p406-074

“Embosomed by the hills, whose forms around
Stand sentinel'd with grandeur.”
Anon.

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

One of the circumstances which gives the traveller rather
painful assurance of his approach to the northern
confines of Italy, is that he finds himself once more ensconced
within that most comfortless of all locomotives,
except the lettiga of Sicily,—a Diligence. The straggling,
untrimmed horses, and harlequin-looking postilions
bobbing up and down most pitifully; the constant cracking
of the whip, and the lurching and shivering of the
clumsy fabric, are but the exterior graces which the
vehicle boasts. At night, the roof within is often hung
with baskets of provisions, and countless hats and bonnets
which dangle most disturbingly in the face of the
sleeping passenger; and when he has, at length, lost
himself in a pleasant dream, and commenced an imaginary
colloquy with some fair object left at the place of his
last sojourn, a sudden jolt pitches him upon his neighbor,
or an abrupt stoppage of the ponderous machine, rouses

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

him to a sense of stiffened joints, yawing ostlers, and an
execrating conducteur. It is, however, well that one
leaving the dreamy atmosphere of the South, should be
thus initiated into a more practical habit, and have the
radiant mists of imagination dissipated from his brain.
The Diligence is an excellent preparatory symbol of the
more utilitarian regions and prosaic localities, towards
which his pilgrimage tends. From the corner of one of
these minature arks—despite the grumbling of an old lady
by my side, the nap of whose lap dog I disturbed, and the
angry chattering of a parrot, whose pendant cage was vibrating
overhead—I succeeded, one afternoon, in withdrawing
myself sufficiently, to look from the window over
the surrounding fields. They presented a broad level
plain, covered with fresh green grain, which a band of
women, whose heads were enveloped in red cotton handkerchiefs,
were assiduously reaping. The air was still,
and the sky cloudy. A few trees, chiefly small poplars
and mulberries, rose here and there along the road. And
yet, meagre as was the natural scenery, it was a spot
abounding in interest. Thirty-eight years before, it was
the arena where contending armies battled for the possession
of Italy, and men were mown down as the grain, then
waving over their graves, fell beneath the sickles of the
reapers. It was the plain of Marengo. Near yonder
plantation of vines, Desaix took up his position. Across
these fields the French line stretched imposingly away.
And when the Austrians were so incautiously pursuing
their success, it was in the midst of this now deserted level,
that Napoleon met his brave ally, who, rushing forward

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

at his bidding, met, almost immediately, his death. It
was hence, too, that the brave Melas, then more than
eighty years of age, considering the day won, and overcome
with fatigue, retired to Alexandria, only to hear in
a few hours, of his army's defeat. After this celebrated
battle, Turin became the metropolis of the French department
of the Po, and fourteen years after was restored to
Sardinia. It is not surprising that the young mind of
Alfieri was greatly impressed on entering this city. Its
broad, clean streets radiating from a common centre; its
airy arcades forming, like the passages of the French metropolis,
most agreeable promenades, and its cheerful aspect
may well captivate a stranger's eye. One scarcely
realizes, at Turin, that he is within the precints of an Italian
city. There is a modern look about the buildings,
an elegance in the shops and caffés, and altogether an air
of life and gayety, which brings Paris forcibly to mind.
Indeed, the proximity of this capital to France, neutralizes,
in no small degree, its Ausonian characteristics.
The language is a mixture of French and Italian; and
Goldoni found the taste here so strong for the French
stage, that, during his visit to Turin, he composed his comedy
of Moliere, to avail himself of the attraction of that
author's name. There are few finer public squares in
Europe than the Piazza del Castello, and no, more
beautiful prospect of its kind than that from the church of
La Superga, where the bones of the Sardinian kings repose.
The small number of paupers, and the frequent
instances of manly beauty among the military officers,
are peculiarly striking. Sometimes, beneath the porches,

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

a procession of nuns, poorly but neatly clad, is encountered,
with garlands and tapers, headed by a fat priest
chanting the burial service. The neighborhood of the
Alps is disagreeably indicated by the number of women
seen in the streets with goitres. They come, for the
most part, from the base of Mt. Cenis and Susa, where
this disease is very common, and still attributed by the
common people, to the chill the throat constantly receives
from the extreme coldness of the water. We are reminded
of old Gonzalo's query in the Tempest:—`Who would
believe that there were Mountaineers dew-lapp'd like
bulls, whose throats had hanging at them wallets of
flesh?' Turin is the coldest city in Italy. The circumadjacent
mountains are scarcely ever entirely free from
snow. As one looks upon them, frequently surmounted
by variegated clouds, or, in dull weather, bathed with the
yellow gleam of the struggling sunbeams playing on their
white scalps, with here and there a dark streak where the
snow has melted away, the appropriateness of the name of
this section of Italy becomes more apparent—pie di
monte—foot of the mountains.

I found an unusual number of priests reading in the
University library, and not a few peasants seated at the
reading desks—a note-worthy and pleasant circumstance.
It is interesting, when wandering about the precincts of
this institution, to remember that it was the scene of that
mis-education, of which Alfieri has drawn so vivid a picture
in his autobiography. It was here that so many of
his young days were wasted in wearisome sickness;
where he was bribed or threatened into labors for his

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

stupid but powerful school mate; where he looked so long
upon the adjacent theatre, which he was only allowed to
enter five or six times a year, during carnival; and where
he suffered so long from the tyranny of a capricious and
pampered valet. In Turin, the stern tragedian first knew
the sweet delights of poetry in his stolen and secret communion
with Ariosto and Metastasio. Here he laid the
foundation of those dissipated habits which, he had the
rare moral courage to vanquish—suddenly vaulting from
the low level of a life of pleasure, to the most determined
and assiduous career that genius and industry ever
achieved. Here, too, his ardent soul first experienced
the delicious excitements of music, horsemanship, and
love—those inspiring resources of his after years.

The exhibition of the stranger's passport at Turin, is
sufficient to introduce him to the Royal Gallery. It is
interesting chiefly for its specimens of the Vandyck
school—those expressive portraits which have so long
formed the study of artists, and ever charmed that large portion
of the curious who delight in observing the `human
face divine.' There is one of Carlo Dolce's most characteristic
Madonnas, full of the mildness, soft coloring, and
timid execution which belong to his heads. That class
of woman's admirers, who would fain make the standard
of her attractiveness proportionate to the absence of any
strong traits, should collect the female faces portrayed by
this artist. A short time spent in contemplating such an
array, would convince them of the absolute necessity of
elevating their ideal of the sex, if they would have the
spell of their graces perpetuated. But the picture which

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

chains the attention in this gallery, is one of Murillo's
master-pieces. Some of the biographers of the Spanish
limner, seem to lament that his purpose of visiting Italy
was never fulfilled. It would certainly be a cause of just
regret, if the obscurity of his lot had doomed him for life,
to paint nothing but banners for exportation, and fruit
pieces for immediate sale; but since scope was given to
his genius at the Escurial, and it was encouraged to a
free and happy development at home, we cannot but deem
it a happy destiny that prevented him from ever leaving
his native country. There is no little error in the prevalent
notion, that a true painter, so constituted by nature,
is necessarily to improve by a visit to Italy. On the contrary,
numerous instances might be cited, where such a
course has been fatal to the individuality of the artist's
style. His real force is thereby often sacrificed to a false
manner. Servile imitation frequently supersedes
originality. He ponders the works of the old masters too
often, only to adopt certain of their peculiarities, instead
of being quickened to put forth what is characteristic in
himself. Such has, in many cases, been the result with
regard to young votaries of art among us, who after giving
certain proofs of talent, have gone abroad only to bring
home an improved taste, perhaps, but not seldom a far
inferior execution. Murillo was a genuine child of nature.
He painted, as Goldsmith wrote, from individual
inspiration. Who laments that his style is not so elevated
as that of Raphael, nor so graceful as that of Correggio?
If it were one or the other or both, he would not be Murillo.
What we love in him, is his singular truth to

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

nature—so fresh and vivid in expression—such a unity
of coloring, such a semblance of life! When one stands
before his Mother and Child, in the Palace at Florence,
does it require much imagination, momentarily to fancy,
that the infant is springing from the bosom of its mother
into our arms? There is an almost perceptible motion
in its posture, and a look of recognition in its eyes, that
haunts us at every step. How often does the traveller in
Italy—he who is wedded to that inexpressible charm in
life, society and art, which we call nature—lament the
paucity of Murillo's paintings! How often does he sigh
for a journey into Spain, that he may behold more of them!
The picture of which Turin boasts, represents Homer
with the laurel wreath straggling round his head, as an
improvisatore, and an amanuensis recording his song.
The bard appears like a fresh portrait of one of those
blind old men so often seen in southern Europe. The
singular blandness of such countenances who has not
noted? They wear a pensive, but peaceful expression, as
if sweet thoughts were cheering their darkness. The
light of poetry hovers round the brow. We feel that although
bereft of vision, the bard sees. The deep things
of life are unveiled to his inward gaze. And, then, how
plainly the other figure listens! We soon cease to lament
the blindness of the minstrel, in regretting that he
is dumb.

A son of Carlo Botta, the historian, follows the profession
of an engraver in this capital. It is but recently
that his justly renowned parent died in poverty at Paris.
Five hundred copies of his works, in sheets, were given,

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

as the only recompense in his power to afford, to the physicians
who attended his wife in her last illness. This adds
one more to the countless anecdotes illustrative of the
melancholy lot of authors. But in this instance, the high
merit and estimable qualities of the individual, enhance
the pain with which every feeling mind must contemplate
his fate. It would be a pleasing thought if we, the people
of a free and prosperous land, had contributed to the comfort
of one in his declining years, who, when in the full
vigor of his intellect, devoted himself, most enthusiastically,
to recording the history of our Revolution. The details
of the war of independence are chiefly known on the
continent through the history of Botta. No single work
has served so effectually to establish the fame of that glorious
event in the minds of Italians. One of the first
questions they ask a comer from the New World is, if he
has read La Guerra Americana by Carlo Botta? The
work is a beautiful monument of the sympathy of one of
the gifted of that nation in the cause of freedom; and
happy would it have been, had our government added to
the honorary title of citizen, the means of smoothing the
venerable historian's passage to the grave. Another
of his sons is travelling in Arabia, for the Jardin des
Plantes. The father's last literary effort was a translation
of a voyage round the world by an American captain,
of whom this son was a companion. The latter is about
publishing it, and the proceeds, with the hon rable name
he boasts, will constitute his paternal heri age.

I could not leave Turin, without seeing the author of
Le Mie Prigioni. That beautiful and affecting record

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

of human suffering has spread the name of Silvio Pellico
over the civilized world. The despots of Europe have
endeavored in vain to prevent its entrance into their territories;
being well aware, that no harsh invectives
against tyranny, no panegyrics in praise of free institutions,
however eloquent and insidious, possess a tithe
of the power to arouse men to a sense of their rights,
which lives in such a calm and simple narrative of one of
the victims of their cruelty. How many honest bosoms
have glowed with indignation at the picture this amiable
and gifted Italian has painted, of his tortures under the
leads of a Venetian prison, and amid the cold walls of
the Spielberg fortress! How many have admired the resources
of intellect, philosophy, and affection, by which
the unfortunate prisoner made even captivity captive!
His correspondence with his fellow sufferer, his league
of amity with his keeper, his reading, poems, and reveries—
how do they shed a halo of moral brightness around
the gloom of his dungeon! His hope deferred, his agonizing
suspense, and, at length, his liberation and happy
return to the bosom of his family—all related with so
much truthfulness and feeling,—what an interest have
they excited in behalf of the innocent object of such cruel
persecution! Sharing this sentiment, I was not a little
disappointed to find that Pellico was absent from the
group of Piedmontese literati, who convene every evening
at one of the caffés. An abbé, his friend, informed
me, that the illuess of his father confined Silvio almost
constantly at home. Every one remembers the deep affection
with which he always alludes to his parents. I

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

found that the strength of this sentiment was not exaggerated
in his memoirs. His father was rapidly declining
with age, and the son only left his bed-side for a few
moments to breathe the fresh air. At one of these intervals,
I paid him a visit. Pellico is now about thirty-eight
years of age, small in stature, and wears glasses. His
complexion is deadly pale, blanched by the blighting shadow
of a dungeon. His brow is broad and high, and his
expression serious and thoughtful. He was courteous
and affable, spoke with deep emotion of his father, and
seemed much gratified at the interest his work had excited
in America. Notwithstanding the immense number
of copies of Le Mie Prigioni which have been sold on
the continent, and that it has been translated into so many
languages, the author has derived no pecuniary benefit,
except the two thousand francs he received from the
original publisher at Turin. He is at present patrouized
by a rich and liberal Marchesa, who has made him
her librarian. He dines almost daily at her table, but
resides with his parents. It must be confessed, that the
sufferings of Pellico have, in no small measure, subdued
his early enthusiasm. Some of the young advocates of
liberal principles, in Italy, profess no little disappointment,
that one who was so near becoming a martyr to
their cause, should have turned derotee. They are displeased
that Pellico should now only employ his pen upon
Catholic hymns and religious odes. Such objectors
seem not to consider the extent and severity of the trials to
which the mind of the author has been exposed. They
appear, too, to lose sight of the peril of his situation. It

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

is only by retirement and quiet, that he can hope to enjoy
in peace, the privilege of watching over and consoling
the last years of his parents. Jealous eyes are ever upon
him. Few are the spirits which would not be unnerved
from their native buoyancy, by such a tragic experience as
he has known; few the hearts that would not, at the close
of such sufferings, fall back upon themselves, and cherish
serenity as the great boon of existence. When I received
his kindly-uttered buon viaggio, and followed his retreating
figure as he went to resume his station by his father's
bed-side, I could not but feel that the tyranny of Austria
had not yet exhausted itself upon his nature—that his spirit
had not wholly rebounded from the repression of despotism;
but I felt, too, that he had nobly endured enough to
deserve aniversal sympathy, and be wholly justified in applying
to himself the sentiment of Milton: `They also
serve who only stand and wait.'

p406-085

`The cell
Haunted by love, the earliest oracle.'
Byron.

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

The surface of the sea assumed the crystalline quietude
of a summer calm. The dangling sails flapped
wearily; the sun slept with a fierce and dead heat upon
the scorching deck; and even the thin line of smoke
which rose from Stromboli, appeared fixed, like a light
cloud, in the breezeless sky. I sought relief from the monotonous
stillness and offensive glare, by noting my fellow
passengers, who seemed to have caught the quiescent mood
of surrounding nature, and resigned themselves to listlessness
and silence. Delano was lolling upon a light settee,
supporting his head upon his hand, and with halfclosed
eyes, thinking, I well knew, of the friends we had
left, a few hours before, in Sicily. Of all Yankees I ever
saw, my companion most rarely combined the desirable
peculiarities of that unique race with the superadded
graces of less inflexible natures. For native intellgence

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

and ready perception, for unflinching principle and manly
sentiment, his equal is seldom encountered; but the idea
of thrift, the eager sense of self-interest, and the iron
bond of local prejudice, which too often disfigure the unalloyed
New-England character, had been tempered to their
just proportion, in his disposition, by the influence of
travel and society. On the opposite side of the deck, sat
a young lady, regarding with a half-painful, half devoted
expression, a youth who was leaning against the companion-way,
ever and anon glancing at the small yellow slippers
that encased his feet, while he complacently arranged
his luxuriant mustaches. These two were affianced;
and by a brief observation of their mutual bearing, I soon
inferred the history of the connection, and subsequent
knowledge confirmed my conjecture.

The Prince of — had paid his addresses to the eldest
daughter of the Duke de Falco, with a view of replenishing
his scanty purse; and by dint of some accomplishments
and much plausibility, had succeeded not only in
obtaining the promise of her hand, but in winning the
priceless, but alas! unrecompensed boon of her affection.
Often, in the course of our voyage, when I marked
her sudden gaze of disappointment, as she sought in vain
for a responsive glance from her betrothed, I could not
but realize one fruitful source of that corruption of manners
which characterizes the island of their birth. And
not unfrequently, as I saw the parental pride and tenderness
with which the old man caressed his children, have
I wondered that he could ever bring himself to sacrifice
their best happiness to ambitious designs. Yet the

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

history of every European family abounds in such dark episodes.
The daughters of the South open their eyes upon
the fairest portion of the universe, and during the unsophisticated
years of early youth, their affections, precociously
developed by a genial clime and ardent temperament,
become interested in the first being who appeals to
their sympathies, or captivates their imagination. The
claims of these feelings, the first and deepest of which
they are conscious, if at all opposed to previous projects
of personal aggrandizement, are scorned by their natural
guardians. And yet when the warmest and richest attributes
of their natures are thus unceremoniously sacrificed
to some scheme of heartless policy, it is deemed wonderful
that in the artificial society thus formed, principle and
fidelity do not abide! What is so sacred in the estimation
of youth, as a spontaneous sentiment? And when
this is treated with cold sacrilege, what hallowed ground of
the heart remains, on which Virtue can rear her indestructible
temple? The elder children, however, are generally
the victims of this convential system, and when its main
object is accomplished, the others are often left to the exercise
of their natural freedom. With this consoling reflection,
I turned to the second sister, who was reading near
by, under the shadow of a light umbrella, which a young
Frenchman held over her head. Never were two countenances
more in contrast, than those of the donna Paolina,
and Monsieur Jacques. There were certain indications
in the play of her mouth and expression of her eye,
that, youthful as she was, the morning of her life had been
familiar with some of those deep trials of feeling, the effect

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

of which never wholly vanishes from the face of woman.
His physiognomy evinced both intelligence and amiability,
and yet one might study it for ever, and not feel that
it was animated by a soul. Upon a mattress beneath the
awning, her shoulders proped up by pillows, and her
form covered with a silk cloak, reposed the youngest, and
by far the most lovely, of the sisters. Angelica had seen
but sixteen summers, notwithstanding the maturity of expression
and manner so perceptible above the child-like
demeanor of girlhood. Her dark hair lay half unloosed
around one of the sweetest brows, and relieved the rich bloom
of her complexion, as she dozed, unconscious of the admiring
gaze of a Neapolitan officer, who stood at her feet. I
had scarcely time to notice the exquisite contour of her
features, when she started at an observation of her sister,
and the smile and voice with which she replied, redoubled
the silent enchantment of her beauty. At a distance from
us all, as if to complete the variety of the party, stood an
Englishman, whose folded arms and averted gaze sufficiently
indicated that, for the time at least, he had
enveloped himself in the forbidding mantle of his nation's
reserve.

At sunset, a fresh breeze sprang up, and the spirits of
our little party rose beneath its invigorating breath. I have
often had occasion to observe the admirable facility with
which travellers in some parts of Europe assimilate. It
always struck me as delightfully human. One may
traverse the whole extent of the United States, and all the
while feel himself a stranger. If a fellow traveller
engage him in conversation, it is probably merely for the

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

purpose of extracting information, satisfying curiosity,
or ascertaining his opinions on politics or religion,
objects so intrinsically selfish, that the very idea of them
is sufficient to repel any thing like the cordial and frank
interchange of feeling. This is perhaps one reason why
our people have such a passion for rapid journeys. One
of the chief pleasures of a pilgrimage is unknown to them;
and it is not wonderful that men should wish to fly through
that worst of solitudes, the desert of a crowd. In the old
world, however, and especially in its southern regions, it
is deemed but natural that those who are thrown together
within the precincts of the same vessel or carriage, should
maintain that kindly intercourse which so greatly enhances
the pleasures and lessens the inconvenience
of travel. In the present instance, a score of people
were collected on board the same craft, and destined to
pass several days in company, strangers to each other,
yet alike endowed with common susceptibilities and
wants; what truer philosophy than to meet freely on the
arena of our common humanity? Fortunately, we had
all been long enough abroad, to be prepared to adopt this
course, and accordingly, it was interesting to remark,
how soon we were at ease, and on the friendly footing of
old acquaintances. There was a general emulation to be
disinterested. One vied with the other in offices of courtesy;
and even the incorrigible demon of the mal sur mer
was speedily exorcised by the magic wand of sympathy.
I was impressed, as I had often been before, by the fact
that the claims of a foreigner seemed to be graduated, in
the estimation of the natives, by the distance of his

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

country. Delano and myself, when known to be Americans,
soon became the special recipients of kindness; and the
ten days at sea passed away like a few hours. We walked
the deck, when it was sufficiently calm, with our fair
companions, in friendly converse; and leaned over the
side, at sun-set, to study the gorgeous cloud-pictures of
the western sky. We traced together the beautiful scenery
of the isles in the Bay of Naples, and the night air
echoed with the chorus of our songs. And when blessed by
the moonlight, which renders transcendant the beauty of
these regions, our vigils were interrupted only by the rising
sun. Even when the motion of the vessel interfered
with our promenade, forming a snug circle under the
lee, we beguiled many an evening with those gamesome
trifles, so accordant with the Italian humor and vivacity.
Two of these sports, I remember, were prolific occasions
of mirth. The president appoints to each of the party a
procuratore, or advocate, and then proposes certain queries
or remarks to the different individuals. It is a law
of the game, that no one shall reply, except through his
advocate. But as the conversation becomes animated,
it is more and more difficult to observe the rule; many
are taken off their guard by the ingenuity of the president,
and commit themselves by a gratuitous reply, or neglect
of their clients, and are accordingly obliged to pay a forfeit.
Another is called dressing the bride. The president
assigns to all some profession or trade, and after a
preliminary harangue, which affords abundant opportunity
for the display of wit, calls upon his hearers to make a
contribution to the bridal vestments, appropriate to their

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

several occupations. As these are any thing but adapted
to furnish such materials, the gifts are incongruous in the
extreme; and the grotesque combination of apparel, thus
united upon a single person, is irresistibly ludicrous.
The point of the game is, to keep from laughing, which,
from the ridiculous images and odd associations presented
to the fancy, at the summing up of the bridal adornments,
is next to impossible. The consequence is, a
series of penances, which, by the ready invention of
the leader, who is generally selected for his quick parts,
in their turn augment the fun to which this curious game
gives birth.

On arriving at our destination, we were condemned
to perform a quarantine of fourteen days, according to
the absurd practice but too prevalent in Mediterranean
ports. Seldom, however, are such annunciations so
complacently received by voyagers wearied with the confinement
of ship-board, and eager for the freedom and variety
of the shore. In spite of the exclamations of disappointment
which were uttered, it was easy to trace a certain
contentment on many of the countenances of the
group, the very reverse of that expression with which the
unwilling prisoner surrenders himself to the pains of durance.
The truth was, that for several days the intercourse
of some of the younger of our party had been verging
upon something more interesting than mere acquaintance.
Angelica had fairly charmed more than one of the
youthful spirits on board; and there was an evident unwillingness
on their part to resign the contest, just as it had
reached a significant point of interest. Being fond of

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

acting the spectator, I had discovered a fund of quiet
amusement in observing the little drama which was enacting,
and nothing diverted me more than the apparent
perfect unconsciousness of the actors that their by-play
could be noted, and its motives discerned. My sympathies
were naturally most warmly enlisted in behalf of
poor Delano, notwithstanding that, after exhibiting the
most incontestible symptoms of love, he had the assurance
to affect anger toward me, because I detected meaning
in his assiduous attentions to the little syren.

The place of our confinement consisted of a paved
square, or rather oblong, surrounded with stone buildings.
Within the narrow limits of this court, were continually
moving to and fro the occupants of the adjacent rooms,
stepping about with the utmost caution, now and then
starting at the approach of some fellow-prisoner, and
crying largo! as the fear of contact suggested an indefinite
prolongation of their imprisonment. Occasionally
old acquaintances would chance to meet, and in the joy
of mutual recognition, forget their situation, hasten toward
each with extended hands, and perhaps be prevented
from embracing only by the descending staff of the watchful
guard. It was diverting to watch these manœuvres,
through our grated windows; and every evening we failed
not to be amused at the in-gathering, when the chief sentinel,
armed with a long bamboo, made the circuit of the
yards, and having collected us, often with no little difficulty,
like so many stray sheep, ushered us with as much
gravity as our sarcasms would permit, to our several
quarters, and locked us up for the night. The variety of

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

nations and individuals thus congregated within such
narrow bounds, was another cause of diversion. Opposite
our rooms, a celebrated prima donna sat all day at her
embroidery, singing, sotto voce, the most familiar opera
airs. Over the fence of the adjoining court, for hours in
the afternoon, leaned a Spanish cavalier, one of the adherents
of Don Carlos, whom misfortunes had driven into
exile. A silent figure, in a Greek dress, lounged at the
door beneath us, and at the extremity of the court, a Turk
sat all the morning, in grave contemplation. With this
personage we soon opened a parley in Italian, and I was
fond of eliciting his ideas and marking his habits. He
certainly deserved to be ranked among nature's philosophers.
After breakfast, he regularly locked the door upon
his wives, and took his station upon the stone seat, where,
hour after hour, he would maintain so motionless a position,
as to wear the semblance of an image in Eastern costume.
His face was finely formed, and its serious aspect and dark
mustaches were relieved by a quiet meekness of manner.
He appeared to consider himself the passive creature of a
higher power, and deemed it the part of true wisdom to
fulfil the requisite functions of nature, and, for the rest,
take things as they came, nor attempt to stem the tide of
fate, except by imperturbable gravity, and perpetual smoking.
He assured me that he considered this a beautiful
world, but the Franks (as he called all Europeans,) made
a vile place of it, by their wicked customs and silly bustle.
According to his theory, the way to enjoy life, was to go
through its appointed offices with tranquil dignity, make no
exertion that could possibly be avoided, and repose

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

quiescent upon the decrees of destiny. And yet Mustapha was
not without his moral creed; and I have seldom known one
revert to such requisitions with more sincere reverence, or
follow their dictates with resolution so apparently invincible.
`There is but one difference,' said he, `in our religion;
the Supreme Being whom you designate as Deo, I
call Allah. We take unto ourselves four wives, and we do
so to make sure of the blessing for which you pray—not to
be led into temptation.' Of all vices, he appeared to regard
intemperance with the greatest disgust, and was evidently
much pained to see the ladies of our party promenading
the court unveiled. `Are your wives beautiful?' I
inquired. `In my view,' he replied, `they are lovely, and
that is sufficient.' I asked him if they resembled any of
the ladies who frequented the walk. `It would be a sin,'
he answered, `for me to gaze at them, and never having
done so, I cannot judge.' In answer to my request
that he would afford me an opportunity of forming my
own opinion, by allowing me a sight of his wives.
`Signor,' he said, with much solemnity, `when a Frank
has once looked upon one of our women, she is no
longer fit to be the wife of a Turk.' And he appears to
have acted strictly upon this principle, for when the custode
abruptly entered his room, as they were all seated at
breakfast, Mustapha suddenly caught up the coverlid from
the bed, and threw it over their heads.

There is a law in physics, called the attraction of cohesion,
by which the separate particles composing a body
are kept together, till a more powerful agency draws them
into greater masses. Upon somewhat such a principle, I

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

suppose it was, that the parties convened in the Lazzaret,
darting from one another in zig-zag lines, like insects
on the surface of a pool, were brought into more intimate
companionship, from being denied association with those
around, except at a respectable distance, and under the
strictest surveillance. Our company, at least, were soon
established on the intimate terms of a family, and the indifferent
observer could scarcely have augured from appearances,
that we were but a knot of strangers, brought
together by the vicissitudes of travelling. And now
the spirit of gallantry began to exhibit itself anew;
in the Neapolitan with passionate extravagance, in the
Frenchman with studied courtesies, and in the Yankee
with quiet earnestness. At dinner, the first day, the latter
took care to keep in the back ground, till most of the
party had selected seats, and then, seemingly by the merest
accident, glided among the ladies, and secured a post
between the two younger sisters. This successful
manœuvre so offended the Englishman, that he retired
from the field in high dudgeon, and never paid any farther
attention to the fair Italians than what civility required.
The remaining aspirants only carried on the contest
more warmly. I was obliged almost momently to turn
aside to conceal an irresistible smile at their labored politeness
towards each other, and the show of indifference
to the object of their devoirs, which each in turn assumed,
when slightly discomfited. Nor could I wonder at the
eagerness of the pursuit, as I beheld that lovely creature
seated at her book, or work, in a simple but tasteful dress
of white, and watched the play of a countenance in

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

which extreme youth and modesty were blent in strangely
sweet contrast with the repose of innocence, the vividness
of talent, and beauty so rare and heart-touching. I
could not, too, but wonder at the manner in which
she received the attention of her admirers—a manner so
amiable as to disarm jealousy, and so impartial as to
baffle the acutest on-looker who strove to divine her real
sentiments. There is a power of manner and expression
peculiar to women, more potent and variable than
any attribute vouchsafed to man; and were it not so often
despoiled of its charm by affectation, we should more
frequently feel its wonderful capacity. In the daughters
of southren climes, at that age when `existence is all a
feeling, not yet shaped into a thought,' it is often manifested
in singular perfection, and never have I seen it
more so than in Angelica. It was a lesson in the art of
love, worthy of Ovidius himself, to mark the course of
the rival three. Such ingenious tricks to secure her arm
for the evening walk; such eager watching to obtain the
vacant seat at her side; such countless expedients to
arouse her mirth, amuse her with anecdote, or interest
her in conversation; and such inexpressible triumph,
when her eye beamed pleasantly upon the successful competitor!
The Neapolitan cast burning glances of passion,
whenever he could meet her gaze: quoted Petrarch,
and soothed his hopeless moments by dark looks, intended
to alarm his brother gallants, and awaken her pity.
The Frenchman, on the contrary, was all smiles, constantly
studying his toilet and attitude, and laboring, by the
most graceful artifices, to fascinate the fancy of his

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

ladylove. The Yankee evinced his admiration by an unassuming
but unvarying devotion. If Angelica dropped
her fan, he was ever the one to restore it; was the evening
chill, he always thought of her shawl, and often his dinner
grew cold upon his neglected plate, while he was attending
to her wants. One day her album was circulated.
Don Carlo, the Neapolitan, wrote a page of glowing protestations,
asserting his inextinguishable love. Monsieur
Jacques, in the neatest chirography, declared that the recent
voyage had been the happiest of his life, and his present
confinement more delightful than mountain liberty,
in the company of so perfect a nymph. Delano simply
declared, that the sweet virtues of Angelica sanctified her
beauty to his memory and heart.

There are some excellent creatures in this world,
whose lives seem to conduce to every body's happiness
but their own. Such an one was the donna Paolina.
Affable and engaging, and with a clear and cultivated
mind, she lacked the personal loveliness of her sisters,
and yet rejoiced in it as if it were her own. No one could
remain long in the society of the two, without perceiving
that the confidence between them was perfect, and founded
on that mutual adaptation which we but occasionally
behold, even in the characters of those allied by the ties
of a common parentage. To this kind-hearted girl I discovered
that the lovers had separately applied for counsel
and support in the prosecution of their suits. Don Carlo
begged her to warn her sister against the advances of the
Frenchman, as he knew him to be a thorough hypocrite;
and Monsieur Jacques returned the compliment, by

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

assuring her that the Neapolitan was by no means sufficiently
refined and accomplished to be the companion of so
delicate a creature as Angelica. Young Jonathan, with
a more manly policy, so won the esteem of Paolina, by
dwelling upon the excellencies of her sister, that she became
his unwavering advocate. I confess that as the appointed
period of durance drew to a close, I began to feel
anxious as to the result of all this dallying with the tender
passion. I saw that Monsieur was essentially selfish
in his suit, and that vanity was its basis. It was evident
that the Neapolitan was stimulated by one of those ardent
and sudden partialities, which are as capricious as the
flashes of a volcano, and often as temporary. In truth,
there was not enough of the spirit of sacrifice, or vital attachment,
in their love, to warrant the happiness of the
gentle being whose outward charms alone had captivated
their senses. Delano, I knew, was sincere, and my fears
were, that his future peace was involved in the result.
At length the last evening of our quarantine had arrived.
Mons. Jacques had played over, as usual, all her favorite
airs on his guitar, and Carlo had just fervently recited a
glowing passage from some Italian poet, descriptive of a
lover's despair, when sunset, playing through the bars of
our window, reminded us that the cool hour of the day
was at hand, when it was our custom to walk in the outer
court. As we went forth, there was that eloquently
sad silence, with which even the most thoughtless engage
in an habitual employment for the last time. No one
anticipated me in securing the companionship of the
sweet child of nature, whose beauty and gentleness had

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

brightened to us all, so many days of pilgrimage and confinement;
and I determined to improve it, by ascertaining,
if possible, the probable success of my poor friend. I
spoke of the many pleasant hours we had passed together,
of that social sympathy which had cheered and consoled,
and asked her if even those narrow walls would not be
left with regret. `Consider,' said I, `you will no more
be charmed with the exquisite elegance of Monsieur
Jacques'—she looked up to see if I really thought her
capable of being interested by such conventional graces—
`or be enlivened,' I continued, `by the enthusiastic converse
of Don Carlo'—she smiled—`or know,' I added,
with a more serious and searching glance, `the affectionate
and gifted society of Delano'—a tear filled her eye,
but the smile assumed a brighter meaning. I looked up,
and he was before us, gazing from one to the other, with
an expression of joyful inquiry, which flashed the happiest
conviction on my mind. The passionate Neapolitan had
flattered, and the genteel Frenchman had amused, but the
faithful Yankee had won the heart of Angelica De Falco.

p406-100

“Florence, beneath the sun
Of cities, fairest one.”
Shelley.

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

We had been riding all night along the Arno, whose
turgid waters were shrunk to half their usual dimensions,
by the intense heat of midsummer. Dawn was gradually
unveiling the heavens, and spreading a soft, silvery light
over the landscape, as we drew near the termination of
our journey. The vines, by the road-side, stirred cheerfully
in the morning breeze, and as one after another of
their broad leaves was uplifted, the mossy boughs of the
mulberry trees upon which they are festooned, were momentarily
revealed, brightened by the grateful dew. The
full grain beneath them, bowed by its own weight, glistened
with the same moisture, condensed in chrystals upon
its bended tops; and to vary the rich carpet so lavishly
spread over the earth, a patch of lupens or artichokes, occasionally
appeared, from amid which, rose the low, grey
olive, or thin poplar of Tuscany. Sometimes a few

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

dwarfed pines indicated the site of ancient woods, long since
extirpated by the genius of Agriculture, or some remnant
of an ancient wall marked the old feudal boundaries of
the landholders. A still more interesting memorial of
those times exists farther back, in the shape of a picturesque
tower, celebrated on account of its having been taken
by a curious stratagem. Lights were appended to the
horns of a flock of goats, which, in the night, appeared
like an army, and frightened away the hesieged. Early
as was the hour, a large group of poor women, spinning
flax, were awaiting at the gate of a villa, the customary
alms of its proprietor; and often a bend in the river
brought us in view of several men dragging a heavily
laden barge through its narrow channel. As the day
broke, we came in sight of Florence. The mighty dome
of its cathedral—that noble monument of the genius of
Brunelleschi, and the graceful tower by its side, rose from
the mass of dense buildings, like a warrior of the middle
ages, and a fair devotee of some more peaceful epoch,
standing in the centre, to guard and hallow the city. Far
around the walls, spread the hills with a fertile beauty and
protecting grace, and through the midst wound the Arno,
gleaming in the morning sun. It is a curious feeling—
that with which we revisit an Italian city, familiar and
endeared to our memory. There are none of those striking
local changes, which startle the absentee on his return
to the New World. The outward scene is the same;
but what revolutions may not his own feelings have undergone,
since he last beheld it! How may experience
have subdued enthusiasm, and suffering chastened hope!

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

Will the solemn beauty of the church wherein he was wont
to lose himself in holy musing, beguile him, as of old, to
meditative joy? Will the picture before which he so often
stood, wrapt in admiration, awaken his heart as before?
Will the calm beauty of the favorite statue once more
soothe his impatient soul? Will the rich and moving
strain for which he has so long thirsted, ever thrill as
when it first fell upon his ear? And `the old, familiar
faces'—have a few years passed them by untouched? In
such a reverie I went forth to revive the associations of
Florence. The dreamy atmosphere of a warm and cloudy
day accorded with the pensive delight with which I retraced
scenes unexpectedly revisited. Many botanical
specimens were added to the unrivalled wax collection at
the museum, and several new tables, bright with chalcedony,
amethyst and pearl, were visible at the Pietra dura
manufactory. The old priest, whose serene temper seemed
a charm against the encroachments of age, had lost
something of his rotundity of visage, and his hair was
blanched to a more snowy whiteness. A shade of care
was evident upon the brow of the man of pleasure, and his
reckless air and contracted establishment most strikingly
indicated the reduced state of his resources. The flowergirl
moved with less sprightliness, and the dazzling beauty
of the belle was subdued to the calm grace of womanhood.
The artist whom I left toiling in obscurity had received
the reward of his self devotion; fame and fortune had
crowned his labors. The beggar at the corner looked as
unchanged as a picture, but his moan of supplication had
sunk a key lower. The waiter at the caffe maintained

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

his accustomed swagger, and promotion had cooled the
earnest promptitude which distinguished his noviciate.
Three new chain bridges span Arno; being painted
white, and supported by massive pillars of granite, surmounted
by marble sphinxes, their appearance is very
pleasing. The one below the Ponte Vecchio, serves as
a fine foreground object in the landscape formed by the
adjacent hills; and the other embellishes the vista through
which we gaze down the river to the far-off mountains
and woods of the Cascine. Utilitarianism is rapidly penetrating
even into Tuscany. Demidorff's elegant villa
is transformed into a silk manufactory; and a railroad is
projected between Florence and Leghorn. With the
same stolid dignity rose the massive walls of the Pitti
and Strozzi palaces, wearing as undaunted an aspect as
when the standards of the ancient factions floated from
the iron rings still riveted to their walls. The lofty firs
and oaks of the public walk waved in undiminished luxuriance;
and the pheasants flitted as lightly over the lawn.
The curious tower of the Palazzo Vecchio was relieved
with the same vivid outline in the twilight; and the crowd
pressed as confusedly through the narrow limits of the
Via Calziole. The throng promenade as gaily as ever
along the river-side, on the evening of a festival,—the
stately peasant-girl, with her finely-wrought hat—the
strutting footman—the dark-robbed priest—the cheerful
stranger, and the loitering artist. The street-musicians
gather little audiences as formerly; and the evening bells
invade the air with their wonted chime.

The most interesting of Greenough's recent

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

productions, is an ideal female head—Heloise, illustrative of
Pope's well-known lines:—


“Dear, fatal name! rest ever unrevealed
Nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed;
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise
Where, join'd with God's, his loved idea lies.”
Another American sculptor has recently taken up his
residence in Florence, whose labors seem destined to
reflect great honor upon his country. Hiram Powers is
one of those artists whose vocation is ordained by native
endowments. Amid the vicissitudes of his early life, the
faculty, so strong within him, found but occasional and
limited development: yet was it never wholly dormant.
Powers derives his principles of art directly from the only
legitimate source—Nature. His recent busts are instinct
with life and reality. They combine the utmost
fidelity in detail with the best general effect. They
abound in expression and truth. His success in this department,
has given occasion to so many engagements
for busts, that time has scarcely been afforded him for
any enterprize of a purely ideal character. He is now
about to embody a fine conception from Gesner's Death
of Abel. He intends making a statue of Eve at the moment
when after her expulsion from Paradise, the sight of
a dead bird first revealed to her the nature of death. “It
is I! It is I! Unhappy that I am, who have brought misery
and grief on every creature! For my sin, these pretty,
harmless animals are punished.” Her tears redoubled.
“What an event! How stiff and cold it is! It has
neither voice nor motion; its joints no longer bend;

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

its limbs refuse their office. Speak Adam, is this
death?'

Florence may appear, at a casual view, comparatively
deficient in local associations; yet few cities are more
impressed by the facts of their history. It was during
the middle ages that it rose to power, and that violent
era has left its memorials behind. The architecture is
more remarkable for strength than elegance, and its
beauty is that of simplicity and dignity. Of this, the
Pitti and Strozzi palaces are striking examples. In
whatever direction one wanders, memorials of departed
ages meet the view, less numerous and imposing than at
Rome, but still sufficiently so to awaken the sweet though
melancholy charm of antiquity. Every day, in walking
to the Cascine, the stranger passes the house where
Amerigo Vespuccio was born; and as he glances at the
hospital of Santa Maria Nuova, he remembers that it
was founded by the father of Dante's Beatrice. The
sight of Galileo's tower, near the Roman gate, recalls
that scene of deep, moral and dramatic interest, when
the philosopher, having, on his knees, renounced his
theory of the earth's motion, before the tribunal of Rome,
suddenly sprung to his feet and exclaimed, “E pur si
muove!”—`and yet it moves.' The villa of Boccacio, in
the environs, awakens the awful associations of the plague
as well as the beauty of the Decameron; and a stroll
around the walls, by bringing in view the old fortifications,
will revive some of the scenes of the celebrated siege of
eleven months, in 1530. The heroism exhibited by the
Florentines at this period of privation and suffering,

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

renders it one of the brightest pages of their annals. Many a
maiden cast herself from the balcony to escape the brutal
soldiery; and one woman who had been forcibly carried
away by an officer, stole from the camp at night, collected
all his spoils, and mounting hishorse, rode back to Florence,
with a new dowry for her husband. Let the stranger
who would excite the local associations of the Tuscan
capital, stroll into the Piazza Grand Duca on a spring
morning. Yonder is a crowd of applicants at the grated
windows of the post office; here a line of venders, vociferating
the price of their paltry wares; and there a score
of porters at work about the custom-house. In the
centre is an eloquent quack, mounted upon an open
barouche, and surrounded by vials, plasters and surgical
instruments, waving a long string of certificates, and loudly
expounding the virtues of his specifics to a group of
gaping peasants. At the portal of yonder palace, an
English equipage is standing, while its master is negotiating
with Fenzi, the banker, within. People are passing
and re-passing through the spacious area, or chatting in
small groups. In the midst is the bronze, equestrian
statue of Cosmo, and near it, the fountain exhibiting a
colossal figure of Neptune. This remarkable public
square is not less striking as a witness of the past than
from its present interest. The irregular design of the
Palazzo Veccho, is attributed to the public animosities
of the period of its erection; and the open space which
now constitutes the Piazza, was formed by the destruction
of the houses of the Uberti family, and others of the
same faction, that the palace of the Priors might not

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

stand on what was deemed accursed ground. Another
scene associated with one of the most tragic events in
the history of Florence, is the Duomo—that huge pile so
richly encrusted with black and white marble, which
was commenced towards the close of the twelfth-century.
As one, in any degree susceptible to the influence of
superstition, wanders, at twilight, through the vast and
dusky precincts of this cathedral, vague and startling
fancies will often throng upon his mind. As he slowly
paces the marble floor towards the main altar, perhaps
some mendicant glides from a dark recess, with a low
moan of entreaty, or an aged female form, bowed at one
of the shrines, is dimly descried in the gloom. The
only light streams through the lofty and richly-painted
windows. The few busts of the illustrious of by-gone
days, are scarcely discernible; the letters on the sepulchral
tablets are blurred in the twilight, and the dustcovered
banners, trophies of valor displayed in the Holy
Land, hang in shadowy folds. At that pensive hour, in
the solitude of so extensive a building, surrounded by
the symbols of Death and Religion, how vividly rises to
the imagination the sanguinary deed perpetrated before
that altar! The conspiracy of the Pazzi forms the subject
of one of Alfieri's tragedies; and a very spirited
illustration of one of the scenes was recently exhibited in
Florence, the production of a promising young artist. It
represents the wife of Francesco kneeling at his feet and
endeavoring to prevent his leaving the house at the appointed
signal. At the head of the plot was Sixtus IV.,
whose principal agent, Salviati, concerted with the

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

Pazzi to execute their purpose at a dinner given by
Lorenzo de Medici, at Fiesole; but in consequence of
his brother's absence, the scene of action was transferred
to the church. On the 26th of April, 1478, the day
appointed, it appears the service commenced without the
presence of Guliano de Medici. Francesco Pazzi and
Bandini went in search of him. They not only accompanied
him in the most friendly manner to the cathedral,
but in order to ascertain if he wore concealed weapons,
threw their arms caressingly about him as they walked,
and took their places by his side, before the altar. When
the bell rung—the signal agreed upon, and the priest
raised the consecrated wafer, as the people bent their
heads before it, Bandini plunged a dagger into the
breast of Giuliano. Francesco Pazzi then rushed upon
him and stabbed him in many places, with such fury
that he wounded himself in the struggle. Lorenzo defended
himself successfully against the priest who was
to have taken his life, and received but a slight wound.
His friends rallied around him, and they retreated to the
sacristy, where one of the young men, thinking the
weapon which had injured Lorenzo might have been
poisoned, sucked the wound. The conspirators having
so completely failed, were soon identified, and the
leaders executed, while Lorenzo's escape was hailed with
acclamations by the people. On a calm, summer night,
as one walks up the deserted and spacious area of the
Via Larga, he may watch the moonbeams as they play
upon the beautiful cornice of the Palazzo Ricardi, and recall,
as a contrast to the peaceful scene, another bloody deed

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

in the chronicles of the house of Medici. It was to this
princely dwelling that the nephew of Allessandro, first
Duke of Florence, commonly called Lorenzino, ambitious
of power, lured his profligate uncle, and having invited
him to repose, and placed his sword with the belt
twisted firmly round the hilt, upon the bolster, stole out
and brought a bravo to dispatch him. The assassination,
however, proved difficult, and the treacherous relative was
obliged, personally, to join in the butchery. He dipped
his finger in the blood of his kinsman, and wrote upon
the wall of the room, the line from Virgil—

“Vincit Amor Patriæ, laudumque immensa cupido.”

Among the numerous hills of the Appenine range
surrounding Florence, Fiesole is conspicuous from its
picturesque appearance. It is surmounted by a row of
cypresses, and upon its summit stands an ancient convent.
From the green and shady esplanade before this
building, is obtainable one of the best views of the city
and its environs; and the traveller who possesses any
taste for scenery will not regret his three miles walk from
the Porta Pinta, or the somewhat precipitous ascent which
brings him to so commanding an observatory. Upon
this mountain stood a celebrated Etruscan fortress. It
was one of Cataline's strong-holds; and the traces of its
walls are still discernible. From this spot the founders
of Florence descended to the borders of the Arno, and

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

there established their dwellings. Originally, the whole
city occupied the right bank of the river, and boasted
but one bridge outside the walls, which is still called
Ponte Vecchio. It is believed that the abundance of
lilies and other flowers (fiori) which flourished there,
gave its name to the metropolis of Tuscany, although Cellini
declares it to have been derived from Florentius, a
celebrated general. It is remarkable that the first use the
people made of arms, was to turn them against the spot of
their origin.

The republic was well established about the close of the
twelfth century. The population were early devoted to
manufactures, particularly of cloth. The first magistrates
were denominated consuls; afterwards, the office
of mayor was instituted, and it was decreed that the incumbent
should be a foreigner, that no ties of relationship
might interfere with the impartial discharge of his
duties. Another condition was attached to the situation
which would scarcely be deemed expedient in our own
times—that the mayor should never give nor accept dinners.
Subsequently, the title was changed to that of gonfaliere,
or standard-bearer, whose functions, at different
times, were variously modified. Besides the consuls,
there were priors of the arts and trades, senators—ten
buonuomini, etc. The Florentines first learned the art of
war in numerous conflicts with feudal lords, who made
incursions from neighboring castles located amid the fastnesses
of the mountains, and strongly fortified. A civil
feud, however, which gave birth to an infinite series of
long and bloody animosities, soon succeeded these paltry

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

and irregular enterprises. This fatal discord was excited
by female beauty, which seems to have been one of the
most prolific occasions of ancient dissensions, as influential,
in those troubled times, in nerving the warrior, as
it has been, in every age, in calling forth the richest
strains of the bard. The youthful head of the wealthy
and powerful family of Buondelmonte had promised to
marry a daughter of the house of Amidei, equally renowned
and powerful. The charms of another lady, one of
the Donati, also one of the first rank, beguiled the accomplished
cavalier from his first love; and, unmindful of former
vows, he married the object of his new attachment.
The family of the deserted bride considered their dignity
compromised by this act, and on Easter Sunday, while
Boundelmonte, dressed in white, and mounted upon a
white horse, was riding from the other side of the Arno,
towards the house of the Amidei, passing over the old
bridge, they made an attack near the statue of Mars, and
killed him. This murder threw the whole city into confusion,
and the people, almost immediately, were divided
into two parties. The citizens barricaded the roads, and
fought in the streets and squares, and from the houses and
turrets. Soon after this event, ensued the political warfare
between the Guelphs, and Ghibelines, the former attaching
themselves to the Buondelmonte, and the latter, to the
Uberti—the most powerful family of the party, which became
its head, instead of the Amedei. The people constantly
vacillating between interest and enmity, alternately
fought and made truces, till a quarrel with Pisa, for a time,
diverted their arms. This rival colony undertook to stop

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

the goods from Florence, as they came down the river.
They were not, however, so good fighters on land as at
sea, and were finally defeated by the Florentines, at Castel
del Bosco. This war of inroads, however, lasted six
years, and was, at length, adjusted by a cardinal. The
old, intestine controversy was soon renewed with increased
ardor, and when the Ghibelines remained masters of the
city, for want of any better way of wreaking vengeance
upon the Guelphs, they razed their dwellings, demolished
numerous towers, and even made a barbarous attempt to
destroy the temple of St. John, now called the Baptistery,
because their opponents had once held meetings there.
A beautiful tower stood at the commencement of the
street of the Adimari, and this they endeavored to make fall
upon the temple by placing rafters against the opposite
part, cutting away the other side, and then setting fire to
the props. Happily, however, the tower fell in another
direction. For a series of years, the arms of the Florentines
were constantly exercised, with various success, in
wars against the Pisans, Lucchese, Arentines, etc., but,
ever and anon, this original and fierce civil feud usurped
all their energies. Its history is one of the remarkable
evidences of the spirit of that age, and hereafter, as the
sounds of warfare and violence die away into the past,
before the mild influences of Christianity, it will be reverted
to by the philosopher as a fertile source of illustration.
Its consequences and incidental results are numerous
and interesting. The Ghibelines were generally
triumphant in Florence. In 1261, when Count Guido
Novella was elected mayor, in order to introduce his

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

people more easily from Casentino, into the city and palace,
he opened a new gate in the nearest walls, and the avenue
leading thence, is still called the street of the Ghibelines.
In the annals of these celebrated factions, we find now
one, and now another invoking foreign aid. Sometimes
a respite occurs of so long a continuance, as to induce a
belief that the demon of discord is at length laid asleep,
and anon it breaks forth with tenfold fury. At one moment,
the Pope's interposition procures peace, and the
next, some incident, trifling in itself, suddenly revives the
flame of party rage. After a solemn reconciliation had
apparently settled the dissension at Florence, it was again
renewed in Pistoia, a few miles off. A certain Ser Cancelliere
of that city was the father of a very numerous family,
the progeny of two wives, both of whom belonged to
noble houses. Between the descendants of these rival
mothers, a strong jealousy existed; and under the name
of Black and White chancellors, (Bianci and Neri) more
than a hundred individuals were included in the quarrel,
among whom, not less than eighteen, were chevaliers or
knights of the golden spur. Some young men of both
parties, having quarrelled over their wine, one of the Neri
received a blow from Charles Walfred, of the opposite
faction. In the evening, the aggrieved individual waylaid
the brother of his insulter, and having beaten him, so
mutilated one of his hands, that only the forefinger
remained. This aggression roused an universal spirit
of resentment on the part of the Bianci. The
opposite party vainly attempted to make peace; and
the inflictor of the injury, on repairing to Walfred's house,

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

to apologize, was seized and taken into the stables, when
one of his hands was cut off by way of retaliation, and he
was sent back to his partisans. This act rendered all further
attempts at treaty vain. Thenceforth, street-broils,
of the fiercest character, were of constant occurrence.
Some of the most guilty repaired to Florence, and there
fomented the old feud, the Bianci inciting the Ghibelines,
and the Neri the Guelphs. In 1301, Charles of Valois,
invited by Boniface VIII, into Italy, secretly concerted with
him the ruin of the Bianci party. The Neri were then
dominant. In consequence of the violence committed
under Corso Donati, the Pope had sent one of his cardinals
to Florence to bring about peace, but the efforts of
the prelate were vain. On Christmas day, the son of
Corso Donati, being on horseback in the square of Santa
Croce, and seeing Nicholas of the Cerchia family pass by,
ran after him out of one of the gates. A contest ensued,
in which both were killed, and, in consequence, civil war
once more kindled. At length, on the second of April,
the remainder of the Bianci party, among whom were
Dante and Petrucco of Parengo, the father of Petrarch,
were banished. The Neri threw fireworks upon the
houses and shops of their discomfitted opponents, near
the Mercato Nuovo, which, taking fire, produced extensive
destruction, and reduced many to poverty. In 1310,
the New German Emperor, Henry VII., prepared to descend
into Italy. Many cities invited him. In Tuscany,
Pisa and Arrezzo, alone desired his arrival. The following
year, Dante, in behalf of the Ghibeline party, wrote
him, earnestly, to come down upon Florence. This letter

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

sealed the poet's fate; and four years after, his exile was
again confirmed. Received openly at Pisa, and crowned at
Rome, Henry approached and besieged Florence, but
after a wearisome delay before the walls, and several fruitless
skirmishes, he fell sick, and on the last night of
October, 1813, abandoned the attempt to the glory of the
city. He soon after died at St. Salvi, and these eras of
violence and war were soon succeeded by a brilliant
period of literature and art.

The mausoleum of the Medici, against the extravagant
splendor of which, Byron utters so earnest a satire, is
now far advanced towards completion. It is an octagon,
lined with the richest marble and most precious stones.
As the curious visitor inspects the gorgeous monument,
how various and conflicting are the associations inspired
by the thought of the renowned family it celebrates.
Their redeeming characteristics were taste and liberality.
They promoted the progress of humanity by rewarding
the exertions of genius, rather than by a generous philanthropy.
The mass were as much cajoled and subjected,
as under more warlike princes; but the gifted received
encouragement, and were urged to high endeavor.
The annals of the house of Medici abound in scenes, at
one moment exciting warm admiration, and the next,
unbounded disgust. One instant we kindle at the refined
and enthusiastic taste of Lorenzo, and the next, are
revolted at some act of petty tyranny. Now we see
genius unfold with brilliant success beneath the fostering
rays of patronage; and the next, injustice, conspiracy, or
revenge, degrades the chronicle. The patriotic Cosmo,

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

ardently listening to the doctrines of Plato, Lorenzo,
the Magnificent, chatting with a young sculptor in his
garden, the dissipated and cunning Giovanni, the
imbecile Piero, the perfidious Lorenzino, and the cruel
Catharine, pass before us in startling contrast. Yet as
we behold the works to which the redeemers of the name
have given rise, and trace the splendid results of wealth
dedicated to the cause of taste, we feel their mission on
the earth was one, the intellectual fruits of which are
inestimable and progressive. The origin of the Medici
family has been romantically referred to Averardo de
Medici, a commander under Charlemagne. The first
authentic mention of this celebrated race seems, however,
to indicate Filippo as one of the earliest founders. Toward
the middle of the thirteenth century, the Guelphs
having obtained the chief authority in Florence, Filippo,
oppressed by the Ghibelines, fled from Fiorano, in the
valley of Mugello, to the Tuscan capital, which, thenceforth,
became his country. In 1348, we read of Francesco
de Medici, as the head of the magistracy, although
prevented by the plague from exercising his functions.
Filippo left two sons, Bicci and Giovanni. To the latter
succeeded Cosmo, and with his name began the renown
of the house. The world was but just emerging from
barbarism when this prince commenced his sway. Although
exiled by a faction, his absence was deeply regretted,
and his return triumphantly hailed. Cosmo invited
numerous Greek refugees to settle on the banks of the
Arno. Through them, a new interest was awakened in
ancient literature; classical studies revived, and

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

manuscripts were eagerly sought. While the council of Florence
were employed in barren theological disputes,
Cosmo was listening to Gemisthus Pletho, and planning
a Platonic academy. Among the illustrious Greeks
whom he befriended, was Agyropylus. `My son,' said
he, leaning over the cradle of one of his children, `if you
were born to be happy, you will have Agyropylus for your
preceptor.' Cosmo was succeeded by Piero, who had
previously married the wealthy Contessina Bardi. His
authority was near being overturned by a conspiracy,
headed by the Pitti family, who, in the end, were obliged
to flee, leaving their superb palace unfinished. Piero left
two sons, Lorenzo and Giuliano. The brilliant career of
the former has been made familiar by the elaborate and,
perhaps flattered portrait of Roscoe. That this magnificent
prince was a man of more than ordinary abilities,
is sufficiently proved by the address exhibited on his
youthful embassy to Ferdinand of Naples, as well as by
the numerous specimens extant of his poetical talents.
But no small portion of his renown is to be ascribed
simply to his immense wealth and exalted station. He
was a man of elegant taste, rather than of extraordinary
genius; and merits applause for his liberal patronage of
literature and the arts, more than for any example he has
bequeathed of intellectual or moral power. He renewed
and prolonged the impulse his father had given to the
cause of civilization. The visitor is continually reminded
of the obligations of Florence to Lorenzo. He established
a school of sculpture, greatly enriched the Laurentian
library, improved architecture, promoted the

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

study of philosophy, and revived the art of the lapidary.
His life was passed in the midst of men distinguished
for genius and acquirements, whom his magnificent
taste had gathered around him. His time was occupied
in supervising local improvements, cheering native
genius, collecting rare manuscripts and medals, cultivating
philosophy, studying politics, making love, discussing
poetry with Politiano, and writing sonnets. He demonstrated
that a prince could find ample employment,
and attain true glory without recourse to conquest.
He proved that there were more enduring monuments
than those which rise from the battle-field. His name
is associated with works of art and literary productions,
as indissolubly as those of their authors, and although he
only lived to the age of forty-four, he expired tranquilly
in the midst of his friends. His death was deemed a
national misfortune, and seems to have been the precursor
of innumerable woes to Italy. Giovanni, son of
Lorenzo, was an archbishop at ten, and a cardinal at
fourteen—the youngest person ever raised to that rank.
A letter still extant, addressed by his father to him at
Rome, evinces how much at heart he held his advancement.
After the death of Piero, Giovanni became the
head of the family; and all his wishes centered in the
hope of reviving its influence, which had again suffered
a serious interruption. This feeling he prudently concealed
for some time. After the battle of Ravenna, three
young men, resolute friends of the Medici, went to the
Gonfaliere, and, with their daggers at his throat, forced
Soderini to resign. The Medici being thus restored,

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

Giovanni was made Pope, under the title of Leo X.
His pontificate is celebrated as a period when letters and
the arts flourished to an unparalleled degree. Previous
circumstances, however, had prepared the way for the
many brilliant results of that remarkable epoch. The
sale of indulgences, and other church abuses, were then
carried to the highest point; and the protests against
ecclesiastical tyranny commenced, which ushered in the
reformation. Cosmo, Francesco and Ferdinand, maintained
something of the liberal and tasteful spirit of their
ancestors. But under Ferdinand II., who, in 1621,
came to the government, at the age of eleven, the aspect of
affairs changed. Extravagant expenditures drained the
state of its resources, and when Cosmo III., died, after
a reign of fifty-three years, Tuscany was reduced to a
most deplorable state, oppressed with a heavy national
debt, and exhausted by taxes. Fortunately for the country,
John Gaston was the last of his family, once so glorious,
but now so sadly degenerated. He died after an
indifferent rule, and in accordance with the terms of peace
with Vienna (1735) left his duchy to the house of Lorraine.
Francis Stephen, Duke of Lorraine, and Grand
Duke of Tuscany, made a contract with John Gaston's
sister—the last of the name of Medici, by which he acquired
the various allodial possessions collected by her
ancestors. Under the twenty-six years of the sway of
his son Leopold, Tuscany recovered from a decline
that had lasted more than a century. He encouraged
commerce, agriculture and manufactures, established
penitentiaries, abolished the inquisition, and proclaimed

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

a new criminal code. His financial administration was
admirable, and his own manner of life extremely simple.
The traveller in Italy still recognizes the happy influences
of his regenerating rule. Nor has the effect of his
noble example been contravened by his successor. An
air of contentment, and a feeling of safety continues to
distinguish Tuscany, and render it the favourite sojourn
of the stranger. Even the comparative severity of the
climate in winter, aggravated by the tramontana which
sweeps so coldly from the mountains, seldom drives the
foreign sojourners to more genial localities. It is not,
perhaps, without reason, that the distinguished literary
rank which Florence holds in Italian history, has been
ascribed to its inferior climate.

There is something almost oppressive to the senses,
and confusing to the mind, in the immense collections of
paintings in Italy. The stranger, especially if his time
is limited, and his eagerness for knowledge and true impressions,
a delicate and discriminating, as well as an
earnest passion, will not unfrequently regret the number
and variety of interesting objects which at once demand
his attention. A scene of natural grandeur or beauty
seldom distracts the eye with the variety of its features.
The mountain range which girdles the prospect, the grove
which waves above the cliff, the river flowing through the
vale, the flowers on its banks, and the rich cloud-land
above, are harmonized to the view, reposing beneath the
same light, and stirred by a common air. But each work
of art has a distinctive character. It is a memorial of an
individual mind. It demands undivided attention.

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

Hence, the first visit to a museum of art is almost invariably
unsatisfactory. We instinctively wish that the array
were not so imposing. Many a sweet countenance,
whose expression haunts us like a dream, we vainly endeavor
to recall; many a group we would fain transfer to
our own apartment, that there we might leisurely survey
its excellencies, and grow familiar with its spirit. There
are few public galleries which are less objectionable, on
this account, than that of Florence. When we have
paused in the vestibule long enough to recover breath
after ascending the long flight of stairs, and inspect the
specimens of statuary there arranged, the first paintings
which meet our gaze, on entering, are of an early date.
The stiff execution brings to mind the Chinese style,
and indicates a primitive epoch in the history of art.
The arabesques on the ceiling, the portraits immediately
beneath it, and the range of ancient busts below, fill,
without dazzling the eye. As we pass on, the interest increases
at every step. There is a gradual growth of
attraction. Curiosity is soon absorbed in a deeper sentiment.
Alternately we stand smiling before some
graphic product of the Dutch pencil, wrapt in a speculative
reverie over an obscure painting, or seated, at last,
quite absorbed in admiration within the hallowed precincts
of the Tribune. The perfect freedom of entrance and
observation, unannoyed by the jargon of a cicerone,
doubtless adds to the pleasure of a visit to the Florence
collections. And the heart is not less gratified than the
eye, when we behold one of the sunburnt conladini improving
a spare hour on market-days, to loiter in the gallery, or

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

turns from a miracle of art to the happy countenance of
some foreign painter, as he stands before his easel, intent
upon copying a favorite original. The most unique feature
in the collections of which this city boasts, however,
is doubtless the gallery of portraits of celebrated painters,
chiefly by themselves. How interesting to turn from the
immortal products of the pencil, to the lineaments of the
artist! Raphael's sweet countenance, eloquent with the
refined beauty which distinguishes his works, and subdued
by something of the melancholy associated with his
early death; Perugino, his master; Leonardo da Vinci,
who first developed the principles of that progress in art,
which was perfected during the fifteenth century, who so
earnestly and successfully devoted his life to the advancement
of his favorite pursuit, and died in the arms of his
royal patron; Salvator Rosa, the poet, musician and
painter, recognised by his half savage aspect, who so delighted
in scenes of gloomy grandeur, and studied nature
with such enthusiasm amid the wilds of the Appenines;—
all, in short, of that glorious phalanx, whose best monuments
are their works.

The bronze statue of Perseus, under the allogii of the
gallery, reminds the passer of one of the most remarkable
characters to which Florence has given birth. Born on
the night of All Saints' day, Cellini assures us he was
rapturously welcomed to the world by his father, who, as
if anticipating his future celebrity, instantly greeted him
as Benvenuto. Like Salvator Rosa, music, at first, disputed
the empire of his mind with the other arts, and his remarkable
performance on the flute, was the primary

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

occasion of attracting towards him attention and patronage.
Indeed, the artist's father most pertinaciously fixed all his
hopes for young Cellini's advancement, upon his proficiency
in this accomplishment. Benvenuto's ambition,
however, was of a far more various and earnest nature
than the success of a mere musician could gratify. To
please his parent, however, he long continued to devote
much time to practising upon his favorite instrument,
although the employment was frequently an occasion of
ennui and disgust. At length, having been apprenticed
to a goldsmith, the skill he displayed in the finer departments
of the trade, indicated, in a striking manner, the
true bent of his genius. Henceforth, we find Benvenuto
constantly employed in various places, and everywhere
with distinguished success. It strikes us, at the present
day, with no little surprise, to perceive the enthusiasm
excited by labors of such a nature as employed the mind
of Cellini; but the exquisite grace and rare invention he
displayed, were as significant of talent to the admirers of
art, in the fifteenth century, as the gifted limner exhibited
on his canvas, or the statuary in his marble. His abilities
were in constant requisition, and seemed to have excited
equal admiration whether bestowed upon a button for the
Pope, a chalice for a Cardinal, or a salt-cellar for King
Francis.—At one time we find him engraver to the mint
at Rome, and at another, exercising all his ingenuity in
setting a precious jewel, executing an original medal, or
designing the most beautiful figures in alto relievo, upon
a golden vase, for some Italian prince. For a considerable
period, he was without an equal in his profession.

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

Towards the last of his life, however, his energies seem
to have been concentrated upon sculpture, of which the
Perseus is the most celebrated specimen. The account
he gives of the difficulties surmounted in casting this
statue and the unworhy treatment he received from the
Grand Duke, in regard to his recompense, is among the
most painful examples of the trials of artists. Cellini's
life was one of the most singular vicissitude. Frequently
changing his abode, working under the patronage of various
princes, of a bold and active temper, his memoirs
present a picture in which the quiet pursuits of an artist are
grotesquely mingled with the experiences of an adventurer.
One day, banished from his native city for having been
engaged in a bloody quarrel, another, high in the confidence
of kings and popes; now pining in the dungeon
of St. Angelo, which he once so gallantly defended, and
now rich and honored in the service of a magnificent
court. If we are to place the slightest faith in his own
testimony, Benvenuto proved himself equal to any exigency,
and fairly overcame his various enemies by his prompt
courage, or quick invention. He is certainly the prince
of boasters. The coolness with which he speaks of
despatching his foes, is startling to one familiar only with
these peaceful times; and the ingenuity with which he
baffles those who are not to be reached by the sword, is
most remarkable. A striking instance occurred while he
was in the employ of the King of France. Madame
D'Estampes, who seems to have been extremely disaffected
towards Benvenuto, induced the king to inspect
some of his most recent works at an hour the most

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

unfavorable for their display. Cellini, anticipating the
effect, affixed a torch to the arm of a statue of Jupiter;
and while his female enemy and the monarch were regarding
his studies, in the dusky light, he suddenly ignited
the torch, and wheeled the Jupiter into the centre of the
room. The effect was most vivid, as the light was placed
at exactly the right angle to show the figure to the best
advantage. Francis received a new and powerful impression
of the genius of Cellini, and Madame's design
was completely counteracted. The versatility of talent in
the character of Benvenuto was not more surprising than
his boundless self-confidence. How much are we indebted
to this quality for the fruits of genius! Gifts of mind,
unaccompanied by a vivid sense of their existence, are
of little benefit to the world. Consciousness of power,
firm and unwavering, is the best guarantee for its appropriate
exertion. How much of the cool decision of great
men is attributable to confidence in their destiny! When
Napoleon was urged to leave a dangerous position, during
an engagement when the shot were flying thickly around
him, and calmly replied, `the ball is not yet moulded
which is destined for me,' who does not recognize one
secret cause of his intrepidity? No combination of circumstances
seemed adequate to shake Cellini's faith in
himself. He spoke as certainly of the issue of an experiment
in his art, as if it had been repeatedly proved.
Again and again he reinstated himself in the favor from
which the machinations of his rivals had removed him, by
the clear earnestness of his bearing. Whether discussing
the merits of a work of art, defending himself before a

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

tribunal, engaged hand to hand with a foe, or casting a statue
which had cost him years of toil, he seemed to act upon
the sentiment of the poet—

It cannot but provoke a smile in contrast with the theories
of later moralists, after having followed Benvenuto
thruugh an unequalled category of brawls, duels, amours
and intrigues, to find him consoling himself in prison by
communing with angelic visions, and cheering his heart
with the conviction that he is an especial favorite of Heaven.
Benvenuto closed his adventurous life where he
commenced it; and was buried with many honors, in the
church of the Annunziata, at Florence. His native city
is adorned with the chief ornament of his genius; and
the exquisite specimens of his skill as a jeweller and engraver,
are scattered over the cabinets of virtuosi throughout
Italy.

The opera-house of Florence, called the Pergola, is
remarkable for its chaste interior. Romani's poetry has
recently given a new interest to this favorite amusement.
It seems almost to have revived the dulcet numbers of
Metastasio, and wedded to the touching strains of Bellini,
leaves no occasion to regret the earlier eras of the musical
drama. The want of permanent prose companies in
the different cities of Italy, as schools of language, is a
great desideratum; and the number of trashy translations
from the French, degrade the national taste. Sometimes
the excellent company of Turin, including the inimitable

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

Vestri, a Tuscan by birth, visit Florence in the autumn,
and furnish a pleasant pastime at the Cocomero, while
during Carnival, Stenterello dispenses his jokes and
rhymes at the Borg' Ogni Santi. In Florence, alone, is
enjoyed the opportunity, at certain seasons, of witnessing
Alfieri's tragedies. The stranger, too, cannot but gratefully
recur to the comedies of Goldoni. They furnish
him with an admirable introduction to the language; and
when he is once more at home, and would fain renew the
associations of every day life in far distant Italy, he has
only to peruse one of these colloquial plays, and be transported,
at once, to a locanda or a caffé. Goldoni's history
is intimately associated with his comedies. Successively
a student of medicine, diplomacy and law, a maker
of almanacs, and a comic writer, his personal adventures
abound in the humorous. He solaced himself, when unfortunate,
by observing the passing scene. When jilted
by a woman, or cheated by a knave, he revenged himself
by showing up their conduct as a warning, in his next
play. He looked upon the panorama of human existence,
not as a metaphysician, but as a painter, not to discover
the ideal, but to display the actual. Yet he often aimed
at bringing popular vices or follies into contempt, and frequently
with no little success. At a time when ciscesbeism
and gambling prevailed in Venice, he portrayed
their consequences so graphically, that, a for time, both
practices were brought into disrepute; and when the
Spectator began to be read, and it became fashionable for
women to affect philosophy, he turned the laugh upon
them with his Filosofo Inglese. His comedies have

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

more humor than wit, but their chief attraction is their
truth to nature. Although much attached to Venice, his
native city, which he declares was never revisited without
discovering new beauties, Goldoni seems to have highly
enjoyed his long residence at the French court. He
boasts of having an excellent appetite after every fresh
mortification; and when care or sickness made him
wakeful, he was accustomed to translate from the Venetian
into the Tuscan dialect, and then into the French, by
way of a soporific. Overshadowed as his buoyant spirit
was at last, by illness and reverses, his happy temperament
made his life pleasant. He had the satisfaction of
feeling that, through his efforts, comedy was reformed
in Italy, and his country furnished with a stock of standdard
plays, of excellent tendency, sixteen of which were
composed in one year—no ordinary achievement of industry.

The house of the Buonarotti family has recently undergone
extensive repairs. But the rooms once occupied
by Michael Angelo, remain unchanged, save that
around one of them are arranged a series of paintings,
illustrative of the artist's life. How Florence teems
with the fame of this most gifted of her children! How
rife are his sayings on the lips of her citizens! How
eloquently do his works speak in the city where his bones
repose! As the Cathedral dome first greets the stranger's
eye, or fades from his parting gaze, how naturally does
it suggest the thoughts of St. Peter's and the artist's
well known exclamation! In a twilight walk along the
river-side, as we watch the evening star over San Spirito,

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

we remember that a prior of that convent taught him
anatomy. If we pass the church del Carmine, we are
reminded that he there studied the early efforts of Massacio.
In the gallery, we behold the Dancing Faun,
whose head he so admirably restored, wonder at the
stern face of Brutus, or ponder his own portrait. In the
Piazza is his David, in the church of San Lorenzo, his
Day and Night, and that perfect embodiment of Horatio's
familiar phrase—`a countenance more in sorrow
than in anger,'—the statue of the Duke of Urbino.
Here he made his figure of snow; there he buried his
sleeping Cupid, which was dug up for an antique. Near
St. Mark's was the school of sculpture, where he first
practiced. In Santa Croce is his tomb. The memory
of Michael Angelo constitutes the happiest of the many
interesting associations of Florence. Not less as a man
than an artist, does his name lend dignity and beauty to
the scene. We look upon the master-lines of his unfinished
works, and realize the struggles of his soul towards
perfection. Truly has one of his biographers remarked,
`his genius was vast and wild, by turns extravagant and
capricious, rarely to be implicitly followed, always to be
studied with advantage.' But we think not merely here
of the sculptor, painter, architect, philosopher and poet;
we dwell upon, and feel the whole character of him who
so nobly proved his eminent claim to these various titles.
As we tread the chambers where he passed so many nights
of study, so many days of toil, as we behold the oratory
where he prayed, or stand above his ashes, we think of his
noble independence which princes and prelates, in a venal

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

age, could not subdue, of his deep sympathy with the
grand and beautiful in human nature, and of his true affection
which dictated the sentiment—


“Better plea
Love cannot find than that in loving thee,
Glory to that eternal Peace is paid
Who such divinity to thee imparts,
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.”
Art seemed not an exclusive end to Michael Angelo.
For fame, he cherished no morbid appetite. He was
conscious of loftier aims. His letters and sonnets
breathe the noblest aspirations, and the most perfect
love of truth. When refused admittance to the Pope's
presence, he quitted Rome in disgust; yet watched as
tenderly by the sick-bed of a faithful servant, as at that of
a son or a brother. As the architect of St. Peter's, he
declined all emolument; and kissed the cold hand of
Vittoria Colonna with tearful reverence. After eighty-eight
years spent in giving a mighty impulse to the arts,
in cultivating sculpture, painting, poetry and architecture,
in observing `the harmless comedy of life,' in proving the
supremacy of genius over wealth, of moral power over
rank, of character over the world, Michael Angelo died,
saying, `My soul I resign to God, my body to the earth,
and my possessions to my nearest kin.' He left a bequest
of which he spoke not, for it was already decreed
that his fame and example should shed a perennial honor
upon Florence, and for ever bless the world.

p406-131

But ever and anon of grief subdued
There comes a token like a scorpion's sting,
Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued.
Byron.

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

It was towards the close of a cool but delightful autumn
evening, in Milan, the best part of which I had vainly
spent in searching for a friend. All at once it occurred
to me that he might beat the opera;—yet, thought I, F—
is very fastidious, and there is no particular attraction to-night.
Thus weighing the matter on my mind, I came
within sight of the Scala, and I was soon at the door of
Count G—'s box, where F— was generally to be found.
The orchestra was performing an interlude, and the foot-lights
beaming upon the beautiful classical groups depicted
on the drop. My friend was not visible, and I should
instantly have retreated, had not a side glance revealed
to me the figure of a young man, seated in the shadow of
the box curtains. Count G— was partial to Americans,
and I scrutinized the stranger, thinking it not

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

impossible he was a countryman, but soon recognized the countenance
of a Scotch student, with whom I had exchanged
a few words at our table-d'hote in the morning. It was
several minutes before I satisfied myself of his identity,
so different was his aspect and demeanor. He sat opposite
me, at the table, and was engaged in a most lively
conversation with a flaxen-haired daughter of Vienna,
who appeared delighted with the opportunity of reciting
the story of her travels to a new acquaintance, which she
persisted in doing, notwithstanding the obvious displeasure
of her father, a military character, who morosely devoured
his dinner beside her. Her auditor repaid the
lady's condescension with an account of the customs and
traditions of the Highlanders, in doing which the keen
air of his native hills seemed to inspire him; for from a
constrained and quiet, he gradually glided into a free and
earnest manner, and evolved enthusiasm enough to draw
sympathizing looks even from a coterie of native Italians,
his opposite neighbors. Frank Graham was now in a
totally different mood. He sat, braced in his seat, as if
under the influence of some nervous affection; his lips
when released from the restraint imposed upon them,
quivered incessantly, and—it might have been fancy—but
I thought I saw, in the dusky light, several hasty tears fall
upon the crimson drapery. There is something in the
deep emotion of a man of intellectual vigor—and such,
Graham's table-talk had proved him—which interests us
deeply. The very attempt to check the tide of feeling,
the struggle between the reason and the heart, the affective
and reflective powers, as a phrenologist would say,

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

awakens our sympathy. I forgot the object of my visit
to the Scala, and silently resolved to lead off my fellowsojourner
from the memory of his disquietude, or draw
from him its cause, and, if possible, act the comforter.
With this view, I approached him carelessly, as if I had
not noticed his emotion, and proffered him the greetings
of the evening. He looked at me vacantly, a moment,
but soon rejoined with cordiality. Then rising and
drawing his cloak around him, he seized my hand and exclaimed—
`Let us leave this place, my friend.' There
was confidence implied in his tremulous tones, yet I was
half in doubt as to the propriety of alluding to his obvious
depression. It was a fine moonlight night, and we
walked side by side for several minutes, in silence.
`How long since you left home, Mr. Graham?' I inquired
by, way of beginning a colloquy. `Five minutes
ago, or thereabouts,' he replied huskily. I halted in surprise,
and gazed upon him in wonder. He stopped also,
and observing my astonishment continued in a clearer
voice, `Do not be alarmed my friend; I am perfectly
sane; literally speaking, I left Scotland five years since,
but just now your voice aroused me to a consciousness of
where and what I am. I have been carried back not only
to my country, but to my youth, to its richest hour, to
its most vivid epoch; you, by a word, dissolved the spell:—
there is the famous cathedral, this is Milan, and I am
nothing now but Frank Graham; but one memento of
my recent fairy land remains'—and he pointed to the
moon.

`Oh what mistaken kindness we sometimes practice!'

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

I replied; you seemed brooding over some sorrowful subject.
I thought to divert your attention. Forgive my
intrusion, for many, many injuries are fanciful and unworthy
the name, compared with that which drags a happy
idealist from his ærie in the heavens, down to life's common
and desert shore.'

`Say you so, my friend?' returned Graham, `then you
will not laugh at an incident in the life of an enthusiast.
Come, come,' and he drew my arm within his, and quickened
his pace. The window of my room at the Albergo,
reached to the floor, and overlooked a small garden; as
we entered, I placed the lamps in a distant corner, threw
open the curtains and admitted the full light of the moon.
`Now, Heaven grant,' said I, as Frank Graham esconced
himself in a corner of the sofa, and filled his glass
from a flask of red wine—`Heaven grant that your's is a
tale of love and chivalry, for such a scene ill befits an unromantic
legend.'—`It is, indeed, a glorious night; but
who ever heard, in these days, of a poor Scotch student
essaying at tournament or holy war, except in the field of
fiction, as here,'—and he lifted `Ivanhoe' from the
table—`yet remember that this lovely orb smiles equally
upon the love-vigils of the Highland chief, as upon those
of the knights of old, and her beams must seem as romantic
to you, while I improvise a chapter of my autobiography,
as they did to Rebecca the Jewess, daughter of
Isaac of York, when the wounded knight related, at the
same witching season, his adventures in Palestine.'

The vivid impression which our `first play' leaves upon

[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]

the mind might teach us something, if we were introspective
moralists, as to that greatly mooted point—the true
influence of the drama. Perchance from the deep and
splendid visions thus awakened to the fancy, the clear
and romantic aspect which humanity thus portrayed assumes,
we might discover no questionable affinity between
our own unsophisticated natures and the dramatic art, we
might appreciate the importance of such an institution as
the theatre to civilized man, to the dawning mind, to the
human being as such; we might with perfect consistency,
learn to rank the legitimate drama in the poetry of life.
But however this may be, there are many incidental experiences
where an universal end is pursued. About
every general object, personal associations abundantly
cling. There is deep truth in the great German writer's
remark—`every individual spirit wakes in the great
stream of multitude.' Lamb's first visit to the theatre was
powerfully associated with a plate prefixed to Rowe's
Shakspeare. This event with me, is linked with a deeper
reminiscence, for it occurred at an age of deeper susceptibility.

`I was educated at the University of St. Andrews, and
from a three years' residence there, divided between study,
solitary walks along the sea-shore, and attendance upon
prudential lectures daily delivered by the maiden aunt
with whom I resided, I was, all at once, removed to the
metropolis and entered as a law student. At Edinburgh,
I boarded with a distant relation who was a great musical
amateur. In his house there also resided a very eccentric
man, a dramatist by profession. He had an interest in

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

some score of plays, more or less popular, having either
composed or adapted them to the stage. The manager
of one of the principal theatres was his intimate friend,
and had exerted himself to bring out Mr. Connington's
dramas so successfully, that they were then yielding him
a very handsome income. At every meal, dramatic literature
was discussed, and the merits of various actors canvassed.
Not infrequently my kinsman, who was quite an
adept in such matters, gave imitations of the best tragedians,
by way of an evening's pastime. As you may
suppose, I soon became much interested in the subject of
these conversations. To me a new field of thought was
opened. And yet evening after evening, I declined invitations
to attend the theatre. This was thought quite surprising,
particularly as I manifested so much interest in
every thing that was going on there, and after a while took
no inconsiderable part in the dramatic conversations.
The truth was, my imagination was wrought up to the
highest pitch. My `first play' assumed an importance
in my mind, which it is difficult to describe. I came to
regard it as one of the great epochs of existence. I anticipated
its effects as nervous people sometimes fancy
the operation of some powerful nostrum, or as I can imagine
Sir Humphrey Davy looked forward to the effect
of a new gas. In consequence of this feeling, I made
great preparations for the event. I read Shakspeare with
greater attention than ever before, informed myself of the
history of the drama, read innumerable criticisms, biographies
and lectures illustrative of the whole subject, and
finally determined to be governed by circumstances as to

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

the occasion I should choose to make my debut as a playgoer.

`I entered our little parlor one cold, drizzly evening,
five years ago this very night, my head throbbing with six
long hours' delving into the mysteries of the law. In no
very good humor, I seated myself before the grate to
await the dinner hour. I was gazing rather moodily at
the fire, when something intercepted its rays; I looked
up, Mr. Connington was at my elbow holding a printed
bill before me. I could distinguish but one word, `Virginius.
' `Mr. Graham,' said my friend, `you must go
to-night.'—`I will,' said I, and we sat down to dinner.

`During the meal I was unusually silent. I was quite
oppressed with the thought that I was so near an end so
long anticipated. I fancied I had been too precipitate.
I felt like one standing at the entrance of a splendid
Gothic cathedral; it seemed to me that a single step
would bring me into an overpowering scene.

`How little, my friend, can a man of acute, lively sensibilities
calculate upon the experience that awaits him!
A skilful devotee of science can predict, with a good degree
of certainty, the approach of celestial phenomena,
the existence of unseen fountains, and even the direction
of the unborn breeze; but who has the foresight to prophecy
the destiny of feeling—to indicate the next new
influence which shall arouse it, to trace its untravelled
course, or point confidently to its issue? A man conscious
of a fathomless tide of feeling within him, who throws
himself into a world of moral excitements, knows but

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

this, that he is doomed to feel deeply, variously, often to
suffer agony—often to enjoy delight. But the very means
he thought would prove most magnetic, may absolutely
fail to attract, and some unexpected agency, of which he
dreamed not, may approach the unguarded portal of his
soul, and take it by surprise. Such was my experience
when I trusted myself to dramatic influences. I had
thought to be subject to them as a philosopher; but while
seeking this end I was taught most emphatically to realize
my own humanity.

`The leading actress on the Edinburgh boards at the
period to which I refer, was Helen Trevor. This was
not, indeed, the name by which she was known to the
public; for being the daughter of a distinguished performer,
it was deemed expedient for her to appear under
her mother's family name, which was one of the highest in
the annals of the British stage. I first saw her in Virginia,
and never, no, never can I forget that memorable
evening. In the first act, when Virginius says to Servia,
`Go fetch her to me,' I observed all around me silent and
intent from expectation. It was not till the deafening
greetings had subsided, that I raised my eyes, and then
my cherished ideal of female beauty was realized. The
chaste dress of white muslin—the thick dark ringlets
about the neck—the simple girdle—the little satin band
around the beautiful brow—the quiet, gentle and touching
simplicity of the air and accents—all, all are before me.
How deeply I sympathised in the indignation of Virginius—
how I wept when he recited his daughter's praises!
Unfortunately, the part of Icilius was played by a novice.

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

Had it been otherwise, perhaps my emotions, overpowering
as they were, might have been subdued; but while all
the other characters satisfied me, his, Virginia's lover's,
the very part with which I felt myself identified, was
shamefully weak. I was absolutely maddened. The theatre
vanished from my mind. I thought of nothing,
cared for nothing but that fair young creature, and
the idea possessed me, with a frightful tenacity, that
I should one day be the true Icilius. As the play proceeded
I became more and more lost in this idea. It was
only when the wretched personator of the Roman lover
came on, that the illusion vanished. And then a bitter
and impatient hatred possessed me. I longed to clutch
the young man, and hurl him away. And when the
Roman father, in solemn and touching tones, said—


You are my witnesses
That this young creature I present to you
I do pronounce my profitably cherished,
And most deservedly beloved child—
My daughter truly filial, both in word
And act, yet even more in act than word—
I tremblingly ejaculated, `We are, we are.' A lady in the
box thought I was faint and proffered her salts. I took
the vial mechanically, but was not recalled; for a moment
after, when the words reached my enamoured ear—


You will be all
Her father has been—added unto all
A lover would be?
the query seemed addressed to me; unable longer to contain
what rushed to my lips, I rose, sprang upon the seat,

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

and shouted, `I will, I will'—but the words were broken—
I felt a hand close tightly over my mouth, and myself
lifted into the lobby, whence I was hurried, without a
word, into a hackney coach, by the dim lights of which I
discovered Mr. Connington, who had firmly grasped one
arm, while a gentleman, whom I recognised as an occupant
of the box, held the other. They evidently thought
me mad.

`This adventure was a salutary and timely lesson.
Never again did I betray any emotion. But I felt the
more. The drama which I had fancied would produce
such mighty effects on my mind, was nothing except as
it was associated with her. O my friend, you can have
no idea of what mingled ecstacy and bitterness is involved
in the love of an object of public admiration! Sometimes
I would have given worlds if Helen had been a
tradesman's daughter, living in honorable obscurity, and
then when evening came, I saw her personating the
grandest female characters of history, arrayed in an ideal
costume, uttering the noblest sentiments, and appearing
as the faithful, the self-denying, the beautiful representative
of her sex; and then, in those moments, I wished
her ever to be the same. But poor Shakspeare! where
was my reverence for him? Strange fantasy, the world
would have thought, had I written a new commentary on
his tragedies, to declare that the most eloquent line in Romeo
and Juliet was Lady Capulet's, `Nurse, where's my
daughter? call her forth to me'—and in Othello's speech,
the most awakening phrase the last, `Here comes my

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

lady, let her witness it.' Yet such they were to me, for
they called first upon the stage Juliet and Desdemona.

`Many weeks flew by, and my time was ostensibly divided
between Blackstone and the drama. My kinsman
frequently applauded this rare union of rational and imaginative
studies. `Few young men, cousin Frank,' he
would say, `choose so wisely. I perceive you did not
study the philosophy of the human mind, at St. Andrews,
in vain. Here you devote the day to legal investigations,
which, questionless, have a tendency to invigorate the understanding,
to create just habits of thinking, and train
the judgment; then your evenings are given to the greatest
imaginative amusement of this utilitarian age. You
cultivate a taste for the drama. Well, well, cousin, we'll
make a fine fellow of you yet.' In these remarks Mr.
Connington would coincide, neutralizing his praises
with the observation that Mr. Graham's dramatic criticisms
were, somehow or other, more vague and less to the
purpose, than before he attended the theatre.' Neither
of these sage observers of human nature, however, had
the least idea of the true state of the case. And, indeed,
it was not till late that I myself discovered with wonder
which partook strangely of regret and gladness, that it
was not Cordelia or Virginia that I loved, but Helen
Trevor.

`Hitherto my love had been ideal. Personal intercourse
had not revealed to me the imperfections of the
fair Thespian.—Report spoke highly of her character,
and the earnest approbation of the public sufficiently

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

indicated her professional genius. Strange as the
remark would seem to a mere worldly reasoner, you
my friend, will understand me, when I assert that
few attachments excelled mine in real and beautiful sentiment.
It was much like the love which we know ardent
men have cherished for a portrait, a statue, or the being
of their dreams.—Whatever the object of my affections,
in reality, was—however tainted with the alleged evil influences
of her pursuit, however intellectually endowed or
morally gifted—remember that as presented to me, she
was always the living portrait of departed worth, the renovated
image of some hallowed being, the human embodiment
of a poet's dream. Naturally favored with a classical
species of womanly beauty, displaying manners in
which feminine grace and modesty struggled with a vivid
conception of the part she was representing—you cannot
wonder that a hallow of romance was thrown around the
person of my idol. I never saw her but as the personator
of virtue. No other parts were adapted to her talents.
And thus, to my ardent fancy, she became the personification
of all that was good, and beautiful, and true.

`It was not in human nature to be long content with
such a semi-interchange of sympathy. Alas! the thought
struck me, all at once, that there had been no interchange,
that my heart had been given to one who knew me not—
that I was no more to the Thespian than the multitude
who nightly witnessed her performance. I felt foolishly
conscious of my wandering moods. I resolved, after
long and troubled musing, to come face to face with the
admired actress. And yet I feared to adventure. The

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

charm might be dissolved, or it might be confirmed.
What then? I should, at least, know my fate. Stripped
of the adventitious aid of her profession, she might prove
uninteresting. And then—I laughed wildly at the
thought—I should be free! Yet, in a moment I discarded
the idea. If I have been in bondage this month past,
thought I, then let me be a slave forever. It seemed to
me easier to die a victim to imaginary wo, than to return
again to barren studies or common cares. My resolution
taken, I grew impatient, yet never suffered myself
to think of what I was about to do, without realizing that
awe with which the German dramatist says all mortals
must `grasp the urn of destiny.'

`Capital, capital!' exclaimed Mr. Connington, one
morning, at the breakfast-table, as he laid down the Post
and resumed his muffin. `What is it?' inquired my
cousin, taking up the paper. `Why, an excellent criticism
on the Portia we saw Monday night.' `Ah! signed
F. G., too—who can that be?' `Who should it be but
Frank Graham?' asked the dramatist, his eye brightening
at the discovery. I could not deny the authorship. Mr.
Connington hastily swallowed his last cup of tea, and as
he left the room, with a significant nod, remarked—
`Well done, master Frank; she shall know it, too; she
shall, I declare.' I was after him in an instant. `My
dear Mr. Connington,' said I, `pray be careful. If you
choose to force this hasty notice upon the attention of
Miss —, do it in a way which shall impress her favorably
as to the author. See, see, my friend, that I am not
merged in her mind with the herd of coxcomb admirers

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

whom I am sure she despises.' The energy with which
I spoke astonished him, but recovering quickly from his
surprise, he replied, `Why, look you, my young man;
the literary editor of this paper is the best friend her
family ever had; I mean he shall tell her. And should
you like to know her, Frank? I'll ask him to introduce
you. What say?' I could scarcely speak from agitation.
So near the object of my wishes? It seemed impossible.
Clinging to Mr. Connington's arm, I accompanied him
down to the last step, succeeding finally in hurriedly signifying
my assent. I was lost in joyful surprise, from
which I was aroused by my cousin's voice reprimanding
the porter for leaving the street door open, and hastened
in, to prepare for the expected interview.

`That long forenoon passed heavily enough. Not an
iota of legal knowledge did it bring me. The dinner
hour came. I longed to know if Mr. Connington had
seen the editor; but the conversation, for the first time
since my arrival in Edinburgh turned upon foreign politics,
and argument ensued. I thought it inexpressibly
tedious. My abstraction was noticed, which I did not
regret, since it relieved my suspense. `Frank,' said the
dramatist, `your wits seem a wool-gathering. Rally,
man!—you 're a critic, you know. I'm sorry my editorial
friend has gone to Glasgow for a fortnight. I saw
him this morning, just as he was starting. Give my
regards to Mr. Graham,' said he; `I hope to form his
acquaintance on my return—and then, as you say he's
really a fine fellow—I'll introduce him to Miss —; a
thing I would not do for many young men. The lady

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

has no time to waste, and hates promiscuous acquaintances.
' I was terribly disappointed. A fortnight's delay
seemed an age. A proposal of my cousin suggested
consolation.—`Frank,' said he, `I want you to know
my friend Bouvier the composer; he has a sanctum near
the painting-room of the theatre—we'll go up and see
him to-night, between the acts.'

`The platforms extending over the wings, above the
stage are called the flies. They command a view of the
actors and the orchestra. It was necessary to cross these,
on our way to the composer's studio. I looked down a
moment as we passed, and was delighted to find that while
the stage was completely under my cognizance, I myself
was invisible to the performers, unless indeed they should
take great pains to spy me out. I determined to become
intimate with the musical occupant of this curious region,
that I might at will come hither, and, unseen, behold the
Thespian. Mr. Bouvier, upon my kinsman's favorable
representation of my talents, begged me to write the
words adapted to some opera music he was preparing.
And thus was I unexpectedly furnished with a reasonable
excuse for frequenting the vicinity of the hallowed scene
of my favorite labors.

`The next day, at about noon—the hour I had ascertained
she would be at rehearsal, I closed a huge volume
of commentaries, snatched up my hat, and, with a beating
heart, hastened to the theatre. I entered the private door,
passed through the corridors, by the range of dressingrooms,
and, to my joy, encountered no one until I arrived
at the top of the stairs, where stood a knot of carpenters,

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

planning some stage device. They stared a little at my
appearance. `Where is Mr. Bouvier's room?' I inquired.
`This way, sir,' said one of the men, conducting me
across the apartment to a little door. The moment he
retired, I gently closed it behind me, and found myself
alone upon the flies. It was sometime before, in the kind
of twilight which prevailed, I could distinctly behold the
scene upon the stage. Near the foot-lights stood a small
table, upon which three or four candles were burning
amid a mass of papers, two or three books, and a standish.
Here sat a portly man who, I afterwards learned, was the
prompter; beside him was a lad technically denominated
the call-boy; and standing about in groups, pacing in
couples to and fro, or ranged in order and reading their
several parts, were the performers. It was only now and
then that a phrase or two stole up to my ear from the
voices below, but the tones familiar to my dreams arose
not.—Suddenly the readers paused and looked round, as
if a new personage should appear. The prompter whispered
to the urchin at his side, and the boy ran towards
the green-room, shouting the name that was to me so
sacred. Presently the Thespian entered. I saw her for
the first time in the ordinary habit of her sex. Her dress
was simple, but becoming in the extreme. Her manner
of greeting the performers, and their obvious deference
towards her, confirmed me in the idea I had formed of
her lady-like demeanor in private life. Hearing some one
approach, I glided into Mr. Bouvier's room. But to this
post of observation I daily repaired. Thence I watched
every movement and caught every tone of the Thespian

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

O how fleetly sped the hours as I leaned in watchful reverie
over the old oaken beam, and gazed down upon the
rehearsals! The superiority of my charmer among her
mates, her self-possessed dignity under the trying circumstances
of her lot—I saw and marked from my ærie, and
fondly remembered ever. Sometimes I was tempted to
spring down into the midst of the group who were blessed
with her presence. At such moments I turned aside
and paced the platform, then looked down again, and
wrestled with my impatience till she departed, and then
hurried into the street to catch a glimpse of her beautiful
figure, as it glided through the neighboring thoroughfares
to her home.

`The fortnight elapsed; the editor returned. It was a
fine, clear morning—I remember it as if it were to-day.
I was earlier than usual at my post, and judged, from the
aspect of things below, that a quarter of an hour would
elapse before the performers would assemble. Helen
was there. I was at the office of the Post in a trice.
`Is Mr. — in?' I breathlessly asked. `He is,' was the
reply, and I was shown into the inner room.

`Good morning, sir,' I began. “I am Mr. Graham,
the gentleman whom you kindly promised to introduce to
Miss —. She is at the theatre now, sir; the rehearsal
has not commenced. Can you conveniently accompany
me at once?'

`Certainly, sir, with the greatest pleasure. I have to
see the lady myself. I brought a letter from her brother
in Glasgow.'

`How we got to the theatre, I cannot tell. One

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

over-powering idea possessed me. I believed this introduction
was the turning point in my destiny. I answered only
in monosyllables to the editor's warm eulogiums of the
Thespian, and ran along almost dragging him, despite
his half articulated protestations against the pedestrianism
of country-bred Scotchmen. Emerging from the glare of
mid-day into the shadowy gloom of the theatre, we stopped
to take breath and accustom our dimmed vision to the
change. My companion taking my hand, drew me between
two scenes in about the centre line of the stage,
and there we began to observe.

`Is she here?' I asked faintly. Just then Helen appeared,
slowly walking up the stage, intent upon a manuscript.
She was dressed in a simple gown of black silk,
and over her neck was carelessly flung a shawl of richly
wrought lace of the same color. As she walked, the light
from a very high upper window fell directly upon her features;
and ever and anon, she lifted her full expressive
eye from the paper, and repeated to herself, as if to make
trial of her memory. When she came parallel with
us, my companion whispered her name. She turned towards
us; he stepped forward, and was instantly recognized
and kindly greeted. A few expressions passed between
them among which such words as—`news,' `cold,'
`Glasgow,' and others of an import so common-place
that they seemed to mock the solemn interest of my feelings,
when my companion beckoned me forward. I
approached with my hat in my hand and my heart in my
throat. `Miss —, this is the gentleman of whom I
spoke to you,—Mr. Francis Graham, of —.' `I

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

am happy to see you, Mr. Graham,' returned the Thespian,
with a smile that thrilled me, and an accent that
seemed heavenly. I bowed repeatedly. I looked my
veneration and tenderness. I could not speak.

`I had passed the Rubicon, and thenceforth obeyed
the impulse of my feelings fearlessly and freely. Every
night found me behind the wings. The best oranges
that searching could procure in Edinburgh, the fairest
roses of the public gardens, did I lay, as votive offerings,
on the shrine of my idolatry. Five memorable times I
attended the Thespian to her home. On three memorable
evenings I sat beside her, in the midst of her family.
I was abundantly content. If any thing had been necessary
to deepen my interest, it was afforded by the acquaintance
I now formed with her character. She followed
her profession uncomplainingly, for the sake of those dependent
for support upon her toils. During a morning
walk to Salisbury crags, I resolved on the succeeding
night to offer my hand to the Thespian. I determined
to marry her openly; to lead her before the public on her
farewell benefit. As I strolled back to the city, I was
composing the poetical address which I determined she
should speak on this occasion, when the door of my law
office, which I had mechanically reached, interrupted my
muse. I gravely entered, took down the proper
volume in course, opened it at the right place, and seating
myself before the extended page, fixed my eyes

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

intently upon it, and was soon lost in—dreaming of Helen
Trevor.

`It was a lovely afternoon, the one preceding the evening
of my intended declaration. I was in my chamber,
cutting the dead leaves from some wild flowers, just
brought me from the country. Helen was to play Ophelia
that night, and these were destined for her `fennells,
columbines, and rue, her violets and daises.' There
was a noise in the passage. A sudden foreboding oppressed
me. The door slowly opened, and in walked
my old aunt, the Professor of Moral Philosophy in
the University at St. Andrews, my cousin and Mr. Connington.
There was an awful gravity in their countenances.
The flowers dropped from my hands; I was
aghast with astonishment and anxiety. The intruders silently
seated themselves. `Nephew,' said my aunt, in
the old lecture tone, but with unwonted severity of manner,
`I need not ask for whom those foolish weeds are designed;
I know all, sir. The disrespect you have shown
for the honor of your family, my honored kinsman has informed
me of. I warned him never to reprimand you,
but always to notify me of your misdemeanors. This he
has done, in season, happily, to prevent farther mischief.
Your learned friend, here,—and she pointed to the professor—
starts to-morrow for France. We have decided
that he shall be the companion of your travels. Prepare
to accompany him, sir.'

`Suffice it to add, that I was forced from Edinburgh
without being permitted to see the Thespian. Nearly
five years have I been on the continent. Knowledge I

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

have devotedly pursued, but I was born to live and joy
in feeling. I have never entered a theatre since my departure
from home, till to night, the anniversary of my
`first play.' I ventured, and you saw how I was over-come,
ay, and lured into repeating, for the first time during
my exile, the tale you have so patiently heard.'

`Receive my earnest thanks, and all my sympathy,' I
replied; `but what became of the Thespian?'—`She went
to America, and report says she is there married.'

`One query more ere you go'—for he had risen to depart—
`deep as is your grief, you evidently have a theory
that supports you. I have seen you cheerful—what is it?
He smiled, and taking a miniature edition of Childe Harold
from his pocket, said, `It is written here;' then
grasping my hand, he repeated with great force and pathos,
the following lines:

p406-152

“There are those who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel.”—
Keats.

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

Of all the strong holds of despotism at present existing
in Italy, Modena excites in the mind of a republican
the greatest impatience. The narrow limits of the state
are in ludicrous contrast with the tyrannical propensities
of the government. One cannot approach the neat
little capital and gaze through the vine-ranges of the contiguous
plains, to the distant and snow-clad Appenines,
without dwelling regretfully upon the political condition
of a people, upon whose domain nature has lavished her
resources with a richness that would seem to ensure their
prosperity and happiness. The conduct of the Modenese
during the revolutionary excitement, which agitated this
part of Italy several years since, and which is now alluded
to with a significant shrug, as l'affare di trent`uno, and
the sufferings consequent upon its failure, are such also
as to elicit the hearty sympathy of every true friend of

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

liberal principles. The Grand Duke, when compelled to fly
under the escort of the single battalion of his troops, who
mained faithful to him, assured one of his old domestics,
who expressed much commiseration on the occasion, that
in three days he would return and quell the little disturbance.
For more than a month, however, the capital remained
in the possession of the people, who displayed
during this exciting epoch, a singular respect for individual
rights, and maintained a degree of order and good
faith, worthy of a more fortunate issue. Even the priests
assumed the tri-coloured cockade; and among the armed
citizens were many of the sturdy peasants from the neighboring
hills. And when the fugitive prince returned from
Vienna, at the head of fifteen thousand Austrian troops, a
large body of the national guard displayed the most commendable
bravery in defending those of the revolutionists
who were compelled to flee, conducting them in safety,
and not without several severe skirmishes, to Ancona,
whence they embarked for different ports in the Mediterranean
and Adriatic. A series of executions, imprisonments
and confiscations followed, and the traveller continually
meets with the unhappy effects of this impotent
attempt to establish liberty, in the number of impoverished
individuals, the restricted privileges of all classes, and
the increased rigor of the police. The manner in which
the plot was discovered was rather curious. One of the
conspirators was arrested on suspicion of theft, and thinking
all was known, spoke so freely of the plan and persons
pledged to its support, that every important detail
was soon revealed.

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

After this abortive revolution, no political event has
agitated the north of Italy, until the unexpected occupation
of Ancona by the French. An occurrence which
recently took place there was the occasion of much merriment.
It appears that among the French officers, was
one who prided himself greatly upon his skill with the
broad-sword. In order to give scope to this talent, he
had deliberately bullied nearly all his colleagues, besides
a large number of Italian gentlemen into quarrels, and
having invariably come off triumphant, his arrogance was
proportionably increased. At length weary of the peaceable
life he led and impatient for a new victim, he entered
the principal caffé in Ancona, one evening when it was
fully occupied, and for want of a better subject, fixed his
regard upon an athletic and handsome priest who was
quietly reading at a table. Monsieur took a seat by his
side. The priest soon after called for a cup of coffee,
which the officer immediately took possession of. The
latter not doubting it was done through inadvertance, renewed
the order; the Frenchman eagerly grasped the second
cup also. Without losing his patience in the least,
the priest for the third time repeated his demand, and
again his tormentor unceremoniously appropriated the
beverage to himself. By this time, the singular behavior
of the duellist, had attracted the attention of every one
present; and the priest in an elevated but calm tone, turning
to his tormentor, exclaimed, “How unworthy a man
of true courage, to insult one whose profession forbids resentment!”
The officer started to his feet in a rage—
“Priest, or no priest,” said he, “you have called me a

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

coward and I demand satisfaction.” The priest had now
also risen and folding his robes about him, with dignified
coolness he addressed his adversary. “Sir, you
shall be satisfied. I believe among those of your profession,
it is customary for the challenged party, to choose
the place, time, and weapon. Accordingly, sir, let the
place be here, the time now, and the weapon this,” and
with a single blow he hurled him upon the floor in the
centre of the room. The crest-fallen bully was glad to
make his escape, amid the jeers of the company.

A few plain tomb-stones, in an enclosure just before
reaching one of the gates, indicate the Hebrew burying
ground. The sight of these isolated graves but too truly
illustrates the relentless persecution which still follows
the Jews in Italy—a spirit which was manifested with no
little severity by the reinstated Duke of Modena. It having
been ascertained that four of the fraternity had taken
an humble part in the popular movement, a fine of six hundred
thousand francs was levied on the whole sect, and
their number being very small in the Modenese territory,
the payment of the tribute reduced a large portion of the
Israelites to absolute beggary. A still more affecting instance
of the penalties inflicted upon the liberals of Modena,
came under my observation. In the carriage which
conveyed me from the little duchy, was a lady of middle
age, the expression of whose countenance was so indicative
of recent affliction, as to awaken immediate sympathy.
I remarked, too, that peculiar manner which evinces superiority
to suffering, or rather a determination to meet opposing
circumstances with decision of character and

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

moral courage. No one who has ever had occasion to notice
the uprising of a woman's spirit, after the first burst
of passionate sorrow over the mysterious destiny, so truly
described by one of the sweetest of female poets—


`to make idols and to find them clay,'
can ever mistake the manner to which I allude. It is evident
in the calm attention with which the routine of life's
duties are fulfilled, as if they no longer interested the feelings,
but were simply dictated by necessity. It is seen in
the long reveries which occupy the intervals of active engagements;
and it is to be read at a glance in the tranquil
tone, the changeless expression, and the mild composure
which touch with something of sanctity, the person
of one whose existence is bereft of its chief attraction. I
was soon persuaded that such was the case, with the lady
who sat beside me in the Modenese voiture. She answered
my questions with that ready affability which belongs
to the better class of Italians, and with the quick intelligence
of a cultivated mind. For some time our conversation
was of a general nature, until I learned that the
object of her journey was to remove a son from college,
who, for some years, had been pursuing his studies in
Tuscany This led us to speak of education—of its momentuous
importance, and of its neglect in Italy. I remarked
that it seemed to me that the prevailing corruption
of manners was attributable chiefly to the want of good
domestic culture; that the homes of the land were not the
sanctuaries for the mind and affections they should be, because
expediency alone was the basis of most of the

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

connections. “Signor,” she replied, “you speak truly, and
when, alas, there are those who have the independence
and the feeling to disregard the dominant system, and
create one of the sacred homes which you say grace your
native land, death soon severs the ties which were too
blessed to continue.” Tears filled her eyes, and it was
long before she recovered her equanimity sufficiently again
to engage in conversation. I subsequently learned that
this lady was the widow of a distinguished scientific professor
of Modena, who had ardently sympathised in the
vain attempt of his countrymen to enfranchise themselves
from the trammels of despotism. In consequence of his
prominence as a man of letters, it became necessary for
him on the unsuccessful termination of the struggle, to
leave the state. He accordingly fled to Corsica, where
he soon received from the Grand Duke of Tuscany, an
invitation to visit Florence, and the offer of a valuable
professorship. When this became known to the Modenese
government, he was informed that if he did not return
to his native state, his property would be confiscated;
while it was well known that on his re-appearance within
the precincts of the duchy, his head would pay the forfeit
of his attachment to freedom. He was, therefore, soon
joined by his family, and long continued to perform his
duties with distinguished success at Florence. By a species
of compromise, his wife enjoys a limited portion of
her just income, by residing most of the year upon her estates,
the remainder going to increase the ducal treasury.
The husband had died a short time previous, and his
widow was then returning from one of her annual

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

sojourns amid the scenes of her former happiness, a requisition
to which parental love led her to submit, in order to
preserve the already invaded rights of her fatherless children.
The general policy of the Duke of Modena accords
with this spirit of petty tyranny. He is now carrying into
execution many costly projects, some of which, indeed,
tend to embellish the city; but the means to defray them
are provided by taxes as contrary to the spirit of social advancement,
as they are onerous and unwise. It is sufficient
to mention the tribute exacted from all foreign artists,
who execute works at the quarries of Carrara, a measure
utterly unworthy an enlightened European ruler in
the nineteenth century. The countenance of this prince
struck me as altogether accordant with his character; and
the manifest servility of the vocalists at the court opera,
was something new and striking even in Italy. It was
not a little annoying, too, to hear in that splendid spartito
of the Puritani—


Suoni la tromba, e intrepido
Io pugnerai da forte;
Bello è affrontar la morte
Gridando libertà—
which thrills like the spirit of freedom, through the very
heart, the word loyalty substituted for liberty.

The ducal palace of Modena is truly magnificent. Unfortunately
the grand saloon has proved unfit for the festive
scenes it was designed to witness, from the powerful
echo produced by its lofty and vaulted ceiling. Music,
and even the voice when slightly elevated, awakens such
a response as to create anything but an harmonious

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

impression. The walls of the splendid range of apartments,
of which this elegant hall constitutes the centre, are
adorned with beautiful frescos, and lined with the richest
paintings. Among the latter, is a fine crucifixion by
Guido, and the death of Abel by one of his most promising
pupils. I examined this picture with interest when
informed that the author died very young. The meek
beauty of Abel's face, bowed down beneath the iron hold
of the first murderer, whose rude grasp is fiercely fixed
upon his golden hair, while the hand of the victim is laid
deprecatingly upon his brother's breast, abounds in that
expressive contrast which is so prolific a source of true
effect in art, and literature and life. The pleasing impression
derived from dwelling upon the numerous interesting
paintings here collected, is somewhat rudely dispelled
when one emerges from the palace into the square,
and sees the soldiers parading before the gate, and artillery
planted in the piazza, and turns his thoughts from the
ennobling emblems of genius, to the well appointed machinery
of despostism.

In a chamber of the ancient tower, is preserved the old
wooden bucket which is said to have been the occasion of
a war between Bolgna and Modena. It is suspended
by its original chain from the centre of the wall, and is
regarded as a curious and valuable relic, having been immortalized
by Tassoni in his celebrated poem La Secchia
Rapita. My memory, however, was busy with another
trophy memorialized in modern poetry. I remember
hearing a gentleman who had won some enviable laurels
in the field of letters, declare that the most gratifying

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

tribute he ever received, was the unaffected admiration
with which a country lass regarded him in a stage-coach,
after discovering that he was the author of a few verses
which had found their way into the reader used in the
public school she attended. This class book was the first
work which had unveiled to the ardent mind of the maiden,
the sweet mysteries of poetry, and this particular
piece had early fascinated her imagination, and been
transferred to her memory. In expressing her feelings
to the poet, she assured him that it had never occurred to
her that the author of these familiar lines was alive, far less
that he was so like other men, and, least of all, that she
should ever behold and talk with him. It seemed to her
a very strange, as it certainly was a delightful coincidence.
And such is the universal force of early associations, that
we all more or less share the feelings of this unsophisticated
girl; and in a country where education is pursued on a system
which is prevalent with us, many minds derive impressions
from school-book literature, which even the more
ripened taste and altered views of later life, cannot efface
Often have I thus read with delight one of the prettiest
sketches in Roger's Italy—

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

Little did I think in the careless season of boyhood,
that the opportunity would ever be afforded me of following
the poet's advice. Yet here I found myself in Modena,
and it seemed to me like an outrage upon better
feeling, as well as good taste, not to adopt the pleasant
counsel that rang in my ears, as if the kind-hearted banker
poet inclined his white locks and whispered it himself.
I lost no time, therefore, in inquiring for this interesting
picture, but in vain. By one of the thousand vicissitudes
which are ever changing the relics of Italy to the eye of
the traveller, Ginevra's portrait had been removed from
its original position. The oldest cicerone in the place
assured me that he had ineffectually endeavored to trace
it. It was evidently a sore subject with him. `Many
an English traveller, signor,' said he, `has asked me
about this picture, and again and again have I labored to
discover it. It fell into the hands of a dealer in such
things, who does not remember how he disposed of it.'
So I was obliged to rest content with the legend, and
imagine the countenance of her whose strangely melancholy
fate so awed the fancy of my childhood.