zanoni-第86部分

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in　the　mountains；　with　nothing　from　sunset　to　sunrise　but　a　black

crust　and　an　onion；　I　grow　as　fierce　as　a　wolf。　　That's　not　the

worst；　too。　　In　these　times　I　see　little　imps　dancing　before　me。

Oh；　yes；　fasting　is　as　full　of　spectres　as　a　field　of　battle。〃



Glyndon　thought　there　was　some　sound　philosophy　in　the　reasoning

of　his　companion；　and　certainly　the　more　he　ate　and　drank；　the

more　the　recollection　of　the　past　night　and　of　Mejnour's

desertion　faded　from　his　mind。　　The　casement　was　open；　the　breeze

blew；　the　sun　shone；all　Nature　was　merry；　and　merry　as　Nature

herself　grew　Maestro　Paolo。　　He　talked　of　adventures；　of　travel；

of　women；　with　a　hearty　gusto　that　had　its　infection。　　But

Glyndon　listened　yet　more　complacently　when　Paolo　turned　with　an

arch　smile　to　praises　of　the　eye；　the　teeth；　the　ankles；　and　the

shape　of　the　handsome　Fillide。



This　man；　indeed；　seemed　the　very　personation　of　animal　sensual

life。　　He　would　have　been　to　Faust　a　more　dangerous　tempter　than

Mephistopheles。　　There　was　no　sneer　on　HIS　lip　at　the　pleasures

which　animated　his　voice。　　To　one　awaking　to　a　sense　of　the

vanities　in　knowledge；　this　reckless　ignorant　joyousness　of

temper　was　a　worse　corrupter　than　all　the　icy　mockeries　of　a

learned　Fiend。　　But　when　Paolo　took　his　leave；　with　a　promise　to

return　the　next　day；　the　mind　of　the　Englishman　again　settled

back　to　a　graver　and　more　thoughtful　mood。　　The　elixir　seemed；　in

truth；　to　have　left　the　refining　effects　Mejnour　had　ascribed　to

it。　　As　Glyndon　paced　to　and　fro　the　solitary　corridor；　or；

pausing；　gazed　upon　the　extended　and　glorious　scenery　that

stretched　below；　high　thoughts　of　enterprise　and　ambitionbright

visions　of　glorypassed　in　rapid　succession　through　his　soul。



〃Mejnour　denies　me　his　science。　　Well；〃　said　the　painter；

proudly；　〃he　has　not　robbed　me　of　my　art。〃



What！　　Clarence　Glyndon；　dost　thou　return　to　that　from　which　thy

career　commenced？　　Was　Zanoni　right　after　all？



He　found　himself　in　the　chamber　of　the　mystic；　not　a　vessel；not

an　herb！　the　solemn　volume　is　vanished；the　elixir　shall　sparkle

for　him　no　more！　　But　still　in　the　room　itself　seems　to　linger

the　atmosphere　of　a　charm。　　Faster　and　fiercer　it　burns　within

thee；　the　desire　to　achieve；　to　create！　　Thou　longest　for　a　life

beyond　the　sensual！but　the　life　that　is　permitted　to　all

genius；that　which　breathes　through　the　immortal　work；　and

endures　in　the　imperishable　name。



Where　are　the　implements　for　thine　art？　　Tush！when　did　the　true

workman　ever　fail　to　find　his　tools？　　Thou　art　again　in　thine　own

chamber；the　white　wall　thy　canvas；　a　fragment　of　charcoal　for

thy　pencil。　　They　suffice；　at　least；　to　give　outline　to　the

conception　that　may　otherwise　vanish　with　the　morrow。



The　idea　that　thus　excited　the　imagination　of　the　artist　was

unquestionably　noble　and　august。　　It　was　derived　from　that

Egyptian　ceremonial　which　Diodorus　has　recorded；the　Judgment　of

the　Dead　by　the　Living　（Diod。；　lib。　i。）：　　when　the　corpse；　duly

embalmed；　is　placed　by　the　margin　of　the　Acherusian　Lake；　and

before　it　may　be　consigned　to　the　bark　which　is　to　bear　it　across

the　waters　to　its　final　resting…place；　it　is　permitted　to　the

appointed　judges　to　hear　all　accusations　of　the　past　life　of　the

deceased；　and；　if　proved；　to　deprive　the　corpse　of　the　rites　of

sepulture。



Unconsciously　to　himself；　it　was　Mejnour's　description　of　this

custom；　which　he　had　illustrated　by　several　anecdotes　not　to　be

found　in　books；　that　now　suggested　the　design　to　the　artist；　and

gave　it　reality　and　force。　　He　supposed　a　powerful　and　guilty

king　whom　in　life　scarce　a　whisper　had　dared　to　arraign；　but

against　whom；　now　the　breath　was　gone；　came　the　slave　from　his

fetters；　the　mutilated　victim　from　his　dungeon；　livid　and　squalid

as　if　dead　themselves；　invoking　with　parched　lips　the　justice

that　outlives　the　grave。



Strange　fervour　this；　O　artist！　breaking　suddenly　forth　from　the

mists　and　darkness　which　the　occult　science　had　spread　so　long

over　thy　fancies；strange　that　the　reaction　of　the　night's

terror　and　the　day's　disappointment　should　be　back　to　thine　holy

art！　　Oh；　how　freely　goes　the　bold　hand　over　the　large　outline！

How；　despite　those　rude　materials；　speaks　forth　no　more　the

pupil；　but　the　master！　　Fresh　yet　from　the　glorious　elixir；　how

thou　givest　to　thy　creatures　the　finer　life　denied　to　thyself！

some　power　not　thine　own　writes　the　grand　symbols　on　the　wall。

Behind　rises　the　mighty　sepulchre；　on　the　building　of　which

repose　to　the　dead　the　lives　of　thousands　had　been　consumed。

There　sit　in　a　semicircle　the　solemn　judges。　　Black　and　sluggish

flows　the　lake。　　There　lies　the　mummied　and　royal　dead。　　Dost

thou　quail　at　the　frown　on　his　lifelike　brow？　　Ha！bravely　done；

O　artist！up　rise　the　haggard　forms！pale　speak　the　ghastly

faces！　　Shall　not　Humanity　after　death　avenge　itself　on　Power？

Thy　conception；　Clarence　Glyndon；　is　a　sublime　truth；　thy　design

promises　renown　to　genius。　　Better　this　magic　than　the　charms　of

the　volume　and　the　vessel。　　Hour　after　hour　has　gone；　thou　hast

lighted　the　lamp；　night　sees　thee　yet　at　thy　labour。　　Merciful

Heaven！　what　chills　the　atmosphere；　why　does　the　lamp　grow　wan；

why　does　thy　hair　bristle？　　There！there！there！　at　the

casement！　　It　gazes　on　thee；　the　dark；　mantled；　loathsome　thing！

There；　with　their　devilish　mockery　and　hateful　craft；　glare　on

thee　those　horrid　eyes！



He　stood　and　gazed；it　was　no　delusion。　　It　spoke　not；　moved

not；　till；　unable　to　bear　longer　that　steady　and　burning　look；　he

covered　his　face　with　his　hands。　　With　a　start；　with　a　thrill；　he

removed　them；　he　felt　the　nearer　presence　of　the　nameless。　　There

it　cowered　on　the　floor　beside　his　design；　and　lo！　the　figures

seemed　to　start　from　the　wall！　　Those　pale　accusing　figures；　the

shapes　he　himself　had　raised；　frowned　at　him；　and　gibbered。　　With

a　violent　effort　that　convulsed　his　whole　being；　and　bathed　his

body　in　the　sweat　of　agony；　the　young　man　mastered　his　horror。

He　strode　towards　the　phantom；　he　endured　its　eyes；　he　accosted

it　with　a　steady　voice；　he　demanded　its　purpose　and　defied　its

power。



And　then；　as　a　wind　from　a　charnel；　was　heard　its　voice。　　What　it

said；　what　revealed；　it　is　forbidden　the　lips　to　repeat；　the　hand

to　record。　　Nothing　save　the　subtle　life　that　yet　animated　the

frame　to　which　the　inhalations　of　the　elixir　had　given　vigour　and

energy　beyond　the　strength　of　the　strongest；　could　have　survived

that　awful　hour。　　Better　to　wake　in　the　catacombs　and　see　the

buried　rise　from　their　cerements；　and　hear　the　ghouls；　in　their

horrid　orgies；　amongst　the　festering　ghastliness　of　corruption；

than　to　front　those　features　when　the　veil　was　lifted；　and　listen

to　that　whispered　voice！



。。。



The　next　day　Glyndon　fled　from　the　ruined　castle。　　With　what

hopes　of　starry　light　had　he　crossed　the　threshold；　with　what

memories　to　shudder　evermore　at　the　darkness　did　he　look　back　at

the