zanoni-第22章
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and what is painting but the fixing into substance the Invisible？
Are you discontented with this world？ This world was never meant
for genius！ To exist； it must create another。 What magician can
do more； nay； what science can do as much？ There are two avenues
from the little passions and the drear calamities of earth； both
lead to heaven and away from hell；art and science。 But art is
more godlike than science； science discovers； art creates。 You
have faculties that may command art； be contented with your lot。
The astronomer who catalogues the stars cannot add one atom to
the universe； the poet can call a universe from the atom； the
chemist may heal with his drugs the infirmities of the human
form； the painter； or the sculptor； fixes into everlasting youth
forms divine； which no disease can ravage； and no years impair。
Renounce those wandering fancies that lead you now to myself； and
now to yon orator of the human race； to us two； who are the
antipodes of each other！ Your pencil is your wand； your canvas
may raise Utopias fairer than Condorcet dreams of。 I press not
yet for your decision； but what man of genius ever asked more to
cheer his path to the grave than love and glory？〃
〃But；〃 said Glyndon； fixing his eyes earnestly on Zanoni； 〃if
there be a power to baffle the grave itself〃
Zanoni's brow darkened。 〃And were this so；〃 he said； after a
pause； 〃would it be so sweet a lot to outlive all you loved； and
to recoil from every human tie？ Perhaps the fairest immortality
on earth is that of a noble name。〃
〃You do not answer me；you equivocate。 I have read of the long
lives far beyond the date common experience assigns to man；〃
persisted Glyndon； 〃which some of the alchemists enjoyed。 Is the
golden elixir but a fable？〃
〃If not； and these men discovered it； they died； because they
refused to live！ There may be a mournful warning in your
conjecture。 Turn once more to the easel and the canvas！〃
So saying； Zanoni waved his hand； and； with downcast eyes and a
slow step； bent his way back into the city。
CHAPTER 2。VIII。
The Goddess Wisdom。
To some she is the goddess great；
To some the milch cow of the field；
Their care is but to calculate
What butter she will yield。
From Schiller。
This last conversation with Zanoni left upon the mind of Glyndon
a tranquillising and salutary effect。
From the confused mists of his fancy glittered forth again those
happy； golden schemes which part from the young ambition of art；
to play in the air； to illumine the space like rays that kindle
from the sun。 And with these projects mingled also the vision of
a love purer and serener than his life yet had known。 His mind
went back into that fair childhood of genius； when the forbidden
fruit is not yet tasted； and we know of no land beyond the Eden
which is gladdened by an Eve。 Insensibly before him there rose
the scenes of a home； with his art sufficing for all excitement；
and Viola's love circling occupation with happiness and content；
and in the midst of these fantasies of a future that might be at
his command； he was recalled to the present by the clear； strong
voice of Mervale； the man of common…sense。
Whoever has studied the lives of persons in whom the imagination
is stronger than the will； who suspect their own knowledge of
actual life； and are aware of their facility to impressions； will
have observed the influence which a homely； vigorous； worldly
understanding obtains over such natures。 It was thus with
Glyndon。 His friend had often extricated him from danger； and
saved him from the consequences of imprudence； and there was
something in Mervale's voice alone that damped his enthusiasm；
and often made him yet more ashamed of noble impulses than weak
conduct。 For Mervale； though a downright honest man； could not
sympathise with the extravagance of generosity any more than with
that of presumption and credulity。 He walked the straight line
of life； and felt an equal contempt for the man who wandered up
the hill…sides； no matter whether to chase a butterfly； or to
catch a prospect of the ocean。
〃I will tell you your thoughts； Clarence；〃 said Mervale；
laughing； 〃though I am no Zanoni。 I know them by the moisture of
your eyes； and the half…smile on your lips。 You are musing upon
that fair perdition；the little singer of San Carlo。〃
The little singer of San Carlo！ Glyndon coloured as he
answered；
〃Would you speak thus of her if she were my wife？〃
〃No！ for then any contempt I might venture to feel would be for
yourself。 One may dislike the duper； but it is the dupe that one
despises。〃
〃Are you sure that I should be the dupe in such a union？ Where
can I find one so lovely and so innocent；where one whose virtue
has been tried by such temptation？ Does even a single breath of
slander sully the name of Viola Pisani？〃
〃I know not all the gossip of Naples； and therefore cannot
answer； but I know this； that in England no one would believe
that a young Englishman； of good fortune and respectable birth；
who marries a singer from the theatre of Naples； has not been
lamentably taken in。 I would save you from a fall of position so
irretrievable。 Think how many mortifications you will be
subjected to； how many young men will visit at your house；and
how many young wives will as carefully avoid it。〃
〃I can choose my own career； to which commonplace society is not
essential。 I can owe the respect of the world to my art； and not
to the accidents of birth and fortune。〃
〃That is； you still persist in your second folly；the absurd
ambition of daubing canvas。 Heaven forbid I should say anything
against the laudable industry of one who follows such a
profession for the sake of subsistence； but with means and
connections that will raise you in life； why voluntarily sink
into a mere artist？ As an accomplishment in leisure moments； it
is all very well in its way； but as the occupation of existence；
it is a frenzy。〃
〃Artists have been the friends of princes。〃
〃Very rarely so； I fancy； in sober England。 There in the great
centre of political aristocracy； what men respect is the
practical； not the ideal。 Just suffer me to draw two pictures of
my own。 Clarence Glyndon returns to England； he marries a lady
of fortune equal to his own； of friends and parentage that
advance rational ambition。 Clarence Glyndon； thus a wealthy and
respectable man； of good talents； of bustling energies then
concentrated； enters into practical life。 He has a house at
which he can receive those whose acquaintance is both advantage
and honour； he has leisure which he can devote to useful studies；
his reputation； built on a solid base； grows in men's mouths。 He
attaches himself to a party； he enters political life； and new
connections serve to promote his objects。 At the age of
five…and…forty； what； in all probability； may Clarence Glyndon
be？ Since you are ambitious I leave that question for you to
decide！ Now turn to the other picture。 Clarence Glyndon returns
to England with a wife who can bring him no money； unless he lets
her out on the stage； so handsome； that every one asks who she
is； and every one hears；the celebrated singer； Pisani。
Clarence Glyndon shuts himself up to grind colours and paint
pictures in the grand historical school； which nobody buys。
There is even a prejudice against him； as not having studied in
the Academy；as being an amateur。 Who is Mr。 Clarence Glyndon？
Oh； the celebrated Pisani's husband！ What else？ Oh； he exhibits
those large pictures！ Poor man！ they have merit in their way；
but Teniers and Watteau are more convenient； and almost as cheap。
Clarence Glyndon； with an easy fortune while single； has a large
family which his fortune； unaided by marriage； can just rear up
to callings more plebeian than his own。 He retires into the
country； to save and to paint； he grows slovenly and
discontented； 'the world does not appreciate him；' he says； and
he runs away from the world。 At the age of forty…five what will
be Clarence Glyndon？ Your ambition shall decide that question
also！〃
〃If all men were as worldly as you；〃 said Glyndon； rising； 〃there
would never have been an artist or a poet！〃
〃Perhaps we should do just as well without them；〃 answered
Mervale。 〃Is it not time to think of dinner？ The mullets here
are remarkably fine！〃
CHAPTER 2。IX。
Wollt ihr hoch auf ihren Flugeln schweben；
Werft die Angst des Irdischen von euch！
Fliehet aus dem engen dumpfen Leben
In des Ideales Reich！
〃Das Ideal und das Leben。〃
Wouldst thou soar heavenward on its joyous wing？
Cast off the earthly burden of the Real；
High from this cramped and dungeoned being； spring
Into the realm of the Ideal。
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'
