Zanoni — Edward Bulwer-Lytton

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nity 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. “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.

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CHAPTER VIII.

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,

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.? 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. And still to the fishermen, weaving yet their antique dances on the sand; to the maiden, adorning yet, with

’ See Dr. Holland’s “ Travels to the Ionian Isles,” etc. p. 18.

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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. 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 civilized man was alike unheeded. The loving sky and the lovely earth are companions enough to Wisdom and to Ignorance while they love. 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

1 Homeric Hymn.

ZANONI. SEL