Zanoni — Edward Bulwer-Lytton
“Well, then, the stranger I have met this night, — are his boasts to be believed? Is he in truth one of the chosen seers whom you allow to have mastered the mysteries I yearn to fathom ? ” “Rash man,” said Zanoni, in a tone of compassion, “thy crisis is past, and thy choice made! I can only bid thee be bold and prosper; yes, I resign thee to a master who has the power and the will to open to thee the gates of an awful world. Thy weal or woe are as nought in the eyes of his relentless wisdom. I would bid him spare thee, but he will heed me not. Mejnour, receive thy pupil!” Glyndon turned, and his heart beat when he perceived that the stranger, whose footsteps he had not heard upon the pebbles, whose approach he had not beheld in the moonlight, was once more by his side. “Farewell,” resumed Zanoni; “ thy trial commences. When next we meet, thou wilt be the victim or the victor.” Glyndon’s eyes followed the receding form of the mysterious stranger. He saw him enter the boat, and he then for the first time noticed that besides the rowers there was a female, who stood up as Zanoni gained the boat. Even at the distance he recognized the onceadored form of Viola. She waved her hand to him, and across the still and shining air came her voice, mournfully and sweetly, in her mother’s tongue, “ Farewell, Clarence, — I forgive thee! — farewell, farewell! ” He strove to answer; but the voice touched a chord at his heart, and the words failed him. Viola was then lost forever, gone with this dread stranger; darkness was round her lot! And he himself had decided her fate and his own! The boat bounded on, the soft waves flashed and sparkled beneath the oars, and it was along
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one sapphire track of moonlight that the frail vessel bore away the lovers. Farther and farther from his gaze sped the boat, till at last the speck, scarcely visible, touched the side of the ship that lay lifeless in the glorious bay. At that instant, as if by magic, up sprang, with a glad murmur, the playful and freshening wind: and Glyndon turned to Mejnour and broke the silence. “ Tell me — if thou canst read the future — tell me that hex lot will be fair, and that her choice at least is wise?” “My pupil! ” answered Mejnour, ina voice the calmness of which well accorded with the chilling words, “thy first task must be to withdraw all thought, feeling, sympathy from others. The elementary stage of knowledge is to make self, and self alone, thy study and thy world. Thou hast decided thine own career; thou hast renounced love; thou hast rejected wealth, fame, and the vulgar pomps of power. What, then, are all mankind to thee? To perfect thy faculties, and concentrate thy emotions, is henceforth thy only aim! ” “ And will happiness be the end? ” “If happiness exist,” answered Mejnour, “it must be centred in a seLF to which all passion is unknown. But happiness is the last state of being; and as yet thou art on the threshold of the first.” As Mejnour spoke, the distant vessel spread its sails to the wind, and moved slowly along the deep. Glyndon sighed, and the pupil and the master retraced their steps towards the city.
BOOK IV.
THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD.
CHAPTER I.
Come vittima io vengo all’ ara.! Merast., At. ii. Se. 7.
Ir was about a month after the date of Zanoni’s departure and Glyndon’s introduction to Mejnour, when two Englishmen were walking, arm-in-arm, through the Toledo. “T tell you,” said one (who spoke warmly), “that if you have a particle of common-sense left in you, you will accompany me to England. This Mejnour is an impostor more dangerous, because more in earnest, than Zanoni. After all, what do his promises amount to? You allow that nothing can be more equivocal. You say that he has left Naples, —that he has selected a retreat more congenial than the crowded thoroughfares of men to the studies in which he is to initiate you; and this retreat is among the haunts of the fiercest bandits of Italy, — haunts which justice itself dares not penetrate. Fitting hermitage for a sage! I tremble for you. What if this stranger — of whom nothing is known — be leagued with the robbers; and these lures for. your credulity bait but the traps for
1 As a victim I go to the altar.
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“Well, then, the stranger I have met this night, — are his boasts to be believed? Is he in truth one of the chosen seers whom you allow to have mastered the mysteries I yearn to fathom ? ” “Rash man,” said Zanoni, in a tone of compassion, “your crisis is past, and your choice made! I can only bid you be bold and prosper; yes, I resign you to a master who has the power and the will to open to you the gates of an awful world. Your weal or woe are as nought in the eyes of his relentless wisdom. I would bid him spare you, but he will heed me not. Mejnour, receive your pupil!” Glyndon turned, and his heart beat when he perceived that the stranger, whose footsteps he had not heard upon the pebbles, whose approach he had not beheld in the moonlight, was once more by his side. “Farewell,” resumed Zanoni; “ your trial commences. When next we meet, you will be the victim or the victor.” Glyndon’s eyes followed the receding form of the mysterious stranger. He saw him enter the boat, and he then for the first time noticed that besides the rowers there was a female, who stood up as Zanoni gained the boat. Even at the distance he recognized the onceadored form of Viola. She waved her hand to him, and across the still and shining air came her voice, mournfully and sweetly, in her mother’s tongue, “ Farewell, Clarence, — I forgive you! — farewell, farewell! ” He strove to answer; but the voice touched a chord at his heart, and the words failed him. Viola was then lost forever, gone with this dread stranger; darkness was round her lot! And he himself had decided her fate and his own! The boat bounded on, the soft waves flashed and sparkled beneath the oars, and it was along
p. 248
one sapphire track of moonlight that the frail vessel bore away the lovers. Farther and farther from his gaze sped the boat, till at last the speck, scarcely visible, touched the side of the ship that lay lifeless in the glorious bay. At that instant, as if by magic, up sprang, with a glad murmur, the playful and freshening wind: and Glyndon turned to Mejnour and broke the silence. “ Tell me — if you can read the future — tell me that hex lot will be fair, and that her choice at least is wise?” “My pupil! ” answered Mejnour, ina voice the calmness of which well accorded with the chilling words, “your first task must be to withdraw all thought, feeling, sympathy from others. The elementary stage of knowledge is to make self, and self alone, your study and your world. You have decided your own career; you have renounced love; you have rejected wealth, fame, and the vulgar pomps of power. What, then, are all mankind to you? To perfect your faculties, and concentrate your emotions, is henceforth your only aim! ” “ And will happiness be the end? ” “If happiness exist,” answered Mejnour, “it must be centred in a seLF to which all passion is unknown. But happiness is the last state of being; and as yet you are on the threshold of the first.” As Mejnour spoke, the distant vessel spread its sails to the wind, and moved slowly along the deep. Glyndon sighed, and the pupil and the master retraced their steps towards the city.
BOOK IV.
THE DWELLER OF THE THRESHOLD.
CHAPTER I.
Come vittima io vengo all’ ara.! Merast., At. ii. Se. 7.
Ir was about a month after the date of Zanoni’s departure and Glyndon’s introduction to Mejnour, when two Englishmen were walking, arm-in-arm, through the Toledo. “T tell you,” said one (who spoke warmly), “that if you have a particle of common-sense left in you, you will accompany me to England. This Mejnour is an impostor more dangerous, because more in earnest, than Zanoni. After all, what do his promises amount to? You allow that nothing can be more equivocal. You say that he has left Naples, —that he has selected a retreat more congenial than the crowded thoroughfares of men to the studies in which he is to initiate you; and this retreat is among the haunts of the fiercest bandits of Italy, — haunts which justice itself dares not penetrate. Fitting hermitage for a sage! I tremble for you. What if this stranger — of whom nothing is known — be leagued with the robbers; and these lures for. your credulity bait but the traps for
1 As a victim I go to the altar.
p. 250
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