zanoni- 第25部分

As　some　injudicious　master　lowers　and　vitiates　the　taste　of　the

student　by　fixing　his　attention　to　what　he　falsely　calls　the

Natural；　but　which；　in　reality；　is　the　Commonplace；　and

understands　not　that　beauty　in　art　is　created　by　what　Raphael　so

well　describes；namely；　THE　IDEA　OF　BEAUTY　IN　THE　PAINTER'S　OWN

MIND；　and　that　in　every　art；　whether　its　plastic　expression　be

found　in　words　or　marble；　colours　or　sounds；　the　servile

imitation　of　Nature　is　the　work　of　journeymen　and　tyros；so　in

conduct　the　man　of　the　world　vitiates　and　lowers　the　bold

enthusiasm　of　loftier　natures　by　the　perpetual　reduction　of

whatever　is　generous　and　trustful　to　all　that　is　trite　and

coarse。　　A　great　German　poet　has　well　defined　the　distinction

between　discretion　and　the　larger　wisdom。　　In　the　last　there　is　a

certain　rashness　which　the　first　disdains；



〃The　purblind　see　but　the　receding　shore；

Not　that　to　which　the　bold　wave　wafts　them　o'er。〃



Yet　in　this　logic　of　the　prudent　and　the　worldly　there　is　often　a

reasoning　unanswerable　of　its　kind。



You　must　have　a　feeling；a　faith　in　whatever　is　self…sacrificing

and　divine；　whether　in　religion　or　in　art；　in　glory　or　in　love；

or　Common…sense　will　reason　you　out　of　the　sacrifice；　and　a

syllogism　will　debase　the　Divine　to　an　article　in　the　market。



Every　true　critic　in　art；　from　Aristotle　and　Pliny；　from

Winkelman　and　Vasari　to　Reynolds　and　Fuseli；　has　sought　to

instruct　the　painter　that　Nature　is　not　to　be　copied；　but

EXALTED；　that　the　loftiest　order　of　art；　selecting　only　the

loftiest　combinations；　is　the　perpetual　struggle　of　Humanity　to

approach　the　gods。　　The　great　painter；　as　the　great　author；

embodies　what　is　POSSIBLE　to　MAN；　it　is　true；　but　what　is　not

COMMON　to　MANKIND。　　There　is　truth　in　Hamlet；　in　Macbeth；　and　his

witches；　in　Desdemona；　in　Othello；　in　Prospero；　and　in　Caliban；

there　is　truth　in　the　cartoons　of　Raphael；　there　is　truth　in　the

Apollo；　the　Antinous；　and　the　Laocoon。　　But　you　do　not　meet　the

originals　of　the　words；　the　cartoons；　or　the　marble；　in　Oxford

Street　or　St。　James's。　　All　these；　to　return　to　Raphael；　are　the

creatures　of　the　idea　in　the　artist's　mind。　　This　idea　is　not

inborn；　it　has　come　from　an　intense　study。　　But　that　study　has

been　of　the　ideal　that　can　be　raised　from　the　positive　and　the

actual　into　grandeur　and　beauty。　　The　commonest　model　becomes

full　of　exquisite　suggestions　to　him　who　has　formed　this　idea；　a

Venus　of　flesh　and　blood　would　be　vulgarised　by　the　imitation　of

him　who　has　not。



When　asked　where　he　got　his　models；　Guido　summoned　a　common

porter　from　his　calling；　and　drew　from　a　mean　original　a　head　of

surpassing　beauty。　　It　resembled　the　porter；　but　idealised　the

porter　to　the　hero。　　It　was　true；　but　it　was　not　real。　　There　are

critics　who　will　tell　you　that　the　Boor　of　Teniers　is　more　true

to　Nature　than　the　Porter　of　Guido！　　The　commonplace　public

scarcely　understand　the　idealising　principle；　even　in　art；　for

high　art　is　an　acquired　taste。



But　to　come　to　my　comparison。　　Still　less　is　the　kindred

principle　comprehended　in　conduct。　　And　the　advice　of　worldly

prudence　would　as　often　deter　from　the　risks　of　virtue　as　from

the　punishments　of　vice；　yet　in　conduct；　as　in　art；　there　is　an

idea　of　the　great　and　beautiful；　by　which　men　should　exalt　the

hackneyed　and　the　trite　of　life。　　Now　Glyndon　felt　the　sober

prudence　of　Mervale's　reasonings；　he　recoiled　from　the　probable

picture　placed　before　him；　in　his　devotion　to　the　one

master…talent　he　possessed；　and　the　one　master…passion　that；

rightly　directed；　might　purify　his　whole　being　as　a　strong　wind

purifies　the　air。



But　though　he　could　not　bring　himself　to　decide　in　the　teeth　of

so　rational　a　judgment；　neither　could　he　resolve　at　once　to

abandon　the　pursuit　of　Viola。　　Fearful　of　being　influenced　by

Zanoni's　counsels　and　his　own　heart；　he　had　for　the　last　two　days

shunned　an　interview　with　the　young　actress。　　But　after　a　night

following　his　last　conversation　with　Zanoni；　and　that　we　have

just　recorded　with　Mervale；a　night　coloured　by　dreams　so

distinct　as　to　seem　prophetic；　dreams　that　appeared　so　to　shape

his　future　according　to　the　hints　of　Zanoni　that　he　could　have

fancied　Zanoni　himself　had　sent　them　from　the　house　of　sleep　to

haunt　his　pillow；he　resolved　once　more　to　seek　Viola；　and

though　without　a　definite　or　distinct　object；　he　yielded　himself

up　to　the　impulse　of　his　heart。





CHAPTER　2。X。



O　sollecito　dubbio　e　fredda　tema

Che　pensando　l'accresci。

Tasso；　Canzone　vi。



（O　anxious　doubt　and　chilling　fear　that　grows　by　thinking。）



She　was　seated　outside　her　door；the　young　actress！　　The　sea

before　her　in　that　heavenly　bay　seemed　literally　to　sleep　in　the

arms　of　the　shore；　while；　to　the　right；　not　far　off；　rose　the

dark　and　tangled　crags　to　which　the　traveller　of　to…day　is　duly

brought　to　gaze　on　the　tomb　of　Virgil；　or　compare　with　the　cavern

of　Posilipo　the　archway　of　Highgate　Hill。　　There　were　a　few

fisherman　loitering　by　the　cliffs；　on　which　their　nets　were　hung

to　dry；　and　at　a　distance　the　sound　of　some　rustic　pipe　（more

common　at　that　day　than　at　this）；　mingled　now　and　then　with　the

bells　of　the　lazy　mules；　broke　the　voluptuous　silence；the

silence　of　declining　noon　on　the　shores　of　Naples；　never；　till

you　have　enjoyed　it；　never；　till　you　have　felt　its　enervating　but

delicious　charm；　believe　that　you　can　comprehend　all　the　meaning

of　the　Dolce　far　niente　（The　pleasure　of　doing　nothing。）；　and

when　that　luxury　has　been　known；　when　you　have　breathed　that

atmosphere　of　fairy…land；　then　you　will　no　longer　wonder　why　the

heart　ripens　into　fruit　so　sudden　and　so　rich　beneath　the　rosy

skies　and　the　glorious　sunshine　of　the　South。



The　eyes　of　the　actress　were　fixed　on　the　broad　blue　deep　beyond。

In　the　unwonted　negligence　of　her　dress　might　be　traced　the

abstraction　of　her　mind。　　Her　beautiful　hair　was　gathered　up

loosely；　and　partially　bandaged　by　a　kerchief　whose　purple　colour

served　to　deepen　the　golden　hue　of　her　tresses。　　A　stray　curl

escaped　and　fell　down　the　graceful　neck。　　A　loose　morning…robe；

girded　by　a　sash；　left　the　breeze。　　That　came　ever　and　anon　from

the　sea；　to　die　upon　the　bust　half　disclosed；　and　the　tiny

slipper；　that　Cinderella　might　have　worn；　seemed　a　world　too　wide

for　the　tiny　foot　which　it　scarcely　covered。　　It　might　be　the

heat　of　the　day　that　deepened　the　soft　bloom　of　the　cheeks；　and

gave　an　unwonted　languor　to　the　large；　dark　eyes。　　In　all　the

pomp　of　her　stage　attire；in　all　the　flush　of　excitement　before

the　intoxicating　lamps；never　had　Viola　looked　so　lovely。



By　the　side　of　the　actress；　and　filling　up　the　threshold；stood

Gionetta；　with　her　arms　thrust　to　the　elbow　in　two　huge　pockets

on　either　side　of　her　gown。



〃But　I　assure　you；〃　said　the　nurse；　in　that　sharp；　quick；　ear…

splitting　tone　in　which　the　old　women　of　the　South　are　more　than

a　match　for　those　of　the　North；〃but　I　assure　you；　my　darling；

that　there　is　not　a　finer　cavalier　in　all　Naples；　nor　a　more

beautiful；　than　this　Inglese；　and　I　am　told　that　all　these

Inglesi　are　much　richer　than　they　seem。　　Though　they　have　no

trees　in　their　country；　poor　people！　and　instead　of　twenty…four

they　have　only　twelve　hours　to　the　day；　yet　I　hear　that　they　shoe

their　horses　with　scudi；　and　since　they　cannot　（the　poor

heretics！）　turn　grapes　into　wine；　for　they　have　no　grapes；　they

turn　gold　into　physic；　and　take　a　glass　or　two　of　pistoles

whenever　they　are　troubled　with　the　colic。　　But　you　don't　hear

me；　little　pupil　of　my　eyes；you　don't　hear　me！〃



〃And　these　things　are　whispered　of　Zanoni！〃　said　Viola；　half　to

herself；　and　unheeding　Gionetta's　eulogies　on　Glyndon　and　the

English。



〃Blessed　Maria！　do　not　talk　of　this　terrible　Zanoni。　　You　may　be

sure　that　his　beautiful　face；　like　his　yet　more　beautiful

pistoles；　is　only　witchcraft。　　I　look　at　the　money　he　gave　me　the

other　night；　every　quarter　of　an　hour；　to　see　whether　it　has　not

turned　into　pebbles。〃



〃Do　you　then　really　believe；〃　said　Viola；　with　timid　earnestness；

〃that　sorcery　still　exists？〃



〃Believe！　　Do　I　believe　in　the　blessed　San　Gennaro？　　How　do　you

think　he　cured　old　Filippo　the　fisherman；　when　the　doctor　gave

him　up？　　How　do　you　think　he　has　managed　himself　to　live　at　least

these　three　hundred　years？　　How　do　you　think　he　fascinates　every

one　to　his　bidding　with　a　look；　as　the　vampires　do？〃



〃Ah；　is　this　only　witchcraft？　　It　is　like　it；it　must　be！〃

murmured　Viola；　turning　very　pale。　　Gionetta　herself　was　scarcely

more　superstitious　than　the　daughter　of　the　musician。　　And　her

very　innocence；　chilled　at　the　strangeness　of　virgin　passion；

might　well　ascribe　to　magic　what　hearts　more　experienced　would

have　resolved　to　love。



〃And　then；　why　has　this　great　Prince　di　　been　so　terrified　by

him？　　Why　has　he　ceased　to　persecute　us？　　Why　has　he　been　so

quiet　and　still？　　Is　there　no　sorcery　in　all　that？〃



〃Think　you；　then；〃　said　Viola；　with　sweet　inconsistency；　〃that　I

owe　that　happiness　and　safety　to　his　protection？　　Oh；　let　me　so

believe！　　Be　silent；　Gionetta！　　Why　have　I　only　thee　and　my　own

terrors　to　consult？　　O　beautiful　sun！〃　and　the　girl　pressed　her

hand　to　her　heart　with　wild　energy；　〃thou　lightest　every　spot　but

this。　　Go；　Gionetta！　leave　me　alone；leave　me！〃



〃And　indeed　it　is　time　I　should　leave　you；　for　the　polenta　will

be　spoiled；　and　you　have　eat　nothing　all　day。　　If　you　don't　eat

you　will　lose　your　beauty；　my　darling；　and　then　nobody　will　care

for　you。　　Nobody　cares　for　us　when　we　grow　ugly；I　know　that；

and　then　you　must；　like　old　Gionetta；　get　some　Viola　of　your　own

to　spoil。　　I'll　go　and　see　to　the　polenta。〃



〃Since　I　have　known　this　man；〃　said　the　girl；　half　aloud；〃since

his　dark　eyes　have　haunted　me；　I　am　no　longer　the　same。　　I　long

to　escape　from　myself；to　glide　with　the　sunbeam　over　the

hill…tops；　to　become　something　th