I and my fellows
Are ministers of Fate.
--“The Tempest.”
The next day Glyndon bent his steps towards Zanoni’s palace. The young
man’s imagination, naturally inflammable, was singularly excited by the
little he had seen and heard of this strange being,--a spell, he could
neither master nor account for, attracted him towards the stranger.
Zanoni’s power seemed mysterious and great, his motives kindly and
benevolent, yet his manners chilling and repellent. Why at one moment
reject Glyndon’s acquaintance, at another save him from danger? How
had Zanoni thus acquired the knowledge of enemies unknown to Glyndon
himself? His interest was deeply roused, his gratitude appealed to; he
resolved to make another effort to conciliate the ungracious herbalist.
The signor was at home, and Glyndon was admitted into a lofty saloon,
where in a few moments Zanoni joined him.
“I am come to thank you for your warning last night,” said he, “and to
entreat you to complete my obligation by informing me of the quarter to
which I may look for enmity and peril.”
“You are a gallant,” said Zanoni, with a smile, and in the English
language, “and do you know so little of the South as not to be aware
that gallants have always rivals?”
“Are you serious?” said Glyndon, colouring.
“Most serious. You love Viola Pisani; you have for rival one of the most
powerful and relentless of the Neapolitan princes. Your danger is indeed
great.”
“But pardon me!--how came it known to you?”
“I give no account of myself to mortal man,” replied Zanoni, haughtily;
“and to me it matters nothing whether you regard or scorn my warning.”
“Well, if I may not question you, be it so; but at least advise me what
to do.”
“Would you follow my advice?”
“Why not?”
“Because you are constitutionally brave; you are fond of excitement and
mystery; you like to be the hero of a romance. Were I to advise you to
leave Naples, would you do so while Naples contains a foe to confront or
a mistress to pursue?”
“You are right,” said the young Englishman, with energy. “No! and you
cannot reproach me for such a resolution.”
“But there is another course left to you: do you love Viola Pisani truly
and fervently?--if so, marry her, and take a bride to your native land.”
“Nay,” answered Glyndon, embarrassed; “Viola is not of my rank. Her
profession, too, is--in short, I am enslaved by her beauty, but I cannot
wed her.”
Zanoni frowned.
“Your love, then, is but selfish lust, and I advise you to your own
happiness no more. Young man, Destiny is less inexorable than it
appears. The resources of the great Ruler of the Universe are not so
scanty and so stern as to deny to men the divine privilege of Free
Will; all of us can carve out our own way, and God can make our very
contradictions harmonise with His solemn ends. You have before you
an option. Honourable and generous love may even now work out your
happiness, and effect your escape; a frantic and selfish passion will
but lead you to misery and doom.”
“Do you pretend, then, to read the future?”
“I have said all that it pleases me to utter.”
“While you assume the moralist to me, Signor Zanoni,” said Glyndon, with
a smile, “are you yourself so indifferent to youth and beauty as to act
the stoic to its allurements?”
“If it were necessary that practice square with precept,” said Zanoni,
with a bitter smile, “our monitors would be but few. The conduct of the
individual can affect but a small circle beyond himself; the permanent
good or evil that he works to others lies rather in the sentiments he
can diffuse. His acts are limited and momentary; his sentiments may
pervade the universe, and inspire generations till the day of doom. All
our virtues, all our laws, are drawn from books and maxims, which ARE
sentiments, not from deeds. In conduct, Julian had the virtues of a
Christian, and Constantine the vices of a Pagan. The sentiments of
Julian reconverted thousands to Paganism; those of Constantine helped,
under Heaven’s will, to bow to Christianity the nations of the earth.
In conduct, the humblest fisherman on yonder sea, who believes in
the miracles of San Gennaro, may be a better man than Luther; to the
sentiments of Luther the mind of modern Europe is indebted for the
noblest revolution it has known. Our opinions, young Englishman, are the
angel part of us; our acts, the earthly.”
“You have reflected deeply for an Italian,” said Glyndon.
“Who told you that I was an Italian?”
“Are you not? And yet, when I hear you speak my own language as a
native, I--”
“Tush!” interrupted Zanoni, impatiently turning away. Then, after a
pause, he resumed in a mild voice, “Glyndon, do you renounce Viola
Pisani? Will you take some days to consider what I have said?”
“Renounce her,--never!”
“Then you will marry her?”
“Impossible!”
“Be it so; she will then renounce you. I tell you that you have rivals.”
“Yes; the Prince di --; but I do not fear him.”
“You have another whom you will fear more.”
“And who is he?”
“Myself.”
Glyndon turned pale, and started from his seat.
“You, Signor Zanoni!--you,--and you dare to tell me so?”
“Dare! Alas! there are times when I wish that I could fear.”
These arrogant words were not uttered arrogantly, but in a tone of the
most mournful dejection. Glyndon was enraged, confounded, and yet
awed. However, he had a brave English heart within his breast, and he
recovered himself quickly.
“Signor,” said he, calmly, “I am not to be duped by these solemn phrases
and these mystical assumptions. You may have powers which I cannot
comprehend or emulate, or you may be but a keen imposter.”
“Well, proceed!”
“I mean, then,” continued Glyndon, resolutely, though somewhat
disconcerted,--“I mean you to understand, that, though I am not to be
persuaded or compelled by a stranger to marry Viola Pisani, I am not the
less determined never tamely to yield her to another.”
Zanoni looked gravely at the young man, whose sparkling eyes and
heightened colour testified the spirit to support his words, and
replied, “So bold! well; it becomes you. But take my advice; wait yet
nine days, and tell me then if you will marry the fairest and the purest
creature that ever crossed your path.”
“But if you love her, why--why--”
“Why am I anxious that she should wed another?--to save her from myself!
Listen to me. That girl, humble and uneducated though she be, has in her
the seeds of the most lofty qualities and virtues. She can be all to the
man she loves,--all that man can desire in wife. Her soul, developed by
affection, will elevate your own; it will influence your fortunes, exalt
your destiny; you will become a great and a prosperous man. If, on the
contrary, she fall to me, I know not what may be her lot; but I know
that there is an ordeal which few can pass, and which hitherto no woman
has survived.”
As Zanoni spoke, his face became colourless, and there was something in
his voice that froze the warm blood of the listener.
“What is this mystery which surrounds you?” exclaimed Glyndon, unable to
repress his emotion. “Are you, in truth, different from other men? Have
you passed the boundary of lawful knowledge? Are you, as some declare, a
sorcerer, or only a--”
“Hush!” interrupted Zanoni, gently, and with a smile of singular
but melancholy sweetness; “have you earned the right to ask me these
questions? Though Italy still boast an Inquisition, its power is
rivelled as a leaf which the first wind shall scatter. The days of
torture and persecution are over; and a man may live as he pleases, and
talk as it suits him, without fear of the stake and the rack. Since I
can defy persecution, pardon me if I do not yield to curiosity.”
Glyndon blushed, and rose. In spite of his love for Viola, and his
natural terror of such a rival, he felt himself irresistibly drawn
towards the very man he had most cause to suspect and dread. He held
out his hand to Zanoni, saying, “Well, then, if we are to be rivals, our
swords must settle our rights; till then I would fain be friends.”
“Friends! You know not what you ask.”
“Enigmas again!”
“Enigmas!” cried Zanoni, passionately; “ay! can you dare to solve them?
Not till then could I give you my right hand, and call you friend.”
“I could dare everything and all things for the attainment of superhuman
wisdom,” said Glyndon, and his countenance was lighted up with wild and
intense enthusiasm.
Zanoni observed him in thoughtful silence.
“The seeds of the ancestor live in the son,” he muttered; “he
may--yet--” He broke off abruptly; then, speaking aloud, “Go, Glyndon,”
said he; “we shall meet again, but I will not ask your answer till the
hour presses for decision.”