at the time, his DRAWINGS were
admirable for symmetry, simple elegance, and classic vigour; at the same
time they unquestionably wanted ideal grace. He was fond of selecting
subjects from Roman history, rather than from the copious world of
Grecian beauty, or those still more sublime stories of scriptural record
from which Raphael and Michael Angelo borrowed their inspirations. His
grandeur was that not of gods and saints, but mortals. His delineation
of beauty was that which the eye cannot blame and the soul does
not acknowledge. In a word, as it was said of Dionysius, he was an
Anthropographos, or Painter of Men. It was also a notable contradiction
in this person, who was addicted to the most extravagant excesses in
every passion, whether of hate or love, implacable in revenge, and
insatiable in debauch, that he was in the habit of uttering the most
beautiful sentiments of exalted purity and genial philanthropy. The
world was not good enough for him; he was, to use the expressive German
phrase, A WORLD-BETTERER! Nevertheless, his sarcastic lip often seemed
to mock the sentiments he uttered, as if it sought to insinuate that he
was above even the world he would construct.

Finally, this painter was in close correspondence with the Republicans
of Paris, and was held to be one of those missionaries whom, from the
earliest period of the Revolution, the regenerators of mankind were
pleased to despatch to the various states yet shackled, whether by
actual tyranny or wholesome laws. Certainly, as the historian of Italy
(Botta.) has observed, there was no city in Italy where these new
doctrines would be received with greater favour than Naples, partly from
the lively temper of the people, principally because the most hateful
feudal privileges, however partially curtailed some years before by the
great minister, Tanuccini, still presented so many daily and practical
evils as to make change wear a more substantial charm than the mere and
meretricious bloom on the cheek of the harlot, Novelty. This man, whom
I will call Jean Nicot, was, therefore, an oracle among the younger and
bolder spirits of Naples; and before Glyndon had met Zanoni, the former
had not been among the least dazzled by the eloquent aspirations of the
hideous philanthropist.

"It is so long since we have met, cher confrere," said Nicot, drawing
his seat nearer to Glyndon's, "that you cannot be surprised that I
see you with delight, and even take the liberty