Book: Atlantic Monthly Volume 6, No. 34, August, 1860

V >> Various >> Atlantic Monthly Volume 6, No. 34, August, 1860




"Deja l'aube rayonne et luit,
La nuit
Finit;
Maitresse,
L'heure enchanteresse
Passe et fuit...
A ton arret je dois me rendre.
Sort jaloux! (_bis._)
Hatons-nous,
Il faut descendre
Sans reveiller son vieil epoux!..."

Well,--what do you think of it? Now I will not mention her again,--I
will refer to her, when I shall have vexatious occasion, as "that
woman." And, indeed, "that woman" and Honorius set us up in
comprehension of matters progressing. It seems that quite twenty years
have passed since Sarah's soul slid through a knife-gash; that Honorius
and Andronic, who have come from Smyrna, (why?) are almost brothers;
that Honorius is good in this fact only, that he knows he is really bad;
and that Andronic is the richest and most moral man in Venice,--though
why, under those circumstances, he should be friendly with such a rip as
Honorius, Honorius does not inform us.

I shall pass over the next scenes, and come to that in which all the
creditors of all the lords are brought on to the stage in a state which
calls for the interference of the Doge: they are all drunk,--except
Shylock. This scene really is a startler. Shylock, now dashed with
gray, and nearly double, comes up to "that woman" and calls her sister;
whereupon she demanding that explanation which I and the Greek Chorus
simultaneously want, Shylock states that _he_ is Usury and _she_ Luxury,
"and they have one father."

"Queer old man!!!" says "that woman."

Here follow dice, in which the Jew is requested to join, all of which
naturally brings about a discussion on the rate of usage, which that
dog Andronic is bringing down, and a further statement that _that_
imprisonment lasted two years. Then comes a _coup d'theatre_: Shylock
reminds everybody that a just Doge reigns now, (nor can I help pointing
out the Frenchman's ingenuity here: in the _play_, the Doge must be
just, or where would the pound of flesh be?--while, if the Doge of the
_prologue_ were just, Shylock would not have been committed for two
years,--ergo, kill No. 1. Doge, install No. 2.)--Shylock reminds
everybody that a just Doge reigns. Shylock has it all his own way, and
Honorius is arrested before the very eyes of "that woman." Then comes
the necessary _Deus ex machina_ in the shape of Andronic, who pays
everybody everything, saves his friend, and play proceeds. Andronic
reproaches Jew touching his greed, whereon the Jew offers this not
profound remark,--"I am--what I am,"--and goes on counting his money.

Oh, if you only knew the secret!

This cash payment winds up the act.


ACT II.


Decidedly, the beginning of Act Second proves Andronic is no fool, for
he advises Honorius to flee that creature,--and what better advice in
those matters is there than that of retreating? Decidedly, too,
the virtuous Doge is worth having,--really a Middle-Age electric
telegraph,--for he gives all about him such a dose of news as in this
day would sell every penny-paper printed: and such bad news!--Venice
down everywhere, and a loan wanted. Here comes a fine scene for
Andronic, (for, after all, the lords have "hitched out" of the proposed
loan, whereby I take it they are not such fools as people take them to
be,)--Andronic declares, that, if he were rich enough, the Doge should
not ask for money, but ships are but frail and his have gone to pieces.
Here, you see, comes another faint whiff of the real original play.

Then, clearly, the Doge can only apply to the Jews. Enter Shylock _a
propos_. The next scene is so awful to the Greek Chorus, who may be of a
business turn, that I am charitable enough not to reproduce it here;
but the percentage the Jew wants for the loan seems to be quite a
multiplication-table of tangible securities, and I only wonder the Doge
does not order him into the Adriatic. Amongst other demands, the Jew
procures all the Dogic jewels,--and then he wants all the jewels of the
Doge's daughter; indeed, Shylock becomes a most unreasonable party.

No sooner does he speak of the daughter, Ginevra by name, than in she
comes, jewel-casket in hand,--which leads the cynical Greek Chorus to
suppose that Mademoiselle is either _clairvoyante_ or prefers going
about with a box. The way in which that best of her sex offers up the
jewels on the patriotic shrine is really worthy of the applause bestowed
on the act; but when that pig of a Jew is not satisfied, when he insists
upon the diamond necklace Ginevra wears, as another preliminary to the
loan, people in the theatre quite shake with indignation.

Now the jewel has been the pattern young lady's mother's; and here comes
an opening for that appeal to the filial love of Frenchmen which is
never touched in vain. It is really a great and noble trait in the
French character, that filial love, not too questionable to be
demonstrative,--'tis a sure dramatist's French card, that appeal to the
love of mothers and fathers by their children.

Having procured the weight of this chain, which has caused Shylock the
loss of many friends in the house who have been inclined to like him
consequent upon the loss of that Abel-Moses-photograph,--Shylock departs
with this information, that he will bring the money to-morrow: which
assertion proves Shylock to be a strong man, if a hundred thousand marks
are as heavy as I take them to be.

Upon what little things do dramas, in common with lives, turn!
That necklace is the brilliant groundwork of the rest of the plot.
Why--why--why--WHY didn't Shakspeare think of the necklace?

And as I always must tell love-affairs as soon as I hear of them,--for,
as a rule, I live in country towns,--I may at once state that Ginevra
loved Andronic, and latter loved former, and they would not tell each
other, and the Doge knew nothing about it.

Yes, decidedly, the necklace is the first character in "Le Juif de
Venise." You see, Ginevra loved the necklace, and Andronic loved
Ginevra; so he is forced to procure that charming necklace for her,
_coute qui coute_, and so he goes to Shylock for it. And here you will
see its value: Shylock will sell it only for a large sum. Andronic,
seeing his losses, hasn't the money,--but will have;--glorious opening
for the clause about the pound of flesh! Signed, sealed, and delivered.
How superior is Andronic to Antonio, the old ----! This latter pawns his
breast for a friend only: the great Andronic risks the flesh about _his_
heart for sacred love. Io Venus!

Yet, nevertheless, notwithstanding, it is the opinion of the Greek
Chorus that Andronic is a _joli_ fool,--which choral remark I hear
with pain, as reflecting upon unhesitating love, and especially as the
remarker has been eminently touched at the abduction.


ACT IV.


As for the Fourth Act,--it is very tender and terrible.

I need not say that the tenderness arises through the necklace,--and
indeed, for that matter, so also does the terror. Touching the first, of
course it is the discovery by Ginevra of the return of those maternal
diamonds,--which are handed to her by a _femme-de-chambre_, who has
had them from Andronic's _valet-de-chambre_, who is in love with the
_femme-de-chambre_, who reciprocates, etc., etc., etc.

But touching the terrible,--"that woman" hears of the necklace, and
sends Honorius for it to Shylock. Bad job!--gone! Well, then, Honorius
falls out with his old friend Andronic because latter will not yield up
the necklace. Honorius demands to know who has it. Andronic will not
name Ginevra's name before "that woman" and all the lofty lords, and
then there's a grand scene.

In the first place, it seems that in Shylock's Venetian time, the
Venetian lords, when obliging Venice with a riot, called upon Venetians
to put out their lights, and this the lords now do, (we are on the
piazza,) and out go all the lights as though turned off at one main.

Then there is such a scrimmage! Honorius lunges at Andronic; this latter
disarms former; then latter comes to his senses, flies over to his old
friend, and all the Venetian brawlers are put to flight.

Then Honorius says,--and pray, pray, mark what Honorius says, or you
will _never_ comprehend Act V.,--then Honorius says, taking Andronic's
previous advice about flying, "I will go away, _and fight the Adriatic
pirates_." Now, pray, don't forget that. I quite distress myself in
praying you not to forget that,--to wit,--"_Honorius goes away to fight
the Adriatic pirates._"

Oh, if you only knew the big secret!


ACT V.


This, of course, is the knifing act.

Seated is Shylock before an hour-glass, and trying to count the grains
of sand as they glide through.

Oh, if you only knew the big secret!

You remember that in that original play Antonio's ships are lost merely.
Bah! we manage better in this matter: the ships come home, but they are
empty,--emptied by the pirates; though why those Adriaticians did not
confiscate the ships is even beyond the Greek Chorus, who says, "They
were very polite."

At last all the sand is at rest.

Crack,--as punctual as a postman comes Andronic; and as the Venetians
are revolting against the flesh business, about which they seem to know
every particular, Andronic brings a guard of the just Doge's soldiers
to keep the populace quiet while the business goes on;--all of which
behavior on the merchant's part my friend the Chorus pronounces to be
stupid and suicidal.

Then comes such a scene!--Andronic calling for Ginevra, and the Jew
calling for his own.

Breast bared.

Then thus the Jew:--

"Feeble strength of my old body, be centred in this eye and this arm!
Thou, my son, receive this sacrifice, and tremble with joy in thy
unknown tomb!"

Knife raised.

Oh, if you only knew the big secret!

And I _do_ hope you have not forgotten that Honorius went away to fight
the Adriatic pirates.

For, if you have forgotten that fact, you will not comprehend Honorius's
rushing in at this moment from the Adriatic pirates.

Yes,--but why did he go amongst them?

The big secret, in fact. If Honorius had not gone, why, I suppose
Shylock would have had his pound of man.

As it is, Honorius and his paper--which latter has also come from the
pirates--do the business.

Why, the whole thing turns on the paper. How lucky it was Honorius went
amongst the pirates!

Honorius has vanquished the chief of the pirates,--who was named
Arnheim,--and that disreputable widower, just before his last breath,
gave Honorius the said paper,--though why, it is not clear. And--and
this paper shows that ANDRONIC IS THAT SON STOLEN AWAY FROM SARAH,
DECEASED, AND SHYLOCK,--THAT SON, NOT ONLY THE IMAGE OF ABEL, BUT OF
MOSES, TOO.

Great thunderbolts!

Then, very naturally, (in a play,) in come all the characters, and
follows, I am constrained to say, a very well-conceived scene,--'tis
another appeal to filial love. The Jew would own his son, but he
remembers that it would injure the son, and so he keeps silent. I
declare, there is something eminently beautiful in the idea of making
the Jew yield his wealth up to Andronic, and saying he will wander from
Venice,--his staff his only wealth. And when, as he stoops to kiss his
son's hand, Ginevra (who of course has come on with the rest) makes a
gesture as though she feared treachery, the few words put into the Jew's
mouth are full of pathos and poetry.

And so down comes the curtain,--the piece meeting with the full approval
of Chorus, who applauded till I thought he would snap his hands off at
the wrists.

"A very moral play," said a stout gentleman behind me,--who had done
little else all night but break into the fiercest of apples and
pears,--"a very moral play,"--meaning thereby, probably, that it was
very moral that a Jew's child should remain a Christian.

Now there were some good points in that play; but, oh, thou M. Ferdinand
Dugue, thou,--why didst thou challenge comparison with a man who wrote
for all theatres for all times?

* * * * *



THE POET'S SINGING.


In heat and in cold, in sunshine and rain,
Bewailing its loss and boasting its gain,
Blessing its pleasure and cursing its pain,
The hurrying world goes up and down:
Every avenue and street
Of city and town
Are veins that throb with the restless beat
Of the eager multitude's trampling feet.
Men wrangle together to get and hold
A sceptre of power or a crock of gold;
Blaspheming God's name with the breath He gave,
And plotting revenge on the brink of the grave!
And Fashion's followers, flitting after,
O'ertake and pass the funeral train,
Thoughtlessly scattering jests and laughter,
Like sharp, quick showers of hail and rain,
To beat on the hearts that are bleeding with pain!
And many who stare at the close-shut hearse
Envy the dead within,--or, worse,
Turn away with a keener zest
To grapple and revel and sin with the rest!
While far apart in a bower of green,
Unheeded, unseen,
A warbling bird on the topmost bough
Merrily pipes to the Poet below,
Asking an answer as gay, I trow!
But he hears the surging waves without,--
The heartless jeer, and the wild, wild shout:
The ceaseless clamor, the cruel strife
Make the Poet weary of life;
And tears of pity and tears of pain
Ebb and flow in every strain,
As he soothes his heart with singing.

The tide of humanity rolleth on;
And 'mid faces miserly, haggard, and wan,
Between the hypocrite's and the knave's,
The hapless idiot's and the slave's,
Sweet children smile in their nurses' arms,
And clap their hands in innocent glee;
While, unrebuked by the heavenly charms
That beam in the eyes of infancy,
Oaths still blacken the lips of men,
And startle the ears of womanhood!
On either hand
The churches stand,
Forgotten by those who yesterday
Went thronging thither to praise and pray,
And take of the Holy Body and Blood!
Their week-day creed is the law of Might;
Self is their idol, and Gain their right:
Though, now and then,
God sees some faithful disciples still
Breasting the current to do His will.
The little bird on the topmost bough
Merrily pipes to the Poet below,
Asking an answer as gay, I trow!
But he hears the surging waves without,--
The atheist's scoff and the infidel's doubt,
The Pharisee's cant and the sweet saint's prayer,
And the piercing cry for rest from care;
And tears of pity and tears of pain
Ebb and flow in every strain,
As he praises God with singing.




A JOURNEY IN SICILY.


CHAPTER I.

PALERMO.


In the latter part of April, 1856, four travellers, one of whom was the
present writer, left the Vittoria Hotel at Naples, and at two, P.M.,
embarked on board the Calabrese steamer, pledged to leave for Palermo
precisely at that hour. As, however, our faith in the company's
protestations was by no means so implicit as had been our obedience to
their orders, it was with no feeling of surprise that we discovered by
many infallible signs that the hour of departure was yet far off. True,
the funnel sent up its thick cloud; the steward in dirty shirt-sleeves
stood firm in the gangway, energetically demanding from the
baggage-laden traveller the company's voucher for the fare, without
which he may vainly hope to leave the gangway ladder; the decks were
crowded in every part with lumber, live and dead. But all these symptoms
had to be increased many fold in their intensity before we could hope to
get under way; and a single glance at the listless countenances of the
bare-legged, bare-armed, red-capped crowd who adhered like polypi to
the rough foundation-stones of the mole sufficed to show that the
performance they had come to witness would not soon commence. Our berths
once visited, we cast about for some quiet position wherein to while
away the intervening time. The top of the deck-house offered as pleasant
a prospect as could be hoped for, and thither we mounted.

The whole available portion of the deck, poop included, was in
possession of a crowd of youngsters, many mere boys, from the Abruzzi,
destined to exchange their rags and emptiness for the gay uniform and
good rations of King Ferdinand's soldiery. In point of physical comfort,
their gain must be immense; and very bad must be that government
which, despite of these advantages, has forced upon the soldier's mind
discontent and disaffection. No doubt, the spectacle of the Swiss
regiments doubly paid, and (on Sundays at least) trebly intoxicated,
has something to do with this ill feeling. The raggedness of this troop
could be paralleled only by that of the immortal regiment with whom
their leader declined to march through Coventry, and was probably even
more quaint and fantastic in its character. Chief in singularity were
their hats, if hat be the proper designation of the volcanic-looking
gray cone which adhered to the head by some inscrutable dynamic law, and
seemed rather fitted for carrying out the stratagem of shoeing a troop
of horse with felt than for protecting a human skull. A triple row
of scalloped black velvet not unfrequently bore testimony to the
indomitable love of the nation for ornament; and the same decoration
might be found on their garments, whose complicated patchwork reminded
us of the humble original from which has sprung our brilliant Harlequin.
Shortly our attention was solicited by a pantomimic Roscius, some ten or
twelve years old, who, having climbed over the taffrail and cleared a
stage of some four feet square, dramatized all practicable scenes, and
many apparently impracticable, for he made nothing of presenting two or
three personages in rapid interchange. Words were needless, and would
have been useless, as the unloading of railway bars by a brawny
Northumbrian and his crew drowned all articulate sounds.

Notwithstanding these varied amusements, we were not sorry to see
arrive, first, a gray general, obviously the Triton of our minnows, and
close behind him the health and police officers of the government, to
whose paternal solicitude for our mental and bodily health was to be
ascribed our long delay in port. These beneficent influences, incarnated
in the form of two portly gentlemen in velvet waistcoats,--an Italian
wears a velvet waistcoat, if he can get one, far into the hot
months,--began their work of summoning by name each individual from the
private to the general, then the passengers, then the crew, and finally,
much to our relief, reembarked in the boat, and left us free to pursue
our voyage.

We soon left behind the ominous cone of Vesuvius, reported by the best
judges to be at present in so unsound a state that nothing can prevent
its early fall; sunset left us near the grand precipices of Anacapri,
and morning found us with Ustica on our beam, and the semicircle of
mountains which enchase the gem of Palermo gradually unfolding their
beauties. By ten, A.M., we were in harbor and pulling shorewards to
subject ourselves to the scrutiny of custom-house and police. Our
passports duly conned over, the functionary, with a sour glance at our
valanced faces, inquired if we had letters for any one in the island.
Never before had such a question been asked me, nor ever before could I
have given other than an humble negative. But the kindness of a friend
had luckily provided me with a formidable shield, and a reply, given
with well-assumed ease, that I had letters from the English Ambassador
for the Viceroy, smoothed the grim feature, and released us from the
dread tribunal. The custom-house gave no trouble, and we reembarked to
cross about half a mile of water which separated us from the city gate.
Here, however, we were destined to experience the influence of the sunny
clime: our two stout boatmen persisted in setting their sail, under the
utterly false pretence that there was some wind blowing, and fully half
an hour elapsed ere we set foot ashore.

This gave me ample time to recall the different aspect of Palermo when
first I saw it, in 1849. I had accompanied the noble squadron, English
and French, which carried to the Sicilian government the _ultimatum_
of the King of Naples. The scenes of that troubled time passed vividly
before me: the mutual salutes of the Admirals; the honors paid by
each separately to the flag of Sicily, that flag which we had come to
strike,--for such we all knew must be the effect of our withdrawal. I
recollected the manly courtesy with which the Sicilians received us,
their earnest assurances that they did not confound our involuntary
errand with our personal feelings; and how, when a wild Greek
mountaineer from the Piano de' Greci, unable to comprehend the
intricacies of politics, and stupidly imagining that those who were
not for him were against him, had insulted one of our officers, the
bystanders had interposed so honorably and so swiftly that even the hot
blood of our fiery Cymrian had neither time nor excuse to rise to the
boiling-point. I recalled the scene in the Parliament House, when the
replies to the King's message, which had been sent by each chief town,
were read by the Speaker: the grave indignation of some,--the somewhat
bombastic protestations of others,--the question put of submission or
war,--the shout of "_Guerra! guerra!_" ringing too loud, methought, to
be good metal; the "_Suoni la tromba_" at that night's theatre,--the
digging at the fortifications,--women carrying huge stones,--men more
willing to shout for them than to do their own share,--Capuchin friars
digging with the best,--finally, the wild dance of men, women, cowled
and bearded monks, all together, brandishing their spades and shovels in
cadence to the military band. With this came to me the mild smile and
doubtful shake of the head of the good Admiral Baudin, and his prophetic
remark,--"I have seen much fighting in various parts of the world; and
if these men mean to fight, I cannot comprehend them."

While this mental diorama was unrolling, even Sicilian laziness had time
to reach the shore; and passing by a rough mass of rocks, where our
second cutter had once run too close for comfort, and the Friedland's
launch had upset and lost two men, we at length landed close to the city
gate. A custom-house officer pounced on us for a fee, notwithstanding
our examination on first landing, and ("_uno avulso, non deficit aureus
alter_,") at the city gate, not thirty yards distant, a third repeated
the demand, equivalent to "Your money or your keys." A capital breakfast
at the Trinacria hotel was the fitting conclusion to these oft-recorded
troubles, and the gratifying news that the Viceroy had just left the
island for Naples obviated the necessity of a formal visit, and left us
free to enjoy the notabilities of Palermo.

The plan of this beautiful city is very simple, being a tolerably
accurate square, surrounded by walls, of which the northern face skirts
the sea, and the southern faces the head of the lovely valley in which
the city stands,--the Golden Shell. Two perfectly straight streets,
intersecting in a small, but highly ornamented _piazza_, traverse
the city. The Toledo, or Via Cassaro,--for it bears both these
designations,--runs from the sea to the Monreale gate, close to which is
the Royal Palace, and the Cathedral square opens from this street. The
Via Macqueda contains few buildings of interest except the University.
Between the wall and the sea runs the magnificent Marina, a more
beautiful promenade than even the Villa Reale of Naples, having on the
right the low but picturesque headland of Bagaria, while on the left
rise the all but perpendicular rocks of Monte Pellegrino, once the
impregnable mountain-throne of Hamilcar Barcas, and later the spot where
in a rude cavern, now sheeted with marble and jasper, "from all the
youth of Sicily, Saint Rosalie retired to God." The handicraftsmen of
Palermo still occupy almost exclusively the streets named after their
trades,--an indication of immobility rarely to be met with nowadays,
though Rome displays it in a minor degree.

We first visited the University Museum. Numerous pictures, far beyond
the ordinary degree of badness, occupy the upper rooms, where the only
object of interest is a very fine and well-preserved bronze of Hercules
and the Pompeian Fawn, half life-size. But far beyond all else in
artistic importance are the _metopes_ from Selinuntium, which, though
much damaged, show marks of high excellence. They are of clearly
different dates, though all very archaic. The oldest represent Perseus
cutting off the Gorgon's head, and Hercules killing two thieves. Perseus
has the calm, sleepy look of a Hindoo god,--while Gorgon's head, with
goggle eyes and protruding tongue, resembles a Mexican idol. Hercules
and the thieves have more of an Egyptian character. The material of
these bas-reliefs is coarse limestone; and in the _metopes_ on the
opposite wall, which are clearly of later date, recourse has been had to
a curious method of obtaining delicacy in the female forms: the faces,
hands, and feet, which alone are visible from among the drapery, are
formed of fine marble. An Actaeon torn by his dogs is much corroded by
sea air, but displays great nobleness of attitude. The vigor in the left
arm, which has throttled one of the dogs, can hardly be surpassed. A
portion of the _cella_, of one of the temples has been removed hither,
and its brilliant polychromy is sufficient to decide the argument as to
the existence of the practice, if, indeed, that point be yet in doubt.
But it seems that the non-colorists have relinquished the parallel of
architecture, which, be it observed, they formerly defended obstinately,
and have now intrenched themselves in the citadel of sculpture,
intending to hold it against all evidence. The only other object of much
interest was a Pompeian fresco, representing two actors, whose attitudes
and masks are so strikingly adapted to express the first scene of the
"Heautontimorumenos," between Menalcas and Chremes, that it seems
scarcely doubtful that this is actually the subject of the painting.

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