"Once the thought of him oppressed and weighed me down.As an infant that longs for the moon, my being was one vague desire for something never to be attained.Now I feel rather as if to think of thee sufficed to remove every fetter from my spirit.I float in the still seas of light, and nothing seems too high for my wings, too glorious for my eyes.It was mine ignorance that made me fear thee.A knowledge that is not in books seems to breathe around thee as an atmosphere.How little have I read!--how little have I learned! Yet when thou art by my side, it seems as if the veil were lifted from all wisdom and all Nature.Istartle when I look even at the words I have written; they seem not to come from myself, but are the signs of another language which thou hast taught my heart, and which my hand traces rapidly, as at thy dictation.Sometimes, while I write or muse, I could fancy that I heard light wings hovering around me, and saw dim shapes of beauty floating round, and vanishing as they smiled upon me.No unquiet and fearful dream ever comes to me now in sleep, yet sleep and waking are alike but as one dream.
In sleep I wander with thee, not through the paths of earth, but through impalpable air--an air which seems a music--upward and upward, as the soul mounts on the tones of a lyre! Till I knew thee, I was as a slave to the earth.Thou hast given to me the liberty of the universe! Before, it was life; it seems to me now as if I had commenced eternity!
...
"Formerly, when I was to appear upon the stage, my heart beat more loudly.I trembled to encounter the audience, whose breath gave shame or renown; and now I have no fear of them.I see them, heed them, hear them not! I know that there will be music in my voice, for it is a hymn that I pour to thee.Thou never comest to the theatre; and that no longer grieves me.Thou art become too sacred to appear a part of the common world, and Ifeel glad that thou art not by when crowds have a right to judge me.
...
"And he spoke to me of ANOTHER: to another he would consign me!
No, it is not love that I feel for thee, Zanoni; or why did Ihear thee without anger, why did thy command seem to me not a thing impossible? As the strings of the instrument obey the hand of the master, thy look modulates the wildest chords of my heart to thy will.If it please thee,--yes, let it be so.Thou art lord of my destinies; they cannot rebel against thee! I almost think I could love him, whoever it be, on whom thou wouldst shed the rays that circumfuse thyself.Whatever thou hast touched, Ilove; whatever thou speakest of, I love.Thy hand played with these vine leaves; I wear them in my bosom.Thou seemest to me the source of all love; too high and too bright to be loved thyself, but darting light into other objects, on which the eye can gaze less dazzled.No, no; it is not love that I feel for thee, and therefore it is that I do not blush to nourish and confess it.Shame on me if I loved, knowing myself so worthless a thing to thee!
...
"ANOTHER!--my memory echoes back that word.Another! Dost thou mean that I shall see thee no more? It is not sadness,--it is not despair that seizes me.I cannot weep.It is an utter sense of desolation.I am plunged back into the common life; and Ishudder coldly at the solitude.But I will obey thee, if thou wilt.Shall I not see thee again beyond the grave? O how sweet it were to die!
"Why do I not struggle from the web in which my will is thus entangled? Hast thou a right to dispose of me thus? Give me back--give me back the life I knew before I gave life itself away to thee.Give me back the careless dreams of my youth,---my liberty of heart that sung aloud as it walked the earth.Thou hast disenchanted me of everything that is not of thyself.Where was the sin, at least, to think of thee,--to see thee? Thy kiss still glows upon my hand; is that hand mine to bestow? Thy kiss claimed and hallowed it to thyself.Stranger, I will NOT obey thee.
...
"Another day,--one day of the fatal three is gone! It is strange to me that since the sleep of the last night, a deep calm has settled upon my breast.I feel so assured that my very being is become a part of thee, that I cannot believe that my life can be separated from thine; and in this conviction I repose, and smile even at thy words and my own fears.Thou art fond of one maxim, which thou repeatest in a thousand forms,--that the beauty of the soul is faith; that as ideal loveliness to the sculptor, faith is to the heart; that faith, rightly understood, extends over all the works of the Creator, whom we can know but through belief;that it embraces a tranquil confidence in ourselves, and a serene repose as to our future; that it is the moonlight that sways the tides of the human sea.That faith I comprehend now.I reject all doubt, all fear.I know that I have inextricably linked the whole that makes the inner life to thee; and thou canst not tear me from thee, if thou wouldst! And this change from struggle into calm came to me with sleep,--a sleep without a dream; but when I woke, it was with a mysterious sense of happiness,--an indistinct memory of something blessed,--as if thou hadst cast from afar off a smile upon my slumber.At night I was so sad;not a blossom that had not closed itself up, as if never more to open to the sun; and the night itself, in the heart as on the earth, has ripened the blossoms into flowers.The world is beautiful once more, but beautiful in repose,--not a breeze stirs thy tree, not a doubt my soul!"
