zanoni-第39章

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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！



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。



THE　SELF　CONFESSIONAL。



〃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？



。。。



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；　closeclose；　from　fear　of　my　own

thoughts。



〃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！



〃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　wasit　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。



。。。



〃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！



。。。



〃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？



。。。



〃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。



。。。



〃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。



〃'Well；　and　when　you　found　that　the　nightingale　refused　to

sing？'



〃'Ah！'　I　said；　'what　to　thee　this　history　of　the　heart　of　a

child？'



〃'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？'



〃'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。'



〃'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。'



〃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！



。。。



〃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　di