VENICE.

We went down the Brenta in a barge that brought us in eight hours to

Venice, the first appearance of which revived all the ideas inspired by

Canaletti, whose views of this town are most scrupulously exact; those

especially which one sees at the Queen of England's house in St. James's

Park; to such a degree indeed, that we knew all the famous towers,

steeples, &c. before we reached them. It was wonderfully entertaining to

find thus realized all the pleasures that excellent painter had given us

so many times reason to expect; and I do believe that Venice, like other

Italian beauties, will be observed to possess features so striking, so

prominent, and so discriminated, that her portrait, like theirs, will

not be found difficult to take, nor the impression she has once made

easy to erase. British charms captivate less powerfully, less certainly,

less suddenly: but being of a softer sort increase upon acquaintance;

and after the connexion has continued for some years, will be

relinquished with pain, perhaps even in exchange for warmer colouring

and stronger expression.

St. Mark's Place, after all I had read and all I had heard of it,

exceeded expectation: such a cluster of excellence, such a constellation

of artificial beauties, my mind had never ventured to excite the idea of

within herself; though assisted with all the powers of doing so which

painters can bestow, and with all the advantages derived from verbal and

written description. It was half an hour before I could think of looking

for the bronze horses, of which one has heard so much; and from which

when one has once begun to look, there is no possibility of withdrawing

one's attention. The general effect produced by such architecture, such

painting, such pillars; illuminated as I saw them last night by the moon

at full, rising out of the sea, produced an effect like enchantment; and

indeed the more than magical sweetness of Venetian planners, dialect,

and address, confirms one's notion, and realizes the scenes laid by

Fenelon in their once tributary island of Cyprus. The pole set up as

commemorative of their past dominion over it, grieves one the more, when

every hour shews how congenial that place must have been to them, if

every thing one reads of it has any foundation in truth.

The Ducal palace is so beautiful, it were worth while almost to cross

the Alps to see that, and return home again: and St. Mark's church,

whose Mosaic paintings on the outside are surpassed by no work of art,

delights one no less on entering, with its numberless rarities; the

flooring first, which is all paved with precious stones of the second

rank, in small squares, not bigger than a playing card, and sometimes

less. By the second rank in gems I mean, carnelion, agate, jasper,

serpentine, and verd antique; on which you place your feet without

remorse, but not without a very odd sensation, when you find the ground

undulated beneath them, to represent the waves of the sea, and

perpetuate marine ideas, which prevail in every thing at Venice. We were

not shewn the treasury, and it was impossible to get a sight of the

manuscript in St. Mark's own hand-writing, carefully preserved here, and

justly esteemed even beyond the jewels given as votive offerings to his

shrine, which are of immense value.

The pictures in the Doge's house are a magnificent collection; and the

Noah's Ark by Bassano would doubtless afford an actual study for natural

historians as well as painters, and is considered as a model of

perfection from which succeeding artists may learn to draw animal life:

scarcely a creature can be recollected which has not its proper place in

the picture; but the pensive cat upon the fore-ground took most of my

attention, and held it away from the meeting of the Pope and Doge by the

other brother Bassano, who here proves that his pencil is not divested

of dignity, as the connoisseurs sometimes tell us that he is. But it is

not one picture, or two, or twenty, that seizes one's mind here; it is

the accumulation of various objects, each worthy to detain it. Wonderful

indeed, and sweetly-satisfying to the intellectual appetite, is the

variety, the plenty of pleasures which serve to enchain the imagination,

and fascinate the traveller's eye, keeping it ever on this _little

spot_; for though I have heard some of the inhabitants talk of its

vastness, it is scarcely bigger than our Portman Square, I think, not

larger at the very most than Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.

It is indeed observable that few people know how to commend a thing so

as to make their praises enhance its value. One hears a pretty woman not

unfrequently admired for her wit, a woman of talents wondered at for her

beauty; while I can think on no reason for such perversion of language,

unless it is that a small share of elegance will content those whose

delight is to hear declamation; and that the most hackeyed sentiments

will seem new, when uttered by a pair of rosy lips, and seconded by the

expression of eyes from which every thing may be expected.

To return to St. Mark's Place, whence _we have never strayed_: I must

mention those pictures which represent his miracles, and the carrying

his body away from Alexandria: events attested so as to bring them

credit from many wise men, and which have more authenticity of their

truth, than many stories told one up and down here. So great is the

devotion of the common people here to their tutelar saint, that when

they cry out, as we do _Old England for ever_! they do not say, _Viva

Venezia_! but _Viva San Marco_! And I doubt much if that was not once

the way with _us_; in one of Shakespear's plays an expiring prince being

near to give all up for gone, is animated by his son in these words,

"_Courage father_, cry _St. George_!"

We had an opportunity of seeing _his_ day celebrated with a very grand

procession the other morning, April 23, when a live boy personated the

hero of the show; but fate so still upon his painted courser, that it

was long before I perceived him to breathe. The streets were vastly

crowded with spectators, that in every place make the principal part of

the _spectacle_.

It is odd that a custom which in contemplation seems so unlikely to

please, should when put in practice appear highly necessary, and

productive of an effect which can be obtained no other way. Were the

houses in Parliament Street to hang damask curtains, worked carpets,

pieces of various coloured silks, with fringe or lace round them, out of

every window when the King of England goes to the House, with numberless

well-dressed ladies leaning out to see him pass, it would give one an

idea of the continental towns upon a gala day. But our people would be

apt to cry out, _Monmouth Street!_ and look ashamed if their neighbours

saw the same deckerwork counterpane or crimson curtain produced at

Easter, which made a figure at Christmas the December before; so that no

end would be put to expence in our country, were such a fancy to take

place. The rainy weather beside would spoil all our finery at once; and

_here_, though it is still cold enough to be sure, and the women wear

sattins, yet still one shivers over a bad fire only because there is no

place to walk and warm one's self; for I have not seen a drop of rain.

The truth is, this town cannot be a wholesome one, for there is scarcely

a possibility of taking exercise; nor have I been once able to circulate

my blood by motion since our arrival, except perhaps by climbing the

beautiful tower which stands (as every thing else does) in St. Mark's

Place. And you may drive a garden-chair up _that_, so easy is the

ascent, so broad and luminous the way. From the top is presented to

one's sight the most striking of all prospects, water bounded by

land--not land by water.--The curious and elegant islets upon which, and

into which, the piles of Venice are driven, exhibiting clusters of

houses, churches, palaces, every thing--started up in the midst of the

sea, so as to excite amazement.

But the horses have not been spoken of, though one pair drew Apollo's

car at Delphos. The other, which we call modern, and laugh while we call

them so, were made however before the days of Constantine the Great.

They are of bright yellow brass, not black bronze, as I expected to find

them, and grace the glorious church I am never weary of admiring; where

I went one day on purpose to find out the red marble on which Pope

Alexander III. sate, and placed his foot upon the neck of the Emperor:

the stone has this inscription half legible round it, _Super aspidem et

basiliscum ambulabis_[Footnote: Thou shalt tread on the asp and the

basilisk]. How does this lovely Piazza di San Marco render a

newly-arrived spectator breathless with delight! while not a span of it

is unoccupied by actual beauty; though the whole appears uncrowded, as

in the works of nature, not of art.

It was upon the day appointed for making a new chancellor, however, that

one ought to have looked at this lovely city; when every shop, adorned

with its own peculiar produce, was disposed to hail the passage of its

favourite, in a manner so lively, so luxuriant, and at the same time so

tasteful--there's no telling. Milliners crowned the new dignitary's

picture with flowers, while columns of gauze, twisted round with

ribband, in the most elegant style, supported the figure on each side,

and made the prettiest appearance possible. The furrier formed his skins

into representations of the animal they had once belonged to; so the

lion was seen dandling the kid at one door, while the fox stood courting

a badger out of his hole at the other. The poulterers and fruiterers

were by many thought the most beautiful shops in town, from the variety

of fancies displayed in the disposal of their goods; and I admired at

the truly Italian ingenuity of a gunsmith, who had found the art of

turning his instruments of terror into objects of delight, by his

judicious manner of placing and arranging them. Every shop was

illuminated with a large glass chandelier before it, besides the wax

candles and coloured lamps interspersed among the ornaments within. The

senators have much the appearance of our lawyers going robed to

Westminster Hall, but the _gentiluomini_, as they are called, wear red

dresses, and remind me of the Doctors of the ecclesiastical courts in

Doctors Commons.

It is observable that all long robes denote peaceful occupations, and

that the short cut coat is the emblem of a military profession, once the

disgrace of humanity, now unfortunately become its false and cruel

pride.

When the enemies of King David meant to declare war against him, they

cut the skirts of his ambassador's clothes off, to shew him he must

prepare for battle; and the Orientals still consider short dresses as a

disgraceful preparation for hostile proceedings; nor could any thing

have reconciled Europe to the custom, except our horror of Turkish

manners, and desire of being distinguished from the Saracens at the time

of the Holy War.

I have said nothing yet about the gondolas, which every body knows are

black, and give an air of melancholy at first sight, yet are nothing

less than sorrowful; it is like painting the lively Mrs. Cholmondeley

in the character of Milton's

Pensive Nun, devout and pure,

Sober, stedfast, and demure--

As I once saw her drawn by a famous hand, to shew a Venetian lady in her

gondola and zendaletto, which is black like the gondola, but wholly

calculated like that for the purposes of refined gallantry. So is the

nightly rendezvous, the coffee-house, and casino; for whilst Palladio's

palaces serve to adorn the grand canal, and strike those who enter

Venice with surprise at its magnificence; those snug retreats are

intended for the relaxation of those who inhabit the more splendid

apartments, and are fatigued with exertions of dignity, and necessity of

no small expence. They breathe the true spirit of our luxurious Lady

Mary, who probably learned it here, or of the still more dissolute

Turks, our present neighbours; who would have thought not unworthy a

Testa Veneziana, her famous stanza, beginning,

But when the long hours of public are past,

And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last;

Surely she had then present to her warm imagination a favourite Casino

in the Piazza St. Marco. That her learned and highly-accomplished son

imbibed her taste and talents for sensual delights, has been long known

in England; it is not so perhaps that there is a showy monument erected

to his memory at Padua, setting forth his variety and compass of

knowledge in a long Latin inscription. The good old monk who shewed it

me seemed generously and reasonably shocked, that such a man should at

last expire with somewhat more firm persuasions of the truth of the

Mahometan religion than any other; but that he doubted greatly of all,

and had not for many years professed himself a Christian of any sect or

denomination whatever.

So have I seen some youth set out,

Half Protestant, half Papist;

And wand'ring long the world about,

Some new religion to find out,

Turn Infidel or Atheist.

We have been told much of the suspicious temper of Venetian laws; and

have heard often that every discourse is suffered, except such as tends

to political conversation, in this city; and that whatever nobleman,

native of Venice, is seen speaking familiarly with a foreign minister,

runs a risque of punishments too terrible to be thought on.

How far that manner of proceeding may be wise or just, I know not;

certain it is that they have preserved their laws inviolate, their city

unattempted, and their republic respectable, through all the concussions

that have shaken the rest of Europe. Surrounded by envious powers, it

becomes them to be vigilant; conscious of the value of their unconquered

state, it is no wonder that they love her; and surely the true _Amor

Patriæ_ never glowed more warmly in old Roman bosoms than in theirs, who

draw, as many families here do, their pedigree from the consuls of the

Commonwealth. Love without jealousy is seldom to be met with, especially

in these warm climates--let us then permit them to be jealous of a

constitution which all the other states of Italy look on with envy not

unmixed with malice, and propagate strange stories to its disadvantage.

That suspicion should be concealed under the mask of gaiety is neither

very new nor very strange: the reign of our Charles the Second was

equally famous for plots, perjuries, and cruel chastisements, as for

wanton levity and indecent frolics: but here at Venice there are no

unpermitted frolics; her rulers love to see her gay and cheerful; they

are the fathers of their country, and if they _indulge_, take care not

to _spoil_ her.

With regard to common chat, I have heard many a liberal and eloquent

disquisition upon the state of Europe in general, and of Venice in

particular, from several agreeable friends at their own Casino, who did

not appear to have more fears upon them than myself, and I know not why

they should. Chevalier Emo is deservedly a favourite with them, and we

used to talk whole evenings of him and of General Elliott; the

bombarding of Tunis, and defence of Gibraltar. The news-papers spoke of

some fireworks exhibited in England in honour of their hero; they were

"vrayment _feux de joye_" said an agreeable Venetian, they were not

_feux d'artifice._

The deep secrecy of their councils, however, and unrelenting steadiness

of their resolutions, cannot be better explained than by telling a

little story, which will illustrate the private virtue as well as the

public authority of these extraordinary people; for though the tale is

now in abler hands (intending as I am told, to form a tragedy upon its

basis), the summary may serve to adorn my little work; as a landscape

painter refuses not to throw the story of Phaeton's petition for

Apollo's car into his picture, for the purpose of illuminating the back

ground, though Ovid has written the story and Titian has painted it.

Some years ago then, perhaps a hundred, one of the many spies who ply

this town by night, ran to the state inquisitor, with information that

such a nobleman (naming him) had connections with the French ambassador,

and went privately to his house every night at a certain hour. The

_messergrando_, as they call him, could not believe, nor would proceed,

without better and stronger proof, against a man for whom he had an

intimate personal friendship, and on whose virtue he counted with very

particular reliance. Another spy was therefore set, and brought back the

same intelligence, adding the description of his disguise; on which the

worthy magistrate put on his mask and bauta, and went out himself; when

his eyes confirming the report of his informants, and the reflection on

his duty stifling all remorse, he sent publicly for _Foscarini_ in the

morning, whom the populace attended all weeping to his door.

Nothing but resolute denial of the crime alleged could however be forced

from the firm-minded citizen, who, sensible of the discovery, prepared

for that punishment he knew to be inevitable, and submitted to the fate

his friend was obliged to inflict: no less than a dungeon for life, that

dungeon so horrible that I have heard Mr. Howard was not permitted to

see it.

The people lamented, but their lamentations were vain. The magistrate

who condemned him never recovered the shock: but Foscarini was heard of

no more, till an old lady died forty years after in Paris, whose last

confession declared she was visited with amorous intentions by a

nobleman of Venice whose name she never knew, while she resided there as

companion to the ambassadress. So was Foscarini lost! so died he a

martyr to love, and tenderness for female reputation! Is it not

therefore a story fit to be celebrated by that lady's pen, who has

chosen it as the basis of her future tragedy?--But I will anticipate no

further.

Well! this is the first place I have seen which has been capable in any

degree of obliterating the idea of Genoa la superba, which has till now

pursued me, nor could the gloomy dignity of the cathedral at Milan, or

the striking view of the arena at Verona, nor the Sala de Giustizia at

lettered Padua, banish her beautiful image from my mind: nor can I now

acknowledge without shame, that I have ceased to regret the mountains,

the chesnut groves, and slanting orange trees, which climbed my chamber

window _there_, and at _this_ time too! when

Young-ey'd Spring profusely throws

From her green lap the pink and rose.

But whoever sees St. Mark's Place lighted up of an evening, adorned with

every excellence of human art, and pregnant with pleasure, expressed by

intelligent countenances sparkling with every grace of nature; the sea

washing its walls, the moon-beams dancing on its subjugated waves, sport

and laughter resounding from the coffee-houses, girls with guitars

skipping about the square, masks and merry-makers singing as they pass

you, unless a barge with a band of music is heard at some distance upon

the water, and calls attention to sounds made sweeter by the element

over which they are brought--whoever is led suddenly I say to this scene

of seemingly perennial gaiety, will be apt to cry out of Venice, as Eve

says to Adam in Milton,

With thee conversing I _forget all time_,

All _seasons_, and their _change_--all please _alike_.

For it is sure there are in this town many astonishing privations of all

that are used to make other places delightful: and as poor Omai the

savage said, when about to return to Otaheite--_No horse there! no ass!

no cow, no golden pippins, no dish of tea!--Ah, missey! I go without

every thing--I always so content there though_.

It is really just so one lives at this lovely Venice: one has heard of a

horse being exhibited for a show there, and yesterday I watched the poor

people paying a penny a piece for the sight of a _stuffed one_, and am

more than persuaded of the truth of what I am told here, That

numberless inhabitants live and die in this great capital, nor ever find

out or think of enquiring how the milk brought from Terra Firma is

originally produced. When such fancies cross me I wish to exclaim, Ah,

happy England! whence ignorance is banished by the diffusion of

literature, and narrowness of notions is ridiculed even in the lowest

class of life. Candour must however confess, that while the possessor of

a Northern coal-mine riots in that variety of adulation which talents

deserve and riches contrive to obtain, those who labour in it are often

natives of the dismal region; where many have been known to be born, and

work, and die, without having ever seen the sun, or other light than

such as a candle can bestow. Let such dark recollections give place to

more cheerful imagery.

We have just now been carried to see the so justly-renowned arsenal, and

unluckily missed the ship-launch we went thither chiefly to see. It is

no great matter though! one comes to Italy to look at buildings,

statues, pictures, people! The ships and guns of England have been such

as supported her greatness, established her dominion, and extended her

commerce in such a manner as to excite the admiration and terror of

Europe, whose kingdoms vainly as perfidiously combined with her own

colonies against that power which _they_ maintained, in spite of the

united efforts of half the globe. I shall hardly see finer ships and

guns till I go home again, though the keeping all together on one island

so--that island walled in too completely with only a single door to come

in and out at--is a construction of peculiar happiness and convenience;

while dock, armoury, rope-walk, all is contained in this space, exactly

two miles round I think.

What pleased me best, besides the _whole_, which is best worth being

pleased with, was the small arms: there are so many Turkish instruments

of destruction among them quite new to me, and the picture commemorating

the cruel death of their noble gallant leader Bragadin, so inhumanly

treated by the Saracens in 1571. With infinite gratitude to his amiable

descendant, who shewed me unmerited civility, dining with us often, and

inviting us to his house, &c. I leave this repository of the Republic's

stores with one observation, That however suspicious the Venetians are

said to be, I found it much more easy for Englishmen to look over

_their_ docks, than for a foreigner to find his way into ours.

Another reflection occurs on examination of this spot; it is, that the

renown attached to it in general conversation, is a proof that the world

prefers convenience to splendour; for here are no superfluous ornaments,

and I am apt to think many go away from it praising beauties by which

they have been but little struck, and utilities they have but little

understood.

From this show you are commonly carried to the glass manufactory at

Murano; once the retreat of piety and freedom, when the Altinati fled

the fury of the Huns: a beautiful spot it is, and delightfully as oddly

situated; but these are _gems which inlay the bosom of the deep_, as

Milton says--and this perhaps, the prettiest among them, is walked over

by travellers with that curiosity which is naturally excited, in one

person by the veneration of religious antiquity; in another, by the

attention justly claimed by human industry and art. Here may be seen a

valuable library of books, and here may be seen glasses of all colours,

all sorts, and all prices, I believe: but whoever has looked much upon

the London work in this way, will not be easily dazzled by the lustre of

Venetian crystal; and whoever has seen the Paris mirrors, will not be

astonished at any breadth into which glass can be spread.

We will return to Venice, the view of which from the Zueca, a word

contracted from Giudecca, as I am told, would invite one never more to

stray from it--farther at least than to St. George's church, on another

little opposite island, whence the prospect is surely wonderful; and one

sits longing for a pencil to repeat what has been so often exquisitely

painted by Canaletti, just as foolishly as one snatches up a pen to tell

what has been so much better told already by Doctor Moore. It was to

this church I was sent, however, for the purpose of seeing a famous

picture painted by Paul Veronese, of the marriage at Cana in

Galilee--where our Saviour's first miracle was performed; in which

immense work the artist is well known to have commemorated his own

likeness, and that of many of his family, which adds value to the piece,

when we consider it as a collection of portraits, besides the history it

represents. When we arrived, the picture was kept in a refectory

belonging to friars (of what order I have forgotten), and no woman could

be admitted. My disappointment was so great that I was deprived even of

the powers of solicitation by the extreme ill-humour it occasioned; and

my few intreaties for admission were completely disregarded by the good

old monk, who remained outside with me, while the gentlemen visited the

convent without molestation. At my return to Venice I met little

comfort, as every body told me it was my own fault, for I might put on

men's clothes and see it whenever I pleased, as nobody then would stop,

though perhaps all of them would know me.

If such slight gratifications however as seeing a favourite picture, can

be purchased no cheaper than by violating truth in one's own person, and

encouraging the violation of it in others, it were better surely die

without having ever procured to one's self such frivolous enjoyments;

and I hope always to reject the temptation of deceiving mistaken piety,

or insulting harmless error.

But it is almost time to talk of the Rialto, said to be the finest

single arch in Europe, and I suppose it is so; very beautiful too when

looked on from the water, but so dirtily kept, and deformed with mean

shops, that passing over it, disgust gets the better of every other

sensation. The truth is, our dear Venetians are nothing less than

cleanly; St. Mark's Place is all covered over in a morning with

chicken-coops, which stink one to death; as nobody I believe thinks of

changing their baskets: and all about the Ducal palace is made so very

offensive by the resort of human creatures for every purpose most

unworthy of so charming a place, that all enjoyment of its beauties is

rendered difficult to a person of any delicacy; and poisoned so

provokingly, that I do never cease to wonder that so little police and

proper regulation are established in a city so particularly lovely, to

render her sweet and wholesome. It was at the Rialto that the first

stone of this fair town was laid, upon the twenty-fifth of March, as I

am told here, with ideal reference to the vernal equinox, the moment

when philosophers have supposed that the sun first shone upon our earth,

and when Christians believe that the redemption of it was first

announced to _her_ within whose womb it was conceived.

The name of _Venice_ has been variously accounted for; but I believe our

ordinary people in England are nearest to the right, who call it _Venus_

in their common discourse; as that goddess was, like her best beloved

seat of residence, born of the sea's light froth, according to old

fables, and partook of her native element, the gay and gentle, not rough

and boisterous qualities. It is said too, and I fear with too much

truth, that there are in this town some permitted professors of the

inveigling arts, who still continue to cry _Veni etiam_, as their

ancestors did when flying from the Goths they sought these sands for

refuge, and gave their lion wings. Till once well fixed, they kindly

called their continental neighbours round to share their liberty, and to

accept that happiness they were willing to bestow and to diffuse; and

from this call--this _Veni etiam_ it is, that the learned men among them

derive the word _Venetia_.

I have asked several friends about the truth of what one has been always

hearing of in England, that the Venetian gondoliers sing Tasso and

Ariosto's verses in the streets at night; sometimes quarrelling with

each other concerning the merit of their favourite poets; but what I

have been told since I came here, of their attachment to their

respective masters, and secrecy when trusted by them in love affairs,

seems far more probable; as they are proud to excess when they serve a

nobleman of high birth, and will tell you with an air of importance,

that the house of Memmo, Monsenigo, or Gratterola, has been served by

their ancestors for these eighty or perhaps a hundred years;

transmitting family pride thus from generation to generation; even when

that pride is but reflected only like the mock rainbow of a summer

sky.--But hark! while I am writing this peevish reflection in my room, I

hear some voices under my window answering each other upon the Grand

Canal. It is, it _is_ the gondolieri sure enough; they are at this

moment singing to an odd sort of tune, but in no unmusical manner, the

flight of Erminia from Tasso's Jerusalem. Oh, how pretty! how pleasing!

This wonderful city realizes the most romantic ideas ever formed of it,

and defies imagination to escape her various powers of enslaving it.

Apropos to singing;--we were this evening carried to a well-known

conservatory called the Mendicanti; who performed an oratorio in the

church with great, and I dare say deserved applause. It was difficult

for me to persuade myself that all the performers were women, till,

watching carefully, our eyes convinced us, as they were but slightly

grated. The sight of girls, however, handling the double bass, and

blowing into the bassoon, did not much please _me_; and the deep-toned

voice of her who sung the part of Saul, seemed an odd unnatural thing

enough. What I found most curious and pretty, was to hear Latin verses,

of the old Leonine race broken into eight and six, and sung in rhyme by

these women, as if they were airs of Metastasio; all in their dulcified

pronunciation too, for the _patois_ runs equally through every language

when spoken by a Venetian.

Well! these pretty syrens were delighted to seize upon us, and pressed

our visit to their parlour with a sweetness that I know not who would

have resisted. We had no such intent; and amply did their performance

repay my curiosity, for visiting Venetian beauties, so justly

celebrated for their seducing manners and soft address. They accompanied

their voices with the forte-piano, and sung a thousand buffo songs, with

all that gay voluptuousness for which their country is renowned.

The school, however is running to ruin apace; and perhaps the conduct of

the married women here may contribute to make such _conservatorios_

useless and neglected.

When the Duchess of Montespan asked the famous Louison D'Arquien, by way

of insult, as she pressed too near her, "_Comment alloit le metier_[O]?"

"_Depuis que les dames sen mélent_" (replied the courtesan with no

improper spirit,) "_il ne vaut plus rien_[P]." It may be these syrens

have suffered in the same cause; I thought the ardency of their manners

an additional proof of their hunger for fresh prey.