Has stopt to scrawl a ship, an armed man; But lo, engraven on a threshold-stone, As through the courts and chambers we advance, -Ah, no, 't is but a mockery of the sense, XVI. THE BAG OF GOLD. unwilling to hear it, for it bears some resemblance to that of the Merchant of Venice. We were now arrived at a pavilion that commanded one of the noblest prospects imaginable; the mountains, the sea, and the islands illuminated by the last beams of day; and, sitting down there, he proceeded with his usual vivacity; for the sadness, that had come across him, was gone. There lived in the fourteenth century, near Bologna, a widow-lady of the Lambertini family, called Madonna Lucrezia, who in a revolution of the state had known the bitterness of poverty, and had even begged her bread; kneeling day after day like a statue at the gate of the cathedral; her rosary in her left hand and her right held out for charity; her long |black veil concealing a face that had once adorned a court, and had received the homage of as many sonnets as Petrarch has written on Laura. But fortune had at last relented; a legacy from a distant relation had come to her relief; and she was now the mistress of a small inn at the foot of the Apennines; where she entertained as well as she could, and where those only stopped who were contented with a little. The house was still standing, when in my youth I passed that way; though the sign of the White Cross, the Cross of the Hospitallers, was no longer to be seen over the door; a sign which she had taken, if we may believe the tradition there, in honor of a maternal uncle, a grand-master of that Order, whose achievements in Palestine she would sometimes relate. A mountain-stream ran through the garden; and at no great distance, where the road turned on its way to Bologna, stood a little chapel, in which a lamp was always burning before a picture of the Virgin, a picture of great antiquity, the work I DINE very often with the good old Cardinal *** and, I should add, with his cats; for they always sit at his table, and are much the gravest of the company. His beaming countenance makes us forget his age; nor did I ever see it clouded till yesterday, of some Greek artist. when, as we were contemplating the sun-set from his terrace, he happened, in the course of our conversation, to allude to an affecting circumstance in his early life. Here she was dwelling, respected by all who knew her; when an event took place, which threw her into the deepest affliction. It was at noon-day in September that three foot-travellers arrived, and, He had just left the University of Palermo and seating themselves on a bench under her vine-trellis, was entering the army, when he became acquainted were supplied with a flagon of Aleatico by a lovely with a young lady of great beauty and merit, a girl, her only child, the image of her former self. Sicilian of a family as illustrious as his own. Living The eldest spoke like a Venetian, and his beard was near each other, they were often together; and, at short and pointed after the fashion of Venice. In his an age like theirs, friendship soon turns to love. But demeanor he affected great courtesy, but his look inhis father, for what reason I forget, refused his con- spired little confidence; for when he smiled, which sent to their union; till, alarmed at the declining health of his son, he promised to oppose it no longer, if, after a separation of three years, they continued as much in love as ever. he did continually, it was with his lips only, not with his eyes; and they were always turned from yours, His companions were bluff and frank in their manner, and on their tongues had many a soldier's oath. Relying on that promise, he said, I set out on a In their hats they wore a medal, such as in that age long journey, but in my absence the usual arts were was often distributed in war; and they were eviresorted to. Our letters were intercepted; and false dently subalterns in one of those Free Bands which rumors were spread-first of my indifference, then were always ready to serve in any quarrel, if a serof my inconstancy, then of my marriage with a rich vice it could be called, where a battle was little more heiress of Sienna; and, when at length I returned than a mockery; and the slain, as on an opera-stage, to make her my own, I found her in a convent of were up and fighting to-morrow. Overcome with the Ursuline Nuns. She had taken the veil; and I, said heat, they threw aside their cloaks; and, with their he with a sigh-what else remained for me?—I went gloves tucked under their belts, continued for some into the church. time in earnest conversation. Yet many, he continued, as if to turn the conver- At length they rose to go; and the Venetians thus sation, very many have been happy though we were addressed their Hostess. "Excellent Lady, may we not; and, if I am not abusing an old man's privilege, leave under your roof, for a day or two, this bag of let me tell you a story with a better catastrophe. It gold?" "You may,” she replied gaily. “But rememwas told to me when a boy; and you may not be ber, we fasten only with a latch. Bars and bolts, we have none in our village; and, if we had, where curtain, lest her beauty should divert their thoughts; would be your security?" "In your word, Lady." "But what if I died to-night? Where would it be then?" said she, laughing. "The money would go to the Church; for none could claim it.” "Perhaps you will favor us with an acknowledgment." "If you will write it." a precaution in this instance at least unnecessary, Lorenzo having lost his heart to another.' To him she flies in her necessity; but of what assistance can he be? He has just taken his place at the bar, but he has never spoken; and how stand up alone, unpractised and unprepared as he is, against an array that would alarm the most experienced?— Were I as mighty as I am weak," said he, “my An acknowledgment was written accordingly, and fears for you would make me as nothing. But I will she signed it before Master Bartolo, the village phy- be there, Gianetta; and may the Friend of the sician who had just called by chance to learn the news Friendless give me strength in that hour! Even now of the day; the gold to be delivered when applied my heart fails me; but, come what will, while I have for, but to be delivered (these were the words) not to a loaf to share, you and your mother shall never want. one-nor to two-but to the three; words wisely I will beg through the world for you." introduced by those to whom it belonged, knowing The day arrives, and the court assembles. The what they knew of each other. The gold they had claim is stated, and the evidence given. And now the just released from a miser's chest in Perugia; and defence is called for-but none is made; not a sylthey were now on a scent that promised more. lable is uttered; and, after a pause and a consultaThey and their shadows were no sooner departed, tion of some minutes, the Judges are proceeding to than the Venetian returned, saying, "Give me leave give judgment, silence having been proclaimed in to set my seal on the bag, as the others have done;" the court, when Lorenzo rises and thus addresses and she placed it on a table before him. But in that them. moment she was called away to receive a Cavalier, "Reverend Signors. Young as I am, may I venture who had just dismounted from his horse; and, when to speak before you? I would speak in behalf of one she came back, it was gone. The temptation had who has none else to help her; and I will not keep proved irresistible; and the man and the money had you long. vanished together. "Wretched woman that I am!" she cried, as in an agony of grief she fell on her daughter's neck, "What will become of us? Are we again to be cast out into the wide world?-Unhappy child, would that thou hadst never been born!" and all day long she lamented; but her tears availed her little. The others were not slow in returning to claim their due; and there were no tidings of the thief: he had fled far away with his plunder. A process against her was instantly begun in Bologna; and what defence could she make?-how release herself from the obligation of the bond? Wilfully or in negligence she had parted with it to one, when she should have kept it for all; and inevitable ruin awaited her! "Much has been said; much on the sacred nature of the obligation-and we acknowledge it in its full force. Let it be fulfilled, and to the last letter. It is what we solicit, what we require. But to whom is the bag of gold to be delivered? What says the bond? Not to one-not to two-but to the three. Let the three stand forth and claim it." From that day, (for who can doubt the issue?) none were sought, none employed, but the subtle, the eloquent Lorenzo. Wealth followed Fame; nor need I say how soon he sat at his marriage-feast, or who sat beside him. XVII. A CHARACTER. "Go, Gianetta," said she to her daughter, "take What least of all he would consent to lose, He clanks his fetters to disturb my peace. Now Gianetta had a lover; and he was a student The steward, his stories longer than his rent-roll, of the law, a young man of great promise, Lorenzo Who enters, quill in ear, and, one by one, Martelli. He had studied long and diligently under As though I lived to write and wrote to live, that learned lawyer, Giovanni Andreas, who, though Unrolls his leases for my signature." little of stature, was great in renown, and by his contemporaries was called the Arch-doctor, the Rabbi of Doctors, the Light of the World. Under him he had studied, sitting on the same bench with Petrarch; and also under his daughter, Novella, who would often lecture to the scholars, when her father was on pourroit examiner si cette fille avançoit, ou si elle retardoit le profit de ses auditeurs, en leur cachant son beau visage. lly otherwise engaged, placing herself behind a small auroit cent choses à dire pour et contre là-dessus. 1 Ce pourroit être, says Bayle, la matière d'un joli problême: Of wealth and power, renouncing willingly What men most covet, wealth, distinction, power, And they, the few, that have it ere they earn it, These dangerous gifts placed in their idle hands, XVIII. SORRENTO. He who sets sail from Naples, when the wind Blows fragrance from Posìlipo, may soon, Crossing from side to side that beautiful lake, Land underneath the cliff, where once among The children gathering shells along the shore, One laugh'd and play'd, unconscious of his fate;1 His to drink deep of sorrow, and, through life, To be the scorn of them that knew him not, Trampling alike the giver and his gift, The gift a pearl precious, inestimable, A lay divine, a lay of love and war, To charm, ennoble, and, from age to age, Sweeten the labor, when the oar was plied Or on the Adrian or the Tuscan sea. There would I linger-then go forth again, And hover round that region unexplored, Where to Salvator (when, as some relate, By chance or choice he led a bandit's life, Yet oft withdrew, alone and unobserved, To wander through those awful solitudes) Nature reveal'd herself. Unveil'd she stood, In all her wildness, all her majesty, As in that elder time, ere Man was made. There would I linger-then go forth again; And he who steers due east, doubling the cape, Discovers, in a crevice of the rock, The fishing-town, Amalfi. (165) Haply there 1 Tasso. A heaving bark, an anchor on the strand, Then were the nations by her wisdom sway'd; "Who are the noble founders ?" every tongue A legacy, compared with which the wealth They are now forgot, There now to him who sails Under the shore, a few white villages, Scatter'd above, below, some in the clouds, Some on the margin of the dark-blue sea, And glittering through their lemon-groves, announce The region of Amalfi. Then, half-fallen, A lonely watch-tower on the precipice, Their ancient land-mark, comes. Long may it last; Though now he little thinks how large his debt, XIX. PESTUM. THEY stand between the mountains and the sea; Awful memorials, but of whom we know not!! The seaman, passing, gazes from the deck. The buffalo-driver, in his shaggy cloak, Points to the work of magic and moves on. Time was they stood along the crowded street, Temples of Gods! and on their ample steps What various habits, various tongues beset The brazen gates for prayer and sacrifice! Time was perhaps the third was sought for Justice; And here the accuser stood, and there the accused; And here the judges sate, and heard, and judged. All silent now!-as in the ages past, Trodden under foot and mingled, dust with dust. How many centuries did the sun go round Waiting the appointed time! All, all within From my youth upward have I longed to tread Where once a slave withstood a world in arms.2 The air is sweet with violets, running wild (171) 'Mid broken friezes and fallen capitals; Sweet as when Tully, writing down his thoughts, Those thoughts so precious and so lately lost, (172) (Turning to thee, divine Philosophy, Ever at hand to calm his troubled soul) Sail'd slowly by, two thousand years ago, For Athens; when a ship, if north-east winds Blew from the Prestan gardens, slack'd her course. On as he moved along the level shore, These temples, in their splendor eminent Mid arcs and obelisks, and domes and towers, Reflecting back the radiance of the west, Well might He dream of Glory!--Now, coil'd up, The serpent sleeps within them; the she-wolf Suckles her young: and, as alone I stand In this, the nobler pile, the elements Of earth and air its only floor and covering, How solemn is the stillness! Nothing stirs 1 The temples of Pæstum are three in number; and have survived, nearly nine centuries, the total destruction of the city. Tradition is silent concerning them; but they must have existed now between two and three thousand years. 2 Spartacus. See Plutarch in the life of Crassus. Save the shrill-voiced cicala flitting round In such an hour as this, the sun's broad disk Walls of some capital city first appear'd, "T is said a stranger in the days of old (Some say a Dorian, some a Sybarite; But distant things are ever lost in clouds), "T is said a stranger came, and, with his plow, Traced out the site; and Posidonia rose, (173) Severely great, Neptune the tutelar God; A Homer's language murmuriug in her streets, And in her haven many a mast from Tyre. Then came another, an unbidden guest. He knock'd and enter'd with a train in arms; And all was changed, her very name and language! The Tyrian merchant, shipping at his door Ivory and gold, and silk, and frankincense, Sail'd as before, but sailing, cried "For Pæstum !" Pastum's twice-blowing roses; while, within, And now a Virgil, now an Ovid sung Parents and children mourn'd-and, every year, ('T was on the day of some old festival) Talk'd in the ancient tongue of things gone by.2 Met to give way to tears, and once again, At length an Arab climb'd the battlements, Slaying the sleepers in the dead of night; And from all eyes the glorious vision fled! Leaving a place lonely and dangerous, Where whom the robber spares, a deadlier foe3 Strikes at unseen-and at a time when joy Opens the heart, when summer-skies are blue, And the clear air is soft and delicate; For then the demon works-then with that air The thoughtless wretch drinks in a subtle poison Lulling to sleep; and, when he sleeps, he dies. XX. MONTE CASSINO. "WHAT hangs behind that curtain?" (174)"Wouldst thou learn? If thou art wise, thou wouldst not. "Tis by some As though the day were come, were come and past, Once on a Christmas-eve-ere yet the roof Rung with the hymn of the Nativity, There came a stranger to the convent-gate, And ask'd admittance; ever and anon, As if he sought what most he fear'd to find, Looking behind him. When within the walls, These walls so sacred and inviolable, Still did he look behind him; oft and long, With haggard eye and curling, quivering lip, Catching at vacancy. Between the fits, For here, 't is said, he linger'd while he lived, He would discourse, and with a mastery, A charm by none resisted, none explain'd, Unfelt before; but when his cheek grew pale, All was forgotten. Then, howe'er employed, He would break off, and start as if he caught A glimpse of something that would not be gone; And turn and gaze, and shrink into himself, As though the Fiend was there, and, face to face, Scowl'd o'er his shoulder. Most devout he was; Most unremitting in the Services; Then, only then, untroubled, unassail'd; And, to beguile a melancholy hour, Would sometimes exercise that noble art He learnt in Florence; with a master's hand, As to this day the Sacristy attests, Painting the wonders of the Apocalypse. At length he sunk to rest, and in his cell None here can doubt: for they that come to catch With what he could not fly from, none can say, 1 Michael Angelo. XXI. THE HARPER. It was a Harper, wandering with his harp, But the child They were bound, he said, And, as we gazed, he bade me rest assured Their harp-it had a voice oracular, went, The grandsire, step by step, led by the child; XXII. THE FELUCA. DAY glimmer'd; and beyond the precipice (Which my mule follow'd as in love with fear, |