Zanoni — Edward Bulwer-Lytton

“ And if never more to see him, O Father! Canst Thou not make the love that will not die, minister, even beyond the grave, to his earthly fate? Canst Thou not yet permit it, as a living spirit, to hover over him, —a spirit fairer than all his science can conjure? Oh, whatever lot be ordained to either, grant —even though a thousand ages may roll between us — grant, when at last purified and regenerate, and fitted for the transport of such reunion— grant that we may meet once more! And for his child, —it kneels to Thee from the dungeon floor! To-morrow, and whose breast shall cradle it; whose hand shall feed; whose lips shall pray for its weal below and its soul hereafter!” She paused, — her voice choked with sobs. “Thou Viola! — thou, thyself. He whom thou hast deserted is here to preserve the mother to the child! ” She started! — those accents, tremulous as her own! She started to her feet! he was there, —in all the pride of his unwaning youth and superhuman beauty; there, in the house of dread, and in the hour of travail; there, image and personation of the love that can pierce the Valley of the Shadow, and can glide, the unscathed wanderer from the heaven, through the roaring abyss of hell! With a cry never, perhaps, heard before in that gloomy vault, —a cry of delight and rapture, she sprang forward, and fell at his feet. He bent down to raise her; but she slid from his arms. He called her by the familiar epithets of the old endearment, and she only answered him by sobs. Wildly, passionately, she kissed his hands, the hem of his garment, but voice was gone. . “Look up, look up! —I am here, — I am here to save thee! Wilt thou deny to me thy sweet face? Truant, wouldst thou fly me still?”

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“Fly thee!” she said, at last, and in a broken voice; “oh, if my thoughts wronged thee, — oh, if my dream, that awful dream, deceived, — kneel down with me, and pray for our child!” Then springing to her feet with a sudden impulse, she caught up the infant, and, placing it in his arms, sobbed forth, with deprecating and humble tones, “ Not for my sake, — not for mine, did I abandon thee, but —” “Hush! ” said Zanoni; “I know all the thoughts that thy confused and struggling senses can scarcely analyze themselves. And see how, with a look, thy child answers them ! * And in truth the face of that strange infant seemed radiant with its silent and unfathomable joy. It seemed as if it recognized the father; it clung — it forced itself to his breast, and there, nestling, turned its bright, clear eyes upon Viola, and smiled. “ Pray for my child! ” said Zanoni, mournfully. “The thoughts of souls that would aspire as mine are all prayer!” And, seating himself by her side, he began to reveal to her some of the holier secrets of his lofty being. He spoke of the sublime and intense faith from which alone the diviner knowledge can arise, — the faith which, seeing the immortal everywhere, purifies and exalts the mortal that beholds, the glorious ambition that dwells not in the cabals and crimes of earth, but amidst those solemn wonders that speak not of men, but of God; of that power to abstract the soul from the clay which gives to the eye of the soul its subtle vision, and to the soul’s wing the unlimited realm; of that pure, severe, and daring initiation from which the mind emerges, as from death, into clear perceptions of its kindred with the Father-Principles of life and light, so that in its own sense of the Beautiful it finds its joy; in the serenity of

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its will, its power; in its sympathy with the youthfulness of the Infinite Creation, of which itself is an essence and a part, the secrets that embalm the very clay which they consecrate, and renew the strength of life with the ambrosia of mysterious and celestial sleep. And while he spoke, Viola listened, breathless. If she could not comprehend, she no longer dared to distrust.

She felt that in that enthusiasm, self-deceiving or not, no fiend could lurk; and by an intuition, rather than an effort of the reason, she saw before her, like a starry ocean, the depth and mysterious beauty of the soul which her fears had wronged.

Yet, when he said (concluding his strange confessions) that to this life within life and above life he had dreamed to raise her own, the fear of humanity erept over her, and he read in her silence how vain, with all his science, would the dream have been, But now, as he closed, and, leaning on his breast, she felt the clasp of his protecting arms, — when, in one holy kiss, the past was forgiven and the present lost, — then there returned to her the sweet and warm hopes of the natural life, of the loving woman.

He was come to save her! She asked not how, —she believed it without a question. They should be at last again united. They would fly far from those scenes of violence and blood. Their happy Ionian isle, their fearless solitudes, would once more receive them. She laughed, with a child’s joy, as this picture rose up amidst the gloom of the dungeon.

Her mind, faithful to its sweet, simple instincts, refused to receive the lofty images that flitted confusedly by it, and settled back to its human visions, yet more baseless, of the earthly happiness and the tranquil home. “Talk not now to me, beloved, — talk not more now to me of the past! Thou art here, — thou wilt save me; we shall live yet the common happy life: that life with