Mrs. Piozzy, in her Observations in a Journey through Italy, relates
the following singular anecdote.
“An odd thing,” says she, “of which I was this morning a witness,
has called my thoughts away to a curious train of reflections upon
the animal race, and how far they may be made companionable and
intelligent. The famous _Bertoni_, so well known in London, by his
long residence among us, and, from the undisputed merit of his
compositions, now inhabits this, his native city; and, being fond of
_dumb creatures_, as we call them, took for his companion, a pigeon;
one of the few animals which can live at Venice, where scarcely any
quadrupeds can be admitted, or would exist with any degree of comfort
to themselves.
“This creature has, however, by keeping his master company, obtained
so perfect an ear and taste for music, that no one, who sees his
behaviour, can doubt for a moment of the pleasure he takes in hearing
Mr. Bertoni play and sing: for, as soon as he sits down to the
instrument, Columbo begins shaking his wings, perches on the piano
forte, and expresses the most indubitable motions of delight. If,
however, he, or any one else, strikes a note false, or makes any kind
of discord upon the keys, the pigeon never fails to show evident tokens
of anger and distress; and, if teased too long, grows quite enraged;
pecking the offender’s legs and fingers, in such a manner, as to leave
no doubt of the sincerity of his resentment.”
Signora Cecilia Guiliani, a scholar of Bertoni’s, who has received some
overtures from the London Theatres lately, will, if ever she arrives
there, bear testimony to the truth of an assertion very difficult to
believe, and to which I should hardly myself give credit, were I not a
witness to it every morning that I choose to call and confirm my own
belief. A friend, present, protested he should be afraid to touch the
harpsichord before so nice a critic; and, though we all laughed at the
assertion, Bertoni declared he never knew the bird’s judgment fail;
and that he often kept him out of the room, for fear of affronting or
tormenting those who came to take musical instructions.
“With regard to other actions of life, I saw nothing particular in the
pigeon, but his tameness and strong attachment to his master: for,
though not unwinged, and only clipped a little, he never seeks to
range way from the house, or quit his master’s service, any more than
the Dove of Anacreon.
While his better lot bestows
Sweet repast and soft repose;
And, when feast and frolic tire,
Drops asleep upon his lyre.”
_Mrs. Piozzy._