Pencillings by the Way Part 16

I left Verona with the courier at sunset, and was at _Mantua_ in a few hours. I went to bed in a dirty hotel, the best in the place, and awoke, bitten at every pore by fleas--the first I have encountered in Italy, strange as it may seem, in a country that swarms with them. For the next twenty-four hours I was in such positive pain that my interest in "Virgil's birthplace" quite evaporated. I hired a _caleche_, and travelled all night to _Modena_.

I liked the town as I drove in, and after sleeping an hour or two, I went out in search of "Ta.s.soni's bucket" (which Rogers says _is not the true one_), and the picture of "_Ginevra_." The first thing I met was a man going to execution. He was a tall, exceedingly handsome man; and, I thought, a marked gentleman, even in his fetters. He was one of the body-guard of the duke, and had joined a conspiracy against him, in which he had taken the first step by firing at him from a window as he pa.s.sed. I saw him guillotined, but I will spare you the description. The duke is the worst tyrant in Italy, it is well known, and has been fired at _eighteen times_ in the streets. So said the cicerone, who added, that "the d----l took care of his own." After many fruitless inquiries, I could find nothing of "the picture," and I took my place for Bologna in the afternoon.

I was at Bologna at ten the next morning. As I felt rather indisposed, I retained my seat with the courier for Florence; and, hungry with travel and a long fast, went into a _restaurant_, to make the best use of the hour given me for refreshment. A party of Austrian officers sat at one end of the only table, breakfasting; and here I experienced the first rudeness I have seen in Europe. I mention it to show its rarity, and the manner in which, even among military men, a quarrel is guarded against or prevented. A young man, who seemed the wit of the party, chose to make comments from time to time on the solidity of what he considered my breakfast. These became at last so pointed, that I was compelled to rise and demand an apology. With one voice, all except the offender, immediately sided with me, and insisted on the justice of the demand, with so many apologies of their own, that I regretted noticing the thing at all. The young man rose, after a minute, and offered me his hand in the frankest manner; and then calling for a fresh bottle, they drank wine with me, and I went back to my breakfast. In America, such an incident would have ended, nine times out of ten, in a duel.

The two mounted _gens d'armes_, who usually attend the courier at night, joined us as we began to ascend the Appenines. We stopped at eleven to sup on the highest mountain between Bologna and Florence, and I was glad to get to the kitchen fire, the clear moonlight was so cold. Chickens were turning on the long spit, and sounds of high merriment came from the rooms above. A _bridal party_ of English had just arrived, and every chamber and article of provision was engaged.

They had nothing to give us. A compliment to the hostess and a bribe to the cook had their usual effect, however; and as one of the dragoons had ridden back a mile or two for my travelling cap, which had dropped off while I was asleep, I invited them both, with the courier, to share my bribed supper. The cloth was spread right before the fire, on the same table with all the cook's paraphernalia, and a merry and picturesque supper we had of it. The rough Tuscan flasks of wine and Etruscan pitchers, the brazen helmets formed on the finest models of the antique, the long mustaches, and dark Italian eyes of the men, all in the bright light of a blazing fire, made a picture that Salvator Rosa would have relished. We had time for a hasty song or two after the dishes were cleared, and then went gayly on our way to Florence.

Excuse the brevity of this epistle, but I must stop here, or lose the opportunity of sending. If my letters do not reach you with the utmost regularity, it is no fault of mine. You can not imagine the difficulty I frequently experience in getting a safe conveyance.

LETTER x.x.xVI.

BATHS OF LUCCA--SARATOGA OF ITALY--HILL SCENERY--RIVER LIMA--FASHIONABLE LODGINGS--THE VILLA--THE DUKE'S PALACE-- MOUNTAINS--VALLEYS--COTTAGES--PEASANTS--WINDING-PATHS-- AMUs.e.m.e.nTS--PRIVATE PARTIES--b.a.l.l.s--FETES--A CASINO--ORIGINALS OF SCOTT'S DIANA VERNON AND THE MISS PRATT OF THE INHERITANCE--A SUMMER IN ITALY, ETC., ETC.

I spent a week at the baths of Lucca, which is about sixty miles north of Florence, and the Saratoga of Italy. None of the cities are habitable in summer, for the heat, and there flocks all the world to bathe and keep cool by day, and dance and intrigue by night, from spring to autumn. It is very like the month of June in our country in many respects, and the differences are not disagreeable. The scenery is the finest of its kind in Italy. The whole village is built about a bridge across the river Lima, which meets the Serchio a half mile below. On both sides of the stream the mountains rise so abruptly, that the houses are erected against them, and from the summits on both sides you look directly down on the street. Half-way up one of the hills stands a cl.u.s.ter of houses, overlooking the valley to fine advantage, and these are rather the most fashionable lodgings. Round the base of this mountain runs the Lima, and on its banks for a mile is laid out a superb road, at the extremity of which is another cl.u.s.ter of buildings, called the Villa, composed of the duke's palace and baths, and some fifty lodging-houses. This, like the pavilion at Saratoga, is usually occupied by invalids and people of more retired habits. I have found no hill scenery in Europe comparable to the baths of Lucca. The mountains ascend so sharply and join so closely, that two hours of the sun are lost, morning and evening, and the heat is very little felt. The valley is formed by four or five small mountains, which are clothed from the base to the summit with the finest chestnut woods; and dotted over with the nest-like cottages of the Luccese peasants, the smoke from which, morning and evening, breaks through the trees, and steals up to the summits with an effect than which a painter could not conceive anything more beautiful. It is quite a little paradise; and with the drives along the river on each side at the mountain foot, and the trim winding-paths in the hills, there is no lack of opportunity for the freest indulgence of a love of scenery or amus.e.m.e.nt.

Instead of living as we do in great hotels, the people at these baths take their own lodgings, three or four families in a house, and meet in their drives and walks, or in small exclusive parties. The Duke gives a ball every Tuesday, to which all respectable strangers are invited; and while I was there an Italian prince, who married into the royal family of Spain, gave a grand _fete_ at the theatre. There is usually some party every night, and with the freedom of a watering-place, they are rather the pleasantest I have seen in Italy.

The Duke's chamberlain, an Italian cavalier, has the charge of a _casino_, or public hall, which is open day and night for conversation, dancing and play. The Italians frequent it very much, and it is free to all well-dressed people; and as there is always a band of music, the English sometimes make up a party and spend the evening there in dancing or promenading. It is maintained at the Duke's expense, lights, music, and all, and he finds his equivalent in the profits of the gambling-bank.

I scarce know who of the distinguished people I met there would interest you. The village was full of coroneted carriages, whose masters were n.o.bles of every nation, and every reputation. The originals of two well-known characters happened to be there--Scott's _Diana Vernon_, and the _Miss Pratt_ of the Inheritance. The former is a Scotch lady, with five or six children; a tall, superb woman still, with the look of a mountain-queen, who rode out every night with two gallant boys mounted on ponies, and dashing after her with the spirit you would bespeak for the sons of Die Vernon. Her husband was the best horseman there, and a "has been" handsome fellow, of about forty-five.

An Italian abbe came up to her one night, at a small party, and told her he "wondered the king of England did not marry her." "Miss Pratt"

was the companion of an English lady of fortune, who lived on the floor below me. She was still what she used to be, a much-laughed-at but much-sought person, and it was quite requisite to know her. She flew into a pa.s.sion whenever the book was named. The rest of the world there was very much what it is elsewhere--a medley of agreeable and disagreeable, intelligent and stupid, elegant and awkward. The _women_ were perhaps superior in style and manner to those ordinarily met in such places in America, and the _men_ vastly inferior. It is so wherever I have been on the continent.

I remained at the baths a few weeks, recruiting--for the hot weather and travel had, for the first time in my life, worn upon me. They say that a summer in Italy is equal to five years elsewhere, in its ravages upon the const.i.tution, and so I found it.

LETTER x.x.xVII.

RETURN TO VENICE--CITY OF LUCCA--A MAGNIFICENT WALL--A CULTIVATED AND LOVELY COUNTRY--A COMFORTABLE PALACE--THE DUKE AND d.u.c.h.eSS OF LUCCA--THE APPENINES--MOUNTAIN SCENERY-- MODENA--VIEW OF AN IMMENSE PLAIN--VINEYARDS AND FIELDS-- AUSTRIAN TROOPS--A PETTY DUKE AND A GREAT TYRANT--SUSPECTED TRAITORS--LADIES UNDER ARREST--MODENESE n.o.bILITY--SPLENDOR AND MEANNESS--CORREGIO'S BAG OF COPPER COIN--PICTURE GALLERY-- CHIEF OF THE CONSPIRATORS--OPPRESSIVE LAWS--ANTIQUITY-- MUSEUM--BOLOGNA--Ma.n.u.sCRIPTS OF Ta.s.sO AND ARIOSTO--THE PO--AUSTRIAN CUSTOM-HOUSE--POLICE OFFICERS--DIFFICULTY ON BOARD THE STEAMBOAT--VENICE ONCE MORE, ETC.

After five or six weeks _sejour_ at the baths of Lucca, the only exception to the pleasure of which was an attack of the "country fever," I am again on the road, with a pleasant party, bound for Venice; but pa.s.sing by cities I had not seen, I have been from one place to another for a week, till I find myself to-day in Modena--a place I might as well not have seen at all as to have hurried through, as I was compelled to do a month or two since. To go back a little, however, our first stopping-place was the city of Lucca, about fifteen miles from the baths; a little, clean, beautiful gem of a town, with a wall three miles round only, and on the top of it a broad carriage road, giving you on every side views of the best cultivated and loveliest country in Italy. The traveller finds nothing so rural and quiet, nothing so happy-looking, in the whole land. The radius to the horizon is nowhere more than five or six miles; and the bright green farms and luxuriant vineyards stretch from the foot of the wall to the summits of the lovely mountains which form the theatre around.

It is a very ancient town, but the duchy is so rich and flourishing that it bears none of the marks of decay, so common to even more modern towns in Italy. Here Caesar is said to have stopped to deliberate on pa.s.sing the Rubicon.

The palace of the Duke is the _prettiest_ I ever saw. There is not a room in it you could not _live_ in--and no feeling is less common than this in visiting palaces. It is furnished with splendor, too--but with such an eye to comfort, such taste and elegance, that you would respect the prince's affections that should order such a one. The Duke of Lucca, however, is never at home. He is a young man of twenty-eight or thirty, and spends his time and money in travelling, as caprice takes him. He has been now for a year at Vienna, where he spends the revenue of these rich plains most lavishly. The d.u.c.h.ess, too, travels always, but in a different direction, and the people complain loudly of the desertion. For many years they have now been both absent and parted. The Duke is a member of the royal family of Spain, and at the death of Maria Louisa of Parma, he becomes Duke of Parma, and the duchy goes to Tuscany.

From Lucca we crossed the Appenines, by a road seldom travelled, performing the hundred miles to Modena in three days. We suffered, as all must who leave the high roads in continental countries, more privations than the novelty was worth. The mountain scenery was fine, of course, but I think less so than that on the pa.s.ses between Florence and Bologna, the account of which I wrote a few weeks since.

We were too happy to get to Modena.

Modena lies in the vast campagna lying between the Appenines and the Adriatic--an immense plain looking like the sea as far as the eye can stretch from north to south. The view of it from the mountains in descending is magnificent beyond description. The capital of the little duchy lay in the midst of us, like a speck on a green carpet, and smaller towns and rivers varied its else unbroken surface of vineyards and fields. We reached the gates just as a fine sunset was reddening the ramparts and towers, and giving up our pa.s.sports to the soldier on guard, rattled into the hotel.

The town is full of Austrian troops, and in our walk to the ducal palace we met scarce any one else. The streets look gloomy and neglected, and the people singularly dispirited and poor. This petty Duke of Modena is a man of about fifty, and said to be the greatest tyrant, after Don Miguel, in the world. The prisons are full of suspected traitors; one hundred and thirty of the best families of the duchy are banished for liberal opinions; three hundred and over are now under arrest (among them a considerable number of ladies); and many of the Modenese n.o.bility are now serving in the galleys for conspiracy. He has been shot at eighteen times. The last man who attempted it, as I stated in a former letter, was executed the morning I pa.s.sed through Modena on my return from Venice. With all this he is a fine soldier, and his capital looks in all respects like a garrison in the first style of discipline. He is just now absent at a chateau three miles in the country.

The palace is a union of splendor and meanness within. The endless succession of state apartments are gorgeously draped and ornamented, but the entrance halls and intermediate pa.s.sages are furnished with an economy you would scarce find exceeded in the "worst inn's worst room." Modena is Corregio's birthplace, and it was from a Duke of Modena that he received the bag of copper coin which occasioned his death. It was, I think, the meagre reward of his celebrated "Night,"

and he broke a blood-vessel in carrying it to his house. The Duke has sold this picture, as well as every other sufficiently celebrated to bring a princely price. His gallery is a heap of trash, with but here and there a redeeming thing. Among others, there is a portrait of a boy, I think by Rembrandt, very intellectual and lofty, yet with all the youthfulness of fourteen; and a copy of "Giorgione's mistress,"

the "love in life" of the Manfrini palace, so admired by Lord Byron.

There is also a remarkably fine crucifixion, I forget by whom.

The front of the palace is renowned for its beauty. In a street near it, we pa.s.sed a house half battered down by cannon. It was the residence of the chief of a late conspiracy, who was betrayed a few hours before his plot was ripe. He refused to surrender, and, before the ducal troops had mastered his house, the revolt commenced and the Duke was driven from Modena. He returned in a week or two with some three thousand Austrians, and has kept possession by their a.s.sistance ever since. While we were waiting dinner at the hotel, I took up a volume of the Modenese law, and opened upon a statute forbidding all subjects of the duchy to live out of the Duke's territories under pain of the entire confiscation of their property. They are liable to arrest, also, if it is suspected that they are taking measures to remove. The alternatives are oppression here or poverty elsewhere, and the result is that the Duke has scarce a n.o.ble left in his realm.

Modena is a place of great antiquity. It was a strong-hold in the time of Caesar, and after his death was occupied by Brutus, and besieged by Antony. There are no traces left, except some mutilated and uncertain relics in the museum.

We drove to Bologna the following morning, and I slept once more in Rogers's chamber at "the Pilgrim." I have described this city, which I pa.s.sed on my way to Venice, so fully before, that I pa.s.s it over now with the mere mention. I should not forget, however, my acquaintance with a snuffy little librarian, who showed me the ma.n.u.scripts of Ta.s.so and Ariosto, with much amusing importance.

We crossed the Po to the Austrian custom-house. Our trunks were turned inside out, our papers and books examined, our pa.s.sports studied for flaws--as usual. After two hours of vexation, we were permitted to go on board the steamboat, thanking Heaven that our troubles were over for a week or two, and giving Austria the common benediction she gets from travellers. The ropes were cast off from the pier when a police retainer came running to the boat, and ordered our whole party on sh.o.r.e, bag and baggage. Our pa.s.sports, which had been retained to be sent on to Venice by the captain, were irregular. We had not pa.s.sed by Florence, and they had not the signature of the Austrian amba.s.sador. We were ordered imperatively back over the Po, with a flat a.s.surance, that, without first going to Florence, we never could see Venice. To the ladies of the party, who had made themselves certain of seeing this romance of cities in twelve hours, it was a sad disappointment, and after seeing them safely seated in the return shallop, I thought I would go and make a desperate appeal to the commissary in person. My nominal commission as _attache_ to the Legation at Paris, served me in this case as it had often done before, and making myself and the honor of the American nation responsible for the innocent designs of a party of ladies upon Venice, the dirty and surly commissary signed our pa.s.sports and permitted us to remand our baggage.

It was with unmingled pleasure that I saw again the towers and palaces of Venice rising from the sea. The splendid approach to the Piazzetta; the transfer to the gondola and its soft motion; the swift and still glide beneath the balconies of palaces, with whose history I was familiar; and the renewal of my own first impressions in the surprise and delight of others, made up, altogether, a moment of high happiness. There is nothing like--nothing equal to Venice. She is the city of the imagination--the realization of romance--the queen of splendor and softness and luxury. Allow all her decay--feel all her degradation--see the "Huns in her palaces," and the "Greek upon her mart," and, after all, she is alone in the world for beauty, and, spoiled as she has been by successive conquerors, almost for riches too. Her churches of marble, with their floors of precious stones, and walls of gold and mosaic; her ducal palace, with its world of art and ma.s.sy magnificence; her private palaces, with their fronts of inland gems, and balconies and towers of inimitable workmanship and riches; her lovely islands and mirror-like ca.n.a.ls--all distinguish her, and will till the sea rolls over her, as one of the wonders of time.

LETTER x.x.xVIII.

VENICE--CHURCH OF THE JESUITS--A MARBLE CURTAIN--ORIGINAL OF t.i.tIAN'S MARTYRDOM OF ST. LAWRENCE--A SUMMER MORNING--ARMENIAN ISLAND--VISIT TO A CLOISTER--A CELEBRATED MONK--THE POET'S STUDY--ILLUMINATED COPIES OF THE BIBLE--THE STRANGER'S BOOK--A CLEAN PRINTING-OFFICE--THE HOSPITAL FOR THE INSANE--INNOCENT AND HAPPY-LOOKING MANIACS--THE CELLS FOR UNGOVERNABLE LUNATICS--BARBARITY OF THE KEEPER--MISERABLE PROVISIONS-- ANOTHER GLANCE AT THE PRISONS UNDER THE DUCAL PALACE--THE OFFICE OF EXECUTIONER--THE a.r.s.eNAL--THE STATE GALLERY--THE ARMOR OF HENRY THE FOURTH--A CURIOUS KEY--MACHINES FOR TORTURE, ETC.

In a first visit to a great European city it is difficult not to let many things escape notice. Among several churches which I did not see when I was here before, is that of the _Jesuits_. It is a temple worthy of the celebrity of this splendid order. The proportions are finer than those of most of the Venetian churches, and the interior is one tissue of curious marbles and gold. As we entered, we were first struck with the grace and magnificence of a large heavy curtain, hanging over the pulpit, the folds of which, and the figures wrought upon it, struck us as unusually elegant and ingenious. Our astonishment was not lessened when we found it was one solid ma.s.s of verd-antique marble. Its sweep over the side and front of the pulpit is as careless as if it were done by the wind. The whole ceiling of the church is covered with _sequin gold_--the finest that is coined.

In one of the side chapels is the famous "Martyrdom of St. Lawrence,"

by t.i.tian. A fine copy of it (said in the catalogue to be the original) was exhibited in the Boston Athenaeum a year or two since.

It is Sunday, and the morning has been of a heavenly, summer, sunny calmness, such as is seen often in Italy, and once in a year, perhaps, in New England. It is a kind of atmosphere, that, to breathe is to be grateful and happy. We have been to the Armenian island--a little gem on the bosom of the Lagune, a mile from Venice, where stands the monastery, to which place Lord Byron went daily to study and translate with the fathers. There is just room upon it for a church, a convent, and a little garden. It looks afloat on the water. Our gondola glided up to the clean stone stairs, and we were received by one of the order, a hale but venerable looking monk, in the Armenian dress, the long black ca.s.sock and small round cap, his beard long and scattered with gray, and his complexion and eyes of a cheerful, child-like clearness, such as regular and simple habits alone can give. I inquired, as we walked through the cloister, for the father with whom Lord Byron studied, and of whom the poet speaks so often and so highly in his letters. The monk smiled and bowed modestly, and related a little incident that had happened to him at Padua, where he had met two American travellers, who had asked him of himself in the same manner. He had forgotten their names, but from his description I presumed one to have been Professor Longfellow, of Bowdoin University.

The stillness and cleanliness about the convent, as we pa.s.sed through the cloisters and halls, rendered the impression upon a stranger delightful. We pa.s.sed the small garden, in which grew a stately oleander in full blossom, and thousands of smaller flowers, in neat beds and vases, and after walking through the church, a plain and pretty one, we came to the library, where the monk had studied with the poet. It is a proper place for study--disturbed by nothing but the dash of oars from a pa.s.sing gondola, or the screams of a sea-bird, and well furnished with books in every language, and very luxurious chairs. The monk showed us an encyclopaedia, presented to himself by an English lady of rank, who had visited the convent often. His handsome eyes flashed as he pointed to it on the shelves. We went next into a smaller room, where the more precious ma.n.u.scripts are deposited, and he showed us curious illuminated copies of the Bible, and gave us the stranger's book to inscribe our names. Byron had scrawled his there before us, and the Empress Maria Louisa had written hers twice on separate visits. The monk then brought us a volume of prayers, in twenty-five languages, translated by himself. We bought copies, and upon some remark of one of the ladies upon his acquirements, he ran from one language to another, speaking English, French, Italian, German, and Dutch, with equal facility. His English was quite wonderful; and a lady from Rotterdam, who was with us, p.r.o.nounced his Dutch and German excellent. We then bought small histories of the order, written by an English gentleman, who had studied at the island, and pa.s.sed on to the printing office--the first _clean_ one I ever saw, and quite the best appointed. Here the monks print their Bibles, and prayer-books in really beautiful Armenian type, beside almanacs, and other useful publications for Constantinople, and other parts of Turkey. The monk wrote his name at our request (Pascal Aucher) in the blank leaves of our books, and we parted from him at the water-stairs with sincere regret. I recommend this monastery to all travellers to Venice.

On our return we pa.s.sed near an island, upon which stands a single building--an insane hospital. I was not very curious to enter it, but the gondolier a.s.sured us that it was a common visit for strangers, and we consented to go in. We were received by the keeper, who went through the horrid scene like a regular cicerone, giving us a cold and rapid history of every patient that arrested our attention. The men's apartment was the first, and I should never have supposed them insane.

They were all silent, and either read or slept like the inmates of common hospitals. We came to a side door, and as it opened, the confusion of a hundred tongues burst through, and we were introduced into the apartment for women. The noise was deafening. After traversing a short gallery, we entered a large hall, containing perhaps fifty females. There was a simultaneous smoothing back of the hair and prinking of the dress through the room. These the keeper said, were the well-behaved patients, and more innocent and happy-looking people I never saw. If to be happy is to be wise, I should believe with the mad philosopher, that the world and the lunatic should change names. One large, fine-looking woman took upon herself to do the honors of the place, and came forward with a graceful curtesy and a smile of condescension and begged the ladies to take off their bonnets, and offered me a chair. Even with her closely-shaven head and coa.r.s.e flannel dress, she seemed a lady. The keeper did not know her history. Her attentions were occasionally interrupted by a stolen glance at the keeper, and a shrinking in of the shoulders, like a child that had been whipped. One handsome and perfectly healthy-looking girl of eighteen, walked up and down the hall, with her arms folded, and a sweet smile on her face, apparently lost in pleasing thought, and taking no notice of us. Only one was in bed, and her face might have been a conception of Michael Angelo for horror. Her hair was uncut, and fell over her eyes, her tongue hung from her mouth, her eyes were sunken and restless, and the deadly pallor over features drawn into the intensest look of mental agony, completing a picture that made my heart sick. Her bed was clean, and she was as well cared for as she could be, apparently.

We mounted a flight of stairs to the cells. Here were confined those who were violent and ungovernable. The mingled sounds that came through the gratings as we pa.s.sed were terrific. Laughter of a demoniac wildness, moans, complaints in every language, screams--every sound that could express impatience and fear and suffering saluted our ears. The keeper opened most of the cells and went in, rousing occasionally one that was asleep, and insisting that all should appear at the grate. I remonstrated of course, against such a piece of barbarity, but he said he did it for all strangers, and took no notice of our pity. The cells were small, just large enough for a bed, upon the post of which hung a small coa.r.s.e cloth bag, containing two or three loaves of the coa.r.s.est bread. There was no other furniture. The beds were bags of straw, without sheets or pillows, and each had a coa.r.s.e piece of matting for a covering. I expressed some horror at the miserable provision made for their comfort, but was told that they broke and injured themselves with any loose furniture, and were so reckless in their habits, that it was impossible to give them any other bedding than straw, which was changed every day. I observed that each patient had a wisp of long straw tied up in a bundle, given them, as the keeper said, to employ their hands and amuse them. The wooden blind before one of the gratings was removed, and a girl flew to it with the ferocity of a tiger, thrust her hands at us through the bars, and threw her bread out into the pa.s.sage, with a look of violent and uncontrolled anger such as I never saw. She was tall and very fine-looking. In another cell lay a poor creature, with her face dreadfully torn, and her hands tied strongly behind her. She was tossing about restlessly upon her straw, and muttering to herself indistinctly. The man said she tore her face and bosom whenever she could get her hands free, and was his worst patient. In the last cell was a girl of eleven or twelve years, who began to cry piteously the moment the bolt was drawn. She was in bed, and uncovered her head very unwillingly, and evidently expected to be whipped. There was another range of cells above, but we had seen enough, and were glad to get out upon the calm Lagune. There could scarcely be a stronger contrast than between those two islands lying side by side--the first the very picture of regularity and happiness, and the last a refuge for distraction and misery. The feeling of grat.i.tude to G.o.d for reason after such a scene is irresistible.

In visiting again the prisons under the ducal palace, several additional circ.u.mstances were told us. The condemned were compelled to become executioners. They were led from their cells into the dark pa.s.sage where stood the secret guillotine, and without warning forced to put to death a fellow-creature either by this instrument, or the more horrible method of strangling against a grate. The guide said that the office of executioner was held in such horror that it was impossible to fill it, and hence this dreadful alternative. When a prisoner was about to be executed, his clothes were sent home to his family with the message, that "the state would care for him." How much more agonizing do these circ.u.mstances seem, when we remember that most of the victims were men of rank and education, condemned on suspicion of political crimes, and often with families refined to a most unfortunate capacity for mental torture! One ceases to regret the fall of the Venetian republic, when he sees with how much crime and tyranny her splendor was accompanied.

I saw at the a.r.s.enal to-day the model of the "Bucentaur," the state galley in which the Doge of Venice went out annually to marry him to the sea. This poetical relic (which, in Childe Harold's time, "lay rotting unrestored") was burnt by the French--why, I can not conceive.

It was a departure from their usual habit of respect to the curious and beautiful; and if they had been jealous of such a vestige of the grandeur of a conquered people, it might at least have been sent to Paris as easily as "Saint Mark's steeds of bra.s.s," and would have been as great a curiosity. I would rather have seen the Bucentaur than all their other plunder. The a.r.s.enal contains many other treasures. The armor given to the city of Venice by Henry the Fourth is there, and a curious key constructed to shoot poisoned needles, and used by one of the Henrys, I have forgotten which, to despatch any one who offended him in his presence. One or two curious machines for torture were shown us--mortars into which the victim was put, with an iron armor which was screwed down upon him till his head was crushed, or confession stopped the torture.