Zanoni — Edward Bulwer-Lytton
so few regard it in its holiest nature. What the sensual call its enjoyments, are the least of its joys. True love is less a passion than a symbol. Mejnour, shall the time come when I can speak to thee of Viola as a thing that was ?
EXTRACT FROM LETTER III.
Knowest thou that of late I have sometimes asked myself, “Ts there no guilt in the knowledge that has so divided us from our race?” It is true that the higher we ascend the more hateful seem to us the vices of the short-lived creepers of the earth, — the more the sense of the goodness of the Allgood penetrates and suffuses us, and the more immediately does our happiness seem to emanate from him. But, on the other hand, how many virtues must lie dead in those who live in the world of death, and refuse to die! Is not this sublime egotism, this state of abstraction and reverie, —this selfwrapped and self-dependent majesty of existence, a resignation of that nobility which incorporates our own welfare, our joys, our hopes, our fears with others? To live on in no dread of foes, undegraded by infirmity, secure through the cares, and free from the disease of flesh, is a spectacle that captivates our pride. And yet dost thou not more admire him who dies for another? Since I have loved her, Mejnour, it seems almost cowardice to elude the grave which devours the hearts that wrap us in their folds. I feel it, —the earth grows upon my spirit. Thou wert right; eternal age, serene and passionjess, is a happier boon than eternal youth, with its yearnings and desires. Until we can be all spirit, the tranquillity of solitude must be indifference.
EXTRACTS FROM LETTER IV.
I have received thy communication. What! is itso? Has y pupil disappointed thee? Alas, poor pupil! But—
>a . . . . . . e .
p. 326
(Here follow comments on those passages in Glyndon’s life already known to the reader, or about to be made so, with earnest adjurations to Mejnour to watch yet over the fate of his scholar.) But I cherish the same desire, with a warmer heart. My pupil! how the terrors that shall encompass thine ordeal warn me from the task! Once more I will seek the Son of Light. Yes; Adon-Ai, long deaf to my call, at last has descended to my vision, and left behind him the glory of his presence in the shape of Hope. Oh, not impossible, Viola, — not impossible, that we yet may be united, soul with soul!
EXTRACT FROM LETTER v.— (Many months after the last.)
Mejnour, awake from thine apathy, — rejoice! A new soul will be born to the world, —a new soul that shall call me father. Ah, if they for whom exist all the occupations and resources of human life, —if they can thrill with exquisite emotion at the thonght of hailing again their own childhood in the faces of their children ; if in that birth they are born once more into the holy Innocence which is the first state of existence; if they can feel that on man devolves almost an angel’s duty, when he has a life to guide from the cradle, and asoul to nurture for the heaven,x—what to me must be the rapture to welcome an inheritor of all the gifts which double themselves in being shared! How sweet the power to watch, and to guard, — to instil the knowledge, to avert the evil, and to guide back the river of life in a richer and broader and deeper stream to the paradise from which it flows! And beside that river our souls shall meet, sweet mother. Our child shall supply the sympathy that fails as yet; and what shape shall haunt thee, what terror shall dismay, when thy initiation is beside the cradle of thy child!
p. 327
CHAPTER XI.
They thus beguile the way Untill the blustring storme is overblowne, When weening to returne whence they did stray, They cannot finde that path which first was showne, But wander to and fro in waies unknowne. SrENSER’S Faerie Queene, book i. canto i. st. x.
Yzs, Viola, thou art another being than when, by the threshold of thy Italian home, thou didst follow thy dim fancies through the Land of Shadow; or when thou didst vainly seek to give voice to an ideal beauty, on the boards where illusion counterfeits earth and heaven for an hour, till the weary sense, awaking, sees but the tinsel and the scene-shifter. Thy spirit reposes in its own happiness. Its wanderings have found a goal. In a moment there often dwells the sense of eternity; for when profoundly happy, we know that it is impossible to die. Whenever the soul feels itself, it feels everlasting life. The initiation is deferred, —thy days and nights are left to no other visions than those with which a contented heart enchants a guileless fancy. Glendoveers and Sylphs, pardon me if I question whether those visions are not lovelier than yourselves. They stand by the beach, and see the sun sinking into the sea. How long now have they dwelt on that island? What matters! —it may be months, or years, —what matters! Why should I, or they, keep account of that happy time? As in the dream of a moment ages
p. 328
so few regard it in its holiest nature. What the sensual call its enjoyments, are the least of its joys. True love is less a passion than a symbol. Mejnour, shall the time come when I can speak to you of Viola as a thing that was ?
EXTRACT FROM LETTER III.
Knowest you that of late I have sometimes asked myself, “Ts there no guilt in the knowledge that has so divided us from our race?” It is true that the higher we ascend the more hateful seem to us the vices of the short-lived creepers of the earth, — the more the sense of the goodness of the Allgood penetrates and suffuses us, and the more immediately does our happiness seem to emanate from him. But, on the other hand, how many virtues must lie dead in those who live in the world of death, and refuse to die! Is not this sublime egotism, this state of abstraction and reverie, —this selfwrapped and self-dependent majesty of existence, a resignation of that nobility which incorporates our own welfare, our joys, our hopes, our fears with others? To live on in no dread of foes, undegraded by infirmity, secure through the cares, and free from the disease of flesh, is a spectacle that captivates our pride. And yet do you not more admire him who dies for another? Since I have loved her, Mejnour, it seems almost cowardice to elude the grave which devours the hearts that wrap us in their folds. I feel it, —the earth grows upon my spirit. You were right; eternal age, serene and passionjess, is a happier boon than eternal youth, with its yearnings and desires. Until we can be all spirit, the tranquillity of solitude must be indifference.
EXTRACTS FROM LETTER IV.
I have received your communication. What! is itso? Has y pupil disappointed you? Alas, poor pupil! But—
>a . . . . . . e .
p. 326
(Here follow comments on those passages in Glyndon’s life already known to the reader, or about to be made so, with earnest adjurations to Mejnour to watch yet over the fate of his scholar.) But I cherish the same desire, with a warmer heart. My pupil! how the terrors that shall encompass your ordeal warn me from the task! Once more I will seek the Son of Light. Yes; Adon-Ai, long deaf to my call, at last has descended to my vision, and left behind him the glory of his presence in the shape of Hope. Oh, not impossible, Viola, — not impossible, that we yet may be united, soul with soul!
EXTRACT FROM LETTER v.— (Many months after the last.)
Mejnour, awake from your apathy, — rejoice! A new soul will be born to the world, —a new soul that shall call me father. Ah, if they for whom exist all the occupations and resources of human life, —if they can thrill with exquisite emotion at the thonght of hailing again their own childhood in the faces of their children ; if in that birth they are born once more into the holy Innocence which is the first state of existence; if they can feel that on man devolves almost an angel’s duty, when he has a life to guide from the cradle, and asoul to nurture for the heaven,x—what to me must be the rapture to welcome an inheritor of all the gifts which double themselves in being shared! How sweet the power to watch, and to guard, — to instil the knowledge, to avert the evil, and to guide back the river of life in a richer and broader and deeper stream to the paradise from which it flows! And beside that river our souls shall meet, sweet mother. Our child shall supply the sympathy that fails as yet; and what shape shall haunt you, what terror shall dismay, when your initiation is beside the cradle of your child!
p. 327
CHAPTER XI.
They thus beguile the way Untill the blustring storme is overblowne, When weening to returne whence they did stray, They cannot finde that path which first was showne, But wander to and fro in waies unknowne. SrENSER’S Faerie Queene, book i. canto i. st. x.
Yzs, Viola, you are another being than when, by the threshold of your Italian home, you did follow your dim fancies through the Land of Shadow; or when you did vainly seek to give voice to an ideal beauty, on the boards where illusion counterfeits earth and heaven for an hour, till the weary sense, awaking, sees but the tinsel and the scene-shifter. Your spirit reposes in its own happiness. Its wanderings have found a goal. In a moment there often dwells the sense of eternity; for when profoundly happy, we know that it is impossible to die. Whenever the soul feels itself, it feels everlasting life. The initiation is deferred, —your days and nights are left to no other visions than those with which a contented heart enchants a guileless fancy. Glendoveers and Sylphs, pardon me if I question whether those visions are not lovelier than yourselves. They stand by the beach, and see the sun sinking into the sea. How long now have they dwelt on that island? What matters! —it may be months, or years, —what matters! Why should I, or they, keep account of that happy time? As in the dream of a moment ages
p. 328
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