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_Fear._--Charles Gustavus (the successor of Christina of Sweden) was
besieging Prague, when a boor of most extraordinary visage desired
admittance to his tent, and, being allowed entrance, offered, by way of
amusing the king, to devour a whole hog, weighing two hundred weight, in
his presence. The old General Konigsmarc, who stood by the king’s side,
and who, soldier as he was, had not got rid of the prejudices of his
childhood, hinted to his royal master that the peasant ought to be burnt
as a sorcerer. “Sir,” said the fellow, irritated at the remark, “if your
majesty will but make that old gentleman take off his sword and his
spurs I will eat him before your face, before I begin the pig.” General
Konigsmarc (who at the head of a body of Swedes had performed wonders
against the Austrians, and who was looked upon as one of the bravest men
of the age) could not stand this proposal, especially as it was
accompanied by a most hideous and preternatural expansion of the
frightful peasant’s jaws. Without uttering a word the veteran suddenly
turned round, ran out of the court, and thought not himself safe until
he had arrived at his quarters.
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THE LABOURERS OF EUROPE.--No. 2.
[Illustration: Driving Wild Cattle in the Maremma.]
That part of Italy which borders the Mediterranean, from the mountains
of Genoa to the extremity of Calabria, a length of about seven hundred
miles, consists, except in a few places, such as Naples, where hills
intervene, of a broad stripe of flat country extending from the
sea-shore to the lower ridges of the Apennine mountains. This region is
called the Maremma. It is particularly unhealthy during the summer
months, from June to October, when all the inhabitants who are able
remove to the hills, and the few who are obliged to remain are exposed
to the malaria fever, an intermittent ague, which emaciates the body,
exhausts the vital strength, and, if not checked in time, proves fatal
to the patient. The farms in the greater part of this immense tract, and
more particularly in the Roman and Tuscan divisions of it, are very
large, often extending to several thousand acres. They are held by
wealthy tenants, who live in the towns and keep agents and domestics who
reside on the spot, at least till harvest time. By far the greater part
of the land, although arable, is left for pasture, about one-fourth or
one-sixth being brought into cultivation by annual rotation. No villages
or cottages are to be seen; but here and there, at long intervals, a
dingy, dismal looking _casale_ or farm-house, a speck in the midst of
the desert. As there is no fixed population in these plains, labourers
are engaged from the interior, and chiefly from the highlands of the
Apennines, where a scanty soil, though under a healthy climate, does not
furnish sufficient occupation for the native peasantry. They generally
come down from the mountains in October, in bands of about one hundred
each, under the guidance of a leader, a sort of jobber, who stipulates
for their services and pay with the agent of the farm. It is calculated
that about twenty thousand come down in this manner every year in the
Campagna or plains of Rome alone. Many of them remain till May, employed
in the different works of the farm. They are engaged mostly by the
season, and receive at the rate of from ten to fifteen pence a day.
Their chief nourishment consists of _polenta_, or Indian corn flour,
boiled, with water and salt, into a sort of pudding, with the occasional
addition of skimmed milk or grated cheese. They sleep on the bare
ground, either in the casale, or under shelter of temporary huts made
with canes (arundo tenax), which grow luxuriantly in these regions.
At harvest time, about the latter end of June, a new reinforcement of
labourers from the mountains is required. This is the most critical
period in the year for those poor men who come by thousands from the
pure and wholesome atmosphere of their native districts to inhale the
pestilential air of the lowlands, working by day under a burning sun,
and sleeping at night in the open air, exposed to the heavy dews and to
the bite of gnats and other insects. The harvest men are engaged for
eleven or twelve days, sometimes a fortnight, and they are paid at the
rate of about two francs, or 1_s._ 10_d._ a day. They are also better
fed at this time, and have a plentiful allowance of wine and water. The
corn must be cut, threshed, winnowed, and carried into the granary by
the middle of July, after which no one dares to remain in the fields.
Mr. Chateauvieux, who visited one of these immense farms during the
harvest season, gives the following description of the scene:--
“The _fattore_ or steward ordered horses for us to visit the farm, and
while they were getting ready I examined the _casale_, or farm-house, a
noble but gloomy structure. It consisted of a spacious kitchen and two
large apartments adjoining, at the end of which were three other rooms
of similar dimensions; all totally destitute of furniture, not even
having windows. These formed the ground floor of the centre building.
Above them were six other rooms of the same size used as granaries, one
only being furnished for the use of the superintendants. The wings were
formed by capacious arched stables, at once airy and cool; and above
them were lofts for hay. This part of the establishment is almost
superfluous, being merely used to put up the cattle employed in the work
of the farm during the resting time in the middle of the day; at all
others they are turned out to graze in the open air. There was not the
least appearance of care or neatness about the whole farm. Neither
trees, gardens, nor vegetables were to be seen. To my observations about
this negligence the people replied that the cattle would trample down
and destroy whatever might be planted or sown, and that it was therefore
more convenient to purchase their vegetables in the neighbouring towns,
which are surrounded with vineyards, orchards, and gardens. The expense
of carriage is nothing on these large grazing farms, where there are
always cattle in abundance. They put a loaf and a bundle of hay into the
cart, and thus equipped will perform a journey of sixty miles without
any expense. This abundance of animals constitutes the only luxury of
these farms. Neither steward, superintendants, nor even the herdsmen,
ever think of going on foot. They are always on horseback, galloping at
full speed over the plains, with a gun or a _pungolo_ or spear in their
hands, and horses are always kept ready saddled in the stables, each
person employed on the farm having two assigned for his use. As soon as
we were mounted, the steward conducted us to the part of the farm where
the harvest had commenced. Broad stripes, of a golden yellow, extended
at a distance over the undulated surface of the soil towards the sea;
and we at length came in sight of a sort of army in battle array, with
the commanders on horseback having lances in their hands, fixed to their
stations. We passed several carts drawn by oxen, which were loaded with
bread intended for the consumption of the men. We beheld before us a
long line of a thousand reapers round a vast tract of corn which was
silently falling under their sickles, while twelve superintendants on
horseback surveyed and animated them from behind. They raised a loud
shout at our approach, which resounded through the solitude, and was
intended as a salute to the master of the farm. Soon after, the carts
which we had passed drew up under the shade of some oaks, which were
providentially still remaining in the middle of the plain. At a signal
given, the reapers quitted their work, and the whole troop defiled
before us. There were about as many men as women, all natives of the
Abruzzi. The former were good figures, but the women were frightful.
They were bathed in sweat, for the heat was terrible. Though it was only
a few days since they left the mountains, the malaria was beginning to
affect them. Two only had as yet been attacked by the fever, but I was
told that the number would increase daily, and that by the end of the
harvest, scarce half the troop would be left. ‘What becomes of these
poor wretches?’ inquired I. ‘We give them a piece of bread, and send
them away.’ ‘But where do they go?’ ‘They return towards the mountains:
some of them die on the road, and the others reach home exhausted with
illness and fatigue to recommence the same attempt next year.’ The
repast of this day was a festival; for the master, in order to make his
visit the more welcome, had purchased at Genzano two cart-loads of
water-melons, which were distributed to the reapers with the bread,
which in general forms their only food. The eyes of the poor people were
eagerly fixed on these fine fruits, and I cannot describe the joy which
appeared in their countenances when the large knives displayed the red
pulp and refreshing juice of the melons, and spread around a delicious
perfume. They make three meals a day, which divides their labours into
two periods, and they are allowed two hours sleep in the middle of the
day. Their slumbers at that time are unattended with danger; but the
earth still serves as their bed after the cold dews of the evening haze
descended upon it, and they pass the night on the moist turf in the
midst of sulphureous exhalations. Their employers say that they would
lose too much time were they to return every evening to sleep at the
casale, which in these extensive farms is often at a great distance.”
Thus for about one pound sterling, to which the wages of a reaper during
the harvest fortnight amount, thousands of these poor men walk fifty or
sixty miles and back again, to work in the pestilential flats of the
Maremma, with the prospect of catching the fever, and either dying away
from home, or returning sickly and debilitated for the rest of the year.
Such is, and has been for ages past, the condition of labourers in some
of the most celebrated regions of Italy. In the time of the ancient
Romans the country was cultivated chiefly by slaves, who were considered
no better than cattle, and over whose persons the owners had unlimited
power, beating them, mutilating them, or putting them to death at their
will. Christianity effected a great change: the slaves became, first of
all, serfs attached to the soil, and bound to perform a certain measure
of work for their masters, but their persons were placed under the
protection of the laws. By degrees the serfs became emancipated over the
greatest part of Europe, and although most of them continued poor, they
were enabled to dispose of their own labour and carry it to the best
market. This is as much as human justice and benevolence have been able
to effect as yet for the labourers of Europe in the course of eighteen
centuries. Any further improvement in their condition must be the result
of a slow progress in the general condition of society, to be
accelerated by the diffusion of sound knowledge.
The only stationary population in the Maremma consists of the cow and
buffalo keepers, and forest rangers. The former are always mounted and
armed with a lance, with which they keep in respect the wild cows and
fierce bulls, which are let to roam about these solitudes. These keepers
lead a life of freedom and independence, like that of the Arabs in the
desert; they are paid by yearly wages, besides which they generally rear
up cattle of their own, which are allowed to feed with the rest. They
retire in the summer months to the shady forests which line the
sea-shore, and where the air is not so unwholesome as in the open
plains. There, also, criminals escaped from the pursuits of justice take
shelter, and are sometimes employed as wood rangers or buffalo drivers
by the people of the neighbouring farms. The following cut, as well as
that at the head of this article, represents the mode of driving cattle
to the towns.
[Illustration: A man drives four head of cattle with a long stick. The
cattle are yoked together.]
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THE NATIONAL GALLERY.--No. 3.
Among the restorers of art in the fifteenth century, perhaps the
greatest name, whether in regard to the extent or the versatility of his
powers, is that of LEONARDO DA VINCI. Other artists, his contemporaries
or immediate predecessors, had done much towards the resuscitation, or
rather the introduction, of a just taste, each according to the
particular bent of his genius. But Leonardo, with an intuitive
comprehension, seems to have seized on every principle of excellence,
and although those principles were carried by his successors, at least
by M. Angelo, Raffaelle, and Titian, to higher degrees of perfection,
yet it is not too much to assert that in his works we discover, not the
germs merely, but in visible development, the severe dignity of the
Florentine, the dramatic pathos of the Roman, and the captivating
splendour of the Venetian schools. The works of Leonardo are scarce. The
celebrated picture of the Last Supper, at Milan, has crumbled from the
walls; it is well known, however, by engravings. The picture of _Christ
disputing with the Doctors_, in the National Gallery, is in all that
relates to internal evidence, of unquestionable originality; although,
from the difficulty of having the history of so early a picture, doubts
of its genuineness have been sometimes expressed. Of its value as a
great work of art there can be no doubt. It is evident, that in this
brilliant and elaborate performance Leonardo has tasked his powers to
the utmost. From the depth of colour and chiaroscuro, the figures stand
out in the boldest relief; but in order to concentrate the interest on
the person of the Saviour, the subordinate figures are kept somewhat
smaller than the laws of perspective allow: an artifice not perfectly
justifiable, but, in this instance, fully effective. The person of
Christ is considerably older than is consonant with scriptural
authority, and the countenance has an air of almost feminine mildness
and amiability: indeed, it is evident that the radical lines of the
physiognomy were constructed on that abstract idea of beauty which the
artist had established in his own mind. Hence it is that this head of
the Saviour is, perhaps, somewhat deficient in masculine energy. The
expression, however, is beautiful and characteristic; and announces a
being who, conscious of uttering inspired truths, encounters the
authority of human wisdom without fear, and triumphs without arrogance.
The noble and sedate character of this picture is nowhere disturbed by
strong contrasts or violent expression. The astonishment which the
Doctors may be supposed to have evinced, has subsided; and with the
exception of the eager and determined theologian on the right, they
appear to listen with absorbed and deferential attention to the
arguments and eloquence of their divine antagonist. The drapery of the
Saviour is disposed with great grace and dignity, and the hands are
painted with peculiar beauty.
There are four pictures by CORREGIO in the National Gallery, and
although neither of them can be said to exhibit the excellence of that
great master in its fullest extent, they are yet fine and beautiful
specimens of his various and extraordinary powers. The two groups of
children’s heads which hang on the staircase are painted precisely on
the same principle with the groups of angels in the Cupola at Parma,--a
style which in breadth and grandeur has never been equalled, except by
Michael Angelo in the Sistine Chapel. The two small pictures exhibit the
extremes of Corregio’s style: that of _Christ praying in the Garden_,
leaning to the last degree of depth and concentration; the other, that
of _The Holy Family_, being made up of semi-tones, and scarcely
exceeding, either in its lights or shadows, the medium of half-tint. The
colouring, too, is negative, never approaching to a primitive hue; but
the execution is exquisitely pure and delicate. If in this work Corregio
is at all inferior to himself in his usual power of expression, the
deficiency is amply compensated in the picture of _Christ praying in the
Garden_, which may be cited as one, among the few works of art, in which
every part of the picture is made a vehicle of the presiding sentiment.
The whole scene is enveloped in gloom and solemnity. No genial hues
enliven the colouring, a part even of the principal light formed by the
mantle of Christ being composed of pale blue, an arrangement rarely
admitted by Corregio or any other great colourist: the only tint
approaching to warmth is that of the drapery of the Angel, a subdued
red, which, for the purpose of harmony, is faintly repeated on the
groups in the middle distance. The first pale grey of dawn appears
breaking over the horizon; but the general effect of the picture is that
of intense gloom, in the midst of which we discern the sleeping
Disciples, and farther off the Jews approaching to seize on Christ. The
figure of the Redeemer himself, isolated, amidst darkness and danger,
while his friends slumber and his enemies pursue him, is a sublime and
touching impersonation of suffering virtue appealing to God from human
persecution, but bowing with implicit resignation to the Almighty will.
In this picture, Corregio exhibits what we so often wish for in
Rembrandt, principals worthy of the beautiful accessories by which they
are surrounded.
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