zanoni-第6章

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sixteen。　　The　Cardinal　declares　that　the　time　is　come　when　the

new　name　must　be　inscribed　in　the　Libro　d'Oro；the　Golden　Book

set　apart　to　the　children　of　Art　and　Song。　　Yes；　but　in　what

character？to　whose　genius　is　she　to　give　embodiment　and　form？

Ah；　there　is　the　secret！　　Rumours　go　abroad　that　the

inexhaustible　Paisiello；　charmed　with　her　performance　of　his　〃Nel

cor　piu　non　me　sento；〃　and　his　〃Io　son　Lindoro；〃　will　produce

some　new　masterpiece　to　introduce　the　debutante。　　Others　insist

upon　it　that　her　forte　is　the　comic；　and　that　Cimarosa　is　hard　at

work　at　another　〃Matrimonia　Segreto。〃　　But　in　the　meanwhile　there

is　a　check　in　the　diplomacy　somewhere。　　The　Cardinal　is　observed

to　be　out　of　humour。　　He　has　said　publicly；and　the　words　are

portentous；〃The　silly　girl　is　as　mad　as　her　father；　what　she

asks　is　preposterous！〃　　Conference　follows　conference；　the

Cardinal　talks　to　the　poor　child　very　solemnly　in　his　closet；

all　in　vain。　　Naples　is　distracted　with　curiosity　and　conjecture。

The　lecture　ends　in　a　quarrel；　and　Viola　comes　home　sullen　and

pouting：　　she　will　not　act；she　has　renounced　the　engagement。



Pisani；　too　inexperienced　to　be　aware　of　all　the　dangers　of　the

stage；　had　been　pleased　at　the　notion　that　one；　at　least；　of　his

name　would　add　celebrity　to　his　art。　　The　girl's　perverseness

displeased　him。　　However；　he　said　nothing；he　never　scolded　in

words；　but　he　took　up　the　faithful　barbiton。　　Oh；　faithful

barbiton；　how　horribly　thou　didst　scold！　　It　screeched；　it

gabbled；　it　moaned；　it　growled。　　And　Viola's　eyes　filled　with

tears；　for　she　understood　that　language。　　She　stole　to　her

mother；　and　whispered　in　her　ear；　and　when　Pisani　turned　from　his

employment；　lo！　both　mother　and　daughter　were　weeping。　　He　looked

at　them　with　a　wondering　stare；　and　then；　as　if　he　felt　he　had

been　harsh；　he　flew　again　to　his　Familiar。　　And　now　you　thought

you　heard　the　lullaby　which　a　fairy　might　sing　to　some　fretful

changeling　it　had　adopted　and　sought　to　soothe。　　Liquid；　low；

silvery；　streamed　the　tones　beneath　the　enchanted　bow。　　The　most

stubborn　grief　would　have　paused　to　hear；　and　withal；　at　times；

out　came　a　wild；　merry；　ringing　note；　like　a　laugh；　but　not

mortal　laughter。　　It　was　one　of　his　most　successful　airs　from　his

beloved　opera；the　Siren　in　the　act　of　charming　the　waves　and

the　winds　to　sleep。　　Heaven　knows　what　next　would　have　come；　but

his　arm　was　arrested。　　Viola　had　thrown　herself　on　his　breast；

and　kissed　him；　with　happy　eyes　that　smiled　through　her　sunny

hair。　　At　that　very　moment　the　door　opened；a　message　from　the

Cardinal。　　Viola　must　go　to　his　Eminence　at　once。　　Her　mother

went　with　her。　　All　was　reconciled　and　settled；　Viola　had　her

way；　and　selected　her　own　opera。　　O　ye　dull　nations　of　the　North；

with　your　broils　and　debates；your　bustling　lives　of　the　Pnyx

and　the　Agora！you　cannot　guess　what　a　stir　throughout　musical

Naples　was　occasioned　by　the　rumour　of　a　new　opera　and　a　new

singer。　　But　whose　the　opera？　　No　cabinet　intrigue　ever　was　so

secret。　　Pisani　came　back　one　night　from　the　theatre；　evidently

disturbed　and　irate。　　Woe　to　thine　ears　hadst　thou　heard　the

barbiton　that　night！　　They　had　suspended　him　from　his　office；

they　feared　that　the　new　opera；　and　the　first　debut　of　his

daughter　as　prima　donna；　would　be　too　much　for　his　nerves。　　And

his　variations；　his　diablerie　of　sirens　and　harpies；　on　such　a

night；　made　a　hazard　not　to　be　contemplated　without　awe。　　To　be

set　aside；　and　on　the　very　night　that　his　child；　whose　melody　was

but　an　emanation　of　his　own；　was　to　perform；set　aside　for　some

new　rival：　　it　was　too　much　for　a　musician's　flesh　and　blood。

For　the　first　time　he　spoke　in　words　upon　the　subject；　and

gravely　askedfor　that　question　the　barbiton；　eloquent　as　it

was；　could　not　express　distinctlywhat　was　to　be　the　opera；　and

what　the　part？　　And　Viola　as　gravely　answered　that　she　was

pledged　to　the　Cardinal　not　to　reveal。　　Pisani　said　nothing；　but

disappeared　with　the　violin；　and　presently　they　heard　the

Familiar　from　the　house…top　（whither；　when　thoroughly　out　of

humour；　the　musician　sometimes　fled）；　whining　and　sighing　as　if

its　heart　were　broken。



The　affections　of　Pisani　were　little　visible　on　the　surface。　　He

was　not　one　of　those　fond；　caressing　fathers　whose　children　are

ever　playing　round　their　knees；　his　mind　and　soul　were　so

thoroughly　in　his　art　that　domestic　life　glided　by　him；　seemingly

as　if　THAT　were　a　dream；　and　the　heart　the　substantial　form　and

body　of　existence。　　Persons　much　cultivating　an　abstract　study

are　often　thus；　mathematicians　proverbially　so。　　When　his　servant

ran　to　the　celebrated　French　philosopher；　shrieking；　〃The　house

is　on　fire；　sir！〃　　〃Go　and　tell　my　wife　then；　fool！〃　said　the

wise　man；　settling　back　to　his　problems；　〃do　_I_　ever　meddle　with

domestic　affairs？〃　　But　what　are　mathematics　to　musicmusic；

that　not　only　composes　operas；　but　plays　on　the　barbiton？　　Do　you

know　what　the　illustrious　Giardini　said　when　the　tyro　asked　how

long　it　would　take　to　learn　to　play　on　the　violin？　　Hear；　and

despair；　ye　who　would　bend　the　bow　to　which　that　of　Ulysses　was　a

plaything；　〃Twelve　hours　a　day　for　twenty　years　together！〃　　Can　a

man；　then；　who　plays　the　barbiton　be　always　playing　also　with　his

little　ones？　　No；　Pisani；　often；　with　the　keen　susceptibility　of

childhood；　poor　Viola　had　stolen　from　the　room　to　weep　at　the

thought　that　thou　didst　not　love　her。　　And　yet；　underneath　this

outward　abstraction　of　the　artist；　the　natural　fondness　flowed

all　the　same；　and　as　she　grew　up；　the　dreamer　had　understood　the

dreamer。　　And　now；　shut　out　from　all　fame　himself；　to　be

forbidden　to　hail　even　his　daughter's　fame！and　that　daughter

herself　to　be　in　the　conspiracy　against　him！　　Sharper　than　the

serpent's　tooth　was　the　ingratitude；　and　sharper　than　the

serpent's　tooth　was　the　wail　of　the　pitying　barbiton！



The　eventful　hour　is　come。　　Viola　is　gone　to　the　theatre；her

mother　with　her。　　The　indignant　musician　remains　at　home。

Gionetta　bursts　into　the　room：　　my　Lord　Cardinal's　carriage　is　at

the　door；the　Padrone　is　sent　for。　　He　must　lay　aside　his

violin；　he　must　put　on　his　brocade　coat　and　his　lace　ruffles。

Here　they　are；quick；　quick！　　And　quick　rolls　the　gilded　coach；

and　majestic　sits　the　driver；　and　statelily　prance　the　steeds。

Poor　Pisani　is　lost　in　a　mist　of　uncomfortable　amaze。　　He　arrives

at　the　theatre；　he　descends　at　the　great　door；　he　turns　round　and

round；　and　looks　about　him　and　about：　　he　misses　something；

where　is　the　violin？　　Alas！　his　soul；　his　voice；　his　self　of

self；　is　left　behind！　　It　is　but　an　automaton　that　the　lackeys

conduct　up　the　stairs；　through　the　tier；　into　the　Cardinal's　box。

　But　then；　what　bursts　upon　him！　　Does　he　dream？　　The　first　act

is　over　（they　did　not　send　for　him　till　success　seemed　no　longer

doubtful）；　the　first　act　has　decided　all。　　He　feels　THAT　by　the

electric　sympathy　which　ever　the　one　heart　has　at　once　with　a

vast　audience。　　He　feels　it　by　the　breathless　stillness　of　that

multitude；　he　feels　it　even　by　the　lifted　finger　of　the　Cardinal。

　He　sees　his　Viola　on　the　stage；　radiant　in　her　robes　and　gems；

he　hears　her　voice　thrilling　through　the　single　heart　of　the

thousands！　　But　the　scene；　the　part；　the　music！　　It　is　his　other

child；his　immortal　child；　the　spirit…infant　of　his　soul；　his

darling　of　many　years　of　patient　obscurity　and　pining　genius；　his

masterpiece；　his　opera　of　the　Siren！



This；　then；　was　the　mystery　that　had　so　galled　him；this　the

cause　of　the　quarrel　with　the　Cardinal；　this　the　secret　not　to　be

proclaimed　till　the　success　was　won；　and　the　daughter　had　united

her　father's　triumph　with　her　own！

And　there　she　stands；　as　all　souls　bow　before　her；fairer　than

the　very　Siren　he　had　called　from　the　deeps　of　melody。　　Oh；　long

and　sweet　recompense　of　toil！　　Where　is　on　earth　the　rapture　like

that　which　is　known　to　genius　when　at　last　it　bursts　from　its

hidden　cavern　into　light　and　fame！



He　did　not　speak；　he　did　not　move；　he　stood　transfixed；

breathless；　the　tears　rolling　down　his　cheeks；　only　from　time　to

time　his　hands　still　wandered　about；mechanically　they　sought

for　the　faithful　instrument；　why　was　it　not　there　to　share　his

triumph？



At　last　the　curtain　fell；　but　on　such　a　storm　and　diapason　of

applause！　　Up　rose　the　audience　as　one　man；　as　with　one　voice

that　dear　name　was　shouted。　　She　came　on；　trembling；　pale；　and　in

the　whole　crowd　saw　but　her　father's　face。　　The　audience　followed

those　moistened　eyes；　they　recognised　with　a　thrill　the

daughter's　impulse　and　her　meaning。　　The　good　old　Cardinal　drew

him　gently　forward。　　Wild　musician；　thy　daughter　has　given　thee

back　more　than　the　life　thou　gavest！



〃My　poor　violin！〃　said　he；　wiping　his　eyes；　〃they　will　never　hiss

thee　again　now！〃







CHAPTER　1。III。



Fra　si　contrarie　tempre　in　ghiaccio　e　in　foco；

In　riso　e　in　pianto；　e　fra　paura　e　speme

L'ingannatrice　Donna

〃Gerusal。　Lib。；〃　cant。　iv。　xciv。



（Between　such　contrarious　mixtures　of　ice　and　fire；　laughter　and

tears；fear　and　hope；　the　deceiving　dame。）



Now　notwithstanding　the　triumph　both　of　the　singer　and　the　opera；

there　had　been　one　moment　in　the　first　act；　and；　consequently；

BEFORE　the　arrival　of　Pisani；　when　the　scale　seemed　more　than

doubtful。　　It　was　in　a　chorus　replete　with　all　the　peculiarities

of　the　composer。　　And　when　the　Maelstrom　of　Capricci　whirled　and

foamed；　and　tore　ear　and　sense　through　every　variety　of　sound；

the　audience　simultaneously　recognised　the　hand　of　Pisani。　　A

title　had　been　given　to　the　opera　which　had　hitherto　prevented

all　suspicion　of　its　parentage；　and　the　overture　and　opening；　in

which　the　music　had　been　regular　and　sweet；　had　led　the　audience

to　fancy　they　detected　the　genius　of　their　favourite　Paisiello。

Long　accustomed　to　ridicule　and　almost　to　despise　the　pretensions

of　Pisani　as　a　composer；　they　now　felt　as　if　they　had　been　unduly

cheated　into　the　applause　with　which　they　had　hailed　the　overture

and　the　commencing　scenas。　　An　ominous　buzz　circulated　round　the

house：　　the　singers；　the　orchestra；electrically　sensitive　to

the　impression　of　the　audience；grew；　themselves；　agitated　and

dismayed；　and　failed　in　the　energy　and　precision　which　could

alone　carry　off　the　grotesqueness　of　the　music。



There　are　always　in　every　theatre　many　rivals　to　a　new　author　and

a　new　performer；a　party　impotent　while　all　goes　well；　but　a

dangerous　ambush　the　instant　some　accident　throws　into　confusion

the　march　of　success。　　A　hiss　arose；　it　was　partial；　it　is　true；

but　the　significant　silence　of　all　applause　seemed　to　forebode

the　coming　moment　when　the　displeasure　would　grow　contagious。　　It

was　the　breath　that　stirred　the　impending　avalanche。　　At　that

critical　moment　Viola；　the　Siren　queen；　emerged　for　the　first

time　from　her　ocean　cave。　　As　she　came　forward　to　the　lamps；　the

novelty　of