zanoni-第12章

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me。〃



〃Pardon　me；　I　was　at　that　moment　repressing　a　vague　fear　which

seemed　prophetic。〃



〃And　that〃



〃Was　that　we　should　meet　again；　when　your　opinions　on　Death　and

the　philosophy　of　Revolutions　might　be　different。〃



〃Never！〃



〃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？〃



〃Detest！　　How　could　I　love　mankind　if　I　did　not？〃



〃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？〃



〃Erred！　　Was　Socrates　to　blame　if　Alcibiades　was　an　adulterer　and

a　traitor？〃



〃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。



But　the　latter　was　at　the　threshold。　　Who　shall　argue　with　the

most　stubborn　of　all　bigotries；the　fanaticism　of　unbelief？



〃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？〃



〃Was　it　thus　Plato　spoke　of　Socrates；　Monsieur　Dumas？〃



〃Ha；　ha！you　are　caustic。　　Well；　you　have　a　right。　　Sir；　we

shall　meet　again。〃



〃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。



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　defiedbut　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



〃In　den　heitern　Regionen

Wo　die　reinen　Formen　wohnen。〃



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。





CHAPTER　1。IX。



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。）



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。



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。



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　dreadthe　discordinto　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！



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。



〃Thy　mother？〃　he　said。　　〃Does　she　sleep？〃



〃She　sleeps；ah；　yes！〃　and　the　tears　gushed　forth。



〃I　thoughteh！　　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？〃



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。



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。



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　b