CHAPTER 3.XVII.
Alch: Thou always speakest riddles. Tell me if thou art that
fountain of which Bernard Lord Trevizan writ?
Merc: I am not that fountain, but I am the water. The fountain
compasseth me about.
Sandivogius, "New Light of Alchymy."
The Prince di -- was not a man whom Naples could suppose to be
addicted to superstitious fancies. Still, in the South of Italy,
there was then, and there still lingers a certain spirit of
credulity, which may, ever and anon, be visible amidst the
boldest dogmas of their philosophers and sceptics. In his
childhood, the prince had learned strange tales of the ambition,
the genius, and the career of his grandsire,--and secretly,
perhaps influenced by ancestral example, in earlier youth he
himself had followed science, not only through her legitimate
course, but her antiquated and erratic windings. I have, indeed,
been shown in Naples a little volume, blazoned with the arms of
the Visconti, and ascribed to the nobleman I refer to, which
treats of alchemy in a spirit half-mocking and half-reverential.
Pleasure soon distracted him from such speculations, and his
talents, which were unquestionably great, were wholly perverted
to extravagant intrigues, or to the embellishment of a gorgeous
ostentation with something of classic grace. His immense wealth,
his imperious pride, his unscrupulous and daring character, made
him an object of no inconsiderable fear to a feeble and timid
court; and the ministers of the indolent government willingly
connived at excesses which allured him at least from ambition.
The strange visit and yet more strange departure of Mejnour
filled the breast of the Neapolitan with awe and wonder, against
which all the haughty arrogance and learned scepticism of his
maturer manhood combated in vain. The apparition of Mejnour
served, indeed, to invest Zanoni with a character in which the
prince had not hitherto regarded him. He felt a strange alarm at
the rival he had braved,--at the foe he had provoked. When, a
little before his banquet, he had resumed his self-possession, it
was with a fell and gloomy resolution that he brooded over the
perfidious schemes he had previously formed. He felt as if the
death of the mysterious Zanoni were necessary for the
preservation of his own life; and if at an earlier period of
their rivalry he had determined on the fate of Zanoni, the
warnings of Mejnour only served to confirm his resolve.
"We will try if his magic can invent an antidote to the bane,"
said he, half-aloud, and with a stern smile, as he summoned
Mascari to his presence. The poison which the prince, with his
own hands, mixed into the wine intended for his guest, was
compounded from materials, the secret of which had been one of
the proudest heir-looms of that able and evil race which gave to
Italy her wisest and guiltiest tyrants. Its operation was quick
yet not sudden: it produced no pain,--it left on the form no
grim convulsion, on the skin no purpling spot, to arouse
suspicion; you might have cut and carved every membrane and fibre
of the corpse, but the sharpest eyes of the leech would not have
detected the presence of the subtle life-queller. For twelve
hours the victim felt nothing save a joyous and elated
exhilaration of the blood; a delicious languor followed, the sure
forerunner of apoplexy. No lancet then could save! Apoplexy had
run much in the families of the enemies of the Visconti!
The hour of the feast arrived,--the guests assembled. There were
the flower of the Neapolitan seignorie, the descendants of the
Norman, the Teuton, the Goth; for Naples had then a nobility, but
derived it from the North, which has indeed been the Nutrix
Leonum,--the nurse of the lion-hearted chivalry of the world.
Last of the guests came Zanoni; and the crowd gave way as the
dazzling foreigner moved along to the lord of the palace. The
prince greeted him with a meaning smile, to which Zanoni answered
by a whisper, "He who plays with loaded dice does not always
win."
The prince bit his lip, and Zanoni, passing on, seemed deep in
conversation with the fawning Mascari.
"Who is the prince's heir?" asked the guest.
"A distant relation on the mother's side; with his Excellency
dies the male line."
"Is the heir present at our host's banquet?"
"No; they are not friends."
"No matter; he will be here to-morrow."
Mascari stared in surprise; but the signal for the banquet was
given, and the guests were marshalled to the board. As was the
custom then, the feast took place not long after mid-day. It was
a long, oval hall, the whole of one side opening by a marble
colonnade upon a court or garden, in which the eye rested
gratefully upon cool fountains and statues of whitest marble,
half-sheltered by orange-trees. Every art that luxury could
invent to give freshness and coolness to the languid and
breezeless heat of the day without (a day on which the breath of
the sirocco was abroad) had been called into existence.
Artificial currents of air through invisible tubes, silken blinds
waving to and fro, as if to cheat the senses into the belief of
an April wind, and miniature jets d'eau in each corner of the
apartment, gave to the Italians the same sense of exhilaration
and COMFORT (if I may use the word) which the well-drawn curtains
and the blazing hearth afford to the children of colder climes.
The conversation was somewhat more lively and intellectual than
is common amongst the languid pleasure-hunters of the South; for
the prince, himself accomplished, sought his acquaintance not
only amongst the beaux esprits of his own country, but amongst
the gay foreigners who adorned and relieved the monotony of the
Neapolitan circles. There were present two or three of the
brilliant Frenchmen of the old regime, who had already emigrated
from the advancing Revolution; and their peculiar turn of thought
and wit was well calculated for the meridian of a society that
made the dolce far niente at once its philosophy and its faith.
The prince, however, was more silent than usual; and when he
sought to rouse himself, his spirits were forced and exaggerated.
To the manners of his host, those of Zanoni afforded a striking
contrast. The bearing of this singular person was at all times
characterised by a calm and polished ease, which was attributed
by the courtiers to the long habit of society. He could scarcely
be called gay; yet few persons more tended to animate the general
spirits of a convivial circle. He seemed, by a kind of
intuition, to elicit from each companion the qualities in which
he most excelled; and if occasionally a certain tone of latent
mockery characterised his remarks upon the topics on which the
conversation fell, it appeared to men who took nothing in earnest
to be the language both of wit and wisdom. To the Frenchmen, in
particular, there was something startling in his intimate
knowledge of the minutest events in their own capital and
country, and his profound penetration (evinced but in epigrams
and sarcasms) into the eminent characters who were then playing a
part upon the great stage of continental intrigue.
It was while this conversation grew animated, and the feast was
at its height, that Glyndon arrived at the palace. The porter,
perceiving by his dress that he was not one of the invited
guests, told him that his Excellency was engaged, and on no
account could be disturbed; and Glyndon then, for the first time,
became aware how strange and embarrassing was the duty he had
taken on himself. To force an entrance into the banquet-hall of
a great and powerful noble, surrounded by the rank of Naples, and
to arraign him for what to his boon-companions would appear but
an act of gallantry, was an exploit that could not fail to be at
once ludicrous and impotent. He mused a moment, and, slipping a
piece of gold into the porter's hand, said that he was
commissioned to seek the Signor Zanoni upon an errand of life and
death, and easily won his way across the court, and into the
interior building. He passed up the broad staircase, and the
voices and merriment of the revellers smote his ear at a
distance. At the entrance of the reception-rooms he found a
page, whom he despatched with a message to Zanoni. The page did
the errand; and Zanoni, on hearing the whispered name of Glyndon,
turned to his host.
"Pardon me, my lord; an English friend of mine, the Signor
Glyndon (not unknown by name to your Excellency) waits without,--
the business must indeed be urgent on which he has sought me in
such an hour. You will forgive my momentary absence."
"Nay, signor," answered the prince, courteously, but with a
sinister smile on his countenance, "would it not be better for
your friend to join us? An Englishman is welcome everywhere; and
even were he a Dutchman, your friendship would invest his
presence with attraction. Pray his attendance; we would not
spare you even for a moment."
Zanoni bowed; the page was despatched with all flattering
messages to Glyndon,--a seat next to Zanoni was placed for him,
and the young Englishman entered.
"You are most welcome, sir. I trust your business to our
illustrious guest is of good omen and pleasant import. If you
bring evil news, defer it, I pray you."
Glyndon's brow was sullen; and he was about to startle the guests
by his reply, when Zanoni, touching his arm significantly,
whispered in English, "I know why you have sought me. Be silent,
and witness what ensues."
"You know then that Viola, whom you boasted you had the power to
save from danger--"
"Is in this house!--yes. I know also that Murder sits at the
right hand of our host. But his fate is now separated from hers
forever; and the mirror which glasses it to my eye is clear
through the streams of blood. Be still, and learn the fate that
awaits the wicked!
"My lord," said Zanoni, speaking aloud, "the Signor Glyndon has
indeed brought me tidings not wholly unexpected. I am compelled
to leave Naples,--an additional motive to make the most of the
present hour."
"And what, if I may venture to ask, may be the cause that brings
such affliction on the fair dames of Naples?"
"It is the approaching death of one who honoured me with most
loyal friendship," replied Zanoni, gravely. "Let us not speak of
it; grief cannot put back the dial. As we supply by new flowers
those that fade in our vases, so it is the secret of worldly
wisdom to replace by fresh friendships those that fade from our
path."
"True philosophy!" exclaimed the prince. "'Not to admire,' was
the Roman's maxim; 'Never to mourn,' is mine. There is nothing
in life to grieve for, save, indeed, Signor Zanoni, when some
young beauty, on whom we have set our hearts, slips from our
grasp. In such a moment we have need of all our wisdom, not to
succumb to despair, and shake hands with death. What say you,
signor? You smile! Such never could be your lot. Pledge me in
a sentiment, 'Long life to the fortunate lover,--a quick release
to the baffled suitor'?"
"I pledge you," said Zanoni; and, as the fatal wine was poured
into his glass, he repeated, fixing his eyes on the prince, "I
pledge you even in this wine!"
He lifted the glass to his lips. The prince seemed ghastly pale,
while the gaze of his guest bent upon him, with an intent and
stern brightness, beneath which the conscience-stricken host
cowered and quailed. Not till he had drained his draft, and
replaced the glass upon the board, did Zanoni turn his eyes from
the prince; and he then said, "Your wine has been kept too long;
it has lost its virtues. It might disagree with many, but do not
fear: it will not harm me, prince, Signor Mascari, you are a
judge of the grape; will you favour us with your opinion?"
"Nay," answered Mascari, with well-affected composure, "I like
not the wines of Cyprus; they are heating. Perhaps Signor
Glyndon may not have the same distaste? The English are said to
love their potations warm and pungent."
"Do you wish my friend also to taste the wine, prince?" said
Zanoni. "Recollect, all cannot drink it with the same impunity
as myself."
"No," said the prince, hastily; "if you do not recommend the
wine, Heaven forbid that we should constrain our guests! My lord
duke," turning to one of the Frenchmen, "yours is the true soil
of Bacchus. What think you of this cask from Burgundy? Has it
borne the journey?"
"Ah," said Zanoni, "let us change both the wine and the theme."
With that, Zanoni grew yet more animated and brilliant. Never
did wit more sparkling, airy, exhilarating, flash from the lips
of reveller. His spirits fascinated all present--even the prince
himself, even Glyndon--with a strange and wild contagion. The
former, indeed, whom the words and gaze of Zanoni, when he
drained the poison, had filled with fearful misgivings, now
hailed in the brilliant eloquence of his wit a certain sign of
the operation of the bane. The wine circulated fast; but none
seemed conscious of its effects. One by one the rest of the
party fell into a charmed and spellbound silence, as Zanoni
continued to pour forth sally upon sally, tale upon tale. They
hung on his words, they almost held their breath to listen. Yet,
how bitter was his mirth; how full of contempt for the triflers
present, and for the trifles which made their life!
Night came on; the room grew dim, and the feast had lasted
several hours longer than was the customary duration of similar
entertainments at that day. Still the guests stirred not, and
still Zanoni continued, with glittering eye and mocking lip, to
lavish his stores of intellect and anecdote; when suddenly the
moon rose, and shed its rays over the flowers and fountains in
the court without, leaving the room itself half in shadow, and
half tinged by a quiet and ghostly light.
It was then that Zanoni rose. "Well, gentlemen," said he, "we
have not yet wearied our host, I hope; and his garden offers a
new temptation to protract our stay. Have you no musicians among
your train, prince, that might regale our ears while we inhale
the fragrance of your orange-trees?"
"An excellent thought!" said the prince. "Mascari, see to the
music."
The party rose simultaneously to adjourn to the garden; and then,
for the first time, the effect of the wine they had drunk seemed
to make itself felt.
With flushed cheeks and unsteady steps they came into the open
air, which tended yet more to stimulate that glowing fever of the
grape. As if to make up for the silence with which the guests
had hitherto listened to Zanoni, every tongue was now loosened,--
every man talked, no man listened. There was something wild and
fearful in the contrast between the calm beauty of the night and
scene, and the hubbub and clamour of these disorderly roysters.
One of the Frenchmen, in especial, the young Duc de R--, a
nobleman of the highest rank, and of all the quick, vivacious,
and irascible temperament of his countrymen, was particularly
noisy and excited. And as circumstances, the remembrance of
which is still preserved among certain circles of Naples,
rendered it afterwards necessary that the duc should himself give
evidence of what occurred, I will here translate the short
account he drew up, and which was kindly submitted to me some few
years ago by my accomplished and lively friend, Il Cavaliere di
B--.
"I never remember," writes the duc, "to have felt my spirits so
excited as on that evening; we were like so many boys released
from school, jostling each other as we reeled or ran down the
flight of seven or eight stairs that led from the colonnade into
the garden,--some laughing, some whooping, some scolding, some
babbling. The wine had brought out, as it were, each man's
inmost character. Some were loud and quarrelsome, others
sentimental and whining; some, whom we had hitherto thought dull,
most mirthful; some, whom we had ever regarded as discreet and
taciturn, most garrulous and uproarious. I remember that in the
midst of our clamorous gayety, my eye fell upon the cavalier
Signor Zanoni, whose conversation had so enchanted us all; and I
felt a certain chill come over me to perceive that he wore the
same calm and unsympathising smile upon his countenance which had
characterised it in his singular and curious stories of the court
of Louis XIV. I felt, indeed, half-inclined to seek a quarrel
with one whose composure was almost an insult to our disorder.
Nor was such an effect of this irritating and mocking
tranquillity confined to myself alone. Several of the party have
told me since, that on looking at Zanoni they felt their blood
yet more heated, and gayety change to resentment. There seemed
in his icy smile a very charm to wound vanity and provoke rage.
It was at this moment that the prince came up to me, and, passing
his arm into mine, led me a little apart from the rest. He had
certainly indulged in the same excess as ourselves, but it did
not produce the same effect of noisy excitement. There was, on
the contrary, a certain cold arrogance and supercilious scorn in
his bearing and language, which, even while affecting so much
caressing courtesy towards me, roused my self-love against him.
He seemed as if Zanoni had infected him; and in imitating the
manner of his guest, he surpassed the original. He rallied me on
some court gossip, which had honoured my name by associating it
with a certain beautiful and distinguished Sicilian lady, and
affected to treat with contempt that which, had it been true, I
should have regarded as a boast. He spoke, indeed, as if he
himself had gathered all the flowers of Naples, and left us
foreigners only the gleanings he had scorned. At this my natural
and national gallantry was piqued, and I retorted by some
sarcasms that I should certainly have spared had my blood been
cooler. He laughed heartily, and left me in a strange fit of
resentment and anger. Perhaps (I must own the truth) the wine
had produced in me a wild disposition to take offence and provoke
quarrel. As the prince left me, I turned, and saw Zanoni at my
side.
"'The prince is a braggart,' said he, with the same smile that
displeased me before. 'He would monopolize all fortune and all
love. Let us take our revenge.'
"'And how?'
"'He has at this moment, in his house, the most enchanting singer
in Naples,--the celebrated Viola Pisani. She is here, it is
true, not by her own choice; he carried her hither by force, but
he will pretend that she adores him. Let us insist on his
producing this secret treasure, and when she enters, the Duc de
R-- can have no doubt that his flatteries and attentions will
charm the lady, and provoke all the jealous fears of our host.
It would be a fair revenge upon his imperious self-conceit.'
"This suggestion delighted me. I hastened to the prince. At
that instant the musicians had just commenced; I waved my hand,
ordered the music to stop, and, addressing the prince, who was
standing in the centre of one of the gayest groups, complained of
his want of hospitality in affording to us such poor proficients
in the art, while he reserved for his own solace the lute and
voice of the first performer in Naples. I demanded,
half-laughingly, half-seriously, that he should produce the
Pisani. My demand was received with shouts of applause by the
rest. We drowned the replies of our host with uproar, and would
hear no denial. 'Gentlemen,' at last said the prince, when he
could obtain an audience, 'even were I to assent to your
proposal, I could not induce the signora to present herself
before an assemblage as riotous as they are noble. You have too
much chivalry to use compulsion with her, though the Duc de R--
forgets himself sufficiently to administer it to me.'
"I was stung by this taunt, however well deserved. 'Prince,'
said I, 'I have for the indelicacy of compulsion so illustrious
an example that I cannot hesitate to pursue the path honoured by
your own footsteps. All Naples knows that the Pisani despises at
once your gold and your love; that force alone could have brought
her under your roof; and that you refuse to produce her, because
you fear her complaints, and know enough of the chivalry your
vanity sneers at to feel assured that the gentlemen of France are
not more disposed to worship beauty than to defend it from
wrong.'
"'You speak well, sir,' said Zanoni, gravely. 'The prince dares
not produce his prize!'
"The prince remained speechless for a few moments, as if with
indignation. At last he broke out into expressions the most
injurious and insulting against Signor Zanoni and myself. Zanoni
replied not; I was more hot and hasty. The guests appeared to
delight in our dispute. None, except Mascari, whom we pushed
aside and disdained to hear, strove to conciliate; some took one
side, some another. The issue may be well foreseen. Swords were
called for and procured. Two were offered me by one of the
party. I was about to choose one, when Zanoni placed in my hand
the other, which, from its hilt, appeared of antiquated
workmanship. At the same moment, looking towards the prince, he
said, smilingly, 'The duc takes your grandsire's sword. Prince,
you are too brave a man for superstition; you have forgot the
forfeit!' Our host seemed to me to recoil and turn pale at those
words; nevertheless, he returned Zanoni's smile with a look of
defiance. The next moment all was broil and disorder. There
might be some six or eight persons engaged in a strange and
confused kind of melee, but the prince and myself only sought
each other. The noise around us, the confusion of the guests,
the cries of the musicians, the clash of our own swords, only
served to stimulate our unhappy fury. We feared to be
interrupted by the attendants, and fought like madmen, without
skill or method. I thrust and parried mechanically, blind and
frantic, as if a demon had entered into me, till I saw the prince
stretched at my feet, bathed in his blood, and Zanoni bending
over him, and whispering in his ear. That sight cooled us all.
The strife ceased; we gathered, in shame, remorse, and horror,
round our ill-fated host; but it was too late,--his eyes rolled
fearfully in his head. I have seen many men die, but never one
who wore such horror on his countenance. At last all was over!
Zanoni rose from the corpse, and, taking, with great composure,
the sword from my hand, said calmly, 'Ye are witnesses,
gentlemen, that the prince brought his fate upon himself. The
last of that illustrious house has perished in a brawl.'
"I saw no more of Zanoni. I hastened to our envoy to narrate the
event, and abide the issue. I am grateful to the Neapolitan
government, and to the illustrious heir of the unfortunate
nobleman, for the lenient and generous, yet just, interpretation
put upon a misfortune the memory of which will afflict me to the
last hour of my life.
(Signed) "Louis Victor, Duc de R."
In the above memorial, the reader will find the most exact and
minute account yet given of an event which created the most
lively sensation at Naples in that day.
Glyndon had taken no part in the affray, neither had he
participated largely in the excesses of the revel. For his
exemption from both he was perhaps indebted to the whispered
exhortations of Zanoni. When the last rose from the corpse, and
withdrew from that scene of confusion, Glyndon remarked that in
passing the crowd he touched Mascari on the shoulder, and said
something which the Englishman did not overhear. Glyndon
followed Zanoni into the banquet-room, which, save where the
moonlight slept on the marble floor, was wrapped in the sad and
gloomy shadows of the advancing night.
"How could you foretell this fearful event? He fell not by your
arm!" said Glyndon, in a tremulous and hollow tone.
"The general who calculates on the victory does not fight in
person," answered Zanoni; "let the past sleep with the dead.
Meet me at midnight by the sea-shore, half a mile to the left of
your hotel. You will know the spot by a rude pillar--the only
one near--to which a broken chain is attached. There and then,
if thou wouldst learn our lore, thou shalt find the master. Go;
I have business here yet. Remember, Viola is still in the house
of the dead man!"
Here Mascari approached, and Zanoni, turning to the Italian, and
waving his hand to Glyndon, drew the former aside. Glyndon
slowly departed.
"Mascari," said Zanoni, "your patron is no more; your services
will be valueless to his heir,--a sober man whom poverty has
preserved from vice. For yourself, thank me that I do not give
you up to the executioner; recollect the wine of Cyprus. Well,
never tremble, man; it could not act on me, though it might react
on others; in that it is a common type of crime. I forgive you;
and if the wine should kill me, I promise you that my ghost shall
not haunt so worshipful a penitent. Enough of this; conduct me
to the chamber of Viola Pisani. You have no further need of her.
The death of the jailer opens the cell of the captive. Be quick;
I would be gone."
Mascari muttered some inaudible words, bowed low, and led the way
to the chamber in which Viola was confined.
