‘Tis certain that this man has an estate of fifty thousand
livres, and seems to be a person of very great accomplishments.
But, then, if he’s a wizard, are wizards so devoutly given as
this man seems to be? In short, I could make neither head nor
tail on’t
--The Count de Gabalis, Translation affixed to the
second edition of the “Rape of the Lock.”
Of all the weaknesses which little men rail against, there is none that
they are more apt to ridicule than the tendency to believe. And of
all the signs of a corrupt heart and a feeble head, the tendency of
incredulity is the surest.
Real philosophy seeks rather to solve than to deny. While we hear, every
day, the small pretenders to science talk of the absurdities of alchemy
and the dream of the Philosopher’s Stone, a more erudite knowledge is
aware that by alchemists the greatest discoveries in science have been
made, and much which still seems abstruse, had we the key to the mystic
phraseology they were compelled to adopt, might open the way to yet
more noble acquisitions. The Philosopher’s Stone itself has seemed no
visionary chimera to some of the soundest chemists that even the present
century has produced. (Mr. Disraeli, in his “Curiosities of Literature”
(article “Alchem”), after quoting the sanguine judgments of modern
chemists as to the transmutation of metals, observes of one yet greater
and more recent than those to which Glyndon’s thoughts could have
referred, “Sir Humphry Davy told me that he did not consider this
undiscovered art as impossible; but should it ever be discovered, it
would certainly be useless.”) Man cannot contradict the Laws of Nature.
But are all the laws of Nature yet discovered?
“Give me a proof of your art,” says the rational inquirer. “When I have
seen the effect, I will endeavour, with you, to ascertain the causes.”
Somewhat to the above effect were the first thoughts of Clarence Glyndon
on quitting Zanoni. But Clarence Glyndon was no “rational inquirer.” The
more vague and mysterious the language of Zanoni, the more it imposed
upon him. A proof would have been something tangible, with which he
would have sought to grapple. And it would have only disappointed his
curiosity to find the supernatural reduced to Nature. He endeavoured in
vain, at some moments rousing himself from credulity to the scepticism
he deprecated, to reconcile what he had heard with the probable motives
and designs of an imposter. Unlike Mesmer and Cagliostro, Zanoni,
whatever his pretensions, did not make them a source of profit; nor was
Glyndon’s position or rank in life sufficient to render any influence
obtained over his mind, subservient to schemes, whether of avarice or
ambition. Yet, ever and anon, with the suspicion of worldly knowledge,
he strove to persuade himself that Zanoni had at least some sinister
object in inducing him to what his English pride and manner of thought
considered a derogatory marriage with the poor actress. Might not Viola
and the Mystic be in league with each other? Might not all this jargon
of prophecy and menace be but artifices to dupe him?
He felt an unjust resentment towards Viola at having secured such an
ally. But with that resentment was mingled a natural jealousy. Zanoni
threatened him with rivalry. Zanoni, who, whatever his character or his
arts, possessed at least all the external attributes that dazzle and
command. Impatient of his own doubts, he plunged into the society of
such acquaintances as he had made at Naples--chiefly artists, like
himself, men of letters, and the rich commercialists, who were already
vying with the splendour, though debarred from the privileges, of the
nobles. From these he heard much of Zanoni, already with them, as with
the idler classes, an object of curiosity and speculation.
He had noticed, as a thing remarkable, that Zanoni had conversed with
him in English, and with a command of the language so complete that he
might have passed for a native. On the other hand, in Italian, Zanoni
was equally at ease. Glyndon found that it was the same in languages
less usually learned by foreigners. A painter from Sweden, who had
conversed with him, was positive that he was a Swede; and a merchant
from Constantinople, who had sold some of his goods to Zanoni, professed
his conviction that none but a Turk, or at least a native of the East,
could have so thoroughly mastered the soft Oriental intonations. Yet
in all these languages, when they came to compare their several
recollections, there was a slight, scarce perceptible distinction, not
in pronunciation, nor even accent, but in the key and chime, as it were,
of the voice, between himself and a native. This faculty was one which
Glyndon called to mind, that sect, whose tenets and powers have never
been more than most partially explored, the Rosicrucians, especially
arrogated. He remembered to have heard in Germany of the work of John
Bringeret (Printed in 1615.), asserting that all the languages of the
earth were known to the genuine Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross. Did
Zanoni belong to this mystical Fraternity, who, in an earlier age,
boasted of secrets of which the Philosopher’s Stone was but the least;
who considered themselves the heirs of all that the Chaldeans, the Magi,
the Gymnosophists, and the Platonists had taught; and who differed from
all the darker Sons of Magic in the virtue of their lives, the purity of
their doctrines, and their insisting, as the foundation of all wisdom,
on the subjugation of the senses, and the intensity of Religious
Faith?--a glorious sect, if they lied not! And, in truth, if Zanoni
had powers beyond the race of worldly sages, they seemed not unworthily
exercised. The little known of his life was in his favour. Some acts,
not of indiscriminate, but judicious generosity and beneficence, were
recorded; in repeating which, still, however, the narrators shook their
heads, and expressed surprise how a stranger should have possessed so
minute a knowledge of the quiet and obscure distresses he had relieved.
Two or three sick persons, when abandoned by their physicians, he had
visited, and conferred with alone. They had recovered: they ascribed to
him their recovery; yet they could not tell by what medicines they had
been healed. They could only depose that he came, conversed with them,
and they were cured; it usually, however, happened that a deep sleep had
preceded the recovery.
Another circumstance was also beginning to be remarked, and spoke yet
more in his commendation. Those with whom he principally associated--the
gay, the dissipated, the thoughtless, the sinners and publicans of the
more polished world--all appeared rapidly, yet insensibly to themselves,
to awaken to purer thoughts and more regulated lives. Even Cetoxa, the
prince of gallants, duellists, and gamesters, was no longer the same man
since the night of the singular events which he had related to
Glyndon. The first trace of his reform was in his retirement from the
gaming-houses; the next was his reconciliation with an hereditary enemy
of his house, whom it had been his constant object for the last six
years to entangle in such a quarrel as might call forth his inimitable
manoeuvre of the stoccata. Nor when Cetoxa and his young companions were
heard to speak of Zanoni, did it seem that this change had been brought
about by any sober lectures or admonitions. They all described Zanoni as
a man keenly alive to enjoyment: of manners the reverse of formal,--not
precisely gay, but equable, serene, and cheerful; ever ready to listen
to the talk of others, however idle, or to charm all ears with an
inexhaustible fund of brilliant anecdote and worldly experience. All
manners, all nations, all grades of men, seemed familiar to him. He was
reserved only if allusion were ever ventured to his birth or history.
The more general opinion of his origin certainly seemed the more
plausible. His riches, his familiarity with the languages of the East,
his residence in India, a certain gravity which never deserted his most
cheerful and familiar hours, the lustrous darkness of his eyes and hair,
and even the peculiarities of his shape, in the delicate smallness of
the hands, and the Arab-like turn of the stately head, appeared to fix
him as belonging to one at least of the Oriental races. And a dabbler
in the Eastern tongues even sought to reduce the simple name of Zanoni,
which a century before had been borne by an inoffensive naturalist of
Bologna (The author of two works on botany and rare plants.), to the
radicals of the extinct language. Zan was unquestionably the Chaldean
appellation for the sun. Even the Greeks, who mutilated every Oriental
name, had retained the right one in this case, as the Cretan inscription
on the tomb of Zeus (Ode megas keitai Zan.--“Cyril contra Julian.” (Here
lies great Jove.)) significantly showed. As to the rest, the Zan, or
Zaun, was, with the Sidonians, no uncommon prefix to On. Adonis was but
another name for Zanonas, whose worship in Sidon Hesychius records. To
this profound and unanswerable derivation Mervale listened with great
attention, and observed that he now ventured to announce an erudite
discovery he himself had long since made,--namely, that the numerous
family of Smiths in England were undoubtedly the ancient priests of the
Phrygian Apollo. “For,” said he, “was not Apollo’s surname, in
Phrygia, Smintheus? How clear all the ensuing corruptions of the august
name,--Smintheus, Smitheus, Smithe, Smith! And even now, I may remark
that the more ancient branches of that illustrious family, unconsciously
anxious to approximate at least by a letter nearer to the true title,
take a pious pleasure in writing their names Smith_e_!”
The philologist was much struck with this discovery, and begged
Mervale’s permission to note it down as an illustration suitable to a
work he was about to publish on the origin of languages, to be called
“Babel,” and published in three quartos by subscription.