zanoni-第94章

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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。



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。



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？





CHAPTER　7。IV。



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　puossiegli　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。）



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！



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。



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。　　Thenthere

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。



On　their　arrival　at　Paris；　Viola　saw　her　companionthe　faithful

wifeno　more。　　Ere　three　weeks　were　passed；　husband　and　wife　had

ceased　to　live。



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　Glyndonso；　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！〃



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。



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　kn