on which the breath of the sirocco was abroad) had been + called into existence. Artificial currents of air through invisible tubes, + silken blinds waving to and fro, as if to cheat the senses into the belief + of an April wind, and miniature jets d’eau in each corner of the + apartment, gave to the Italians the same sense of exhilaration and COMFORT + (if I may use the word) which the well-drawn curtains and the blazing + hearth afford to the children of colder climes. + </p> + <p> + The conversation was somewhat more lively and intellectual than is common + amongst the languid pleasure-hunters of the South; for the prince, himself + accomplished, sought his acquaintance not only amongst the beaux esprits + of his own country, but amongst the gay foreigners who adorned and + relieved the monotony of the Neapolitan circles. There were present two or + three of the brilliant Frenchmen of the old regime, who had already + emigrated from the advancing Revolution; and their peculiar turn of + thought and wit was well calculated for the meridian of a society that + made the dolce far niente at once its philosophy and its faith. The + prince, however, was more silent than usual; and when he sought to rouse + himself, his spirits were forced and exaggerated. To the manners of his + host, those of Zanoni afforded a striking contrast. The bearing of this + singular person was at all times characterised by a calm and polished + ease, which was attributed by the courtiers to the long habit of society. + He could scarcely be called gay; yet few persons more tended to animate + the general spirits of a convivial circle. He seemed, by a kind of + intuition, to elicit from each companion the qualities in which he most + excelled; and if occasionally a certain tone of latent mockery + characterised his remarks upon the topics on which the conversation fell, + it appeared to men who took nothing in earnest to be the language both of + wit and wisdom. To the Frenchmen, in particular, there was something + startling in his intimate knowledge of the minutest events in their own + capital and country, and his profound penetration (evinced but in epigrams + and sarcasms) into the eminent characters who were then playing a part + upon the great stage of continental intrigue. + </p> + <p> + It was while this conversation grew animated, and the feast was at its + height, that Glyndon arrived at the palace. The porter, perceiving by his + dress that he was not one of the invited guests, told him that his + Excellency was engaged, and on no account could be disturbed; and Glyndon + then, for the first time, became aware how strange and embarrassing was + the duty he had taken on himself. To force an entrance into the + banquet-hall of a great and powerful noble, surrounded by the rank of + Naples, and to arraign him for what to his boon-companions would appear + but an act of gallantry, was an exploit that could not fail to be at once + ludicrous and impotent. He mused a moment, and, slipping a piece of gold + into the porter’s hand, said that he was commissioned to seek the Signor + Zanoni upon an errand of life and death, and easily won his way across the + court, and into the interior building. He passed up the broad staircase, + and the voices and merriment of the revellers smote his ear at a distance. + At the entrance of the reception-rooms he found a page, whom he despatched + with a message to Zanoni. The page did the errand; and Zanoni, on hearing + the whispered name of Glyndon, turned to his host. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, my lord; an English friend of mine, the Signor Glyndon (not + unknown by name to your Excellency) waits without,—the business must + indeed be urgent on which he has sought me in such an hour. You will + forgive my momentary absence.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, signor,” answered the prince, courteously, but with a sinister smile + on his countenance, “would it not be better for your friend to join us? An + Englishman is welcome everywhere; and even were he a Dutchman, your + friendship would invest his presence with attraction. Pray his attendance; + we would not spare you even for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni bowed; the page was despatched with all flattering messages to + Glyndon,—a seat next to Zanoni was placed for him, and the young + Englishman entered. + </p> + <p> + “You are most welcome, sir. I trust your business to our illustrious guest + is of good omen and pleasant import. If you bring evil news, defer it, I + pray you.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon’s brow was sullen; and he was about to startle the guests by his + reply, when Zanoni, touching his arm significantly, whispered in English, + “I know why you have sought me. Be silent, and witness what ensues.” + </p> + <p> + “You know then that Viola, whom you boasted you had the power to save from + danger—” + </p> + <p> + “Is in this house!—yes. I know also that Murder sits at the right + hand of our host. But his fate is now separated from hers forever; and the + mirror which glasses it to my eye is clear through the streams of blood. + Be still, and learn the fate that awaits the wicked! + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” said Zanoni, speaking aloud, “the Signor Glyndon has indeed + brought me tidings not wholly unexpected. I am compelled to leave Naples,—an + additional motive to make the most of the present hour.” + </p> + <p> + “And what, if I may venture to ask, may be the cause that brings such + affliction on the fair dames of Naples?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the approaching death of one who honoured me with most loyal + friendship,” replied Zanoni, gravely. “Let us not speak of it; grief + cannot put back the dial. As we supply by new flowers those that fade in + our vases, so it is the secret of worldly wisdom to replace by fresh + friendships those that fade from our path.” + </p> + <p> + “True philosophy!” exclaimed the prince. “‘Not to admire,’ was the Roman’s + maxim; ‘Never to mourn,’ is mine. There is nothing in life to grieve for, + save, indeed, Signor Zanoni, when some young beauty, on whom we have set + our hearts, slips from our grasp. In such a moment we have need of all our + wisdom, not to succumb to despair, and shake hands with death. What say + you, signor? You smile! Such never could be your lot. Pledge me in a + sentiment, ‘Long life to the fortunate lover,—a quick release to the + baffled suitor’?” + </p> + <p> + “I pledge you,” said Zanoni; and, as the fatal wine was poured into his + glass, he repeated, fixing his eyes on the prince, “I pledge you even in + this wine!” + </p> + <p> + He lifted the glass to his lips. The prince seemed ghastly pale, while the + gaze of his guest bent upon him, with an intent and stern brightness, + beneath which the conscience-stricken host cowered and quailed. Not till + he had drained his draft, and replaced the glass upon the board, did + Zanoni turn his eyes from the prince; and he then said, “Your wine has + been kept too long; it has lost its virtues. It might disagree with many, + but do not fear: it will not harm me, prince, Signor Mascari, you are a + judge of the grape; will you favour us with your opinion?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” answered Mascari, with well-affected composure, “I like not the + wines of Cyprus; they are heating. Perhaps Signor Glyndon may not have the + same distaste? The English are said to love their potations warm and + pungent.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish my friend also to taste the wine, prince?” said Zanoni. + “Recollect, all cannot drink it with the same impunity as myself.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the prince, hastily; “if you do not recommend the wine, Heaven + forbid that we should constrain our guests! My lord duke,” turning to one + of the Frenchmen, “yours is the true soil of Bacchus. What think you of + this cask from Burgundy? Has it borne the journey?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Zanoni, “let us change both the wine and the theme.” + </p> + <p> + With that, Zanoni grew yet more animated and brilliant. Never did wit more + sparkling, airy, exhilarating, flash from the lips of reveller. His + spirits fascinated all present—even the prince himself, even Glyndon—with + a strange and wild contagion. The former, indeed, whom the words and gaze + of Zanoni, when he drained the poison, had filled with fearful misgivings, + now hailed in the brilliant eloquence of his wit a certain sign of the + operation of the bane. The wine circulated fast; but none seemed conscious + of its effects. One by one the rest of the party fell into a charmed and + spellbound silence, as Zanoni continued to pour forth sally upon sally, + tale upon tale. They hung on his words, they almost held their breath to + listen. Yet, how bitter was his mirth; how full of contempt for the + triflers present, and for the trifles which made their life! + </p> + <p> + Night came on; the room grew dim, and the feast had lasted several hours + longer than was the customary duration of similar entertainments at that + day. Still the guests stirred not, and still Zanoni continued, with + glittering eye and mocking lip, to lavish his stores of intellect and + anecdote; when suddenly the moon rose, and shed its rays over the flowers + and fountains in the court without, leaving the room itself half in + shadow, and half tinged by a quiet and ghostly light. + </p> + <p> + It was then that Zanoni rose. “Well, gentlemen,” said he, “we have not yet + wearied our host, I hope; and his garden offers a new temptation to + protract our stay. Have you no musicians among your train, prince, that + might regale our ears while we inhale the fragrance of your orange-trees?” + </p> + <p> + “An excellent thought!” said the prince. “Mascari, see to the music.” + </p> + <p> + The party rose simultaneously to adjourn to the garden; and then, for the + first time, the effect of the wine they had drunk seemed to make itself + felt. + </p> + <p> + With flushed cheeks and unsteady steps they came into the open air, which + tended yet more to stimulate that glowing fever of the grape. As if to + make up for the silence with which the guests had hitherto listened to + Zanoni, every tongue was now loosened,—every man talked, no man + listened. There was something wild and fearful in the contrast between the + calm beauty of the night and scene, and the hubbub and clamour of these + disorderly roysters. One of the Frenchmen, in especial, the young Duc de R—, + a nobleman of the highest rank, and of all the quick, vivacious, and + irascible temperament of his countrymen, was particularly noisy and + excited. And as circumstances, the remembrance of which is still preserved + among certain circles of Naples, rendered it afterwards necessary that the + duc should himself give evidence of what occurred, I will here translate + the short account he drew up, and which was kindly submitted to me some + few years ago by my accomplished and lively friend, Il Cavaliere di B—. + </p> + <p> + “I never remember,” writes the duc, “to have felt my spirits so excited as + on that evening; we were like so many boys released from school, jostling + each other as we reeled or ran down the flight of seven or eight stairs + that led from the colonnade into the garden,—some laughing, some + whooping, some scolding, some babbling. The wine had brought out, as it + were, each man’s inmost character. Some were loud and quarrelsome, others + sentimental and whining; some, whom we had hitherto thought dull, most + mirthful; some, whom we had ever regarded as discreet and taciturn, most + garrulous and uproarious. I remember that in the midst of our clamorous + gayety, my eye fell upon the cavalier Signor Zanoni, whose conversation + had so enchanted us all; and I felt a certain chill come over me to + perceive that he wore the same calm and unsympathising smile upon his + countenance which had characterised it in his singular and curious stories + of the court of Louis XIV. I felt, indeed, half-inclined to seek a quarrel + with one whose composure was almost an insult to our disorder. Nor was + such an effect of this irritating and mocking tranquillity confined to + myself alone. Several of the party have told me since, that on looking at + Zanoni they felt their blood yet more heated, and gayety change to + resentment. There seemed in his icy smile a very charm to wound vanity and + provoke rage. It was at this moment that the prince came up to me, and, + passing his arm into mine, led me a little apart from the rest. He had + certainly indulged in the same excess as ourselves, but it did not produce + the same effect of noisy excitement. There was, on the contrary, a certain + cold arrogance and supercilious scorn in his bearing and language, which, + even while affecting so much caressing courtesy towards me, roused my + self-love against him. He seemed as if Zanoni had infected him; and in + imitating the manner of his guest, he surpassed the original. He rallied + me on some court gossip, which had honoured my name by associating it with + a certain beautiful and distinguished Sicilian lady, and affected to treat + with contempt that which, had it been true, I should have regarded as a + boast. He spoke, indeed, as if he himself had gathered all the flowers of + Naples, and left us foreigners only the gleanings he had scorned. At this + my natural and national gallantry was piqued, and I retorted by some + sarcasms that I should certainly have spared had my blood been cooler. He + laughed heartily, and left me in a strange fit of resentment and anger. + Perhaps (I must own the truth) the wine had produced in me a wild + disposition to take offence and provoke quarrel. As the prince left me, I + turned, and saw Zanoni at my side. + </p> + <p> + “‘The prince is a braggart,’ said he, with the same smile that displeased + me before. ‘He would monopolize all fortune and all love. Let us take our + revenge.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And how?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘He has at this moment, in his house, the most enchanting singer in + Naples,—the celebrated Viola Pisani. She is here, it is true, not by + her own choice; he carried her hither by force, but he will pretend that + she adores him. Let us insist on his producing this secret treasure, and + when she enters, the Duc de R— can have no doubt that his flatteries + and attentions will charm the lady, and provoke all the jealous fears of + our host. It would be a fair revenge upon his imperious self-conceit.’ + </p> + <p> + “This suggestion delighted me. I hastened to the prince. At that instant + the musicians had just commenced; I waved my hand, ordered the music to + stop, and, addressing the prince, who was standing in the centre of one of + the gayest groups, complained of his want of hospitality in affording to + us such poor proficients in the art, while he reserved for his own solace + the lute and voice of the first performer in Naples. I demanded, + half-laughingly, half-seriously, that he should produce the Pisani. My + demand was received with shouts of applause by the rest. We drowned the + replies of our host with uproar, and would hear no denial. ‘Gentlemen,’ at + last said the prince, when he could obtain an audience, ‘even were I to + assent to your proposal, I could not induce the signora to present herself + before an assemblage as riotous as they are noble. You have too much + chivalry to use compulsion with her, though the Duc de R—forgets + himself sufficiently to administer it to me.’ + </p> + <p> + “I was stung by this taunt, however well deserved. ‘Prince,’ said I, ‘I + have for the indelicacy of compulsion so illustrious an example that I + cannot hesitate to pursue the path honoured by your own footsteps. All + Naples knows that the Pisani despises at once your gold and your love; + that force alone could have brought her under your roof; and that you + refuse to produce her, because you fear her complaints, and know enough of + the chivalry your vanity sneers at to feel assured that the gentlemen of + France are not more disposed to worship beauty than to defend it from + wrong.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You speak well, sir,’ said Zanoni, gravely. ‘The prince dares not + produce his prize!’ + </p> + <p> + “The prince remained speechless for a few moments, as if with indignation. + At last he broke out into expressions the most injurious and insulting + against Signor Zanoni and myself. Zanoni replied not; I was more hot and + hasty. The guests appeared to delight in our dispute. None, except + Mascari, whom we pushed aside and disdained to hear, strove to conciliate; + some took one side, some another. The issue may be well foreseen. Swords + were called for and procured. Two were offered me by one of the party. I + was about to choose one, when Zanoni placed in my hand the other, which, + from its hilt, appeared of antiquated workmanship. At the same moment, + looking towards the prince, he said, smilingly, ‘The duc takes your + grandsire’s sword. Prince, you are too brave a man for superstition; you + have forgot the forfeit!’ Our host seemed to me to recoil and turn pale at + those words; nevertheless, he returned Zanoni’s smile with a look of + defiance. The next moment all was broil and disorder. There might be some + six or eight persons engaged in a strange and confused kind of melee, but + the prince and myself only sought each other. The noise around us, the + confusion of the guests, the cries of the musicians, the clash of our own + swords, only served to stimulate our unhappy fury. We feared to be + interrupted by the attendants, and fought like madmen, without skill or + method. I thrust and parried mechanically, blind and frantic, as if a + demon had entered into me, till I saw the prince stretched at my feet, + bathed in his blood, and Zanoni bending over him, and whispering in his + ear. That sight cooled us all. The strife ceased; we gathered, in shame, + remorse, and horror, round our ill-fated host; but it was too late,—his + eyes rolled fearfully in his head. I have seen many men die, but never one + who wore such horror on his countenance. At last all was over! Zanoni rose + from the corpse, and, taking, with great composure, the sword from my + hand, said calmly, ‘Ye are witnesses, gentlemen, that the prince brought + his fate upon himself. The last of that illustrious house has perished in + a brawl.’ + </p> + <p> + “I saw no more of Zanoni. I hastened to our envoy to narrate the event, + and abide the issue. I am grateful to the Neapolitan government, and to + the illustrious heir of the unfortunate nobleman, for the lenient and + generous, yet just, interpretation put upon a misfortune the memory of + which will afflict me to the last hour of my life. + </p> + <p> + (Signed) “Louis Victor, Duc de R.” + </p> + <p> + In the above memorial, the reader will find the most exact and minute + account yet given of an event which created the most lively sensation at + Naples in that day. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon had taken no part in the affray, neither had he participated + largely in the excesses of the revel. For his exemption from both he was + perhaps indebted to the whispered exhortations of Zanoni. When the last + rose from the corpse, and withdrew from that scene of confusion, Glyndon + remarked that in passing the crowd he touched Mascari on the shoulder, and + said something which the Englishman did not overhear. Glyndon followed + Zanoni into the banquet-room, which, save where the moonlight slept on the + marble floor, was wrapped in the sad and gloomy shadows of the advancing + night. + </p> + <p> + “How could you foretell this fearful event? He fell not by your arm!” said + Glyndon, in a tremulous and hollow tone. + </p> + <p> + “The general who calculates on the victory does not fight in person,” + answered Zanoni; “let the past sleep with the dead. Meet me at midnight by + the sea-shore, half a mile to the left of your hotel. You will know the + spot by a rude pillar—the only one near—to which a broken + chain is attached. There and then, if thou wouldst learn our lore, thou + shalt find the master. Go; I have business here yet. Remember, Viola is + still in the house of the dead man!” + </p> + <p> + Here Mascari approached, and Zanoni, turning to the Italian, and waving + his hand to Glyndon, drew the former aside. Glyndon slowly departed. + </p> + <p> + “Mascari,” said Zanoni, “your patron is no more; your services will be + valueless to his heir,—a sober man whom poverty has preserved from + vice. For yourself, thank me that I do not give you up to the executioner; + recollect the wine of Cyprus. Well, never tremble, man; it could not act + on me, though it might react on others; in that it is a common type of + crime. I forgive you; and if the wine should kill me, I promise you that + my ghost shall not haunt so worshipful a penitent. Enough of this; conduct + me to the chamber of Viola Pisani. You have no further need of her. The + death of the jailer opens the cell of the captive. Be quick; I would be + gone.” + </p> + <p> + Mascari muttered some inaudible words, bowed low, and led the way to the + chamber in which Viola was confined. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 3.XVIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Merc: Tell me, therefore, what thou seekest after, and what thou + wilt have. What dost thou desire to make? + + Alch: The Philosopher’s Stone. + + Sandivogius. +</pre> + <p> + It wanted several minutes of midnight, and Glyndon repaired to the + appointed spot. The mysterious empire which Zanoni had acquired over him, + was still more solemnly confirmed by the events of the last few hours; the + sudden fate of the prince, so deliberately foreshadowed, and yet so + seemingly accidental, brought out by causes the most commonplace, and yet + associated with words the most prophetic, impressed him with the deepest + sentiments of admiration and awe. It was as if this dark and wondrous + being could convert the most ordinary events and the meanest instruments + into the agencies of his inscrutable will; yet, if so, why have permitted + the capture of Viola? Why not have prevented the crime rather than punish + the criminal? And did Zanoni really feel love for Viola? Love, and yet + offer to resign her to himself,—to a rival whom his arts could not + have failed to baffle. He no longer reverted to the belief that Zanoni or + Viola had sought to dupe him into marriage. His fear and reverence for the + former now forbade the notion of so poor an imposture. Did he any longer + love Viola himself? No; when that morning he had heard of her danger, he + had, it is true, returned to the sympathies and the fears of affection; + but with the death of the prince her image faded from his heart, and he + felt no jealous pang at the thought that she had been saved by Zanoni,—that + at that moment she was perhaps beneath his roof. Whoever has, in the + course of his life, indulged the absorbing passion of the gamester, will + remember how all other pursuits and objects vanished from his mind; how + solely he was wrapped in the one wild delusion; with what a sceptre of + magic power the despot-demon ruled every feeling and every thought. Far + more intense than the passion of the gamester was the frantic yet sublime + desire that mastered the breast of Glyndon. He would be the rival of + Zanoni, not in human and perishable affections, but in preternatural and + eternal lore. He would have laid down life with content—nay, rapture—as + the price of learning those solemn secrets which separated the stranger + from mankind. Enamoured of the goddess of goddesses, he stretched forth + his arms—the wild Ixion—and embraced a cloud! + </p> + <p> + The night was most lovely and serene, and the waves scarcely rippled at + his feet as the Englishman glided on by the cool and starry beach. At + length he arrived at the spot, and there, leaning against the broken + pillar, he beheld a man wrapped in a long mantle, and in an attitude of + profound repose. He approached, and uttered the name of Zanoni. The figure + turned, and he saw the face of a stranger: a face not stamped by the + glorious beauty of Zanoni, but equally majestic in its aspect, and perhaps + still more impressive from the mature age and the passionless depth of + thought that characterised the expanded forehead, and deep-set but + piercing eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You seek Zanoni,” said the stranger; “he will be here anon; but, perhaps, + he whom you see before you is more connected with your destiny, and more + disposed to realise your dreams.” + </p> + <p> + “Hath the earth, then, another Zanoni?” + </p> + <p> + “If not,” replied the stranger, “why do you cherish the hope and the wild + faith to be yourself a Zanoni? Think you that none others have burned with + the same godlike dream? Who, indeed in his first youth,—youth when + the soul is nearer to the heaven from which it sprang, and its divine and + primal longings are not all effaced by the sordid passions and petty cares + that are begot in time,—who is there in youth that has not nourished + the belief that the universe has secrets not known to the common herd, and + panted, as the hart for the water-springs, for the fountains that lie hid + and far away amidst the broad wilderness of trackless science? The music + of the fountain is heard in the soul WITHIN, till the steps, deceived and + erring, rove away from its waters, and the wanderer dies in the mighty + desert. Think you that none who have cherished the hope have found the + truth, or that the yearning after the Ineffable Knowledge was given to us + utterly in vain? No! Every desire in human hearts is but a glimpse of + things that exist, alike distant and divine. No! in the world there have + been from age to age some brighter and happier spirits who have attained + to the air in which the beings above mankind move and breathe. Zanoni, + great though he be, stands not alone. He has had his predecessors, and + long lines of successors may be yet to come.” + </p> + <p> + “And will you tell me,” said Glyndon, “that in yourself I behold one of + that mighty few over whom Zanoni has no superiority in power and wisdom?” + </p> + <p> + “In me,” answered the stranger, “you see one from whom Zanoni himself + learned some of his loftiest secrets. On these shores, on this spot, have + I stood in ages that your chroniclers but feebly reach. The Phoenician, + the Greek, the Oscan, the Roman, the Lombard, I have seen them all!—leaves + gay and glittering on the trunk of the universal life, scattered in due + season and again renewed; till, indeed, the same race that gave its glory + to the ancient world bestowed a second youth upon the new. For the pure + Greeks, the Hellenes, whose origin has bewildered your dreaming scholars, + were of the same great family as the Norman tribe, born to be the lords of + the universe, and in no land on earth destined to become the hewers of + wood. Even the dim traditions of the learned, which bring the sons of + Hellas from the vast and undetermined territories of Northern Thrace, to + be the victors of the pastoral Pelasgi, and the founders of the line of + demi-gods; which assign to a population bronzed beneath the suns of the + West, the blue-eyed Minerva and the yellow-haired Achilles (physical + characteristics of the North); which introduce, amongst a pastoral people, + warlike aristocracies and limited monarchies, the feudalism of the classic + time,—even these might serve you to trace back the primeval + settlements of the Hellenes to the same region whence, in later times, the + Norman warriors broke on the dull and savage hordes of the Celt, and + became the Greeks of the Christian world. But this interests you not, and + you are wise in your indifference. Not in the knowledge of things without, + but in the perfection of the soul within, lies the empire of man aspiring + to be more than man.” + </p> + <p> + “And what books contain that science; from what laboratory is it wrought?” + </p> + <p> + “Nature supplies the materials; they are around you in your daily walks. + In the herbs that the beast devours and the chemist disdains to cull; in + the elements from which matter in its meanest and its mightiest shapes is + deduced; in the wide bosom of the air; in the black abysses of the earth; + everywhere are given to mortals the resources and libraries of immortal + lore. But as the simplest problems in the simplest of all studies are + obscure to one who braces not his mind to their comprehension; as the + rower in yonder vessel cannot tell you why two circles can touch each + other only in one point,—so though all earth were carved over and + inscribed with the letters of diviner knowledge, the characters would be + valueless to him who does not pause to inquire the language and meditate + the truth. Young man, if thy imagination is vivid, if thy heart is daring, + if thy curiosity is insatiate, I will accept thee as my pupil. But the + first lessons are stern and dread.” + </p> + <p> + “If thou hast mastered them, why not I?” answered Glyndon, boldly. “I have + felt from my boyhood that strange mysteries were reserved for my career; + and from the proudest ends of ordinary ambition I have carried my gaze + into the cloud and darkness that stretch beyond. The instant I beheld + Zanoni, I felt as if I had discovered the guide and the tutor for which my + youth had idly languished and vainly burned.” + </p> + <p> + “And to me his duty is transferred,” replied the stranger. “Yonder lies, + anchored in the bay, the vessel in which Zanoni seeks a fairer home; a + little while and the breeze will rise, the sail will swell; and the + stranger will have passed, like a wind, away. Still, like the wind, he + leaves in thy heart the seeds that may bear the blossom and the fruit. + Zanoni hath performed his task,—he is wanted no more; the perfecter + of his work is at thy side. He comes! I hear the dash of the oar. You will + have your choice submitted to you. According as you decide we shall meet + again.” With these words the stranger moved slowly away, and disappeared + beneath the shadow of the cliffs. A boat glided rapidly across the waters: + it touched land; a man leaped on shore, and Glyndon recognised Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + “I give thee, Glyndon,—I give thee no more the option of happy love + and serene enjoyment. That hour is past, and fate has linked the hand that + might have been thine own to mine. But I have ample gifts to bestow upon + thee, if thou wilt abandon the hope that gnaws thy heart, and the + realisation of which even <i>I</i> have not the power to foresee. Be thine + ambition human, and I can gratify it to the full. Men desire four things + in life,—love, wealth, fame, power. The first I cannot give thee, + the rest are at my disposal. Select which of them thou wilt, and let us + part in peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Such are not the gifts I covet. I choose knowledge; that knowledge must + be thine own. For this, and for this alone, I surrendered the love of + Viola; this, and this alone, must be my recompense.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot gain say thee, though I can warn. The desire to learn does not + always contain the faculty to acquire. I can give thee, it is true, the + teacher,—the rest must depend on thee. Be wise in time, and take + that which I can assure to thee.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer me but these questions, and according to your answer I will + decide. Is it in the power of man to attain intercourse with the beings of + other worlds? Is it in the power of man to influence the elements, and to + insure life against the sword and against disease?” + </p> + <p> + “All this may be possible,” answered Zanoni, evasively, “to the few; but + for one who attains such secrets, millions may perish in the attempt.” + </p> + <p> + “One question more. Thou—” + </p> + <p> + “Beware! Of myself, as I have said before, I render no account.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, the stranger I have met this night,—are his boasts to + be believed? Is he in truth one of the chosen seers whom you allow to have + mastered the mysteries I yearn to fathom?” + </p> + <p> + “Rash man,” said Zanoni, in a tone of compassion, “thy crisis is past, and + thy choice made! I can only bid thee be bold and prosper; yes, I resign + thee to a master who HAS the power and the will to open to thee the gates + of an awful world. Thy weal or woe are as nought in the eyes of his + relentless wisdom. I would bid him spare thee, but he will heed me not. + Mejnour, receive thy pupil!” Glyndon turned, and his heart beat when he + perceived that the stranger, whose footsteps he had not heard upon the + pebbles, whose approach he had not beheld in the moonlight, was once more + by his side. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell,” resumed Zanoni; “thy trial commences. When next we meet, thou + wilt be the victim or the victor.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon’s eyes followed the receding form of the mysterious stranger. He + saw him enter the boat, and he then for the first time noticed that + besides the rowers there was a female, who stood up as Zanoni gained the + boat. Even at the distance he recognised the once-adored form of Viola. + She waved her hand to him, and across the still and shining air came her + voice, mournfully and sweetly, in her mother’s tongue, “Farewell, + Clarence,—I forgive thee!—farewell, farewell!” + </p> + <p> + He strove to answer; but the voice touched a chord at his heart, and the + words failed him. Viola was then lost forever, gone with this dread + stranger; darkness was round her lot! And he himself had decided her fate + and his own! The boat bounded on, the soft waves flashed and sparkled + beneath the oars, and it was along one sapphire track of moonlight that + the frail vessel bore away the lovers. Farther and farther from his gaze + sped the boat, till at last the speck, scarcely visible, touched the side + of the ship that lay lifeless in the glorious bay. At that instant, as if + by magic, up sprang, with a glad murmur, the playful and freshening wind: + and Glyndon turned to Mejnour and broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me—if thou canst read the future—tell me that HER lot + will be fair, and that HER choice at least is wise?” + </p> + <p> + “My pupil!” answered Mejnour, in a voice the calmness of which well + accorded with the chilling words, “thy first task must be to withdraw all + thought, feeling, sympathy from others. The elementary stage of knowledge + is to make self, and self alone, thy study and thy world. Thou hast + decided thine own career; thou hast renounced love; thou hast rejected + wealth, fame, and the vulgar pomps of power. What, then, are all mankind + to thee? To perfect thy faculties, and concentrate thy emotions, is + henceforth thy only aim!” + </p> + <p> + “And will happiness be the end?” + </p> + <p> + “If happiness exist,” answered Mejnour, “it must be centred in a SELF to + which all passion is unknown. But happiness is the last state of being; + and as yet thou art on the threshold of the first.” + </p> + <p> + As Mejnour spoke, the distant vessel spread its sails to the wind, and + moved slowly along the deep. Glyndon sighed, and the pupil and the master + retraced their steps towards the city. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IV. — THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bey hinter ihm was will! Ich heb ihn auf. + “Das Verschleierte Bildzu Sais” + + (Be behind what there may,—I raise the veil.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Come vittima io vengo all’ ara. + “Metast.,” At. ii. Sc. 7. + + (As a victim I go to the altar.) +</pre> + <p> + It was about a month after the date of Zanoni’s departure and Glyndon’s + introduction to Mejnour, when two Englishmen were walking, arm-in-arm, + through the Toledo. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” said one (who spoke warmly), “that if you have a particle of + common-sense left in you, you will accompany me to England. This Mejnour + is an imposter more dangerous, because more in earnest, than Zanoni. After + all, what do his promises amount to? You allow that nothing can be more + equivocal. You say that he has left Naples,—that he has selected a + retreat more congenial than the crowded thoroughfares of men to the + studies in which he is to initiate you; and this retreat is among the + haunts of the fiercest bandits of Italy,—haunts which justice itself + dares not penetrate. Fitting hermitage for a sage! I tremble for you. What + if this stranger—of whom nothing is known—be leagued with the + robbers; and these lures for your credulity bait but the traps for your + property,—perhaps your life? You might come off cheaply by a ransom + of half your fortune. You smile indignantly! Well, put common-sense out of + the question; take your own view of the matter. You are to undergo an + ordeal which Mejnour himself does not profess to describe as a very + tempting one. It may, or it may not, succeed: if it does not, you are + menaced with the darkest evils; and if it does, you cannot be better off + than the dull and joyless mystic whom you have taken for a master. Away + with this folly; enjoy youth while it is left to you; return with me to + England; forget these dreams; enter your proper career; form affections + more respectable than those which lured you awhile to an Italian + adventuress. Attend to your fortune, make money, and become a happy and + distinguished man. This is the advice of sober friendship; yet the + promises I hold out to you are fairer than those of Mejnour.” + </p> + <p> + “Mervale,” said Glyndon, doggedly, “I cannot, if I would, yield to your + wishes. A power that is above me urges me on; I cannot resist its + influence. I will proceed to the last in the strange career I have + commenced. Think of me no more. Follow yourself the advice you give to me, + and be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “This is madness,” said Mervale; “your health is already failing; you are + so changed I should scarcely know you. Come; I have already had your name + entered in my passport; in another hour I shall be gone, and you, boy that + you are, will be left, without a friend, to the deceits of your own fancy + and the machinations of this relentless mountebank.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough,” said Glyndon, coldly; “you cease to be an effective counsellor + when you suffer your prejudices to be thus evident. I have already had + ample proof,” added the Englishman, and his pale cheek grew more pale, “of + the power of this man,—if man he be, which I sometimes doubt,—and, + come life, come death, I will not shrink from the paths that allure me. + Farewell, Mervale; if we never meet again,—if you hear, amidst our + old and cheerful haunts, that Clarence Glyndon sleeps the last sleep by + the shores of Naples, or amidst yon distant hills, say to the friends of + our youth, ‘He died worthily, as thousands of martyr-students have died + before him, in the pursuit of knowledge.’” + </p> + <p> + He wrung Mervale’s hand as he spoke, darted from his side, and disappeared + amidst the crowd. + </p> + <p> + By the corner of the Toledo he was arrested by Nicot. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Glyndon! I have not seen you this month. Where have you hid yourself? + Have you been absorbed in your studies?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I am about to leave Naples for Paris. Will you accompany me? Talent of + all order is eagerly sought for there, and will be sure to rise.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you; I have other schemes for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “So laconic!—what ails you? Do you grieve for the loss of the + Pisani? Take example by me. I have already consoled myself with Bianca + Sacchini,—a handsome woman, enlightened, no prejudices. A valuable + creature I shall find her, no doubt. But as for this Zanoni!” + </p> + <p> + “What of him?” + </p> + <p> + “If ever I paint an allegorical subject, I will take his likeness as + Satan. Ha, ha! a true painter’s revenge,—eh? And the way of the + world, too! When we can do nothing else against a man whom we hate, we can + at least paint his effigies as the Devil’s. Seriously, though: I abhor + that man.” + </p> + <p> + “Wherefore?’ + </p> + <p> + “Wherefore! Has he not carried off the wife and the dowry I had marked for + myself! Yet, after all,” added Nicot, musingly, “had he served instead of + injured me, I should have hated him all the same. His very form, and his + very face, made me at once envy and detest him. I felt that there is + something antipathetic in our natures. I feel, too, that we shall meet + again, when Jean Nicot’s hate may be less impotent. We, too, cher + confrere,—we, too, may meet again! Vive la Republique! I to my new + world!” + </p> + <p> + “And I to mine. Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + That day Mervale left Naples; the next morning Glyndon also quitted the + City of Delight alone, and on horseback. He bent his way into those + picturesque but dangerous parts of the country which at that time were + infested by banditti, and which few travellers dared to pass, even in + broad daylight, without a strong escort. A road more lonely cannot well be + conceived than that on which the hoofs of his steed, striking upon the + fragments of rock that encumbered the neglected way, woke a dull and + melancholy echo. Large tracts of waste land, varied by the rank and + profuse foliage of the South, lay before him; occasionally a wild goat + peeped down from some rocky crag, or the discordant cry of a bird of prey, + startled in its sombre haunt, was heard above the hills. These were the + only signs of life; not a human being was met,—not a hut was + visible. Wrapped in his own ardent and solemn thoughts, the young man + continued his way, till the sun had spent its noonday heat, and a breeze + that announced the approach of eve sprung up from the unseen ocean which + lay far distant to his right. It was then that a turn in the road brought + before him one of those long, desolate, gloomy villages which are found in + the interior of the Neapolitan dominions: and now he came upon a small + chapel on one side the road, with a gaudily painted image of the Virgin in + the open shrine. Around this spot, which, in the heart of a Christian + land, retained the vestige of the old idolatry (for just such were the + chapels that in the pagan age were dedicated to the demon-saints of + mythology), gathered six or seven miserable and squalid wretches, whom the + curse of the leper had cut off from mankind. They set up a shrill cry as + they turned their ghastly visages towards the horseman; and, without + stirring from the spot, stretched out their gaunt arms, and implored + charity in the name of the Merciful Mother! Glyndon hastily threw them + some small coins, and, turning away his face, clapped spurs to his horse, + and relaxed not his speed till he entered the village. On either side the + narrow and miry street, fierce and haggard forms—some leaning + against the ruined walls of blackened huts, some seated at the threshold, + some lying at full length in the mud—presented groups that at once + invoked pity and aroused alarm: pity for their squalor, alarm for the + ferocity imprinted on their savage aspects. They gazed at him, grim and + sullen, as he rode slowly up the rugged street; sometimes whispering + significantly to each other, but without attempting to stop his way. Even + the children hushed their babble, and ragged urchins, devouring him with + sparkling eyes, muttered to their mothers; “We shall feast well + to-morrow!” It was, indeed, one of those hamlets in which Law sets not its + sober step, in which Violence and Murder house secure,—hamlets + common then in the wilder parts of Italy, in which the peasant was but the + gentler name for the robber. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon’s heart somewhat failed him as he looked around, and the question + he desired to ask died upon his lips. At length from one of the dismal + cabins emerged a form superior to the rest. Instead of the patched and + ragged over-all, which made the only garment of the men he had hitherto + seen, the dress of this person was characterised by all the trappings of + the national bravery. Upon his raven hair, the glossy curls of which made + a notable contrast to the matted and elfin locks of the savages around, + was placed a cloth cap, with a gold tassel that hung down to his shoulder; + his mustaches were trimmed with care, and a silk kerchief of gay hues was + twisted round a well-shaped but sinewy throat; a short jacket of rough + cloth was decorated with several rows of gilt filagree buttons; his nether + garments fitted tight to his limbs, and were curiously braided; while in a + broad parti-coloured sash were placed two silver-hilted pistols, and the + sheathed knife, usually worn by Italians of the lower order, mounted in + ivory elaborately carved. A small carbine of handsome workmanship was + slung across his shoulder and completed his costume. The man himself was + of middle size, athletic yet slender, with straight and regular features, + sunburnt, but not swarthy; and an expression of countenance which, though + reckless and bold, had in it frankness rather than ferocity, and, if + defying, was not altogether unprepossessing. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon, after eyeing this figure for some moments with great attention, + checked his rein, and asked the way to the “Castle of the Mountain.” + </p> + <p> + The man lifted his cap as he heard the question, and, approaching Glyndon, + laid his hand upon the neck of the horse, and said, in a low voice, “Then + you are the cavalier whom our patron the signor expected. He bade me wait + for you here, and lead you to the castle. And indeed, signor, it might + have been unfortunate if I had neglected to obey the command.” + </p> + <p> + The man then, drawing a little aside, called out to the bystanders in a + loud voice, “Ho, ho! my friends, pay henceforth and forever all respect to + this worshipful cavalier. He is the expected guest of our blessed patron + of the Castle of the Mountain. Long life to him! May he, like his host, be + safe by day and by night; on the hill and in the waste; against the dagger + and the bullet,—in limb and in life! Cursed be he who touches a hair + of his head, or a baioccho in his pouch. Now and forever we will protect + and honour him,—for the law or against the law; with the faith and + to the death. Amen! Amen!” + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” responded, in wild chorus, a hundred voices; and the scattered and + straggling groups pressed up the street, nearer and nearer to the + horseman. + </p> + <p> + “And that he may be known,” continued the Englishman’s strange protector, + “to the eye and to the ear, I place around him the white sash, and I give + him the sacred watchword, ‘Peace to the Brave.’ Signor, when you wear this + sash, the proudest in these parts will bare the head and bend the knee. + Signor, when you utter this watchword, the bravest hearts will be bound to + your bidding. Desire you safety, or ask you revenge—to gain a + beauty, or to lose a foe,—speak but the word, and we are yours: we + are yours! Is it not so, comrades?” + </p> + <p> + And again the hoarse voices shouted, “Amen, Amen!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, signor,” whispered the bravo, “if you have a few coins to spare, + scatter them amongst the crowd, and let us be gone.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon, not displeased at the concluding sentence, emptied his purse in + the streets; and while, with mingled oaths, blessings, shrieks, and yells, + men, women, and children scrambled for the money, the bravo, taking the + rein of the horse, led it a few paces through the village at a brisk trot, + and then, turning up a narrow lane to the left, in a few minutes neither + houses nor men were visible, and the mountains closed their path on either + side. It was then that, releasing the bridle and slackening his pace, the + guide turned his dark eyes on Glyndon with an arch expression, and said,— + </p> + <p> + “Your Excellency was not, perhaps, prepared for the hearty welcome we have + given you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, in truth, I OUGHT to have been prepared for it, since the signor, to + whose house I am bound, did not disguise from me the character of the + neighbourhood. And your name, my friend, if I may so call you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no ceremonies with me, Excellency. In the village I am generally + called Maestro Paolo. I had a surname once, though a very equivocal one; + and I have forgotten THAT since I retired from the world.” + </p> + <p> + “And was it from disgust, from poverty, or from some—some ebullition + of passion which entailed punishment, that you betook yourself to the + mountains?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, signor,” said the bravo, with a gay laugh, “hermits of my class + seldom love the confessional. However, I have no secrets while my step is + in these defiles, my whistle in my pouch, and my carbine at my back.” With + that the robber, as if he loved permission to talk at his will, hemmed + thrice, and began with much humour; though, as his tale proceeded, the + memories it roused seemed to carry him farther than he at first intended, + and reckless and light-hearted ease gave way to that fierce and varied + play of countenance and passion of gesture which characterise the emotions + of his countrymen. + </p> + <p> + “I was born at Terracina,—a fair spot, is it not? My father was a + learned monk of high birth; my mother—Heaven rest her!—an + innkeeper’s pretty daughter. Of course there could be no marriage in the + case; and when I was born, the monk gravely declared my appearance to be + miraculous. I was dedicated from my cradle to the altar; and my head was + universally declared to be the orthodox shape for a cowl. As I grew up, + the monk took great pains with my education; and I learned Latin and + psalmody as soon as less miraculous infants learn crowing. Nor did the + holy man’s care stint itself to my interior accomplishments. Although + vowed to poverty, he always contrived that my mother should have her + pockets full; and between her pockets and mine there was soon established + a clandestine communication; accordingly, at fourteen, I wore my cap on + one side, stuck pistols in my belt, and assumed the swagger of a cavalier + and a gallant. At that age my poor mother died; and about the same period + my father, having written a History of the Pontifical Bulls, in forty + volumes, and being, as I said, of high birth, obtained a cardinal’s hat. + From that time he thought fit to disown your humble servant. He bound me + over to an honest notary at Naples, and gave me two hundred crowns by way + of provision. Well, signor, I saw enough of the law to convince me that I + should never be rogue enough to shine in the profession. So, instead of + spoiling parchment, I made love to the notary’s daughter. My master + discovered our innocent amusement, and turned me out of doors; that was + disagreeable. But my Ninetta loved me, and took care that I should not lie + out in the streets with the Lazzaroni. Little jade! I think I see her now + with her bare feet, and her finger to her lips, opening the door in the + summer nights, and bidding me creep softly into the kitchen, where, + praised be the saints! a flask and a manchet always awaited the hungry + amoroso. At last, however, Ninetta grew cold. It is the way of the sex, + signor. Her father found her an excellent marriage in the person of a + withered old picture-dealer. She took the spouse, and very properly + clapped the door in the face of the lover. I was not disheartened, + Excellency; no, not I. Women are plentiful while we are young. So, without + a ducat in my pocket or a crust for my teeth, I set out to seek my fortune + on board of a Spanish merchantman. That was duller work than I expected; + but luckily we were attacked by a pirate,—half the crew were + butchered, the rest captured. I was one of the last: always in luck, you + see, signor,—monks’ sons have a knack that way! The captain of the + pirates took a fancy to me. ‘Serve with us?’ said he. ‘Too happy,’ said I. + Behold me, then, a pirate! O jolly life! how I blessed the old notary for + turning me out of doors! What feasting, what fighting, what wooing, what + quarrelling! Sometimes we ran ashore and enjoyed ourselves like princes; + sometimes we lay in a calm for days together on the loveliest sea that man + ever traversed. And then, if the breeze rose and a sail came in sight, who + so merry as we? I passed three years in that charming profession, and + then, signor, I grew ambitious. I caballed against the captain; I wanted + his post. One still night we struck the blow. The ship was like a log in + the sea, no land to be seen from the mast-head, the waves like glass, and + the moon at its full. Up we rose, thirty of us and more. Up we rose with a + shout; we poured into the captain’s cabin, I at the head. The brave old + boy had caught the alarm, and there he stood at the doorway, a pistol in + each hand; and his one eye (he had only one) worse to meet than the + pistols were. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yield!’ cried I; ‘your life shall be safe.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Take that,’ said he, and whiz went the pistol; but the saints took care + of their own, and the ball passed by my cheek, and shot the boatswain + behind me. I closed with the captain, and the other pistol went off + without mischief in the struggle. Such a fellow he was,—six feet + four without his shoes! Over we went, rolling each on the other. Santa + Maria! no time to get hold of one’s knife. Meanwhile all the crew were up, + some for the captain, some for me,—clashing and firing, and swearing + and groaning, and now and then a heavy splash in the sea. Fine supper for + the sharks that night! At last old Bilboa got uppermost; out flashed his + knife; down it came, but not in my heart. No! I gave my left arm as a + shield; and the blade went through to the hilt, with the blood spurting up + like the rain from a whale’s nostril! With the weight of the blow the + stout fellow came down so that his face touched mine; with my right hand I + caught him by the throat, turned him over like a lamb, signor, and faith + it was soon all up with him: the boatswain’s brother, a fat Dutchman, ran + him through with a pike. + </p> + <p> + “‘Old fellow,’ said I, as he turned his terrible eye to me, ‘I bear you no + malice, but we must try to get on in the world, you know.’ The captain + grinned and gave up the ghost. I went upon deck,—what a sight! + Twenty bold fellows stark and cold, and the moon sparkling on the puddles + of blood as calmly as if it were water. Well, signor, the victory was + ours, and the ship mine; I ruled merrily enough for six months. We then + attacked a French ship twice our size; what sport it was! And we had not + had a good fight so long, we were quite like virgins at it! We got the + best of it, and won ship and cargo. They wanted to pistol the captain, but + that was against my laws: so we gagged him, for he scolded as loud as if + we were married to him; left him and the rest of his crew on board our own + vessel, which was terribly battered; clapped our black flag on the + Frenchman’s, and set off merrily, with a brisk wind in our favour. But + luck deserted us on forsaking our own dear old ship. A storm came on, a + plank struck; several of us escaped in a boat; we had lots of gold with + us, but no water. For two days and two nights we suffered horribly; but at + last we ran ashore near a French seaport. Our sorry plight moved + compassion, and as we had money, we were not suspected,—people only + suspect the poor. Here we soon recovered our fatigues, rigged ourselves + out gayly, and your humble servant was considered as noble a captain as + ever walked deck. But now, alas! my fate would have it that I should fall + in love with a silk-mercer’s daughter. Ah, how I loved her!—the + pretty Clara! Yes, I loved her so well that I was seized with horror at my + past life! I resolved to repent, to marry her, and settle down into an + honest man. Accordingly, I summoned my messmates, told them my resolution, + resigned my command, and persuaded them to depart. They were good fellows, + engaged with a Dutchman, against whom I heard afterwards they made a + successful mutiny, but I never saw them more. I had two thousand crowns + still left; with this sum I obtained the consent of the silk-mercer, and + it was agreed that I should become a partner in the firm. I need not say + that no one suspected that I had been so great a man, and I passed for a + Neapolitan goldsmith’s son instead of a cardinal’s. I was very happy then, + signor, very,—I could not have harmed a fly! Had I married Clara, I + had been as gentle a mercer as ever handled a measure.” + </p> + <p> + The bravo paused a moment, and it was easy to see that he felt more than + his words and tone betokened. “Well, well, we must not look back at the + past too earnestly,—the sunlight upon it makes one’s eyes water. The + day was fixed for our wedding,—it approached. On the evening before + the appointed day, Clara, her mother, her little sister, and myself, were + walking by the port; and as we looked on the sea, I was telling them old + gossip-tales of mermaids and sea-serpents, when a red-faced, bottle-nosed + Frenchman clapped himself right before me, and, placing his spectacles + very deliberately astride his proboscis, echoed out, ‘Sacre, mille + tonnerres! this is the damned pirate who boarded the “Niobe”!’” + </p> + <p> + “‘None of your jests,’ said I, mildly. ‘Ho, ho!’ said he; ‘I can’t be + mistaken; help there!’ and he griped me by the collar. I replied, as you + may suppose, by laying him in the kennel; but it would not do. The French + captain had a French lieutenant at his back, whose memory was as good as + his chief’s. A crowd assembled; other sailors came up: the odds were + against me. I slept that night in prison; and in a few weeks afterwards I + was sent to the galleys. They spared my life, because the old Frenchman + politely averred that I had made my crew spare his. You may believe that + the oar and the chain were not to my taste. I and two others escaped; they + took to the road, and have, no doubt, been long since broken on the wheel. + I, soft soul, would not commit another crime to gain my bread, for Clara + was still at my heart with her sweet eyes; so, limiting my rogueries to + the theft of a beggar’s rags, which I compensated by leaving him my galley + attire instead, I begged my way to the town where I left Clara. It was a + clear winter’s day when I approached the outskirts of the town. I had no + fear of detection, for my beard and hair were as good as a mask. Oh, + Mother of Mercy! there came across my way a funeral procession! There, now + you know it; I can tell you no more. She had died, perhaps of love, more + likely of shame. Can you guess how I spent that night?—I stole a + pickaxe from a mason’s shed, and all alone and unseen, under the frosty + heavens, I dug the fresh mould from the grave; I lifted the coffin, I + wrenched the lid, I saw her again—again! Decay had not touched her. + She was always pale in life! I could have sworn she lived! It was a + blessed thing to see her once more, and all alone too! But then, at dawn, + to give her back to the earth,—to close the lid, to throw down the + mould, to hear the pebbles rattle on the coffin: that was dreadful! + Signor, I never knew before, and I don’t wish to think now, how valuable a + thing human life is. At sunrise I was again a wanderer; but now that Clara + was gone, my scruples vanished, and again I was at war with my betters. I + contrived at last, at O—, to get taken on board a vessel bound to + Leghorn, working out my passage. From Leghorn I went to Rome, and + stationed myself at the door of the cardinal’s palace. Out he came, his + gilded coach at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ho, father!’ said I; ‘don’t you know me?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Who are you?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Your son,’ said I, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “The cardinal drew back, looked at me earnestly, and mused a moment. ‘All + men are my sons,’ quoth he then, very mildly; ‘there is gold for thee! To + him who begs once, alms are due; to him who begs twice, jails are open. + Take the hint and molest me no more. Heaven bless thee!’ With that he got + into his coach, and drove off to the Vatican. His purse which he had left + behind was well supplied. I was grateful and contented, and took my way to + Terracina. I had not long passed the marshes when I saw two horsemen + approach at a canter. + </p> + <p> + “‘You look poor, friend,’ said one of them, halting; ‘yet you are strong.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Poor men and strong are both serviceable and dangerous, Signor + Cavalier.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well said; follow us.’ + </p> + <p> + “I obeyed, and became a bandit. I rose by degrees; and as I have always + been mild in my calling, and have taken purses without cutting throats, I + bear an excellent character, and can eat my macaroni at Naples without any + danger to life and limb. For the last two years I have settled in these + parts, where I hold sway, and where I have purchased land. I am called a + farmer, signor; and I myself now only rob for amusement, and to keep my + hand in. I trust I have satisfied your curiosity. We are within a hundred + yards of the castle.” + </p> + <p> + “And how,” asked the Englishman, whose interest had been much excited by + his companion’s narrative,—“and how came you acquainted with my + host?—and by what means has he so well conciliated the goodwill of + yourself and friends?” + </p> + <p> + Maestro Paolo turned his black eyes very gravely towards his questioner. + “Why, signor,” said he, “you must surely know more of the foreign cavalier + with the hard name than I do. All I can say is, that about a fortnight ago + I chanced to be standing by a booth in the Toledo at Naples, when a + sober-looking gentleman touched me by the arm, and said, ‘Maestro Paolo, I + want to make your acquaintance; do me the favour to come into yonder + tavern, and drink a flask of lacrima.’ ‘Willingly,’ said I. So we entered + the tavern. When we were seated, my new acquaintance thus accosted me: + ‘The Count d’O— has offered to let me hire his old castle near B—. + You know the spot?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Extremely well; no one has inhabited it for a century at least; it is + half in ruins, signor. A queer place to hire; I hope the rent is not + heavy.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Maestro Paolo,’ said he, ‘I am a philosopher, and don’t care for + luxuries. I want a quiet retreat for some scientific experiments. The + castle will suit me very well, provided you will accept me as a neighbour, + and place me and my friends under your special protection. I am rich; but + I shall take nothing to the castle worth robbing. I will pay one rent to + the count, and another to you.’ + </p> + <p> + “With that we soon came to terms; and as the strange signor doubled the + sum I myself proposed, he is in high favour with all his neighbours. We + would guard the whole castle against an army. And now, signor, that I have + been thus frank, be frank with me. Who is this singular cavalier?” + </p> + <p> + “Who?—he himself told you, a philosopher.” + </p> + <p> + “Hem! searching for the Philosopher’s Stone,—eh, a bit of a + magician; afraid of the priests?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely; you have hit it.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so; and you are his pupil?” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you well through it,” said the robber, seriously, and crossing + himself with much devotion; “I am not much better than other people, but + one’s soul is one’s soul. I do not mind a little honest robbery, or + knocking a man on the head if need be,—but to make a bargain with + the devil! Ah, take care, young gentleman, take care!” + </p> + <p> + “You need not fear,” said Glyndon, smiling; “my preceptor is too wise and + too good for such a compact. But here we are, I suppose. A noble ruin,—a + glorious prospect!” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon paused delightedly, and surveyed the scene before and below with + the eye of a painter. Insensibly, while listening to the bandit, he had + wound up a considerable ascent, and now he was upon a broad ledge of rock + covered with mosses and dwarf shrubs. Between this eminence and another of + equal height, upon which the castle was built, there was a deep but narrow + fissure, overgrown with the most profuse foliage, so that the eye could + not penetrate many yards below the rugged surface of the abyss; but the + profoundness might be well conjectured by the hoarse, low, monotonous roar + of waters unseen that rolled below, and the subsequent course of which was + visible at a distance in a perturbed and rapid stream that intersected the + waste and desolate valleys. + </p> + <p> + To the left, the prospect seemed almost boundless,—the extreme + clearness of the purple air serving to render distinct the features of a + range of country that a conqueror of old might have deemed in itself a + kingdom. Lonely and desolate as the road which Glyndon had passed that day + had appeared, the landscape now seemed studded with castles, spires, and + villages. Afar off, Naples gleamed whitely in the last rays of the sun, + and the rose-tints of the horizon melted into the azure of her glorious + bay. Yet more remote, and in another part of the prospect, might be + caught, dim and shadowy, and backed by the darkest foliage, the ruined + pillars of the ancient Posidonia. There, in the midst of his blackened and + sterile realms, rose the dismal Mount of Fire; while on the other hand, + winding through variegated plains, to which distance lent all its magic, + glittered many and many a stream by which Etruscan and Sybarite, Roman and + Saracen and Norman had, at intervals of ages, pitched the invading tent. + All the visions of the past—the stormy and dazzling histories of + Southern Italy—rushed over the artist’s mind as he gazed below. And + then, slowly turning to look behind, he saw the grey and mouldering walls + of the castle in which he sought the secrets that were to give to hope in + the future a mightier empire than memory owns in the past. It was one of + those baronial fortresses with which Italy was studded in the earlier + middle ages, having but little of the Gothic grace or grandeur which + belongs to the ecclesiastical architecture of the same time, but rude, + vast, and menacing, even in decay. A wooden bridge was thrown over the + chasm, wide enough to admit two horsemen abreast; and the planks trembled + and gave back a hollow sound as Glyndon urged his jaded steed across. + </p> + <p> + A road which had once been broad and paved with rough flags, but which now + was half-obliterated by long grass and rank weeds, conducted to the outer + court of the castle hard by; the gates were open, and half the building in + this part was dismantled; the ruins partially hid by ivy that was the + growth of centuries. But on entering the inner court, Glyndon was not + sorry to notice that there was less appearance of neglect and decay; some + wild roses gave a smile to the grey walls, and in the centre there was a + fountain in which the waters still trickled coolly, and with a pleasing + murmur, from the jaws of a gigantic Triton. Here he was met by Mejnour + with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome, my friend and pupil,” said he: “he who seeks for Truth can find + in these solitudes an immortal Academe.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And Abaris, so far from esteeming Pythagoras, who taught these + things, a necromancer or wizard, rather revered and admired him + as something divine.—Iamblich., “Vit. Pythag.” + </pre> + <p> + The attendants whom Mejnour had engaged for his strange abode were such as + might suit a philosopher of few wants. An old Armenian whom Glyndon + recognised as in the mystic’s service at Naples, a tall, hard-featured + woman from the village, recommended by Maestro Paolo, and two long-haired, + smooth-spoken, but fierce-visaged youths from the same place, and honoured + by the same sponsorship, constituted the establishment. The rooms used by + the sage were commodious and weather-proof, with some remains of ancient + splendour in the faded arras that clothed the walls, and the huge tables + of costly marble and elaborate carving. Glyndon’s sleeping apartment + communicated with a kind of belvedere, or terrace, that commanded + prospects of unrivalled beauty and extent, and was separated on the other + side by a long gallery, and a flight of ten or a dozen stairs, from the + private chambers of the mystic. There was about the whole place a sombre + and yet not displeasing depth of repose. It suited well with the studies + to which it was now to be appropriated. + </p> + <p> + For several days Mejnour refused to confer with Glyndon on the subjects + nearest to his heart. + </p> + <p> + “All without,” said he, “is prepared, but not all within; your own soul + must grow accustomed to the spot, and filled with the surrounding nature; + for Nature is the source of all inspiration.” + </p> + <p> + With these words Mejnour turned to lighter topics. He made the Englishman + accompany him in long rambles through the wild scenes around, and he + smiled approvingly when the young artist gave way to the enthusiasm which + their fearful beauty could not have failed to rouse in a duller breast; + and then Mejnour poured forth to his wondering pupil the stores of a + knowledge that seemed inexhaustible and boundless. He gave accounts the + most curious, graphic, and minute of the various races (their characters, + habits, creeds, and manners) by which that fair land had been successively + overrun. It is true that his descriptions could not be found in books, and + were unsupported by learned authorities; but he possessed the true charm + of the tale-teller, and spoke of all with the animated confidence of a + personal witness. Sometimes, too, he would converse upon the more durable + and the loftier mysteries of Nature with an eloquence and a research which + invested them with all the colours rather of poetry than science. + Insensibly the young artist found himself elevated and soothed by the lore + of his companion; the fever of his wild desires was slaked. His mind + became more and more lulled into the divine tranquillity of contemplation; + he felt himself a nobler being, and in the silence of his senses he + imagined that he heard the voice of his soul. + </p> + <p> + It was to this state that Mejnour evidently sought to bring the neophyte, + and in this elementary initiation the mystic was like every more ordinary + sage. For he who seeks to DISCOVER must first reduce himself into a kind + of abstract idealism, and be rendered up, in solemn and sweet bondage, to + the faculties which CONTEMPLATE and IMAGINE. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon noticed that, in their rambles, Mejnour often paused, where the + foliage was rifest, to gather some herb or flower; and this reminded him + that he had seen Zanoni similarly occupied. “Can these humble children of + Nature,” said he one day to Mejnour,—“things that bloom and wither + in a day, be serviceable to the science of the higher secrets? Is there a + pharmacy for the soul as well as the body, and do the nurslings of the + summer minister not only to human health but spiritual immortality?” + </p> + <p> + “If,” answered Mejnour, “a stranger had visited a wandering tribe before + one property of herbalism was known to them; if he had told the savages + that the herbs which every day they trampled under foot were endowed with + the most potent virtues; that one would restore to health a brother on the + verge of death; that another would paralyse into idiocy their wisest sage; + that a third would strike lifeless to the dust their most stalwart + champion; that tears and laughter, vigour and disease, madness and reason, + wakefulness and sleep, existence and dissolution, were coiled up in those + unregarded leaves,—would they not have held him a sorcerer or a + liar? To half the virtues of the vegetable world mankind are yet in the + darkness of the savages I have supposed. There are faculties within us + with which certain herbs have affinity, and over which they have power. + The moly of the ancients is not all a fable.” + </p> + <p> + The apparent character of Mejnour differed in much from that of Zanoni; + and while it fascinated Glyndon less, it subdued and impressed him more. + The conversation of Zanoni evinced a deep and general interest for + mankind,—a feeling approaching to enthusiasm for art and beauty. The + stories circulated concerning his habits elevated the mystery of his life + by actions of charity and beneficence. And in all this there was something + genial and humane that softened the awe he created, and tended, perhaps, + to raise suspicions as to the loftier secrets that he arrogated to + himself. But Mejnour seemed wholly indifferent to all the actual world. If + he committed no evil, he seemed equally apathetic to good. His deeds + relieved no want, his words pitied no distress. What we call the heart + appeared to have merged into the intellect. He moved, thought, and lived + like some regular and calm abstraction, rather than one who yet retained, + with the form, the feelings and sympathies of his kind. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon once, observing the tone of supreme indifference with which he + spoke of those changes on the face of earth which he asserted he had + witnessed, ventured to remark to him the distinction he had noted. + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said Mejnour, coldly. “My life is the life that + contemplates,—Zanoni’s is the life that enjoys: when I gather the + herb, I think but of its uses; Zanoni will pause to admire its beauties.” + </p> + <p> + “And you deem your own the superior and the loftier existence?” + </p> + <p> + “No. His is the existence of youth,—mine of age. We have cultivated + different faculties. Each has powers the other cannot aspire to. Those + with whom he associates live better,—those who associate with me + know more.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard, in truth,” said Glyndon, “that his companions at Naples + were observed to lead purer and nobler lives after intercourse with + Zanoni; yet were they not strange companions, at the best, for a sage? + This terrible power, too, that he exercises at will, as in the death of + the Prince di —, and that of the Count Ughelli, scarcely becomes the + tranquil seeker after good.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Mejnour, with an icy smile; “such must ever be the error of + those philosophers who would meddle with the active life of mankind. You + cannot serve some without injuring others; you cannot protect the good + without warring on the bad; and if you desire to reform the faulty, why, + you must lower yourself to live with the faulty to know their faults. Even + so saith Paracelsus, a great man, though often wrong. [‘It is as necessary + to know evil things as good; for who can know what is good without the + knowing what is evil?’ etc.—Paracelsus, ‘De Nat. Rer.,’ lib. 3.) Not + mine this folly; I live but in knowledge,—I have no life in + mankind!” + </p> + <p> + Another time Glyndon questioned the mystic as to the nature of that union + or fraternity to which Zanoni had once referred. + </p> + <p> + “I am right, I suppose,” said he, “in conjecturing that you and himself + profess to be the brothers of the Rosy Cross?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you imagine,” answered Mejnour, “that there were no mystic and solemn + unions of men seeking the same end through the same means before the + Arabians of Damus, in 1378, taught to a wandering German the secrets which + founded the Institution of the Rosicrucians? I allow, however, that the + Rosicrucians formed a sect descended from the greater and earlier school. + They were wiser than the Alchemists,—their masters are wiser than + they.” + </p> + <p> + “And of this early and primary order how many still exist?” + </p> + <p> + “Zanoni and myself.” + </p> + <p> + “What, two only!—and you profess the power to teach to all the + secret that baffles Death?” + </p> + <p> + “Your ancestor attained that secret; he died rather than survive the only + thing he loved. We have, my pupil, no arts by which we CAN PUT DEATH OUT + OF OUR OPTION, or out of the will of Heaven. These walls may crush me as I + stand. All that we profess to do is but this,—to find out the + secrets of the human frame; to know why the parts ossify and the blood + stagnates, and to apply continual preventives to the effects of time. This + is not magic; it is the art of medicine rightly understood. In our order + we hold most noble,—first, that knowledge which elevates the + intellect; secondly, that which preserves the body. But the mere art + (extracted from the juices and simples) which recruits the animal vigour + and arrests the progress of decay, or that more noble secret, which I will + only hint to thee at present, by which HEAT, or CALORIC, as ye call it, + being, as Heraclitus wisely taught, the primordial principle of life, can + be made its perpetual renovater,—these I say, would not suffice for + safety. It is ours also to disarm and elude the wrath of men, to turn the + swords of our foes against each other, to glide (if not incorporeal) + invisible to eyes over which we can throw a mist and darkness. And this + some seers have professed to be the virtue of a stone of agate. Abaris + placed it in his arrow. I will find you an herb in yon valley that will + give a surer charm than the agate and the arrow. In one word, know this, + that the humblest and meanest products of Nature are those from which the + sublimest properties are to be drawn.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Glyndon, “if possessed of these great secrets, why so churlish + in withholding their diffusion? Does not the false or charlatanic science + differ in this from the true and indisputable,—that the last + communicates to the world the process by which it attains its discoveries; + the first boasts of marvellous results, and refuses to explain the + causes?” + </p> + <p> + “Well said, O Logician of the Schools; but think again. Suppose we were to + impart all our knowledge to all mankind indiscriminately,—alike to + the vicious and the virtuous,—should we be benefactors or scourges? + Imagine the tyrant, the sensualist, the evil and corrupted being possessed + of these tremendous powers; would he not be a demon let loose on earth? + Grant that the same privilege be accorded also to the good; and in what + state would be society? Engaged in a Titan war,—the good forever on + the defensive, the bad forever in assault. In the present condition of the + earth, evil is a more active principle than good, and the evil would + prevail. It is for these reasons that we are not only solemnly bound to + administer our lore only to those who will not misuse and pervert it, but + that we place our ordeal in tests that purify the passions and elevate the + desires. And Nature in this controls and assists us: for it places awful + guardians and insurmountable barriers between the ambition of vice and the + heaven of the loftier science.” + </p> + <p> + Such made a small part of the numerous conversations Mejnour held with his + pupil,—conversations that, while they appeared to address themselves + to the reason, inflamed yet more the fancy. It was the very disclaiming of + all powers which Nature, properly investigated, did not suffice to create, + that gave an air of probability to those which Mejnour asserted Nature + might bestow. + </p> + <p> + Thus days and weeks rolled on; and the mind of Glyndon, gradually fitted + to this sequestered and musing life, forgot at last the vanities and + chimeras of the world without. + </p> + <p> + One evening he had lingered alone and late upon the ramparts, watching the + stars as, one by one, they broke upon the twilight. Never had he felt so + sensibly the mighty power of the heavens and the earth upon man; how much + the springs of our intellectual being are moved and acted upon by the + solemn influences of Nature. As a patient on whom, slowly and by degrees, + the agencies of mesmerism are brought to bear, he acknowledged to his + heart the growing force of that vast and universal magnetism which is the + life of creation, and binds the atom to the whole. A strange and ineffable + consciousness of power, of the SOMETHING GREAT within the perishable clay, + appealed to feelings at once dim and glorious,—like the faint + recognitions of a holier and former being. An impulse, that he could not + resist, led him to seek the mystic. He would demand, that hour, his + initiation into the worlds beyond our world,—he was prepared to + breathe a diviner air. He entered the castle, and strode the shadowy and + starlit gallery which conducted to Mejnour’s apartment. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Man is the eye of things.—Euryph, “de Vit. Hum.” + + ...There is, therefore, a certain ecstatical or transporting + power, which, if at any time it shall be excited or stirred up by + an ardent desire and most strong imagination, is able to conduct + the spirit of the more outward even to some absent and + far-distant object.—Von Helmont. +</pre> + <p> + The rooms that Mejnour occupied consisted of two chambers communicating + with each other, and a third in which he slept. All these rooms were + placed in the huge square tower that beetled over the dark and bush-grown + precipice. The first chamber which Glyndon entered was empty. With a + noiseless step he passed on, and opened the door that admitted into the + inner one. He drew back at the threshold, overpowered by a strong + fragrance which filled the chamber: a kind of mist thickened the air + rather than obscured it, for this vapour was not dark, but resembled a + snow-cloud moving slowly, and in heavy undulations, wave upon wave + regularly over the space. A mortal cold struck to the Englishman’s heart, + and his blood froze. He stood rooted to the spot; and as his eyes strained + involuntarily through the vapour, he fancied (for he could not be sure + that it was not the trick of his imagination) that he saw dim, + spectre-like, but gigantic forms floating through the mist; or was it not + rather the mist itself that formed its vapours fantastically into those + moving, impalpable, and bodiless apparitions? A great painter of antiquity + is said, in a picture of Hades, to have represented the monsters that + glide through the ghostly River of the Dead, so artfully, that the eye + perceived at once that the river itself was but a spectre, and the + bloodless things that tenanted it had no life, their forms blending with + the dead waters till, as the eye continued to gaze, it ceased to discern + them from the preternatural element they were supposed to inhabit. Such + were the moving outlines that coiled and floated through the mist; but + before Glyndon had even drawn breath in this atmosphere—for his life + itself seemed arrested or changed into a kind of horrid trance—he + felt his hand seized, and he was led from that room into the outer one. He + heard the door close,—his blood rushed again through his veins, and + he saw Mejnour by his side. Strong convulsions then suddenly seized his + whole frame,—he fell to the ground insensible. When he recovered, he + found himself in the open air in a rude balcony of stone that jutted from + the chamber, the stars shining serenely over the dark abyss below, and + resting calmly upon the face of the mystic, who stood beside him with + folded arms. + </p> + <p> + “Young man,” said Mejnour, “judge by what you have just felt, how + dangerous it is to seek knowledge until prepared to receive it. Another + moment in the air of that chamber and you had been a corpse.” + </p> + <p> + “Then of what nature was the knowledge that you, once mortal like myself, + could safely have sought in that icy atmosphere, which it was death for me + to breathe? Mejnour,” continued Glyndon, and his wild desire, sharpened by + the very danger he had passed, once more animated and nerved him, “I am + prepared at least for the first steps. I come to you as of old the pupil + to the Hierophant, and demand the initiation.” + </p> + <p> + Mejnour passed his hand over the young man’s heart,—it beat loud, + regularly, and boldly. He looked at him with something almost like + admiration in his passionless and frigid features, and muttered, half to + himself, “Surely, in so much courage the true disciple is found at last.” + Then, speaking aloud, he added, “Be it so; man’s first initiation is in + TRANCE. In dreams commences all human knowledge; in dreams hovers over + measureless space the first faint bridge between spirit and spirit,—this + world and the worlds beyond! Look steadfastly on yonder star!” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon obeyed, and Mejnour retired into the chamber, from which there + then slowly emerged a vapour, somewhat paler and of fainter odour than + that which had nearly produced so fatal an effect on his frame. This, on + the contrary, as it coiled around him, and then melted in thin spires into + the air, breathed a refreshing and healthful fragrance. He still kept his + eyes on the star, and the star seemed gradually to fix and command his + gaze. A sort of languor next seized his frame, but without, as he thought, + communicating itself to the mind; and as this crept over him, he felt his + temples sprinkled with some volatile and fiery essence. At the same moment + a slight tremor shook his limbs and thrilled through his veins. The + languor increased, still he kept his gaze upon the star, and now its + luminous circumference seemed to expand and dilate. It became gradually + softer and clearer in its light; spreading wider and broader, it diffused + all space,—all space seemed swallowed up in it. And at last, in the + midst of a silver shining atmosphere, he felt as if something burst within + his brain,—as if a strong chain were broken; and at that moment a + sense of heavenly liberty, of unutterable delight, of freedom from the + body, of birdlike lightness, seemed to float him into the space itself. + “Whom, now upon earth, dost thou wish to see?” whispered the voice of + Mejnour. “Viola and Zanoni!” answered Glyndon, in his heart; but he felt + that his lips moved not. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly at that thought,—through this space, in which nothing save + one mellow translucent light had been discernible,—a swift + succession of shadowy landscapes seemed to roll: trees, mountains, cities, + seas, glided along like the changes of a phantasmagoria; and at last, + settled and stationary, he saw a cave by the gradual marge of an ocean + shore,—myrtles and orange-trees clothing the gentle banks. On a + height, at a distance, gleamed the white but shattered relics of some + ruined heathen edifice; and the moon, in calm splendour, shining over all, + literally bathed with its light two forms without the cave, at whose feet + the blue waters crept, and he thought that he even heard them murmur. He + recognised both the figures. Zanoni was seated on a fragment of stone; + Viola, half-reclining by his side, was looking into his face, which was + bent down to her, and in her countenance was the expression of that + perfect happiness which belongs to perfect love. “Wouldst thou hear them + speak?” whispered Mejnour; and again, without sound, Glyndon inly + answered, “Yes!” Their voices then came to his ear, but in tones that + seemed to him strange; so subdued were they, and sounding, as it were, so + far off, that they were as voices heard in the visions of some holier men + from a distant sphere. + </p> + <p> + “And how is it,” said Viola, “that thou canst find pleasure in listening + to the ignorant?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the heart is never ignorant; because the mysteries of the + feelings are as full of wonder as those of the intellect. If at times thou + canst not comprehend the language of my thoughts, at times also I hear + sweet enigmas in that of thy emotions.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, say not so!” said Viola, winding her arm tenderly round his neck, and + under that heavenly light her face seemed lovelier for its blushes. “For + the enigmas are but love’s common language, and love should solve them. + Till I knew thee,—till I lived with thee; till I learned to watch + for thy footstep when absent: yet even in absence to see thee everywhere!—I + dreamed not how strong and all-pervading is the connection between nature + and the human soul!... + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” she continued, “I am now assured of what I at first believed,—that + the feelings which attracted me towards thee at first were not those of + love. I know THAT, by comparing the present with the past,—it was a + sentiment then wholly of the mind or the spirit! I could not hear thee now + say, ‘Viola, be happy with another!’” + </p> + <p> + “And I could not now tell thee so! Ah, Viola, never be weary of assuring + me that thou art happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Happy while thou art so. Yet at times, Zanoni, thou art so sad!” + </p> + <p> + “Because human life is so short; because we must part at last; because yon + moon shines on when the nightingale sings to it no more! A little while, + and thine eyes will grow dim, and thy beauty haggard, and these locks that + I toy with now will be grey and loveless.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou, cruel one!” said Viola, touchingly, “I shall never see the + signs of age in thee! But shall we not grow old together, and our eyes be + accustomed to a change which the heart shall not share!” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni sighed. He turned away, and seemed to commune with himself. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon’s attention grew yet more earnest. + </p> + <p> + “But were it so,” muttered Zanoni; and then looking steadfastly at Viola, + he said, with a half-smile, “Hast thou no curiosity to learn more of the + lover thou once couldst believe the agent of the Evil One?” + </p> + <p> + “None; all that one wishes to know of the beloved one, I know—THAT + THOU LOVEST ME!” + </p> + <p> + “I have told thee that my life is apart from others. Wouldst thou not seek + to share it?” + </p> + <p> + “I share it now!” + </p> + <p> + “But were it possible to be thus young and fair forever, till the world + blazes round us as one funeral pyre!” + </p> + <p> + “We shall be so, when we leave the world!” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni was mute for some moments, and at length he said,— + </p> + <p> + “Canst thou recall those brilliant and aerial dreams which once visited + thee, when thou didst fancy that thou wert preordained to some fate aloof + and afar from the common children of the earth?” + </p> + <p> + “Zanoni, the fate is found.” + </p> + <p> + “And hast thou no terror of the future?” + </p> + <p> + “The future! I forget it! Time past and present and to come reposes in thy + smile. Ah, Zanoni, play not with the foolish credulities of my youth! I + have been better and humbler since thy presence has dispelled the mist of + the air. The future!—well, when I have cause to dread it, I will + look up to heaven, and remember who guides our fate!” + </p> + <p> + As she lifted her eyes above, a dark cloud swept suddenly over the scene. + It wrapped the orange-trees, the azure ocean, the dense sands; but still + the last images that it veiled from the charmed eyes of Glyndon were the + forms of Viola and Zanoni. The face of the one rapt, serene, and radiant; + the face of the other, dark, thoughtful, and locked in more than its usual + rigidness of melancholy beauty and profound repose. + </p> + <p> + “Rouse thyself,” said Mejnour; “thy ordeal has commenced! There are + pretenders to the solemn science who could have shown thee the absent, and + prated to thee, in their charlatanic jargon, of the secret electricities + and the magnetic fluid of whose true properties they know but the germs + and elements. I will lend thee the books of those glorious dupes, and thou + wilt find, in the dark ages, how many erring steps have stumbled upon the + threshold of the mighty learning, and fancied they had pierced the temple. + Hermes and Albert and Paracelsus, I knew ye all; but, noble as ye were, ye + were fated to be deceived. Ye had not souls of faith, and daring fitted + for the destinies at which ye aimed! Yet Paracelsus—modest + Paracelsus—had an arrogance that soared higher than all our + knowledge. Ho, ho!—he thought he could make a race of men from + chemistry; he arrogated to himself the Divine gift,—the breath of + life. (Paracelsus, ‘De Nat. Rer.,’ lib. i.) + </p> + <p> + “He would have made men, and, after all, confessed that they could be but + pygmies! My art is to make men above mankind. But you are impatient of my + digressions. Forgive me. All these men (they were great dreamers, as you + desire to be) were intimate friends of mine. But they are dead and rotten. + They talked of spirits,—but they dreaded to be in other company than + that of men. Like orators whom I have heard, when I stood by the Pnyx of + Athens, blazing with words like comets in the assembly, and extinguishing + their ardour like holiday rockets when they were in the field. Ho, ho! + Demosthenes, my hero-coward, how nimble were thy heels at Chaeronea! And + thou art impatient still! Boy, I could tell thee such truths of the past + as would make thee the luminary of schools. But thou lustest only for the + shadows of the future. Thou shalt have thy wish. But the mind must be + first exercised and trained. Go to thy room, and sleep; fast austerely, + read no books; meditate, imagine, dream, bewilder thyself if thou wilt. + Thought shapes out its own chaos at last. Before midnight, seek me again!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It is fit that we who endeavour to rise to an elevation so + sublime, should study first to leave behind carnal affections, + the frailty of the senses, the passions that belong to matter; + secondly, to learn by what means we may ascend to the climax of + pure intellect, united with the powers above, without which never + can we gain the lore of secret things, nor the magic that effects + true wonders.—Tritemius “On Secret Things and Secret Spirits.” + </pre> + <p> + It wanted still many minutes of midnight, and Glyndon was once more in the + apartment of the mystic. He had rigidly observed the fast ordained to him; + and in the rapt and intense reveries into which his excited fancy had + plunged him, he was not only insensible to the wants of the flesh,—he + felt above them. + </p> + <p> + Mejnour, seated beside his disciple, thus addressed him:— + </p> + <p> + “Man is arrogant in proportion to his ignorance. Man’s natural tendency is + to egotism. Man, in his infancy of knowledge, thinks that all creation was + formed for him. For several ages he saw in the countless worlds that + sparkle through space like the bubbles of a shoreless ocean only the petty + candles, the household torches, that Providence had been pleased to light + for no other purpose but to make the night more agreeable to man. + Astronomy has corrected this delusion of human vanity; and man now + reluctantly confesses that the stars are worlds larger and more glorious + than his own,—that the earth on which he crawls is a scarce visible + speck on the vast chart of creation. But in the small as in the vast, God + is equally profuse of life. The traveller looks upon the tree, and fancies + its boughs were formed for his shelter in the summer sun, or his fuel in + the winter frosts. But in each leaf of these boughs the Creator has made a + world; it swarms with innumerable races. Each drop of the water in yon + moat is an orb more populous than a kingdom is of men. Everywhere, then, + in this immense design, science brings new life to light. Life is the one + pervading principle, and even the thing that seems to die and putrify but + engenders new life, and changes to fresh forms of matter. Reasoning, then, + by evident analogy: if not a leaf, if not a drop of water, but is, no less + than yonder star, a habitable and breathing world,—nay, if even man + himself is a world to other lives, and millions and myriads dwell in the + rivers of his blood, and inhabit man’s frame as man inhabits earth, + commonsense (if your schoolmen had it) would suffice to teach that the + circumfluent infinite which you call space—the countless Impalpable + which divides earth from the moon and stars—is filled also with its + correspondent and appropriate life. Is it not a visible absurdity to + suppose that being is crowded upon every leaf, and yet absent from the + immensities of space? The law of the Great System forbids the waste even + of an atom; it knows no spot where something of life does not breathe. In + the very charnel-house is the nursery of production and animation. Is that + true? Well, then, can you conceive that space, which is the Infinite + itself, is alone a waste, is alone lifeless, is less useful to the one + design of universal being than the dead carcass of a dog, than the peopled + leaf, than the swarming globule? The microscope shows you the creatures on + the leaf; no mechanical tube is yet invented to discover the nobler and + more gifted things that hover in the illimitable air. Yet between these + last and man is a mysterious and terrible affinity. And hence, by tales + and legends, not wholly false nor wholly true, have arisen from time to + time, beliefs in apparitions and spectres. If more common to the earlier + and simpler tribes than to the men of your duller age, it is but that, + with the first, the senses are more keen and quick. And as the savage can + see or scent miles away the traces of a foe, invisible to the gross sense + of the civilised animal, so the barrier itself between him and the + creatures of the airy world is less thickened and obscured. Do you + listen?” + </p> + <p> + “With my soul!” + </p> + <p> + “But first, to penetrate this barrier, the soul with which you listen must + be sharpened by intense enthusiasm, purified from all earthlier desires. + Not without reason have the so-styled magicians, in all lands and times, + insisted on chastity and abstemious reverie as the communicants of + inspiration. When thus prepared, science can be brought to aid it; the + sight itself may be rendered more subtle, the nerves more acute, the + spirit more alive and outward, and the element itself—the air, the + space—may be made, by certain secrets of the higher chemistry, more + palpable and clear. And this, too, is not magic, as the credulous call it; + as I have so often said before, magic (or science that violates Nature) + exists not: it is but the science by which Nature can be controlled. Now, + in space there are millions of beings not literally spiritual, for they + have all, like the animalculae unseen by the naked eye, certain forms of + matter, though matter so delicate, air-drawn, and subtle, that it is, as + it were, but a film, a gossamer that clothes the spirit. Hence the + Rosicrucian’s lovely phantoms of sylph and gnome. Yet, in truth, these + races and tribes differ more widely, each from each, than the Calmuc from + the Greek,—differ in attributes and powers. In the drop of water you + see how the animalculae vary, how vast and terrible are some of those + monster mites as compared with others. Equally so with the inhabitants of + the atmosphere: some of surpassing wisdom, some of horrible malignity; + some hostile as fiends to men, others gentle as messengers between earth + and heaven. + </p> + <p> + “He who would establish intercourse with these varying beings resembles + the traveller who would penetrate into unknown lands. He is exposed to + strange dangers and unconjectured terrors. THAT INTERCOURSE ONCE GAINED, I + CANNOT SECURE THEE FROM THE CHANCES TO WHICH THY JOURNEY IS EXPOSED. I + cannot direct thee to paths free from the wanderings of the deadliest + foes. Thou must alone, and of thyself, face and hazard all. But if thou + art so enamoured of life as to care only to live on, no matter for what + ends, recruiting the nerves and veins with the alchemist’s vivifying + elixir, why seek these dangers from the intermediate tribes? Because the + very elixir that pours a more glorious life into the frame, so sharpens + the senses that those larvae of the air become to thee audible and + apparent; so that, unless trained by degrees to endure the phantoms and + subdue their malice, a life thus gifted would be the most awful doom man + could bring upon himself. Hence it is, that though the elixir be + compounded of the simplest herbs, his frame only is prepared to receive it + who has gone through the subtlest trials. Nay, some, scared and daunted + into the most intolerable horror by the sights that burst upon their eyes + at the first draft, have found the potion less powerful to save than the + agony and travail of Nature to destroy. To the unprepared the elixir is + thus but the deadliest poison. Amidst the dwellers of the threshold is + ONE, too, surpassing in malignity and hatred all her tribe,—one + whose eyes have paralyzed the bravest, and whose power increases over the + spirit precisely in proportion to its fear. Does thy courage falter?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay; thy words but kindle it.” + </p> + <p> + “Follow me, then, and submit to the initiatory labours.” + </p> + <p> + With that, Mejnour led him into the interior chamber, and proceeded to + explain to him certain chemical operations which, though extremely simple + in themselves, Glyndon soon perceived were capable of very extraordinary + results. + </p> + <p> + “In the remoter times,” said Mejnour, smiling, “our brotherhood were often + compelled to recur to delusions to protect realities; and, as dexterous + mechanicians or expert chemists, they obtained the name of sorcerers. + Observe how easy to construct is the Spectre Lion that attended the + renowned Leonardo da Vinci!” + </p> + <p> + And Glyndon beheld with delighted surprise the simple means by which the + wildest cheats of the imagination can be formed. The magical landscapes in + which Baptista Porta rejoiced; the apparent change of the seasons with + which Albertus Magnus startled the Earl of Holland; nay, even those more + dread delusions of the Ghost and Image with which the necromancers of + Heraclea woke the conscience of the conqueror of Plataea (Pausanias,—see + Plutarch.),—all these, as the showman enchants some trembling + children on a Christmas Eve with his lantern and phantasmagoria, Mejnour + exhibited to his pupil. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “And now laugh forever at magic! when these, the very tricks, the very + sports and frivolities of science, were the very acts which men viewed + with abhorrence, and inquisitors and kings rewarded with the rack and the + stake.” + </p> + <p> + “But the alchemist’s transmutation of metals—” + </p> + <p> + “Nature herself is a laboratory in which metals, and all elements, are + forever at change. Easy to make gold,—easier, more commodious, and + cheaper still, to make the pearl, the diamond, and the ruby. Oh, yes; wise + men found sorcery in this too; but they found no sorcery in the discovery + that by the simplest combination of things of every-day use they could + raise a devil that would sweep away thousands of their kind by the breath + of consuming fire. Discover what will destroy life, and you are a great + man!—what will prolong it, and you are an imposter! Discover some + invention in machinery that will make the rich more rich and the poor more + poor, and they will build you a statue! Discover some mystery in art that + will equalise physical disparities, and they will pull down their own + houses to stone you! Ha, ha, my pupil! such is the world Zanoni still + cares for!—you and I will leave this world to itself. And now that + you have seen some few of the effects of science, begin to learn its + grammar.” + </p> + <p> + Mejnour then set before his pupil certain tasks, in which the rest of the + night wore itself away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Great travell hath the gentle Calidore + And toyle endured... + There on a day,—He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes, + Playing on pipes and caroling apace. + ...He, there besyde + Saw a faire damzell. + —Spenser, “Faerie Queene,” cant. ix. +</pre> + <p> + For a considerable period the pupil of Mejnour was now absorbed in labour + dependent on the most vigilant attention, on the most minute and subtle + calculation. Results astonishing and various rewarded his toils and + stimulated his interest. Nor were these studies limited to chemical + discovery,—in which it is permitted me to say that the greatest + marvels upon the organisation of physical life seemed wrought by + experiments of the vivifying influence of heat. Mejnour professed to find + a link between all intellectual beings in the existence of a certain + all-pervading and invisible fluid resembling electricity, yet distinct + from the known operations of that mysterious agency—a fluid that + connected thought to thought with the rapidity and precision of the modern + telegraph, and the influence of this fluid, according to Mejnour, extended + to the remotest past,—that is to say, whenever and wheresoever man + had thought. Thus, if the doctrine were true, all human knowledge became + attainable through a medium established between the brain of the + individual inquirer and all the farthest and obscurest regions in the + universe of ideas. Glyndon was surprised to find Mejnour attached to the + abstruse mysteries which the Pythagoreans ascribed to the occult science + of NUMBERS. In this last, new lights glimmered dimly on his eyes; and he + began to perceive that even the power to predict, or rather to calculate, + results, might by— (Here there is an erasure in the MS.) + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + But he observed that the last brief process by which, in each of these + experiments, the wonder was achieved, Mejnour reserved for himself, and + refused to communicate the secret. The answer he obtained to his + remonstrances on this head was more stern than satisfactory: + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou think,” said Mejnour, “that I would give to the mere pupil, + whose qualities are not yet tried, powers that might change the face of + the social world? The last secrets are intrusted only to him of whose + virtue the Master is convinced. Patience! It is labour itself that is the + great purifier of the mind; and by degrees the secrets will grow upon + thyself as thy mind becomes riper to receive them.” + </p> + <p> + At last Mejnour professed himself satisfied with the progress made by his + pupil. “The hour now arrives,” he said, “when thou mayst pass the great + but airy barrier,—when thou mayst gradually confront the terrible + Dweller of the Threshold. Continue thy labours—continue to surpass + thine impatience for results until thou canst fathom the causes. I leave + thee for one month; if at the end of that period, when I return, the tasks + set thee are completed, and thy mind prepared by contemplation and austere + thought for the ordeal, I promise thee the ordeal shall commence. One + caution alone I give thee: regard it as a peremptory command, enter not + this chamber!” (They were then standing in the room where their + experiments had been chiefly made, and in which Glyndon, on the night he + had sought the solitude of the mystic, had nearly fallen a victim to his + intrusion.) + </p> + <p> + “Enter not this chamber till my return; or, above all, if by any search + for materials necessary to thy toils thou shouldst venture hither, forbear + to light the naphtha in those vessels, and to open the vases on yonder + shelves. I leave the key of the room in thy keeping, in order to try thy + abstinence and self-control. Young man, this very temptation is a part of + thy trial.” + </p> + <p> + With that, Mejnour placed the key in his hands; and at sunset he left the + castle. + </p> + <p> + For several days Glyndon continued immersed in employments which strained + to the utmost all the faculties of his intellect. Even the most partial + success depended so entirely on the abstraction of the mind, and the + minuteness of its calculations, that there was scarcely room for any other + thought than those absorbed in the occupation. And doubtless this + perpetual strain of the faculties was the object of Mejnour in works that + did not seem exactly pertinent to the purposes in view. As the study of + the elementary mathematics, for example, is not so profitable in the + solving of problems, useless in our after-callings, as it is serviceable + in training the intellect to the comprehension and analysis of general + truths. + </p> + <p> + But in less than half the time which Mejnour had stated for the duration + of his absence, all that the mystic had appointed to his toils was + completed by the pupil; and then his mind, thus relieved from the drudgery + and mechanism of employment, once more sought occupation in dim conjecture + and restless fancies. His inquisitive and rash nature grew excited by the + prohibition of Mejnour, and he found himself gazing too often, with + perturbed and daring curiosity, upon the key of the forbidden chamber. He + began to feel indignant at a trial of constancy which he deemed frivolous + and puerile. What nursery tales of Bluebeard and his closet were revived + to daunt and terrify him! How could the mere walls of a chamber, in which + he had so often securely pursued his labours, start into living danger? If + haunted, it could be but by those delusions which Mejnour had taught him + to despise,—a shadowy lion,—a chemical phantasm! Tush! he lost + half his awe of Mejnour, when he thought that by such tricks the sage + could practise upon the very intellect he had awakened and instructed! + Still he resisted the impulses of his curiosity and his pride, and, to + escape from their dictation, he took long rambles on the hills, or amidst + the valleys that surrounded the castle,—seeking by bodily fatigue to + subdue the unreposing mind. One day suddenly emerging from a dark ravine, + he came upon one of those Italian scenes of rural festivity and mirth in + which the classic age appears to revive. It was a festival, partly + agricultural, partly religious, held yearly by the peasants of that + district. Assembled at the outskirts of a village, animated crowds, just + returned from a procession to a neighbouring chapel, were now forming + themselves into groups: the old to taste the vintage, the young to dance,—all + to be gay and happy. This sudden picture of easy joy and careless + ignorance, contrasting so forcibly with the intense studies and that + parching desire for wisdom which had so long made up his own life, and + burned at his own heart, sensibly affected Glyndon. As he stood aloof and + gazing on them, the young man felt once more that he was young. The memory + of all he had been content to sacrifice spoke to him like the sharp voice + of remorse. The flitting forms of the women in their picturesque attire, + their happy laughter ringing through the cool, still air of the autumn + noon, brought back to the heart, or rather perhaps to the senses, the + images of his past time, the “golden shepherd hours,” when to live was but + to enjoy. + </p> + <p> + He approached nearer and nearer to the scene, and suddenly a noisy group + swept round him; and Maestro Paolo, tapping him familiarly on the + shoulder, exclaimed in a hearty voice, “Welcome, Excellency!—we are + rejoiced to see you amongst us.” Glyndon was about to reply to this + salutation, when his eyes rested upon the face of a young girl leaning on + Paolo’s arm, of a beauty so attractive that his colour rose and his heart + beat as he encountered her gaze. Her eyes sparkled with a roguish and + petulant mirth, her parted lips showed teeth like pearls; as if impatient + at the pause of her companion from the revel of the rest, her little foot + beat the ground to a measure that she half-hummed, half-chanted. Paolo + laughed as he saw the effect the girl had produced upon the young + foreigner. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not dance, Excellency? Come, lay aside your greatness, and be + merry, like us poor devils. See how our pretty Fillide is longing for a + partner. Take compassion on her.” + </p> + <p> + Fillide pouted at this speech, and, disengaging her arm from Paolo’s, + turned away, but threw over her shoulder a glance half inviting, half + defying. Glyndon, almost involuntarily, advanced to her, and addressed + her. + </p> + <p> + Oh, yes; he addresses her! She looks down, and smiles. Paolo leaves them + to themselves, sauntering off with a devil-me-carish air. Fillide speaks + now, and looks up at the scholar’s face with arch invitation. He shakes + his head; Fillide laughs, and her laugh is silvery. She points to a gay + mountaineer, who is tripping up to her merrily. Why does Glyndon feel + jealous? Why, when she speaks again, does he shake his head no more? He + offers his hand; Fillide blushes, and takes it with a demure coquetry. + What! is it so, indeed! They whirl into the noisy circle of the revellers. + Ha! ha! is not this better than distilling herbs, and breaking thy brains + on Pythagorean numbers? How lightly Fillide bounds along! How her + lithesome waist supples itself to thy circling arm! Tara-ra-tara, ta-tara, + rara-ra! What the devil is in the measure that it makes the blood course + like quicksilver through the veins? Was there ever a pair of eyes like + Fillide’s? Nothing of the cold stars there! Yet how they twinkle and laugh + at thee! And that rosy, pursed-up mouth that will answer so sparingly to + thy flatteries, as if words were a waste of time, and kisses were their + proper language. Oh, pupil of Mejnour! Oh, would-be Rosicrucian, + Platonist, Magian, I know not what! I am ashamed of thee! What, in the + names of Averroes and Burri and Agrippa and Hermes have become of thy + austere contemplations? Was it for this thou didst resign Viola? I don’t + think thou hast the smallest recollection of the elixir or the Cabala. + Take care! What are you about, sir? Why do you clasp that small hand + locked within your own? Why do you—Tara-rara tara-ra tara-rara-ra, + rarara, ta-ra, a-ra! Keep your eyes off those slender ankles and that + crimson bodice! Tara-rara-ra! There they go again! And now they rest under + the broad trees. The revel has whirled away from them. They hear—or + do they not hear—the laughter at the distance? They see—or if + they have their eyes about them, they SHOULD see—couple after couple + gliding by, love-talking and love-looking. But I will lay a wager, as they + sit under that tree, and the round sun goes down behind the mountains, + that they see or hear very little except themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Hollo, Signor Excellency! and how does your partner please you? Come and + join our feast, loiterers; one dances more merrily after wine.” + </p> + <p> + Down goes the round sun; up comes the autumn moon. Tara, tara, rarara, + rarara, tarara-ra! Dancing again; is it a dance, or some movement gayer, + noisier, wilder still? How they glance and gleam through the night + shadows, those flitting forms! What confusion!—what order! Ha, that + is the Tarantula dance; Maestro Paolo foots it bravely! Diavolo, what + fury! the Tarantula has stung them all. Dance or die; it is fury,—the + Corybantes, the Maenads, the—Ho, ho! more wine! the Sabbat of the + Witches at Benevento is a joke to this! From cloud to cloud wanders the + moon,—now shining, now lost. Dimness while the maiden blushes; light + when the maiden smiles. + </p> + <p> + “Fillide, thou art an enchantress!” + </p> + <p> + “Buona notte, Excellency; you will see me again!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, young man,” said an old, decrepit, hollow-eyed octogenarian, leaning + on his staff, “make the best of your youth. I, too, once had a Fillide! I + was handsomer than you then! Alas! if we could be always young!” + </p> + <p> + “Always young!” Glyndon started, as he turned his gaze from the fresh, + fair, rosy face of the girl, and saw the eyes dropping rheum, the yellow + wrinkled skin, the tottering frame of the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha!” said the decrepit creature, hobbling near to him, and with a + malicious laugh. “Yet I, too, was young once! Give me a baioccho for a + glass of aqua vitae!” + </p> + <p> + Tara, rara, ra-rara, tara, rara-ra! There dances Youth! Wrap thy rags + round thee, and totter off, Old Age! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Whilest Calidore does follow that faire mayd, + Unmindful of his vow and high beheast + Which by the Faerie Queene was on him layd. + —Spenser, “Faerie Queene,” cant. x. s. 1. +</pre> + <p> + It was that grey, indistinct, struggling interval between the night and + the dawn, when Clarence stood once more in his chamber. The abstruse + calculations lying on his table caught his eye, and filled him with a + sentiment of weariness and distaste. But—“Alas, if we could be + always young! Oh, thou horrid spectre of the old, rheum-eyed man! What + apparition can the mystic chamber shadow forth more ugly and more hateful + than thou? Oh, yes, if we could be always young! But not [thinks the + neophyte now]—not to labour forever at these crabbed figures and + these cold compounds of herbs and drugs. No; but to enjoy, to love, to + revel! What should be the companion of youth but pleasure? And the gift of + eternal youth may be mine this very hour! What means this prohibition of + Mejnour’s? Is it not of the same complexion as his ungenerous reserve even + in the minutest secrets of chemistry, or the numbers of his Cabala?—compelling + me to perform all the toils, and yet withholding from me the knowledge of + the crowning result? No doubt he will still, on his return, show me that + the great mystery CAN be attained; but will still forbid ME to attain it. + Is it not as if he desired to keep my youth the slave to his age; to make + me dependent solely on himself; to bind me to a journeyman’s service by + perpetual excitement to curiosity, and the sight of the fruits he places + beyond my lips?” These, and many reflections still more repining, + disturbed and irritated him. Heated with wine—excited by the wild + revels he had left—he was unable to sleep. The image of that + revolting Old Age which Time, unless defeated, must bring upon himself, + quickened the eagerness of his desire for the dazzling and imperishable + Youth he ascribed to Zanoni. The prohibition only served to create a + spirit of defiance. The reviving day, laughing jocundly through his + lattice, dispelled all the fears and superstitions that belong to night. + The mystic chamber presented to his imagination nothing to differ from any + other apartment in the castle. What foul or malignant apparition could + harm him in the light of that blessed sun! It was the peculiar, and on the + whole most unhappy, contradiction in Glyndon’s nature, that while his + reasonings led him to doubt,—and doubt rendered him in MORAL conduct + irresolute and unsteady; he was PHYSICALLY brave to rashness. Nor is this + uncommon: scepticism and presumption are often twins. When a man of this + character determines upon any action, personal fear never deters him; and + for the moral fear, any sophistry suffices to self-will. Almost without + analysing himself the mental process by which his nerves hardened + themselves and his limbs moved, he traversed the corridor, gained + Mejnour’s apartment, and opened the forbidden door. All was as he had been + accustomed to see it, save that on a table in the centre of the room lay + open a large volume. He approached, and gazed on the characters on the + page; they were in a cipher, the study of which had made a part of his + labours. With but slight difficulty he imagined that he interpreted the + meaning of the first sentences, and that they ran thus:— + </p> + <p> + “To quaff the inner life, is to see the outer life: to live in defiance of + time, is to live in the whole. He who discovers the elixir discovers what + lies in space; for the spirit that vivifies the frame strengthens the + senses. There is attraction in the elementary principle of light. In the + lamps of Rosicrucius the fire is the pure elementary principle. Kindle the + lamps while thou openst the vessel that contains the elixir, and the light + attracts towards thee those beings whose life is that light. Beware of + Fear. Fear is the deadliest enemy to Knowledge.” Here the ciphers changed + their character, and became incomprehensible. But had he not read enough? + Did not the last sentence suffice?—“Beware of Fear!” It was as if + Mejnour had purposely left the page open,—as if the trial was, in + truth, the reverse of the one pretended; as if the mystic had designed to + make experiment of his COURAGE while affecting but that of his + FORBEARANCE. Not Boldness, but Fear, was the deadliest enemy to Knowledge. + He moved to the shelves on which the crystal vases were placed; with an + untrembling hand he took from one of them the stopper, and a delicious + odor suddenly diffused itself through the room. The air sparkled as if + with a diamond-dust. A sense of unearthly delight,—of an existence + that seemed all spirit, flashed through his whole frame; and a faint, low, + but exquisite music crept, thrilling, through the chamber. At this moment + he heard a voice in the corridor calling on his name; and presently there + was a knock at the door without. “Are you there, signor?” said the clear + tones of Maestro Paolo. Glyndon hastily reclosed and replaced the vial, + and bidding Paolo await him in his own apartment, tarried till he heard + the intruder’s steps depart; he then reluctantly quitted the room. As he + locked the door, he still heard the dying strain of that fairy music; and + with a light step and a joyous heart he repaired to Paolo, inly resolving + to visit again the chamber at an hour when his experiment would be safe + from interruption. + </p> + <p> + As he crossed his threshold, Paolo started back, and exclaimed, “Why, + Excellency! I scarcely recognise you! Amusement, I see, is a great + beautifier to the young. Yesterday you looked so pale and haggard; but + Fillide’s merry eyes have done more for you than the Philosopher’s Stone + (saints forgive me for naming it) ever did for the wizards.” And Glyndon, + glancing at the old Venetian mirror as Paolo spoke, was scarcely less + startled than Paolo himself at the change in his own mien and bearing. His + form, before bent with thought, seemed to him taller by half the head, so + lithesome and erect rose his slender stature; his eyes glowed, his cheeks + bloomed with health and the innate and pervading pleasure. If the mere + fragrance of the elixir was thus potent, well might the alchemists have + ascribed life and youth to the draught! + </p> + <p> + “You must forgive me, Excellency, for disturbing you,” said Paolo, + producing a letter from his pouch; “but our Patron has just written to me + to say that he will be here to-morrow, and desired me to lose not a moment + in giving to yourself this billet, which he enclosed.” + </p> + <p> + “Who brought the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “A horseman, who did not wait for any reply.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon opened the letter, and read as follows:— + </p> + <p> + “I return a week sooner than I had intended, and you will expect me + to-morrow. You will then enter on the ordeal you desire, but remember + that, in doing so, you must reduce Being as far as possible into Mind. The + senses must be mortified and subdued,—not the whisper of one passion + heard. Thou mayst be master of the Cabala and the Chemistry; but thou must + be master also over the Flesh and the Blood,—over Love and Vanity, + Ambition and Hate. I will trust to find thee so. Fast and meditate till we + meet!” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon crumpled the letter in his hand with a smile of disdain. What! + more drudgery,—more abstinence! Youth without love and pleasure! Ha, + ha! baffled Mejnour, thy pupil shall gain thy secrets without thine aid! + </p> + <p> + “And Fillide! I passed her cottage in my way,—she blushed and sighed + when I jested her about you, Excellency!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Paolo! I thank thee for so charming an introduction. Thine must be + a rare life.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Excellency, while we are young, nothing like adventure,—except + love, wine, and laughter!” + </p> + <p> + “Very true. Farewell, Maestro Paolo; we will talk more with each other in + a few days.” + </p> + <p> + All that morning Glyndon was almost overpowered with the new sentiment of + happiness that had entered into him. He roamed into the woods, and he felt + a pleasure that resembled his earlier life of an artist, but a pleasure + yet more subtle and vivid, in the various colours of the autumn foliage. + Certainly Nature seemed to be brought closer to him; he comprehended + better all that Mejnour had often preached to him of the mystery of + sympathies and attractions. He was about to enter into the same law as + those mute children of the forests. He was to know THE RENEWAL OF LIFE; + the seasons that chilled to winter should yet bring again the bloom and + the mirth of spring. Man’s common existence is as one year to the + vegetable world: he has his spring, his summer, his autumn, and winter,—but + only ONCE. But the giant oaks round him go through a revolving series of + verdure and youth, and the green of the centenarian is as vivid in the + beams of May as that of the sapling by its side. “Mine shall be your + spring, but not your winter!” exclaimed the aspirant. + </p> + <p> + Wrapped in these sanguine and joyous reveries, Glyndon, quitting the + woods, found himself amidst cultivated fields and vineyards to which his + footstep had not before wandered; and there stood, by the skirts of a + green lane that reminded him of verdant England, a modest house,—half + cottage, half farm. The door was open, and he saw a girl at work with her + distaff. She looked up, uttered a slight cry, and, tripping gayly into the + lane to his side, he recognised the dark-eyed Fillide. + </p> + <p> + “Hist!” she said, archly putting her finger to her lip; “do not speak + loud,—my mother is asleep within; and I knew you would come to see + me. It is kind!” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon, with a little embarrassment, accepted the compliment to his + kindness, which he did not exactly deserve. “You have thought, then, of + me, fair Fillide?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the girl, colouring, but with that frank, bold + ingenuousness, which characterises the females of Italy, especially of the + lower class, and in the southern provinces,—“oh, yes! I have thought + of little else. Paolo said he knew you would visit me.” + </p> + <p> + “And what relation is Paolo to you?” + </p> + <p> + “None; but a good friend to us all. My brother is one of his band.” + </p> + <p> + “One of his band!—a robber?” + </p> + <p> + “We of the mountains do not call a mountaineer ‘a robber,’ signor.” + </p> + <p> + “I ask pardon. Do you not tremble sometimes for your brother’s life? The + law—” + </p> + <p> + “Law never ventures into these defiles. Tremble for him! No. My father and + grandsire were of the same calling. I often wish I were a man!” + </p> + <p> + “By these lips, I am enchanted that your wish cannot be realised.” + </p> + <p> + “Fie, signor! And do you really love me?” + </p> + <p> + “With my whole heart!” + </p> + <p> + “And I thee!” said the girl, with a candour that seemed innocent, as she + suffered him to clasp her hand. + </p> + <p> + “But,” she added, “thou wilt soon leave us; and I—” She stopped + short, and the tears stood in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + There was something dangerous in this, it must be confessed. Certainly + Fillide had not the seraphic loveliness of Viola; but hers was a beauty + that equally at least touched the senses. Perhaps Glyndon had never really + loved Viola; perhaps the feelings with which she had inspired him were not + of that ardent character which deserves the name of love. However that be, + he thought, as he gazed on those dark eyes, that he had never loved + before. + </p> + <p> + “And couldst thou not leave thy mountains?” he whispered, as he drew yet + nearer to her. + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou ask me?” she said, retreating, and looking him steadfastly in + the face. “Dost thou know what we daughters of the mountains are? You gay, + smooth cavaliers of cities seldom mean what you speak. With you, love is + amusement; with us, it is life. Leave these mountains! Well! I should not + leave my nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep thy nature ever,—it is a sweet one.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sweet while thou art true; stern, if thou art faithless. Shall I + tell thee what I—what the girls of this country are? Daughters of + men whom you call robbers, we aspire to be the companions of our lovers or + our husbands. We love ardently; we own it boldly. We stand by your side in + danger; we serve you as slaves in safety: we never change, and we resent + change. You may reproach, strike us, trample us as a dog,—we bear + all without a murmur; betray us, and no tiger is more relentless. Be true, + and our hearts reward you; be false, and our hands revenge! Dost thou love + me now?” + </p> + <p> + During this speech the Italian’s countenance had most eloquently aided her + words,—by turns soft, frank, fierce,—and at the last question + she inclined her head humbly, and stood, as in fear of his reply, before + him. The stern, brave, wild spirit, in which what seemed unfeminine was + yet, if I may so say, still womanly, did not recoil, it rather captivated + Glyndon. He answered readily, briefly, and freely, “Fillide,—yes!” + </p> + <p> + Oh, “yes!” forsooth, Clarence Glyndon! Every light nature answers “yes” + lightly to such a question from lips so rosy! Have a care,—have a + care! Why the deuce, Mejnour, do you leave your pupil of four-and-twenty + to the mercy of these wild cats-a-mountain! Preach fast, and abstinence, + and sublime renunciation of the cheats of the senses! Very well in you, + sir, Heaven knows how many ages old; but at four-and-twenty, your + Hierophant would have kept you out of Fillide’s way, or you would have had + small taste for the Cabala. + </p> + <p> + And so they stood, and talked, and vowed, and whispered, till the girl’s + mother made some noise within the house, and Fillide bounded back to the + distaff, her finger once more on her lip. + </p> + <p> + “There is more magic in Fillide than in Mejnour,” said Glyndon to himself, + walking gayly home; “yet on second thoughts, I know not if I quite so well + like a character so ready for revenge. But he who has the real secret can + baffle even the vengeance of a woman, and disarm all danger!” + </p> + <p> + Sirrah! dost thou even already meditate the possibility of treason? Oh, + well said Zanoni, “to pour pure water into the muddy well does but disturb + the mud.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Cernis, custodia qualis + Vestibulo sedeat? facies quae limina servet? + “Aeneid,” lib. vi. 574. + + (See you what porter sits within the vestibule?—what face + watches at the threshold?) +</pre> + <p> + And it is profound night. All is at rest within the old castle,—all + is breathless under the melancholy stars. Now is the time. Mejnour with + his austere wisdom,—Mejnour the enemy to love; Mejnour, whose eye + will read thy heart, and refuse thee the promised secrets because the + sunny face of Fillide disturbs the lifeless shadow that he calls repose,—Mejnour + comes to-morrow! Seize the night! Beware of fear! Never, or this hour! So, + brave youth,—brave despite all thy errors,—so, with a steady + pulse, thy hand unlocks once more the forbidden door. + </p> + <p> + He placed his lamp on the table beside the book, which still lay there + opened; he turned over the leaves, but could not decipher their meaning + till he came to the following passage:— + </p> + <p> + “When, then, the pupil is thus initiated and prepared, let him open the + casement, light the lamps, and bathe his temples with the elixir. He must + beware how he presume yet to quaff the volatile and fiery spirit. To taste + till repeated inhalations have accustomed the frame gradually to the + ecstatic liquid, is to know not life, but death.” + </p> + <p> + He could penetrate no farther into the instructions; the cipher again + changed. He now looked steadily and earnestly round the chamber. The + moonlight came quietly through the lattice as his hand opened it, and + seemed, as it rested on the floor, and filled the walls, like the presence + of some ghostly and mournful Power. He ranged the mystic lamps (nine in + number) round the centre of the room, and lighted them one by one. A flame + of silvery and azure tints sprung up from each, and lighted the apartment + with a calm and yet most dazzling splendour; but presently this light grew + more soft and dim, as a thin, grey cloud, like a mist, gradually spread + over the room; and an icy thrill shot through the heart of the Englishman, + and quickly gathered over him like the coldness of death. Instinctively + aware of his danger, he tottered, though with difficulty, for his limbs + seemed rigid and stone-like, to the shelf that contained the crystal + vials; hastily he inhaled the spirit, and laved his temples with the + sparkling liquid. The same sensation of vigour and youth, and joy and airy + lightness, that he had felt in the morning, instantaneously replaced the + deadly numbness that just before had invaded the citadel of life. He + stood, with his arms folded on his bosom erect and dauntless, to watch + what should ensue. + </p> + <p> + The vapour had now assumed almost the thickness and seeming consistency of + a snow-cloud; the lamps piercing it like stars. And now he distinctly saw + shapes, somewhat resembling in outline those of the human form, gliding + slowly and with regular evolutions through the cloud. They appeared + bloodless; their bodies were transparent, and contracted or expanded like + the folds of a serpent. As they moved in majestic order, he heard a low + sound—the ghost, as it were, of voice—which each caught and + echoed from the other; a low sound, but musical, which seemed the chant of + some unspeakably tranquil joy. None of these apparitions heeded him. His + intense longing to accost them, to be of them, to make one of this + movement of aerial happiness,—for such it seemed to him,—made + him stretch forth his arms and seek to cry aloud, but only an inarticulate + whisper passed his lips; and the movement and the music went on the same + as if the mortal were not there. Slowly they glided round and aloft, till, + in the same majestic order, one after one, they floated through the + casement and were lost in the moonlight; then, as his eyes followed them, + the casement became darkened with some object undistinguishable at the + first gaze, but which sufficed mysteriously to change into ineffable + horror the delight he had before experienced. By degrees this object + shaped itself to his sight. It was as that of a human head covered with a + dark veil through which glared, with livid and demoniac fire, eyes that + froze the marrow of his bones. Nothing else of the face was + distinguishable,—nothing but those intolerable eyes; but his terror, + that even at the first seemed beyond nature to endure, was increased a + thousand-fold, when, after a pause, the phantom glided slowly into the + chamber. + </p> + <p> + The cloud retreated from it as it advanced; the bright lamps grew wan, and + flickered restlessly as at the breath of its presence. Its form was veiled + as the face, but the outline was that of a female; yet it moved not as + move even the ghosts that simulate the living. It seemed rather to crawl + as some vast misshapen reptile; and pausing, at length it cowered beside + the table which held the mystic volume, and again fixed its eyes through + the filmy veil on the rash invoker. All fancies, the most grotesque, of + monk or painter in the early North, would have failed to give to the + visage of imp or fiend that aspect of deadly malignity which spoke to the + shuddering nature in those eyes alone. All else so dark,—shrouded, + veiled and larva-like. But that burning glare so intense, so livid, yet so + living, had in it something that was almost HUMAN in its passion of hate + and mockery,—something that served to show that the shadowy Horror + was not all a spirit, but partook of matter enough, at least, to make it + more deadly and fearful an enemy to material forms. As, clinging with the + grasp of agony to the wall,—his hair erect, his eyeballs starting, + he still gazed back upon that appalling gaze,—the Image spoke to + him: his soul rather than his ear comprehended the words it said. + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast entered the immeasurable region. I am the Dweller of the + Threshold. What wouldst thou with me? Silent? Dost thou fear me? Am I not + thy beloved? Is it not for me that thou hast rendered up the delights of + thy race? Wouldst thou be wise? Mine is the wisdom of the countless ages. + Kiss me, my mortal lover.” And the Horror crawled near and nearer to him; + it crept to his side, its breath breathed upon his cheek! With a sharp cry + he fell to the earth insensible, and knew no more till, far in the noon of + the next day, he opened his eyes and found himself in his bed,—the + glorious sun streaming through his lattice, and the bandit Paolo by his + side, engaged in polishing his carbine, and whistling a Calabrian + love-air. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thus man pursues his weary calling, + And wrings the hard life from the sky, + While happiness unseen is falling + Down from God’s bosom silently. + —Schiller. +</pre> + <p> + In one of those islands whose history the imperishable literature and + renown of Athens yet invest with melancholy interest, and on which Nature, + in whom “there is nothing melancholy,” still bestows a glory of scenery + and climate equally radiant for the freeman or the slave,—the + Ionian, the Venetian, the Gaul, the Turk, or the restless Briton,—Zanoni + had fixed his bridal home. There the air carries with it the perfumes of + the plains for miles along the blue, translucent deep. (See Dr. Holland’s + “Travels to the Ionian Isles,” etc., page 18.) Seen from one of its green + sloping heights, the island he had selected seemed one delicious garden. + The towers and turrets of its capital gleaming amidst groves of oranges + and lemons; vineyards and olive-woods filling up the valleys, and + clambering along the hill-sides; and villa, farm, and cottage covered with + luxuriant trellises of dark-green leaves and purple fruit. For there the + prodigal beauty yet seems half to justify those graceful superstitions of + a creed that, too enamoured of earth, rather brought the deities to man, + than raised the man to their less alluring and less voluptuous Olympus. + </p> + <p> + And still to the fishermen, weaving yet their antique dances on the sand; + to the maiden, adorning yet, with many a silver fibula, her glossy tresses + under the tree that overshadows her tranquil cot,—the same Great + Mother that watched over the wise of Samos, the democracy of Corcyra, the + graceful and deep-taught loveliness of Miletus, smiles as graciously as of + yore. For the North, philosophy and freedom are essentials to human + happiness; in the lands which Aphrodite rose from the waves to govern, as + the Seasons, hand in hand, stood to welcome her on the shores, Nature is + all sufficient. (Homeric Hymn.) + </p> + <p> + The isle which Zanoni had selected was one of the loveliest in that divine + sea. His abode, at some distance from the city, but near one of the creeks + on the shore, belonged to a Venetian, and, though small, had more of + elegance than the natives ordinarily cared for. On the seas, and in sight, + rode his vessel. His Indians, as before, ministered in mute gravity to the + service of the household. No spot could be more beautiful,—no + solitude less invaded. To the mysterious knowledge of Zanoni, to the + harmless ignorance of Viola, the babbling and garish world of civilised + man was alike unheeded. The loving sky and the lovely earth are companions + enough to Wisdom and to Ignorance while they love. + </p> + <p> + Although, as I have before said, there was nothing in the visible + occupations of Zanoni that betrayed a cultivator of the occult sciences, + his habits were those of a man who remembers or reflects. He loved to roam + alone, chiefly at dawn, or at night, when the moon was clear (especially + in each month, at its rise and full), miles and miles away over the rich + inlands of the island, and to cull herbs and flowers, which he hoarded + with jealous care. Sometimes, at the dead of night, Viola would wake by an + instinct that told her he was not by her side, and, stretching out her + arms, find that the instinct had not deceived her. But she early saw that + he was reserved on his peculiar habits; and if at times a chill, a + foreboding, a suspicious awe crept over her, she forebore to question him. + </p> + <p> + But his rambles were not always unaccompanied,—he took pleasure in + excursions less solitary. Often, when the sea lay before them like a lake, + the barren dreariness of the opposite coast of Cephallenia contrasting the + smiling shores on which they dwelt, Viola and himself would pass days in + cruising slowly around the coast, or in visits to the neighbouring isles. + Every spot of the Greek soil, “that fair Fable-Land,” seemed to him + familiar; and as he conversed of the past and its exquisite traditions, he + taught Viola to love the race from which have descended the poetry and the + wisdom of the world. There was much in Zanoni, as she knew him better, + that deepened the fascination in which Viola was from the first + enthralled. His love for herself was so tender, so vigilant, and had that + best and most enduring attribute, that it seemed rather grateful for the + happiness in its own cares than vain of the happiness it created. His + habitual mood with all who approached him was calm and gentle, almost to + apathy. An angry word never passed his lips,—an angry gleam never + shot from his eyes. Once they had been exposed to the danger not uncommon + in those then half-savage lands. Some pirates who infested the + neighbouring coasts had heard of the arrival of the strangers, and the + seamen Zanoni employed had gossiped of their master’s wealth. One night, + after Viola had retired to rest, she was awakened by a slight noise below. + Zanoni was not by her side; she listened in some alarm. Was that a groan + that came upon her ear? She started up, she went to the door; all was + still. A footstep now slowly approached, and Zanoni entered calm as usual, + and seemed unconscious of her fears. + </p> + <p> + The next morning three men were found dead at the threshold of the + principal entrance, the door of which had been forced. They were + recognised in the neighbourhood as the most sanguinary and terrible + marauders of the coasts,—men stained with a thousand murders, and + who had never hitherto failed in any attempt to which the lust of rapine + had impelled them. The footsteps of many others were tracked to the + seashore. It seemed that their accomplices must have fled on the death of + their leaders. But when the Venetian Proveditore, or authority, of the + island, came to examine into the matter, the most unaccountable mystery + was the manner in which these ruffians had met their fate. Zanoni had not + stirred from the apartment in which he ordinarily pursued his chemical + studies. None of the servants had even been disturbed from their slumbers. + No marks of human violence were on the bodies of the dead. They died, and + made no sign. From that moment Zanoni’s house—nay, the whole + vicinity—was sacred. The neighbouring villages, rejoiced to be + delivered from a scourge, regarded the stranger as one whom the Pagiana + (or Virgin) held under her especial protection. + </p> + <p> + In truth, the lively Greeks around, facile to all external impressions, + and struck with the singular and majestic beauty of the man who knew their + language as a native, whose voice often cheered them in their humble + sorrows, and whose hand was never closed to their wants, long after he had + left their shore preserved his memory by grateful traditions, and still + point to the lofty platanus beneath which they had often seen him seated, + alone and thoughtful, in the heats of noon. But Zanoni had haunts less + open to the gaze than the shade of the platanus. In that isle there are + the bituminous springs which Herodotus has commemorated. Often at night, + the moon, at least, beheld him emerging from the myrtle and cystus that + clothe the hillocks around the marsh that imbeds the pools containing the + inflammable materia, all the medical uses of which, as applied to the + nerves of organic life, modern science has not yet perhaps explored. Yet + more often would he pass his hours in a cavern, by the loneliest part of + the beach, where the stalactites seem almost arranged by the hand of art, + and which the superstition of the peasants associates, in some ancient + legends, with the numerous and almost incessant earthquakes to which the + island is so singularly subjected. + </p> + <p> + Whatever the pursuits that instigated these wanderings and favoured these + haunts, either they were linked with, or else subordinate to, one main and + master desire, which every fresh day passed in the sweet human company of + Viola confirmed and strengthened. + </p> + <p> + The scene that Glyndon had witnessed in his trance was faithful to truth. + And some little time after the date of that night, Viola was dimly aware + that an influence, she knew not of what nature, was struggling to + establish itself over her happy life. Visions indistinct and beautiful, + such as those she had known in her earlier days, but more constant and + impressive, began to haunt her night and day when Zanoni was absent, to + fade in his presence, and seem less fair than THAT. Zanoni questioned her + eagerly and minutely of these visitations, but seemed dissatisfied, and at + times perplexed, by her answers. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me not,” he said, one day, “of those unconnected images, those + evolutions of starry shapes in a choral dance, or those delicious melodies + that seem to thee of the music and the language of the distant spheres. + Has no ONE shape been to thee more distinct and more beautiful than the + rest,—no voice uttering, or seeming to utter, thine own tongue, and + whispering to thee of strange secrets and solemn knowledge?” + </p> + <p> + “No; all is confused in these dreams, whether of day or night; and when at + the sound of thy footsteps I recover, my memory retains nothing but a + vague impression of happiness. How different—how cold—to the + rapture of hanging on thy smile, and listening to thy voice, when it says, + ‘I love thee!’” + </p> + <p> + “Yet, how is it that visions less fair than these once seemed to thee so + alluring? How is it that they then stirred thy fancies and filled thy + heart? Once thou didst desire a fairy-land, and now thou seemest so + contented with common life.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I not explained it to thee before? Is it common life, then, to love, + and to live with the one we love? My true fairy-land is won! Speak to me + of no other.” + </p> + <p> + And so night surprised them by the lonely beach; and Zanoni, allured from + his sublimer projects, and bending over that tender face, forgot that, in + the Harmonious Infinite which spread around, there were other worlds than + that one human heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There is a principle of the soul, superior to all nature, through + which we are capable of surpassing the order and systems of the + world. When the soul is elevated to natures better than itself, + THEN it is entirely separated from subordinate natures, exchanges + this for another life, and, deserting the order of things with + which it was connected, links and mingles itself with another. + —Iamblichus. +</pre> + <p> + “Adon-Ai! Adon-Ai!—appear, appear!” + </p> + <p> + And in the lonely cave, whence once had gone forth the oracles of a + heathen god, there emerged from the shadows of fantastic rocks a luminous + and gigantic column, glittering and shifting. It resembled the shining but + misty spray which, seen afar off, a fountain seems to send up on a starry + night. The radiance lit the stalactites, the crags, the arches of the + cave, and shed a pale and tremulous splendour on the features of Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + “Son of Eternal Light,” said the invoker, “thou to whose knowledge, grade + after grade, race after race, I attained at last, on the broad Chaldean + plains; thou from whom I have drawn so largely of the unutterable + knowledge that yet eternity alone can suffice to drain; thou who, + congenial with myself, so far as our various beings will permit, hast been + for centuries my familiar and my friend,—answer me and counsel!” + </p> + <p> + From the column there emerged a shape of unimaginable glory. Its face was + that of a man in its first youth, but solemn, as with the consciousness of + eternity and the tranquillity of wisdom; light, like starbeams, flowed + through its transparent veins; light made its limbs themselves, and + undulated, in restless sparkles, through the waves of its dazzling hair. + With its arms folded on its breast, it stood distant a few feet from + Zanoni, and its low voice murmured gently, “My counsels were sweet to thee + once; and once, night after night, thy soul could follow my wings through + the untroubled splendours of the Infinite. Now thou hast bound thyself + back to the earth by its strongest chains, and the attraction to the clay + is more potent than the sympathies that drew to thy charms the Dweller of + the Starbeam and the Air. When last thy soul hearkened to me, the senses + already troubled thine intellect and obscured thy vision. Once again I + come to thee; but thy power even to summon me to thy side is fading from + thy spirit, as sunshine fades from the wave when the winds drive the cloud + between the ocean and the sky.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, Adon-Ai!” answered the seer, mournfully, “I know too well the + conditions of the being which thy presence was wont to rejoice. I know + that our wisdom comes but from the indifference to the things of the world + which the wisdom masters. The mirror of the soul cannot reflect both earth + and heaven; and the one vanishes from the surface as the other is glassed + upon its deeps. But it is not to restore me to that sublime abstraction in + which the intellect, free and disembodied, rises, region after region, to + the spheres,—that once again, and with the agony and travail of + enfeebled power I have called thee to mine aid. I love; and in love I + begin to live in the sweet humanities of another. If wise, yet in all + which makes danger powerless against myself, or those on whom I can gaze + from the calm height of indifferent science, I am blind as the merest + mortal to the destinies of the creature that makes my heart beat with the + passions which obscure my gaze.” + </p> + <p> + “What matter!” answered Adon-Ai. “Thy love must be but a mockery of the + name; thou canst not love as they do for whom there are death and the + grave. A short time,—like a day in thy incalculable life,—and + the form thou dotest on is dust! Others of the nether world go hand in + hand, each with each, unto the tomb; hand in hand they ascend from the + worm to new cycles of existence. For thee, below are ages; for her, but + hours. And for her and thee—O poor, but mighty one!—will there + be even a joint hereafter! Through what grades and heavens of + spiritualised being will her soul have passed when thou, the solitary + loiterer, comest from the vapours of the earth to the gates of light!” + </p> + <p> + “Son of the Starbeam, thinkest thou that this thought is not with me + forever; and seest thou not that I have invoked thee to hearken and + minister to my design? Readest thou not my desire and dream to raise the + conditions of her being to my own? Thou, Adon-Ai, bathing the celestial + joy that makes thy life in the oceans of eternal splendour,—thou, + save by the sympathies of knowledge, canst conjecture not what I, the + offspring of mortals, feel—debarred yet from the objects of the + tremendous and sublime ambition that first winged my desires above the + clay—when I see myself compelled to stand in this low world alone. I + have sought amongst my tribe for comrades, and in vain. At last I have + found a mate. The wild bird and the wild beast have theirs; and my mastery + over the malignant tribes of terror can banish their larvae from the path + that shall lead her upward, till the air of eternity fits the frame for + the elixir that baffles death.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou hast begun the initiation, and thou art foiled! I know it. Thou + hast conjured to her sleep the fairest visions; thou hast invoked the + loveliest children of the air to murmur their music to her trance, and her + soul heeds them not, and, returning to the earth, escapes from their + control. Blind one, wherefore? canst thou not perceive? Because in her + soul all is love. There is no intermediate passion with which the things + thou wouldst charm to her have association and affinities. Their + attraction is but to the desires and cravings of the INTELLECT. What have + they with the PASSION that is of earth, and the HOPE that goes direct to + heaven?” + </p> + <p> + “But can there be no medium—no link—in which our souls, as our + hearts, can be united, and so mine may have influence over her own?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask me not,—thou wilt not comprehend me!” + </p> + <p> + “I adjure thee!—speak!” + </p> + <p> + “When two souls are divided, knowest thou not that a third in which both + meet and live is the link between them!” + </p> + <p> + “I do comprehend thee, Adon-Ai,” said Zanoni, with a light of more human + joy upon his face than it had ever before been seen to wear; “and if my + destiny, which here is dark to mine eyes, vouchsafes to me the happy lot + of the humble,—if ever there be a child that I may clasp to my bosom + and call my own—” + </p> + <p> + “And is it to be man at last, that thou hast aspired to be more than man?” + </p> + <p> + “But a child,—a second Viola!” murmured Zanoni, scarcely heeding the + Son of Light; “a young soul fresh from heaven, that I may rear from the + first moment it touches earth,—whose wings I may train to follow + mine through the glories of creation; and through whom the mother herself + may be led upward over the realm of death!” + </p> + <p> + “Beware,—reflect! Knowest thou not that thy darkest enemy dwells in + the Real? Thy wishes bring thee near and nearer to humanity.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, humanity is sweet!” answered Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + And as the seer spoke, on the glorious face of Adon-Ai there broke a + smile. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Aeterna aeternus tribuit, mortalia confert + Mortalis; divina Deus, peritura caducus. + “Aurel. Prud. contra Symmachum,” lib. ii. + + (The Eternal gives eternal things, the Mortal gathers mortal + things: God, that which is divine, and the perishable that which + is perishable.) +</pre> + <p> + EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF ZANONI TO MEJNOUR. + </p> + <p> + Letter 1. + </p> + <p> + Thou hast not informed me of the progress of thy pupil; and I fear that so + differently does circumstance shape the minds of the generations to which + we are descended, from the intense and earnest children of the earlier + world, that even thy most careful and elaborate guidance would fail, with + loftier and purer natures than that of the neophyte thou hast admitted + within thy gates. Even that third state of being, which the Indian sage + (The Brahmins, speaking of Brahm, say, “To the Omniscient the three modes + of being—sleep, waking, and trance—are not;” distinctly + recognising trance as a third and coequal condition of being.) rightly + recognises as being between the sleep and the waking, and describes + imperfectly by the name of TRANCE, is unknown to the children of the + Northern world; and few but would recoil to indulge it, regarding its + peopled calm as maya and delusion of the mind. Instead of ripening and + culturing that airy soil, from which Nature, duly known, can evoke fruits + so rich and flowers so fair, they strive but to exclude it from their + gaze; they esteem that struggle of the intellect from men’s narrow world + to the spirit’s infinite home, as a disease which the leech must extirpate + with pharmacy and drugs, and know not even that it is from this condition + of their being, in its most imperfect and infant form, that poetry, music, + art—all that belong to an Idea of Beauty to which neither SLEEPING + nor WAKING can furnish archetype and actual semblance—take their + immortal birth. When we, O Mejnour in the far time, were ourselves the + neophytes and aspirants, we were of a class to which the actual world was + shut and barred. Our forefathers had no object in life but knowledge. From + the cradle we were predestined and reared to wisdom as to a priesthood. We + commenced research where modern Conjecture closes its faithless wings. And + with us, those were common elements of science which the sages of to-day + disdain as wild chimeras, or despair of as unfathomable mysteries. Even + the fundamental principles, the large yet simple theories of electricity + and magnetism, rest obscure and dim in the disputes of their blinded + schools; yet, even in our youth, how few ever attained to the first circle + of the brotherhood, and, after wearily enjoying the sublime privileges + they sought, they voluntarily abandoned the light of the sun, and sunk, + without effort, to the grave, like pilgrims in a trackless desert, + overawed by the stillness of their solitude, and appalled by the absence + of a goal. Thou, in whom nothing seems to live BUT THE DESIRE TO KNOW; + thou, who, indifferent whether it leads to weal or to woe, lendest thyself + to all who would tread the path of mysterious science, a human book, + insensate to the precepts it enounces,—thou hast ever sought, and + often made additions to our number. But to these have only been vouchsafed + partial secrets; vanity and passion unfitted them for the rest; and now, + without other interest than that of an experiment in science, without + love, and without pity, thou exposest this new soul to the hazards of the + tremendous ordeal! Thou thinkest that a zeal so inquisitive, a courage so + absolute and dauntless, may suffice to conquer, where austerer intellect + and purer virtue have so often failed. Thou thinkest, too, that the germ + of art that lies in the painter’s mind, as it comprehends in itself the + entire embryo of power and beauty, may be expanded into the stately flower + of the Golden Science. It is a new experiment to thee. Be gentle with thy + neophyte, and if his nature disappoint thee in the first stages of the + process, dismiss him back to the Real while it is yet time to enjoy the + brief and outward life which dwells in the senses, and closes with the + tomb. And as I thus admonish thee, O Mejnour, wilt thou smile at my + inconsistent hopes? I, who have so invariably refused to initiate others + into our mysteries,—I begin at last to comprehend why the great law, + which binds man to his kind, even when seeking most to set himself aloof + from their condition, has made thy cold and bloodless science the link + between thyself and thy race; why, THOU has sought converts and pupils; + why, in seeing life after life voluntarily dropping from our starry order, + thou still aspirest to renew the vanished, and repair the lost; why, + amidst thy calculations, restless and unceasing as the wheels of Nature + herself, thou recoilest from the THOUGHT TO BE ALONE! So with myself; at + last I, too, seek a convert, an equal,—I, too, shudder to be alone! + What thou hast warned me of has come to pass. Love reduces all things to + itself. Either must I be drawn down to the nature of the beloved, or hers + must be lifted to my own. As whatever belongs to true Art has always + necessarily had attraction for US, whose very being is in the ideal whence + Art descends, so in this fair creature I have learned, at last, the secret + that bound me to her at the first glance. The daughter of music,—music, + passing into her being, became poetry. It was not the stage that attracted + her, with its hollow falsehoods; it was the land in her own fancy which + the stage seemed to centre and represent. There the poetry found a voice,—there + it struggled into imperfect shape; and then (that land insufficient for + it) it fell back upon itself. It coloured her thoughts, it suffused her + soul; it asked not words, it created not things; it gave birth but to + emotions, and lavished itself on dreams. At last came love; and there, as + a river into the sea, it poured its restless waves, to become mute and + deep and still,—the everlasting mirror of the heavens. + </p> + <p> + And is it not through this poetry which lies within her that she may be + led into the large poetry of the universe! Often I listen to her careless + talk, and find oracles in its unconscious beauty, as we find strange + virtues in some lonely flower. I see her mind ripening under my eyes; and + in its fair fertility what ever-teeming novelties of thought! O Mejnour! + how many of our tribe have unravelled the laws of the universe,—have + solved the riddles of the exterior nature, and deduced the light from + darkness! And is not the POET, who studies nothing but the human heart, a + greater philosopher than all? Knowledge and atheism are incompatible. To + know Nature is to know that there must be a God. But does it require this + to examine the method and architecture of creation? Methinks, when I look + upon a pure mind, however ignorant and childlike, that I see the August + and Immaterial One more clearly than in all the orbs of matter which + career at His bidding through space. + </p> + <p> + Rightly is it the fundamental decree of our order, that we must impart our + secrets only to the pure. The most terrible part of the ordeal is in the + temptations that our power affords to the criminal. If it were possible + that a malevolent being could attain to our faculties, what disorder it + might introduce into the globe! Happy that it is NOT possible; the + malevolence would disarm the power. It is in the purity of Viola that I + rely, as thou more vainly hast relied on the courage or the genius of thy + pupils. Bear me witness, Mejnour! Never since the distant day in which I + pierced the Arcana of our knowledge, have I ever sought to make its + mysteries subservient to unworthy objects; though, alas! the extension of + our existence robs us of a country and a home; though the law that places + all science, as all art, in the abstraction from the noisy passions and + turbulent ambition of actual life, forbids us to influence the destinies + of nations, for which Heaven selects ruder and blinder agencies; yet, + wherever have been my wanderings, I have sought to soften distress, and to + convert from sin. My power has been hostile only to the guilty; and yet + with all our lore, how in each step we are reduced to be but the permitted + instruments of the Power that vouchsafes our own, but only to direct it. + How all our wisdom shrinks into nought, compared with that which gives the + meanest herb its virtues, and peoples the smallest globule with its + appropriate world. And while we are allowed at times to influence the + happiness of others, how mysteriously the shadows thicken round our own + future doom! We cannot be prophets to ourselves! With what trembling hope + I nurse the thought that I may preserve to my solitude the light of a + living smile! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + Extracts from Letter II. + </p> + <p> + Deeming myself not pure enough to initiate so pure a heart, I invoke to + her trance those fairest and most tender inhabitants of space that have + furnished to poetry, which is the instinctive guess into creation, the + ideas of the Glendoveer and Sylph. And these were less pure than her own + thoughts, and less tender than her own love! They could not raise her + above her human heart, for THAT has a heaven of its own. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + I have just looked on her in sleep,—I have heard her breathe my + name. Alas! that which is so sweet to others has its bitterness to me; for + I think how soon the time may come when that sleep will be without a + dream,—when the heart that dictates the name will be cold, and the + lips that utter it be dumb. What a twofold shape there is in love! If we + examine it coarsely,—if we look but on its fleshy ties, its + enjoyments of a moment, its turbulent fever and its dull reaction,—how + strange it seems that this passion should be the supreme mover of the + world; that it is this which has dictated the greatest sacrifices, and + influenced all societies and all times; that to this the loftiest and + loveliest genius has ever consecrated its devotion; that, but for love, + there were no civilisation, no music, no poetry, no beauty, no life beyond + the brute’s. + </p> + <p> + But examine it in its heavenlier shape,—in its utter abnegation of + self; in its intimate connection with all that is most delicate and subtle + in the spirit,—its power above all that is sordid in existence; its + mastery over the idols of the baser worship; its ability to create a + palace of the cottage, an oasis in the desert, a summer in the Iceland,—where + it breathes, and fertilises, and glows; and the wonder rather becomes how + so few regard it in its holiest nature. What the sensual call its + enjoyments, are the least of its joys. True love is less a passion than a + symbol. Mejnour, shall the time come when I can speak to thee of Viola as + a thing that was? + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + Extract from Letter III. + </p> + <p> + Knowest thou that of late I have sometimes asked myself, “Is there no + guilt in the knowledge that has so divided us from our race?” It is true + that the higher we ascend the more hateful seem to us the vices of the + short-lived creepers of the earth,—the more the sense of the + goodness of the All-good penetrates and suffuses us, and the more + immediately does our happiness seem to emanate from him. But, on the other + hand, how many virtues must lie dead in those who live in the world of + death, and refuse to die! Is not this sublime egotism, this state of + abstraction and reverie,—this self-wrapped and self-dependent + majesty of existence, a resignation of that nobility which incorporates + our own welfare, our joys, our hopes, our fears with others? To live on in + no dread of foes, undegraded by infirmity, secure through the cares, and + free from the disease of flesh, is a spectacle that captivates our pride. + And yet dost thou not more admire him who dies for another? Since I have + loved her, Mejnour, it seems almost cowardice to elude the grave which + devours the hearts that wrap us in their folds. I feel it,—the earth + grows upon my spirit. Thou wert right; eternal age, serene and + passionless, is a happier boon than eternal youth, with its yearnings and + desires. Until we can be all spirit, the tranquillity of solitude must be + indifference. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + Extracts from Letter IV. + </p> + <p> + I have received thy communication. What! is it so? Has thy pupil + disappointed thee? Alas, poor pupil! But— + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + (Here follow comments on those passages in Glyndon’s life already known to + the reader, or about to be made so, with earnest adjurations to Mejnour to + watch yet over the fate of his scholar.) + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + But I cherish the same desire, with a warmer heart. My pupil! how the + terrors that shall encompass thine ordeal warn me from the task! Once more + I will seek the Son of Light. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + Yes; Adon-Ai, long deaf to my call, at last has descended to my vision, + and left behind him the glory of his presence in the shape of Hope. Oh, + not impossible, Viola,—not impossible, that we yet may be united, + soul with soul! + </p> + <p> + Extract from Letter V.—(Many months after the last.) + </p> + <p> + Mejnour, awake from thine apathy,—rejoice! A new soul will be born + to the world,—a new soul that shall call me father. Ah, if they for + whom exist all the occupations and resources of human life,—if they + can thrill with exquisite emotion at the thought of hailing again their + own childhood in the faces of their children; if in that birth they are + born once more into the holy Innocence which is the first state of + existence; if they can feel that on man devolves almost an angel’s duty, + when he has a life to guide from the cradle, and a soul to nurture for the + heaven,—what to me must be the rapture to welcome an inheritor of + all the gifts which double themselves in being shared! How sweet the power + to watch, and to guard,—to instil the knowledge, to avert the evil, + and to guide back the river of life in a richer and broader and deeper + stream to the paradise from which it flows! And beside that river our + souls shall meet, sweet mother. Our child shall supply the sympathy that + fails as yet; and what shape shall haunt thee, what terror shall dismay, + when thy initiation is beside the cradle of thy child! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 4.XI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They thus beguile the way + Untill the blustring storme is overblowne, + When weening to returne whence they did stray, + They cannot finde that path which first was showne, + But wander to and fro in waies unknowne. + —Spenser’s “Faerie Queene,” book i. canto i. st. x. +</pre> + <p> + Yes, Viola, thou art another being than when, by the threshold of thy + Italian home, thou didst follow thy dim fancies through the Land of + Shadow; or when thou didst vainly seek to give voice to an ideal beauty, + on the boards where illusion counterfeits earth and heaven for an hour, + till the weary sense, awaking, sees but the tinsel and the scene-shifter. + Thy spirit reposes in its own happiness. Its wanderings have found a goal. + In a moment there often dwells the sense of eternity; for when profoundly + happy, we know that it is impossible to die. Whenever the soul FEELS + ITSELF, it feels everlasting life. + </p> + <p> + The initiation is deferred,—thy days and nights are left to no other + visions than those with which a contented heart enchants a guileless + fancy. Glendoveers and Sylphs, pardon me if I question whether those + visions are not lovelier than yourselves. + </p> + <p> + They stand by the beach, and see the sun sinking into the sea. How long + now have they dwelt on that island? What matters!—it may be months, + or years—what matters! Why should I, or they, keep account of that + happy time? As in the dream of a moment ages may seem to pass, so shall we + measure transport or woe,—by the length of the dream, or the number + of emotions that the dream involves? + </p> + <p> + The sun sinks slowly down; the air is arid and oppressive; on the sea, the + stately vessel lies motionless; on the shore, no leaf trembles on the + trees. + </p> + <p> + Viola drew nearer to Zanoni. A presentiment she could not define made her + heart beat more quickly; and, looking into his face, she was struck with + its expression: it was anxious, abstracted, perturbed. “This stillness + awes me,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + Zanoni did not seem to hear her. He muttered to himself, and his eyes + gazed round restlessly. She knew not why, but that gaze, which seemed to + pierce into space,—that muttered voice in some foreign language—revived + dimly her earlier superstitions. She was more fearful since the hour when + she knew that she was to be a mother. Strange crisis in the life of woman, + and in her love! Something yet unborn begins already to divide her heart + with that which had been before its only monarch. + </p> + <p> + “Look on me, Zanoni,” she said, pressing his hand. + </p> + <p> + He turned: “Thou art pale, Viola; thy hand trembles!” + </p> + <p> + “It is true. I feel as if some enemy were creeping near us.” + </p> + <p> + “And the instinct deceives thee not. An enemy is indeed at hand. I see it + through the heavy air; I hear it through the silence: the Ghostly One,—the + Destroyer, the PESTILENCE! Ah, seest thou how the leaves swarm with + insects, only by an effort visible to the eye. They follow the breath of + the plague!” As he spoke, a bird fell from the boughs at Viola’s feet; it + fluttered, it writhed an instant, and was dead. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Viola!” cried Zanoni, passionately, “that is death. Dost thou not + fear to die?” + </p> + <p> + “To leave thee? Ah, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “And if I could teach thee how Death may be defied; if I could arrest for + thy youth the course of time; if I could—” + </p> + <p> + He paused abruptly, for Viola’s eyes spoke only terror; her cheek and lips + were pale. + </p> + <p> + “Speak not thus,—look not thus,” she said, recoiling from him. “You + dismay me. Ah, speak not thus, or I should tremble,—no, not for + myself, but for thy child.” + </p> + <p> + “Thy child! But wouldst thou reject for thy child the same glorious boon?” + </p> + <p> + “Zanoni!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” + </p> + <p> + “The sun has sunk from our eyes, but to rise on those of others. To + disappear from this world is to live in the world afar. Oh, lover,—oh, + husband!” she continued, with sudden energy, “tell me that thou didst but + jest,—that thou didst but trifle with my folly! There is less terror + in the pestilence than in thy words.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni’s brow darkened; he looked at her in silence for some moments, and + then said, almost severely,— + </p> + <p> + “What hast thou known of me to distrust?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pardon, pardon!—nothing!” cried Viola, throwing herself on his + breast, and bursting into tears. “I will not believe even thine own words, + if they seem to wrong thee!” He kissed the tears from her eyes, but made + no answer. + </p> + <p> + “And ah!” she resumed, with an enchanting and child-like smile, “if thou + wouldst give me a charm against the pestilence! see, I will take it from + thee.” And she laid her hand on a small, antique amulet that he wore on + his breast. + </p> + <p> + “Thou knowest how often this has made me jealous of the past; surely some + love-gift, Zanoni? But no, thou didst not love the giver as thou dost me. + Shall I steal thine amulet?” + </p> + <p> + “Infant!” said Zanoni, tenderly; “she who placed this round my neck deemed + it indeed a charm, for she had superstitions like thyself; but to me it is + more than the wizard’s spell,—it is the relic of a sweet vanished + time when none who loved me could distrust.” + </p> + <p> + He said these words in a tone of such melancholy reproach that it went to + the heart of Viola; but the tone changed into a solemnity which chilled + back the gush of her feelings as he resumed: “And this, Viola, one day, + perhaps, I will transfer from my breast to thine; yes, whenever thou shalt + comprehend me better,—WHENEVER THE LAWS OF OUR BEING SHALL BE THE + SAME!” + </p> + <p> + He moved on gently. They returned slowly home; but fear still was in the + heart of Viola, though she strove to shake it off. Italian and Catholic + she was, with all the superstitions of land and sect. She stole to her + chamber and prayed before a little relic of San Gennaro, which the priest + of her house had given to her in childhood, and which had accompanied her + in all her wanderings. She had never deemed it possible to part with it + before. Now, if there was a charm against the pestilence, did she fear the + pestilence for herself? The next morning, when he awoke, Zanoni found the + relic of the saint suspended with his mystic amulet round his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! thou wilt have nothing to fear from the pestilence now,” said Viola, + between tears and smiles; “and when thou wouldst talk to me again as thou + didst last night, the saint shall rebuke thee.” + </p> + <p> + Well, Zanoni, can there ever indeed be commune of thought and spirit, + except with equals? + </p> + <p> + Yes, the plague broke out,—the island home must be abandoned. Mighty + Seer, THOU HAST NO POWER TO SAVE THOSE WHOM THOU LOVEST! Farewell, thou + bridal roof!—sweet resting-place from care, farewell! Climates as + soft may greet ye, O lovers,—skies as serene, and waters as blue and + calm; but THAT TIME,—can it ever more return? Who shall say that the + heart does not change with the scene,—the place where we first dwelt + with the beloved one? Every spot THERE has so many memories which the + place only can recall. The past that haunts it seems to command such + constancy in the future. If a thought less kind, less trustful, enter + within us, the sight of a tree under which a vow has been exchanged, a + tear has been kissed away, restores us again to the hours of the first + divine illusion. But in a home where nothing speaks of the first nuptials, + where there is no eloquence of association, no holy burial-places of + emotions, whose ghosts are angels!—yes, who that has gone through + the sad history of affection will tell us that the heart changes not with + the scene! Blow fair, ye favouring winds; cheerily swell, ye sails; away + from the land where death has come to snatch the sceptre of Love! The + shores glide by; new coasts succeed to the green hills and orange-groves + of the Bridal Isle. From afar now gleam in the moonlight the columns, yet + extant, of a temple which the Athenian dedicated to wisdom; and, standing + on the bark that bounded on in the freshening gale, the votary who had + survived the goddess murmured to himself,— + </p> + <p> + “Has the wisdom of ages brought me no happier hours than those common to + the shepherd and the herdsman, with no world beyond their village, no + aspiration beyond the kiss and the smile of home?” + </p> + <p> + And the moon, resting alike over the ruins of the temple of the departed + creed, over the hut of the living peasant, over the immemorial + mountain-top, and the perishable herbage that clothed its sides, seemed to + smile back its answer of calm disdain to the being who, perchance, might + have seen the temple built, and who, in his inscrutable existence, might + behold the mountain shattered from its base. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK V. — THE EFFECTS OF THE ELIXIR. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5.I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Frommet’s den Schleier aufzuheben, + Wo das nahe Schreckness droht? + Nur das Irrthum ist das Leben + Und das Wissen ist der Tod, + + —Schiller, Kassandro. + + Delusion is the life we live + And knowledge death; oh wherefore, then, + To sight the coming evils give + And lift the veil of Fate to Man? + + Zwei Seelen wohnen, ach! in meiner Brust. + + (Two souls dwell, alas! in my breast.) + + .... + + Was stehst du so, und blickst erstaunt hinaus? + + (Why standest thou so, and lookest out astonished?) + + —“Faust.” + </pre> + <p> + It will be remembered that we left Master Paolo by the bedside of Glyndon; + and as, waking from that profound slumber, the recollections of the past + night came horribly back to his mind, the Englishman uttered a cry, and + covered his face with his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Good morrow, Excellency!” said Paolo, gayly. “Corpo di Bacco, you have + slept soundly!” + </p> + <p> + The sound of this man’s voice, so lusty, ringing, and healthful, served to + scatter before it the phantasma that yet haunted Glyndon’s memory. + </p> + <p> + He rose erect in his bed. “And where did you find me? Why are you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Where did I find you!” repeated Paolo, in surprise,—“in your bed, + to be sure. Why am I here!—because the Padrone bade me await your + waking, and attend your commands.” + </p> + <p> + “The Padrone, Mejnour!—is he arrived?” + </p> + <p> + “Arrived and departed, signor. He has left this letter for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Give it me, and wait without till I am dressed.” + </p> + <p> + “At your service. I have bespoke an excellent breakfast: you must be + hungry. I am a very tolerable cook; a monk’s son ought to be! You will be + startled at my genius in the dressing of fish. My singing, I trust, will + not disturb you. I always sing while I prepare a salad; it harmonises the + ingredients.” And slinging his carbine over his shoulder, Paolo sauntered + from the room, and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon was already deep in the contents of the following letter:— + </p> + <p> + “When I first received thee as my pupil, I promised Zanoni, if convinced + by thy first trials that thou couldst but swell, not the number of our + order, but the list of the victims who have aspired to it in vain, I would + not rear thee to thine own wretchedness and doom,—I would dismiss + thee back to the world. I fulfil my promise. Thine ordeal has been the + easiest that neophyte ever knew. I asked for nothing but abstinence from + the sensual, and a brief experiment of thy patience and thy faith. Go back + to thine own world; thou hast no nature to aspire to ours! + </p> + <p> + “It was I who prepared Paolo to receive thee at the revel. It was I who + instigated the old beggar to ask thee for alms. It was I who left open the + book that thou couldst not read without violating my command. Well, thou + hast seen what awaits thee at the threshold of knowledge. Thou hast + confronted the first foe that menaces him whom the senses yet grasp and + inthrall. Dost thou wonder that I close upon thee the gates forever? Dost + thou not comprehend, at last, that it needs a soul tempered and purified + and raised, not by external spells, but by its own sublimity and valour, + to pass the threshold and disdain the foe? Wretch! all my silence avails + nothing for the rash, for the sensual,—for him who desires our + secrets but to pollute them to gross enjoyments and selfish vice. How have + the imposters and sorcerers of the earlier times perished by their very + attempt to penetrate the mysteries that should purify, and not deprave! + They have boasted of the Philosopher’s Stone, and died in rags; of the + immortal elixir, and sunk to their grave, grey before their time. Legends + tell you that the fiend rent them into fragments. Yes; the fiend of their + own unholy desires and criminal designs! What they coveted, thou covetest; + and if thou hadst the wings of a seraph thou couldst soar not from the + slough of thy mortality. Thy desire for knowledge, but petulant + presumption; thy thirst for happiness, but the diseased longing for the + unclean and muddied waters of corporeal pleasure; thy very love, which + usually elevates even the mean, a passion that calculates treason amidst + the first glow of lust. THOU one of us; thou a brother of the August + Order; thou an Aspirant to the Stars that shine in the Shemaia of the + Chaldean lore! The eagle can raise but the eaglet to the sun. I abandon + thee to thy twilight! + </p> + <p> + “But, alas for thee, disobedient and profane! thou hast inhaled the + elixir; thou hast attracted to thy presence a ghastly and remorseless foe. + Thou thyself must exorcise the phantom thou hast raised. Thou must return + to the world; but not without punishment and strong effort canst thou + regain the calm and the joy of the life thou hast left behind. This, for + thy comfort, will I tell thee: he who has drawn into his frame even so + little of the volatile and vital energy of the aerial juices as thyself, + has awakened faculties that cannot sleep,—faculties that may yet, + with patient humility, with sound faith, and the courage that is not of + the body like thine, but of the resolute and virtuous mind, attain, if not + to the knowledge that reigns above, to high achievement in the career of + men. Thou wilt find the restless influence in all that thou wouldst + undertake. Thy heart, amidst vulgar joys will aspire to something holier; + thy ambition, amidst coarse excitement, to something beyond thy reach. But + deem not that this of itself will suffice for glory. Equally may the + craving lead thee to shame and guilt. It is but an imperfect and new-born + energy which will not suffer thee to repose. As thou directest it, must + thou believe it to be the emanation of thine evil genius or thy good. + </p> + <p> + “But woe to thee! insect meshed in the web in which thou hast entangled + limbs and wings! Thou hast not only inhaled the elixir, thou hast conjured + the spectre; of all the tribes of the space, no foe is so malignant to + man,—and thou hast lifted the veil from thy gaze. I cannot restore + to thee the happy dimness of thy vision. Know, at least, that all of us—the + highest and the wisest—who have, in sober truth, passed beyond the + threshold, have had, as our first fearful task, to master and subdue its + grisly and appalling guardian. Know that thou CANST deliver thyself from + those livid eyes,—know that, while they haunt, they cannot harm, if + thou resistest the thoughts to which they tempt, and the horror they + engender. DREAD THEM MOST WHEN THOU BEHOLDEST THEM NOT. And thus, son of + the worm, we part! All that I can tell thee to encourage, yet to warn and + to guide, I have told thee in these lines. Not from me, from thyself has + come the gloomy trial from which I yet trust thou wilt emerge into peace. + Type of the knowledge that I serve, I withhold no lesson from the pure + aspirant; I am a dark enigma to the general seeker. As man’s only + indestructible possession is his memory, so it is not in mine art to + crumble into matter the immaterial thoughts that have sprung up within thy + breast. The tyro might shatter this castle to the dust, and topple down + the mountain to the plain. The master has no power to say, ‘Exist no + more,’ to one THOUGHT that his knowledge has inspired. Thou mayst change + the thoughts into new forms; thou mayst rarefy and sublimate it into a + finer spirit,—but thou canst not annihilate that which has no home + but in the memory, no substance but the idea. EVERY THOUGHT IS A SOUL! + Vainly, therefore, would I or thou undo the past, or restore to thee the + gay blindness of thy youth. Thou must endure the influence of the elixir + thou hast inhaled; thou must wrestle with the spectre thou hast invoked!” + </p> + <p> + The letter fell from Glyndon’s hand. A sort of stupor succeeded to the + various emotions which had chased each other in the perusal,—a + stupor resembling that which follows the sudden destruction of any ardent + and long-nursed hope in the human heart, whether it be of love, of + avarice, of ambition. The loftier world for which he had so thirsted, + sacrificed, and toiled, was closed upon him “forever,” and by his own + faults of rashness and presumption. But Glyndon’s was not of that nature + which submits long to condemn itself. His indignation began to kindle + against Mejnour, who owned he had tempted, and who now abandoned him,—abandoned + him to the presence of a spectre. The mystic’s reproaches stung rather + than humbled him. What crime had he committed to deserve language so harsh + and disdainful? Was it so deep a debasement to feel pleasure in the smile + and the eyes of Fillide? Had not Zanoni himself confessed love for Viola; + had he not fled with her as his companion? Glyndon never paused to + consider if there are no distinctions between one kind of love and + another. Where, too, was the great offence of yielding to a temptation + which only existed for the brave? Had not the mystic volume which Mejnour + had purposely left open, bid him but “Beware of fear”? Was not, then, + every wilful provocative held out to the strongest influences of the human + mind, in the prohibition to enter the chamber, in the possession of the + key which excited his curiosity, in the volume which seemed to dictate the + mode by which the curiosity was to be gratified? As rapidly these thoughts + passed over him, he began to consider the whole conduct of Mejnour either + as a perfidious design to entrap him to his own misery, or as the trick of + an imposter, who knew that he could not realise the great professions he + had made. On glancing again over the more mysterious threats and warnings + in Mejnour’s letter, they seemed to assume the language of mere parable + and allegory,—the jargon of the Platonists and Pythagoreans. By + little and little, he began to consider that the very spectra he had seen—even + that one phantom so horrid in its aspect—were but the delusions + which Mejnour’s science had enable him to raise. The healthful sunlight, + filling up every cranny in his chamber, seemed to laugh away the terrors + of the past night. His pride and his resentment nerved his habitual + courage; and when, having hastily dressed himself, he rejoined Paolo, it + was with a flushed cheek and a haughty step. + </p> + <p> + “So, Paolo,” said he, “the Padrone, as you call him, told you to expect + and welcome me at your village feast?” + </p> + <p> + “He did so by a message from a wretched old cripple. This surprised me at + the time, for I thought he was far distant; but these great philosophers + make a joke of two or three hundred leagues.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not tell me you had heard from Mejnour?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the old cripple forbade me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you not see the man afterwards during the dance?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to serve you,” said Paolo, piling Glyndon’s plate, and then + filling his glass. “I wish, signor, now the Padrone is gone,—not,” + added Paolo, as he cast rather a frightened and suspicious glance round + the room, “that I mean to say anything disrespectful of him,—I wish, + I say, now that he is gone, that you would take pity on yourself, and ask + your own heart what your youth was meant for? Not to bury yourself alive + in these old ruins, and endanger body and soul by studies which I am sure + no saint could approve of.” + </p> + <p> + “Are the saints so partial, then, to your own occupations, Master Paolo?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” answered the bandit, a little confused, “a gentleman with plenty of + pistoles in his purse need not, of necessity, make it his profession to + take away the pistoles of other people! It is a different thing for us + poor rogues. After all, too, I always devote a tithe of my gains to the + Virgin; and I share the rest charitably with the poor. But eat, drink, + enjoy yourself; be absolved by your confessor for any little peccadilloes + and don’t run too long scores at a time,—that’s my advice. Your + health, Excellency! Pshaw, signor, fasting, except on the days prescribed + to a good Catholic, only engenders phantoms.” + </p> + <p> + “Phantoms!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the devil always tempts the empty stomach. To covet, to hate, to + thieve, to rob, and to murder,—these are the natural desires of a + man who is famishing. With a full belly, signor, we are at peace with all + the world. That’s right; you like the partridge! Cospetto! when I myself + have passed two or three days in the mountains, with nothing from sunset + to sunrise but a black crust and an onion, I grow as fierce as a wolf. + That’s not the worst, too. In these times I see little imps dancing before + me. Oh, yes; fasting is as full of spectres as a field of battle.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon thought there was some sound philosophy in the reasoning of his + companion; and certainly the more he ate and drank, the more the + recollection of the past night and of Mejnour’s desertion faded from his + mind. The casement was open, the breeze blew, the sun shone,—all + Nature was merry; and merry as Nature herself grew Maestro Paolo. He + talked of adventures, of travel, of women, with a hearty gusto that had + its infection. But Glyndon listened yet more complacently when Paolo + turned with an arch smile to praises of the eye, the teeth, the ankles, + and the shape of the handsome Fillide. + </p> + <p> + This man, indeed, seemed the very personation of animal sensual life. He + would have been to Faust a more dangerous tempter than Mephistopheles. + There was no sneer on HIS lip at the pleasures which animated his voice. + To one awaking to a sense of the vanities in knowledge, this reckless + ignorant joyousness of temper was a worse corrupter than all the icy + mockeries of a learned Fiend. But when Paolo took his leave, with a + promise to return the next day, the mind of the Englishman again settled + back to a graver and more thoughtful mood. The elixir seemed, in truth, to + have left the refining effects Mejnour had ascribed to it. As Glyndon + paced to and fro the solitary corridor, or, pausing, gazed upon the + extended and glorious scenery that stretched below, high thoughts of + enterprise and ambition—bright visions of glory—passed in + rapid succession through his soul. + </p> + <p> + “Mejnour denies me his science. Well,” said the painter, proudly, “he has + not robbed me of my art.” + </p> + <p> + What! Clarence Glyndon, dost thou return to that from which thy career + commenced? Was Zanoni right after all? + </p> + <p> + He found himself in the chamber of the mystic; not a vessel,—not an + herb! the solemn volume is vanished,—the elixir shall sparkle for + him no more! But still in the room itself seems to linger the atmosphere + of a charm. Faster and fiercer it burns within thee, the desire to + achieve, to create! Thou longest for a life beyond the sensual!—but + the life that is permitted to all genius,—that which breathes + through the immortal work, and endures in the imperishable name. + </p> + <p> + Where are the implements for thine art? Tush!—when did the true + workman ever fail to find his tools? Thou art again in thine own chamber,—the + white wall thy canvas, a fragment of charcoal for thy pencil. They + suffice, at least, to give outline to the conception that may otherwise + vanish with the morrow. + </p> + <p> + The idea that thus excited the imagination of the artist was + unquestionably noble and august. It was derived from that Egyptian + ceremonial which Diodorus has recorded,—the Judgment of the Dead by + the Living (Diod., lib. i.): when the corpse, duly embalmed, is placed by + the margin of the Acherusian Lake; and before it may be consigned to the + bark which is to bear it across the waters to its final resting-place, it + is permitted to the appointed judges to hear all accusations of the past + life of the deceased, and, if proved, to deprive the corpse of the rites + of sepulture. + </p> + <p> + Unconsciously to himself, it was Mejnour’s description of this custom, + which he had illustrated by several anecdotes not to be found in books, + that now suggested the design to the artist, and gave it reality and + force. He supposed a powerful and guilty king whom in life scarce a + whisper had dared to arraign, but against whom, now the breath was gone, + came the slave from his fetters, the mutilated victim from his dungeon, + livid and squalid as if dead themselves, invoking with parched lips the + justice that outlives the grave. + </p> + <p> + Strange fervour this, O artist! breaking suddenly forth from the mists and + darkness which the occult science had spread so long over thy fancies,—strange + that the reaction of the night’s terror and the day’s disappointment + should be back to thine holy art! Oh, how freely goes the bold hand over + the large outline! How, despite those rude materials, speaks forth no more + the pupil, but the master! Fresh yet from the glorious elixir, how thou + givest to thy creatures the finer life denied to thyself!—some power + not thine own writes the grand symbols on the wall. Behind rises the + mighty sepulchre, on the building of which repose to the dead the lives of + thousands had been consumed. There sit in a semicircle the solemn judges. + Black and sluggish flows the lake. There lies the mummied and royal dead. + Dost thou quail at the frown on his lifelike brow? Ha!—bravely done, + O artist!—up rise the haggard forms!—pale speak the ghastly + faces! Shall not Humanity after death avenge itself on Power? Thy + conception, Clarence Glyndon, is a sublime truth; thy design promises + renown to genius. Better this magic than the charms of the volume and the + vessel. Hour after hour has gone; thou hast lighted the lamp; night sees + thee yet at thy labour. Merciful Heaven! what chills the atmosphere; why + does the lamp grow wan; why does thy hair bristle? There!—there!—there! + at the casement! It gazes on thee, the dark, mantled, loathsome thing! + There, with their devilish mockery and hateful craft, glare on thee those + horrid eyes! + </p> + <p> + He stood and gazed,—it was no delusion. It spoke not, moved not, + till, unable to bear longer that steady and burning look, he covered his + face with his hands. With a start, with a thrill, he removed them; he felt + the nearer presence of the nameless. There it cowered on the floor beside + his design; and lo! the figures seemed to start from the wall! Those pale + accusing figures, the shapes he himself had raised, frowned at him, and + gibbered. With a violent effort that convulsed his whole being, and bathed + his body in the sweat of agony, the young man mastered his horror. He + strode towards the phantom; he endured its eyes; he accosted it with a + steady voice; he demanded its purpose and defied its power. + </p> + <p> + And then, as a wind from a charnel, was heard its voice. What it said, + what revealed, it is forbidden the lips to repeat, the hand to record. + Nothing save the subtle life that yet animated the frame to which the + inhalations of the elixir had given vigour and energy beyond the strength + of the strongest, could have survived that awful hour. Better to wake in + the catacombs and see the buried rise from their cerements, and hear the + ghouls, in their horrid orgies, amongst the festering ghastliness of + corruption, than to front those features when the veil was lifted, and + listen to that whispered voice! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + The next day Glyndon fled from the ruined castle. With what hopes of + starry light had he crossed the threshold; with what memories to shudder + evermore at the darkness did he look back at the frown of its time-worn + towers! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5.II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Faust: Wohin soll es nun gehm? + Mephist: Wohin es Dir gefallt. + Wir sehn die kleine, dann die grosse Welt. + “Faust.” + + (Faust: Whither go now! + Mephist: Whither it pleases thee. + We see the small world, then the great.) +</pre> + <p> + Draw your chair to the fireside, brush clean the hearth, and trim the + lights. Oh, home of sleekness, order, substance, comfort! Oh, excellent + thing art thou, Matter of Fact! + </p> + <p> + It is some time after the date of the last chapter. Here we are, not in + moonlit islands or mouldering castles, but in a room twenty-six feet by + twenty-two,—well carpeted, well cushioned, solid arm-chairs and + eight such bad pictures, in such fine frames, upon the walls! Thomas + Mervale, Esq., merchant, of London, you are an enviable dog! + </p> + <p> + It was the easiest thing in the world for Mervale, on returning from his + Continental episode of life, to settle down to his desk,—his heart + had been always there. The death of his father gave him, as a birthright, + a high position in a respectable though second-rate firm. To make this + establishment first-rate was an honourable ambition,—it was his! He + had lately married, not entirely for money,—no! he was worldly + rather than mercenary. He had no romantic ideas of love; but he was too + sensible a man not to know that a wife should be a companion,—not + merely a speculation. He did not care for beauty and genius, but he liked + health and good temper, and a certain proportion of useful understanding. + He chose a wife from his reason, not his heart, and a very good choice he + made. Mrs. Mervale was an excellent young woman,—bustling, managing, + economical, but affectionate and good. She had a will of her own, but was + no shrew. She had a great notion of the rights of a wife, and a strong + perception of the qualities that insure comfort. She would never have + forgiven her husband, had she found him guilty of the most passing fancy + for another; but, in return, she had the most admirable sense of propriety + herself. She held in abhorrence all levity, all flirtation, all coquetry,—small + vices which often ruin domestic happiness, but which a giddy nature incurs + without consideration. But she did not think it right to love a husband + over much. She left a surplus of affection, for all her relations, all her + friends, some of her acquaintances, and the possibility of a second + marriage, should any accident happen to Mr. M. She kept a good table, for + it suited their station; and her temper was considered even, though firm; + but she could say a sharp thing or two, if Mr. Mervale was not punctual to + a moment. She was very particular that he should change his shoes on + coming home,—the carpets were new and expensive. She was not sulky, + nor passionate,—Heaven bless her for that!—but when displeased + she showed it, administered a dignified rebuke, alluded to her own + virtues, to her uncle who was an admiral, and to the thirty thousand + pounds which she had brought to the object of her choice. But as Mr. + Mervale was a good-humoured man, owned his faults, and subscribed to her + excellence, the displeasure was soon over. + </p> + <p> + Every household has its little disagreements, none fewer than that of Mr. + and Mrs. Mervale. Mrs. Mervale, without being improperly fond of dress, + paid due attention to it. She was never seen out of her chamber with + papers in her hair, nor in that worst of dis-illusions,—a morning + wrapper. At half-past eight every morning Mrs. Mervale was dressed for the + day,—that is, till she re-dressed for dinner,—her stays well + laced, her cap prim, her gowns, winter and summer, of a thick, handsome + silk. Ladies at that time wore very short waists; so did Mrs. Mervale. Her + morning ornaments were a thick, gold chain, to which was suspended a gold + watch,—none of those fragile dwarfs of mechanism that look so pretty + and go so ill, but a handsome repeater which chronicled Father Time to a + moment; also a mosaic brooch; also a miniature of her uncle, the admiral, + set in a bracelet. For the evening she had two handsome sets,—necklace, + earrings, and bracelets complete,—one of amethysts, the other + topazes. With these, her costume for the most part was a gold-coloured + satin and a turban, in which last her picture had been taken. Mrs. Mervale + had an aquiline nose, good teeth, fair hair, and light eyelashes, rather a + high complexion, what is generally called a fine bust; full cheeks; large + useful feet made for walking; large, white hands with filbert nails, on + which not a speck of dust had, even in childhood, ever been known to a + light. She looked a little older than she really was; but that might arise + from a certain air of dignity and the aforesaid aquiline nose. She + generally wore short mittens. She never read any poetry but Goldsmith’s + and Cowper’s. She was not amused by novels, though she had no prejudice + against them. She liked a play and a pantomime, with a slight supper + afterwards. She did not like concerts nor operas. At the beginning of the + winter she selected some book to read, and some piece of work to commence. + The two lasted her till the spring, when, though she continued to work, + she left off reading. Her favourite study was history, which she read + through the medium of Dr. Goldsmith. Her favourite author in the belles + lettres was, of course, Dr. Johnson. A worthier woman, or one more + respected, was not to be found, except in an epitaph! + </p> + <p> + It was an autumn night. Mr. and Mrs. Mervale, lately returned from an + excursion to Weymouth, are in the drawing-room,—“the dame sat on + this side, the man sat on that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I assure you, my dear, that Glyndon, with all his eccentricities, + was a very engaging, amiable fellow. You would certainly have liked him,—all + the women did.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Thomas, you will forgive the remark,—but that expression of + yours, ‘all the WOMEN‘—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,—you are right. I meant to say that he was a + general favourite with your charming sex.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,—rather a frivolous character.” + </p> + <p> + “Frivolous! no, not exactly; a little unsteady,—very odd, but + certainly not frivolous; presumptuous and headstrong in character, but + modest and shy in his manners, rather too much so,—just what you + like. However, to return; I am seriously uneasy at the accounts I have + heard of him to-day. He has been living, it seems, a very strange and + irregular life, travelling from place to place, and must have spent + already a great deal of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Apropos of money,” said Mrs. Mervale; “I fear we must change our butcher; + he is certainly in league with the cook.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a pity; his beef is remarkably fine. These London servants are as + bad as the Carbonari. But, as I was saying, poor Glyndon—” + </p> + <p> + Here a knock was heard at the door. “Bless me,” said Mrs. Mervale, “it is + past ten! Who can that possibly be?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps your uncle, the admiral,” said the husband, with a slight + peevishness in his accent. “He generally favours us about this hour.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope, my love, that none of my relations are unwelcome visitors at your + house. The admiral is a most entertaining man, and his fortune is entirely + at his own disposal.” + </p> + <p> + “No one I respect more,” said Mr. Mervale, with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + The servant threw open the door, and announced Mr. Glyndon. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Glyndon!—what an extraordinary—” exclaimed Mrs. Mervale; + but before she could conclude the sentence, Glyndon was in the room. + </p> + <p> + The two friends greeted each other with all the warmth of early + recollection and long absence. An appropriate and proud presentation to + Mrs. Mervale ensued; and Mrs. Mervale, with a dignified smile, and a + furtive glance at his boots, bade her husband’s friend welcome to England. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon was greatly altered since Mervale had seen him last. Though less + than two years had elapsed since then, his fair complexion was more + bronzed and manly. Deep lines of care, or thought, or dissipation, had + replaced the smooth contour of happy youth. To a manner once gentle and + polished had succeeded a certain recklessness of mien, tone, and bearing, + which bespoke the habits of a society that cared little for the calm + decorums of conventional ease. Still a kind of wild nobleness, not before + apparent in him, characterised his aspect, and gave something of dignity + to the freedom of his language and gestures. + </p> + <p> + “So, then, you are settled, Mervale,—I need not ask you if you are + happy. Worth, sense, wealth, character, and so fair a companion deserve + happiness, and command it.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like some tea, Mr. Glyndon?” asked Mrs. Mervale, kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,—no. I propose a more convivial stimulus to my old + friend. Wine, Mervale,—wine, eh!—or a bowl of old English + punch. Your wife will excuse us,—we will make a night of it!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mervale drew back her chair, and tried not to look aghast. Glyndon + did not give his friend time to reply. + </p> + <p> + “So at last I am in England,” he said, looking round the room, with a + slight sneer on his lips; “surely this sober air must have its influence; + surely here I shall be like the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been ill, Glyndon?” + </p> + <p> + “Ill, yes. Humph! you have a fine house. Does it contain a spare room for + a solitary wanderer?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mervale glanced at his wife, and his wife looked steadily on the + carpet. “Modest and shy in his manners—rather too much so!” Mrs. + Mervale was in the seventh heaven of indignation and amaze! + </p> + <p> + “My dear?” said Mr. Mervale at last, meekly and interogatingly. + </p> + <p> + “My dear!” returned Mrs. Mervale, innocently and sourly. + </p> + <p> + “We can make up a room for my old friend, Sarah?” + </p> + <p> + The old friend had sunk back on his chair, and, gazing intently on the + fire, with his feet at ease upon the fender, seemed to have forgotten his + question. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mervale bit her lips, looked thoughtful, and at last coldly replied, + “Certainly, Mr. Mervale; your friends do right to make themselves at + home.” + </p> + <p> + With that she lighted a candle, and moved majestically from the room. When + she returned, the two friends had vanished into Mr. Mervale’s study. + </p> + <p> + Twelve o’clock struck,—one o’clock, two! Thrice had Mrs. Mervale + sent into the room to know,—first, if they wanted anything; + secondly, if Mr. Glyndon slept on a mattress or feather-bed; thirdly, to + inquire if Mr. Glyndon’s trunk, which he had brought with him, should be + unpacked. And to the answer to all these questions was added, in a loud + voice from the visitor,—a voice that pierced from the kitchen to the + attic,—“Another bowl! stronger, if you please, and be quick with + it!” + </p> + <p> + At last Mr. Mervale appeared in the conjugal chamber, not penitent, nor + apologetic,—no, not a bit of it. His eyes twinkled, his cheek + flushed, his feet reeled; he sang,—Mr. Thomas Mervale positively + sang! + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Mervale! is it possible, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “‘Old King Cole was a merry old soul—‘” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Mervale! sir!—leave me alone, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “‘And a merry old soul was he—‘” + </p> + <p> + “What an example to the servants!” + </p> + <p> + “‘And he called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl—‘” + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t behave yourself, sir, I shall call—” + </p> + <p> + “‘Call for his fiddlers three!’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5.III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In der Welt weit + Aus der Einsamkeit + Wollen sie Dich locken. + —“Faust.” + + (In the wide world, out of the solitude, will these allure thee.) +</pre> + <p> + The next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Mervale looked as if all the wrongs + of injured woman sat upon her brow. Mr. Mervale seemed the picture of + remorseful guilt and avenging bile. He said little, except to complain of + headache, and to request the eggs to be removed from the table. Clarence + Glyndon—impervious, unconscious, unailing, impenitent—was in + noisy spirits, and talked for three. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mervale! he has lost the habit of good-fellowship, madam. Another + night or two, and he will be himself again!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Mrs. Mervale, launching a premeditated sentence with more than + Johnsonian dignity, “permit me to remind you that Mr. Mervale is now a + married man, the destined father of a family, and the present master of a + household.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely the reasons why I envy him so much. I myself have a great mind + to marry. Happiness is contagious.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you still take to painting?” asked Mervale, languidly, endeavouring to + turn the tables on his guest. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; I have adopted your advice. No art, no ideal,—nothing + loftier than Commonplace for me now. If I were to paint again, I + positively think YOU would purchase my pictures. Make haste and finish + your breakfast, man; I wish to consult you. I have come to England to see + after my affairs. My ambition is to make money; your counsels and + experience cannot fail to assist me here.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you were soon disenchanted of your Philosopher’s Stone! You must + know, Sarah, that when I last left Glyndon, he was bent upon turning + alchemist and magician.” + </p> + <p> + “You are witty to-day, Mr. Mervale.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my honour it is true, I told you so before.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon rose abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Why revive those recollections of folly and presumption? Have I not said + that I have returned to my native land to pursue the healthful avocations + of my kind! Oh, yes! what so healthful, so noble, so fitted to our nature, + as what you call the Practical Life? If we have faculties, what is their + use, but to sell them to advantage! Buy knowledge as we do our goods; buy + it at the cheapest market, sell it at the dearest. Have you not + breakfasted yet?” + </p> + <p> + The friends walked into the streets, and Mervale shrank from the irony + with which Glyndon complimented him on his respectability, his station, + his pursuits, his happy marriage, and his eight pictures in their handsome + frames. Formerly the sober Mervale had commanded an influence over his + friend: HIS had been the sarcasm; Glyndon’s the irresolute shame at his + own peculiarities. Now this position was reversed. There was a fierce + earnestness in Glyndon’s altered temper which awed and silenced the quiet + commonplace of his friend’s character. He seemed to take a malignant + delight in persuading himself that the sober life of the world was + contemptible and base. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he exclaimed, “how right you were to tell me to marry respectably; + to have a solid position; to live in decorous fear of the world and one’s + wife; and to command the envy of the poor, the good opinion of the rich. + You have practised what you preach. Delicious existence! The merchant’s + desk and the curtain lecture! Ha! ha! Shall we have another night of it?” + </p> + <p> + Mervale, embarrassed and irritated, turned the conversation upon Glyndon’s + affairs. He was surprised at the knowledge of the world which the artist + seemed to have suddenly acquired, surprised still more at the acuteness + and energy with which he spoke of the speculations most in vogue at the + market. Yes; Glyndon was certainly in earnest: he desired to be rich and + respectable,—and to make at least ten per cent for his money! + </p> + <p> + After spending some days with the merchant, during which time he contrived + to disorganise all the mechanism of the house, to turn night into day, + harmony into discord, to drive poor Mrs. Mervale half-distracted, and to + convince her husband that he was horribly hen-pecked, the ill-omened + visitor left them as suddenly as he had arrived. He took a house of his + own; he sought the society of persons of substance; he devoted himself to + the money-market; he seemed to have become a man of business; his schemes + were bold and colossal; his calculations rapid and profound. He startled + Mervale by his energy, and dazzled him by his success. Mervale began to + envy him,—to be discontented with his own regular and slow gains. + When Glyndon bought or sold in the funds, wealth rolled upon him like the + tide of a sea; what years of toil could not have done for him in art, a + few months, by a succession of lucky chances, did for him in speculation. + Suddenly, however, he relaxed his exertions; new objects of ambition + seemed to attract him. If he heard a drum in the streets, what glory like + the soldier’s? If a new poem were published, what renown like the poet’s? + He began works in literature, which promised great excellence, to throw + them aside in disgust. All at once he abandoned the decorous and formal + society he had courted; he joined himself, with young and riotous + associates; he plunged into the wildest excesses of the great city, where + Gold reigns alike over Toil and Pleasure. Through all he carried with him + a certain power and heat of soul. In all society he aspired to command,—in + all pursuits to excel. Yet whatever the passion of the moment, the + reaction was terrible in its gloom. He sank, at times, into the most + profound and the darkest reveries. His fever was that of a mind that would + escape memory,—his repose, that of a mind which the memory seizes + again, and devours as a prey. Mervale now saw little of him; they shunned + each other. Glyndon had no confidant, and no friend. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5.IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ich fuhle Dich mir nahe; + Die Einsamkeit belebt; + Wie uber seinen Welten + Der Unsichtbare schwebt. + Uhland. + + (I feel thee near to me, + The loneliness takes life,—As over its world + The Invisible hovers.) +</pre> + <p> + From this state of restlessness and agitation rather than continuous + action, Glyndon was aroused by a visitor who seemed to exercise the most + salutary influence over him. His sister, an orphan with himself, had + resided in the country with her aunt. In the early years of hope and home + he had loved this girl, much younger than himself, with all a brother’s + tenderness. On his return to England, he had seemed to forget her + existence. She recalled herself to him on her aunt’s death by a touching + and melancholy letter: she had now no home but his,—no dependence + save on his affection; he wept when he read it, and was impatient till + Adela arrived. + </p> + <p> + This girl, then about eighteen, concerned beneath a gentle and calm + exterior much of the romance or enthusiasm that had, at her own age, + characterised her brother. But her enthusiasm was of a far purer order, + and was restrained within proper bounds, partly by the sweetness of a very + feminine nature, and partly by a strict and methodical education. She + differed from him especially in a timidity of character which exceeded + that usual at her age, but which the habit of self-command concealed no + less carefully than that timidity itself concealed the romance I have + ascribed to her. + </p> + <p> + Adela was not handsome: she had the complexion and the form of delicate + health; and too fine an organisation of the nerves rendered her + susceptible to every impression that could influence the health of the + frame through the sympathy of the mind. But as she never complained, and + as the singular serenity of her manners seemed to betoken an equanimity of + temperament which, with the vulgar, might have passed for indifference, + her sufferings had so long been borne unnoticed that it ceased to be an + effort to disguise them. Though, as I have said, not handsome, her + countenance was interesting and pleasing; and there was that caressing + kindness, that winning charm about her smile, her manners, her anxiety to + please, to comfort, and to soothe which went at once to the heart, and + made her lovely,—because so loving. + </p> + <p> + Such was the sister whom Glyndon had so long neglected, and whom he now so + cordially welcomed. Adela had passed many years a victim to the caprices, + and a nurse to the maladies, of a selfish and exacting relation. The + delicate and generous and respectful affection of her brother was no less + new to her than delightful. He took pleasure in the happiness he created; + he gradually weaned himself from other society; he felt the charm of home. + It is not surprising, then, that this young creature, free and virgin from + every more ardent attachment, concentrated all her grateful love on this + cherished and protecting relative. Her study by day, her dream by night, + was to repay him for his affection. She was proud of his talents, devoted + to his welfare; the smallest trifle that could interest him swelled in her + eyes to the gravest affairs of life. In short, all the long-hoarded + enthusiasm, which was her perilous and only heritage, she invested in this + one object of her holy tenderness, her pure ambition. + </p> + <p> + But in proportion as Glyndon shunned those excitements by which he had so + long sought to occupy his time or distract his thoughts, the gloom of his + calmer hours became deeper and more continuous. He ever and especially + dreaded to be alone; he could not bear his new companion to be absent from + his eyes: he rode with her, walked with her, and it was with visible + reluctance, which almost partook of horror, that he retired to rest at an + hour when even revel grows fatigued. This gloom was not that which could + be called by the soft name of melancholy,—it was far more intense; + it seemed rather like despair. Often after a silence as of death—so + heavy, abstracted, motionless, did it appear—he would start + abruptly, and cast hurried glances around him,—his limbs trembling, + his lips livid, his brows bathed in dew. Convinced that some secret sorrow + preyed upon his mind, and would consume his health, it was the dearest as + the most natural desire of Adela to become his confidant and consoler. She + observed, with the quick tact of the delicate, that he disliked her to + seem affected by, or even sensible of, his darker moods. She schooled + herself to suppress her fears and her feelings. She would not ask his + confidence,—she sought to steal into it. By little and little she + felt that she was succeeding. Too wrapped in his own strange existence to + be acutely observant of the character of others, Glyndon mistook the + self-content of a generous and humble affection for constitutional + fortitude; and this quality pleased and soothed him. It is fortitude that + the diseased mind requires in the confidant whom it selects as its + physician. And how irresistible is that desire to communicate! How often + the lonely man thought to himself, “My heart would be lightened of its + misery, if once confessed!” He felt, too, that in the very youth, the + inexperience, the poetical temperament of Adela, he could find one who + would comprehend and bear with him better than any sterner and more + practical nature. Mervale would have looked on his revelations as the + ravings of madness, and most men, at best, as the sicklied chimeras, the + optical delusions, of disease. Thus gradually preparing himself for that + relief for which he yearned, the moment for his disclosure arrived thus:— + </p> + <p> + One evening, as they sat alone together, Adela, who inherited some portion + of her brother’s talent in art, was employed in drawing, and Glyndon, + rousing himself from meditations less gloomy than usual, rose, and + affectionately passing his arm round her waist, looked over her as she + sat. An exclamation of dismay broke from his lips,—he snatched the + drawing from her hand: “What are you about?—what portrait is this?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Clarence, do you not remember the original?—it is a copy from + that portrait of our wise ancestor which our poor mother used to say so + strongly resembled you. I thought it would please you if I copied it from + memory.” + </p> + <p> + “Accursed was the likeness!” said Glyndon, gloomily. “Guess you not the + reason why I have shunned to return to the home of my fathers!—because + I dreaded to meet that portrait!—because—because—but + pardon me; I alarm you!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no,—no, Clarence, you never alarm me when you speak: only when + you are silent! Oh, if you thought me worthy of your trust; oh, if you had + given me the right to reason with you in the sorrows that I yearn to + share!” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon made no answer, but paced the room for some moments with + disordered strides. He stopped at last, and gazed at her earnestly. “Yes, + you, too, are his descendant; you know that such men have lived and + suffered; you will not mock me,—you will not disbelieve! Listen! + hark!—what sound is that?” + </p> + <p> + “But the wind on the house-top, Clarence,—but the wind.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your hand; let me feel its living clasp; and when I have told + you, never revert to the tale again. Conceal it from all: swear that it + shall die with us,—the last of our predestined race!” + </p> + <p> + “Never will I betray your trust; I swear it,—never!” said Adela, + firmly; and she drew closer to his side. Then Glyndon commenced his story. + That which, perhaps, in writing, and to minds prepared to question and + disbelieve, may seem cold and terrorless, became far different when told + by those blanched lips, with all that truth of suffering which convinces + and appalls. Much, indeed, he concealed, much he involuntarily softened; + but he revealed enough to make his tale intelligible and distinct to his + pale and trembling listener. “At daybreak,” he said, “I left that + unhallowed and abhorred abode. I had one hope still,—I would seek + Mejnour through the world. I would force him to lay at rest the fiend that + haunted my soul. With this intent I journeyed from city to city. I + instituted the most vigilant researches through the police of Italy. I + even employed the services of the Inquisition at Rome, which had lately + asserted its ancient powers in the trial of the less dangerous Cagliostro. + All was in vain; not a trace of him could be discovered. I was not alone, + Adela.” Here Glyndon paused a moment, as if embarrassed; for in his + recital, I need scarcely say that he had only indistinctly alluded to + Fillide, whom the reader may surmise to be his companion. “I was not + alone, but the associate of my wanderings was not one in whom my soul + could confide,—faithful and affectionate, but without education, + without faculties to comprehend me, with natural instincts rather than + cultivated reason; one in whom the heart might lean in its careless hours, + but with whom the mind could have no commune, in whom the bewildered + spirit could seek no guide. Yet in the society of this person the demon + troubled me not. Let me explain yet more fully the dread conditions of its + presence. In coarse excitement, in commonplace life, in the wild riot, in + the fierce excess, in the torpid lethargy of that animal existence which + we share with the brutes, its eyes were invisible, its whisper was + unheard. But whenever the soul would aspire, whenever the imagination + kindled to the loftier ends, whenever the consciousness of our proper + destiny struggled against the unworthy life I pursued, then, Adela—then, + it cowered by my side in the light of noon, or sat by my bed,—a + Darkness visible through the Dark. If, in the galleries of Divine Art, the + dreams of my youth woke the early emulation,—if I turned to the + thoughts of sages; if the example of the great, if the converse of the + wise, aroused the silenced intellect, the demon was with me as by a spell. + At last, one evening, at Genoa, to which city I had travelled in pursuit + of the mystic, suddenly, and when least expected, he appeared before me. + It was the time of the Carnival. It was in one of those half-frantic + scenes of noise and revel, call it not gayety, which establish a heathen + saturnalia in the midst of a Christian festival. Wearied with the dance, I + had entered a room in which several revellers were seated, drinking, + singing, shouting; and in their fantastic dresses and hideous masks, their + orgy seemed scarcely human. I placed myself amongst them, and in that + fearful excitement of the spirits which the happy never know, I was soon + the most riotous of all. The conversation fell on the Revolution of + France, which had always possessed for me an absorbing fascination. The + masks spoke of the millennium it was to bring on earth, not as + philosophers rejoicing in the advent of light, but as ruffians exulting in + the annihilation of law. I know not why it was, but their licentious + language infected myself; and, always desirous to be foremost in every + circle, I soon exceeded even these rioters in declamations on the nature + of the liberty which was about to embrace all the families of the globe,—a + liberty that should pervade not only public legislation, but domestic + life; an emancipation from every fetter that men had forged for + themselves. In the midst of this tirade one of the masks whispered me,— + </p> + <p> + “‘Take care. One listens to you who seems to be a spy!’ + </p> + <p> + “My eyes followed those of the mask, and I observed a man who took no part + in the conversation, but whose gaze was bent upon me. He was disguised + like the rest, yet I found by a general whisper that none had observed him + enter. His silence, his attention, had alarmed the fears of the other + revellers,—they only excited me the more. Rapt in my subject, I + pursued it, insensible to the signs of those about me; and, addressing + myself only to the silent mask who sat alone, apart from the group, I did + not even observe that, one by one, the revellers slunk off, and that I and + the silent listener were left alone, until, pausing from my heated and + impetuous declamations, I said,— + </p> + <p> + “‘And you, signor,—what is your view of this mighty era? Opinion + without persecution; brotherhood without jealousy; love without bondage—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And life without God,’ added the mask as I hesitated for new images. + </p> + <p> + “The sound of that well-known voice changed the current of my thought. I + sprang forward, and cried,— + </p> + <p> + “‘Imposter or Fiend, we meet at last!’ + </p> + <p> + “The figure rose as I advanced, and, unmasking, showed the features of + Mejnour. His fixed eye, his majestic aspect, awed and repelled me. I stood + rooted to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ he said solemnly, ‘we meet, and it is this meeting that I have + sought. How hast thou followed my admonitions! Are these the scenes in + which the Aspirant for the Serene Science thinks to escape the Ghastly + Enemy? Do the thoughts thou hast uttered—thoughts that would strike + all order from the universe—express the hopes of the sage who would + rise to the Harmony of the Eternal Spheres?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It is thy fault,—it is thine!’ I exclaimed. ‘Exorcise the phantom! + Take the haunting terror from my soul!’ + </p> + <p> + “Mejnour looked at me a moment with a cold and cynical disdain which + provoked at once my fear and rage, and replied,— + </p> + <p> + “‘No; fool of thine own senses! No; thou must have full and entire + experience of the illusions to which the Knowledge that is without Faith + climbs its Titan way. Thou pantest for this Millennium,—thou shalt + behold it! Thou shalt be one of the agents of the era of Light and Reason. + I see, while I speak, the Phantom thou fliest, by thy side; it marshals + thy path; it has power over thee as yet,—a power that defies my own. + In the last days of that Revolution which thou hailest, amidst the wrecks + of the Order thou cursest as Oppression, seek the fulfilment of thy + destiny, and await thy cure.’ + </p> + <p> + “At that instant a troop of masks, clamorous, intoxicated, reeling, and + rushing, as they reeled, poured into the room, and separated me from the + mystic. I broke through them, and sought him everywhere, but in vain. All + my researches the next day were equally fruitless. Weeks were consumed in + the same pursuit,—not a trace of Mejnour could be discovered. + Wearied with false pleasures, roused by reproaches I had deserved, + recoiling from Mejnour’s prophecy of the scene in which I was to seek + deliverance, it occurred to me, at last, that in the sober air of my + native country, and amidst its orderly and vigorous pursuits, I might work + out my own emancipation from the spectre. I left all whom I had before + courted and clung to,—I came hither. Amidst mercenary schemes and + selfish speculations, I found the same relief as in debauch and excess. + The Phantom was invisible; but these pursuits soon became to me + distasteful as the rest. Ever and ever I felt that I was born for + something nobler than the greed of gain,—that life may be made + equally worthless, and the soul equally degraded by the icy lust of + avarice, as by the noisier passions. A higher ambition never ceased to + torment me. But, but,” continued Glyndon, with a whitening lip and a + visible shudder, “at every attempt to rise into loftier existence, came + that hideous form. It gloomed beside me at the easel. Before the volumes + of poet and sage it stood with its burning eyes in the stillness of night, + and I thought I heard its horrible whispers uttering temptations never to + be divulged.” He paused, and the drops stood upon his brow. + </p> + <p> + “But I,” said Adela, mastering her fears and throwing her arms around him,—“but + I henceforth will have no life but in thine. And in this love so pure, so + holy, thy terror shall fade away.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” exclaimed Glyndon, starting from her. “The worst revelation is + to come. Since thou hast been here, since I have sternly and resolutely + refrained from every haunt, every scene in which this preternatural enemy + troubled me not, I—I—have—Oh, Heaven! Mercy—mercy! + There it stands,—there, by thy side,—there, there!” And he + fell to the ground insensible. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5.V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Doch wunderbar ergriff mich’s diese Nacht; + Die Glieder schienen schon in Todes Macht. + Uhland. + + (This night it fearfully seized on me; my limbs appeared already + in the power of death.) +</pre> + <p> + A fever, attended with delirium, for several days deprived Glyndon of + consciousness; and when, by Adela’s care more than the skill of the + physicians, he was restored to life and reason, he was unutterably shocked + by the change in his sister’s appearance; at first, he fondly imagined + that her health, affected by her vigils, would recover with his own. But + he soon saw, with an anguish which partook of remorse, that the malady was + deep-seated,—deep, deep, beyond the reach of Aesculapius and his + drugs. Her imagination, little less lively than his own, was awfully + impressed by the strange confessions she had heard,—by the ravings + of his delirium. Again and again had he shrieked forth, “It is there,—there, + by thy side, my sister!” He had transferred to her fancy the spectre, and + the horror that cursed himself. He perceived this, not by her words, but + her silence; by the eyes that strained into space; by the shiver that came + over her frame; by the start of terror; by the look that did not dare to + turn behind. Bitterly he repented his confession; bitterly he felt that + between his sufferings and human sympathy there could be no gentle and + holy commune; vainly he sought to retract,—to undo what he had done, + to declare all was but the chimera of an overheated brain! + </p> + <p> + And brave and generous was this denial of himself; for, often and often, + as he thus spoke, he saw the Thing of Dread gliding to her side, and + glaring at him as he disowned its being. But what chilled him, if + possible, yet more than her wasting form and trembling nerves, was the + change in her love for him; a natural terror had replaced it. She turned + paler if he approached,—she shuddered if he took her hand. Divided + from the rest of earth, the gulf of the foul remembrance yawned now + between his sister and himself. He could endure no more the presence of + the one whose life HIS life had embittered. He made some excuses for + departure, and writhed to see that they were greeted eagerly. The first + gleam of joy he had detected since that fatal night, on Adela’s face, he + beheld when he murmured “Farewell.” He travelled for some weeks through + the wildest parts of Scotland; scenery which MAKES the artist, was + loveless to his haggard eyes. A letter recalled him to London on the wings + of new agony and fear; he arrived to find his sister in a condition both + of mind and health which exceeded his worst apprehensions. + </p> + <p> + Her vacant look, her lifeless posture, appalled him; it was as one who + gazed on the Medusa’s head, and felt, without a struggle, the human being + gradually harden to the statue. It was not frenzy, it was not idiocy,—it + was an abstraction, an apathy, a sleep in waking. Only as the night + advanced towards the eleventh hour—the hour in which Glyndon had + concluded his tale—she grew visibly uneasy, anxious, and perturbed. + Then her lips muttered; her hands writhed; she looked round with a look of + unspeakable appeal for succour, for protection, and suddenly, as the clock + struck, fell with a shriek to the ground, cold and lifeless. With + difficulty, and not until after the most earnest prayers, did she answer + the agonised questions of Glyndon; at last she owned that at that hour, + and that hour alone, wherever she was placed, however occupied, she + distinctly beheld the apparition of an old hag, who, after thrice knocking + at the door, entered the room, and hobbling up to her with a countenance + distorted by hideous rage and menace, laid its icy fingers on her + forehead: from that moment she declared that sense forsook her; and when + she woke again, it was only to wait, in suspense that froze up her blood, + the repetition of the ghastly visitation. + </p> + <p> + The physician who had been summoned before Glyndon’s return, and whose + letter had recalled him to London, was a commonplace practitioner, + ignorant of the case, and honestly anxious that one more experienced + should be employed. Clarence called in one of the most eminent of the + faculty, and to him he recited the optical delusion of his sister. The + physician listened attentively, and seemed sanguine in his hopes of cure. + He came to the house two hours before the one so dreaded by the patient. + He had quietly arranged that the clocks should be put forward half an + hour, unknown to Adela, and even to her brother. He was a man of the most + extraordinary powers of conversation, of surpassing wit, of all the + faculties that interest and amuse. He first administered to the patient a + harmless potion, which he pledged himself would dispel the delusion. His + confident tone woke her own hopes,—he continued to excite her + attention, to rouse her lethargy; he jested, he laughed away the time. The + hour struck. “Joy, my brother!” she exclaimed, throwing herself in his + arms; “the time is past!” And then, like one released from a spell, she + suddenly assumed more than her ancient cheerfulness. “Ah, Clarence!” she + whispered, “forgive me for my former desertion,—forgive me that I + feared YOU. I shall live!—I shall live! in my turn to banish the + spectre that haunts my brother!” And Clarence smiled and wiped the tears + from his burning eyes. The physician renewed his stories, his jests. In + the midst of a stream of rich humour that seemed to carry away both + brother and sister, Glyndon suddenly saw over Adela’s face the same + fearful change, the same anxious look, the same restless, straining eye, + he had beheld the night before. He rose,—he approached her. Adela + started up, “look—look—look!” she exclaimed. “She comes! Save + me,—save me!” and she fell at his feet in strong convulsions as the + clock, falsely and in vain put forward, struck the half-hour. + </p> + <p> + The physician lifted her in his arms. “My worst fears are confirmed,” he + said gravely; “the disease is epilepsy.” (The most celebrated practitioner + in Dublin related to the editor a story of optical delusion precisely + similar in its circumstances and its physical cause to the one here + narrated.) + </p> + <p> + The next night, at the same hour, Adela Glyndon died. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 5.VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + La loi, dont le regne vous epouvante, a son glaive leve sur vous: + elle vous frappera tous: le genre humain a besoin de cet + exemple.—Couthon. + + (The law, whose reign terrifies you, has its sword raised against + you; it will strike you all: humanity has need of this example.) +</pre> + <p> + “Oh, joy, joy!—thou art come again! This is thy hand—these thy + lips. Say that thou didst not desert me from the love of another; say it + again,—say it ever!—and I will pardon thee all the rest!” + </p> + <p> + “So thou hast mourned for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Mourned!—and thou wert cruel enough to leave me gold; there it is,—there, + untouched!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor child of Nature! how, then, in this strange town of Marseilles, hast + thou found bread and shelter?” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly, soul of my soul! honestly, but yet by the face thou didst once + think so fair; thinkest thou THAT now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Fillide, more fair than ever. But what meanest thou?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a painter here—a great man, one of their great men at + Paris, I know not what they call them; but he rules over all here,—life + and death; and he has paid me largely but to sit for my portrait. It is + for a picture to be given to the Nation, for he paints only for glory. + Think of thy Fillide’s renown!” And the girl’s wild eyes sparkled; her + vanity was roused. “And he would have married me if I would!—divorced + his wife to marry me! But I waited for thee, ungrateful!” + </p> + <p> + A knock at the door was heard,—a man entered. + </p> + <p> + “Nicot!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Glyndon!—hum!—welcome! What! thou art twice my rival! But + Jean Nicot bears no malice. Virtue is my dream,—my country, my + mistress. Serve my country, citizen; and I forgive thee the preference of + beauty. Ca ira! ca ira!” + </p> + <p> + But as the painter spoke, it hymned, it rolled through the streets,—the + fiery song of the Marseillaise! There was a crowd, a multitude, a people + up, abroad, with colours and arms, enthusiasm and song,—with song, + with enthusiasm, with colours and arms! And who could guess that that + martial movement was one, not of war, but massacre,—Frenchmen + against Frenchmen? For there are two parties in Marseilles,—and + ample work for Jourdan Coupe-tete! But this, the Englishman, just arrived, + a stranger to all factions, did not as yet comprehend. He comprehended + nothing but the song, the enthusiasm, the arms, and the colours that + lifted to the sun the glorious lie, “Le peuple Francais, debout contre les + tyrans!” (Up, Frenchmen, against tyrants!) + </p> + <p> + The dark brow of the wretched wanderer grew animated; he gazed from the + window on the throng that marched below, beneath their waving Oriflamme. + They shouted as they beheld the patriot Nicot, the friend of Liberty and + relentless Hebert, by the stranger’s side, at the casement. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, shout again!” cried the painter,—“shout for the brave + Englishman who abjures his Pitts and his Coburgs to be a citizen of + Liberty and France!” + </p> + <p> + A thousand voices rent the air, and the hymn of the Marseillaise rose in + majesty again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and if it be among these high hopes and this brave people that the + phantom is to vanish, and the cure to come!” muttered Glyndon; and he + thought he felt again the elixir sparkling through his veins. + </p> + <p> + “Thou shalt be one of the Convention with Paine and Clootz,—I will + manage it all for thee!” cried Nicot, slapping him on the shoulder: “and + Paris—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, if I could but see Paris!” cried Fillide, in her joyous voice. + Joyous! the whole time, the town, the air—save where, unheard, rose + the cry of agony and the yell of murder—were joy! Sleep unhaunting + in thy grave, cold Adela. Joy, joy! In the Jubilee of Humanity all private + griefs should cease! Behold, wild mariner, the vast whirlpool draws thee + to its stormy bosom! There the individual is not. All things are of the + whole! Open thy gates, fair Paris, for the stranger-citizen! Receive in + your ranks, O meek Republicans, the new champion of liberty, of reason, of + mankind! “Mejnour is right; it was in virtue, in valour, in glorious + struggle for the human race, that the spectre was to shrink to her kindred + darkness.” + </p> + <p> + And Nicot’s shrill voice praised him; and lean Robespierre—“Flambeau, + colonne, pierre angulaire de l’edifice de la Republique!” (“The light, + column, and keystone of the Republic.”—“Lettre du Citoyen P—; + Papiers inedits trouves chez Robespierre,” tom 11, page 127.)—smiled + ominously on him from his bloodshot eyes; and Fillide clasped him with + passionate arms to her tender breast. And at his up-rising and + down-sitting, at board and in bed, though he saw it not, the Nameless One + guided him with the demon eyes to the sea whose waves were gore. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VI. — SUPERSTITION DESERTING FAITH. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Why do I yield to that suggestion, Whose horrid image doth unfix + my hair.—Shakespeare +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Therefore the Genii were painted with a platter full of garlands + and flowers in one hand, and a whip in the other.—Alexander + Ross, “Mystag. Poet.” + </pre> + <p> + According to the order of the events related in this narrative, the + departure of Zanoni and Viola from the Greek isle, in which two happy + years appear to have been passed, must have been somewhat later in date + than the arrival of Glyndon at Marseilles. It must have been in the course + of the year 1791 when Viola fled from Naples with her mysterious lover, + and when Glyndon sought Mejnour in the fatal castle. It is now towards the + close of 1793, when our story again returns to Zanoni. The stars of winter + shone down on the lagunes of Venice. The hum of the Rialto was hushed,—the + last loiterers had deserted the Place of St. Mark’s, and only at distant + intervals might be heard the oars of the rapid gondolas, bearing reveller + or lover to his home. But lights still flitted to and fro across the + windows of one of the Palladian palaces, whose shadow slept in the great + canal; and within the palace watched the twin Eumenides that never sleep + for Man,—Fear and Pain. + </p> + <p> + “I will make thee the richest man in all Venice, if thou savest her.” + </p> + <p> + “Signor,” said the leech; “your gold cannot control death, and the will of + Heaven, signor, unless within the next hour there is some blessed change, + prepare your courage.” + </p> + <p> + Ho—ho, Zanoni! man of mystery and might, who hast walked amidst the + passions of the world, with no changes on thy brow, art thou tossed at + last upon the billows of tempestuous fear? Does thy spirit reel to and + fro?—knowest thou at last the strength and the majesty of Death? + </p> + <p> + He fled, trembling, from the pale-faced man of art,—fled through + stately hall and long-drawn corridor, and gained a remote chamber in the + palace, which other step than his was not permitted to profane. Out with + thy herbs and vessels. Break from the enchanted elements, O silvery-azure + flame! Why comes he not,—the Son of the Starbeam! Why is Adon-Ai + deaf to thy solemn call? It comes not,—the luminous and delightsome + Presence! Cabalist! are thy charms in vain? Has thy throne vanished from + the realms of space? Thou standest pale and trembling. Pale trembler! not + thus didst thou look when the things of glory gathered at thy spell. Never + to the pale trembler bow the things of glory: the soul, and not the herbs, + nor the silvery-azure flame, nor the spells of the Cabala, commands the + children of the air; and THY soul, by Love and Death, is made sceptreless + and discrowned! + </p> + <p> + At length the flame quivers,—the air grows cold as the wind in + charnels. A thing not of earth is present,—a mistlike, formless + thing. It cowers in the distance,—a silent Horror! it rises; it + creeps; it nears thee—dark in its mantle of dusky haze; and under + its veil it looks on thee with its livid, malignant eyes,—the thing + of malignant eyes! + </p> + <p> + “Ha, young Chaldean! young in thy countless ages,—young as when, + cold to pleasure and to beauty, thou stoodest on the old Firetower, and + heardest the starry silence whisper to thee the last mystery that baffles + Death,—fearest thou Death at length? Is thy knowledge but a circle + that brings thee back whence thy wanderings began! Generations on + generations have withered since we two met! Lo! thou beholdest me now!” + </p> + <p> + “But I behold thee without fear! Though beneath thine eyes thousands have + perished; though, where they burn, spring up the foul poisons of the human + heart, and to those whom thou canst subject to thy will, thy presence + glares in the dreams of the raving maniac, or blackens the dungeon of + despairing crime, thou art not my vanquisher, but my slave!” + </p> + <p> + “And as a slave will I serve thee! Command thy slave, O beautiful + Chaldean! Hark, the wail of women!—hark, the sharp shriek of thy + beloved one! Death is in thy palace! Adon-Ai comes not to thy call. Only + where no cloud of the passion and the flesh veils the eye of the Serene + Intelligence can the Sons of the Starbeam glide to man. But <i>I</i> can + aid thee!—hark!” And Zanoni heard distinctly in his heart, even at + that distance from the chamber, the voice of Viola calling in delirium on + her beloved one. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Viola, I can save thee not!” exclaimed the seer, passionately; “my + love for thee has made me powerless!” + </p> + <p> + “Not powerless; I can gift thee with the art to save her,—I can + place healing in thy hand!” + </p> + <p> + “For both?—child and mother,—for both?” + </p> + <p> + “Both!” + </p> + <p> + A convulsion shook the limbs of the seer,—a mighty struggle shook + him as a child: the Humanity and the Hour conquered the repugnant spirit. + </p> + <p> + “I yield! Mother and child—save both!” + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + In the dark chamber lay Viola, in the sharpest agonies of travail; life + seemed rending itself away in the groans and cries that spoke of pain in + the midst of frenzy; and still, in groan and cry, she called on Zanoni, + her beloved. The physician looked to the clock; on it beat: the Heart of + Time,—regularly and slowly,—Heart that never sympathised with + Life, and never flagged for Death! “The cries are fainter,” said the + leech; “in ten minutes more all will be past.” + </p> + <p> + Fool! the minutes laugh at thee; Nature, even now, like a blue sky through + a shattered temple, is smiling through the tortured frame. The breathing + grows more calm and hushed; the voice of delirium is dumb,—a sweet + dream has come to Viola. Is it a dream, or is it the soul that sees? She + thinks suddenly that she is with Zanoni, that her burning head is pillowed + on his bosom; she thinks, as he gazes on her, that his eyes dispel the + tortures that prey upon her,—the touch of his hand cools the fever + on her brow; she hears his voice in murmurs,—it is a music from + which the fiends fly. Where is the mountain that seemed to press upon her + temples? Like a vapour, it rolls away. In the frosts of the winter night, + she sees the sun laughing in luxurious heaven,—she hears the whisper + of green leaves; the beautiful world, valley and stream and woodland, lie + before, and with a common voice speak to her, “We are not yet past for + thee!” Fool of drugs and formula, look to thy dial-plate!—the hand + has moved on; the minutes are with Eternity; the soul thy sentence would + have dismissed, still dwells on the shores of Time. She sleeps: the fever + abates; the convulsions are gone; the living rose blooms upon her cheek; + the crisis is past! Husband, thy wife lives; lover, thy universe is no + solitude! Heart of Time, beat on! A while, a little while,—joy! joy! + joy!—father, embrace thy child! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0057" id="link2HCH0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tristis Erinnys + Praetulit infaustas sanguinolenta faces. + Ovid. + + (Erinnys, doleful and bloody, extends the unblessed torches.) +</pre> + <p> + And they placed the child in the father’s arms! As silently he bent over + it, tears—tears, how human!—fell from his eyes like rain! And + the little one smiled through the tears that bathed its cheeks! Ah, with + what happy tears we welcome the stranger into our sorrowing world! With + what agonising tears we dismiss the stranger back to the angels! Unselfish + joy; but how selfish is the sorrow! + </p> + <p> + And now through the silent chamber a faint sweet voice is heard,—the + young mother’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “I am here: I am by thy side!” murmured Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + The mother smiled, and clasped his hand, and asked no more; she was + contented. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + Viola recovered with a rapidity that startled the physician; and the young + stranger thrived as if it already loved the world to which it had + descended. From that hour Zanoni seemed to live in the infant’s life, and + in that life the souls of mother and father met as in a new bond. Nothing + more beautiful than this infant had eye ever dwelt upon. It was strange to + the nurses that it came not wailing to the light, but smiled to the light + as a thing familiar to it before. It never uttered one cry of childish + pain. In its very repose it seemed to be listening to some happy voice + within its heart: it seemed itself so happy. In its eyes you would have + thought intellect already kindled, though it had not yet found a language. + Already it seemed to recognise its parents; already it stretched forth its + arms when Zanoni bent over the bed, in which it breathed and bloomed,—the + budding flower! And from that bed he was rarely absent: gazing upon it + with his serene, delighted eyes, his soul seemed to feed its own. At night + and in utter darkness he was still there; and Viola often heard him + murmuring over it as she lay in a half-sleep. But the murmur was in a + language strange to her; and sometimes when she heard she feared, and + vague, undefined superstitions came back to her,—the superstitions + of earlier youth. A mother fears everything, even the gods, for her + new-born. The mortals shrieked aloud when of old they saw the great + Demeter seeking to make their child immortal. + </p> + <p> + But Zanoni, wrapped in the sublime designs that animated the human love to + which he was now awakened, forgot all, even all he had forfeited or + incurred, in the love that blinded him. + </p> + <p> + But the dark, formless thing, though he nor invoked nor saw it, crept, + often, round and round him, and often sat by the infant’s couch, with its + hateful eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0058" id="link2HCH0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fuscis tellurem amplectitur alis. + Virgil. + + (Embraces the Earth with gloomy wings.) +</pre> + <p> + Letter from Zanoni to Mejnour. + </p> + <p> + Mejnour, Humanity, with all its sorrows and its joys, is mine once more. + Day by day, I am forging my own fetters. I live in other lives than my + own, and in them I have lost more than half my empire. Not lifting them + aloft, they drag me by the strong bands of the affections to their own + earth. Exiled from the beings only visible to the most abstract sense, the + grim Enemy that guards the Threshold has entangled me in its web. Canst + thou credit me, when I tell thee that I have accepted its gifts, and + endure the forfeit? Ages must pass ere the brighter beings can again obey + the spirit that has bowed to the ghastly one! And— + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + In this hope, then, Mejnour, I triumph still; I yet have supreme power + over this young life. Insensibly and inaudibly my soul speaks to its own, + and prepares it even now. Thou knowest that for the pure and unsullied + infant spirit, the ordeal has no terror and no peril. Thus unceasingly I + nourish it with no unholy light; and ere it yet be conscious of the gift, + it will gain the privileges it has been mine to attain: the child, by slow + and scarce-seen degrees, will communicate its own attributes to the + mother; and content to see Youth forever radiant on the brows of the two + that now suffice to fill up my whole infinity of thought, shall I regret + the airier kingdom that vanishes hourly from my grasp? But thou, whose + vision is still clear and serene, look into the far deeps shut from my + gaze, and counsel me, or forewarn! I know that the gifts of the Being + whose race is so hostile to our own are, to the common seeker, fatal and + perfidious as itself. And hence, when, at the outskirts of knowledge, + which in earlier ages men called Magic, they encountered the things of the + hostile tribes, they believed the apparitions to be fiends, and, by + fancied compacts, imagined they had signed away their souls; as if man + could give for an eternity that over which he has control but while he + lives! Dark, and shrouded forever from human sight, dwell the demon + rebels, in their impenetrable realm; in them is no breath of the Divine + One. In every human creature the Divine One breathes; and He alone can + judge His own hereafter, and allot its new career and home. Could man sell + himself to the fiend, man could prejudge himself, and arrogate the + disposal of eternity! But these creatures, modifications as they are of + matter, and some with more than the malignanty of man, may well seem, to + fear and unreasoning superstition, the representatives of fiends. And from + the darkest and mightiest of them I have accepted a boon,—the secret + that startled Death from those so dear to me. Can I not trust that enough + of power yet remains to me to baffle or to daunt the Phantom, if it seek + to pervert the gift? Answer me, Mejnour, for in the darkness that veils + me, I see only the pure eyes of the new-born; I hear only the low beating + of my heart. Answer me, thou whose wisdom is without love! + </p> + <p> + Mejnour to Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + Rome. + </p> + <p> + Fallen One!—I see before thee Evil and Death and Woe! Thou to have + relinquished Adon-Ai for the nameless Terror,—the heavenly stars for + those fearful eyes! Thou, at the last to be the victim of the Larva of the + dreary Threshold, that, in thy first novitiate, fled, withered and + shrivelled, from thy kingly brow! When, at the primary grades of + initiation, the pupil I took from thee on the shores of the changed + Parthenope, fell senseless and cowering before that Phantom-Darkness, I + knew that his spirit was not formed to front the worlds beyond; for FEAR + is the attraction of man to earthiest earth, and while he fears, he cannot + soar. But THOU, seest thou not that to love is but to fear; seest thou not + that the power of which thou boastest over the malignant one is already + gone? It awes, it masters thee; it will mock thee and betray. Lose not a + moment; come to me. If there can yet be sufficient sympathy between us, + through MY eyes shalt thou see, and perhaps guard against the perils that, + shapeless yet, and looming through the shadow, marshal themselves around + thee and those whom thy very love has doomed. Come from all the ties of + thy fond humanity; they will but obscure thy vision! Come forth from thy + fears and hopes, thy desires and passions. Come, as alone Mind can be the + monarch and the seer, shining through the home it tenants,—a pure, + impressionless, sublime intelligence! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0059" id="link2HCH0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Plus que vous ne pensez ce moment est terrible. + La Harpe, “Le Comte de Warwick,” Act 3, sc. 5. + + (The moment is more terrible than you think.) +</pre> + <p> + For the first time since their union, Zanoni and Viola were separated,—Zanoni + went to Rome on important business. “It was,” he said, “but for a few + days;” and he went so suddenly that there was little time either for + surprise or sorrow. But first parting is always more melancholy than it + need be: it seems an interruption to the existence which Love shares with + Love; it makes the heart feel what a void life will be when the last + parting shall succeed, as succeed it must, the first. But Viola had a new + companion; she was enjoying that most delicious novelty which ever renews + the youth and dazzles the eyes of woman. As the mistress—the wife—she + leans on another; from another are reflected her happiness, her being,—as + an orb that takes light from its sun. But now, in turn, as the mother, she + is raised from dependence into power; it is another that leans on her,—a + star has sprung into space, to which she herself has become the sun! + </p> + <p> + A few days,—but they will be sweet through the sorrow! A few days,—every + hour of which seems an era to the infant, over whom bend watchful the eyes + and the heart. From its waking to its sleep, from its sleep to its waking, + is a revolution in Time. Every gesture to be noted,—every smile to + seem a new progress into the world it has come to bless! Zanoni has gone,—the + last dash of the oar is lost, the last speck of the gondola has vanished + from the ocean-streets of Venice! Her infant is sleeping in the cradle at + the mother’s feet; and she thinks through her tears what tales of the + fairy-land, that spreads far and wide, with a thousand wonders, in that + narrow bed, she shall have to tell the father! Smile on, weep on, young + mother! Already the fairest leaf in the wild volume is closed for thee, + and the invisible finger turns the page! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + By the bridge of the Rialto stood two Venetians—ardent Republicans + and Democrats—looking to the Revolution of France as the earthquake + which must shatter their own expiring and vicious constitution, and give + equality of ranks and rights to Venice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Cottalto,” said one; “my correspondent of Paris has promised to + elude all obstacles, and baffle all danger. He will arrange with us the + hour of revolt, when the legions of France shall be within hearing of our + guns. One day in this week, at this hour, he is to meet me here. This is + but the fourth day.” + </p> + <p> + He had scarce said these words before a man, wrapped in his roquelaire, + emerging from one of the narrow streets to the left, halted opposite the + pair, and eying them for a few moments with an earnest scrutiny, + whispered, “Salut!” + </p> + <p> + “Et fraternite,” answered the speaker. + </p> + <p> + “You, then, are the brave Dandolo with whom the Comite deputed me to + correspond? And this citizen—” + </p> + <p> + “Is Cottalto, whom my letters have so often mentioned.” (I know not if the + author of the original MSS. designs, under these names, to introduce the + real Cottalto and the true Dandolo, who, in 1797, distinguished themselves + by their sympathy with the French, and their democratic ardor.—Ed.) + </p> + <p> + “Health and brotherhood to him! I have much to impart to you both. I will + meet you at night, Dandolo. But in the streets we may be observed.” + </p> + <p> + “And I dare not appoint my own house; tyranny makes spies of our very + walls. But the place herein designated is secure;” and he slipped an + address into the hand of his correspondent. + </p> + <p> + “To-night, then, at nine! Meanwhile I have other business.” The man + paused, his colour changed, and it was with an eager and passionate voice + that he resumed,— + </p> + <p> + “Your last letter mentioned this wealthy and mysterious visitor,—this + Zanoni. He is still at Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard that he had left this morning; but his wife is still here.” + </p> + <p> + “His wife!—that is well!” + </p> + <p> + “What know you of him? Think you that he would join us? His wealth would + be—” + </p> + <p> + “His house, his address,—quick!” interrupted the man. + </p> + <p> + “The Palazzo di —, on the Grand Canal.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you,—at nine we meet.” + </p> + <p> + The man hurried on through the street from which he had emerged; and, + passing by the house in which he had taken up his lodging (he had arrived + at Venice the night before), a woman who stood by the door caught his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said in French, “I have been watching for your return. Do + you understand me? I will brave all, risk all, to go back with you to + France,—to stand, through life or in death, by my husband’s side!” + </p> + <p> + “Citoyenne, I promised your husband that, if such your choice, I would + hazard my own safety to aid it. But think again! Your husband is one of + the faction which Robespierre’s eyes have already marked; he cannot fly. + All France is become a prison to the ‘suspect.’ You do not endanger + yourself by return. Frankly, citoyenne, the fate you would share may be + the guillotine. I speak (as you know by his letter) as your husband bade + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I will return with you,” said the woman, with a smile upon her + pale face. + </p> + <p> + “And yet you deserted your husband in the fair sunshine of the Revolution, + to return to him amidst its storms and thunder,” said the man, in a tone + half of wonder, half rebuke. + </p> + <p> + “Because my father’s days were doomed; because he had no safety but in + flight to a foreign land; because he was old and penniless, and had none + but me to work for him; because my husband was not then in danger, and my + father was! HE is dead—dead! My husband is in danger now. The + daughter’s duties are no more,—the wife’s return!” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so, citoyenne; on the third night I depart. Before then you may + retract your choice.” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” + </p> + <p> + A dark smile passed over the man’s face. + </p> + <p> + “O guillotine!” he said, “how many virtues hast thou brought to light! + Well may they call thee ‘A Holy Mother!’ O gory guillotine!” + </p> + <p> + He passed on muttering to himself, hailed a gondola, and was soon amidst + the crowded waters of the Grand Canal. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0060" id="link2HCH0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ce que j’ignore + Est plus triste peut-etre et plus affreux encore. + La Harpe, “Le Comte de Warwick,” Act 5, sc. 1. + + (That which I know not is, perhaps, more sad and fearful still.) +</pre> + <p> + The casement stood open, and Viola was seated by it. Beneath sparkled the + broad waters in the cold but cloudless sunlight; and to that fair form, + that half-averted face, turned the eyes of many a gallant cavalier, as + their gondolas glided by. + </p> + <p> + But at last, in the centre of the canal, one of these dark vessels halted + motionless, as a man fixed his gaze from its lattice upon that stately + palace. He gave the word to the rowers,—the vessel approached the + marge. The stranger quitted the gondola; he passed up the broad stairs; he + entered the palace. Weep on, smile no more, young mother!—the last + page is turned! + </p> + <p> + An attendant entered the room, and gave to Viola a card, with these words + in English, “Viola, I must see you! Clarence Glyndon.” + </p> + <p> + Oh, yes, how gladly Viola would see him; how gladly speak to him of her + happiness, of Zanoni!—how gladly show to him her child! Poor + Clarence! she had forgotten him till now, as she had all the fever of her + earlier life,—its dreams, its vanities, its poor excitement, the + lamps of the gaudy theatre, the applause of the noisy crowd. + </p> + <p> + He entered. She started to behold him, so changed were his gloomy brow, + his resolute, careworn features, from the graceful form and careless + countenance of the artist-lover. His dress, though not mean, was rude, + neglected, and disordered. A wild, desperate, half-savage air had + supplanted that ingenuous mien, diffident in its grace, earnest in its + diffidence, which had once characterised the young worshipper of Art, the + dreaming aspirant after some starrier lore. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you?” she said at last. “Poor Clarence, how changed!” + </p> + <p> + “Changed!” he said abruptly, as he placed himself by her side. “And whom + am I to thank, but the fiends—the sorcerers—who have seized + upon thy existence, as upon mine? Viola, hear me. A few weeks since the + news reached me that you were in Venice. Under other pretences, and + through innumerable dangers, I have come hither, risking liberty, perhaps + life, if my name and career are known in Venice, to warn and save you. + Changed, you call me!—changed without; but what is that to the + ravages within? Be warned, be warned in time!” + </p> + <p> + The voice of Glyndon, sounding hollow and sepulchral, alarmed Viola even + more than his words. Pale, haggard, emaciated, he seemed almost as one + risen from the dead, to appall and awe her. “What,” she said, at last, in + a faltering voice,—“what wild words do you utter! Can you—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” interrupted Glyndon, laying his hand upon her arm, and its touch + was as cold as death,—“listen! You have heard of the old stories of + men who have leagued themselves with devils for the attainment of + preternatural powers. Those stories are not fables. Such men live. Their + delight is to increase the unhallowed circle of wretches like themselves. + If their proselytes fail in the ordeal, the demon seizes them, even in + this life, as it hath seized me!—if they succeed, woe, yea, a more + lasting woe! There is another life, where no spells can charm the evil + one, or allay the torture. I have come from a scene where blood flows in + rivers,—where Death stands by the side of the bravest and the + highest, and the one monarch is the Guillotine; but all the mortal perils + with which men can be beset, are nothing to the dreariness of the chamber + where the Horror that passes death moves and stirs!” + </p> + <p> + It was then that Glyndon, with a cold and distinct precision, detailed, as + he had done to Adela, the initiation through which he had gone. He + described, in words that froze the blood of his listener, the appearance + of that formless phantom, with the eyes that seared the brain and + congealed the marrow of those who beheld. Once seen, it never was to be + exorcised. It came at its own will, prompting black thoughts,—whispering + strange temptations. Only in scenes of turbulent excitement was it absent! + Solitude, serenity, the struggling desires after peace and virtue,—THESE + were the elements it loved to haunt! Bewildered, terror-stricken, the wild + account confirmed by the dim impressions that never, in the depth and + confidence of affection, had been closely examined, but rather banished as + soon as felt,—that the life and attributes of Zanoni were not like + those of mortals,—impressions which her own love had made her + hitherto censure as suspicions that wronged, and which, thus mitigated, + had perhaps only served to rivet the fascinated chains in which he bound + her heart and senses, but which now, as Glyndon’s awful narrative filled + her with contagious dread, half unbound the very spells they had woven + before,—Viola started up in fear, not for HERSELF, and clasped her + child in her arms! + </p> + <p> + “Unhappiest one!” cried Glyndon, shuddering, “hast thou indeed given birth + to a victim thou canst not save? Refuse it sustenance,—let it look + to thee in vain for food! In the grave, at least, there are repose and + peace!” + </p> + <p> + Then there came back to Viola’s mind the remembrance of Zanoni’s + night-long watches by that cradle, and the fear which even then had crept + over her as she heard his murmured half-chanted words. And as the child + looked at her with its clear, steadfast eye, in the strange intelligence + of that look there was something that only confirmed her awe. So there + both Mother and Forewarner stood in silence,—the sun smiling upon + them through the casement, and dark by the cradle, though they saw it not, + sat the motionless, veiled Thing! + </p> + <p> + But by degrees better and juster and more grateful memories of the past + returned to the young mother. The features of the infant, as she gazed, + took the aspect of the absent father. A voice seemed to break from those + rosy lips, and say, mournfully, “I speak to thee in thy child. In return + for all my love for thee and thine, dost thou distrust me, at the first + sentence of a maniac who accuses?” + </p> + <p> + Her breast heaved, her stature rose, her eyes shone with a serene and holy + light. + </p> + <p> + “Go, poor victim of thine own delusions,” she said to Glyndon; “I would + not believe mine own senses, if they accused ITS father! And what knowest + thou of Zanoni? What relation have Mejnour and the grisly spectres he + invoked, with the radiant image with which thou wouldst connect them?” + </p> + <p> + “Thou wilt learn too soon,” replied Glyndon, gloomily. “And the very + phantom that haunts me, whispers, with its bloodless lips, that its + horrors await both thine and thee! I take not thy decision yet; before I + leave Venice we shall meet again.” + </p> + <p> + He said, and departed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0061" id="link2HCH0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Quel est l’egarement ou ton ame se livre? + La Harpe, “Le Comte de Warwick,” Act 4, sc. 4. + + (To what delusion does thy soul abandon itself?) +</pre> + <p> + Alas, Zanoni! the aspirer, the dark, bright one!—didst thou think + that the bond between the survivor of ages and the daughter of a day could + endure? Didst thou not foresee that, until the ordeal was past, there + could be no equality between thy wisdom and her love? Art thou absent now + seeking amidst thy solemn secrets the solemn safeguards for child and + mother, and forgettest thou that the phantom that served thee hath power + over its own gifts,—over the lives it taught thee to rescue from the + grave? Dost thou not know that Fear and Distrust, once sown in the heart + of Love, spring up from the seed into a forest that excludes the stars? + Dark, bright one! the hateful eyes glare beside the mother and the child! + </p> + <p> + All that day Viola was distracted by a thousand thoughts and terrors, + which fled as she examined them to settle back the darklier. She + remembered that, as she had once said to Glyndon, her very childhood had + been haunted with strange forebodings, that she was ordained for some + preternatural doom. She remembered that, as she had told him this, sitting + by the seas that slumbered in the arms of the Bay of Naples, he, too, had + acknowledged the same forebodings, and a mysterious sympathy had appeared + to unite their fates. She remembered, above all, that, comparing their + entangled thoughts, both had then said, that with the first sight of + Zanoni the foreboding, the instinct, had spoken to their hearts more + audibly than before, whispering that “with HIM was connected the secret of + the unconjectured life.” + </p> + <p> + And now, when Glyndon and Viola met again, the haunting fears of + childhood, thus referred to, woke from their enchanted sleep. With + Glyndon’s terror she felt a sympathy, against which her reason and her + love struggled in vain. And still, when she turned her looks upon her + child, it watched her with that steady, earnest eye, and its lips moved as + if it sought to speak to her,—but no sound came. The infant refused + to sleep. Whenever she gazed upon its face, still those wakeful, watchful + eyes!—and in their earnestness, there spoke something of pain, of + upbraiding, of accusation. They chilled her as she looked. Unable to + endure, of herself, this sudden and complete revulsion of all the feelings + which had hitherto made up her life, she formed the resolution natural to + her land and creed; she sent for the priest who had habitually attended + her at Venice, and to him she confessed, with passionate sobs and intense + terror, the doubts that had broken upon her. The good father, a worthy and + pious man, but with little education and less sense, one who held (as many + of the lower Italians do to this day) even a poet to be a sort of + sorcerer, seemed to shut the gates of hope upon her heart. His + remonstrances were urgent, for his horror was unfeigned. He joined with + Glyndon in imploring her to fly, if she felt the smallest doubt that her + husband’s pursuits were of the nature which the Roman Church had + benevolently burned so many scholars for adopting. And even the little + that Viola could communicate seemed, to the ignorant ascetic, irrefragable + proof of sorcery and witchcraft; he had, indeed, previously heard some of + the strange rumours which followed the path of Zanoni, and was therefore + prepared to believe the worst; the worthy Bartolomeo would have made no + bones of sending Watt to the stake, had he heard him speak of the + steam-engine. But Viola, as untutored as himself, was terrified by his + rough and vehement eloquence,—terrified, for by that penetration + which Catholic priests, however dull, generally acquire, in their vast + experience of the human heart hourly exposed to their probe, Bartolomeo + spoke less of danger to herself than to her child. “Sorcerers,” said he, + “have ever sought the most to decoy and seduce the souls of the young,—nay, + the infant;” and therewith he entered into a long catalogue of legendary + fables, which he quoted as historical facts. All at which an English woman + would have smiled, appalled the tender but superstitious Neapolitan; and + when the priest left her, with solemn rebukes and grave accusations of a + dereliction of her duties to her child, if she hesitated to fly with it + from an abode polluted by the darker powers and unhallowed arts, Viola, + still clinging to the image of Zanoni, sank into a passive lethargy which + held her very reason in suspense. + </p> + <p> + The hours passed: night came on; the house was hushed; and Viola, slowly + awakened from the numbness and torpor which had usurped her faculties, + tossed to and fro on her couch, restless and perturbed. The stillness + became intolerable; yet more intolerable the sound that alone broke it, + the voice of the clock, knelling moment after moment to its grave. The + moments, at last, seemed themselves to find voice,—to gain shape. + She thought she beheld them springing, wan and fairy-like, from the womb + of darkness; and ere they fell again, extinguished, into that womb, their + grave, their low small voices murmured, “Woman, we report to eternity all + that is done in time! What shall we report of thee, O guardian of a + new-born soul?” She became sensible that her fancies had brought a sort of + partial delirium, that she was in a state between sleep and waking, when + suddenly one thought became more predominant than the rest. The chamber + which, in that and every house they had inhabited, even that in the Greek + isles, Zanoni had set apart to a solitude on which none might intrude, the + threshold of which even Viola’s step was forbid to cross, and never, + hitherto, in that sweet repose of confidence which belongs to contented + love, had she even felt the curious desire to disobey,—now, that + chamber drew her towards it. Perhaps THERE might be found a somewhat to + solve the riddle, to dispel or confirm the doubt: that thought grew and + deepened in its intenseness; it fastened on her as with a palpable and + irresistible grasp; it seemed to raise her limbs without her will. + </p> + <p> + And now, through the chamber, along the galleries thou glidest, O lovely + shape! sleep-walking, yet awake. The moon shines on thee as thou glidest + by, casement after casement, white-robed and wandering spirit!—thine + arms crossed upon thy bosom, thine eyes fixed and open, with a calm + unfearing awe. Mother, it is thy child that leads thee on! The fairy + moments go before thee; thou hearest still the clock-knell tolling them to + their graves behind. On, gliding on, thou hast gained the door; no lock + bars thee, no magic spell drives thee back. Daughter of the dust, thou + standest alone with night in the chamber where, pale and numberless, the + hosts of space have gathered round the seer! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0062" id="link2HCH0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Des Erdenlebens + Schweres Traumbild sinkt, und sinkt, und sinkt. + “Das Ideal und das Lebens.” + + (The Dream Shape of the heavy earthly life sinks, and sinks, and + sinks.) +</pre> + <p> + She stood within the chamber, and gazed around her; no signs by which an + inquisitor of old could have detected the scholar of the Black Art were + visible. No crucibles and caldrons, no brass-bound volumes and ciphered + girdles, no skulls and cross-bones. Quietly streamed the broad moonlight + through the desolate chamber with its bare, white walls. A few bunches of + withered herbs, a few antique vessels of bronze, placed carelessly on a + wooden form, were all which that curious gaze could identify with the + pursuits of the absent owner. The magic, if it existed, dwelt in the + artificer, and the materials, to other hands, were but herbs and bronze. + So is it ever with thy works and wonders, O Genius,—Seeker of the + Stars! Words themselves are the common property of all men; yet, from + words themselves, Thou Architect of Immortalities, pilest up temples that + shall outlive the Pyramids, and the very leaf of the Papyrus becomes a + Shinar, stately with towers, round which the Deluge of Ages, shall roar in + vain! + </p> + <p> + But in that solitude has the Presence that there had invoked its wonders + left no enchantment of its own? It seemed so; for as Viola stood in the + chamber, she became sensible that some mysterious change was at work + within herself. Her blood coursed rapidly, and with a sensation of + delight, through her veins,—she felt as if chains were falling from + her limbs, as if cloud after cloud was rolling from her gaze. All the + confused thoughts which had moved through her trance settled and centred + themselves in one intense desire to see the Absent One,—to be with + him. The monads that make up space and air seemed charged with a spiritual + attraction,—to become a medium through which her spirit could pass + from its clay, and confer with the spirit to which the unutterable desire + compelled it. A faintness seized her; she tottered to the seat on which + the vessels and herbs were placed, and, as she bent down, she saw in one + of the vessels a small vase of crystal. By a mechanical and involuntary + impulse, her hand seized the vase; she opened it, and the volatile essence + it contained sparkled up, and spread through the room a powerful and + delicious fragrance. She inhaled the odour, she laved her temples with the + liquid, and suddenly her life seemed to spring up from the previous + faintness,—to spring, to soar, to float, to dilate upon the wings of + a bird. The room vanished from her eyes. Away, away, over lands and seas + and space on the rushing desire flies the disprisoned mind! + </p> + <p> + Upon a stratum, not of this world, stood the world-born shapes of the sons + of Science, upon an embryo world, upon a crude, wan, attenuated mass of + matter, one of the Nebulae, which the suns of the myriad systems throw off + as they roll round the Creator’s throne*, to become themselves new worlds + of symmetry and glory,—planets and suns that forever and forever + shall in their turn multiply their shining race, and be the fathers of + suns and planets yet to come. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (*"Astronomy instructs us that, in the original condition of + the solar system, the sun was the nucleus of a nebulosity or + luminous mass which revolved on its axis, and extended far + beyond the orbits of all the planets,—the planets as yet + having no existence. Its temperature gradually diminished, + and, becoming contracted by cooling, the rotation increased + in rapidity, and zones of nebulosity were successively + thrown off, in consequence of the centrifugal force + overpowering the central attraction. The condensation of + these separate masses constituted the planets and + satellites. But this view of the conversion of gaseous + matter into planetary bodies is not limited to our own + system; it extends to the formation of the innumerable suns + and worlds which are distributed throughout the universe. + The sublime discoveries of modern astronomers have shown + that every part of the realms of space abounds in large + expansions of attenuated matter termed nebulae, which are + irregularly reflective of light, of various figures, and in + different states of condensation, from that of a diffused, + luminous mass to suns and planets like our own.”—From + Mantell’s eloquent and delightful work, entitled “The + Wonders of Geology,” volume i. page 22.) +</pre> + <p> + There, in that enormous solitude of an infant world, which thousands and + thousands of years can alone ripen into form, the spirit of Viola beheld + the shape of Zanoni, or rather the likeness, the simulacrun, the LEMUR of + his shape, not its human and corporeal substance,—as if, like hers, + the Intelligence was parted from the Clay,—and as the sun, while it + revolves and glows, had cast off into remotest space that nebular image of + itself, so the thing of earth, in the action of its more luminous and + enduring being, had thrown its likeness into that new-born stranger of the + heavens. There stood the phantom,—a phantom Mejnour, by its side. In + the gigantic chaos around raved and struggled the kindling elements; water + and fire, darkness and light, at war,—vapour and cloud hardening + into mountains, and the Breath of Life moving like a steadfast splendour + over all. + </p> + <p> + As the dreamer looked, and shivered, she beheld that even there the two + phantoms of humanity were not alone. Dim monster-forms that that + disordered chaos alone could engender, the first reptile Colossal race + that wreathe and crawl through the earliest stratum of a world labouring + into life, coiled in the oozing matter or hovered through the meteorous + vapours. But these the two seekers seemed not to heed; their gaze was + fixed intent upon an object in the farthest space. With the eyes of the + spirit, Viola followed theirs; with a terror far greater than the chaos + and its hideous inhabitants produced, she beheld a shadowy likeness of the + very room in which her form yet dwelt, its white walls, the moonshine + sleeping on its floor, its open casement, with the quiet roofs and domes + of Venice looming over the sea that sighed below,—and in that room + the ghost-like image of herself! This double phantom—here herself a + phantom, gazing there upon a phantom-self—had in it a horror which + no words can tell, no length of life forego. + </p> + <p> + But presently she saw this image of herself rise slowly, leave the room + with its noiseless feet: it passes the corridor, it kneels by a cradle! + Heaven of Heaven! She beholds her child!—still with its wondrous, + child-like beauty and its silent, wakeful eyes. But beside that cradle + there sits cowering a mantled, shadowy form,—the more fearful and + ghastly from its indistinct and unsubstantial gloom. The walls of that + chamber seem to open as the scene of a theatre. A grim dungeon; streets + through which pour shadowy crowds; wrath and hatred, and the aspect of + demons in their ghastly visages; a place of death; a murderous instrument; + a shamble-house of human flesh; herself; her child;—all, all, rapid + phantasmagoria, chased each other. Suddenly the phantom-Zanoni turned, it + seemed to perceive herself,—her second self. It sprang towards her; + her spirit could bear no more. She shrieked, she woke. She found that in + truth she had left that dismal chamber; the cradle was before her, the + child! all—all as that trance had seen it; and, vanishing into air, + even that dark, formless Thing! + </p> + <p> + “My child! my child! thy mother shall save thee yet!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0063" id="link2HCH0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Qui? Toi m’abandonner! Ou vas-tu? Non! demeure, + Demeure! + La Harpe, “Le Comte de Warwick,” Act 3, sc. 5. + + (Who? THOU abandon me!—where goest thou? No! stay, stay!) +</pre> + <p> + Letter from Viola to Zanoni. + </p> + <p> + “It has come to this!—I am the first to part! I, the unfaithful one, + bid thee farewell forever. When thine eyes fall upon this writing thou + wilt know me as one of the dead. For thou that wert, and still art my + life,—I am lost to thee! O lover! O husband! O still worshipped and + adored! if thou hast ever loved me, if thou canst still pity, seek not to + discover the steps that fly thee. If thy charms can detect and tract me, + spare me, spare our child! Zanoni, I will rear it to love thee, to call + thee father! Zanoni, its young lips shall pray for thee! Ah, spare thy + child, for infants are the saints of earth, and their mediation may be + heard on high! Shall I tell thee why I part? No; thou, the + wisely-terrible, canst divine what the hand trembles to record; and while + I shudder at thy power,—while it is thy power I fly (our child upon + my bosom),—it comforts me still to think that thy power can read the + heart! Thou knowest that it is the faithful mother that writes to thee, it + is not the faithless wife! Is there sin in thy knowledge, Zanoni? Sin must + have sorrow: and it were sweet—oh, how sweet—to be thy + comforter. But the child, the infant, the soul that looks to mine for its + shield!—magician, I wrest from thee that soul! Pardon, pardon, if my + words wrong thee. See, I fall on my knees to write the rest! + </p> + <p> + “Why did I never recoil before from thy mysterious lore; why did the very + strangeness of thine unearthly life only fascinate me with a delightful + fear? Because, if thou wert sorcerer or angel-demon, there was no peril to + other but myself: and none to me, for my love was my heavenliest part; and + my ignorance in all things, except the art to love thee, repelled every + thought that was not bright and glorious as thine image to my eyes. But + NOW there is another! Look! why does it watch me thus,—why that + never-sleeping, earnest, rebuking gaze? Have thy spells encompassed it + already? Hast thou marked it, cruel one, for the terrors of thy + unutterable art? Do not madden me,—do not madden me!—unbind + the spell! + </p> + <p> + “Hark! the oars without! They come,—they come, to bear me from thee! + I look round, and methinks that I see thee everywhere. Thou speakest to me + from every shadow, from every star. There, by the casement, thy lips last + pressed mine; there, there by that threshold didst thou turn again, and + thy smile seemed so trustingly to confide in me! Zanoni—husband!—I + will stay! I cannot part from thee! No, no! I will go to the room where + thy dear voice, with its gentle music, assuaged the pangs of travail!—where, + heard through the thrilling darkness, it first whispered to my ear, + ‘Viola, thou art a mother!’ A mother!—yes, I rise from my knees,—I + AM a mother! They come! I am firm; farewell!” + </p> + <p> + Yes; thus suddenly, thus cruelly, whether in the delirium of blind and + unreasoning superstition, or in the resolve of that conviction which + springs from duty, the being for whom he had resigned so much of empire + and of glory forsook Zanoni. This desertion, never foreseen, never + anticipated, was yet but the constant fate that attends those who would + place Mind BEYOND the earth, and yet treasure the Heart WITHIN it. + Ignorance everlastingly shall recoil from knowledge. But never yet, from + nobler and purer motives of self-sacrifice, did human love link itself to + another, than did the forsaking wife now abandon the absent. For rightly + had she said that it was not the faithless wife, it WAS the faithful + mother that fled from all in which her earthly happiness was centred. + </p> + <p> + As long as the passion and fervour that impelled the act animated her with + false fever, she clasped her infant to her breast, and was consoled,—resigned. + But what bitter doubt of her own conduct, what icy pang of remorse shot + through her heart, when, as they rested for a few hours on the road to + Leghorn, she heard the woman who accompanied herself and Glyndon pray for + safety to reach her husband’s side, and strength to share the perils that + would meet her there! Terrible contrast to her own desertion! She shrunk + into the darkness of her own heart,—and then no voice from within + consoled her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0064" id="link2HCH0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 6.IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Zukunft hast du mir gegeben, + Doch du nehmst den Augenblick. + “Kassandra.” + + (Futurity hast thou given to me,—yet takest from me the Moment.) +</pre> + <p> + “Mejnour, behold thy work! Out, out upon our little vanities of wisdom!—out + upon our ages of lore and life! To save her from Peril I left her + presence, and the Peril has seized her in its grasp!” + </p> + <p> + “Chide not thy wisdom but thy passions! Abandon thine idle hope of the + love of woman. See, for those who would unite the lofty with the lowly, + the inevitable curse; thy very nature uncomprehended,—thy sacrifices + unguessed. The lowly one views but in the lofty a necromancer or a fiend. + Titan, canst thou weep?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it now, I see it all! It WAS her spirit that stood beside our own, + and escaped my airy clasp! O strong desire of motherhood and nature! + unveiling all our secrets, piercing space and traversing worlds!—Mejnour, + what awful learning lies hid in the ignorance of the heart that loves!” + </p> + <p> + “The heart,” answered the mystic, coldly; “ay, for five thousand years I + have ransacked the mysteries of creation, but I have not yet discovered + all the wonders in the heart of the simplest boor!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet our solemn rites deceived us not; the prophet-shadows, dark with + terror and red with blood, still foretold that, even in the dungeon, and + before the deathsman, I,—I had the power to save them both!” + </p> + <p> + “But at some unconjectured and most fatal sacrifice to thyself.” + </p> + <p> + “To myself! Icy sage, there is no self in love! I go. Nay, alone: I want + thee not. I want now no other guide but the human instincts of affection. + No cave so dark, no solitude so vast, as to conceal her. Though mine art + fail me; though the stars heed me not; though space, with its shining + myriads, is again to me but the azure void,—I return but to love and + youth and hope! When have they ever failed to triumph and to save!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VII. — THE REIGN OF TERROR. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Orrida maesta nei fero aspetto + Terrore accresce, e piu superbo il rende; + Rosseggian gli occhi, e di veneno infetto + Come infausta cometa, il guardo splende, + Gil involve il mento, e sull ‘irsuto petto + Ispida efoita la gran barbe scende; + E IN GUISA DE VORAGINE PROFONDA + SAPRE LA BOCCA A’ATRO SANGUE IMMONDA. + (Ger. Lib., Cant. iv. 7.) +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A horrible majesty in the fierce aspect increases it terror, and + renders it more superb. Red glow the eyes, and the aspect + infected, like a baleful comet, with envenomed influences, + glares around. A vast beard covers the chin—and, rough and + thick, descends over the shaggy breast.—And like a profound gulf + expand the jaws, foul with black gore. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0065" id="link2HCH0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Qui suis-je, moi qu’on accuse? Un esclave de la Liberte, un + martyr vivant de la Republique. + —“Discours de Robespierre, 8 Thermidor.” + + (Who am I,—<i>I</i> whom they accuse? A slave of Liberty,—a living + martyr for the Republic.) +</pre> + <p> + It roars,—The River of Hell, whose first outbreak was chanted as the + gush of a channel to Elysium. How burst into blossoming hopes fair hearts + that had nourished themselves on the diamond dews of the rosy dawn, when + Liberty came from the dark ocean, and the arms of decrepit Thraldom—Aurora + from the bed of Tithon! Hopes! ye have ripened into fruit, and the fruit + is gore and ashes! Beautiful Roland, eloquent Vergniaud, visionary + Condorcet, high-hearted Malesherbes!—wits, philosophers, statesmen, + patriots, dreamers! behold the millennium for which ye dared and laboured! + </p> + <p> + I invoke the ghosts! Saturn hath devoured his children (“La Revolution est + comme Saturne, elle devorera tous ses enfans.”—Vergniaud.), and + lives alone,—I his true name of Moloch! + </p> + <p> + It is the Reign of Terror, with Robespierre the king. The struggles + between the boa and the lion are past: the boa has consumed the lion, and + is heavy with the gorge,—Danton has fallen, and Camille Desmoulins. + Danton had said before his death, “The poltroon Robespierre,—I alone + could have saved him.” From that hour, indeed, the blood of the dead giant + clouded the craft of “Maximilien the Incorruptible,” as at last, amidst + the din of the roused Convention, it choked his voice. (“Le sang de Danton + t’etouffe!” (the blood of Danton chokes thee!) said Garnier de l’Aube, + when on the fatal 9th of Thermidor, Robespierre gasped feebly forth, “Pour + la derniere fois, President des Assassins, je te demande la parole.” (For + the last time, President of Assassins, I demand to speak.)) If, after that + last sacrifice, essential, perhaps, to his safety, Robespierre had + proclaimed the close of the Reign of Terror, and acted upon the mercy + which Danton had begun to preach, he might have lived and died a monarch. + But the prisons continued to reek,—the glaive to fall; and + Robespierre perceived not that his mobs were glutted to satiety with + death, and the strongest excitement a chief could give would be a return + from devils into men. + </p> + <p> + We are transported to a room in the house of Citizen Dupleix, the + menuisier, in the month of July, 1794; or, in the calendar of the + Revolutionists, it was the Thermidor of the Second Year of the Republic, + One and Indivisible! Though the room was small, it was furnished and + decorated with a minute and careful effort at elegance and refinement. It + seemed, indeed, the desire of the owner to avoid at once what was mean and + rude, and what was luxurious and voluptuous. It was a trim, orderly, + precise grace that shaped the classic chairs, arranged the ample + draperies, sank the frameless mirrors into the wall, placed bust and + bronze on their pedestals, and filled up the niches here and there with + well-bound books, filed regularly in their appointed ranks. An observer + would have said, “This man wishes to imply to you,—I am not rich; I + am not ostentatious; I am not luxurious; I am no indolent Sybarite, with + couches of down, and pictures that provoke the sense; I am no haughty + noble, with spacious halls, and galleries that awe the echo. But so much + the greater is my merit if I disdain these excesses of the ease or the + pride, since I love the elegant, and have a taste! Others may be simple + and honest, from the very coarseness of their habits; if I, with so much + refinement and delicacy, am simple and honest,—reflect, and admire + me!” + </p> + <p> + On the walls of this chamber hung many portraits, most of them represented + but one face; on the formal pedestals were grouped many busts, most of + them sculptured but one head. In that small chamber Egotism sat supreme, + and made the Arts its looking-glasses. Erect in a chair, before a large + table spread with letters, sat the original of bust and canvas, the owner + of the apartment. He was alone, yet he sat erect, formal, stiff, precise, + as if in his very home he was not at ease. His dress was in harmony with + his posture and his chamber; it affected a neatness of its own,—foreign + both to the sumptuous fashions of the deposed nobles, and the filthy + ruggedness of the sans-culottes. Frizzled and coiffe, not a hair was out + of order, not a speck lodged on the sleek surface of the blue coat, not a + wrinkle crumpled the snowy vest, with its under-relief of delicate pink. + At the first glance, you might have seen in that face nothing but the + ill-favoured features of a sickly countenance; at a second glance, you + would have perceived that it had a power, a character of its own. The + forehead, though low and compressed, was not without that appearance of + thought and intelligence which, it may be observed, that breadth between + the eyebrows almost invariably gives; the lips were firm and tightly drawn + together, yet ever and anon they trembled, and writhed restlessly. The + eyes, sullen and gloomy, were yet piercing, and full of a concentrated + vigour that did not seem supported by the thin, feeble frame, or the green + lividness of the hues, which told of anxiety and disease. + </p> + <p> + Such was Maximilien Robespierre; such the chamber over the menuisier’s + shop, whence issued the edicts that launched armies on their career of + glory, and ordained an artificial conduit to carry off the blood that + deluged the metropolis of the most martial people in the globe! Such was + the man who had resigned a judicial appointment (the early object of his + ambition) rather than violate his philanthropical principles by + subscribing to the death of a single fellow-creature; such was the virgin + enemy to capital punishments; and such, Butcher-Dictator now, was the man + whose pure and rigid manners, whose incorruptible honesty, whose hatred of + the excesses that tempt to love and wine, would, had he died five years + earlier, have left him the model for prudent fathers and careful citizens + to place before their sons. Such was the man who seemed to have no vice, + till circumstance, that hotbed, brought forth the two which, in ordinary + times, lie ever the deepest and most latent in a man’s heart,—Cowardice + and Envy. To one of these sources is to be traced every murder that + master-fiend committed. His cowardice was of a peculiar and strange sort; + for it was accompanied with the most unscrupulous and determined WILL,—a + will that Napoleon reverenced; a will of iron, and yet nerves of aspen. + Mentally, he was a hero,—physically, a dastard. When the veriest + shadow of danger threatened his person, the frame cowered, but the will + swept the danger to the slaughter-house. So there he sat, bolt upright,—his + small, lean fingers clenched convulsively; his sullen eyes straining into + space, their whites yellowed with streaks of corrupt blood; his ears + literally moving to and fro, like the ignobler animals’, to catch every + sound,—a Dionysius in his cave; but his posture decorous and + collected, and every formal hair in its frizzled place. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he said in a muttered tone, “I hear them; my good Jacobins are + at their post on the stairs. Pity they swear so! I have a law against + oaths,—the manners of the poor and virtuous people must be reformed. + When all is safe, an example or two amongst those good Jacobins would make + effect. Faithful fellows, how they love me! Hum!—what an oath was + that!—they need not swear so loud,—upon the very staircase, + too! It detracts from my reputation. Ha! steps!” + </p> + <p> + The soliloquist glanced at the opposite mirror, and took up a volume; he + seemed absorbed in its contents, as a tall fellow, a bludgeon in his hand, + a girdle adorned with pistols round his waist, opened the door, and + announced two visitors. The one was a young man, said to resemble + Robespierre in person, but of a far more decided and resolute expression + of countenance. He entered first, and, looking over the volume in + Robespierre’s hand, for the latter seemed still intent on his lecture, + exclaimed,— + </p> + <p> + “What! Rousseau’s Heloise? A love-tale!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Payan, it is not the love,—it is the philosophy that charms + me. What noble sentiments!—what ardour of virtue! If Jean Jacques + had but lived to see this day!” + </p> + <p> + While the Dictator thus commented on his favourite author, whom in his + orations he laboured hard to imitate, the second visitor was wheeled into + the room in a chair. This man was also in what, to most, is the prime of + life,—namely, about thirty-eight; but he was literally dead in the + lower limbs: crippled, paralytic, distorted, he was yet, as the time soon + came to tell him,—a Hercules in Crime! But the sweetest of human + smiles dwelt upon his lips; a beauty almost angelic characterised his + features (“Figure d’ange,” says one of his contemporaries, in describing + Couthon. The address, drawn up most probably by Payan (Thermidor 9), after + the arrest of Robespierre, thus mentions his crippled colleague: “Couthon, + ce citoyen vertueux, QUI N’A QUE LE COEUR ET LA TETE DE VIVANS, mais qui + les a brulants de patriotisme” (Couthon, that virtuous citizen, who has + but the head and the heart of the living, yet possesses these all on flame + with patriotism.)); an inexpressible aspect of kindness, and the + resignation of suffering but cheerful benignity, stole into the hearts of + those who for the first time beheld him. With the most caressing, silver, + flute-like voice, Citizen Couthon saluted the admirer of Jean Jacques. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,—do not say that it is not the LOVE that attracts thee; it IS + the love! but not the gross, sensual attachment of man for woman. No! the + sublime affection for the whole human race, and indeed, for all that + lives!” + </p> + <p> + And Citizen Couthon, bending down, fondled the little spaniel that he + invariably carried in his bosom, even to the Convention, as a vent for the + exuberant sensibilities which overflowed his affectionate heart. (This + tenderness for some pet animal was by no means peculiar to Couthon; it + seems rather a common fashion with the gentle butchers of the Revolution. + M. George Duval informs us (“Souvenirs de la Terreur,” volume iii page + 183) that Chaumette had an aviary, to which he devoted his harmless + leisure; the murderous Fournier carried on his shoulders a pretty little + squirrel, attached by a silver chain; Panis bestowed the superfluity of + his affections upon two gold pheasants; and Marat, who would not abate one + of the three hundred thousand heads he demanded, REARED DOVES! Apropos of + the spaniel of Couthon, Duval gives us an amusing anecdote of Sergent, not + one of the least relentless agents of the massacre of September. A lady + came to implore his protection for one of her relations confined in the + Abbaye. He scarcely deigned to speak to her. As she retired in despair, + she trod by accident on the paw of his favourite spaniel. Sergent, turning + round, enraged and furious, exclaimed, “MADAM, HAVE YOU NO HUMANITY?”) + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for all that lives,” repeated Robespierre, tenderly. “Good Couthon,—poor + Couthon! Ah, the malice of men!—how we are misrepresented! To be + calumniated as the executioners of our colleagues! Ah, it is THAT which + pierces the heart! To be an object of terror to the enemies of our + country,—THAT is noble; but to be an object of terror to the good, + the patriotic, to those one loves and reveres,—THAT is the most + terrible of human tortures at least, to a susceptible and honest heart!” + (Not to fatigue the reader with annotations, I may here observe that + nearly every sentiment ascribed in the text to Robespierre is to be found + expressed in his various discourses.) + </p> + <p> + “How I love to hear him!” ejaculated Couthon. + </p> + <p> + “Hem!” said Payan, with some impatience. “But now to business!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, to business!” said Robespierre, with a sinister glance from his + bloodshot eyes. + </p> + <p> + “The time has come,” said Payan, “when the safety of the Republic demands + a complete concentration of its power. These brawlers of the Comite du + Salut Public can only destroy; they cannot construct. They hated you, + Maximilien, from the moment you attempted to replace anarcy by + institutions. How they mock at the festival which proclaimed the + acknowledgment of a Supreme Being: they would have no ruler, even in + heaven! Your clear and vigorous intellect saw that, having wrecked an old + world, it became necessary to shape a new one. The first step towards + construction must be to destroy the destroyers. While we deliberate, your + enemies act. Better this very night to attack the handful of gensdarmes + that guard them, than to confront the battalions they may raise + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Robespierre, who recoiled before the determined spirit of + Payan; “I have a better and safer plan. This is the 6th of Thermidor; on + the 10th—on the 10th, the Convention go in a body to the Fete + Decadaire. A mob shall form; the canonniers, the troops of Henriot, the + young pupils de l’Ecole de Mars, shall mix in the crowd. Easy, then, to + strike the conspirators whom we shall designate to our agents. On the same + day, too, Fouquier and Dumas shall not rest; and a sufficient number of + ‘the suspect’ to maintain salutary awe, and keep up the revolutionary + excitement, shall perish by the glaive of the law. The 10th shall be the + great day of action. Payan, of these last culprits, have you prepared a + list?” + </p> + <p> + “It is here,” returned Payan, laconically, presenting a paper. + </p> + <p> + Robespierre glanced over it rapidly. “Collot d’Herbois!—good! + Barrere!—ay, it was Barrere who said, ‘Let us strike: the dead alone + never return.’ [‘Frappons! il n’y a que les morts qui ne revient pas.’—Barrere.) + Vadier, the savage jester!—good—good! Vadier of the Mountain. + He has called me ‘Mahomet!’ Scelerat! blasphemer!” + </p> + <p> + “Mahomet is coming to the Mountain,” said Couthon, with his silvery + accent, as he caressed his spaniel. + </p> + <p> + “But how is this? I do not see the name of Tallien? Tallien,—I hate + that man; that is,” said Robespierre, correcting himself with the + hypocrisy or self-deceit which those who formed the council of this + phrase-monger exhibited habitually, even among themselves,—“that is, + Virtue and our Country hate him! There is no man in the whole Convention + who inspires me with the same horror as Tallien. Couthon, I see a thousand + Dantons where Tallien sits!” + </p> + <p> + “Tallien has the only head that belongs to this deformed body,” said + Payan, whose ferocity and crime, like those of St. Just, were not + unaccompanied by talents of no common order. “Were it not better to draw + away the head, to win, to buy him, for the time, and dispose of him better + when left alone? He may hate YOU, but he loves MONEY!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Robespierre, writing down the name of Jean Lambert Tallien, + with a slow hand that shaped each letter with stern distinctness; “that + one head IS MY NECESSITY!” + </p> + <p> + “I have a SMALL list here,” said Couthon, sweetly,—“a VERY small + list. You are dealing with the Mountain; it is necessary to make a few + examples in the Plain. These moderates are as straws which follow the + wind. They turned against us yesterday in the Convention. A little terror + will correct the weathercocks. Poor creatures! I owe them no ill-will; I + could weep for them. But before all, la chere patrie!” + </p> + <p> + The terrible glance of Robespierre devoured the list which the man of + sensibility submitted to him. “Ah, these are well chosen; men not of mark + enough to be regretted, which is the best policy with the relics of that + party; some foreigners too,—yes, THEY have no parents in Paris. + These wives and parents are beginning to plead against us. Their + complaints demoralise the guillotine!” + </p> + <p> + “Couthon is right,” said Payan; “MY list contains those whom it will be + safer to despatch en masse in the crowd assembled at the Fete. HIS list + selects those whom we may prudently consign to the law. Shall it not be + signed at once?” + </p> + <p> + “It IS signed,” said Robespierre, formally replacing his pen upon the + inkstand. “Now to more important matters. These deaths will create no + excitement; but Collot d’Herbois, Bourdon De l’Oise, Tallien,” the last + name Robespierre gasped as he pronounced, “THEY are the heads of parties. + This is life or death to us as well as them.” + </p> + <p> + “Their heads are the footstools to your curule chair,” said Payan, in a + half whisper. “There is no danger if we are bold. Judges, juries, all have + been your selection. You seize with one hand the army, with the other, the + law. Your voice yet commands the people—” + </p> + <p> + “The poor and virtuous people,” murmured Robespierre. + </p> + <p> + “And even,” continued Payan, “if our design at the Fete fail us, we must + not shrink from the resources still at our command. Reflect! Henriot, the + general of the Parisian army, furnishes you with troops to arrest; the + Jacobin Club with a public to approve; inexorable Dumas with judges who + never acquit. We must be bold!” + </p> + <p> + “And we ARE bold,” exclaimed Robespierre, with sudden passion, and + striking his hand on the table as he rose, with his crest erect, as a + serpent in the act to strike. “In seeing the multitude of vices that the + revolutionary torrent mingles with civic virtues, I tremble to be sullied + in the eyes of posterity by the impure neighbourhood of these perverse men + who thrust themselves among the sincere defenders of humanity. What!—they + think to divide the country like a booty! I thank them for their hatred to + all that is virtuous and worthy! These men,”—and he grasped the list + of Payan in his hand,—“these!—not WE—have drawn the line + of demarcation between themselves and the lovers of France!” + </p> + <p> + “True, we must reign alone!” muttered Payan; “in other words, the state + needs unity of will;” working, with his strong practical mind, the + corollary from the logic of his word-compelling colleague. + </p> + <p> + “I will go to the Convention,” continued Robespierre. “I have absented + myself too long,—lest I might seem to overawe the Republic that I + have created. Away with such scruples! I will prepare the people! I will + blast the traitors with a look!” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with the terrible firmness of the orator that had never failed,—of + the moral will that marched like a warrior on the cannon. At that instant + he was interrupted; a letter was brought to him: he opened it,—his + face fell, he shook from limb to limb; it was one of the anonymous + warnings by which the hate and revenge of those yet left alive to threaten + tortured the death-giver. + </p> + <p> + “Thou art smeared,” ran the lines, “with the best blood of France. Read + thy sentence! I await the hour when the people shall knell thee to the + doomsman. If my hope deceive me, if deferred too long,—hearken, + read! This hand, which thine eyes shall search in vain to discover, shall + pierce thy heart. I see thee every day,—I am with thee every day. At + each hour my arm rises against thy breast. Wretch! live yet awhile, though + but for few and miserable days—live to think of me; sleep to dream + of me! Thy terror and thy thought of me are the heralds of thy doom. + Adieu! this day itself I go forth to riot on thy fears!” (See “Papiers + inedits trouves chez Robespierre,” etc., volume ii. page 155. (No. lx.)) + </p> + <p> + “Your lists are not full enough!” said the tyrant, with a hollow voice, as + the paper dropped from his trembling hand. “Give them to me!—give + them to me! Think again, think again! Barrere is right—right! + ‘Frappons! il n’y a que les morts qui ne revient pas!’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0066" id="link2HCH0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + La haine, dans ces lieux, n’a qu’un glaive assassin. + Elle marche dans l’ombre. + La Harpe, “Jeanne de Naples,” Act iv. sc. 1. + + (Hate, in these regions, has but the sword of the assassin. She + moves in the shade.) +</pre> + <p> + While such the designs and fears of Maximilien Robespierre, common danger, + common hatred, whatever was yet left of mercy or of virtue in the agents + of the Revolution, served to unite strange opposites in hostility to the + universal death-dealer. There was, indeed, an actual conspiracy at work + against him among men little less bespattered than himself with innocent + blood. But that conspiracy would have been idle of itself, despite the + abilities of Tallien and Barras (the only men whom it comprised, worthy, + by foresight and energy, the names of “leaders”). The sure and destroying + elements that gathered round the tyrant were Time and Nature; the one, + which he no longer suited; the other, which he had outraged and stirred up + in the human breast. The most atrocious party of the Revolution, the + followers of Hebert, gone to his last account, the butcher-atheists, who, + in desecrating heaven and earth, still arrogated inviolable sanctity to + themselves, were equally enraged at the execution of their filthy chief, + and the proclamation of a Supreme Being. The populace, brutal as it had + been, started as from a dream of blood, when their huge idol, Danton, no + longer filled the stage of terror, rendering crime popular by that + combination of careless frankness and eloquent energy which endears their + heroes to the herd. The glaive of the guillotine had turned against + THEMSELVES. They had yelled and shouted, and sung and danced, when the + venerable age, or the gallant youth, of aristocracy or letters, passed by + their streets in the dismal tumbrils; but they shut up their shops, and + murmured to each other, when their own order was invaded, and tailors and + cobblers, and journeymen and labourers, were huddled off to the embraces + of the “Holy Mother Guillotine,” with as little ceremony as if they had + been the Montmorencies or the La Tremouilles, the Malesherbes or the + Lavoisiers. “At this time,” said Couthon, justly, “Les ombres de Danton, + d’Hebert, de Chaumette, se promenent parmi nous!” (The shades of Danton, + Hebert, and Chaumette walk amongst us.) + </p> + <p> + Among those who had shared the doctrines, and who now dreaded the fate of + the atheist Hebert, was the painter, Jean Nicot. Mortified and enraged to + find that, by the death of his patron, his career was closed; and that, in + the zenith of the Revolution for which he had laboured, he was lurking in + caves and cellars, more poor, more obscure, more despicable than he had + been at the commencement,—not daring to exercise even his art, and + fearful every hour that his name would swell the lists of the condemned,—he + was naturally one of the bitterest enemies of Robespierre and his + government. He held secret meetings with Collot d’Herbois, who was + animated by the same spirit; and with the creeping and furtive craft that + characterised his abilities, he contrived, undetected, to disseminate + tracts and invectives against the Dictator, and to prepare, amidst “the + poor and virtuous people,” the train for the grand explosion. But still so + firm to the eyes, even of profounder politicians than Jean Nicot, appeared + the sullen power of the incorruptible Maximilien; so timorous was the + movement against him,—that Nicot, in common with many others, placed + his hopes rather in the dagger of the assassin than the revolt of the + multitude. But Nicot, though not actually a coward, shrunk himself from + braving the fate of the martyr; he had sense enough to see that, though + all parties might rejoice in the assassination, all parties would probably + concur in beheading the assassin. He had not the virtue to become a + Brutus. His object was to inspire a proxy-Brutus; and in the centre of + that inflammable population this was no improbable hope. + </p> + <p> + Amongst those loudest and sternest against the reign of blood; amongst + those most disenchanted of the Revolution; amongst those most appalled by + its excesses,—was, as might be expected, the Englishman, Clarence + Glyndon. The wit and accomplishments, the uncertain virtues that had + lighted with fitful gleams the mind of Camille Desmoulins, had fascinated + Glyndon more than the qualities of any other agent in the Revolution. And + when (for Camille Desmoulins had a heart, which seemed dead or dormant in + most of his contemporaries) that vivid child of genius and of error, + shocked at the massacre of the Girondins, and repentant of his own efforts + against them, began to rouse the serpent malice of Robespierre by new + doctrines of mercy and toleration, Glyndon espoused his views with his + whole strength and soul. Camille Desmoulins perished, and Glyndon, + hopeless at once of his own life and the cause of humanity, from that time + sought only the occasion of flight from the devouring Golgotha. He had two + lives to heed besides his own; for them he trembled, and for them he + schemed and plotted the means of escape. Though Glyndon hated the + principles, the party (None were more opposed to the Hebertists than + Camille Desmoulins and his friends. It is curious and amusing to see these + leaders of the mob, calling the mob “the people” one day, and the + “canaille” the next, according as it suits them. “I know,” says Camille, + “that they (the Hebertists) have all the canaille with them.”—(Ils + ont toute la canaille pour eux.)), and the vices of Nicot, he yet extended + to the painter’s penury the means of subsistence; and Jean Nicot, in + return, designed to exalt Glyndon to that very immortality of a Brutus + from which he modestly recoiled himself. He founded his designs on the + physical courage, on the wild and unsettled fancies of the English artist, + and on the vehement hate and indignant loathing with which he openly + regarded the government of Maximilien. + </p> + <p> + At the same hour, on the same day in July, in which Robespierre conferred + (as we have seen) with his allies, two persons were seated in a small room + in one of the streets leading out of the Rue St. Honore; the one, a man, + appeared listening impatiently, and with a sullen brow, to his companion, + a woman of singular beauty, but with a bold and reckless expression, and + her face as she spoke was animated by the passions of a half-savage and + vehement nature. + </p> + <p> + “Englishman,” said the woman, “beware!—you know that, whether in + flight or at the place of death, I would brave all to be by your side,—you + know THAT! Speak!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Fillide; did I ever doubt your fidelity?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubt it you cannot,—betray it you may. You tell me that in flight + you must have a companion besides myself, and that companion is a female. + It shall not be!” + </p> + <p> + “Shall not!” + </p> + <p> + “It shall not!” repeated Fillide, firmly, and folding her arms across her + breast. Before Glyndon could reply, a slight knock at the door was heard, + and Nicot opened the latch and entered. + </p> + <p> + Fillide sank into her chair, and, leaning her face on her hands, appeared + unheeding of the intruder and the conversation that ensued. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot bid thee good-day, Glyndon,” said Nicot, as in his sans-culotte + fashion he strode towards the artist, his ragged hat on his head, his + hands in his pockets, and the beard of a week’s growth upon his chin,—“I + cannot bid thee good-day; for while the tyrant lives, evil is every sun + that sheds its beams on France.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true; what then? We have sown the wind, we must reap the + whirlwind.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said Nicot, apparently not heeding the reply, and as if + musingly to himself, “it is strange to think that the butcher is as mortal + as the butchered; that his life hangs on as slight a thread; that between + the cuticle and the heart there is as short a passage,—that, in + short, one blow can free France and redeem mankind!” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon surveyed the speaker with a careless and haughty scorn, and made + no answer. + </p> + <p> + “And,” proceeded Nicot, “I have sometimes looked round for the man born + for this destiny, and whenever I have done so, my steps have led me + hither!” + </p> + <p> + “Should they not rather have led thee to the side of Maximilien + Robespierre?” said Glyndon, with a sneer. + </p> + <p> + “No,” returned Nicot, coldly,—“no; for I am a ‘suspect:’ I could not + mix with his train; I could not approach within a hundred yards of his + person, but I should be seized; YOU, as yet, are safe. Hear me!”—and + his voice became earnest and expressive,—“hear me! There seems + danger in this action; there is none. I have been with Collot d’Herbois + and Bilaud-Varennes; they will hold him harmless who strikes the blow; the + populace would run to thy support; the Convention would hail thee as their + deliverer, the—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold, man! How darest thou couple my name with the act of an assassin? + Let the tocsin sound from yonder tower, to a war between Humanity and the + Tyrant, and I will not be the last in the field; but liberty never yet + acknowledged a defender in a felon.” + </p> + <p> + There was something so brave and noble in Glyndon’s voice, mien, and + manner, as he thus spoke, that Nicot at once was silenced; at once he saw + that he had misjudged the man. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Fillide, lifting her face from her hands,—“no! your + friend has a wiser scheme in preparation; he would leave you wolves to + mangle each other. He is right; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Flight!” exclaimed Nicot; “is it possible? Flight; how?—when?—by + what means? All France begirt with spies and guards! Flight! would to + Heaven it were in our power!” + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou, too, desire to escape the blessed Revolution?” + </p> + <p> + “Desire! Oh!” cried Nicot, suddenly, and, falling down, he clasped + Glyndon’s knees,—“oh, save me with thyself! My life is a torture; + every moment the guillotine frowns before me. I know that my hours are + numbered; I know that the tyrant waits but his time to write my name in + his inexorable list; I know that Rene Dumas, the judge who never pardons, + has, from the first, resolved upon my death. Oh, Glyndon, by our old + friendship, by our common art, by thy loyal English faith and good English + heart, let me share thy flight!” + </p> + <p> + “If thou wilt, so be it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks!—my whole life shall thank thee. But how hast thou prepared + the means, the passports, the disguise, the—” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell thee. Thou knowest C—, of the Convention,—he has + power, and he is covetous. ‘Qu’on me meprise, pourvu que je dine’ (Let + them despise me, provided that I dine.), said he, when reproached for his + avarice.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “By the help of this sturdy republican, who has friends enough in the + Comite, I have obtained the means necessary for flight; I have purchased + them. For a consideration I can procure thy passport also.” + </p> + <p> + “Thy riches, then, are not in assignats?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I have gold enough for us all.” + </p> + <p> + And here Glyndon, beckoning Nicot into the next room, first briefly and + rapidly detailed to him the plan proposed, and the disguises to be assumed + conformably to the passports, and then added, “In return for the service I + render thee, grant me one favour, which I think is in thy power. Thou + rememberest Viola Pisani?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,—remember, yes!—and the lover with whom she fled.” + </p> + <p> + “And FROM whom she is a fugitive now.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed—what!—I understand. Sacre bleu! but you are a lucky + fellow, cher confrere.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, man! with thy eternal prate of brotherhood and virtue, thou + seemest never to believe in one kindly action, or one virtuous thought!” + </p> + <p> + Nicot bit his lip, and replied sullenly, “Experience is a great + undeceiver. Humph! What service can I do thee with regard to the Italian?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been accessory to her arrival in this city of snares and pitfalls. + I cannot leave her alone amidst dangers from which neither innocence nor + obscurity is a safeguard. In your blessed Republic, a good and unsuspected + citizen, who casts a desire on any woman, maid or wife, has but to say, + ‘Be mine, or I denounce you!’ In a word, Viola must share our flight.” + </p> + <p> + “What so easy? I see your passports provide for her.” + </p> + <p> + “What so easy? What so difficult? This Fillide—would that I had + never seen her!—would that I had never enslaved my soul to my + senses! The love of an uneducated, violent, unprincipled woman, opens with + a heaven, to merge in a hell! She is jealous as all the Furies; she will + not hear of a female companion; and when once she sees the beauty of + Viola!—I tremble to think of it. She is capable of any excess in the + storm of her passions.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha, I know what such women are! My wife, Beatrice Sacchini, whom I took + from Naples, when I failed with this very Viola, divorced me when my money + failed, and, as the mistress of a judge, passes me in her carriage while I + crawl through the streets. Plague on her!—but patience, patience! + such is the lot of virtue. Would I were Robespierre for a day!” + </p> + <p> + “Cease these tirades!” exclaimed Glyndon, impatiently; “and to the point. + What would you advise?” + </p> + <p> + “Leave your Fillide behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave her to her own ignorance; leave her unprotected even by the mind; + leave her in the Saturnalia of Rape and Murder? No! I have sinned against + her once. But come what may, I will not so basely desert one who, with all + her errors, trusted her fate to my love.” + </p> + <p> + “You deserted her at Marseilles.” + </p> + <p> + “True; but I left her in safety, and I did not then believe her love to be + so deep and faithful. I left her gold, and I imagined she would be easily + consoled; but since THEN WE HAVE KNOWN DANGER TOGETHER! And now to leave + her alone to that danger which she would never have incurred but for + devotion to me!—no, that is impossible. A project occurs to me. + Canst thou not say that thou hast a sister, a relative, or a benefactress, + whom thou wouldst save? Can we not—till we have left France—make + Fillide believe that Viola is one in whom THOU only art interested; and + whom, for thy sake only, I permit to share in our escape?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, well thought of!—certainly!” + </p> + <p> + “I will then appear to yield to Fillide’s wishes, and resign the project, + which she so resents, of saving the innocent object of her frantic + jealousy. You, meanwhile, shall yourself entreat Fillide to intercede with + me to extend the means of escape to—” + </p> + <p> + “To a lady (she knows I have no sister) who has aided me in my distress. + Yes, I will manage all, never fear. One word more,—what has become + of that Zanoni?” + </p> + <p> + “Talk not of him,—I know not.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he love this girl still?” + </p> + <p> + “It would seem so. She is his wife, the mother of his infant, who is with + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Wife!—mother! He loves her. Aha! And why—” + </p> + <p> + “No questions now. I will go and prepare Viola for the flight; you, + meanwhile, return to Fillide.” + </p> + <p> + “But the address of the Neapolitan? It is necessary I should know, lest + Fillide inquire.” + </p> + <p> + “Rue M— T—, No. 27. Adieu.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon seized his hat and hastened from the house. + </p> + <p> + Nicot, left alone, seemed for a few moments buried in thought. “Oho,” he + muttered to himself, “can I not turn all this to my account? Can I not + avenge myself on thee, Zanoni, as I have so often sworn,—through thy + wife and child? Can I not possess myself of thy gold, thy passports, and + thy Fillide, hot Englishman, who wouldst humble me with thy loathed + benefits, and who hast chucked me thine alms as to a beggar? And Fillide, + I love her: and thy gold, I love THAT more! Puppets, I move your strings!” + </p> + <p> + He passed slowly into the chamber where Fillide yet sat, with gloomy + thought on her brow and tears standing in her dark eyes. She looked up + eagerly as the door opened, and turned from the rugged face of Nicot with + an impatient movement of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “Glyndon,” said the painter, drawing a chair to Fillide’s, “has left me to + enliven your solitude, fair Italian. He is not jealous of the ugly Nicot!—ha, + ha!—yet Nicot loved thee well once, when his fortunes were more + fair. But enough of such past follies.” + </p> + <p> + “Your friend, then, has left the house. Whither? Ah, you look away; you + falter,—you cannot meet my eyes! Speak! I implore, I command thee, + speak!” + </p> + <p> + “Enfant! And what dost thou fear?” + </p> + <p> + “FEAR!—yes, alas, I fear!” said the Italian; and her whole frame + seemed to shrink into itself as she fell once more back into her seat. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a pause, she tossed the long hair from her eyes, and, starting + up abruptly, paced the room with disordered strides. At length she stopped + opposite to Nicot, laid her hand on his arm, drew him towards an + escritoire, which she unlocked, and, opening a well, pointed to the gold + that lay within, and said, “Thou art poor,—thou lovest money; take + what thou wilt, but undeceive me. Who is this woman whom thy friend + visits,—and does he love her?” + </p> + <p> + Nicot’s eyes sparkled, and his hands opened and clenched, and clenched and + opened, as he gazed upon the coins. But reluctantly resisting the impulse, + he said, with an affected bitterness, “Thinkest thou to bribe me?—if + so, it cannot be with gold. But what if he does love a rival; what if he + betrays thee; what if, wearied by thy jealousies, he designs in his flight + to leave thee behind,—would such knowledge make thee happier?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” exclaimed the Italian, fiercely; “yes, for it would be happiness to + hate and to be avenged! Oh, thou knowest not how sweet is hatred to those + who have really loved!” + </p> + <p> + “But wilt thou swear, if I reveal to thee the secret, that thou wilt not + betray me,—that thou wilt not fall, as women do, into weak tears and + fond reproaches, when thy betrayer returns?” + </p> + <p> + “Tears, reproaches! Revenge hides itself in smiles!” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art a brave creature!” said Nicot, almost admiringly. “One condition + more: thy lover designs to fly with his new love, to leave thee to thy + fate; if I prove this to thee, and if I give thee revenge against thy + rival, wilt thou fly with me? I love thee!—I will wed thee!” + </p> + <p> + Fillide’s eyes flashed fire; she looked at him with unutterable disdain, + and was silent. + </p> + <p> + Nicot felt he had gone too far; and with that knowledge of the evil part + of our nature which his own heart and association with crime had taught + him, he resolved to trust the rest to the passions of the Italian, when + raised to the height to which he was prepared to lead them. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” he said; “my love made me too presumptuous; and yet it is + only that love,—my sympathy for thee, beautiful and betrayed, that + can induce me to wrong, with my revelations, one whom I have regarded as a + brother. I can depend upon thine oath to conceal all from Glyndon?” + </p> + <p> + “On my oath and my wrongs and my mountain blood!” + </p> + <p> + “Enough! get thy hat and mantle, and follow me.” + </p> + <p> + As Fillide left the room, Nicot’s eyes again rested on the gold; it was + much,—much more than he had dared to hope for; and as he peered into + the well and opened the drawers, he perceived a packet of letters in the + well-known hand of Camille Desmoulins. He seized—he opened the + packet; his looks brightened as he glanced over a few sentences. “This + would give fifty Glyndons to the guillotine!” he muttered, and thrust the + packet into his bosom. + </p> + <p> + O artist!—O haunted one!—O erring genius!—behold the two + worst foes,—the False Ideal that knows no God, and the False Love + that burns from the corruption of the senses, and takes no lustre from the + soul! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0067" id="link2HCH0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Liebe sonnt das Reich der Nacht. + “Der Triumph der Liebe.” + + (Love illumes the realm of Night.) +</pre> + <p> + Letter from Zanoni to Mejnour. + </p> + <p> + Paris. + </p> + <p> + Dost thou remember in the old time, when the Beautiful yet dwelt in + Greece, how we two, in the vast Athenian Theatre, witnessed the birth of + Words as undying as ourselves? Dost thou remember the thrill of terror + that ran through that mighty audience, when the wild Cassandra burst from + her awful silence to shriek to her relentless god! How ghastly, at the + entrance of the House of Atreus, about to become her tomb, rang out her + exclamations of foreboding woe: “Dwelling abhorred of heaven!—human + shamble-house and floor blood-bespattered!” (Aesch. “Agam.” 1098.) Dost + thou remember how, amidst the breathless awe of those assembled thousands, + I drew close to thee, and whispered, “Verily, no prophet like the poet! + This scene of fabled horror comes to me as a dream, shadowing forth some + likeness in my own remoter future!” As I enter this slaughter-house that + scene returns to me, and I hearken to the voice of Cassandra ringing in my + ears. A solemn and warning dread gathers round me, as if I too were come + to find a grave, and “the Net of Hades” had already entangled me in its + web! What dark treasure-houses of vicissitude and woe are our memories + become! What our lives, but the chronicles of unrelenting death! It seems + to me as yesterday when I stood in the streets of this city of the Gaul, + as they shone with plumed chivalry, and the air rustled with silken + braveries. Young Louis, the monarch and the lover, was victor of the + Tournament at the Carousel; and all France felt herself splendid in the + splendour of her gorgeous chief! Now there is neither throne nor altar; + and what is in their stead? I see it yonder—the GUILLOTINE! It is + dismal to stand amidst the ruins of mouldering cities, to startle the + serpent and the lizard amidst the wrecks of Persepolis and Thebes; but + more dismal still to stand as I—the stranger from Empires that have + ceased to be—stand now amidst the yet ghastlier ruins of Law and + Order, the shattering of mankind themselves! Yet here, even here, Love, + the Beautifier, that hath led my steps, can walk with unshrinking hope + through the wilderness of Death. Strange is the passion that makes a world + in itself, that individualises the One amidst the Multitude; that, through + all the changes of my solemn life, yet survives, though ambition and hate + and anger are dead; the one solitary angel, hovering over a universe of + tombs on its two tremulous and human wings,—Hope and Fear! + </p> + <p> + How is it, Mejnour, that, as my diviner art abandoned me,—as, in my + search for Viola, I was aided but by the ordinary instincts of the merest + mortal,—how is it that I have never desponded, that I have felt in + every difficulty the prevailing prescience that we should meet at last? So + cruelly was every vestige of her flight concealed from me,—so + suddenly, so secretly had she fled, that all the spies, all the + authorities of Venice, could give me no clew. All Italy I searched in + vain! Her young home at Naples!—how still, in its humble chambers, + there seemed to linger the fragrance of her presence! All the sublimest + secrets of our lore failed me,—failed to bring her soul visible to + mine; yet morning and night, thou lone and childless one, morning and + night, detached from myself, I can commune with my child! There in that + most blessed, typical, and mysterious of all relations, Nature herself + appears to supply what Science would refuse. Space cannot separate the + father’s watchful soul from the cradle of his first-born! I know not of + its resting-place and home,—my visions picture not the land,—only + the small and tender life to which all space is as yet the heritage! For + to the infant, before reason dawns,—before man’s bad passions can + dim the essence that it takes from the element it hath left, there is no + peculiar country, no native city, and no mortal language. Its soul as yet + is the denizen of all airs and of every world; and in space its soul meets + with mine,—the child communes with the father! Cruel and forsaking + one,—thou for whom I left the wisdom of the spheres; thou whose + fatal dower has been the weakness and terrors of humanity,—couldst + thou think that young soul less safe on earth because I would lead it ever + more up to heaven! Didst thou think that I could have wronged mine own? + Didst thou not know that in its serenest eyes the life that I gave it + spoke to warn, to upbraid the mother who would bind it to the darkness and + pangs of the prison-house of clay? Didst thou not feel that it was I who, + permitted by the Heavens, shielded it from suffering and disease? And in + its wondrous beauty, I blessed the holy medium through which, at last, my + spirit might confer with thine! + </p> + <p> + And how have I tracked them hither? I learned that thy pupil had been at + Venice. I could not trace the young and gentle neophyte of Parthenope in + the description of the haggard and savage visitor who had come to Viola + before she fled; but when I would have summoned his IDEA before me, it + refused to obey; and I knew then that his fate had become entwined with + Viola’s. I have tracked him, then, to this Lazar House. I arrived but + yesterday; I have not yet discovered him. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + I have just returned from their courts of justice,—dens where tigers + arraign their prey. I find not whom I would seek. They are saved as yet; + but I recognise in the crimes of mortals the dark wisdom of the + Everlasting. Mejnour, I see here, for the first time, how majestic and + beauteous a thing is death! Of what sublime virtues we robbed ourselves, + when, in the thirst for virtue, we attained the art by which we can refuse + to die! When in some happy clime, where to breathe is to enjoy, the + charnel-house swallows up the young and fair; when in the noble pursuit of + knowledge, Death comes to the student, and shuts out the enchanted land + which was opening to his gaze,—how natural for us to desire to live; + how natural to make perpetual life the first object of research! But here, + from my tower of time, looking over the darksome past, and into the starry + future, I learn how great hearts feel what sweetness and glory there is to + die for the things they love! I saw a father sacrificing himself for his + son; he was subjected to charges which a word of his could dispel,—he + was mistaken for his boy. With what joy he seized the error, confessed the + noble crimes of valour and fidelity which the son had indeed committed, + and went to the doom, exulting that his death saved the life he had given, + not in vain! I saw women, young, delicate, in the bloom of their beauty; + they had vowed themselves to the cloister. Hands smeared with the blood of + saints opened the gate that had shut them from the world, and bade them go + forth, forget their vows, forswear the Divine one these demons would + depose, find lovers and helpmates, and be free. And some of these young + hearts had loved, and even, though in struggles, loved yet. Did they + forswear the vow? Did they abandon the faith? Did even love allure them? + Mejnour, with one voice, they preferred to die. And whence comes this + courage?—because such HEARTS LIVE IN SOME MORE ABSTRACT AND HOLIER + LIFE THAN THEIR OWN. BUT TO LIVE FOREVER UPON THIS EARTH IS TO LIVE IN + NOTHING DIVINER THAN OURSELVES. Yes, even amidst this gory butcherdom, + God, the Ever-living, vindicates to man the sanctity of His servant, + Death! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + Again I have seen thee in spirit; I have seen and blessed thee, my sweet + child! Dost thou not know me also in thy dreams? Dost thou not feel the + beating of my heart through the veil of thy rosy slumbers? Dost thou not + hear the wings of the brighter beings that I yet can conjure around thee, + to watch, to nourish, and to save? And when the spell fades at thy waking, + when thine eyes open to the day, will they not look round for me, and ask + thy mother, with their mute eloquence, “Why she has robbed thee of a + father?” + </p> + <p> + Woman, dost thou not repent thee? Flying from imaginary fears, hast thou + not come to the very lair of terror, where Danger sits visible and + incarnate? Oh, if we could but meet, wouldst thou not fall upon the bosom + thou hast so wronged, and feel, poor wanderer amidst the storms, as if + thou hadst regained the shelter? Mejnour, still my researches fail me. I + mingle with all men, even their judges and their spies, but I cannot yet + gain the clew. I know that she is here. I know it by an instinct; the + breath of my child seems warmer and more familiar. + </p> + <p> + They peer at me with venomous looks, as I pass through their streets. With + a glance I disarm their malice, and fascinate the basilisks. Everywhere I + see the track and scent the presence of the Ghostly One that dwells on the + Threshold, and whose victims are the souls that would ASPIRE, and can only + FEAR. I see its dim shapelessness going before the men of blood, and + marshalling their way. Robespierre passed me with his furtive step. Those + eyes of horror were gnawing into his heart. I looked down upon their + senate; the grim Phantom sat cowering on its floor. It hath taken up its + abode in the city of Dread. And what in truth are these would-be builders + of a new world? Like the students who have vainly struggled after our + supreme science, they have attempted what is beyond their power; they have + passed from this solid earth of usages and forms into the land of shadow, + and its loathsome keeper has seized them as its prey. I looked into the + tyrant’s shuddering soul, as it trembled past me. There, amidst the ruins + of a thousand systems which aimed at virtue, sat Crime, and shivered at + its desolation. Yet this man is the only Thinker, the only Aspirant, + amongst them all. He still looks for a future of peace and mercy, to + begin,—ay! at what date? When he has swept away every foe. Fool! new + foes spring from every drop of blood. Led by the eyes of the Unutterable, + he is walking to his doom. + </p> + <p> + O Viola, thy innocence protects thee! Thou whom the sweet humanities of + love shut out even from the dreams of aerial and spiritual beauty, making + thy heart a universe of visions fairer than the wanderer over the rosy + Hesperus can survey,—shall not the same pure affection encompass + thee, even here, with a charmed atmosphere, and terror itself fall + harmless on a life too innocent for wisdom? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0068" id="link2HCH0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ombra piu che di notte, in cui di luce + Raggio misto non e; + + .... + + Ne piu il palagio appar, ne piu le sue + Vestigia; ne dir puossi—egli qui fue. + —“Ger. Lib.”, canto xvi.-lxix. + + (Darkness greater than of night, in which not a ray of light is + mixed;...The palace appears no more: not even a vestige,—nor + can one say that it has been.) +</pre> + <p> + The clubs are noisy with clamorous frenzy; the leaders are grim with + schemes. Black Henriot flies here and there, muttering to his armed + troops, “Robespierre, your beloved, is in danger!” Robespierre stalks + perturbed, his list of victims swelling every hour. Tallien, the Macduff + to the doomed Macbeth, is whispering courage to his pale conspirators. + Along the streets heavily roll the tumbrils. The shops are closed,—the + people are gorged with gore, and will lap no more. And night after night, + to the eighty theatres flock the children of the Revolution, to laugh at + the quips of comedy, and weep gentle tears over imaginary woes! + </p> + <p> + In a small chamber, in the heart of the city, sits the mother, watching + over her child. It is quiet, happy noon; the sunlight, broken by the tall + roofs in the narrow street, comes yet through the open casement, the + impartial playfellow of the air, gleesome alike in temple and prison, hall + and hovel; as golden and as blithe, whether it laugh over the first hour + of life, or quiver in its gay delight on the terror and agony of the last! + The child, where it lay at the feet of Viola, stretched out its dimpled + hands as if to clasp the dancing motes that revelled in the beam. The + mother turned her eyes from the glory; it saddened her yet more. She + turned and sighed. + </p> + <p> + Is this the same Viola who bloomed fairer than their own Idalia under the + skies of Greece? How changed! How pale and worn! She sat listlessly, her + arms dropping on her knee; the smile that was habitual to her lips was + gone. A heavy, dull despondency, as if the life of life were no more, + seemed to weigh down her youth, and make it weary of that happy sun! In + truth, her existence had languished away since it had wandered, as some + melancholy stream, from the source that fed it. The sudden enthusiasm of + fear or superstition that had almost, as if still in the unconscious + movements of a dream, led her to fly from Zanoni, had ceased from the day + which dawned upon her in a foreign land. Then—there—she felt + that in the smile she had evermore abandoned lived her life. She did not + repent,—she would not have recalled the impulse that winged her + flight. Though the enthusiasm was gone, the superstition yet remained; she + still believed she had saved her child from that dark and guilty sorcery, + concerning which the traditions of all lands are prodigal, but in none do + they find such credulity, or excite such dread, as in the South of Italy. + This impression was confirmed by the mysterious conversations of Glyndon, + and by her own perception of the fearful change that had passed over one + who represented himself as the victim of the enchanters. She did not, + therefore, repent; but her very volition seemed gone. + </p> + <p> + On their arrival at Paris, Viola saw her companion—the faithful wife—no + more. Ere three weeks were passed, husband and wife had ceased to live. + </p> + <p> + And now, for the first time, the drudgeries of this hard earth claimed the + beautiful Neapolitan. In that profession, giving voice and shape to poetry + and song, in which her first years were passed, there is, while it lasts, + an excitement in the art that lifts it from the labour of a calling. + Hovering between two lives, the Real and Ideal, dwells the life of music + and the stage. But that life was lost evermore to the idol of the eyes and + ears of Naples. Lifted to the higher realm of passionate love, it seemed + as if the fictitious genius which represents the thoughts of others was + merged in the genius that grows all thought itself. It had been the worst + infidelity to the Lost, to have descended again to live on the applause of + others. And so—for she would not accept alms from Glyndon—so, + by the commonest arts, the humblest industry which the sex knows, alone + and unseen, she who had slept on the breast of Zanoni found a shelter for + their child. As when, in the noble verse prefixed to this chapter, Armida + herself has destroyed her enchanted palace,—not a vestige of that + bower, raised of old by Poetry and Love, remained to say, “It had been!” + </p> + <p> + And the child avenged the father; it bloomed, it thrived,—it waxed + strong in the light of life. But still it seemed haunted and preserved by + some other being than her own. In its sleep there was that slumber, so + deep and rigid, which a thunderbolt could not have disturbed; and in such + sleep often it moved its arms, as to embrace the air: often its lips + stirred with murmured sounds of indistinct affection,—NOT FOR HER; + and all the while upon its cheeks a hue of such celestial bloom, upon its + lips a smile of such mysterious joy! Then, when it waked, its eyes did not + turn first to HER,—wistful, earnest, wandering, they roved around, + to fix on her pale face, at last, in mute sorrow and reproach. + </p> + <p> + Never had Viola felt before how mighty was her love for Zanoni; how + thought, feeling, heart, soul, life,—all lay crushed and dormant in + the icy absence to which she had doomed herself! She heard not the roar + without, she felt not one amidst those stormy millions,—worlds of + excitement labouring through every hour. Only when Glyndon, haggard, wan, + and spectre-like, glided in, day after day, to visit her, did the fair + daughter of the careless South know how heavy and universal was the + Death-Air that girt her round. Sublime in her passive unconsciousness,—her + mechanic life,—she sat, and feared not, in the den of the Beasts of + Prey. + </p> + <p> + The door of the room opened abruptly, and Glyndon entered. His manner was + more agitated than usual. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Clarence?” she said in her soft, languid tones. “You are + before the hour I expected you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who can count on his hours at Paris?” returned Glyndon, with a frightful + smile. “Is it not enough that I am here! Your apathy in the midst of these + sorrows appalls me. You say calmly, ‘Farewell;’ calmly you bid me, + ‘Welcome!‘—as if in every corner there was not a spy, and as + if with every day there was not a massacre!” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me! But in these walls lies my world. I can hardly credit all the + tales you tell me. Everything here, save THAT,” and she pointed to the + infant, “seems already so lifeless, that in the tomb itself one could + scarcely less heed the crimes that are done without.” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon paused for a few moments, and gazed with strange and mingled + feelings upon that face and form, still so young, and yet so invested with + that saddest of all repose,—when the heart feels old. + </p> + <p> + “O Viola,” said he, at last, and in a voice of suppressed passion, “was it + thus I ever thought to see you,—ever thought to feel for you, when + we two first met in the gay haunts of Naples? Ah, why then did you refuse + my love; or why was mine not worthy of you? Nay, shrink not!—let me + touch your hand. No passion so sweet as that youthful love can return to + me again. I feel for you but as a brother for some younger and lonely + sister. With you, in your presence, sad though it be, I seem to breathe + back the purer air of my early life. Here alone, except in scenes of + turbulence and tempest, the Phantom ceases to pursue me. I forget even the + Death that stalks behind, and haunts me as my shadow. But better days may + be in store for us yet. Viola, I at last begin dimly to perceive how to + baffle and subdue the Phantom that has cursed my life,—it is to + brave, and defy it. In sin and in riot, as I have told thee, it haunts me + not. But I comprehend now what Mejnour said in his dark apothegms, ‘that I + should dread the spectre most WHEN UNSEEN.’ In virtuous and calm + resolution it appears,—ay, I behold it now; there, there, with its + livid eyes!”—and the drops fell from his brow. “But it shall no + longer daunt me from that resolution. I face it, and it gradually darkens + back into the shade.” He paused, and his eyes dwelt with a terrible + exultation upon the sunlit space; then, with a heavy and deep-drawn + breath, he resumed, “Viola, I have found the means of escape. We will + leave this city. In some other land we will endeavour to comfort each + other, and forget the past.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Viola, calmly; “I have no further wish to stir, till I am born + hence to the last resting-place. I dreamed of him last night, Clarence!—dreamed + of him for the first time since we parted; and, do not mock me, methought + that he forgave the deserter, and called me ‘Wife.’ That dream hallows the + room. Perhaps it will visit me again before I die.” + </p> + <p> + “Talk not of him,—of the demi-fiend!” cried Glyndon, fiercely, and + stamping his foot. “Thank the Heavens for any fate that hath rescued thee + from him!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said Viola, gravely. And as she was about to proceed, her eye fell + upon the child. It was standing in the very centre of that slanting column + of light which the sun poured into the chamber; and the rays seemed to + surround it as a halo, and settled, crown-like, on the gold of its shining + hair. In its small shape, so exquisitely modelled, in its large, steady, + tranquil eyes, there was something that awed, while it charmed the + mother’s pride. It gazed on Glyndon as he spoke, with a look which almost + might have seemed disdain, and which Viola, at least, interpreted as a + defence of the Absent, stronger than her own lips could frame. + </p> + <p> + Glyndon broke the pause. + </p> + <p> + “Thou wouldst stay, for what? To betray a mother’s duty! If any evil + happen to thee here, what becomes of thine infant? Shall it be brought up + an orphan, in a country that has desecrated thy religion, and where human + charity exists no more? Ah, weep, and clasp it to thy bosom; but tears do + not protect and save.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast conquered, my friend, I will fly with thee.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow night, then, be prepared. I will bring thee the necessary + disguises.” + </p> + <p> + And Glyndon then proceeded to sketch rapidly the outline of the path they + were to take, and the story they were to tell. Viola listened, but + scarcely comprehended; he pressed her hand to his heart and departed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0069" id="link2HCH0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Van seco pur anco + Sdegno ed Amor, quasi due Veltri al fianco. + “Ger. Lib.” cant. xx. cxvii. + + (There went with him still Disdain and Love, like two greyhounds + side by side.) +</pre> + <p> + Glyndon did not perceive, as he hurried from the house, two forms + crouching by the angle of the wall. He saw still the spectre gliding by + his side; but he beheld not the yet more poisonous eyes of human envy and + woman’s jealousy that glared on his retreating footsteps. + </p> + <p> + Nicot advanced to the house; Fillide followed him in silence. The painter, + an old sans-culotte, knew well what language to assume to the porter. He + beckoned the latter from his lodge, “How is this, citizen? Thou harbourest + a ‘suspect.’” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen, you terrify me!—if so, name him.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a man; a refugee, an Italian woman, lodges here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, au troisieme,—the door to the left. But what of her?—she + cannot be dangerous, poor child!” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen, beware! Dost thou dare to pity her?” + </p> + <p> + “I? No, no, indeed. But—” + </p> + <p> + “Speak the truth! Who visits her?” + </p> + <p> + “No one but an Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “That is it,—an Englishman, a spy of Pitt and Coburg.” + </p> + <p> + “Just Heaven! is it possible?” + </p> + <p> + “How, citizen! dost thou speak of Heaven? Thou must be an aristocrat!” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed; it was but an old bad habit, and escaped me unawares.” + </p> + <p> + “How often does the Englishman visit her?” + </p> + <p> + “Daily.” + </p> + <p> + Fillide uttered an exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “She never stirs out,” said the porter. “Her sole occupations are in work, + and care of her infant.” + </p> + <p> + “Her infant!” + </p> + <p> + Fillide made a bound forward. Nicot in vain endeavoured to arrest her. She + sprang up the stairs; she paused not till she was before the door + indicated by the porter; it stood ajar, she entered, she stood at the + threshold, and beheld that face, still so lovely! The sight of so much + beauty left her hopeless. And the child, over whom the mother bent!—she + who had never been a mother!—she uttered no sound; the furies were + at work within her breast. Viola turned, and saw her, and, terrified by + the strange apparition, with features that expressed the deadliest hate + and scorn and vengeance, uttered a cry, and snatched the child to her + bosom. The Italian laughed aloud,—turned, descended, and, gaining + the spot where Nicot still conversed with the frightened porter drew him + from the house. When they were in the open street, she halted abruptly, + and said, “Avenge me, and name thy price!” + </p> + <p> + “My price, sweet one! is but permission to love thee. Thou wilt fly with + me to-morrow night; thou wilt possess thyself of the passports and the + plan.” + </p> + <p> + “And they—” + </p> + <p> + “Shall, before then, find their asylum in the Conciergerie. The guillotine + shall requite thy wrongs.” + </p> + <p> + “Do this, and I am satisfied,” said Fillide, firmly. + </p> + <p> + And they spoke no more till they regained the house. But when she there, + looking up to the dull building, saw the windows of the room which the + belief of Glyndon’s love had once made a paradise, the tiger relented at + the heart; something of the woman gushed back upon her nature, dark and + savage as it was. She pressed the arm on which she leaned convulsively, + and exclaimed, “No, no! not him! denounce her,—let her perish; but I + have slept on HIS bosom,—not HIM!” + </p> + <p> + “It shall be as thou wilt,” said Nicot, with a devil’s sneer; “but he must + be arrested for the moment. No harm shall happen to him, for no accuser + shall appear. But her,—thou wilt not relent for her?” + </p> + <p> + Fillide turned upon him her eyes, and their dark glance was sufficient + answer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0070" id="link2HCH0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In poppa quella + Che guidar gli dovea, fatal Donsella. + “Ger. Lib.” cant. xv. 3. + + (By the prow was the fatal lady ordained to be the guide.) +</pre> + <p> + The Italian did not overrate that craft of simulation proverbial with her + country and her sex. Not a word, not a look, that day revealed to Glyndon + the deadly change that had converted devotion into hate. He himself, + indeed, absorbed in his own schemes, and in reflections on his own strange + destiny, was no nice observer. But her manner, milder and more subdued + than usual, produced a softening effect upon his meditations towards the + evening; and he then began to converse with her on the certain hope of + escape, and on the future that would await them in less unhallowed lands. + </p> + <p> + “And thy fair friend,” said Fillide, with an averted eye and a false + smile, “who was to be our companion?—thou hast resigned her, Nicot + tells me, in favour of one in whom he is interested. Is it so?” + </p> + <p> + “He told thee this!” returned Glyndon, evasively. “Well! does the change + content thee?” + </p> + <p> + “Traitor!” muttered Fillide; and she rose suddenly, approached him, parted + the long hair from his forehead caressingly, and pressed her lips + convulsively on his brow. + </p> + <p> + “This were too fair a head for the doomsman,” said she, with a slight + laugh, and, turning away, appeared occupied in preparations for their + departure. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, when he rose, Glyndon did not see the Italian; she was + absent from the house when he left it. It was necessary that he should + once more visit C— before his final Departure, not only to arrange + for Nicot’s participation in the flight, but lest any suspicion should + have arisen to thwart or endanger the plan he had adopted. C—, + though not one of the immediate coterie of Robespierre, and indeed + secretly hostile to him, had possessed the art of keeping well with each + faction as it rose to power. Sprung from the dregs of the populace, he + had, nevertheless, the grace and vivacity so often found impartially + amongst every class in France. He had contrived to enrich himself—none + knew how—in the course of his rapid career. He became, indeed, + ultimately one of the wealthiest proprietors of Paris, and at that time + kept a splendid and hospitable mansion. He was one of those whom, from + various reasons, Robespierre deigned to favour; and he had often saved the + proscribed and suspected, by procuring them passports under disguised + names, and advising their method of escape. But C— was a man who + took this trouble only for the rich. “The incorruptible Maximilien,” who + did not want the tyrant’s faculty of penetration, probably saw through all + his manoeuvres, and the avarice which he cloaked beneath his charity. But + it was noticeable that Robespierre frequently seemed to wink at—nay, + partially to encourage—such vice in men whom he meant hereafter to + destroy, as would tend to lower them in the public estimation, and to + contrast with his own austere and unassailable integrity and PURISM. And, + doubtless, he often grimly smiled in his sleeve at the sumptuous mansion + and the griping covetousness of the worthy Citizen C—. + </p> + <p> + To this personage, then, Glyndon musingly bent his way. It was true, as he + had darkly said to Viola, that in proportion as he had resisted the + spectre, its terrors had lost their influence. The time had come at last, + when, seeing crime and vice in all their hideousness, and in so vast a + theatre, he had found that in vice and crime there are deadlier horrors + than in the eyes of a phantom-fear. His native nobleness began to return + to him. As he passed the streets, he revolved in his mind projects of + future repentance and reformation. He even meditated, as a just return for + Fillide’s devotion, the sacrifice of all the reasonings of his birth and + education. He would repair whatever errors he had committed against her, + by the self-immolation of marriage with one little congenial with himself. + He who had once revolted from marriage with the noble and gentle Viola!—he + had learned in that world of wrong to know that right is right, and that + Heaven did not make the one sex to be the victim of the other. The young + visions of the Beautiful and the Good rose once more before him; and along + the dark ocean of his mind lay the smile of reawakening virtue, as a path + of moonlight. Never, perhaps, had the condition of his soul been so + elevated and unselfish. + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile Jean Nicot, equally absorbed in dreams of the future, and + already in his own mind laying out to the best advantage the gold of the + friend he was about to betray, took his way to the house honoured by the + residence of Robespierre. He had no intention to comply with the relenting + prayer of Fillide, that the life of Glyndon should be spared. He thought + with Barrere, “Il n’y a que les morts qui ne revient pas.” In all men who + have devoted themselves to any study, or any art, with sufficient pains to + attain a certain degree of excellence, there must be a fund of energy + immeasurably above that of the ordinary herd. Usually this energy is + concentrated on the objects of their professional ambition, and leaves + them, therefore, apathetic to the other pursuits of men. But where those + objects are denied, where the stream has not its legitimate vent, the + energy, irritated and aroused, possesses the whole being, and if not + wasted on desultory schemes, or if not purified by conscience and + principle, becomes a dangerous and destructive element in the social + system, through which it wanders in riot and disorder. Hence, in all wise + monarchies,—nay, in all well-constituted states,—the peculiar + care with which channels are opened for every art and every science; hence + the honour paid to their cultivators by subtle and thoughtful statesmen, + who, perhaps, for themselves, see nothing in a picture but coloured + canvas,—nothing in a problem but an ingenious puzzle. No state is + ever more in danger than when the talent that should be consecrated to + peace has no occupation but political intrigue or personal advancement. + Talent unhonoured is talent at war with men. And here it is noticeable, + that the class of actors having been the most degraded by the public + opinion of the old regime, their very dust deprived of Christian burial, + no men (with certain exceptions in the company especially favoured by the + Court) were more relentless and revengeful among the scourges of the + Revolution. In the savage Collot d’Herbois, mauvais comedien, were + embodied the wrongs and the vengeance of a class. + </p> + <p> + Now the energy of Jean Nicot had never been sufficiently directed to the + art he professed. Even in his earliest youth, the political disquisitions + of his master, David, had distracted him from the more tedious labours of + the easel. The defects of his person had embittered his mind; the atheism + of his benefactor had deadened his conscience. For one great excellence of + religion—above all, the Religion of the Cross—is, that it + raises PATIENCE first into a virtue, and next into a hope. Take away the + doctrine of another life, of requital hereafter, of the smile of a Father + upon our sufferings and trials in our ordeal here, and what becomes of + patience? But without patience, what is man?—and what a people? + Without patience, art never can be high; without patience, liberty never + can be perfected. By wild throes, and impetuous, aimless struggles, + Intellect seeks to soar from Penury, and a nation to struggle into + Freedom. And woe, thus unfortified, guideless, and unenduring,—woe + to both! + </p> + <p> + Nicot was a villain as a boy. In most criminals, however abandoned, there + are touches of humanity,—relics of virtue; and the true delineator + of mankind often incurs the taunt of bad hearts and dull minds, for + showing that even the worst alloy has some particles of gold, and even the + best that come stamped from the mint of Nature have some adulteration of + the dross. But there are exceptions, though few, to the general rule,—exceptions, + when the conscience lies utterly dead, and when good or bad are things + indifferent but as means to some selfish end. So was it with the protege + of the atheist. Envy and hate filled up his whole being, and the + consciousness of superior talent only made him curse the more all who + passed him in the sunlight with a fairer form or happier fortunes. But, + monster though he was, when his murderous fingers griped the throat of his + benefactor, Time, and that ferment of all evil passions—the Reign of + Blood—had made in the deep hell of his heart a deeper still. Unable + to exercise his calling (for even had he dared to make his name prominent, + revolutions are no season for painters; and no man—no! not the + richest and proudest magnate of the land, has so great an interest in + peace and order, has so high and essential a stake in the well being of + society, as the poet and the artist), his whole intellect, ever restless + and unguided, was left to ponder over the images of guilt most congenial + to it. He had no future but in this life; and how in this life had the men + of power around him, the great wrestlers for dominion, thriven? All that + was good, pure, unselfish,—whether among Royalists or Republicans,—swept + to the shambles, and the deathsmen left alone in the pomp and purple of + their victims! Nobler paupers than Jean Nicot would despair; and Poverty + would rise in its ghastly multitudes to cut the throat of Wealth, and then + gash itself limb by limb, if Patience, the Angel of the Poor, sat not by + its side, pointing with solemn finger to the life to come! And now, as + Nicot neared the house of the Dictator, he began to meditate a reversal of + his plans of the previous day: not that he faltered in his resolution to + denounce Glyndon, and Viola would necessarily share his fate, as a + companion and accomplice,—no, THERE he was resolved! for he hated + both (to say nothing of his old but never-to-be-forgotten grudge against + Zanoni). Viola had scorned him, Glyndon had served, and the thought of + gratitude was as intolerable to him as the memory of insult. But why, now, + should he fly from France?—he could possess himself of Glyndon’s + gold; he doubted not that he could so master Fillide by her wrath and + jealousy that he could command her acquiescence in all he proposed. The + papers he had purloined—Desmoulins’ correspondence with Glyndon—while + it insured the fate of the latter, might be eminently serviceable to + Robespierre, might induce the tyrant to forget his own old liaisons with + Hebert, and enlist him among the allies and tools of the King of Terror. + Hopes of advancement, of wealth, of a career, again rose before him. This + correspondence, dated shortly before Camille Desmoulins’ death, was + written with that careless and daring imprudence which characterised the + spoiled child of Danton. It spoke openly of designs against Robespierre; + it named confederates whom the tyrant desired only a popular pretext to + crush. It was a new instrument of death in the hands of the + Death-compeller. What greater gift could he bestow on Maximilien the + Incorruptible? + </p> + <p> + Nursing these thoughts, he arrived at last before the door of Citizen + Dupleix. Around the threshold were grouped, in admired confusion, some + eight or ten sturdy Jacobins, the voluntary body-guard of Robespierre,—tall + fellows, well armed, and insolent with the power that reflects power, + mingled with women, young and fair, and gayly dressed, who had come, upon + the rumour that Maximilien had had an attack of bile, to inquire tenderly + of his health; for Robespierre, strange though it seem, was the idol of + the sex! + </p> + <p> + Through this cortege stationed without the door, and reaching up the + stairs to the landing-place,—for Robespierre’s apartments were not + spacious enough to afford sufficient antechamber for levees so numerous + and miscellaneous,—Nicot forced his way; and far from friendly or + flattering were the expressions that regaled his ears. + </p> + <p> + “Aha, le joli Polichinelle!” said a comely matron, whose robe his + obtrusive and angular elbows cruelly discomposed. “But how could one + expect gallantry from such a scarecrow!” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen, I beg to advise thee (The courteous use of the plural was + proscribed at Paris. The Societies Populaires had decided that whoever + used it should be prosecuted as suspect et adulateur! At the door of the + public administrations and popular societies was written up, “Ici on + s’honore du Citoyen, et on se tutoye”!!! (“Here they respect the title of + Citizen, and they ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ one another.”) Take away Murder from + the French Revolution and it becomes the greatest farce ever played before + the angels!) that thou art treading on my feet. I beg thy pardon, but now + I look at thine, I see the hall is not wide enough for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Ho! Citizen Nicot,” cried a Jacobin, shouldering his formidable bludgeon, + “and what brings thee hither?—thinkest thou that Hebert’s crimes are + forgotten already? Off, sport of Nature! and thank the Etre Supreme that + he made thee insignificant enough to be forgiven.” + </p> + <p> + “A pretty face to look out of the National Window” (The Guillotine.), said + the woman whose robe the painter had ruffled. + </p> + <p> + “Citizens,” said Nicot, white with passion, but constraining himself so + that his words seemed to come from grinded teeth, “I have the honour to + inform you that I seek the Representant upon business of the utmost + importance to the public and himself; and,” he added slowly and + malignantly, glaring round, “I call all good citizens to be my witnesses + when I shall complain to Robespierre of the reception bestowed on me by + some amongst you.” + </p> + <p> + There was in the man’s look and his tone of voice so much of deep and + concentrated malignity, that the idlers drew back, and as the remembrance + of the sudden ups and downs of revolutionary life occurred to them, + several voices were lifted to assure the squalid and ragged painter that + nothing was farther from their thoughts than to offer affront to a citizen + whose very appearance proved him to be an exemplary sans-culotte. Nicot + received these apologies in sullen silence, and, folding his arms, leaned + against the wall, waiting in grim patience for his admission. + </p> + <p> + The loiterers talked to each other in separate knots of two and three; and + through the general hum rang the clear, loud, careless whistle of the tall + Jacobin who stood guard by the stairs. Next to Nicot, an old woman and a + young virgin were muttering in earnest whispers, and the atheist painter + chuckled inly to overhear their discourse. + </p> + <p> + “I assure thee, my dear,” said the crone, with a mysterious shake of head, + “that the divine Catherine Theot, whom the impious now persecute, is + really inspired. There can be no doubt that the elect, of whom Dom Gerle + and the virtuous Robespierre are destined to be the two grand prophets, + will enjoy eternal life here, and exterminate all their enemies. There is + no doubt of it,—not the least!” + </p> + <p> + “How delightful!” said the girl; “ce cher Robespierre!—he does not + look very long-lived either!” + </p> + <p> + “The greater the miracle,” said the old woman. “I am just eighty-one, and + I don’t feel a day older since Catherine Theot promised me I should be one + of the elect!” + </p> + <p> + Here the women were jostled aside by some newcomers, who talked loud and + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried a brawny man, whose garb denoted him to be a butcher, with + bare arms, and a cap of liberty on his head; “I am come to warn + Robespierre. They lay a snare for him; they offer him the Palais National. + ‘On ne peut etre ami du peuple et habiter un palais.’” (“No one can be a + friend of the people, and dwell in a palace.”—“Papiers inedits + trouves chez Robespierre,” etc., volume ii. page 132.) + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” answered a cordonnier; “I like him best in his little + lodging with the menuisier: it looks like one of US.” + </p> + <p> + Another rush of the crowd, and a new group were thrown forward in the + vicinity of Nicot. And these men gabbled and chattered faster and louder + than the rest. + </p> + <p> + “But my plan is—” + </p> + <p> + “Au diable with YOUR plan! I tell you MY scheme is—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” cried a third. “When Robespierre understands MY new method of + making gunpowder, the enemies of France shall—” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! who fears foreign enemies?” interrupted a fourth; “the enemies to be + feared are at home. MY new guillotine takes off fifty heads at a time!” + </p> + <p> + “But MY new Constitution!” exclaimed a fifth. + </p> + <p> + “MY new Religion, citizen!” murmured, complacently, a sixth. + </p> + <p> + “Sacre mille tonnerres, silence!” roared forth one of the Jacobin guard. + </p> + <p> + And the crowd suddenly parted as a fierce-looking man, buttoned up to the + chin, his sword rattling by his side, his spurs clinking at his heel, + descended the stairs,—his cheeks swollen and purple with + intemperance, his eyes dead and savage as a vulture’s. There was a still + pause, as all, with pale cheeks, made way for the relentless Henriot. (Or + H<i>a</i>nriot. It is singular how undetermined are not only the + characters of the French Revolution, but even the spelling of their names. + With the historians it is Vergniau<i>d</i>,—with the journalists of + the time it is Vorgniau<i>x</i>. With one authority it is Robespierre,—with + another Robe<i>r</i>spierre.) Scarce had this gruff and iron minion of the + tyrant stalked through the throng, than a new movement of respect and + agitation and fear swayed the increasing crowd, as there glided in, with + the noiselessness of a shadow, a smiling, sober citizen, plainly but + neatly clad, with a downcast humble eye. A milder, meeker face no pastoral + poet could assign to Corydon or Thyrsis,—why did the crowd shrink + and hold their breath? As the ferret in a burrow crept that slight form + amongst the larger and rougher creatures that huddled and pressed back on + each other as he passed. A wink of his stealthy eye, and the huge Jacobins + left the passage clear, without sound or question. On he went to the + apartment of the tyrant, and thither will we follow him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0071" id="link2HCH0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Constitutum est, ut quisquis eum HOMINEM dixisset fuisse, + capitalem penderet poenam. + —St. Augustine, “Of the God Serapis,” l. 18, “de Civ. Dei,” c. 5. + + (It was decreed, that whoso should say that he had been a MAN, + should suffer the punishment of a capital offence.) +</pre> + <p> + Robespierre was reclining languidly in his fauteuil, his cadaverous + countenance more jaded and fatigued than usual. He to whom Catherine Theot + assured immortal life, looked, indeed, like a man at death’s door. On the + table before him was a dish heaped with oranges, with the juice of which + it is said that he could alone assuage the acrid bile that overflowed his + system; and an old woman, richly dressed (she had been a Marquise in the + old regime) was employed in peeling the Hesperian fruits for the sick + Dragon, with delicate fingers covered with jewels. I have before said that + Robespierre was the idol of the women. Strange certainly!—but then + they were French women! The old Marquise, who, like Catherine Theot, + called him “son,” really seemed to love him piously and disinterestedly as + a mother; and as she peeled the oranges, and heaped on him the most + caressing and soothing expressions, the livid ghost of a smile fluttered + about his meagre lips. At a distance, Payan and Couthon, seated at another + table, were writing rapidly, and occasionally pausing from their work to + consult with each other in brief whispers. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly one of the Jacobins opened the door, and, approaching + Robespierre, whispered to him the name of Guerin. (See for the espionage + on which Guerin was employed, “Les Papiers inedits,” etc., volume i. page + 366, No. xxviii.) At that word the sick man started up, as if new life + were in the sound. + </p> + <p> + “My kind friend,” he said to the Marquise, “forgive me; I must dispense + with thy tender cares. France demands me. I am never ill when I can serve + my country!” + </p> + <p> + The old Marquise lifted up her eyes to heaven and murmured, “Quel ange!” + </p> + <p> + Robespierre waved his hand impatiently; and the old woman, with a sigh, + patted his pale cheek, kissed his forehead, and submissively withdrew. The + next moment, the smiling, sober man we have before described, stood, + bending low, before the tyrant. And well might Robespierre welcome one of + the subtlest agents of his power,—one on whom he relied more than + the clubs of his Jacobins, the tongues of his orators, the bayonets of his + armies; Guerin, the most renowned of his ecouteurs,—the searching, + prying, universal, omnipresent spy, who glided like a sunbeam through + chink and crevice, and brought to him intelligence not only of the deeds, + but the hearts of men! + </p> + <p> + “Well, citizen, well!—and what of Tallien?” + </p> + <p> + “This morning, early, two minutes after eight, he went out.” + </p> + <p> + “So early?—hem!” + </p> + <p> + “He passed Rue des Quatre Fils, Rue de Temple, Rue de la Reunion, au + Marais, Rue Martin; nothing observable, except that—” + </p> + <p> + “That what?” + </p> + <p> + “He amused himself at a stall in bargaining for some books.” + </p> + <p> + “Bargaining for books! Aha, the charlatan!—he would cloak the + intriguant under the savant! Well!” + </p> + <p> + “At last, in the Rue des Fosses Montmartre, an individual in a blue + surtout (unknown) accosted him. They walked together about the street some + minutes, and were joined by Legendre.” + </p> + <p> + “Legendre! approach, Payan! Legendre, thou hearest!” + </p> + <p> + “I went into a fruit-stall, and hired two little girls to go and play at + ball within hearing. They heard Legendre say, ‘I believe his power is + wearing itself out.’ And Tallien answered, ‘And HIMSELF too. I would not + give three months’ purchase for his life.’ I do not know, citizen, if they + meant THEE?” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I, citizen,” answered Robespierre, with a fell smile, succeeded by an + expression of gloomy thought. “Ha!” he muttered; “I am young yet,—in + the prime of life. I commit no excess. No; my constitution is sound, + sound. Anything farther of Tallien?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The woman whom he loves—Teresa de Fontenai—who lies in + prison, still continues to correspond with him; to urge him to save her by + thy destruction: this my listeners overheard. His servant is the messenger + between the prisoner and himself.” + </p> + <p> + “So! The servant shall be seized in the open streets of Paris. The Reign + of Terror is not over yet. With the letters found on him, if such their + context, I will pluck Tallien from his benches in the Convention.” + </p> + <p> + Robespierre rose, and after walking a few moments to and fro the room in + thought, opened the door and summoned one of the Jacobins without. To him + he gave his orders for the watch and arrest of Tallien’s servant, and then + threw himself again into his chair. As the Jacobin departed, Guerin + whispered,— + </p> + <p> + “Is not that the Citizen Aristides?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; a faithful fellow, if he would wash himself, and not swear so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Didst thou not guillotine his brother?” + </p> + <p> + “But Aristides denounced him.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, are such men safe about thy person?” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! that is true.” And Robespierre, drawing out his pocketbook, wrote + a memorandum in it, replaced it in his vest, and resumed,— + </p> + <p> + “What else of Tallien?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more. He and Legendre, with the unknown, walked to the Jardin + Egalite, and there parted. I saw Tallien to his house. But I have other + news. Thou badest me watch for those who threaten thee in secret letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Guerin! hast thou detected them? Hast thou—hast thou—” + </p> + <p> + And the tyrant, as he spoke, opened and shut both his hands, as if already + grasping the lives of the writers, and one of those convulsive grimaces + that seemed like an epileptic affection, to which he was subject, + distorted his features. + </p> + <p> + “Citizen, I think I have found one. Thou must know that amongst those most + disaffected is the painter Nicot.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, stay!” said Robespierre, opening a manuscript book, bound in red + morocco (for Robespierre was neat and precise, even in his death-lists), + and turning to an alphabetical index,—“Nicot!—I have him,—atheist, + sans-culotte (I hate slovens), friend of Hebert! Aha! N.B.—Rene + Dumas knows of his early career and crimes. Proceed!” + </p> + <p> + “This Nicot has been suspected of diffusing tracts and pamphlets against + thyself and the Comite. Yesterday evening, when he was out, his porter + admitted me into his apartment, Rue Beau Repaire. With my master-key I + opened his desk and escritoire. I found herein a drawing of thyself at the + guillotine; and underneath was written, ‘Bourreau de ton pays, lis l’arret + de ton chatiment!’ (Executioner of thy country, read the decree of thy + punishment!) I compared the words with the fragments of the various + letters thou gavest me: the handwriting tallies with one. See, I tore off + the writing.” + </p> + <p> + Robespierre looked, smiled, and, as if his vengeance were already + satisfied, threw himself on his chair. “It is well! I feared it was a more + powerful enemy. This man must be arrested at once.” + </p> + <p> + “And he waits below. I brushed by him as I ascended the stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he so?—admit!—nay,—hold! hold! Guerin, withdraw + into the inner chamber till I summon thee again. Dear Payan, see that this + Nicot conceals no weapons.” + </p> + <p> + Payan, who was as brave as Robespierre was pusillanimous, repressed the + smile of disdain that quivered on his lips a moment, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Robespierre, with his head buried in his bosom, seemed plunged + in deep thought. “Life is a melancholy thing, Couthon!” said he, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Begging your pardon, I think death worse,” answered the philanthropist, + gently. + </p> + <p> + Robespierre made no rejoinder, but took from his portefeuille that + singular letter, which was found afterwards amongst his papers, and is + marked LXI. in the published collection. (“Papiers inedits,’ etc., volume + ii. page 156.) + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt,” it began, “you are uneasy at not having earlier received + news from me. Be not alarmed; you know that I ought only to reply by our + ordinary courier; and as he has been interrupted, dans sa derniere course, + that is the cause of my delay. When you receive this, employ all diligence + to fly a theatre where you are about to appear and disappear for the last + time. It were idle to recall to you all the reasons that expose you to + peril. The last step that should place you sur le sopha de la presidence, + but brings you to the scaffold; and the mob will spit on your face as it + has spat on those whom you have judged. Since, then, you have accumulated + here a sufficient treasure for existence, I await you with great + impatience, to laugh with you at the part you have played in the troubles + of a nation as credulous as it is avid of novelties. Take your part + according to our arrangements,—all is prepared. I conclude,—our + courier waits. I expect your reply.” + </p> + <p> + Musingly and slowly the Dictator devoured the contents of this epistle. + “No,” he said to himself,—“no; he who has tasted power can no longer + enjoy repose. Yet, Danton, Danton! thou wert right; better to be a poor + fisherman than to govern men.” (“Il vaudrait mieux,” said Danton, in his + dungeon, “etre un pauvre pecheur que de gouverner les hommes.”) + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and Payan reappeared and whispered Robespierre, “All is + safe! See the man.” + </p> + <p> + The Dictator, satisfied, summoned his attendant Jacobin to conduct Nicot + to his presence. The painter entered with a fearless expression in his + deformed features, and stood erect before Robespierre, who scanned him + with a sidelong eye. + </p> + <p> + It is remarkable that most of the principal actors of the Revolution were + singularly hideous in appearance,—from the colossal ugliness of + Mirabeau and Danton, or the villanous ferocity in the countenances of + David and Simon, to the filthy squalor of Marat, the sinister and bilious + meanness of the Dictator’s features. But Robespierre, who was said to + resemble a cat, had also a cat’s cleanness; and his prim and dainty dress, + his shaven smoothness, the womanly whiteness of his lean hands, made yet + more remarkable the disorderly ruffianism that characterised the attire + and mien of the painter-sans-culotte. + </p> + <p> + “And so, citizen,” said Robespierre, mildly, “thou wouldst speak with me? + I know thy merits and civism have been overlooked too long. Thou wouldst + ask some suitable provision in the state? Scruple not—say on!” + </p> + <p> + “Virtuous Robespierre, toi qui eclaires l’univers (Thou who enlightenest + the world.), I come not to ask a favour, but to render service to the + state. I have discovered a correspondence that lays open a conspiracy of + which many of the actors are yet unsuspected.” And he placed the papers on + the table. Robespierre seized, and ran his eye over them rapidly and + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Good!—good!” he muttered to himself: “this is all I wanted. + Barrere, Legendre! I have them! Camille Desmoulins was but their dupe. I + loved him once; I never loved them! Citizen Nicot, I thank thee. I observe + these letters are addressed to an Englishman. What Frenchman but must + distrust these English wolves in sheep’s clothing! France wants no longer + citizens of the world; that farce ended with Anarcharsis Clootz. I beg + pardon, Citizen Nicot; but Clootz and Hebert were THY friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Nicot, apologetically, “we are all liable to be deceived. I + ceased to honour them whom thou didst declare against; for I disown my own + senses rather than thy justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I pretend to justice; that IS the virtue I affect,” said + Robespierre, meekly; and with his feline propensities he enjoyed, even in + that critical hour of vast schemes, of imminent danger, of meditated + revenge, the pleasure of playing with a solitary victim. (The most + detestable anecdote of this peculiar hypocrisy in Robespierre is that in + which he is recorded to have tenderly pressed the hand of his old + school-friend, Camille Desmoulins, the day that he signed the warrant for + his arrest.) “And my justice shall no longer be blind to thy services, + good Nicot. Thou knowest this Glyndon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, well,—intimately. He WAS my friend, but I would give up my + brother if he were one of the ‘indulgents.’ I am not ashamed to say that I + have received favours from this man.” + </p> + <p> + “Aha!—and thou dost honestly hold the doctrine that where a man + threatens my life all personal favours are to be forgotten?” + </p> + <p> + “All!” + </p> + <p> + “Good citizen!—kind Nicot!—oblige me by writing the address of + this Glyndon.” + </p> + <p> + Nicot stooped to the table; and suddenly when the pen was in his hand, a + thought flashed across him, and he paused, embarrassed and confused. + </p> + <p> + “Write on, KIND Nicot!” + </p> + <p> + The painter slowly obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “Who are the other familiars of Glyndon?” + </p> + <p> + “It was on that point I was about to speak to thee, Representant,” said + Nicot. “He visits daily a woman, a foreigner, who knows all his secrets; + she affects to be poor, and to support her child by industry. But she is + the wife of an Italian of immense wealth, and there is no doubt that she + has moneys which are spent in corrupting the citizens. She should be + seized and arrested.” + </p> + <p> + “Write down her name also.” + </p> + <p> + “But no time is to be lost; for I know that both have a design to escape + from Paris this very night.” + </p> + <p> + “Our government is prompt, good Nicot,—never fear. Humph!—humph!” + and Robespierre took the paper on which Nicot had written, and stooping + over it—for he was near-sighted—added, smilingly, “Dost thou + always write the same hand, citizen? This seems almost like a disguised + character.” + </p> + <p> + “I should not like them to know who denounced them, Representant.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! good! Thy virtue shall be rewarded, trust me. Salut et fraternite!” + </p> + <p> + Robespierre half rose as he spoke, and Nicot withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, there!—without!” cried the Dictator, ringing his bell; and as + the ready Jacobin attended the summons, “Follow that man, Jean Nicot. The + instant he has cleared the house seize him. At once to the Conciergerie + with him. Stay!—nothing against the law; there is thy warrant. The + public accuser shall have my instruction. Away!—quick!” + </p> + <p> + The Jacobin vanished. All trace of illness, of infirmity, had gone from + the valetudinarian; he stood erect on the floor, his face twitching + convulsively, and his arms folded. “Ho! Guerin!” the spy reappeared—“take + these addresses! Within an hour this Englishman and his woman must be in + prison; their revelations will aid me against worthier foes. They shall + die: they shall perish with the rest on the 10th,—the third day from + this. There!” and he wrote hastily,—“there, also, is thy warrant! + Off! + </p> + <p> + “And now, Couthon, Payan, we will dally no longer with Tallien and his + crew. I have information that the Convention will NOT attend the Fete on + the 10th. We must trust only to the sword of the law. I must compose my + thoughts,—prepare my harangue. To-morrow, I will reappear at the + Convention; to-morrow, bold St. Just joins us, fresh from our victorious + armies; to-morrow, from the tribune, I will dart the thunderbolt on the + masked enemies of France; to-morrow, I will demand, in the face of the + country, the heads of the conspirators.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0072" id="link2HCH0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Le glaive est contre toi tourne de toutes parties. + La Harpe, “Jeanne de Naples,” Act iv. sc. 4. + + (The sword is raised against you on all sides.) +</pre> + <p> + In the mean time Glyndon, after an audience of some length with C—, + in which the final preparations were arranged, sanguine of safety, and + foreseeing no obstacle to escape, bent his way back to Fillide. Suddenly, + in the midst of his cheerful thoughts, he fancied he heard a voice too + well and too terribly recognised, hissing in his ear, “What! thou wouldst + defy and escape me! thou wouldst go back to virtue and content. It is in + vain,—it is too late. No, <i>I</i> will not haunt thee; HUMAN + footsteps, no less inexorable, dog thee now. Me thou shalt not see again + till in the dungeon, at midnight, before thy doom! Behold—” + </p> + <p> + And Glyndon, mechanically turning his head, saw, close behind him, the + stealthy figure of a man whom he had observed before, but with little + heed, pass and repass him, as he quitted the house of Citizen C—. + Instantly and instinctively he knew that he was watched,—that he was + pursued. The street he was in was obscure and deserted, for the day was + oppressively sultry, and it was the hour when few were abroad, either on + business or pleasure. Bold as he was, an icy chill shot through his heart, + he knew too well the tremendous system that then reigned in Paris not to + be aware of his danger. As the sight of the first plague-boil to the + victim of the pestilence, was the first sight of the shadowy spy to that + of the Revolution: the watch, the arrest, the trial, the guillotine,—these + made the regular and rapid steps of the monster that the anarchists called + Law! He breathed hard, he heard distinctly the loud beating of his heart. + And so he paused, still and motionless, gazing upon the shadow that halted + also behind him. + </p> + <p> + Presently, the absence of all allies to the spy, the solitude of the + streets, reanimated his courage; he made a step towards his pursuer, who + retreated as he advanced. “Citizen, thou followest me,” he said. “Thy + business?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” answered the man, with a deprecating smile, “the streets are + broad enough for both? Thou art not so bad a republican as to arrogate all + Paris to thyself!” + </p> + <p> + “Go on first, then. I make way for thee.” + </p> + <p> + The man bowed, doffed his hat politely, and passed forward. The next + moment Glyndon plunged into a winding lane, and fled fast through a + labyrinth of streets, passages, and alleys. By degrees he composed + himself, and, looking behind, imagined that he had baffled the pursuer; he + then, by a circuitous route, bent his way once more to his home. As he + emerged into one of the broader streets, a passenger, wrapped in a mantle, + brushing so quickly by him that he did not observe his countenance, + whispered, “Clarence Glyndon, you are dogged,—follow me!” and the + stranger walked quickly before him. Clarence turned, and sickened once + more to see at his heels, with the same servile smile on his face, the + pursuer he fancied he had escaped. He forgot the injunction of the + stranger to follow him, and perceiving a crowd gathered close at hand, + round a caricature-shop, dived amidst them, and, gaining another street, + altered the direction he had before taken, and, after a long and + breathless course, gained without once more seeing the spy, a distant + quartier of the city. + </p> + <p> + Here, indeed, all seemed so serene and fair that his artist eye, even in + that imminent hour, rested with pleasure on the scene. It was a + comparatively broad space, formed by one of the noble quays. The Seine + flowed majestically along, with boats and craft resting on its surface. + The sun gilt a thousand spires and domes, and gleamed on the white palaces + of a fallen chivalry. Here fatigued and panting, he paused an instant, and + a cooler air from the river fanned his brow. “Awhile, at least, I am safe + here,” he murmured; and as he spoke, some thirty paces behind him, he + beheld the spy. He stood rooted to the spot; wearied and spent as he was, + escape seemed no longer possible,—the river on one side (no bridge + at hand), and the long row of mansions closing up the other. As he halted, + he heard laughter and obscene songs from a house a little in his rear, + between himself and the spy. It was a cafe fearfully known in that + quarter. Hither often resorted the black troop of Henriot,—the + minions and huissiers of Robespierre. The spy, then, had hunted the victim + within the jaws of the hounds. The man slowly advanced, and, pausing + before the open window of the cafe, put his head through the aperture, as + to address and summon forth its armed inmates. + </p> + <p> + At that very instant, and while the spy’s head was thus turned from him, + standing in the half-open gateway of the house immediately before him, he + perceived the stranger who had warned; the figure, scarcely + distinguishable through the mantle that wrapped it, motioned to him to + enter. He sprang noiselessly through the friendly opening: the door + closed; breathlessly he followed the stranger up a flight of broad stairs + and through a suite of empty rooms, until, having gained a small cabinet, + his conductor doffed the large hat and the long mantle that had hitherto + concealed his shape and features, and Glyndon beheld Zanoni! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0073" id="link2HCH0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Think not my magic wonders wrought by aid + Of Stygian angels summoned up from hell; + Scorned and accursed be those who have essayed + Her gloomy Dives and Afrites to compel. + But by perception of the secret powers + Of mineral springs in Nature’s inmost cell, + Of herbs in curtain of her greenest bowers, + And of the moving stars o’er mountain tops and towers. + Wiffen’s “Translation of Tasso,” cant. xiv. xliii. +</pre> + <p> + “You are safe here, young Englishman!” said Zanoni, motioning Glyndon to a + seat. “Fortunate for you that I come on your track at last!” + </p> + <p> + “Far happier had it been if we had never met! Yet even in these last hours + of my fate, I rejoice to look once more on the face of that ominous and + mysterious being to whom I can ascribe all the sufferings I have known. + Here, then, thou shalt not palter with or elude me. Here, before we part, + thou shalt unravel to me the dark enigma, if not of thy life, of my own!” + </p> + <p> + “Hast thou suffered? Poor neophyte!” said Zanoni, pityingly. “Yes; I see + it on thy brow. But wherefore wouldst thou blame me? Did I not warn thee + against the whispers of thy spirit; did I not warn thee to forbear? Did I + not tell thee that the ordeal was one of awful hazard and tremendous + fears,—nay, did I not offer to resign to thee the heart that was + mighty enough, while mine, Glyndon, to content me? Was it not thine own + daring and resolute choice to brave the initiation! Of thine own free will + didst thou make Mejnour thy master, and his lore thy study!” + </p> + <p> + “But whence came the irresistible desires of that wild and unholy + knowledge? I knew them not till thine evil eye fell upon me, and I was + drawn into the magic atmosphere of thy being!” + </p> + <p> + “Thou errest!—the desires were in thee; and, whether in one + direction or the other, would have forced their way! Man! thou askest me + the enigma of thy fate and my own! Look round all being, is there not + mystery everywhere? Can thine eye trace the ripening of the grain beneath + the earth? In the moral and the physical world alike, lie dark portents, + far more wondrous than the powers thou wouldst ascribe to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou disown those powers; dost thou confess thyself an imposter?—or + wilt thou dare to tell me that thou art indeed sold to the Evil one,—a + magician whose familiar has haunted me night and day?” + </p> + <p> + “It matters not what I am,” returned Zanoni; “it matters only whether I + can aid thee to exorcise thy dismal phantom, and return once more to the + wholesome air of this common life. Something, however, will I tell thee, + not to vindicate myself, but the Heaven and the Nature that thy doubts + malign.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni paused a moment, and resumed with a slight smile,— + </p> + <p> + “In thy younger days thou hast doubtless read with delight the great + Christian poet, whose muse, like the morning it celebrated, came to earth, + ‘crowned with flowers culled in Paradise.’ [‘L’aurea testa Di rose colte + in Paradiso infiora.’ Tasso, “Ger. Lib.” iv. l.) + </p> + <p> + “No spirit was more imbued with the knightly superstitions of the time; + and surely the Poet of Jerusalem hath sufficiently, to satisfy even the + Inquisitor he consulted, execrated all the practitioners of the unlawful + spells invoked,— + </p> + <p> + ‘Per isforzar Cocito o Flegetonte.’ (To constrain Cocytus or Phlegethon.) + </p> + <p> + “But in his sorrows and his wrongs, in the prison of his madhouse, know + you not that Tasso himself found his solace, his escape, in the + recognition of a holy and spiritual Theurgia,—of a magic that could + summon the Angel, or the Good Genius, not the Fiend? And do you not + remember how he, deeply versed as he was for his age, in the mysteries of + the nobler Platonism, which hints at the secrets of all the starry + brotherhoods, from the Chaldean to the later Rosicrucian, discriminates in + his lovely verse, between the black art of Ismeno and the glorious lore of + the Enchanter who counsels and guides upon their errand the champions of + the Holy Land? HIS, not the charms wrought by the aid of the Stygian + Rebels (See this remarkable passage, which does indeed not unfaithfully + represent the doctrine of the Pythagorean and the Platonist, in Tasso, + cant. xiv. stanzas xli. to xlvii. (“Ger. Lib.”) They are beautifully + translated by Wiffen.), but the perception of the secret powers of the + fountain and the herb,—the Arcana of the unknown nature and the + various motions of the stars. His, the holy haunts of Lebanon and Carmel,—beneath + his feet he saw the clouds, the snows, the hues of Iris, the generations + of the rains and dews. Did the Christian Hermit who converted that + Enchanter (no fabulous being, but the type of all spirit that would aspire + through Nature up to God) command him to lay aside these sublime studies, + ‘Le solite arte e l’ uso mio’? No! but to cherish and direct them to + worthy ends. And in this grand conception of the poet lies the secret of + the true Theurgia, which startles your ignorance in a more learned day + with puerile apprehensions, and the nightmares of a sick man’s dreams.” + </p> + <p> + Again Zanoni paused, and again resumed:— + </p> + <p> + “In ages far remote,—of a civilisation far different from that which + now merges the individual in the state,—there existed men of ardent + minds, and an intense desire of knowledge. In the mighty and solemn + kingdoms in which they dwelt, there were no turbulent and earthly channels + to work off the fever of their minds. Set in the antique mould of casts + through which no intellect could pierce, no valour could force its way, + the thirst for wisdom alone reigned in the hearts of those who received + its study as a heritage from sire to son. Hence, even in your imperfect + records of the progress of human knowledge, you find that, in the earliest + ages, Philosophy descended not to the business and homes of men. It dwelt + amidst the wonders of the loftier creation; it sought to analyse the + formation of matter,—the essentials of the prevailing soul; to read + the mysteries of the starry orbs; to dive into those depths of Nature in + which Zoroaster is said by the schoolmen first to have discovered the arts + which your ignorance classes under the name of magic. In such an age, + then, arose some men, who, amidst the vanities and delusions of their + class, imagined that they detected gleams of a brighter and steadier lore. + They fancied an affinity existing among all the works of Nature, and that + in the lowliest lay the secret attraction that might conduct them upward + to the loftiest. (Agreeably, it would seem, to the notion of Iamblichus + and Plotinus, that the universe is as an animal; so that there is sympathy + and communication between one part and the other; in the smallest part may + be the subtlest nerve. And hence the universal magnetism of Nature. But + man contemplates the universe as an animalcule would an elephant. The + animalcule, seeing scarcely the tip of the hoof, would be incapable of + comprehending that the trunk belonged to the same creature,—that the + effect produced upon one extremity would be felt in an instant by the + other.) Centuries passed, and lives were wasted in these discoveries; but + step after step was chronicled and marked, and became the guide to the few + who alone had the hereditary privilege to track their path. + </p> + <p> + “At last from this dimness upon some eyes the light broke; but think not, + young visionary, that to those who nursed unholy thoughts, over whom the + Origin of Evil held a sway, that dawning was vouchsafed. It could be given + then, as now, only to the purest ecstasies of imagination and intellect, + undistracted by the cares of a vulgar life, or the appetites of the common + clay. Far from descending to the assistance of a fiend, theirs was but the + august ambition to approach nearer to the Fount of Good; the more they + emancipated themselves from this limbo of the planets, the more they were + penetrated by the splendour and beneficence of God. And if they sought, + and at last discovered, how to the eye of the Spirit all the subtler + modifications of being and of matter might be made apparent; if they + discovered how, for the wings of the Spirit, all space might be + annihilated, and while the body stood heavy and solid here, as a deserted + tomb, the freed IDEA might wander from star to star,—if such + discoveries became in truth their own, the sublimest luxury of their + knowledge was but this, to wonder, to venerate, and adore! For, as one not + unlearned in these high matters has expressed it, ‘There is a principle of + the soul superior to all external nature, and through this principle we + are capable of surpassing the order and systems of the world, and + participating the immortal life and the energy of the Sublime Celestials. + When the soul is elevated to natures above itself, it deserts the order to + which it is awhile compelled, and by a religious magnetism is attracted to + another and a loftier, with which it blends and mingles.’ (From + Iamblichus, “On the Mysteries,” c. 7, sect. 7.) Grant, then, that such + beings found at last the secret to arrest death; to fascinate danger and + the foe; to walk the revolutions of the earth unharmed,—think you + that this life could teach them other desire than to yearn the more for + the Immortal, and to fit their intellect the better for the higher being + to which they might, when Time and Death exist no longer, be transferred? + Away with your gloomy fantasies of sorcerer and demon!—the soul can + aspire only to the light; and even the error of our lofty knowledge was + but the forgetfulness of the weakness, the passions, and the bonds which + the death we so vainly conquered only can purge away!” + </p> + <p> + This address was so different from what Glyndon had anticipated, that he + remained for some moments speechless, and at length faltered out,— + </p> + <p> + “But why, then, to me—” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” added Zanoni,—“why to thee have been only the penance and the + terror,—the Threshold and the Phantom? Vain man! look to the + commonest elements of the common learning. Can every tyro at his mere wish + and will become the master; can the student, when he has bought his + Euclid, become a Newton; can the youth whom the Muses haunt, say, ‘I will + equal Homer;’ yea, can yon pale tyrant, with all the parchment laws of a + hundred system-shapers, and the pikes of his dauntless multitude, carve, + at his will, a constitution not more vicious than the one which the + madness of a mob could overthrow? When, in that far time to which I have + referred, the student aspired to the heights to which thou wouldst have + sprung at a single bound, he was trained from his very cradle to the + career he was to run. The internal and the outward nature were made clear + to his eyes, year after year, as they opened on the day. He was not + admitted to the practical initiation till not one earthly wish chained + that sublimest faculty which you call the IMAGINATION, one carnal desire + clouded the penetrative essence that you call the INTELLECT. And even + then, and at the best, how few attained to the last mystery! Happier + inasmuch as they attained the earlier to the holy glories for which Death + is the heavenliest gate.” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni paused, and a shade of thought and sorrow darkened his celestial + beauty. + </p> + <p> + “And are there, indeed, others, besides thee and Mejnour, who lay claim to + thine attributes, and have attained to thy secrets?” + </p> + <p> + “Others there have been before us, but we two now are alone on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Imposter, thou betrayest thyself! If they could conquer Death, why live + they not yet?” (Glyndon appears to forget that Mejnour had before answered + the very question which his doubts here a second time suggest.) + </p> + <p> + “Child of a day!” answered Zanoni, mournfully, “have I not told thee the + error of our knowledge was the forgetfulness of the desires and passions + which the spirit never can wholly and permanently conquer while this + matter cloaks it? Canst thou think that it is no sorrow, either to reject + all human ties, all friendship, and all love, or to see, day after day, + friendship and love wither from our life, as blossoms from the stem? Canst + thou wonder how, with the power to live while the world shall last, ere + even our ordinary date be finished we yet may prefer to die? Wonder rather + that there are two who have clung so faithfully to earth! Me, I confess, + that earth can enamour yet. Attaining to the last secret while youth was + in its bloom, youth still colours all around me with its own luxuriant + beauty; to me, yet, to breathe is to enjoy. The freshness has not faded + from the face of Nature, and not an herb in which I cannot discover a new + charm,—an undetected wonder. + </p> + <p> + “As with my youth, so with Mejnour’s age: he will tell you that life to + him is but a power to examine; and not till he has exhausted all the + marvels which the Creator has sown on earth, would he desire new + habitations for the renewed Spirit to explore. We are the types of the two + essences of what is imperishable,—‘ART, that enjoys; and + SCIENCE, that contemplates!’ And now, that thou mayest be contented that + the secrets are not vouchsafed to thee, learn that so utterly must the + idea detach itself from what makes up the occupation and excitement of + men; so must it be void of whatever would covet, or love, or hate,—that + for the ambitious man, for the lover, the hater, the power avails not. And + I, at last, bound and blinded by the most common of household ties; I, + darkened and helpless, adjure thee, the baffled and discontented,—I + adjure thee to direct, to guide me; where are they? Oh, tell me,—speak! + My wife,—my child? Silent!—oh, thou knowest now that I am no + sorcerer, no enemy. I cannot give thee what thy faculties deny,—I + cannot achieve what the passionless Mejnour failed to accomplish; but I + can give thee the next-best boon, perhaps the fairest,—I can + reconcile thee to the daily world, and place peace between thy conscience + and thyself.” + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou promise?” + </p> + <p> + “By their sweet lives, I promise!” + </p> + <p> + Glyndon looked and believed. He whispered the address to the house whither + his fatal step already had brought woe and doom. + </p> + <p> + “Bless thee for this,” exclaimed Zanoni, passionately, “and thou shalt be + blessed! What! couldst thou not perceive that at the entrance to all the + grander worlds dwell the race that intimidate and awe? Who in thy daily + world ever left the old regions of Custom and Prescription, and felt not + the first seizure of the shapeless and nameless Fear? Everywhere around + thee where men aspire and labour, though they see it not,—in the + closet of the sage, in the council of the demagogue, in the camp of the + warrior,—everywhere cowers and darkens the Unutterable Horror. But + there, where thou hast ventured, alone is the Phantom VISIBLE; and never + will it cease to haunt, till thou canst pass to the Infinite, as the + seraph; or return to the Familiar, as a child! But answer me this: when, + seeking to adhere to some calm resolve of virtue, the Phantom hath stalked + suddenly to thy side; when its voice hath whispered thee despair; when its + ghastly eyes would scare thee back to those scenes of earthly craft or + riotous excitement from which, as it leaves thee to worse foes to the + soul, its presence is ever absent,—hast thou never bravely resisted + the spectre and thine own horror; hast thou never said, ‘Come what may, to + Virtue I will cling?’” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” answered Glyndon, “only of late have I dared to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “And thou hast felt then that the Phantom grew more dim and its power more + faint?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Rejoice, then!—thou hast overcome the true terror and mystery of + the ordeal. Resolve is the first success. Rejoice, for the exorcism is + sure! Thou art not of those who, denying a life to come, are the victims + of the Inexorable Horror. Oh, when shall men learn, at last, that if the + Great Religion inculcates so rigidly the necessity of FAITH, it is not + alone that FAITH leads to the world to be; but that without faith there is + no excellence in this,—faith in something wiser, happier, diviner, + than we see on earth!—the artist calls it the Ideal,—the + priest, Faith. The Ideal and Faith are one and the same. Return, O + wanderer, return! Feel what beauty and holiness dwell in the Customary and + the Old. Back to thy gateway glide, thou Horror! and calm, on the + childlike heart, smile again, O azure Heaven, with thy night and thy + morning star but as one, though under its double name of Memory and Hope!” + </p> + <p> + As he thus spoke, Zanoni laid his hand gently on the burning temples of + his excited and wondering listener; and presently a sort of trance came + over him: he imagined that he was returned to the home of his infancy; + that he was in the small chamber where, over his early slumbers, his + mother had watched and prayed. There it was,—visible, palpable, + solitary, unaltered. In the recess, the homely bed; on the walls, the + shelves filled with holy books; the very easel on which he had first + sought to call the ideal to the canvas, dust-covered, broken, in the + corner. Below the window lay the old churchyard: he saw it green in the + distance, the sun glancing through the yew-trees; he saw the tomb where + father and mother lay united, and the spire pointing up to heaven, the + symbol of the hopes of those who consigned the ashes to the dust; in his + ear rang the bells, pealing, as on a Sabbath day. Far fled all the visions + of anxiety and awe that had haunted and convulsed; youth, boyhood, + childhood came back to him with innocent desires and hopes; he thought he + fell upon his knees to pray. He woke,—he woke in delicious tears, he + felt that the Phantom was fled forever. He looked round,—Zanoni was + gone. On the table lay these lines, the ink yet wet:— + </p> + <p> + “I will find ways and means for thy escape. At nightfall, as the clock + strikes nine, a boat shall wait thee on the river before this house; the + boatman will guide thee to a retreat where thou mayst rest in safety till + the Reign of Terror, which nears its close, be past. Think no more of the + sensual love that lured, and wellnigh lost thee. It betrayed, and would + have destroyed. Thou wilt regain thy land in safety,—long years yet + spared to thee to muse over the past, and to redeem it. For thy future, be + thy dream thy guide, and thy tears thy baptism.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman obeyed the injunctions of the letter, and found their + truth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0074" id="link2HCH0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Quid mirare meas tot in uno corpore formas? + Propert. + + (Why wonder that I have so many forms in a single body?) +</pre> + <p> + Zanoni to Mejnour. + </p> + <p> + ..... + </p> + <p> + “She is in one of their prisons,—their inexorable prisons. It is + Robespierre’s order,—I have tracked the cause to Glyndon. This, + then, made that terrible connection between their fates which I could not + unravel, but which (till severed as it now is) wrapped Glyndon himself in + the same cloud that concealed her. In prison,—in prison!—it is + the gate of the grave! Her trial, and the inevitable execution that + follows such trial, is the third day from this. The tyrant has fixed all + his schemes of slaughter for the 10th of Thermidor. While the deaths of + the unoffending strike awe to the city, his satellites are to massacre his + foes. There is but one hope left,—that the Power which now dooms the + doomer, may render me an instrument to expedite his fall. But two days + left,—two days! In all my wealth of time I see but two days; all + beyond,—darkness, solitude. I may save her yet. The tyrant shall + fall the day before that which he has set apart for slaughter! For the + first time I mix among the broils and stratagems of men, and my mind leaps + up from my despair, armed and eager for the contest.” + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + A crowd had gathered round the Rue St. Honore; a young man was just + arrested by the order of Robespierre. He was known to be in the service of + Tallien, that hostile leader in the Convention, whom the tyrant had + hitherto trembled to attack. This incident had therefore produced a + greater excitement than a circumstance so customary as an arrest in the + Reign of Terror might be supposed to create. Amongst the crowd were many + friends of Tallien, many foes to the tyrant, many weary of beholding the + tiger dragging victim after victim to its den. Hoarse, foreboding murmurs + were heard; fierce eyes glared upon the officers as they seized their + prisoner; and though they did not yet dare openly to resist, those in the + rear pressed on those behind, and encumbered the path of the captive and + his captors. The young man struggled hard for escape, and, by a violent + effort, at last wrenched himself from the grasp. The crowd made way, and + closed round to protect him, as he dived and darted through their ranks; + but suddenly the trampling of horses was heard at hand,—the savage + Henriot and his troop were bearing down upon the mob. The crowd gave way + in alarm, and the prisoner was again seized by one of the partisans of the + Dictator. At that moment a voice whispered the prisoner, “Thou hast a + letter which, if found on thee, ruins thy last hope. Give it to me! I will + bear it to Tallien.” The prisoner turned in amaze, read something that + encouraged him in the eyes of the stranger who thus accosted him. The + troop were now on the spot; the Jacobin who had seized the prisoner + released hold of him for a moment to escape the hoofs of the horses: in + that moment the opportunity was found,—the stranger had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + At the house of Tallien the principal foes of the tyrant were assembled. + Common danger made common fellowship. All factions laid aside their feuds + for the hour to unite against the formidable man who was marching over all + factions to his gory throne. There was bold Lecointre, the declared enemy; + there, creeping Barrere, who would reconcile all extremes, the hero of the + cowards; Barras, calm and collected; Collet d’Herbois, breathing wrath and + vengeance, and seeing not that the crimes of Robespierre alone sheltered + his own. + </p> + <p> + The council was agitated and irresolute. The awe which the uniform success + and the prodigious energy of Robespierre excited still held the greater + part under its control. Tallien, whom the tyrant most feared, and who + alone could give head and substance and direction to so many contradictory + passions, was too sullied by the memory of his own cruelties not to feel + embarrassed by his position as the champion of mercy. “It is true,” he + said, after an animating harangue from Lecointre, “that the Usurper + menaces us all. But he is still so beloved by his mobs,—still so + supported by his Jacobins: better delay open hostilities till the hour is + more ripe. To attempt and not succeed is to give us, bound hand and foot, + to the guillotine. Every day his power must decline. Procrastination is + our best ally—” While yet speaking, and while yet producing the + effect of water on the fire, it was announced that a stranger demanded to + see him instantly on business that brooked no delay. + </p> + <p> + “I am not at leisure,” said the orator, impatiently. The servant placed a + note on the table. Tallien opened it, and found these words in pencil, + “From the prison of Teresa de Fontenai.” He turned pale, started up, and + hastened to the anteroom, where he beheld a face entirely strange to him. + </p> + <p> + “Hope of France!” said the visitor to him, and the very sound of his voice + went straight to the heart,—“your servant is arrested in the + streets. I have saved your life, and that of your wife who will be. I + bring to you this letter from Teresa de Fontenai.” + </p> + <p> + Tallien, with a trembling hand, opened the letter, and read,— + </p> + <p> + “Am I forever to implore you in vain? Again and again I say, ‘Lose not an + hour if you value my life and your own.’ My trial and death are fixed the + third day from this,—the 10th Thermidor. Strike while it is yet + time,—strike the monster!—you have two days yet. If you fail,—if + you procrastinate,—see me for the last time as I pass your windows + to the guillotine!” + </p> + <p> + “Her trial will give proof against you,” said the stranger. “Her death is + the herald of your own. Fear not the populace,—the populace would + have rescued your servant. Fear not Robespierre,—he gives himself to + your hands. To-morrow he comes to the Convention,—to-morrow you must + cast the last throw for his head or your own.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow he comes to the Convention! And who are you that know so well + what is concealed from me?” + </p> + <p> + “A man like you, who would save the woman he loves.” + </p> + <p> + Before Tallien could recover his surprise, the visitor was gone. + </p> + <p> + Back went the Avenger to his conclave an altered man. “I have heard + tidings,—no matter what,” he cried,—“that have changed my + purpose. On the 10th we are destined to the guillotine. I revoke my + counsel for delay. Robespierre comes to the Convention to-morrow; THERE we + must confront and crush him. From the Mountain shall frown against him the + grim shade of Danton,—from the Plain shall rise, in their bloody + cerements, the spectres of Vergniaud and Condorcet. Frappons!” + </p> + <p> + “Frappons!” cried even Barrere, startled into energy by the new daring of + his colleague,—“frappons! il n’y a que les morts qui ne reviennent + pas.” + </p> + <p> + It was observable (and the fact may be found in one of the memoirs of the + time) that, during that day and night (the 7th Thermidor), a stranger to + all the previous events of that stormy time was seen in various parts of + the city,—in the cafes, the clubs, the haunts of the various + factions; that, to the astonishment and dismay of his hearers, he talked + aloud of the crimes of Robespierre, and predicted his coming fall; and, as + he spoke, he stirred up the hearts of men, he loosed the bonds of their + fear,—he inflamed them with unwonted rage and daring. But what + surprised them most was, that no voice replied, no hand was lifted against + him, no minion, even of the tyrant, cried, “Arrest the traitor.” In that + impunity men read, as in a book, that the populace had deserted the man of + blood. + </p> + <p> + Once only a fierce, brawny Jacobin sprang up from the table at which he + sat, drinking deep, and, approaching the stranger, said, “I seize thee, in + the name of the Republic.” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Aristides,” answered the stranger, in a whisper, “go to the + lodgings of Robespierre,—he is from home; and in the left pocket of + the vest which he cast off not an hour since thou wilt find a paper; when + thou hast read that, return. I will await thee; and if thou wouldst then + seize me, I will go without a struggle. Look round on those lowering + brows; touch me NOW, and thou wilt be torn to pieces.” + </p> + <p> + The Jacobin felt as if compelled to obey against his will. He went forth + muttering; he returned,—the stranger was still there. “Mille + tonnerres,” he said to him, “I thank thee; the poltroon had my name in his + list for the guillotine.” + </p> + <p> + With that the Jacobin Aristides sprang upon the table and shouted, “Death + to the Tyrant!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0075" id="link2HCH0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.XI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Le lendemain, 8 Thermidor, Robespierre se decida a prononcer son + fameux discours. + —Thiers, “Hist. de la Revolution.” + + (The next day, 8th Thermidor, Robespierre resolved to deliver his + celebrated discourse.) +</pre> + <p> + The morning rose,—the 8th of Thermidor (July 26). Robespierre has + gone to the Convention. He has gone with his laboured speech; he has gone + with his phrases of philanthropy and virtue; he has gone to single out his + prey. All his agents are prepared for his reception; the fierce St. Just + has arrived from the armies to second his courage and inflame his wrath. + His ominous apparition prepares the audience for the crisis. “Citizens!” + screeched the shrill voice of Robespierre “others have placed before you + flattering pictures; I come to announce to you useful truths. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “And they attribute to me,—to me alone!—whatever of harsh or + evil is committed: it is Robespierre who wishes it; it is Robespierre who + ordains it. Is there a new tax?—it is Robespierre who ruins you. + They call me tyrant!—and why? Because I have acquired some + influence; but how?—in speaking truth; and who pretends that truth + is to be without force in the mouths of the Representatives of the French + people? Doubtless, truth has its power, its rage, its despotism, its + accents, touching, terrible, which resound in the pure heart as in the + guilty conscience; and which Falsehood can no more imitate than Salmoneus + could forge the thunderbolts of Heaven. What am I whom they accuse? A + slave of liberty,—a living martyr of the Republic; the victim as the + enemy of crime! All ruffianism affronts me, and actions legitimate in + others are crimes in me. It is enough to know me to be calumniated. It is + in my very zeal that they discover my guilt. Take from me my conscience, + and I should be the most miserable of men!” + </p> + <p> + He paused; and Couthon wiped his eyes, and St. Just murmured applause as + with stern looks he gazed on the rebellious Mountain; and there was a + dead, mournful, and chilling silence through the audience. The touching + sentiment woke no echo. + </p> + <p> + The orator cast his eyes around. Ho! he will soon arouse that apathy. He + proceeds, he praises, he pities himself no more. He denounces,—he + accuses. Overflooded with his venom, he vomits it forth on all. At home, + abroad, finances, war,—on all! Shriller and sharper rose his voice,— + </p> + <p> + “A conspiracy exists against the public liberty. It owes its strength to a + criminal coalition in the very bosom of the Convention; it has accomplices + in the bosom of the Committee of Public Safety...What is the remedy to + this evil? To punish the traitors; to purify this committee; to crush all + factions by the weight of the National Authority; to raise upon their + ruins the power of Liberty and Justice. Such are the principles of that + Reform. Must I be ambitious to profess them?—then the principles are + proscribed, and Tyranny reigns amongst us! For what can you object to a + man who is in the right, and has at least this knowledge,—he knows + how to die for his native land! I am made to combat crime, and not to + govern it. The time, alas! is not yet arrived when men of worth can serve + with impunity their country. So long as the knaves rule, the defenders of + liberty will be only the proscribed.” + </p> + <p> + For two hours, through that cold and gloomy audience, shrilled the + Death-speech. In silence it began, in silence closed. The enemies of the + orator were afraid to express resentment; they knew not yet the exact + balance of power. His partisans were afraid to approve; they knew not whom + of their own friends and relations the accusations were designed to single + forth. “Take care!” whispered each to each; “it is thou whom he + threatens.” But silent though the audience, it was, at the first, wellnigh + subdued. There was still about this terrible man the spell of an + overmastering will. Always—though not what is called a great orator—resolute, + and sovereign in the use of words; words seemed as things when uttered by + one who with a nod moved the troops of Henriot, and influenced the + judgment of Rene Dumas, grim President of the Tribunal. Lecointre of + Versailles rose, and there was an anxious movement of attention; for + Lecointre was one of the fiercest foes of the tyrant. What was the dismay + of the Tallien faction; what the complacent smile of Couthon,—when + Lecointre demanded only that the oration should be printed! All seemed + paralyzed. At length Bourdon de l’Oise, whose name was doubly marked in + the black list of the Dictator, stalked to the tribune, and moved the bold + counter-resolution, that the speech should be referred to the two + committees whom that very speech accused. Still no applause from the + conspirators; they sat torpid as frozen men. The shrinking Barrere, ever + on the prudent side, looked round before he rose. He rises, and sides with + Lecointre! Then Couthon seized the occasion, and from his seat (a + privilege permitted only to the paralytic philanthropist) (M. Thiers in + his History, volume iv. page 79, makes a curious blunder: he says, + “Couthon s’elance a la tribune.” (Couthon darted towards the tribune.) + Poor Couthon! whose half body was dead, and who was always wheeled in his + chair into the Convention, and spoke sitting.), and with his melodious + voice sought to convert the crisis into a triumph. + </p> + <p> + He demanded, not only that the harangue should be printed, but sent to all + the communes and all the armies. It was necessary to soothe a wronged and + ulcerated heart. Deputies, the most faithful, had been accused of shedding + blood. “Ah! if HE had contributed to the death of one innocent man, he + should immolate himself with grief.” Beautiful tenderness!—and while + he spoke, he fondled the spaniel in his bosom. Bravo, Couthon! Robespierre + triumphs! The reign of Terror shall endure! The old submission settles + dovelike back in the assembly! They vote the printing of the Death-speech, + and its transmission to all the municipalities. From the benches of the + Mountain, Tallien, alarmed, dismayed, impatient, and indignant, cast his + gaze where sat the strangers admitted to hear the debates; and suddenly he + met the eyes of the Unknown who had brought to him the letter from Teresa + de Fontenai the preceding day. The eyes fascinated him as he gazed. In + aftertimes he often said that their regard, fixed, earnest, + half-reproachful, and yet cheering and triumphant, filled him with new + life and courage. They spoke to his heart as the trumpet speaks to the + war-horse. He moved from his seat; he whispered with his allies: the + spirit he had drawn in was contagious; the men whom Robespierre especially + had denounced, and who saw the sword over their heads, woke from their + torpid trance. Vadier, Cambon, Billaud-Varennes, Panis, Amar, rose at + once,—all at once demanded speech. Vadier is first heard, the rest + succeed. It burst forth, the Mountain, with its fires and consuming lava; + flood upon flood they rush, a legion of Ciceros upon the startled + Catiline! Robespierre falters, hesitates,—would qualify, retract. + They gather new courage from his new fears; they interrupt him; they drown + his voice; they demand the reversal of the motion. Amar moves again that + the speech be referred to the Committees, to the Committees,—to his + enemies! Confusion and noise and clamour! Robespierre wraps himself in + silent and superb disdain. Pale, defeated, but not yet destroyed, he + stands,—a storm in the midst of storm! + </p> + <p> + The motion is carried. All men foresee in that defeat the Dictator’s + downfall. A solitary cry rose from the galleries; it was caught up; it + circled through the hall, the audience: “A bas le tyrant! Vive la + republique!” (Down with the tyrant! Hurrah for the republic!) + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0076" id="link2HCH0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.XII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Aupres d’un corps aussi avili que la Convention, il restait des + chances pour que Robespierre sortit vainqueur de cette lutte. + Lacretelle, volume xii. + + (Amongst a body so debased as the Convention, there still + remained some chances that Robespierre would come off victor in + the struggle.) +</pre> + <p> + As Robespierre left the hall, there was a dead and ominous silence in the + crowd without. The herd, in every country, side with success; and the rats + run from the falling tower. But Robespierre, who wanted courage, never + wanted pride, and the last often supplied the place of the first; + thoughtfully, and with an impenetrable brow, he passed through the throng, + leaning on St. Just, Payan and his brother following him. + </p> + <p> + As they got into the open space, Robespierre abruptly broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “How many heads were to fall upon the tenth?” + </p> + <p> + “Eighty,” replied Payan. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, we must not tarry so long; a day may lose an empire: terrorism must + serve us yet!” + </p> + <p> + He was silent a few moments, and his eyes roved suspiciously through the + street. + </p> + <p> + “St. Just,” he said abruptly, “they have not found this Englishman whose + revelations, or whose trial, would have crushed the Amars and the + Talliens. No, no! my Jacobins themselves are growing dull and blind. But + they have seized a woman,—only a woman!” + </p> + <p> + “A woman’s hand stabbed Marat,” said St. Just. Robespierre stopped short, + and breathed hard. + </p> + <p> + “St. Just,” said he, “when this peril is past, we will found the Reign of + Peace. There shall be homes and gardens set apart for the old. David is + already designing the porticos. Virtuous men shall be appointed to + instruct the young. All vice and disorder shall be NOT exterminated—no, + no! only banished! We must not die yet. Posterity cannot judge us till our + work is done. We have recalled L’Etre Supreme; we must now remodel this + corrupted world. All shall be love and brotherhood; and—ho! Simon! + Simon!—hold! Your pencil, St. Just!” And Robespierre wrote hastily. + “This to Citizen President Dumas. Go with it quick, Simon. These eighty + heads must fall TO-MORROW,—TO-MORROW, Simon. Dumas will advance + their trial a day. I will write to Fouquier-Tinville, the public accuser. + We meet at the Jacobins to-night, Simon; there we will denounce the + Convention itself; there we will rally round us the last friends of + liberty and France.” + </p> + <p> + A shout was heard in the distance behind, “Vive la republique!” + </p> + <p> + The tyrant’s eye shot a vindictive gleam. “The republic!—faugh! We + did not destroy the throne of a thousand years for that canaille!” + </p> + <p> + THE TRIAL, THE EXECUTION, OF THE VICTIMS IS ADVANCED A DAY! By the aid of + the mysterious intelligence that had guided and animated him hitherto, + Zanoni learned that his arts had been in vain. He knew that Viola was + safe, if she could but survive an hour the life of the tyrant. He knew + that Robespierre’s hours were numbered; that the 10th of Thermidor, on + which he had originally designed the execution of his last victims, would + see himself at the scaffold. Zanoni had toiled, had schemed for the fall + of the Butcher and his reign. To what end? A single word from the tyrant + had baffled the result of all. The execution of Viola is advanced a day. + Vain seer, who wouldst make thyself the instrument of the Eternal, the + very dangers that now beset the tyrant but expedite the doom of his + victims! To-morrow, eighty heads, and hers whose pillow has been thy + heart! To-morrow! and Maximilien is safe to-night! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0077" id="link2HCH0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.XIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Erde mag zuruck in Erde stauben; + Fliegt der Geist doch aus dem morschen Haus. + Seine Asche mag der Sturmwind treiben, + Sein Leben dauert ewig aus! + Elegie. + + (Earth may crumble back into earth; the Spirit will still escape + from its frail tenement. The wind of the storm may scatter his + ashes; his being endures forever.) +</pre> + <p> + To-morrow!—and it is already twilight. One after one, the gentle + stars come smiling through the heaven. The Seine, in its slow waters, yet + trembles with the last kiss of the rosy day; and still in the blue sky + gleams the spire of Notre Dame; and still in the blue sky looms the + guillotine by the Barriere du Trone. Turn to that time-worn building, once + the church and the convent of the Freres-Precheurs, known by the then holy + name of Jacobins; there the new Jacobins hold their club. There, in that + oblong hall, once the library of the peaceful monks, assemble the + idolaters of St. Robespierre. Two immense tribunes, raised at either end, + contain the lees and dregs of the atrocious populace,—the majority + of that audience consisting of the furies of the guillotine (furies de + guillotine). In the midst of the hall are the bureau and chair of the + president,—the chair long preserved by the piety of the monks as the + relic of St. Thomas Aquinas! Above this seat scowls the harsh bust of + Brutus. An iron lamp and two branches scatter over the vast room a murky, + fuliginous ray, beneath the light of which the fierce faces of that + Pandemonium seem more grim and haggard. There, from the orator’s tribune, + shrieks the shrill wrath of Robespierre! + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile all is chaos, disorder, half daring and half cowardice, in the + Committee of his foes. Rumours fly from street to street, from haunt to + haunt, from house to house. The swallows flit low, and the cattle group + together before the storm. And above this roar of the lives and things of + the little hour, alone in his chamber stood he on whose starry youth—symbol + of the imperishable bloom of the calm Ideal amidst the mouldering Actual—the + clouds of ages had rolled in vain. + </p> + <p> + All those exertions which ordinary wit and courage could suggest had been + tried in vain. All such exertions WERE in vain, where, in that Saturnalia + of death, a life was the object. Nothing but the fall of Robespierre could + have saved his victims; now, too late, that fall would only serve to + avenge. + </p> + <p> + Once more, in that last agony of excitement and despair, the seer had + plunged into solitude, to invoke again the aid or counsel of those + mysterious intermediates between earth and heaven who had renounced the + intercourse of the spirit when subjected to the common bondage of the + mortal. In the intense desire and anguish of his heart, perhaps, lay a + power not yet called forth; for who has not felt that the sharpness of + extreme grief cuts and grinds away many of those strongest bonds of + infirmity and doubt which bind down the souls of men to the cabined + darkness of the hour; and that from the cloud and thunderstorm often + swoops the Olympian eagle that can ravish us aloft! + </p> + <p> + And the invocation was heard,—the bondage of sense was rent away + from the visual mind. He looked, and saw,—no, not the being he had + called, with its limbs of light and unutterably tranquil smile—not + his familiar, Adon-Ai, the Son of Glory and the Star, but the Evil Omen, + the dark Chimera, the implacable Foe, with exultation and malice burning + in its hell-lit eyes. The Spectre, no longer cowering and retreating into + shadow, rose before him, gigantic and erect; the face, whose veil no + mortal hand had ever raised, was still concealed, but the form was more + distinct, corporeal, and cast from it, as an atmosphere, horror and rage + and awe. As an iceberg, the breath of that presence froze the air; as a + cloud, it filled the chamber and blackened the stars from heaven. + </p> + <p> + “Lo!” said its voice, “I am here once more. Thou hast robbed me of a + meaner prey. Now exorcise THYSELF from my power! Thy life has left thee, + to live in the heart of a daughter of the charnel and the worm. In that + life I come to thee with my inexorable tread. Thou art returned to the + Threshold,—thou, whose steps have trodden the verges of the + Infinite! And as the goblin of its fantasy seizes on a child in the dark,—mighty + one, who wouldst conquer Death,—I seize on thee!” + </p> + <p> + “Back to thy thraldom, slave! If thou art come to the voice that called + thee not, it is again not to command, but to obey! Thou, from whose + whisper I gained the boons of the lives lovelier and dearer than my own; + thou—I command thee, not by spell and charm, but by the force of a + soul mightier than the malice of thy being,—thou serve me yet, and + speak again the secret that can rescue the lives thou hast, by permission + of the Universal Master, permitted me to retain awhile in the temple of + the clay!” + </p> + <p> + Brighter and more devouringly burned the glare from those lurid eyes; more + visible and colossal yet rose the dilating shape; a yet fiercer and more + disdainful hate spoke in the voice that answered, “Didst thou think that + my boon would be other than thy curse? Happy for thee hadst thou mourned + over the deaths which come by the gentle hand of Nature,—hadst thou + never known how the name of mother consecrates the face of Beauty, and + never, bending over thy first-born, felt the imperishable sweetness of a + father’s love! They are saved, for what?—the mother, for the death + of violence and shame and blood, for the doomsman’s hand to put aside that + shining hair which has entangled thy bridegroom kisses; the child, first + and last of thine offspring, in whom thou didst hope to found a race that + should hear with thee the music of celestial harps, and float, by the side + of thy familiar, Adon-Ai, through the azure rivers of joy,—the + child, to live on a few days as a fungus in a burial-vault, a thing of the + loathsome dungeon, dying of cruelty and neglect and famine. Ha! ha! thou + who wouldst baffle Death, learn how the deathless die if they dare to love + the mortal. Now, Chaldean, behold my boons! Now I seize and wrap thee with + the pestilence of my presence; now, evermore, till thy long race is run, + mine eyes shall glow into thy brain, and mine arms shall clasp thee, when + thou wouldst take the wings of the Morning and flee from the embrace of + Night!” + </p> + <p> + “I tell thee, no! And again I compel thee, speak and answer to the lord + who can command his slave. I know, though my lore fails me, and the reeds + on which I leaned pierce my side,—I know yet that it is written that + the life of which I question can be saved from the headsman. Thou wrappest + her future in the darkness of thy shadow, but thou canst not shape it. + Thou mayest foreshow the antidote; thou canst not effect the bane. From + thee I wring the secret, though it torture thee to name it. I approach + thee,—I look dauntless into thine eyes. The soul that loves can dare + all things. Shadow, I defy thee, and compel!” + </p> + <p> + The spectre waned and recoiled. Like a vapour that lessens as the sun + pierces and pervades it, the form shrank cowering and dwarfed in the + dimmer distance, and through the casement again rushed the stars. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Voice, with a faint and hollow accent, “thou CANST save + her from the headsman; for it is written, that sacrifice can save. Ha! + ha!” And the shape again suddenly dilated into the gloom of its giant + stature, and its ghastly laugh exulted, as if the Foe, a moment baffled, + had regained its might. “Ha! ha!—thou canst save her life, if thou + wilt sacrifice thine own! Is it for this thou hast lived on through + crumbling empires and countless generations of thy race? At last shall + Death reclaim thee? Wouldst thou save her?—DIE FOR HER! Fall, O + stately column, over which stars yet unformed may gleam,—fall, that + the herb at thy base may drink a few hours longer the sunlight and the + dews! Silent! Art thou ready for the sacrifice? See, the moon moves up + through heaven. Beautiful and wise one, wilt thou bid her smile to-morrow + on thy headless clay?” + </p> + <p> + “Back! for my soul, in answering thee from depths where thou canst not + hear it, has regained its glory; and I hear the wings of Adon-Ai gliding + musical through the air.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke; and, with a low shriek of baffled rage and hate, the Thing was + gone, and through the room rushed, luminous and sudden, the Presence of + silvery light. + </p> + <p> + As the heavenly visitor stood in the atmosphere of his own lustre, and + looked upon the face of the Theurgist with an aspect of ineffable + tenderness and love, all space seemed lighted from his smile. Along the + blue air without, from that chamber in which his wings had halted, to the + farthest star in the azure distance, it seemed as if the track of his + flight were visible, by a lengthened splendour in the air, like the column + of moonlight on the sea. Like the flower that diffuses perfume as the very + breath of its life, so the emanation of that presence was joy. Over the + world, as a million times swifter than light, than electricity, the Son of + Glory had sped his way to the side of love, his wings had scattered + delight as the morning scatters dew. For that brief moment, Poverty had + ceased to mourn, Disease fled from its prey, and Hope breathed a dream of + Heaven into the darkness of Despair. + </p> + <p> + “Thou art right,” said the melodious Voice. “Thy courage has restored thy + power. Once more, in the haunts of earth, thy soul charms me to thy side. + Wiser now, in the moment when thou comprehendest Death, than when thy + unfettered spirit learned the solemn mystery of Life; the human affections + that thralled and humbled thee awhile bring to thee, in these last hours + of thy mortality, the sublimest heritage of thy race,—the eternity + that commences from the grave.” + </p> + <p> + “O Adon-Ai,” said the Chaldean, as, circumfused in the splendour of the + visitant, a glory more radiant than human beauty settled round his form, + and seemed already to belong to the eternity of which the Bright One + spoke, “as men, before they die, see and comprehend the enigmas hidden + from them before (The greatest poet, and one of the noblest thinkers, of + the last age, said, on his deathbed, “Many things obscure to me before, + now clear up, and become visible.”—See the ‘Life of Schiller.’), “so + in this hour, when the sacrifice of self to another brings the course of + ages to its goal, I see the littleness of Life, compared to the majesty of + Death; but oh, Divine Consoler, even here, even in thy presence, the + affections that inspire me, sadden. To leave behind me in this bad world, + unaided, unprotected, those for whom I die! the wife! the child!—oh, + speak comfort to me in this!” + </p> + <p> + “And what,” said the visitor, with a slight accent of reproof in the tone + of celestial pity,—“what, with all thy wisdom and thy starry + secrets, with all thy empire of the past, and thy visions of the future; + what art thou to the All-Directing and Omniscient? Canst thou yet imagine + that thy presence on earth can give to the hearts thou lovest the shelter + which the humblest take from the wings of the Presence that lives in + heaven? Fear not thou for their future. Whether thou live or die, their + future is the care of the Most High! In the dungeon and on the scaffold + looks everlasting the Eye of HIM, tenderer than thou to love, wiser than + thou to guide, mightier than thou to save!” + </p> + <p> + Zanoni bowed his head; and when he looked up again, the last shadow had + left his brow. The visitor was gone; but still the glory of his presence + seemed to shine upon the spot, still the solitary air seemed to murmur + with tremulous delight. And thus ever shall it be with those who have + once, detaching themselves utterly from life, received the visit of the + Angel FAITH. Solitude and space retain the splendour, and it settles like + a halo round their graves. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0078" id="link2HCH0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.XIV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dann zur Blumenflor der Sterne + Aufgeschauet liebewarm, + Fass’ ihn freundlich Arm in Arm + Trag’ ihn in die blaue Ferne. + —Uhland, “An den Tod.” + + Then towards the Garden of the Star + Lift up thine aspect warm with love, + And, friendlike link’d through space afar, + Mount with him, arm in arm, above. + —Uhland, “Poem to Death.” + </pre> + <p> + He stood upon the lofty balcony that overlooked the quiet city. Though + afar, the fiercest passions of men were at work on the web of strife and + doom, all that gave itself to his view was calm and still in the rays of + the summer moon, for his soul was wrapped from man and man’s narrow + sphere, and only the serener glories of creation were present to the + vision of the seer. There he stood, alone and thoughtful, to take the last + farewell of the wondrous life that he had known. + </p> + <p> + Coursing through the fields of space, he beheld the gossamer shapes, whose + choral joys his spirit had so often shared. There, group upon group, they + circled in the starry silence multiform in the unimaginable beauty of a + being fed by ambrosial dews and serenest light. In his trance, all the + universe stretched visible beyond; in the green valleys afar, he saw the + dances of the fairies; in the bowels of the mountains, he beheld the race + that breathe the lurid air of the volcanoes, and hide from the light of + heaven; on every leaf in the numberless forests, in every drop of the + unmeasured seas, he surveyed its separate and swarming world; far up, in + the farthest blue, he saw orb upon orb ripening into shape, and planets + starting from the central fire, to run their day of ten thousand years. + For everywhere in creation is the breath of the Creator, and in every spot + where the breath breathes is life! And alone, in the distance, the lonely + man beheld his Magian brother. There, at work with his numbers and his + Cabala, amidst the wrecks of Rome, passionless and calm, sat in his cell + the mystic Mejnour,—living on, living ever while the world lasts, + indifferent whether his knowledge produces weal or woe; a mechanical agent + of a more tender and a wiser will, that guides every spring to its + inscrutable designs. Living on,—living ever,—as science that + cares alone for knowledge, and halts not to consider how knowledge + advances happiness; how Human Improvement, rushing through civilisation, + crushes in its march all who cannot grapple to its wheels (“You colonise + the lands of the savage with the Anglo-Saxon,—you civilise that + portion of THE EARTH; but is the SAVAGE civilised? He is exterminated! You + accumulate machinery,—you increase the total of wealth; but what + becomes of the labour you displace? One generation is sacrificed to the + next. You diffuse knowledge,—and the world seems to grow brighter; + but Discontent at Poverty replaces Ignorance, happy with its crust. Every + improvement, every advancement in civilisation, injures some, to benefit + others, and either cherishes the want of to-day, or prepares the + revolution of to-morrow.”—Stephen Montague.); ever, with its Cabala + and its number, lives on to change, in its bloodless movements, the face + of the habitable world! + </p> + <p> + And, “Oh, farewell to life!” murmured the glorious dreamer. “Sweet, O + life! hast thou been to me. How fathomless thy joys,—how rapturously + has my soul bounded forth upon the upward paths! To him who forever renews + his youth in the clear fount of Nature, how exquisite is the mere + happiness TO BE! Farewell, ye lamps of heaven, and ye million tribes, the + Populace of Air. Not a mote in the beam, not an herb on the mountain, not + a pebble on the shore, not a seed far-blown into the wilderness, but + contributed to the lore that sought in all the true principle of life, the + Beautiful, the Joyous, the Immortal. To others, a land, a city, a hearth, + has been a home; MY home has been wherever the intellect could pierce, or + the spirit could breathe the air.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and through the immeasurable space his eyes and his heart, + penetrating the dismal dungeon, rested on his child. He saw it slumbering + in the arms of the pale mother, and HIS soul spoke to the sleeping soul. + “Forgive me, if my desire was sin; I dreamed to have reared and nurtured + thee to the divinest destinies my visions could foresee. Betimes, as the + mortal part was strengthened against disease, to have purified the + spiritual from every sin; to have led thee, heaven upon heaven, through + the holy ecstasies which make up the existence of the orders that dwell on + high; to have formed, from thy sublime affections, the pure and + ever-living communication between thy mother and myself. The dream was but + a dream—it is no more! In sight myself of the grave, I feel, at + last, that through the portals of the grave lies the true initiation into + the holy and the wise. Beyond those portals I await ye both, beloved + pilgrims!” + </p> + <p> + From his numbers and his Cabala, in his cell, amidst the wrecks of Rome, + Mejnour, startled, looked up, and through the spirit, felt that the spirit + of his distant friend addressed him. + </p> + <p> + “Fare thee well forever upon this earth! Thy last companion forsakes thy + side. Thine age survives the youth of all; and the Final Day shall find + thee still the contemplator of our tombs. I go with my free will into the + land of darkness; but new suns and systems blaze around us from the grave. + I go where the souls of those for whom I resign the clay shall be my + co-mates through eternal youth. At last I recognise the true ordeal and + the real victory. Mejnour, cast down thy elixir; lay by thy load of years! + Wherever the soul can wander, the Eternal Soul of all things protects it + still!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0079" id="link2HCH0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.XV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Il ne veulent plus perdre un moment d’une nuit si precieuse. + Lacretelle, tom. xii. + + (They would not lose another moment of so precious a night.) +</pre> + <p> + It was late that night, and Rene-Francois Dumas, President of the + Revolutionary Tribunal, had re-entered his cabinet, on his return from the + Jacobin Club. With him were two men who might be said to represent, the + one the moral, the other the physical force of the Reign of Terror: + Fouquier-Tinville, the Public Accuser, and Francois Henriot, the General + of the Parisian National Guard. This formidable triumvirate were assembled + to debate on the proceedings of the next day; and the three sister-witches + over their hellish caldron were scarcely animated by a more fiend-like + spirit, or engaged in more execrable designs, than these three heroes of + the Revolution in their premeditated massacre of the morrow. + </p> + <p> + Dumas was but little altered in appearance since, in the earlier part of + this narrative, he was presented to the reader, except that his manner was + somewhat more short and severe, and his eye yet more restless. But he + seemed almost a superior being by the side of his associates. Rene Dumas, + born of respectable parents, and well educated, despite his ferocity, was + not without a certain refinement, which perhaps rendered him the more + acceptable to the precise and formal Robespierre. (Dumas was a beau in his + way. His gala-dress was a BLOOD-RED COAT, with the finest ruffles.) But + Henriot had been a lackey, a thief, a spy of the police; he had drunk the + blood of Madame de Lamballe, and had risen to his present rank for no + quality but his ruffianism; and Fouquier-Tinville, the son of a provincial + agriculturist, and afterwards a clerk at the Bureau of the Police, was + little less base in his manners, and yet more, from a certain loathsome + buffoonery, revolting in his speech,—bull-headed, with black, sleek + hair, with a narrow and livid forehead, with small eyes, that twinkled + with a sinister malice; strongly and coarsely built, he looked what he + was, the audacious bully of a lawless and relentless Bar. + </p> + <p> + Dumas trimmed the candles, and bent over the list of the victims for the + morrow. + </p> + <p> + “It is a long catalogue,” said the president; “eighty trials for one day! + And Robespierre’s orders to despatch the whole fournee are unequivocal.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” said Fouquier, with a coarse, loud laugh; “we must try them en + masse. I know how to deal with our jury. ‘Je pense, citoyens, que vous + etes convaincus du crime des accuses?’ (I think, citizens, that you are + convinced of the crime of the accused.) Ha! ha!—the longer the list, + the shorter the work.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” growled out Henriot, with an oath,—as usual, half-drunk, + and lolling on his chair, with his spurred heels on the table,—“little + Tinville is the man for despatch.” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen Henriot,” said Dumas, gravely, “permit me to request thee to + select another footstool; and for the rest, let me warn thee that + to-morrow is a critical and important day; one that will decide the fate + of France.” + </p> + <p> + “A fig for little France! Vive le Vertueux Robespierre, la Colonne de la + Republique! (Long life to the virtuous Robespierre, the pillar of the + Republic!) Plague on this talking; it is dry work. Hast thou no eau de vie + in that little cupboard?” + </p> + <p> + Dumas and Fouquier exchanged looks of disgust. Dumas shrugged his + shoulders, and replied,— + </p> + <p> + “It is to guard thee against eau de vie, Citizen General Henriot, that I + have requested thee to meet me here. Listen if thou canst!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, talk away! thy metier is to talk, mine to fight and to drink.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, I tell thee then, the populace will be abroad; all factions + will be astir. It is probable enough that they will even seek to arrest + our tumbrils on their way to the guillotine. Have thy men armed and ready; + keep the streets clear; cut down without mercy whomsoever may obstruct the + ways.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Henriot, striking his sword so loudly that Dumas + half-started at the clank,—“Black Henriot is no ‘Indulgent.’” + </p> + <p> + “Look to it, then, citizen,—look to it! And hark thee,” he added, + with a grave and sombre brow, “if thou wouldst keep thine own head on thy + shoulders, beware of the eau de vie.” + </p> + <p> + “My own head!—sacre mille tonnerres! Dost thou threaten the general + of the Parisian army?” + </p> + <p> + Dumas, like Robespierre, a precise atrabilious, and arrogant man, was + about to retort, when the craftier Tinville laid his hand on his arm, and, + turning to the general, said, “My dear Henriot, thy dauntless + republicanism, which is too ready to give offence, must learn to take a + reprimand from the representative of Republican Law. Seriously, mon cher, + thou must be sober for the next three or four days; after the crisis is + over, thou and I will drink a bottle together. Come, Dumas relax thine + austerity, and shake hands with our friend. No quarrels amongst + ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + Dumas hesitated, and extended his hand, which the ruffian clasped; and, + maudlin tears succeeding his ferocity, he half-sobbed, half-hiccoughed + forth his protestations of civism and his promises of sobriety. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we depend on thee, mon general,” said Dumas; “and now, since we + shall all have need of vigour for to-morrow, go home and sleep soundly.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I forgive thee, Dumas,—I forgive thee. I am not vindictive,—I! + but still, if a man threatens me; if a man insults me—” and, with + the quick changes of intoxication, again his eyes gleamed fire through + their foul tears. With some difficulty Fouquier succeeded at last in + soothing the brute, and leading him from the chamber. But still, as some + wild beast disappointed of a prey, he growled and snarled as his heavy + tread descended the stairs. A tall trooper, mounted, was leading Henriot’s + horse to and fro the streets; and as the general waited at the porch till + his attendant turned, a stranger stationed by the wall accosted him: + </p> + <p> + “General Henriot, I have desired to speak with thee. Next to Robespierre, + thou art, or shouldst be, the most powerful man in France.” + </p> + <p> + “Hem!—yes, I ought to be. What then?—every man has not his + deserts!” + </p> + <p> + “Hist!” said the stranger; “thy pay is scarcely suitable to thy rank and + thy wants.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Even in a revolution, a man takes care of his fortunes!” + </p> + <p> + “Diable! speak out, citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a thousand pieces of gold with me,—they are thine, if thou + wilt grant me one small favour.” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen, I grant it!” said Henriot, waving his hand majestically. “Is it + to denounce some rascal who has offended thee?” + </p> + <p> + “No; it is simply this: write these words to President Dumas, ‘Admit the + bearer to thy presence; and, if thou canst, grant him the request he will + make to thee, it will be an inestimable obligation to Francois Henriot.’” + The stranger, as he spoke, placed pencil and tablets in the shaking hands + of the soldier. + </p> + <p> + “And where is the gold?” + </p> + <p> + “Here.” + </p> + <p> + With some difficulty, Henriot scrawled the words dictated to him, clutched + the gold, mounted his horse, and was gone. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Fouquier, when he had closed the door upon Henriot, said + sharply, “How canst thou be so mad as to incense that brigand? Knowest + thou not that our laws are nothing without the physical force of the + National Guard, and that he is their leader?” + </p> + <p> + “I know this, that Robespierre must have been mad to place that drunkard + at their head; and mark my words, Fouquier, if the struggle come, it is + that man’s incapacity and cowardice that will destroy us. Yes, thou mayst + live thyself to accuse thy beloved Robespierre, and to perish in his + fall.” + </p> + <p> + “For all that, we must keep well with Henriot till we can find the + occasion to seize and behead him. To be safe, we must fawn on those who + are still in power; and fawn the more, the more we would depose them. Do + not think this Henriot, when he wakes to-morrow, will forget thy threats. + He is the most revengeful of human beings. Thou must send and soothe him + in the morning!” + </p> + <p> + “Right,” said Dumas, convinced. “I was too hasty; and now I think we have + nothing further to do, since we have arranged to make short work with our + fournee of to-morrow. I see in the list a knave I have long marked out, + though his crime once procured me a legacy,—Nicot, the Hebertist.” + </p> + <p> + “And young Andre Chenier, the poet? Ah, I forgot; we be headed HIM to-day! + Revolutionary virtue is at its acme. His own brother abandoned him.” (His + brother is said, indeed, to have contributed to the condemnation of this + virtuous and illustrious person. He was heard to cry aloud, “Si mon frere + est coupable, qu’il perisse” (If my brother be culpable, let him die). + This brother, Marie-Joseph, also a poet, and the author of “Charles IX.,” + so celebrated in the earlier days of the Revolution, enjoyed, of course, + according to the wonted justice of the world, a triumphant career, and was + proclaimed in the Champ de Mars “le premier de poetes Francais,” a title + due to his murdered brother.) + </p> + <p> + “There is a foreigner,—an Italian woman in the list; but I can find + no charge made out against her.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same we must execute her for the sake of the round number; eighty + sounds better than seventy-nine!” + </p> + <p> + Here a huissier brought a paper on which was written the request of + Henriot. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! this is fortunate,” said Tinville, to whom Dumas chucked the scroll,—“grant + the prayer by all means; so at least that it does not lessen our + bead-roll. But I will do Henriot the justice to say that he never asks to + let off, but to put on. Good-night! I am worn out—my escort waits + below. Only on such an occasion would I venture forth in the streets at + night.” (During the latter part of the Reign of Terror, Fouquier rarely + stirred out at night, and never without an escort. In the Reign of Terror + those most terrified were its kings.) And Fouquier, with a long yawn, + quitted the room. + </p> + <p> + “Admit the bearer!” said Dumas, who, withered and dried, as lawyers in + practice mostly are, seemed to require as little sleep as his parchments. + </p> + <p> + The stranger entered. + </p> + <p> + “Rene-Francois Dumas,” said he, seating himself opposite to the president, + and markedly adopting the plural, as if in contempt of the revolutionary + jargon, “amidst the excitement and occupations of your later life, I know + not if you can remember that we have met before?” + </p> + <p> + The judge scanned the features of his visitor, and a pale blush settled on + his sallow cheeks, “Yes, citizen, I remember!” + </p> + <p> + “And you recall the words I then uttered! You spoke tenderly and + philanthropically of your horror of capital executions; you exulted in the + approaching Revolution as the termination of all sanguinary punishments; + you quoted reverently the saying of Maximilien Robespierre, the rising + statesman, ‘The executioner is the invention of the tyrant:’ and I + replied, that while you spoke, a foreboding seized me that we should meet + again when your ideas of death and the philosophy of revolutions might be + changed! Was I right, Citizen Rene-Francois Dumas, President of the + Revolutionary Tribunal?” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” said Dumas, with some confusion on his brazen brow, “I spoke then + as men speak who have not acted. Revolutions are not made with rose-water! + But truce to the gossip of the long-ago. I remember, also, that thou didst + then save the life of my relation, and it will please thee to learn that + his intended murderer will be guillotined to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “That concerns yourself,—your justice or your revenge. Permit me the + egotism to remind you that you then promised that if ever a day should + come when you could serve me, your life—yes, the phrase was, ‘your + heart’s blood‘—was at my bidding. Think not, austere judge, + that I come to ask a boon that can affect yourself,—I come but to + ask a day’s respite for another!” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen, it is impossible! I have the order of Robespierre that not one + less than the total on my list must undergo their trial for to-morrow. As + for the verdict, that rests with the jury!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not ask you to diminish the catalogue. Listen still! In your + death-roll there is the name of an Italian woman whose youth, whose + beauty, and whose freedom not only from every crime, but every tangible + charge, will excite only compassion, and not terror. Even YOU would + tremble to pronounce her sentence. It will be dangerous on a day when the + populace will be excited, when your tumbrils may be arrested, to expose + youth and innocence and beauty to the pity and courage of a revolted + crowd.” + </p> + <p> + Dumas looked up and shrunk from the eye of the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “I do not deny, citizen, that there is reason in what thou urgest. But my + orders are positive.” + </p> + <p> + “Positive only as to the number of the victims. I offer you a substitute + for this one. I offer you the head of a man who knows all of the very + conspiracy which now threatens Robespierre and yourself, and compared with + one clew to which, you would think even eighty ordinary lives a cheap + purchase.” + </p> + <p> + “That alters the case,” said Dumas, eagerly; “if thou canst do this, on my + own responsibility I will postpone the trial of the Italian. Now name the + proxy!” + </p> + <p> + “You behold him!” + </p> + <p> + “Thou!” exclaimed Dumas, while a fear he could not conceal betrayed itself + through his surprise. “Thou!—and thou comest to me alone at night, + to offer thyself to justice. Ha!—this is a snare. Tremble, fool!—thou + art in my power, and I can have BOTH!” + </p> + <p> + “You can,” said the stranger, with a calm smile of disdain; “but my life + is valueless without my revelations. Sit still, I command you,—hear + me!” and the light in those dauntless eyes spell-bound and awed the judge. + “You will remove me to the Conciergerie,—you will fix my trial, + under the name of Zanoni, amidst your fournee of to-morrow. If I do not + satisfy you by my speech, you hold the woman I die to save as your + hostage. It is but the reprieve for her of a single day that I demand. The + day following the morrow I shall be dust, and you may wreak your vengeance + on the life that remains. Tush! judge and condemner of thousands, do you + hesitate,—do you imagine that the man who voluntarily offers himself + to death will be daunted into uttering one syllable at your Bar against + his will? Have you not had experience enough of the inflexibility of pride + and courage? President, I place before you the ink and implements! Write + to the jailer a reprieve of one day for the woman whose life can avail you + nothing, and I will bear the order to my own prison: I, who can now tell + this much as an earnest of what I can communicate,—while I speak, + your own name, judge, is in a list of death. I can tell you by whose hand + it is written down; I can tell you in what quarter to look for danger; I + can tell you from what cloud, in this lurid atmosphere, hangs the storm + that shall burst on Robespierre and his reign!” + </p> + <p> + Dumas grew pale; and his eyes vainly sought to escape the magnetic gaze + that overpowered and mastered him. Mechanically, and as if under an agency + not his own, he wrote while the stranger dictated. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said then, forcing a smile to his lips, “I promised I would + serve you; see, I am faithful to my word. I suppose that you are one of + those fools of feeling,—those professors of anti-revolutionary + virtue, of whom I have seen not a few before my Bar. Faugh! it sickens me + to see those who make a merit of incivism, and perish to save some bad + patriot, because it is a son, or a father, or a wife, or a daughter, who + is saved.” + </p> + <p> + “I AM one of those fools of feeling,” said the stranger, rising. “You have + divined aright.” + </p> + <p> + “And wilt thou not, in return for my mercy, utter to-night the revelations + thou wouldst proclaim to-morrow? Come; and perhaps thou too—nay, the + woman also—may receive, not reprieve, but pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “Before your tribunal, and there alone! Nor will I deceive you, president. + My information may avail you not; and even while I show the cloud, the + bolt may fall.” + </p> + <p> + “Tush! prophet, look to thyself! Go, madman, go. I know too well the + contumacious obstinacy of the class to which I suspect thou belongest, to + waste further words. Diable! but ye grow so accustomed to look on death, + that ye forget the respect ye owe to it. Since thou offerest me thy head, + I accept it. To-morrow thou mayst repent; it will be too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, too late, president!” echoed the calm visitor. + </p> + <p> + “But, remember, it is not pardon, it is but a day’s reprieve, I have + promised to this woman. According as thou dost satisfy me to-morrow, she + lives or dies. I am frank, citizen; thy ghost shall not haunt me for want + of faith.” + </p> + <p> + “It is but a day that I have asked; the rest I leave to justice and to + Heaven. Your huissiers wait below.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0080" id="link2HCH0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.XVI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Und den Mordstahl seh’ ich blinken; + Und das Morderauge gluhn! + “Kassandra.” + + (And I see the steel of Murder glitter, + And the eye of Murder glow.) +</pre> + <p> + Viola was in the prison that opened not but for those already condemned + before adjudged. Since her exile from Zanoni, her very intellect had + seemed paralysed. All that beautiful exuberance of fancy which, if not the + fruit of genius, seemed its blossoms; all that gush of exquisite thought + which Zanoni had justly told her flowed with mysteries and subtleties ever + new to him, the wise one,—all were gone, annihilated; the blossom + withered, the fount dried up. From something almost above womanhood, she + seemed listlessly to sink into something below childhood. With the + inspirer the inspirations had ceased; and, in deserting love, genius also + was left behind. + </p> + <p> + She scarcely comprehended why she had been thus torn from her home and the + mechanism of her dull tasks. She scarcely knew what meant those kindly + groups, that, struck with her exceeding loveliness, had gathered round her + in the prison, with mournful looks, but with words of comfort. She, who + had hitherto been taught to abhor those whom Law condemns for crime, was + amazed to hear that beings thus compassionate and tender, with cloudless + and lofty brows, with gallant and gentle mien, were criminals for whom Law + had no punishment short of death. But they, the savages, gaunt and + menacing, who had dragged her from her home, who had attempted to snatch + from her the infant while she clasped it in her arms, and laughed fierce + scorn at her mute, quivering lips,—THEY were the chosen citizens, + the men of virtue, the favourites of Power, the ministers of Law! Such thy + black caprices, O thou, the ever-shifting and calumnious,—Human + Judgment! + </p> + <p> + A squalid, and yet a gay world, did the prison-houses of that day present. + There, as in the sepulchre to which they led, all ranks were cast with an + even-handed scorn. And yet there, the reverence that comes from great + emotions restored Nature’s first and imperishable, and most lovely, and + most noble Law,—THE INEQUALITY BETWEEN MAN AND MAN! There, place was + given by the prisoners, whether royalists or sans-culottes, to Age, to + Learning, to Renown, to Beauty; and Strength, with its own inborn + chivalry, raised into rank the helpless and the weak. The iron sinews and + the Herculean shoulders made way for the woman and the child; and the + graces of Humanity, lost elsewhere, sought their refuge in the abode of + Terror. + </p> + <p> + “And wherefore, my child, do they bring thee hither?” asked an old, + grey-haired priest. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, if you know not your offence, fear the worst!” + </p> + <p> + “And my child?”—for the infant was still suffered to rest upon her + bosom. + </p> + <p> + “Alas, young mother, they will suffer thy child to live.’ + </p> + <p> + “And for this,—an orphan in the dungeon!” murmured the accusing + heart of Viola,—“have I reserved his offspring! Zanoni, even in + thought, ask not—ask not what I have done with the child I bore + thee!” + </p> + <p> + Night came; the crowd rushed to the grate to hear the muster-roll. + (Called, in the mocking jargon of the day, “The Evening Gazette.”) Her + name was with the doomed. And the old priest, better prepared to die, but + reserved from the death-list, laid his hands on her head, and blessed her + while he wept. She heard, and wondered; but she did not weep. With + downcast eyes, with arms folded on her bosom, she bent submissively to the + call. But now another name was uttered; and a man, who had pushed rudely + past her to gaze or to listen, shrieked out a howl of despair and rage. + She turned, and their eyes met. Through the distance of time she + recognised that hideous aspect. Nicot’s face settled back into its + devilish sneer. “At least, gentle Neapolitan, the guillotine will unite + us. Oh, we shall sleep well our wedding-night!” And, with a laugh, he + strode away through the crowd, and vanished into his lair. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + She was placed in her gloomy cell, to await the morrow. But the child was + still spared her; and she thought it seemed as if conscious of the awful + present. In their way to the prison it had not moaned or wept. It had + looked with its clear eyes, unshrinking, on the gleaming pikes and savage + brows of the huissiers. And now, alone in the dungeon, it put its arms + round her neck, and murmured its indistinct sounds, low and sweet as some + unknown language of consolation and of heaven. And of heaven it was!—for, + at the murmur, the terror melted from her soul; upward, from the dungeon + and the death,—upward, where the happy cherubim chant the mercy of + the All-loving, whispered that cherub’s voice. She fell upon her knees and + prayed. The despoilers of all that beautifies and hallows life had + desecrated the altar, and denied the God!—they had removed from the + last hour of their victims the Priest, the Scripture, and the Cross! But + Faith builds in the dungeon and the lazar-house its sublimest shrines; and + up, through roofs of stone, that shut out the eye of Heaven, ascends the + ladder where the angels glide to and fro,—PRAYER. + </p> + <p> + And there, in the very cell beside her own, the atheist Nicot sits stolid + amidst the darkness, and hugs the thought of Danton, that death is + nothingness. (“Ma demeure sera bientot LE NEANT” (My abode will soon be + nothingness), said Danton before his judges.)) His, no spectacle of an + appalled and perturbed conscience! Remorse is the echo of a lost virtue, + and virtue he never knew. Had he to live again, he would live the same. + But more terrible than the death-bed of a believing and despairing sinner + that blank gloom of apathy,—that contemplation of the worm and the + rat of the charnel-house; that grim and loathsome NOTHINGNESS which, for + his eye, falls like a pall over the universe of life. Still, staring into + space, gnawing his livid lip, he looks upon the darkness, convinced that + darkness is forever and forever! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + Place, there! place! Room yet in your crowded cells. Another has come to + the slaughter-house. + </p> + <p> + As the jailer, lamp in hand, ushered in the stranger, the latter touched + him and whispered. The stranger drew a jewel from his finger. Diantre, how + the diamond flashed in the ray of the lamp! Value each head of your eighty + at a thousand francs, and the jewel is more worth than all! The jailer + paused, and the diamond laughed in his dazzled eyes. O thou Cerberus, thou + hast mastered all else that seems human in that fell employ! Thou hast no + pity, no love, and no remorse. But Avarice survives the rest, and the foul + heart’s master-serpent swallows up the tribe. Ha! ha! crafty stranger, + thou hast conquered! They tread the gloomy corridor; they arrive at the + door where the jailer has placed the fatal mark, now to be erased, for the + prisoner within is to be reprieved a day. The key grates in the lock; the + door yawns,—the stranger takes the lamp and enters. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0081" id="link2HCH0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER 7.XVII. The Seventeenth and Last. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Cosi vince Goffredo! + “Ger. Lib.” cant. xx.-xliv. + + (Thus conquered Godfrey.) +</pre> + <p> + And Viola was in prayer. She heard not the opening of the door; she saw + not the dark shadow that fell along the floor. HIS power, HIS arts were + gone; but the mystery and the spell known to HER simple heart did not + desert her in the hours of trial and despair. When Science falls as a + firework from the sky it would invade; when Genius withers as a flower in + the breath of the icy charnel,—the hope of a child-like soul wraps + the air in light, and the innocence of unquestioning Belief covers the + grave with blossoms. + </p> + <p> + In the farthest corner of the cell she knelt; and the infant, as if to + imitate what it could not comprehend, bent its little limbs, and bowed its + smiling face, and knelt with her also, by her side. + </p> + <p> + He stood and gazed upon them as the light of the lamp fell calmly on their + forms. It fell over those clouds of golden hair, dishevelled, parted, + thrown back from the rapt, candid brow; the dark eyes raised on high, + where, through the human tears, a light as from above was mirrored; the + hands clasped, the lips apart, the form all animate and holy with the sad + serenity of innocence and the touching humility of woman. And he heard her + voice, though it scarcely left her lips: the low voice that the heart + speaks,—loud enough for God to hear! + </p> + <p> + “And if never more to see him, O Father! Canst Thou not make the love that + will not die, minister, even beyond the grave, to his earthly fate? Canst + Thou not yet permit it, as a living spirit, to hover over him,—a + spirit fairer than all his science can conjure? Oh, whatever lot be + ordained to either, grant—even though a thousand ages may roll + between us—grant, when at last purified and regenerate, and fitted + for the transport of such reunion—grant that we may meet once more! + And for his child,—it kneels to Thee from the dungeon floor! + To-morrow, and whose breast shall cradle it; whose hand shall feed; whose + lips shall pray for its weal below and its soul hereafter!” She paused,—her + voice choked with sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Thou Viola!—thou, thyself. He whom thou hast deserted is here to + preserve the mother to the child!” + </p> + <p> + She started!—those accents, tremulous as her own! She started to her + feet!—he was there,—in all the pride of his unwaning youth and + superhuman beauty; there, in the house of dread, and in the hour of + travail; there, image and personation of the love that can pierce the + Valley of the Shadow, and can glide, the unscathed wanderer from the + heaven, through the roaring abyss of hell! + </p> + <p> + With a cry never, perhaps, heard before in that gloomy vault,—a cry + of delight and rapture, she sprang forward, and fell at his feet. + </p> + <p> + He bent down to raise her; but she slid from his arms. He called her by + the familiar epithets of the old endearment, and she only answered him by + sobs. Wildly, passionately, she kissed his hands, the hem of his garment, + but voice was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Look up, look up!—I am here,—I am here to save thee! Wilt + thou deny to me thy sweet face? Truant, wouldst thou fly me still?” + </p> + <p> + “Fly thee!” she said, at last, and in a broken voice; “oh, if my thoughts + wronged thee,—oh, if my dream, that awful dream, deceived,—kneel + down with me, and pray for our child!” Then springing to her feet with a + sudden impulse, she caught up the infant, and, placing it in his arms, + sobbed forth, with deprecating and humble tones, “Not for my sake,—not + for mine, did I abandon thee, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said Zanoni; “I know all the thoughts that thy confused and + struggling senses can scarcely analyse themselves. And see how, with a + look, thy child answers them!” + </p> + <p> + And in truth the face of that strange infant seemed radiant with its + silent and unfathomable joy. It seemed as if it recognised the father; it + clung—it forced itself to his breast, and there, nestling, turned + its bright, clear eyes upon Viola, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Pray for my child!” said Zanoni, mournfully. “The thoughts of souls that + would aspire as mine are All PRAYER!” And, seating himself by her side, he + began to reveal to her some of the holier secrets of his lofty being. He + spoke of the sublime and intense faith from which alone the diviner + knowledge can arise,—the faith which, seeing the immortal + everywhere, purifies and exalts the mortal that beholds, the glorious + ambition that dwells not in the cabals and crimes of earth, but amidst + those solemn wonders that speak not of men, but of God; of that power to + abstract the soul from the clay which gives to the eye of the soul its + subtle vision, and to the soul’s wing the unlimited realm; of that pure, + severe, and daring initiation from which the mind emerges, as from death, + into clear perceptions of its kindred with the Father-Principles of life + and light, so that in its own sense of the Beautiful it finds its joy; in + the serenity of its will, its power; in its sympathy with the youthfulness + of the Infinite Creation, of which itself is an essence and a part, the + secrets that embalm the very clay which they consecrate, and renew the + strength of life with the ambrosia of mysterious and celestial sleep. And + while he spoke, Viola listened, breathless. If she could not comprehend, + she no longer dared to distrust. She felt that in that enthusiasm, + self-deceiving or not, no fiend could lurk; and by an intuition, rather + than an effort of the reason, she saw before her, like a starry ocean, the + depth and mysterious beauty of the soul which her fears had wronged. Yet, + when he said (concluding his strange confessions) that to this life WITHIN + life and ABOVE life he had dreamed to raise her own, the fear of humanity + crept over her, and he read in her silence how vain, with all his science, + would the dream have been. + </p> + <p> + But now, as he closed, and, leaning on his breast, she felt the clasp of + his protecting arms,—when, in one holy kiss, the past was forgiven + and the present lost,—then there returned to her the sweet and warm + hopes of the natural life, of the loving woman. He was come to save her! + She asked not how,—she believed it without a question. They should + be at last again united. They would fly far from those scenes of violence + and blood. Their happy Ionian isle, their fearless solitudes, would once + more receive them. She laughed, with a child’s joy, as this picture rose + up amidst the gloom of the dungeon. Her mind, faithful to its sweet, + simple instincts, refused to receive the lofty images that flitted + confusedly by it, and settled back to its human visions, yet more + baseless, of the earthly happiness and the tranquil home. + </p> + <p> + “Talk not now to me, beloved,—talk not more now to me of the past! + Thou art here,—thou wilt save me; we shall live yet the common happy + life, that life with thee is happiness and glory enough to me. Traverse, + if thou wilt, in thy pride of soul, the universe; thy heart again is the + universe to mine. I thought but now that I was prepared to die; I see + thee, touch thee, and again I know how beautiful a thing is life! See + through the grate the stars are fading from the sky; the morrow will soon + be here,—The MORROW which will open the prison doors! Thou sayest + thou canst save me,—I will not doubt it now. Oh, let us dwell no + more in cities! I never doubted thee in our lovely isle; no dreams haunted + me there, except dreams of joy and beauty; and thine eyes made yet more + beautiful and joyous the world in waking. To-morrow!—why do you not + smile? To-morrow, love! is not TO-MORROW a blessed word! Cruel! you would + punish me still, that you will not share my joy. Aha! see our little one, + how it laughs to my eyes! I will talk to THAT. Child, thy father is come + back!” + </p> + <p> + And taking the infant in her arms, and seating herself at a little + distance, she rocked it to and fro on her bosom, and prattled to it, and + kissed it between every word, and laughed and wept by fits, as ever and + anon she cast over her shoulder her playful, mirthful glance upon the + father to whom those fading stars smiled sadly their last farewell. How + beautiful she seemed as she thus sat, unconscious of the future! Still + half a child herself, her child laughing to her laughter,—two soft + triflers on the brink of the grave! Over her throat, as she bent, fell, + like a golden cloud, her redundant hair; it covered her treasure like a + veil of light, and the child’s little hands put it aside from time to + time, to smile through the parted tresses, and then to cover its face and + peep and smile again. It were cruel to damp that joy, more cruel still to + share it. + </p> + <p> + “Viola,” said Zanoni, at last, “dost thou remember that, seated by the + cave on the moonlit beach, in our bridal isle, thou once didst ask me for + this amulet?—the charm of a superstition long vanished from the + world, with the creed to which it belonged. It is the last relic of my + native land, and my mother, on her deathbed, placed it round my neck. I + told thee then I would give it thee on that day WHEN THE LAWS OF OUR BEING + SHOULD BECOME THE SAME.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember it well.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow it shall be thine!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that dear to-morrow!” And, gently laying down her child,—for it + slept now,—she threw herself on his breast, and pointed to the dawn + that began greyly to creep along the skies. + </p> + <p> + There, in those horror-breathing walls, the day-star looked through the + dismal bars upon those three beings, in whom were concentrated whatever is + most tender in human ties; whatever is most mysterious in the combinations + of the human mind; the sleeping Innocence; the trustful Affection, that, + contented with a touch, a breath, can foresee no sorrow; the weary Science + that, traversing all the secrets of creation, comes at last to Death for + their solution, and still clings, as it nears the threshold, to the breast + of Love. Thus, within, THE WITHIN,—a dungeon; without, the WITHOUT,—stately + with marts and halls, with palaces and temples; Revenge and Terror, at + their dark schemes and counter-schemes; to and fro, upon the tide of the + shifting passions, reeled the destinies of men and nations; and hard at + hand that day-star, waning into space, looked with impartial eye on the + church tower and the guillotine. Up springs the blithesome morn. In yon + gardens the birds renew their familiar song. The fishes are sporting + through the freshening waters of the Seine. The gladness of divine nature, + the roar and dissonance of mortal life, awake again: the trader unbars his + windows; the flower-girls troop gayly to their haunts; busy feet are + tramping to the daily drudgeries that revolutions which strike down kings + and kaisars, leave the same Cain’s heritage to the boor; the wagons groan + and reel to the mart; Tyranny, up betimes, holds its pallid levee; + Conspiracy, that hath not slept, hears the clock, and whispers to its own + heart, “The hour draws near.” A group gather, eager-eyed, round the + purlieus of the Convention Hall; to-day decides the sovereignty of France,—about + the courts of the Tribunal their customary hum and stir. No matter what + the hazard of the die, or who the ruler, this day eighty heads shall fall! + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + And she slept so sweetly. Wearied out with joy, secure in the presence of + the eyes regained, she had laughed and wept herself to sleep; and still in + that slumber there seemed a happy consciousness that the loved was by,—the + lost was found. For she smiled and murmured to herself, and breathed his + name often, and stretched out her arms, and sighed if they touched him + not. He gazed upon her as he stood apart,—with what emotions it were + vain to say. She would wake no more to him; she could not know how dearly + the safety of that sleep was purchased. That morrow she had so yearned + for,—it had come at last. HOW WOULD SHE GREET THE EVE? Amidst all + the exquisite hopes with which love and youth contemplate the future, her + eyes had closed. Those hopes still lent their iris-colours to her dreams. + She would wake to live! To-morrow, and the Reign of Terror was no more; + the prison gates would be opened,—she would go forth, with their + child, into that summer-world of light. And HE?—he turned, and his + eye fell upon the child; it was broad awake, and that clear, serious, + thoughtful look which it mostly wore, watched him with a solemn + steadiness. He bent over and kissed its lips. + </p> + <p> + “Never more,” he murmured, “O heritor of love and grief,—never more + wilt thou see me in thy visions; never more will the light of those eyes + be fed by celestial commune; never more can my soul guard from thy pillow + the trouble and the disease. Not such as I would have vainly shaped it, + must be thy lot. In common with thy race, it must be thine to suffer, to + struggle, and to err. But mild be thy human trials, and strong be thy + spirit to love and to believe! And thus, as I gaze upon thee,—thus + may my nature breathe into thine its last and most intense desire; may my + love for thy mother pass to thee, and in thy looks may she hear my spirit + comfort and console her. Hark! they come! Yes! I await ye both beyond the + grave!” + </p> + <p> + The door slowly opened; the jailer appeared, and through the aperture + rushed, at the same instant, a ray of sunlight: it streamed over the fair, + hushed face of the happy sleeper,—it played like a smile upon the + lips of the child that, still, mute, and steadfast, watched the movements + of its father. At that moment Viola muttered in her sleep, “The day is + come,—the gates are open! Give me thy hand; we will go forth! To + sea, to sea! How the sunshine plays upon the waters!—to home, + beloved one, to home again!” + </p> + <p> + “Citizen, thine hour is come!” + </p> + <p> + “Hist! she sleeps! A moment! There, it is done! thank Heaven!—and + STILL she sleeps!” He would not kiss, lest he should awaken her, but + gently placed round her neck the amulet that would speak to her, + hereafter, the farewell,—and promise, in that farewell, reunion! He + is at the threshold,—he turns again, and again. The door closes! He + is gone forever! + </p> + <p> + She woke at last,—she gazed round. “Zanoni, it is day!” No answer + but the low wail of her child. Merciful Heaven! was it then all a dream? + She tossed back the long tresses that must veil her sight; she felt the + amulet on her bosom,—it was NO dream! “O God! and he is gone!” She + sprang to the door,—she shrieked aloud. The jailer comes. “My + husband, my child’s father?” + </p> + <p> + “He is gone before thee, woman!” + </p> + <p> + “Whither? Speak—speak!” + </p> + <p> + “To the guillotine!”—and the black door closed again. + </p> + <p> + It closed upon the senseless! As a lightning-flash, Zanoni’s words, his + sadness, the true meaning of his mystic gift, the very sacrifice he made + for her, all became distinct for a moment to her mind,—and then + darkness swept on it like a storm, yet darkness which had its light. And + while she sat there, mute, rigid, voiceless, as congealed to stone, A + VISION, like a wind, glided over the deeps within,—the grim court, + the judge, the jury, the accuser; and amidst the victims the one dauntless + and radiant form. + </p> + <p> + “Thou knowest the danger to the State,—confess!” + </p> + <p> + “I know; and I keep my promise. Judge, I reveal thy doom! I know that the + Anarchy thou callest a State expires with the setting of this sun. Hark, + to the tramp without; hark to the roar of voices! Room there, ye dead!—room + in hell for Robespierre and his crew!” + </p> + <p> + They hurry into the court,—the hasty and pale messengers; there is + confusion and fear and dismay! “Off with the conspirator, and to-morrow + the woman thou wouldst have saved shall die!” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, president, the steel falls on THEE!” + </p> + <p> + On, through the crowded and roaring streets, on moves the Procession of + Death. Ha, brave people! thou art aroused at last. They shall not die! + Death is dethroned!—Robespierre has fallen!—they rush to the + rescue! Hideous in the tumbril, by the side of Zanoni, raved and + gesticulated that form which, in his prophetic dreams, he had seen his + companion at the place of death. “Save us!—save us!” howled the + atheist Nicot. “On, brave populace! we SHALL be saved!” And through the + crowd, her dark hair streaming wild, her eyes flashing fire, pressed a + female form, “My Clarence!” she shrieked, in the soft Southern language + native to the ears of Viola; “butcher! what hast thou done with Clarence?” + Her eyes roved over the eager faces of the prisoners; she saw not the one + she sought. “Thank Heaven!—thank Heaven! I am not thy murderess!” + </p> + <p> + Nearer and nearer press the populace,—another moment, and the + deathsman is defrauded. O Zanoni! why still upon THY brow the resignation + that speaks no hope? Tramp! tramp! through the streets dash the armed + troop; faithful to his orders, Black Henriot leads them on. Tramp! tramp! + over the craven and scattered crowd! Here, flying in disorder,—there, + trampled in the mire, the shrieking rescuers! And amidst them, stricken by + the sabres of the guard, her long hair blood-bedabbled, lies the Italian + woman; and still upon her writhing lips sits joy, as they murmur, + “Clarence! I have not destroyed thee!” + </p> + <p> + On to the Barriere du Trone. It frowns dark in the air,—the giant + instrument of murder! One after one to the glaive,—another and + another and another! Mercy! O mercy! Is the bridge between the sun and the + shades so brief,—brief as a sigh? There, there,—HIS turn has + come. “Die not yet; leave me not behind; hear me—hear me!” shrieked + the inspired sleeper. “What! and thou smilest still!” They smiled,—those + pale lips,—and WITH the smile, the place of doom, the headsman, the + horror vanished. With that smile, all space seemed suffused in eternal + sunshine. Up from the earth he rose; he hovered over her,—a thing + not of matter, an IDEA of joy and light! Behind, Heaven opened, deep after + deep; and the Hosts of Beauty were seen, rank upon rank, afar; and + “Welcome!” in a myriad melodies, broke from your choral multitude, ye + People of the Skies,—“welcome! O purified by sacrifice, and immortal + only through the grave,—this it is to die.” And radiant amidst the + radiant, the IMAGE stretched forth its arms, and murmured to the sleeper: + “Companion of Eternity!—THIS it is to die!” + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + “Ho! wherefore do they make us signs from the house-tops? Wherefore gather + the crowds through the street? Why sounds the bell? Why shrieks the + tocsin? Hark to the guns!—the armed clash! Fellow-captives, is there + hope for us at last?” + </p> + <p> + So gasp out the prisoners, each to each. Day wanes—evening closes; + still they press their white faces to the bars, and still from window and + from house-top they see the smiles of friends,—the waving signals! + “Hurrah!” at last,—“Hurrah! Robespierre is fallen! The Reign of + Terror is no more! God hath permitted us to live!” + </p> + <p> + Yes; cast thine eyes into the hall where the tyrant and his conclave + hearkened to the roar without! Fulfilling the prophecy of Dumas, Henriot, + drunk with blood and alcohol, reels within, and chucks his gory sabre on + the floor. “All is lost!” + </p> + <p> + “Wretch! thy cowardice hath destroyed us!” yelled the fierce Coffinhal, as + he hurled the coward from the window. + </p> + <p> + Calm as despair stands the stern St. Just; the palsied Couthon crawls, + grovelling, beneath table; a shot,—an explosion! Robespierre would + destroy himself! The trembling hand has mangled, and failed to kill! The + clock of the Hotel de Ville strikes the third hour. Through the battered + door, along the gloomy passages, into the Death-hall, burst the crowd. + Mangled, livid, blood-stained, speechless but not unconscious, sits + haughty yet, in his seat erect, the Master-Murderer! Around him they + throng; they hoot,—they execrate, their faces gleaming in the + tossing torches! HE, and not the starry Magian, the REAL Sorcerer! And + round HIS last hours gather the Fiends he raised! + </p> + <p> + They drag him forth! Open thy gates, inexorable prison! The Conciergerie + receives its prey! Never a word again on earth spoke Maximilien + Robespierre! Pour forth thy thousands, and tens of thousands, emancipated + Paris! To the Place de la Revolution rolls the tumbril of the King of + Terror,—St. Just, Dumas, Couthon, his companions to the grave! A + woman—a childless woman, with hoary hair—springs to his side, + “Thy death makes me drunk with joy!” He opened his bloodshot eyes,—“Descend + to hell with the curses of wives and mothers!” + </p> + <p> + The headsmen wrench the rag from the shattered jaw; a shriek, and the + crowd laugh, and the axe descends amidst the shout of the countless + thousands, and blackness rushes on thy soul, Maximilien Robespierre! So + ended the Reign of Terror. + </p> + <p> + .... + </p> + <p> + Daylight in the prison. From cell to cell they hurry with the news,—crowd + upon crowd; the joyous captives mingled with the very jailers, who, for + fear, would fain seem joyous too; they stream through the dens and alleys + of the grim house they will shortly leave. They burst into a cell, + forgotten since the previous morning. They found there a young female, + sitting upon her wretched bed; her arms crossed upon her bosom, her face + raised upward; the eyes unclosed, and a smile of more than serenity—of + bliss—upon her lips. Even in the riot of their joy, they drew back + in astonishment and awe. Never had they seen life so beautiful; and as + they crept nearer, and with noiseless feet, they saw that the lips + breathed not, that the repose was of marble, that the beauty and the + ecstasy were of death. They gathered round in silence; and lo! at her feet + there was a young infant, who, wakened by their tread, looked at them + steadfastly, and with its rosy fingers played with its dead mother’s robe. + An orphan there in a dungeon vault! + </p> + <p> + “Poor one!” said a female (herself a parent), “and they say the father + fell yesterday; and now the mother! Alone in the world, what can be its + fate?” + </p> + <p> + The infant smiled fearlessly on the crowd, as the woman spoke thus. And + the old priest, who stood amongst them, said gently, “Woman, see! the + orphan smiles! THE FATHERLESS ARE THE CARE OF GOD!” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0093" id="link2H_4_0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOTE. + </h2> + <p> + The curiosity which Zanoni has excited among those who think it worth while + to dive into the subtler meanings they believe it intended to convey, may + excuse me in adding a few words, not in explanation of its mysteries, but + upon the principles which permit them. Zanoni is not, as some have + supposed, an allegory; but beneath the narrative it relates, TYPICAL + meanings are concealed. It is to be regarded in two characters, distinct + yet harmonious,—1st, that of the simple and objective fiction, in + which (once granting the license of the author to select a subject which + is, or appears to be, preternatural) the reader judges the writer by the + usual canons,—namely, by the consistency of his characters under + such admitted circumstances, the interest of his story, and the coherence + of his plot; of the work regarded in this view, it is not my intention to + say anything, whether in exposition of the design, or in defence of the + execution. No typical meanings (which, in plain terms are but moral + suggestions, more or less numerous, more or less subtle) can afford just + excuse to a writer of fiction, for the errors he should avoid in the most + ordinary novel. We have no right to expect the most ingenious reader to + search for the inner meaning, if the obvious course of the narrative be + tedious and displeasing. It is, on the contrary, in proportion as we are + satisfied with the objective sense of a work of imagination, that we are + inclined to search into its depths for the more secret intentions of the + author. Were we not so divinely charmed with “Faust,” and “Hamlet,” and + “Prometheus,” so ardently carried on by the interest of the story told to + the common understanding, we should trouble ourselves little with the + types in each which all of us can detect,—none of us can elucidate; + none elucidate, for the essence of type is mystery. We behold the figure, + we cannot lift the veil. The author himself is not called upon to explain + what he designed. An allegory is a personation of distinct and definite + things,—virtues or qualities,—and the key can be given easily; + but a writer who conveys typical meanings, may express them in myriads. He + cannot disentangle all the hues which commingle into the light he seeks to + cast upon truth; and therefore the great masters of this enchanted soil,—Fairyland + of Fairyland, Poetry imbedded beneath Poetry,—wisely leave to each + mind to guess at such truths as best please or instruct it. To have asked + Goethe to explain the “Faust” would have entailed as complex and puzzling + an answer as to have asked Mephistopheles to explain what is beneath the + earth we tread on. The stores beneath may differ for every passenger; each + step may require a new description; and what is treasure to the geologist + may be rubbish to the miner. Six worlds may lie under a sod, but to the + common eye they are but six layers of stone. + </p> + <p> + Art in itself, if not necessarily typical, is essentially a suggester of + something subtler than that which it embodies to the sense. What Pliny + tells us of a great painter of old, is true of most great painters; “their + works express something beyond the works,”—“more felt than + understood.” This belongs to the concentration of intellect which high art + demands, and which, of all the arts, sculpture best illustrates. Take + Thorwaldsen’s Statue of Mercury,—it is but a single figure, yet it + tells to those conversant with mythology a whole legend. The god has + removed the pipe from his lips, because he has already lulled to sleep the + Argus, whom you do not see. He is pressing his heel against his sword, + because the moment is come when he may slay his victim. Apply the + principle of this noble concentration of art to the moral writer: he, too, + gives to your eye but a single figure; yet each attitude, each expression, + may refer to events and truths you must have the learning to remember, the + acuteness to penetrate, or the imagination to conjecture. But to a + classical judge of sculpture, would not the exquisite pleasure of + discovering the all not told in Thorwaldsen’s masterpiece be destroyed if + the artist had engraved in detail his meaning at the base of the statue? + Is it not the same with the typical sense which the artist in words + conveys? The pleasure of divining art in each is the noble exercise of all + by whom art is worthily regarded. + </p> + <p> + We of the humbler race not unreasonably shelter ourselves under the + authority of the masters, on whom the world’s judgment is pronounced; and + great names are cited, not with the arrogance of equals, but with the + humility of inferiors. + </p> + <p> + The author of Zanoni gives, then, no key to mysteries, be they trivial or + important, which may be found in the secret chambers by those who lift the + tapestry from the wall; but out of the many solutions of the main enigma—if + enigma, indeed, there be—which have been sent to him, he ventures to + select the one which he subjoins, from the ingenuity and thought which it + displays, and from respect for the distinguished writer (one of the most + eminent our time has produced) who deemed him worthy of an honour he is + proud to display. He leaves it to the reader to agree with, or dissent + from the explanation. “A hundred men,” says the old Platonist, “may read + the book by the help of the same lamp, yet all may differ on the text, for + the lamp only lights the characters,—the mind must divine the + meaning.” The object of a parable is not that of a problem; it does not + seek to convince, but to suggest. It takes the thought below the surface + of the understanding to the deeper intelligence which the world rarely + tasks. It is not sunlight on the water; it is a hymn chanted to the nymph + who hearkens and awakes below. + </p> + <p> + .... <a name="link2H_4_0094" id="link2H_4_0094"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “ZANONI EXPLAINED. + </h2> + <h3> + BY—.” + </h3> + <p> + MEJNOUR:—Contemplation of the Actual,—SCIENCE. Always old, and + must last as long as the Actual. Less fallible than Idealism, but less + practically potent, from its ignorance of the human heart. + </p> + <p> + ZANONI:—Contemplation of the Ideal,—IDEALISM. Always + necessarily sympathetic: lives by enjoyment; and is therefore typified by + eternal youth. (“I do not understand the making Idealism less undying (on + this scene of existence) than Science.”—Commentator. Because, + granting the above premises, Idealism is more subjected than Science to + the Affections, or to Instinct, because the Affections, sooner or later, + force Idealism into the Actual, and in the Actual its immortality departs. + The only absolutely Actual portion of the work is found in the concluding + scenes that depict the Reign of Terror. The introduction of this part was + objected to by some as out of keeping with the fanciful portions that + preceded it. But if the writer of the solution has rightly shown or + suggested the intention of the author, the most strongly and rudely actual + scene of the age in which the story is cast was the necessary and + harmonious completion of the whole. The excesses and crimes of Humanity + are the grave of the Ideal.—Author.) Idealism is the potent + Interpreter and Prophet of the Real; but its powers are impaired in + proportion to their exposure to human passion. + </p> + <p> + VIOLA:—Human INSTINCT. (Hardly worthy to be called LOVE, as Love + would not forsake its object at the bidding of Superstition.) Resorts, + first in its aspiration after the Ideal, to tinsel shows; then + relinquishes these for a higher love; but is still, from the conditions of + its nature, inadequate to this, and liable to suspicion and mistrust. Its + greatest force (Maternal Instinct) has power to penetrate some secrets, to + trace some movements of the Ideal, but, too feeble to command them, yields + to Superstition, sees sin where there is none, while committing sin, under + a false guidance; weakly seeking refuge amidst the very tumults of the + warring passions of the Actual, while deserting the serene Ideal,—pining, + nevertheless, in the absence of the Ideal, and expiring (not perishing, + but becoming transmuted) in the aspiration after having the laws of the + two natures reconciled. + </p> + <p> + (It might best suit popular apprehension to call these three the + Understanding, the Imagination, and the Heart.) + </p> + <p> + CHILD:—NEW-BORN INSTINCT, while trained and informed by Idealism, + promises a preter-human result by its early, incommunicable vigilance and + intelligence, but is compelled, by inevitable orphanhood, and the one-half + of the laws of its existence, to lapse into ordinary conditions. + </p> + <p> + AIDON-AI:—FAITH, which manifests its splendour, and delivers its + oracles, and imparts its marvels, only to the higher moods of the soul, + and whose directed antagonism is with Fear; so that those who employ the + resources of Fear must dispense with those of Faith. Yet aspiration holds + open a way of restoration, and may summon Faith, even when the cry issues + from beneath the yoke of fear. + </p> + <p> + DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD:—FEAR (or HORROR), from whose ghastliness + men are protected by the opacity of the region of Prescription and Custom. + The moment this protection is relinquished, and the human spirit pierces + the cloud, and enters alone on the unexplored regions of Nature, this + Natural Horror haunts it, and is to be successfully encountered only by + defiance,—by aspiration towards, and reliance on, the Former and + Director of Nature, whose Messenger and Instrument of reassurance is + Faith. + </p> + <p> + MERVALE:—CONVENTIONALISM. + </p> + <p> + NICOT:—Base, grovelling, malignant PASSION. + </p> + <p> + GLYNDON:—UNSUSTAINED ASPIRATION: Would follow Instinct, but is + deterred by Conventionalism, is overawed by Idealism, yet attracted, and + transiently inspired, but has not steadiness for the initiatory + contemplation of the Actual. He conjoins its snatched privileges with a + besetting sensualism, and suffers at once from the horror of the one and + the disgust of the other, involving the innocent in the fatal conflict of + his spirit. When on the point of perishing, he is rescued by Idealism, + and, unable to rise to that species of existence, is grateful to be + replunged into the region of the Familiar, and takes up his rest + henceforth in Custom. (Mirror of Young Manhood.) + </p> + <p> + .... ARGUMENT. + </p> + <p> + Human Existence subject to, and exempt from, ordinary conditions + (Sickness, Poverty, Ignorance, Death). + </p> + <p> + SCIENCE is ever striving to carry the most gifted beyond ordinary + conditions,—the result being as many victims as efforts, and the + striver being finally left a solitary,—for his object is unsuitable + to the natures he has to deal with. + </p> + <p> + The pursuit of the Ideal involves so much emotion as to render the + Idealist vulnerable by human passion, however long and well guarded, still + vulnerable,—liable, at last, to a union with Instinct. Passion + obscures both Insight and Forecast. All effort to elevate Instinct to + Idealism is abortive, the laws of their being not coinciding (in the early + stage of the existence of the one). Instinct is either alarmed, and takes + refuge in Superstition or Custom, or is left helpless to human charity, or + given over to providential care. + </p> + <p> + Idealism, stripped of in sight and forecast, loses its serenity, becomes + subject once more to the horror from which it had escaped, and by + accepting its aids, forfeits the higher help of Faith; aspiration, + however, remaining still possible, and, thereby, slow restoration; and + also, SOMETHING BETTER. + </p> + <p> + Summoned by aspiration, Faith extorts from Fear itself the saving truth to + which Science continues blind, and which Idealism itself hails as its + crowning acquisition,—the inestimable PROOF wrought out by all + labours and all conflicts. + </p> + <p> + Pending the elaboration of this proof, + </p> + <p> + CONVENTIONALISM plods on, safe and complacent; + </p> + <p> + SELFISH PASSION perishes, grovelling and hopeless; + </p> + <p> + INSTINCT sleeps, in order to a loftier waking; and + </p> + <p> + IDEALISM learns, as its ultimate lesson, that self-sacrifice is true + redemption; that the region beyond the grave is the fitting one for + exemption from mortal conditions; and that Death is the everlasting + portal, indicated by the finger of God,—the broad avenue through + which man does not issue solitary and stealthy into the region of Free + Existence, but enters triumphant, hailed by a hierarchy of immortal + natures. + </p> + <p> + The result is (in other words), THAT THE UNIVERSAL HUMAN LOT IS, AFTER + ALL, THAT OF THE HIGHEST PRIVILEGE. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Zanoni, by Edward Bulwer Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZANONI *** + +***** This file should be named 2664-h.htm or 2664-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/6/2664/ + +Produced by Dave Ceponis, Sue Asscher and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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