Zanoni — Edward Bulwer-Lytton
“Another day, — one day of the fatal three is gone! It is strange to me that since the sleep of the last night, a deep calm has settled upon my breast. I feel so assured that my very being is become a part of thee, that I cannot believe that my life can be separated from thine; and in this conviction I repose, and smile even at thy words and my own fears. Thou art fond of one maxim, which thou repeatest in a thousand forms, — that the beauty of the soul is faith; that as ideal loveliness to the sculptor, faith is to the heart; that faith, rightly understood, extends over all the works of the Creator, whom we can know but through belief; that it embraces a tranquil confidence in ourselves, and a serene repose as to our future; that it is the moonlight that sways the tides of the human sea. That faith I comprehend now. I reject all doubt, all fear. I know that I have inextricably linked the whole that makes the inner life to thee; and thou canst not tear me from thee, if thou wouldst! And this change from struggle into calm came to me with sleep, —a sleep without a dream; ’ but when I woke, it was with a mysterious sense of happiness, — an indistinct memory of something blessed, —asif thou hadst cast from afar off a smile upon my slumber. At night I was so sad; not a blossom that had not closed itself up, as if never more to open to the sun; and the night itself,in the heart as on the earth, has ripened the blossoms into flowers. The world is beautiful once more, but beautiful in repose, — not a breeze stirs thy tree, not a doubt my soul! ”
p. 174
CHAPTER VI.
Tu vegga o per violenzia o per inganno Patire o disonore o mortal danno.! Orl. Fur., Cant. xlii. i.
Ir was a small cabinet; the walls were covered with pictures, one of which was worth more than the whole lineage of the owner of the palace. Oh, yes! Zanoni was right. The painter 7s a magician; the gold he at least wrings from his crucible is no delusion. A Venetian noble might be a fribble, or an assassin, —a scoundrel, or a dolt; worthless, or worse than worthless, yet he might have sat to Titian, and his portrait may be inestimable, —a few inches of painted canvas a thousand times more valuable than a man with his veins and muscles, brain, will, heart, and intellect! In this cabinet sat a man of about three-and-forty, — dark-eyed, sallow, with short, prominent features, a massive conformation of jaw, and thick, sensual, but resolute lips; this man was the Prince di His form, above the middle height, and rather inclined to corpulence, was clad in a loose dressing-robe of rich brocade. On a table before him lay an old-fashioned sword and hat, a mask, dice and dice-box, a portfolio, and an inkstand of silver curiously carved, “Well, Mascari,” said the prince, looking up towards his parasite, who stood by the embrasure of the deepset barricadoed window,— “well! the Cardinal sleeps
1 Thou art about, either through violence or artifice, to suffer gither dishonor or mortal loss,
p. 175
with his fathers. I require comfort for the loss of so excellent a relation; and where a more dulcet voice than Viola Pisani’s?” “Ts your Excellency serious? So soon after the death ot his Eminence ? ” “Tt will be the less talked of, and I the less suspected. Hast thou ascertained the name of the insolent who baffled us that night, and advised the Cardinal the next day?” “Not yet.” “Sapient Mascari! I will inform thee. It was the strange Unknown.” “he Signor Zanoni! Are you sure, my prince?” “Mascari, yes. There isa tone in that man’s voice that I never can mistake; so clear, and so commanding, when IJ hear it I almost fancy there is such a thing as conscience. However, we must rid ourselves of an impertinent. Mascari, Signor Zanoni hath not yet honored our poor house with his presence. He is a distinguished stranger, — we must give a banquet in his honor.” “ Ah, and the Cyprus wine! The cypress is a proper emblem of the grave.” “But this anon. I am _ superstitious; there are strange stories of Zanoni’s power and foresight; remember the death of Ughelli. No matter, though the Fiend were his ally, he should not rob me of my prize; no, nor my revenge.” “Your Excellency is infatuated; the actress has bewitched you.” “Mascari,” said the prince, with a haughty smile, “through these veins rolls the blood of the old Visconti, —of those who boasted that no woman ever escaped their lust, and no man their resentment. The crown
p. 176
“Another day, — one day of the fatal three is gone! It is strange to me that since the sleep of the last night, a deep calm has settled upon my breast. I feel so assured that my very being is become a part of you, that I cannot believe that my life can be separated from your; and in this conviction I repose, and smile even at your words and my own fears. You are fond of one maxim, which you repeatest in a thousand forms, — that the beauty of the soul is faith; that as ideal loveliness to the sculptor, faith is to the heart; that faith, rightly understood, extends over all the works of the Creator, whom we can know but through belief; that it embraces a tranquil confidence in ourselves, and a serene repose as to our future; that it is the moonlight that sways the tides of the human sea. That faith I comprehend now. I reject all doubt, all fear. I know that I have inextricably linked the whole that makes the inner life to you; and you can not tear me from you, if you would! And this change from struggle into calm came to me with sleep, —a sleep without a dream; ’ but when I woke, it was with a mysterious sense of happiness, — an indistinct memory of something blessed, —asif you had cast from afar off a smile upon my slumber. At night I was so sad; not a blossom that had not closed itself up, as if never more to open to the sun; and the night itself,in the heart as on the earth, has ripened the blossoms into flowers. The world is beautiful once more, but beautiful in repose, — not a breeze stirs your tree, not a doubt my soul! ”
p. 174
CHAPTER VI.
Tu vegga o per violenzia o per inganno Patire o disonore o mortal danno.! Orl. Fur., Cant. xlii. i.
Ir was a small cabinet; the walls were covered with pictures, one of which was worth more than the whole lineage of the owner of the palace. Oh, yes! Zanoni was right. The painter 7s a magician; the gold he at least wrings from his crucible is no delusion. A Venetian noble might be a fribble, or an assassin, —a scoundrel, or a dolt; worthless, or worse than worthless, yet he might have sat to Titian, and his portrait may be inestimable, —a few inches of painted canvas a thousand times more valuable than a man with his veins and muscles, brain, will, heart, and intellect! In this cabinet sat a man of about three-and-forty, — dark-eyed, sallow, with short, prominent features, a massive conformation of jaw, and thick, sensual, but resolute lips; this man was the Prince di His form, above the middle height, and rather inclined to corpulence, was clad in a loose dressing-robe of rich brocade. On a table before him lay an old-fashioned sword and hat, a mask, dice and dice-box, a portfolio, and an inkstand of silver curiously carved, “Well, Mascari,” said the prince, looking up towards his parasite, who stood by the embrasure of the deepset barricadoed window,— “well! the Cardinal sleeps
1 You are about, either through violence or artifice, to suffer gither dishonor or mortal loss,
p. 175
with his fathers. I require comfort for the loss of so excellent a relation; and where a more dulcet voice than Viola Pisani’s?” “Ts your Excellency serious? So soon after the death ot his Eminence ? ” “Tt will be the less talked of, and I the less suspected. Hast you ascertained the name of the insolent who baffled us that night, and advised the Cardinal the next day?” “Not yet.” “Sapient Mascari! I will inform you. It was the strange Unknown.” “he Signor Zanoni! Are you sure, my prince?” “Mascari, yes. There isa tone in that man’s voice that I never can mistake; so clear, and so commanding, when IJ hear it I almost fancy there is such a thing as conscience. However, we must rid ourselves of an impertinent. Mascari, Signor Zanoni has not yet honored our poor house with his presence. He is a distinguished stranger, — we must give a banquet in his honor.” “ Ah, and the Cyprus wine! The cypress is a proper emblem of the grave.” “But this anon. I am _ superstitious; there are strange stories of Zanoni’s power and foresight; remember the death of Ughelli. No matter, though the Fiend were his ally, he should not rob me of my prize; no, nor my revenge.” “Your Excellency is infatuated; the actress has bewitched you.” “Mascari,” said the prince, with a haughty smile, “through these veins rolls the blood of the old Visconti, —of those who boasted that no woman ever escaped their lust, and no man their resentment. The crown
p. 176
No commentary for this page under the selected tracks.
There is commentary on page 1.