At　last　he　said；　〃Thou　hast　promised　thou　wilt　obey　my　counsels；
  and　if；　Viola；　I　should　ask　thee；　nay　adjure；　to　accept　this
  stranger's　hand；　and　share　his　fate；　should　he　offer　to　thee　such
  a　lot；wouldst　thou　refuse？〃
  And　then　she　pressed　back　the　tears　that　gushed　to　her　eyes；　and
  with　a　strange　pleasure　in　the　midst　of　pain；the　pleasure　of
  one　who　sacrifices　heart　itself　to　the　one　who　commands　that
  heart；she　answered　falteringly；　〃If　thou　CANST　ordain　it；
  why〃
  〃Speak　on。〃
  〃Dispose　of　me　as　thou　wilt！〃
  Zanoni　stood　in　silence　for　some　moments：　　he　saw　the　struggle
  which　the　girl　thought　she　concealed　so　well；　he　made　an
  involuntary　movement　towards　her；　and　pressed　her　hand　to　his
  lips；　it　was　the　first　time　he　had　ever　departed　even　so　far　from
  a　certain　austerity　which　perhaps　made　her　fear　him　and　her　own
  thoughts　the　less。
  〃Viola；〃　said　he；　and　his　voice　trembled；　〃the　danger　that　I　can
  avert　no　more；　if　thou　linger　still　in　Naples；　comes　hourly　near
  and　near　to　thee！　　On　the　third　day　from　this　thy　fate　must　be
  decided。　　I　accept　thy　promise。　　Before　the　last　hour　of　that
  day；　come　what　may；　I　shall　see　thee　again；　HERE；　at　thine　own
  house。　　Till　then；　farewell！〃
  CHAPTER　3。IV。
  Between　two　worlds　life　hovers　like　a　star
  'Twixt　night　and　morn。
  Byron。
  When　Glyndon　left　Viola；　as　recorded　in　the　concluding　chapter　of
  the　second　division　of　this　work；　he　was　absorbed　again　in　those
  mystical　desires　and　conjectures　which　the　haunting　recollection
  of　Zanoni　always　served　to　create。　　And　as　he　wandered　through
  the　streets；　he　was　scarcely　conscious　of　his　own　movements　till；
  in　the　mechanism　of　custom；　he　found　himself　in　the　midst　of　one
  of　the　noble　collections　of　pictures　which　form　the　boast　of
  those　Italian　cities　whose　glory　is　in　the　past。　　Thither　he　had
  been　wont；　almost　daily；　to　repair；　for　the　gallery　contained
  some　of　the　finest　specimens　of　a　master　especially　the　object　of
  his　enthusiasm　and　study。　　There；　before　the　works　of　Salvator；
  he　had　often　paused　in　deep　and　earnest　reverence。　　The　striking
  characteristic　of　that　artist　is　the　〃Vigour　of　Will；〃　void　of
  the　elevated　idea　of　abstract　beauty；　which　furnishes　a　model　and
  archetype　to　the　genius　of　more　illustrious　order；　the　singular
  energy　of　the　man　hews　out　of　the　rock　a　dignity　of　his　own。　　His
  images　have　the　majesty；　not　of　the　god；　but　the　savage；　utterly
  free；　like　the　sublimer　schools；　from　the　common…place　of
  imitation；apart；　with　them；　from　the　conventional　littleness　of
  the　Real；he　grasps　the　imagination；　and　compels　it　to　follow
  him；　not　to　the　heaven；　but　through　all　that　is　most　wild　and
  fantastic　upon　earth；　a　sorcery；　not　of　the　starry　magian；　but　of
  the　gloomy　wizard；a　man　of　romance　whose　heart　beat　strongly；
  griping　art　with　a　hand　of　iron；　and　forcing　it　to　idealise　the
  scenes　of　his　actual　life。　　Before　this　powerful　will；　Glyndon
  drew　back　more　awed　and　admiring　than　before　the　calmer　beauty
  which　rose　from　the　soul　of　Raphael；　like　Venus　from　the　deep。
  And　now；　as　awaking　from　his　reverie；　he　stood　opposite　to　that
  wild　and　magnificent　gloom　of　Nature　which　frowned　on　him　from
  the　canvas；　the　very　leaves　on　those　gnome…like；　distorted　trees
  seemed　to　rustle　sibylline　secrets　in　his　ear。　　Those　rugged　and
  sombre　Apennines；　the　cataract　that　dashed　between；　suited；　more
  than　the　actual　scenes　would　have　done；　the　mood　and　temper　of
  his　mind。　　The　stern；　uncouth　forms　at　rest　on　the　crags　below；
  and　dwarfed　by　the　giant　size　of　the　Matter　that　reigned　around
  them；　impressed　him　with　the　might　of　Nature　and　the　littleness
  of　Man。　　As　in　genius　of　the　more　spiritual　cast；　the　living　man；
  and　the　soul　that　lives　in　him；　are　studiously　made　the　prominent
  image；　and　the　mere　accessories　of　scene　kept　down；　and　cast
  back；　as　if　to　show　that　the　exile　from　paradise　is　yet　the
  monarch　of　the　outward　world；so；　in　the　landscapes　of　Salvator；
  the　tree；　the　mountain；　the　waterfall；　become　the　principal；　and
  man　himself　dwindles　to　the　accessory。　　The　Matter　seems　to　reign
  supreme；　and　its　true　lord　to　creep　beneath　its　stupendous
  shadow。　　Inert　matter　giving　interest　to　the　immortal　man；　not
  the　immortal　man　to　the　inert　matter。　　A　terrible　philosophy　in
  art！
  While　something　of　these　thoughts　passed　through　the　mind　of　the
  painter；　he　felt　his　arm　touched；　and　saw　Nicot　by　his　side。
  〃A　great　master；〃　said　Nicot；　〃but　I　do　not　love　the　school。〃
  〃I　do　not　love；　but　I　am　awed　by　it。　　We　love　the　beautiful　and
  serene；　but　we　have　a　feeling　as　deep　as　love　for　the　terrible
  and　dark。〃
  〃True；〃　said　Nicot；　thoughtfully。　　〃And　yet　that　feeling　is　only
  a　superstition。　　The　nursery；　with　its　tales　of　ghosts　and
  goblins；　is　the　cradle　of　many　of　our　impressions　in　the　world。
  But　art　should　not　seek　to　pander　to　our　ignorance；　art　should
  represent　only　truths。　　I　confess　that　Raphael　pleases　me　less；
  because　I　have　no　sympathy　with　his　subjects。　　His　saints　and
  virgins　are　to　me　only　men　and　women。〃
  〃And　from　what　source　should　painting；　then；　take　its　themes？〃
  〃From　history；　without　doubt；〃　returned　Nicot；　pragmatically；
  〃those　great　Roman　actions　which　inspire　men　with　sentiments　of
  liberty　and　valour；　with　the　virtues　of　a　republic。　　I　wish　the
  cartoons　of　Raphael　had　illustrated　the　story　of　the　Horatii；　but
  it　remains　for　France　and　her　Republic　to　give　to　posterity　the
  new　and　the　true　school；　which　could　never　have　arisen　in　a
  country　of　priestcraft　and　delusion。〃
  〃And　the　saints　and　virgins　of　Raphael　are　to　you　only　men　and
  women？〃　repeated　Glyndon；　going　back　to　Nicot's　candid　confession
  in　amaze；　and　scarcely　hearing　the　deductions　the　Frenchman　drew
  from　his　proposition。
  〃Assuredly。　　Ha；　ha！〃　and　Nicot　laughed　hideously；　〃do　you　ask　me
  to　believe　in　the　calendar；　or　what？〃
  〃But　the　ideal？〃
  〃The　ideal！〃　interrupted　Nicot。　　〃Stuff！　　The　Italian　critics；
  and　your　English　Reynolds；　have　turned　your　head。　　They　are　so
  fond　of　their　'gusto　grande；'　and　their　'ideal　beauty　that　speaks
  to　the　soul！'soul！IS　there　a　soul？　　I　understand　a　man　when
  he　talks　of　composing　for　a　refined　taste；for　an　educated　and
  intelligent　reason；　for　a　sense　that　comprehends　truths。　　But　as
  for　the　soul；bah！we　are　but　modifications　of　matter；　and
  painting　is　modification　of　matter　also。〃
  Glyndon　turned　his　eyes　from　the　picture　before　him　to　Nicot；　and
  from　Nicot　to　the　picture。　　The　dogmatist　gave　a　voice　to　the
  thoughts　which　the　sight　of　the　picture　had　awakened。　　He　shook
  his　head　without　reply。
  〃Tell　me；〃　said　Nicot；　abruptly；　〃that　imposter；Zanoni！oh！　　I
  have　now　learned　his　name　and　quackeries；　forsooth；what　did　he
  say　to　thee　of　me？〃
  〃Of　thee？　　Nothing；　but　to　warn　me　against　thy　doctrines。〃
  〃Aha！　was　that　all？〃　said　Nicot。　　〃He　is　a　notable　inventor；　and
  since；　when　we　met　last；　I　unmasked　his　delusions；　I　thought　he
  might　retaliate　by　some　tale　of　slander。〃
  〃Unmasked　his　delusions！how？〃
  〃A　dull　and　long　story：　　he　wished　to　teach　an　old　doting　friend
  of　mine　his　secrets　of　prolonged　life　and　philosophical　alchemy。
  I　advise　thee　to　renounce　so　discreditable　an　acquaintance。〃
  With　that　Nicot　nodded　significantly；　and；　not　wishing　to　be
  further　questioned；　went　his　way。
  Glyndon's　mind　at　that　moment　had　escaped　to　his　art；　and　the
  comments　and　presence　of　Nicot　had　been　no　welcome　interruption。
  He　turned　from　the　landscape　of　Salvator；　and　his　eye　falling　on
  a　Nativity　by　Coreggio；　the　contrast　between　the　two　ranks　of
  genius　struck　him　as　a　discovery。　　That　exquisite　repose；　that
  perfect　sense　of　beauty；　that　strength　without　effort；　that
  breathing　moral　of　high　art；　which　speaks　to　the　mind　through　the
  eye；　and　raises　the　thoughts；　by　the　aid　of　tenderness　and　love；
  to　the　regions　of　awe　and　wonder；ay！　THAT　was　the　true　school。
  He　quitted　the　gallery　with　reluctant　steps　and　inspired　ideas；
  he　sought　his　own　home。　　Here；　pleased　not　to　find　the　sober
  Mervale；　he　leaned　his　face　on　his　hands；　and　endeavoured　to
  recall　the　words　of　Zanoni　in　their　last　meeting。　　Yes；　he　felt
  Nicot's　talk　even　on　art　was　crime；　it　debased　the　imagination
  itself　to　mechanism。　　Could　he；　who　saw　nothing　in　the　soul　but　a
  combination　of　matter；　prate　of　schools　that　should　excel　a
  Raphael？　　Yes；　art　was　magic；　and　as　he　owned　the　truth　of　the
  aphorism；　he　could　comprehend　that　in　magic　there　may　be
  religion；　for　religion　is　an　essential　to　art。　　His　old　ambition；
  freeing　itself　from　the　frigid　prudence　with　which　Mervale　sought
  to　desecrate　all　images　less　substantial　than　the　golden　calf　of
  the　world；　revived；　and　stirred；　and　kindled。　　The　subtle
  detection　of　what　he　conceived　to　be　an　error　in　the　school　he
  had　hitherto　adopted；　made　more　manifest　to　him　by　the　grinning
  commentary　of　Nicot；　seemed　to　open　to　him　a　new　world　of
  invention。　　He