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第21章

zanoni-第21章

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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。



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。



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。



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。〃



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。



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!



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。



The Englishman saluted him courteously。  〃Have you discovered

some antique?〃 said he; with a smile; 〃they are common as pebbles

on this road。〃



〃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。



〃You are an herbalist?〃



〃I am。〃



〃It is; I am told; a study full of interest。〃



〃To those who understand it; doubtless。〃



〃Is the knowledge; then; so rare?〃



〃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;

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