zanoni-第7部分

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bland；　unjealous　Paisiello；　Maestro　di　Capella；　shook　his　gentle

head　when　the　musician　favoured　him　with　a　specimen　of　one　of　his

most　thrilling　scenas。　　And　yet；　Paisiello；　though　that　music

differs　from　all　Durante　taught　thee　to　emulate；　there　maybut

patience；　Gaetano　Pisani！　bide　thy　time；　and　keep　thy　violin　in

tune！



Strange　as　it　may　appear　to　the　fairer　reader；　this　grotesque

personage　had　yet　formed　those　ties　which　ordinary　mortals　are

apt　to　consider　their　especial　monopoly；he　was　married；　and　had

one　child。　　What　is　more　strange　yet；　his　wife　was　a　daughter　of

quiet；　sober；　unfantastic　England：　　she　was　much　younger　than

himself；　she　was　fair　and　gentle；　with　a　sweet　English　face；　she

had　married　him　from　choice；　and　（will　you　believe　it？）　she　yet

loved　him。　　How　she　came　to　marry　him；　or　how　this　shy；　unsocial；

wayward　creature　ever　ventured　to　propose；　I　can　only　explain　by

asking　you　to　look　round　and　explain　first　to　ME　how　half　the

husbands　and　half　the　wives　you　meet　ever　found　a　mate！　　Yet；　on

reflection；　this　union　was　not　so　extraordinary　after　all。　　The

girl　was　a　natural　child　of　parents　too　noble　ever　to　own　and

claim　her。　　She　was　brought　into　Italy　to　learn　the　art　by　which

she　was　to　live；　for　she　had　taste　and　voice；　she　was　a　dependant

and　harshly　treated；　and　poor　Pisani　was　her　master；　and　his

voice　the　only　one　she　had　heard　from　her　cradle　that　seemed

without　one　tone　that　could　scorn　or　chide。　　And　sowell；　is　the

rest　natural？　　Natural　or　not；　they　married。　　This　young　wife

loved　her　husband；　and　young　and　gentle　as　she　was；　she　might

almost　be　said　to　be　the　protector　of　the　two。　　From　how　many

disgraces　with　the　despots　of　San　Carlo　and　the　Conservatorio　had

her　unknown　officious　mediation　saved　him！　　In　how　many　ailments

for　his　frame　was　weakhad　she　nursed　and　tended　him！　　Often；

in　the　dark　nights；　she　would　wait　at　the　theatre　with　her

lantern　to　light　him　and　her　steady　arm　to　lean　on；　otherwise；　in

his　abstract　reveries；　who　knows　but　the　musician　would　have

walked　after　his　〃Siren〃　into　the　sea！　　And　then　she　would　so

patiently；　perhaps　（for　in　true　love　there　is　not　always　the

finest　taste）　so　DELIGHTEDLY；　listen　to　those　storms　of　eccentric

and　fitful　melody；　and　steal　himwhispering　praises　all　the　way

from　the　unwholesome　night…watch　to　rest　and　sleep！



I　said　his　music　was　a　part　of　the　man；　and　this　gentle　creature

seemed　a　part　of　the　music；　it　was；　in　fact；　when　she　sat　beside

him　that　whatever　was　tender　or　fairy…like　in　his　motley　fantasia

crept　into　the　harmony　as　by　stealth。　　Doubtless　her　presence

acted　on　the　music；　and　shaped　and　softened　it；　but；　he；　who

never　examined　how　or　what　his　inspiration；　knew　it　not。　　All

that　he　knew　was；　that　he　loved　and　blessed　her。　　He　fancied　he

told　her　so　twenty　times　a　day；　but　he　never　did；　for　he　was　not

of　many　words；　even　to　his　wife。　　His　language　was　his　music；as

hers；　her　cares！　　He　was　more　communicative　to　his　barbiton；　as

the　learned　Mersennus　teaches　us　to　call　all　the　varieties　of　the

great　viol　family。　　Certainly　barbiton　sounds　better　than　fiddle；

and　barbiton　let　it　be。　　He　would　talk　to　THAT　by　the　hour

together；praise　it；　scold　it；　coax　it；　nay　（for　such　is　man；

even　the　most　guileless）；　he　had　been　known　to　swear　at　it；　but

for　that　excess　he　was　always　penitentially　remorseful。　　And　the

barbiton　had　a　tongue　of　his　own；　could　take　his　own　part；　and

when　HE　also　scolded；　had　much　the　best　of　it。　　He　was　a　noble

fellow；　this　Violin！a　Tyrolese；　the　handiwork　of　the

illustrious　Steiner。　　There　was　something　mysterious　in　his　great

age。　　How　many　hands；　now　dust；　had　awakened　his　strings　ere　he

became　the　Robin　Goodfellow　and　Familiar　of　Gaetano　Pisani！　　His

very　case　was　venerable；beautifully　painted；　it　was　said；　by

Caracci。　　An　English　collector　had　offered　more　for　the　case　than

Pisani　had　ever　made　by　the　violin。　　But　Pisani；　who　cared　not　if

he　had　inhabited　a　cabin　himself；　was　proud　of　a　palace　for　the

barbiton。　　His　barbiton；　it　was　his　elder　child！　　He　had　another

child；　and　now　we　must　turn　to　her。



How　shall　I　describe　thee；　Viola？　　Certainly　the　music　had

something　to　answer　for　in　the　advent　of　that　young　stranger。

For　both　in　her　form　and　her　character　you　might　have　traced　a

family　likeness　to　that　singular　and　spirit…like　life　of　sound

which　night　after　night　threw　itself　in　airy　and　goblin　sport

over　the　starry　seas。。。Beautiful　she　was；　but　of　a　very　uncommon

beauty；a　combination；　a　harmony　of　opposite　attributes。　　Her

hair　of　a　gold　richer　and　purer　than　that　which　is　seen　even　in

the　North；　but　the　eyes；　of　all　the　dark；　tender；　subduing　light

of　more　than　Italianalmost　of　Orientalsplendour。　　The

complexion　exquisitely　fair；　but　never　the　same；vivid　in　one

moment；　pale　the　next。　　And　with　the　complexion；　the　expression

also　varied；　nothing　now　so　sad；　and　nothing　now　so　joyous。



I　grieve　to　say　that　what　we　rightly　entitle　education　was　much

neglected　for　their　daughter　by　this　singular　pair。　　To　be　sure；

neither　of　them　had　much　knowledge　to　bestow；　and　knowledge　was

not　then　the　fashion；　as　it　is　now。　　But　accident　or　nature

favoured　young　Viola。　　She　learned；　as　of　course；　her　mother's

language　with　her　father's。　　And　she　contrived　soon　to　read　and

to　write；　and　her　mother；　who；　by　the　way；　was　a　Roman　Catholic；

taught　her　betimes　to　pray。　　But　then；　to　counteract　all　these

acquisitions；　the　strange　habits　of　Pisani；　and　the　incessant

watch　and　care　which　he　required　from　his　wife；　often　left　the

child　alone　with　an　old　nurse；　who；　to　be　sure；　loved　her　dearly；

but　who　was　in　no　way　calculated　to　instruct　her。



Dame　Gionetta　was　every　inch　Italian　and　Neapolitan。　　Her　youth

had　been　all　love；　and　her　age　was　all　superstition。　　She　was

garrulous；　fond；a　gossip。　　Now　she　would　prattle　to　the　girl　of

cavaliers　and　princes　at　her　feet；　and　now　she　would　freeze　her

blood　with　tales　and　legends；　perhaps　as　old　as　Greek　or　Etrurian

fable；　of　demon　and　vampire；of　the　dances　round　the　great

walnut…tree　at　Benevento；　and　the　haunting　spell　of　the　Evil　Eye。

All　this　helped　silently　to　weave　charmed　webs　over　Viola's

imagination　that　afterthought　and　later　years　might　labour　vainly

to　dispel。　And　all　this　especially　fitted　her　to　hang；　with　a

fearful　joy；　upon　her　father's　music。　　Those　visionary　strains；

ever　struggling　to　translate　into　wild　and　broken　sounds　the

language　of　unearthly　beings；　breathed　around　her　from　her　birth。

Thus　you　might　have　said　that　her　whole　mind　was　full　of　music；

associations；　memories；　sensations　of　pleasure　or　pain；all　were

mixed　up　inexplicably　with　those　sounds　that　now　delighted　and

now　terrified；　that　greeted　her　when　her　eyes　opened　to　the　sun；

and　woke　her　trembling　on　her　lonely　couch　in　the　darkness　of　the

night。　　The　legends　and　tales　of　Gionetta　only　served　to　make　the

child　better　understand　the　signification　of　those　mysterious