The Works of Lord Byron Volume II Part 80

"Dragons of the prime, That tare each other in their slime, Were mellow music match'd with him."]

[552] ["While at Aberdeen, he used often to steal from home unperceived; sometimes he would find his way to the seaside" (_Life_, p. 9). For an account of his feats in swimming, see _Letters_, 1898, i. 263, note 1; and letter to Murray, February 21, 1821. See, too, for a "more perilous, but less celebrated pa.s.sage" (from Old Lisbon to Belem Castle), _Travels in Albania_, ii. 195.]

[553] ["It was a thought worthy of the great spirit of Byron, after exhibiting to us his Pilgrim amidst all the most striking scenes of earthly grandeur and earthly decay ... to conduct him and us at last to the borders of 'the Great Deep.' ... The image of the wanderer may well be a.s.sociated, for a time, with the rock of Calpe, the shattered temples of Athens, or the gigantic fragments of Rome; but when we wish to think of this dark personification as of a thing which is, where can we so well imagine him to have his daily haunt as by the roaring of the waves?

It was thus that Homer represented Achilles in his moments of ungovernable and inconsolable grief for the loss of Patroclus. It was thus he chose to depict the paternal despair of Chryseus--

"?? d' ????? pa?? ???a p???f???s??? ?a??ss??

[Be/ d' a)ke/on para thi~na polyphloi/sboio thala/sses]"

Note by Professor Wilson, ed. 1837.]

[qk] {462} _Is dying in the echo--it is time_ _To break the spell of this protracted dream_ _And what will be the fate of this my rhyme_ _May not be of my augury_----.--[MS. M. erased.]

[ql] _Fatal--and yet it shakes me not--farewell._--[MS. M.]

[qm] _Ye! who have traced my Pilgrim to the scene._--[MS. M.]

[554] {463} At end--

Laus Deo!

Byron.

July 19th, 1817.

La Mira, near Venice.

Laus Deo!

Byron.

La Mira, near Venice, Sept. 3, 1817.

NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE.

CANTO IV.

1.

I stood in Venice, on the "Bridge of Sighs;"

A Palace and a prison on each hand.

Stanza i. lines 1 and 2.

The communication between the ducal palace and the prisons of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above the water, and divided by a stone wall into a pa.s.sage and a cell. The state dungeons called _pozzi_, or wells, were sunk in the thick walls of the palace: and the prisoner, when taken out to die, was conducted across the gallery to the other side, and being then led back into the other compartment, or cell, upon the bridge, was there strangled. The low portal through which the criminal was taken into this cell is now walled up; but the pa.s.sage is still open, and is still known by the name of the "Bridge of Sighs." The _pozzi_ are under the flooring of the chamber at the foot of the bridge. They were formerly twelve; but on the first arrival of the French, the Venetians hastily blocked or broke up the deeper of these dungeons. You may still, however descend by a trap-door, and crawl down through holes, half choked by rubbish, to the depth of two stories below the first range. If you are in want of consolation for the extinction of patrician power, perhaps you may find it there; scarcely a ray of light glimmers into the narrow gallery which leads to the cells, and the places of confinement themselves are totally dark. A small hole in the wall admitted the damp air of the pa.s.sages, and served for the introduction of the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a foot from the ground, was the only furniture. The conductors tell you that a light was not allowed. The cells are about five paces in length, two and a half in width, and seven feet in height. They are directly beneath one another, and respiration is somewhat difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was found when the republicans descended into these hideous recesses, and he is said to have been confined sixteen years. But the inmates of the dungeons beneath had left traces of their repentance, or of their despair, which are still visible, and may, perhaps, owe something to recent ingenuity. Some of the detained appear to have offended against, and others to have belonged to, the sacred body, not only from their signatures, but from the churches and belfries which they have scratched upon the walls. The reader may not object to see a specimen of the records prompted by so terrific a solitude. As nearly as they could be copied by more than one pencil, three of them are as follows:--

1. NON TI FIDAR AD ALCUNO PENSA e TACI SE FUGIR VUOI DE SPIONI INSIDIE e LACCI IL PENTIRTI PENTIRTI NULLA GIOVA MA BEN DI VALOR TUO LA VERA PROVA

1607. ADI 2. GENARO. FUI RETENTO P' LA BESTIEMMA P' AVER DATO DA MANZAR A UN MORTO IACOMO. GRITTI. SCRISSE.

2. UN PARLAR POCHO et NEGARE p.r.o.nTO et UN PENSAR AL FINE PUO DARE LA VITA A NOI ALTRI MESCHINI

1605.

EGO IOHN BAPTISTA AD ECCLESIAM CORTELLARIUS.

3. DE CHI MI FIDO GUARDAMI DIO DE CHI NON MI FIDO MI GUARDARO IO A TA H A NA V. LA S. C. K. R.

The copyist has followed, not corrected, the solecisms; some of which are, however, not quite so decided since the letters were evidently scratched in the dark. It only need be observed, that _bestemmia_ and _mangiar_ may be read in the first inscription, which was probably written by a prisoner confined for some act of impiety committed at a funeral; that _Cortellarius_ is the name of a parish on terra firma, near the sea; and that the last initials evidently are put for _Viva la santa Chiesa Kattolica Romana_.

2.

In Venice Ta.s.so's echoes are no more.

Stanza iii. line 1.

["I cannot forbear mentioning a custom in Venice, which they tell me is particular to the common people of this country, of singing stanzas out of Ta.s.so. They are set to a pretty solemn tune, and when one begins in any part of the poet, it is odds but he will be answered by somebody else that overhears him; so that sometimes you have ten or a dozen in the neighbourhood of one another, taking verse after verse, and running on with the poem as far as their memories will carry them."--Addison, A.D. 1700.]

The well-known song of the gondoliers, of alternate stanzas from Ta.s.so's _Jerusalem_, has died with the independence of Venice. Editions of the poem, with the original in one column, and the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the boatmen, were once common, and are still to be found. The following extract will serve to show the difference between the Tuscan epic and the _Canta alia Barcariola:_--

ORIGINAL.

Canto l'arme pietose, e 'l capitano Che 'l gran Sepolcro liber di Cristo Molto egli opr col senno, e con la mano Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto; E in van l' Inferno a lui s' oppose, e in vano S' arm d' Asia, e di Libia il popol misto, Che il Ciel gli die favore, e sotto a i Santi Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti.

VENETIAN.

L' arme pietose de cantar gho vogia, E de Goffredo la immortal braura Che al fin l' ha libera co stra.s.sia, e dogia Del nostro buon Gesu la Sepoltura De mezo mondo unite, e de quel Bogia Missier Pluton non l' ha bu mai paura: Dio l' ha agiuta, e i compagni sparpagni Tutti 'l gh' i ha messi insieme i di del Dai.

Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up and continue a stanza of their once familiar bard.

On the 7th of last January, the author of _Childe Harold_, and another Englishman, the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lido with two singers, one of whom was a carpenter, and the other a gondolier. The former placed himself at the prow, the latter at the stern of the boat.

A little after leaving the quay of the Piazzetta, they began to sing, and continued their exercise until we arrived at the island. They gave us, amongst other essays, the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida; and did not sing the Venetian but the Tuscan verses. The carpenter, however, who was the cleverer of the two, and was frequently obliged to prompt his companion, told us that he could _translate_ the original. He added, that he could sing almost three hundred stanzas, but had not spirits (_morbin_ was the word he used) to learn any more, or to sing what he already knew: a man must have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat, and, said the poor fellow, "look at my clothes and at me; I am starving." This speech was more affecting than his performance, which habit alone can make attractive. The recitative was shrill, screaming, and monotonous; and the gondolier behind a.s.sisted his voice by holding his hand to one side of his mouth. The carpenter used a quiet action, which he evidently endeavoured to restrain; but was too much interested in his subject altogether to repress. From these men we learnt that singing is not confined to the gondoliers, and that, although the chant is seldom, if ever, voluntary, there are still several amongst the lower cla.s.ses who are acquainted with a few stanzas.

It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to row and sing at the same time. Although the verses of the _Jerusalem_ are no longer casually heard, there is yet much music upon the Venetian ca.n.a.ls; and upon holydays, those strangers who are not near or informed enough to distinguish the words, may fancy that many of the gondolas still resound with the strains of Ta.s.so. The writer of some remarks which appeared in the _Curiosities of Literature_ must excuse his being twice quoted; for, with the exception of some phrases a little too ambitious and extravagant, he has furnished a very exact, as well as agreeable description:--

"In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long pa.s.sages from Ariosto and Ta.s.so, and often chant them with a peculiar melody. But this talent seems at present on the decline:--at least, after taking some pains, I could find no more than two persons who delivered to me in this way a pa.s.sage from Ta.s.so. I must add, that the late Mr. Berry once chanted to me a pa.s.sage in Ta.s.so in the manner, as he a.s.sured me, of the gondoliers.

"There are always two concerned, who alternately sing the strophes. We know the melody eventually by Rousseau, to whose songs it is printed; it has properly no melodious movement, and is a sort of medium between the canto fermo and the canto figurato; it approaches to the former by recitativical declamation, and to the latter by pa.s.sages and course, by which one syllable is detained and embellished.

"I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placed himself forwards and the other aft, and thus proceeded to St. Georgio. One began the song: when he had ended his strophe, the other took up the lay, and so continued the song alternately. Throughout the whole of it, the same notes invariably returned; but, according to the subject-matter of the strophe, they laid a greater or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, and sometimes on another note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the whole strophe as the object of the poem altered.

"On the whole, however, the sounds were hoa.r.s.e and screaming: they seemed, in the manner of all rude uncivilised men, to make the excellency of their singing in the force of their voice. One seemed desirous of conquering the other by the strength of his lungs; and so far from receiving delight from this scene (shut up as I was in the box of the gondola), I found myself in a very unpleasant situation.

"My companion, to whom I communicated this circ.u.mstance, being very desirous to keep up the credit of his countrymen, a.s.sured me that the singing was very delightful when heard at a distance. Accordingly we got out upon the sh.o.r.e, leaving one of the singers in the gondola, while the other went to the distance of some hundred paces. They now began to sing against one another, and I kept walking up and down between them both, so as always to leave him who was to begin his part. I frequently stood still and hearkened to the one and to the other.

"Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong declamatory, and, as it were, shrieking sound, met the ear from far, and called forth the attention; the quickly succeeding transitions, which necessarily required to be sung in a lower tone, seemed like plaintive strains succeeding the vociferations of emotion or of pain. The other, who listened attentively, immediately began where the former left off, answering him in milder or more vehement notes, according as the purport of the strophe required. The sleepy ca.n.a.ls, the lofty buildings, the splendour of the moon, the deep shadows of the few gondolas that moved like spirits. .h.i.ther and thither, increased the striking peculiarity of the scene; and, amidst all these circ.u.mstances, it was easy to confess the character of this wonderful harmony.

"It suits perfectly well with an idle, solitary mariner, lying at length in his vessel at rest on one of these ca.n.a.ls, waiting for his company, or for a fare, the tiresomeness of which situation is somewhat alleviated by the songs and poetical stories he has in memory. He often raises his voice as loud as he can, which extends itself to a vast distance over the tranquil mirror; and as all is still around, he is, as it were, in a solitude in the midst of a large and populous town. Here is no rattling of carriages, no noise of foot pa.s.sengers; a silent gondola glides now and then by him, of which the splashings of the oars are scarcely to be heard.

"At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to him. Melody and verse immediately attach the two strangers; he becomes the responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself to be heard as he had heard the other. By a tacit convention they alternate verse for verse; though the song should last the whole night through, they entertain themselves without fatigue: the hearers who are pa.s.sing between the two take part in the amus.e.m.e.nt.