Merc: Tell me, therefore, what thou seekest after, and what thou
wilt have. What dost thou desire to make?
Alch: The Philosopher’s Stone.
Sandivogius.
It wanted several minutes of midnight, and Glyndon repaired to the
appointed spot. The mysterious empire which Zanoni had acquired over
him, was still more solemnly confirmed by the events of the last few
hours; the sudden fate of the prince, so deliberately foreshadowed, and
yet so seemingly accidental, brought out by causes the most commonplace,
and yet associated with words the most prophetic, impressed him with
the deepest sentiments of admiration and awe. It was as if this dark and
wondrous being could convert the most ordinary events and the meanest
instruments into the agencies of his inscrutable will; yet, if so, why
have permitted the capture of Viola? Why not have prevented the crime
rather than punish the criminal? And did Zanoni really feel love for
Viola? Love, and yet offer to resign her to himself,--to a rival whom
his arts could not have failed to baffle. He no longer reverted to the
belief that Zanoni or Viola had sought to dupe him into marriage. His
fear and reverence for the former now forbade the notion of so poor an
imposture. Did he any longer love Viola himself? No; when that morning
he had heard of her danger, he had, it is true, returned to the
sympathies and the fears of affection; but with the death of the prince
her image faded from his heart, and he felt no jealous pang at the
thought that she had been saved by Zanoni,--that at that moment she
was perhaps beneath his roof. Whoever has, in the course of his life,
indulged the absorbing passion of the gamester, will remember how all
other pursuits and objects vanished from his mind; how solely he was
wrapped in the one wild delusion; with what a sceptre of magic power
the despot-demon ruled every feeling and every thought. Far more intense
than the passion of the gamester was the frantic yet sublime desire that
mastered the breast of Glyndon. He would be the rival of Zanoni, not in
human and perishable affections, but in preternatural and eternal lore.
He would have laid down life with content--nay, rapture--as the price of
learning those solemn secrets which separated the stranger from mankind.
Enamoured of the goddess of goddesses, he stretched forth his arms--the
wild Ixion--and embraced a cloud!
The night was most lovely and serene, and the waves scarcely rippled at
his feet as the Englishman glided on by the cool and starry beach. At
length he arrived at the spot, and there, leaning against the broken
pillar, he beheld a man wrapped in a long mantle, and in an attitude
of profound repose. He approached, and uttered the name of Zanoni. The
figure turned, and he saw the face of a stranger: a face not stamped by
the glorious beauty of Zanoni, but equally majestic in its aspect, and
perhaps still more impressive from the mature age and the passionless
depth of thought that characterised the expanded forehead, and deep-set
but piercing eyes.
“You seek Zanoni,” said the stranger; “he will be here anon; but,
perhaps, he whom you see before you is more connected with your destiny,
and more disposed to realise your dreams.”
“Hath the earth, then, another Zanoni?”
“If not,” replied the stranger, “why do you cherish the hope and the
wild faith to be yourself a Zanoni? Think you that none others
have burned with the same godlike dream? Who, indeed in his first
youth,--youth when the soul is nearer to the heaven from which it
sprang, and its divine and primal longings are not all effaced by the
sordid passions and petty cares that are begot in time,--who is there
in youth that has not nourished the belief that the universe has
secrets not known to the common herd, and panted, as the hart for the
water-springs, for the fountains that lie hid and far away amidst the
broad wilderness of trackless science? The music of the fountain is
heard in the soul WITHIN, till the steps, deceived and erring, rove away
from its waters, and the wanderer dies in the mighty desert. Think you
that none who have cherished the hope have found the truth, or that the
yearning after the Ineffable Knowledge was given to us utterly in vain?
No! Every desire in human hearts is but a glimpse of things that exist,
alike distant and divine. No! in the world there have been from age to
age some brighter and happier spirits who have attained to the air in
which the beings above mankind move and breathe. Zanoni, great though
he be, stands not alone. He has had his predecessors, and long lines of
successors may be yet to come.”
“And will you tell me,” said Glyndon, “that in yourself I behold one
of that mighty few over whom Zanoni has no superiority in power and
wisdom?”
“In me,” answered the stranger, “you see one from whom Zanoni himself
learned some of his loftiest secrets. On these shores, on this spot,
have I stood in ages that your chroniclers but feebly reach. The
Phoenician, the Greek, the Oscan, the Roman, the Lombard, I have seen
them all!--leaves gay and glittering on the trunk of the universal life,
scattered in due season and again renewed; till, indeed, the same race
that gave its glory to the ancient world bestowed a second youth upon
the new. For the pure Greeks, the Hellenes, whose origin has bewildered
your dreaming scholars, were of the same great family as the Norman
tribe, born to be the lords of the universe, and in no land on earth
destined to become the hewers of wood. Even the dim traditions of the
learned, which bring the sons of Hellas from the vast and undetermined
territories of Northern Thrace, to be the victors of the pastoral
Pelasgi, and the founders of the line of demi-gods; which assign to a
population bronzed beneath the suns of the West, the blue-eyed Minerva
and the yellow-haired Achilles (physical characteristics of the North);
which introduce, amongst a pastoral people, warlike aristocracies and
limited monarchies, the feudalism of the classic time,--even these might
serve you to trace back the primeval settlements of the Hellenes to the
same region whence, in later times, the Norman warriors broke on
the dull and savage hordes of the Celt, and became the Greeks of the
Christian world. But this interests you not, and you are wise in
your indifference. Not in the knowledge of things without, but in the
perfection of the soul within, lies the empire of man aspiring to be
more than man.”
“And what books contain that science; from what laboratory is it
wrought?”
“Nature supplies the materials; they are around you in your daily walks.
In the herbs that the beast devours and the chemist disdains to cull; in
the elements from which matter in its meanest and its mightiest shapes
is deduced; in the wide bosom of the air; in the black abysses of the
earth; everywhere are given to mortals the resources and libraries
of immortal lore. But as the simplest problems in the simplest of
all studies are obscure to one who braces not his mind to their
comprehension; as the rower in yonder vessel cannot tell you why two
circles can touch each other only in one point,--so though all earth
were carved over and inscribed with the letters of diviner knowledge,
the characters would be valueless to him who does not pause to inquire
the language and meditate the truth. Young man, if thy imagination is
vivid, if thy heart is daring, if thy curiosity is insatiate, I will
accept thee as my pupil. But the first lessons are stern and dread.”
“If thou hast mastered them, why not I?” answered Glyndon, boldly. “I
have felt from my boyhood that strange mysteries were reserved for my
career; and from the proudest ends of ordinary ambition I have carried
my gaze into the cloud and darkness that stretch beyond. The instant I
beheld Zanoni, I felt as if I had discovered the guide and the tutor for
which my youth had idly languished and vainly burned.”
“And to me his duty is transferred,” replied the stranger. “Yonder lies,
anchored in the bay, the vessel in which Zanoni seeks a fairer home;
a little while and the breeze will rise, the sail will swell; and the
stranger will have passed, like a wind, away. Still, like the wind, he
leaves in thy heart the seeds that may bear the blossom and the fruit.
Zanoni hath performed his task,--he is wanted no more; the perfecter of
his work is at thy side. He comes! I hear the dash of the oar. You will
have your choice submitted to you. According as you decide we shall meet
again.” With these words the stranger moved slowly away, and disappeared
beneath the shadow of the cliffs. A boat glided rapidly across the
waters: it touched land; a man leaped on shore, and Glyndon recognised
Zanoni.
“I give thee, Glyndon,--I give thee no more the option of happy love and
serene enjoyment. That hour is past, and fate has linked the hand that
might have been thine own to mine. But I have ample gifts to bestow
upon thee, if thou wilt abandon the hope that gnaws thy heart, and the
realisation of which even _I_ have not the power to foresee. Be thine
ambition human, and I can gratify it to the full. Men desire four things
in life,--love, wealth, fame, power. The first I cannot give thee, the
rest are at my disposal. Select which of them thou wilt, and let us part
in peace.”
“Such are not the gifts I covet. I choose knowledge; that knowledge must
be thine own. For this, and for this alone, I surrendered the love of
Viola; this, and this alone, must be my recompense.”
“I cannot gain say thee, though I can warn. The desire to learn does not
always contain the faculty to acquire. I can give thee, it is true, the
teacher,--the rest must depend on thee. Be wise in time, and take that
which I can assure to thee.”
“Answer me but these questions, and according to your answer I will
decide. Is it in the power of man to attain intercourse with the beings
of other worlds? Is it in the power of man to influence the elements,
and to insure life against the sword and against disease?”
“All this may be possible,” answered Zanoni, evasively, “to the few; but
for one who attains such secrets, millions may perish in the attempt.”
“One question more. Thou--”
“Beware! Of myself, as I have said before, I render no account.”
“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 recognised the once-adored 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 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 HER lot will be
fair, and that HER choice at least is wise?”
“My pupil!” answered Mejnour, in a 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.