In the year 1796, on one of the finest evenings of an Italian autumn,
when the whole population of the handsome city of Vicenza were pouring
into the streets to enjoy the fresh air, that comes so deliciously along
the currents of its three rivers; when the Campo Marzo was crowded with
the opulent citizens and Venetian nobles; and the whole ascent, from the
gates to the Madonna who sits enthroned on the summit of Monte Berrico,
was a line of the gayest pilgrims that ever wandered up the vine-covered
side of an Alpine hill; the ears of all were caught by the sound of
successive explosions from a boat running down the bright waters of the
Bachiglione. Vicenza was at peace, under the wing of the lion of St.
Mark, but the French were lying round the ramparts of Mantua. They had
not yet moved on Venice; yet her troops were known to be without arms,
experience, or a general, and the sound of a cracker would have startled
her whole dominions.
The boat itself was of a singular make; and the rapidity with which this
little chaloupe, glittering with gilding and hung with streamers, made
its way along the sparkling stream, struck the observers as something
extraordinary. It flew by every thing on the river, yet no one was
visible on board. It had no sail up, no steersman, no rower; yet it
plunged and rushed along with the swiftness of a bird. The Vicentine
populace are behind none of their brethren in superstition, and at the
sight of the flying chaloupe, the groups came running from the Campo
Marzo. The Monte Berrico was speedily left without a pilgrim, and the
banks of the Bachiglione were, for the first time since the creation,
honoured with the presence of the Venetian authorities, and even of the
sublime podesta [the governor, a Venetian noble.] himself.
But it was fortunate for them that the flying phenomenon had reached the
open space formed by the conflux of the three rivers, before the crowd
became excessive; for, just as it had darted out from the narrow
channel, lined on both sides with the whole thirty thousand old,
middle-aged, and young, men, maids, and matrons of the city, a thick
smoke was seen rising from its poop, its frame quivered, and, with a
tremendous explosion, the chaloupe rose into the air in ten thousand
fragments of fire.
The multitude were seized with consternation; and the whole fell on
their knees, from the sublime podesta himself, to the humblest
saffron-gatherer. Never was there such a mixture of devotion. Never was
there such a concert of exclamations, sighs, callings on the saints, and
rattling of beads. The whole concourse lay for some minutes with their
very noses rubbing to the ground, until they were all roused at once by
a loud burst of laughter. Thirty thousand pair of eyes were lifted up at
the instant, and all fixed in astonishment on a human figure, seen
calmly sitting on the water, in the very track of the explosion, and
still half hidden in the heavy mass of smoke that curled in a huge globe
over the remnants. The laugh had proceeded from him, and the nearer he
approached the multitude, the louder he laughed. At length, stopping in
front of the spot where the sublime podesta, a little ashamed of his
prostration, was getting the dust shaken out of his gold-embroidered
robe of office, and bathing his burning visage in orange-flower water,
the stranger began a sort of complimentary song to the famous city of
Vicenza.
The stranger found a willing audience; for his first stanza was in
honour of the "most magnificent city of Vicenza;" its "twenty palaces by
the matchless Palladio;" much more "its sixty churches;" and much more
than all "its breed of Dominicans, unrivalled throughout the earth for
the fervour of their piety and the capacity of their stomachs." The last
touch made the grand-prior of the cathedral wince a little, but it was
welcomed with a roar from the multitude. The song proceeded; but if the
prior had frowned at the first stanza, the podesta was doubly angry at
the second, which sneered at Venetian pomposity in incomparable style.
But the prior and podesta were equally outvoted, for the roar of the
multitude was twice as loud as before. Then came other touches on the
_cavalieri serventi_, the ladies, the nuns, and the husbands, till every
class had its share: but the satire was so witty, that, keen as it was,
the shouts of the people silenced all disapprobation. He finished by a
brilliant stanza, in which he said, that "having been sent by Neptune
from the depths of the ocean to visit the earth, he had chosen for his
landing-place its most renowned spot, the birthplace of the gayest men
and the handsomest women--the exquisite Vicenza." With these words he
ascended from the shore, and was received with thunders of applause.
His figure was tall and elegant. He wore a loose, scarlet cloak thrown
over his fine limbs, Greek sandals, and a cap like that of the Italian
princes of three centuries before, a kind of low circle of green and
vermilion striped silk, clasped by a large rose of topaz. The men
universally said, that there was an atrocious expression in his
countenance; but the women, the true judges after all, said, without
exception, that this was envy in the men, and that the stranger was the
most "delightful looking _Diavolo_" they had ever set eyes on.
The stranger, on his landing, desired to be led to the principal hotel;
but he had not gone a dozen steps from the water-side, when he exclaimed
that he had lost his purse. Such an imputation was never heard before in
an Italian city; at least so swore the multitude; and the stranger was
on the point of falling several fathoms deep in his popularity. But he
answered the murmur by a laugh; and stopping in front of a beggar, who
lay at the corner of an hospital roaring out for alms, demanded the
instant loan of fifty sequins. The beggar lifted up his hands and eyes
in speechless wonder, and then shook out his rags, which, whatever else
they might show, certainly showed no sequins, "The sequins, or death!"
was the demand, in a tremendous voice. The beggar fell on the ground
convulsed, and from his withered hand, which every one had seen empty
the moment before, out flew fifty sequins, bright as if they had come
that moment from St. Mark's mint. The stranger took them from the
ground, and, with a smile, flung them up in a golden shower through the
crowd. The shouts were immense, and the mob insisted on carrying him to
the door of his hotel.
But the Venetian vigilance was by this time a little awakened, and a
patrol of the troops was ordered to bring this singular stranger before
the sublime podesta. The crowd instantly dropped him at the sight of the
bayonets, and knowing the value of life in the most delicious climate of
the world, took to their heels. The guard took possession of their
prisoner, and were leading him rather roughly to the governor's house,
when he requested them to stop for a moment beside a convent gate, that
he might get a cup of wine. But the Dominicans would not give the
satirist of their illustrious order a cup of water.
"If you will not give me refreshment," exclaimed he, in an angry tone,
"give me wherewithal to buy it. I demand a hundred sequins."
The prior himself was at the window above his head; and the only answer
was a sneer, which was loyally echoed through every cloister.
"Let me have your bayonet for a moment," said the stranger to one of his
guard. He received it; and striking away a projecting stone in the wall,
out rushed the hundred sequins. The prior clasped his hands in agony,
that so much money should have been so near, and yet have escaped his
pious purposes, The soldiers took off their caps for the discoverer, and
bowed them still lower when he threw every sequin of it into the shakos
of those polite warriors. The officer, to whom he had given a double
share, showed his gratitude by a whisper, offering to assist his escape
for as much more. But the stranger declined the civility, and walked
boldly into the presence-chamber of the sublime podesta.
The Signer Dominico Castello-Grande Tremamondo was a little Venetian
noble, descended in a right line from Aeneas, with a palazzo on the
Canale Regio of Venice, which he let for a coffee-house; and living in
the pomp and pride of a _magnifico_ on something more than the wages of
an English groom. The intelligence of this extraordinary stranger's
discoveries had flown like a spark through a magazine, and the
_illustrissimo_ longed to be a partaker in the secret. He interrogated
the prisoner with official fierceness, but could obtain no other reply
than the general declaration, that he was a traveller come to see the
captivations of Italy. In the course of the inquiry the podesta dropped
a significant hint about money.
"As to money," was the reply, "I seldom carry any about me; it is so
likely to tempt _rascals_ to dip deeper in roguery. I have it whenever I
choose to call for it."
"I should like to see the experiment made, merely for its curiosity,"
said the governor.
"You shall be obeyed," was the answer; "but I never ask for more than a
sum for present expenses. Here, you fellow!" said he, turning to one of
the half-naked soldiery, "lend me five hundred sequins!"
The whole guard burst into laughter. The sum would have been a severe
demand on the military chest of the army. The handsome stranger advanced
to him, and, seizing his musket, said, loftily, "Fellow, if you won't
give the money, this must." He struck the butt-end of the musket thrice
upon the floor. At the third blow a burst of gold poured out, and
sequins ran in every direction. The soldiery and the officers of the
court were in utter astonishment. All wondered, many began to cross
themselves, and several of the most celebrated swearers in the regiment
dropped upon their knees. But their devotions were not long, for the
sublime podesta ordered the hall to be cleared, and himself, the
stranger, and the sequins, left alone.
For three days nothing more was heard of any of the three, and the
Vicenzese scarcely ate, drank, or slept, through anxiety to know what
was become of the man in the scarlet cloak, and cap striped green and
vermilion. Jealousy, politics, and piety, at length put their heads
together, and, by the evening of the third day, the _cavalieri_ had
agreed that he was some rambling actor, or Alpine thief, the statesmen,
that he was a spy; and the Dominicans that he was Satan in person. The
women, partly through the contradiction natural to the lovely sex, and
partly through the novelty of not having the world in their own way,
were silent; a phenomenon which the Italian philosophers still consider
the true wonder of the whole affair.
On the evening of the third day a new Venetian governor, with a stately
_cortege_, was seen entering at the Water Gate, full gallop, from
Venice: he drove straight to the podesta's house, and, after an
audience, was provided with apartments in the town-house, one of the
finest in Italy, and looking out upon the _Piazza Grande_, in which are
the two famous columns, one then surmounted by the winged lion of St.
Mark, as the other still is by a statue of the founder of our faith.
The night was furiously stormy, and the torrents of rain and perpetual
roaring of the thunder drove the people out of the streets. But between
the tempest and curiosity not an eye was closed that night in the city.
Towards morning the tempest lulled, and in the intervals of the wind,
strange sounds were heard, like the rushing of horses and rattling of
carriages. At length the sounds grew so loud that curiosity could be
restrained no longer, and the crowd gathered towards the entrance of the
_Piazza_. The night was dark beyond description, and the first knowledge
of the hazard that they were incurring was communicated to the shivering
mob by the kicks of several platoons of French soldiery, who let them
pass within their lines, but prohibited escape. The square was filled
with cavalry, escorting wagons loaded with the archives, plate, and
pictures, of the government. The old podesta was seen entering a
carriage, into which his very handsome daughter, the betrothed of the
proudest of the proud Venetian senators, was handed by the stranger. The
procession then moved, and last, and most surprising of all, the
stranger, mounting a charger, put himself at the head of the cavalry,
and, making a profound adieu to the new governor, who stood shivering at
the window in care of a file of grenadiers, dashed forward on the road
to Milan.
Day rose, and the multitude rushed out to see what was become of the
city. Every thing was as it had been, but the column of the lion: its
famous emblem of the Venetian republic was gone, wings and all. They
exclaimed that the world had come to an end. But the wheel of fortune is
round, let politicians say what they will. In twelve months from that
day the old podesta was again sitting in the government-house--yet a
podesta no more, but a French prefect; the Signora Maria, his lovely
daughter, was sitting beside him, with an infant, the image of her own
beauty, and beside her the stranger, no longer the man of magic in the
scarlet cloak and green and vermilion striped cap with a topaz clasp,
but a French general of division, in blue and silver, her husband, as
handsome as ever, and, if not altogether a professed _Diavolo_, quite as
successful in finding money whenever he wanted it. His first _entree_
into Vicenza had been a little theatrical, for such is the genius of his
country. The blowing-up of his little steam-boat, which had nearly
furnished his drama with a tragic catastrophe, added to its effect; and
his discovery of the sequins was managed by three of his countrymen. As
an inquirer into the nakedness of the land, he might have been shot as a
spy. As half-charlatan and half-madman, he was sure of national
sympathy. During the three days of his stay the old podesta had found
himself accessible to reason, the podesta's daughter to the tender
passion, and the treasures of the state to the locomotive skill of the
French detachment, that waited in the mountains the result of their
officer's diplomacy. The lion of St. Mark, having nothing else to do,
probably disdained to remain, and in the same night took wing from the
column, to which he has never returned.
As we love to "march in good order," we begin with the plates, the most
striking of which is the Frontispiece, _Marcus Curtius_, by Le Keux,
from a design by Martin, which we are at a loss to describe. It requires
a microscopic eye to fully appreciate all its beauties--yet the
thousands of figures and the architectural background, are so clear and
intelligible as to make our optic nerve sympathize with the labour of
the artist. The next is a _View on the Ganges_, by Finden, after
Daniell; _Constancy_, by Portbury, after Stephanoff, in which the female
figure is loveliness personified; _Eddystone during a Storm_; the
_Proposal_, a beautiful family group; the _Cottage Kitchen_, by Romney,
after Witherington; and the _Blind Piper_, from a painting by Clennell,
who, from too great anxiety in the pursuit of his profession, was some
years since deprived of reason, which he has never recovered.
In the _poetical_ department we notice the Retreat, some beautiful lines
by J. Montgomery; Ellen Strathallan, a pathetic legend, by Mrs.
Pickersgill; St. Mary of the Lows, by the Ettrick Shepherd; Xerxes, a
beautiful composition, by C. Swain, Esq.; the Banks of the Ganges, a
descriptive poem, by Capt. McNaghten; Lydford Bridge, a fearful
incident, by the author of Dartmoor; Alice, a tale of merrie England, by
W.H. Harrison; and two pleasing pieces by the talented editor. Our
extract is