The world ever plucks us back from ourselves with a thousand arms.And again Viola's voice is heard upon the stage, which, mystically faithful to life, is in nought more faithful than this, that it is the appearances that fill the scene; and we pause not to ask of what realities they are the proxies.When the actor of Athens moved all hearts as he clasped the burial urn, and burst into broken sobs; how few, there, knew that it held the ashes of his son! Gold, as well as fame, was showered upon the young actress; but she still kept to her simple mode of life, to her lowly home, to the one servant whose faults, selfish as they were, Viola was too inexperienced to perceive.And it was Gionetta who had placed her when first born in her father's arms! She was surrounded by every snare, wooed by every solicitation that could beset her unguarded beauty and her dangerous calling.But her modest virtue passed unsullied through them all.It is true that she had been taught by lips now mute the maiden duties enjoined by honour and religion.And all love that spoke not of the altar only shocked and repelled her.But besides that, as grief and solitude ripened her heart, and made her tremble at times to think how deeply it could feel, her vague and early visions shaped themselves into an ideal of love.And till the ideal is found, how the shadow that it throws before it chills us to the actual! With that ideal, ever and ever, unconsciously, and with a certain awe and shrinking, came the shape and voice of the warning stranger.Nearly two years had passed since he had appeared at Naples.Nothing had been heard of him, save that his vessel had been directed, some months after his departure, to sail for Leghorn.By the gossips of Naples, his existence, supposed so extraordinary, was wellnigh forgotten; but the heart of Viola was more faithful.Often he glided through her dreams, and when the wind sighed through that fantastic tree, associated with his remembrance, she started with a tremor and a blush, as if she had heard him speak.
But amongst the train of her suitors was one to whom she listened more gently than to the rest; partly because, perhaps, he spoke in her mother's native tongue; partly because in his diffidence there was little to alarm and displease; partly because his rank, nearer to her own than that of lordlier wooers, prevented his admiration from appearing insult; partly because he himself, eloquent and a dreamer, often uttered thoughts that were kindred to those buried deepest in her mind.She began to like, perhaps to love him, but as a sister loves; a sort of privileged familiarity sprung up between them.If in the Englishman's breast arose wild and unworthy hopes, he had not yet expressed them.Is there danger to thee here, lone Viola, or is the danger greater in thy unfound ideal?
And now, as the overture to some strange and wizard spectacle, closes this opening prelude.Wilt thou hear more? Come with thy faith prepared.I ask not the blinded eyes, but the awakened sense.As the enchanted Isle, remote from the homes of men,--"Ove alcun legno Rado, o non mai va dalle nostre sponde,"--"Ger.Lib.," cant.xiv.69.
(Where ship seldom or never comes from our coasts.)is the space in the weary ocean of actual life to which the Muse or Sibyl (ancient in years, but ever young in aspect), offers thee no unhallowed sail,--"Quinci ella in cima a una montagna ascende Disabitata, e d' ombre oscura e bruna;E par incanto a lei nevose rende Le spalle e i fianchi; e sensa neve alcuna Gli lascia il capo verdeggiante e vago;E vi fonda un palagio appresso un lago."
(There, she a mountain's lofty peak ascends, Unpeopled, shady, shagg'd with forests brown, Whose sides, by power of magic, half-way down She heaps with slippery ice and frost and snow, But sunshiny and verdant leaves the crown With orange-woods and myrtles,--speaks, and lo!
Rich from the bordering lake a palace rises slow.
Wiffin's "Translation."
BOOK II.
ART, LOVE, AND WONDER.
Diversi aspetti in un confusi e misti.
"Ger.Lib," cant.iv.7.
Different appearances, confused and mixt in one.
