.'.', WAV':.;,/. ,. ,'.-.' . . . HK >Vf> r ' %WMV disclosing to ray heart a reality in all its sad colourings. I bent my brow with the superstitious feeling of one awaken- ing from a terrible dream ; and never from that moment did my noble friend behold that brow unclouded or uncon- tracted by anxiety, even in the serenity of a smile. Zurich was too small a city to permit the knowledge of the late unfortunate circumstances being limited to the parties immediately interested ; and it may be easily imagined, that, in spite of every precaution used to prevent scandal, vague, though mischievous, rumours, soon began to circulate. The more vague and mysterious the rumour which becomes current, the more is man's imagination excited to analize its features. Each interprets the circumstance according to his own individual feelings, whether of friendship, jealousy, hatred, envy or indifference. Seldom does it admit of a favourable colouring such is human nature. Although I was fortunate enough to be on good terms with every one, I now became the subject of whispers, and, not unfrequently, of mute tokens of curiosity between those I 'encountered in the public walk, the street, the concert room, or at the assemblies. I soon became conscious of this treatment ; and though these people really wished me no harm, I could not but resent their conduct, and became solitary and miserable, not knowing which way to turn, nor upon whom to vent my vexation and my grief. Madame V. was doomed to listen patiently to "the daily enumeration of the fancied insults I received : and to my reiterated complaints of the wanton cruelty of her coun- trymen " Guido," she would mildly reply to me, " though my countrymen do not act with generosity to you in this instance, believe me they do not bear you the unkindness you imagine. You have received too many proofs of their estimation of your talents and character, to doubt their good-will. You MT CONFESSIONS. 139 cannot surely forget their preference of you, as a professor, over all competitors that have presented themselves at Zurich. No, Guido, men are, for the most part weak, but they are not evil. It* will be for your own misery, if you should so picture them. Their conduct towards you will be materially influenced by the good or evil motives you attribute to them. But, admitting even that all were debased, it would be better to blind one's-self to such a conviction, lest life might soon become too burdensome to bear. Remember, it is your lot to dwell among men. Do not forget that man is so con- stituted in this world, that peace of mind is only to be obtained in this sterile desart, by cherishing that counsel imparted to us by divine lips, ' love thy neighbour.' When man ceases to love his fellow, he will soon hate and despise himself ; for there is no human virtue which does not originate in love or sympathy for our fellow-beings. Deprive man of love and forbearance and he sinks to a level with the brute. Suffer not, my young friend, this gall of misanthropy to mingle in the feelings of a heart which came forth pure and generous from the hands of its Creator. At one-and- twenty years, you should not curse the world. How many sweets in ex- istence, which you are well fitted to enjoy, would be thereby denied to you ? and how many opportunities of doing good to your neighbour would be lest to one, predisposed to acts of kindness by the natural feelings of his heart ? Suffer me then to teach you the secret of rendering yourself contented. But will you attentively weigh it in your mind, will you profit by my counsel ? If so, remember then, that, in order to pass through life tranquil and unruffled by collision with your fellow-men, who all differ in some particulars from each other, the foundation of your own self-respect is based upon love and tolerance for others. Then you will be invul- nerable to every shaft that may be levelled at you ; or like a giant when looking on the pigmy beings breathing war against him, smiles at their vain effort to wound him, and generously turns aside that he may not crush them by a single, though 140 MT CONFESSIONS. involuntary movement. Fie, Guido, that you should give sd much importance to mere shadows .... that you should place in their power the peace of your mind ! " Reason not on such as them ; But glance.. ..and pass them by." Have I succeeded in convincing, in calming you are you restored to peace with your fellow-men ?" When she concluded, she fixed upon me a look which seemed to reflect the rays of that heaven which inspired her with such divine sentiments, whilst the benignant smile that illumined her countenance bespoke the joy she felt in interpreting mine .... in 'beholding her efforts crowned with success though not a word from me in reply had assured her of her triumph finally, in her assurance, that not merely calm, I was as it were beatified, and truly in peace with all mankind. CHAPTER XXVIII. How seldom are the will and the power in unison with each other ! The spirit may be willing, but the flesh is ever lagg- ing, and too often rebellious. As the sweet words of my friend fell upon my ear, a tide of harmony seemed to pour into my soul : it was a harmony that would have attuned the feelings of the savage to humanity. An unearthly peace took possession of me ; but no sooner had they ceased, than my mind seemed as though once more wrapt in the silence of the tomb. From this moment each interval of calm became to me the harbinger of a tempest, whose fury fell more poig- nantly upon my heart, from its abrupt contrast with the hour of sunshine, until at length life itself became to me an in- supportable burthen. Time wore on, and my frame, in con- sequence of the mind having undergone so long a struggle, MY CONFESSIONS. 141 now gave tokens that its human weakness was unequal to sup- port a farther contest. It was then that my sweet friend, who had watched my welfare with the anxiety with which man's guardian angel looks on the being intrusted to his protecting vigilance felt the necessity of a last sacrifice. She armed herself with courage, resolving rather to die than to swerve from her resolution. With so obstinate a character as mine, the gentle creature felt assured that, to attain her object, it would be neces- sary to proceed with extreme caution, though, at the same time, with ingenuousness. But as she soon perceived that dealing with me ingenuously, availed her not, she had recourse to stratagem and succeeded. Florence and Cleofe now became the constant theme of her conversation with me. This she persisted in for several months. But, while thus recalling my native country and the image of my sister to my remembrance, I might have fancied myself transported thither, and once more in communion with my dear Cleofe, still she failed in producing the desired effect that of awakening within me the irresistible desire to re-visit, and dwell again in my own land, and to embrace its dear inha- bitants. No I could have sacrificed a thousand Florences, and even Cleofe herself to have retained her alone, whose presence had now become so necessary to me. She had now exhausted all her powers of eloquence and soft persuasion. These had contributed but to render me yet more firm in my resolve, which was to die in my youth at Zurich, rather than exist far from her, either in Florence, or elsewhere. She at length per- ceived that, in order to save me, artifice was her only resource. She therefore submitted to the necessity of employing it, and, for the first time in her life, spoke to me in a tone, which was not the impulse of her heart. My struggle had now lasted eighteen months, when one evening upon my return to my apartments, I found lying on my table a packet addressed to me. On opening it, I beheld within it an elegant gold chain, a bouquet of flowers, and a letter, the contents of which were as follow : 142 MY CONFESSIONS. " Dear Guido, " There is no virtue the attainment of which has not been purchased by a sacrifice ; and no sacrifice has ever been made, but at the expense of pain. Virtue is the smile of the soul ; Pain is the sorrowing of humanity. But since the practice of the one is indispensable to all who desire to make this short existence the pathway to that " peace which passeth human understanding," we must nobly resign ourselves to the visita- tion of the other, acknowledging it as a maxim, that " it is the will of the Eternal that unalloyed happiness should not dwell on earth : nor that there should be true peace save that which emanates from virtue." But if we navigate the frail bark of our mortal nature with righteousness as our rudder, and with faith as our anchor, we may defy the storms that are constantly agitating the sea of human existence. " So far have thorns out- numbered the flowers in your path from infancy to boyhood, and even now at your entrance on the wider field of manhood, that perhaps in comparing your journey with that of many of your fellow-travellers, you may be tempted to murmur against the justice of that Being, who, in His inscrutable judgments, gathers from the clouds on the one hand, and from the milder heaven on the other, the mate- rials of those elements which are to compose our happiness or misery. Let me beseech you, to close your eyes on external objects, but for one moment, and turn them inwardly upon yourself. Examine your own heart ; then ask yourself Had I the power, would I exchange my destiny with that of the greatest ones of the earth ? Never ! will be your heart's response. The sorrow I have borne, has shed a soothing me- lancholy upon my soul, which I would not now part with for all the excitement of the short-lived joy of a fading existence. My misfortunes in teaching me the vanity of this life, have prompted me to aim at the attainment of one far more beau- tiful, should it please the fountain of goodness to render me worthy of it. Had I known naught else but an unruffled ex- MY CONFESSIONS. 143 istence, might I not have been dazzled by such perpetual en- joyment, or from its very monotony have become insensible to so great a gift ? The clouds which so thickly and darkly over- cast my horizon, have been my monitors : they have taught me by their warning appearance to think, to reflect, and to hope. Clothed in the wings of faith, I have been enabled to penetrate their intervening obscurity, until, arriving at the con- fines of a celestial serenity, I have gladdened my heart with the contemplation of the goodness of the Great Infinite. Would I exchange my own being^ for that of another ? Oh ! no. It would be rebelling against my God, and digging the grave of my own destruction. Sweet to my heart is the dependence in which it has pleased God I should dwell ; for, too probably, riches would have proved to me the snare into which the fallen angels would have allured me to my ruin. My exiled exist- ence is not without some countervailing advantages ; for, had I still dwelt in my native place, and among my own kindred, I might never have so clearly observed the bondage of my unhappy country, and never offered up my anxious prayers for its emancipation. I can rejoice too in the very limitation of my talents ; for, though they are not such as in my foolish pre- sumption I might have coveted, yet their possession is a gift from Heaven, which enables me to appreciate what is truly beautiful in this state of existence. The neglect, the persecu- tion, the hatred and the injustice I have suffered from my fel- low-mortuls have, through God's mercy, benefited my mind and heart. They have induced me to seek a source of enjoy- ment, far removed from the sphere of man's limited power. Their asperities have, by collision, softened the ruggedness of my own nature, and have by the power of contrast, enabled me the better to discern to cherish virtue. My faults my own characteristic weaknesses are, I might almost say, dear to me. They have constantly served to humble me ; and, by proving my own no- thingness, they have made me sensible of the power and good- ness of Him who can raise me from my present debasement to the number of His elect, and to His kingdom in heaven. Would 144 MY CONFESSIONS. I then change my own state of being for that of another ? Oh ! no. I thank thee, my Creator my heavenly Master, that Thou hast made me that I am, and taught me what I may be, provided I depart not from Thy precepts, and resign myself with cheerful submission to Thy dispensations." Such I anticipate, dear Guido, will be your heart's response ? Be it so then. Let me add vet another reflection. As God employs human agency in the trials and chastenings it is His will we should undergo, so does He equally avail Himself of His creature, man, in making him the instrument of happiness to His fellow- mortal. " Hitherto it has been His decree that I should have been a source of sorrow and unquiet to you ; but He has at length listened to my prayer, and chosen me to be henceforth the instrument of your good. Another dawn is about to break upon you, whose opening promise is the harbinger of so bright a sunshine, that you will, in gratitude to yourMaker henceforth bask in calmness beneath its rays. But, remember, Guido, that that God, who is preparing for you so brilliant a destiny, requires that man, in obedience to His inspirations, should at once choose the path He points out to him, and even abandon those he best loves, and thereby walk in his way with the faith of Abraham. To be brief, then, Guido, this is no longer a land for you to dwell in. It is God's will that you should quit it. " You must feel how well I know you, and you will not deny that when, from dwelling on a fatal spot, the youthful mind becomes embittered by misfortune, it is no longer capable cf acting with energy, or judging of its present or future welfare. To become the slave of circumstances, and obstinately sacrifice oneself to one's own infatuation, is the mark of a depraved mind. You are born with a soul above this weakness ! Do not then, by your actions, contradict the nobleness of your charac- ter ; but, in the first days of your youth, make that effort to which Heaven itself directs you. Do you fear that God will abandon you ? Oh, no ! your first step shall no sooner be taken, than Heaven will interpose its aid to guide you ; and, MY CONFESSIONS. 145 after a very brief period, it will prove to you that man man alone works his own destiny upon earth. Reflect, Guido, that what I write is the inspired offspring of long and ardent prayer. Listen, then, to the voice of Heaven speaking through me in warning, and neglect it not, lest it make itself heard to you in dread command. Listen, in gratitude, to a Father's counsel, rather than await the fiat of a God who will deliver it to you amid the terrors of Sinai. " Guido, let ua no longer deceive ourselves. Our ardent sentiment of friendship is displeasing to Heaven. That it is so, we must ourselves feel convinced from the little happiness it has ever afforded us. Of our own free will, then, let us sepa- rate ; and let us learn, as becomes true Christians, to forsake the object dear to us, at the sound of Christ's invitation " fol- low me ;" and at the sight of the Cross, at the foot of which, when we shall have breathed our last, we shall awake to eter- nal life in the Lord. The many and severe trials experienced during your expatriation, you will acknowledge, on your return home, to have been productive of much good. You will have learned how to know mankind and to understand your own heart. The germs of virtue and talent which are already springing up in your character, will grow luxuriantly beneath your native sky, and obtain for you the esteem of your fellow men, and the love of your God. The presence of your much-loved sister Cleofe, will amply compensate for the loss of one, who in spirit will still be with you in her morning and evening orisons. Separation and distance will sanctify our mutual sentiment ; and, in the consciousness of having sacrificed a deep feeling to the will of our Maker and to the love of virtue, the tear which will, perchance, sometimes start to the eye in reflecting upon our long, though necessary, separation, will yet fall, deprived of half its bitterness. Return then to your paternal roof. Apply dili- gently to study, and endeavour to exhibit to the world, every succeeding year of existence which the Almighty may grant you, some signal proof of your increasing talents and worth. " Guido, I offer this not merely as the counsel of a friend, H 146 MY CONFESSIONS. who anxiously prays for your welfare, but as a solemn com- mand. Refuse to hearken and to profit by it, and you will forfeit my esteem. The continuance of that, is the price of your obedience. You know me too well to suppose that I could cherish one whom I could no longer esteem. " If, however, deaf to my entreaties and to my commands, you should persist in remaining here, offending both God and man, know then, ungrateful Guido, that I must speedily be sacri- ficed by your obstinacy, for I feel myself unequal to support any longer the consciousness of being an object of slander through- out the city. " Leave Zurich, and you will save me remain, and I am lost. " Till death, " GUIDO'S FRIEND." CHAPTER XXIX. " Leave Zurich, and you will save me remain, and I am lost .'" These fatal words I repeated with frantic energy, at the conclusion of this memorable letter, during the perusal of the earlier part of which I had continued perfectly calm. After a burst of anguish, I buried my face in my hands, and remained for some time motionless, unable to pronounce a syl- lable or shed one tear to relieve the oppression at my heart. Oh ! Silvio ! could I describe to thee the despair with which the memory of that moment even now almost overwhelms me, after the lapse of so many, many years, hardly could thy sensitive mind conceive the misery I endured on that fatal night. Alas! to feel intensely and acutely, to suffer without the power of expressing what we feel, or the cause of our suffering, is the common lot of humanity. To those stricken, what alter- MY CONFESSIONS. H7 native is presented to their choice, if unsustained by religion ? Either to suffer the heart to sicken and wither in the morniug of youth, or, by striking with the stern axe of despair at the root of those tender affections, the cultivation of which would make this earth another Eden, to render it an unfruitful desert, and thus drag on the remainder of an existence chilled by in- difference, and at last sink into the grave unloving and unbe loved ! Yet, the more I analyze my own character, the more I am persuaded that " In myself alone there lies the cause of woe; We check the soul, in each its heavenward flight, To rove in the pale the fancied light Of Pleasure's wordly name '." How erroneously we accuse the temperament we receive at the hands of nature, as being the cause of our errors ! There are few evils in man's existence, from which he may not extri- cate himself by the exercise of reason and religious discipline. " Then I have lost her for ever !" I exclaimed, after a long silence ; " and with her have I lost all that is, and all that ever will be dear to me on earth ! Well, be it so. But I must not now abandon myself to grief : tears must not be shed here at Zurich. Extreme misfortune must be met by the ex- tremity of courage. We will part without a 'tear; and, in the absence of him whom she will never again behold, let her cherish the memory of one, who has shown himself deserving of the tenderest regard, of the esteem, the friendship, and the affection of a beautiful and virtuous woman." During the whole of that night and part of the following day I occupied myself in writing farewell letters to my pupils, and in making my personal adieu to Orelli, Sperli and Fuseli, all of whom expressed the greatest astonishment and sorrow at the abruptness of my departure. " I have long anticipated this !" said Orelli, holding me affectionately by the hand and H 2 148 MY CONFESSIONS. with a countenance, though tearless for he was too much of a Swiss to weep much paler than usual, while his choked utterance betrayed the emotion he would have concealed. " But go," he continued, " it is perhaps better that it should be so ; and, after the lapse of a few years, we may see you re- turn among us a happier man !" Thus commenced my last evening at Zurich ; and now, hav- ing obtained my passport, taken my place in the diligence, and arranged every thing for my departure on the morrow, nothing remained for me to do but to take a last farewell of her, the dearest to me of all Zurich's inhabitants. When impelled by imperious necessity to a course of action at once perilous and inevitable, how often does a supernatural strength seem to lead us on to its accomplishment ! We ap- pear, as it were, gifted with the eagle's wing, endued with the recklessness of insanity, scarcely aware of the peril we are about to confront, or conscious of the desperation by which we are animated ; until, at length, when past the trial, we look back marvelling that strength, so limited as our own, had been able to extricate ourselves from such a difficulty. " Like he who long on treach'rous waters cast, Looks from the shore he has so lately won O'er the dread deep while panting from the past, He trembles at the perils he has run." Transported, how I know not, thither, nor by what invisible power, I found myself at the door of my friend. I opened it and entered her apartment. She was seated in a corner of the room, occupied in writing. A lamp stood before her, whose light shed so unearthly a hue over her usually pale countenance, that, at the distance at which I stood, she seemed to me more like a beautiful spirit than the lovely being of mortality she was. " Guido !" she uttered involuntarily, starting at beholding me at so unusual an hour. " I have obeyed you," I said calmly : "I have bidden adieu HT CONFESSIONS. 149 to my pupils, I have obtained my passport, and to-morrow, at eleven, I quit Zurich !" ' To-morrow !" she repeated, vehemently : " Oh God, what have I sacrificed 1" and drooping her head, she buried her face in her hands. At these words, together with the tone in which they were uttered, a flash of lightning seemed to glance through my brain, which, more fearful than the darkness in which I had been hitherto involved, seemed to display to me the reality of my position for a moment, but to disappear and envelope me in a yet deeper gloom. " How !" I exclaimed, no longer master of my emotions, " are you, then, surprised or grieved that I have obeyed you ? Could it be that you knew me so imperfectly as to doubt, for an instant, that I would a thousand times have sacrificed my happiness to have preserved your reputation, which is even dearer to me than your life ? Should I have been worthy of you, had I refused to understand the concluding part of your letter." " Fatal interpretation !*' she exclaimed, interrupting me, " alas! what has it cost me ! Oh, Guido, when I paused to glance my eye over those gloomy characters, how did my heart reproach me for having traced that which it had not dictated ! No, Guido, those are the first and only sentiments, amid the many your friend has conveyed to you, which have found no echo within her own heart. How could you believe J heeded the whispers of the vulgar crowd which encompassed me ? No ! Mine is a soul, which, conscious of the integrity of its affection for you, would have defied the censure of the whole world. But be it so God's Will be done ! This fatal step has cost me much of what is to me dear on earth ; but it has obtained from heaven your happiness, and I thank God for it. Pardon me, Guido, for having but this once deceived you. Well have I judged you. Rather than separate from me, you would yourself have been the sacrifice ; and no argument would have 150 MY CONFESSIONS. dissuaded you from your purpose. Nothing, therefore, remained for me but the employment of this innocent artifice : I trusted in it, and am not deceived. And now, Guido, I must confess to you, that I did not for one moment anticipate your resolve would have been so fearfully sudden ! It has fallen upon me like the thunderbolt, prostrating, though not overwhelming its victim, who, though from afar, had watched the gathering tempest gain nearer and nearer upon her, still was reposing her trust in the beautiful ether which still opened upon her head from above. But the Cross should be to us the Cross of sacrifice ! From henceforth I embrace it in faith and hope ; and I bless God that He has called me to the burden ! And now, dear Guido, with this last embrace, receive my long fare- well and my blessing." Thus saying, she bent forward and kissed my forehead ; then, suddenly starting from her seat, she glided into a little cabinet adjoining the room in which we stood, the door of which was always open. What were my feelings when thus left alone, I will not attempt to describe. With a hesitating step I approached the door of the apartment, perhaps with the intention of quitting it ; but an irresistible feeling brought me once more to the very threshold of the cabinet. I there stood motionless, for then I beheld her on her knees before a crucifix, in deep and silent prayer. To break in upon her devotions, for the brief satisfaction of listening once more to the sound of her voice, seemed a sacrilege. Once more I sprang towards the door of the apartment opened it and closed it upon myself for ever! MY CONFESSIONS. 151 CHAPTER XXX. I HAD no sooner descended the staircase and reached the outside of the house, than I felt, as it were, a new creature. I seemed to breathe anew ; my heart beat with recovered pulsa- tion, while its first echoes sprang to my lips in the ejaculation of " God, I thank thee !" At each step, which carried me nearer to my own apartments, a celestial calm took possession of my mind; each fibre of my frame seemed to be endued with in- creased vigor, and when I stood within ray own little domicile, peace I might say a species of joy animated me. Oh, the goodness of the Lord ! oh Providence Divine, how lovely is thy heavenly peace ! Oh, how unlike to that which the seekers of worldly vanity weary themselves to obtain ! But had I de- served it ? No : certainly not ; for, the difficult sacrifice I had made in separating myself from her who was then, and has ever been, dearest to me on earth, sprang not from the sug- gestions of duty, religion, morality, or virtue. My obstinate determination to perish in the flower of my youth, hating and despising all mankind, rather than quit her I loved, might well have forfeited for myself both earthly peace and eternal beatitude. An inevitable necessity, arising from a merely human feeling respect for her reputation had dictated this my last effort ; so that, submitting to this necessity, un- dignified as it was by the concurrence of my own free and generous will, I performed a sacrifice which, to those who knew not the impelling motives, bore the semblance of con- summate virtue and rare magnanimity. Oh, how many actions, apparently pure and disinterested in themselves, when dragged forth into the glare of the day of Judgment, shall appear stripped of their celestial garb, and stand bare in their native grossness and deformity ! It was, then, a pure and comforting ray of divine mercy 152 MY CONFESSIONS. that had shed the peace I felt within me. It was part of the recompense of my sweet friend's noble and magnani- mous sacrifice : it was the reflection of her virtue which had illumined my soul and whispered me that her prayer had been heard. But although the fever of my mind had thus miraculously subsided, I was still too much excited to think of repose ; be- sides, I was unwilling that the last few hours I was ever to spend in Zurich, should be wasted in the forgetfulness of sleep. I therefore once more seated myself at my little table, and beguiled the hours of the night in alternately reflecting, and committing to paper the feelings awakened by my actual situa- tion. Morning dawned ; I perused the following lines the fruit of the night's vigil. THE ADIEU. My dream is past ! the vision o'er ! I awake as from the dead ! Oh, happiness ! thou art no more, Alas ! where art thou fled ! Oh ! what relentless, iron hand Hath snatched the veil aside, Revealing not one kindly strand To stem life's troubled tide ? That veil which o'er earth's bosom thrown With soft delusive power, E'en clothes the weed, in folly sown, Like Nature's sweetest flower. Its shadowy folds how oft reflect Reality's impress, And happiness is gaily cleck'd In sweet illusion's dress, MY CONFESSIONS. J5S Till, like the dreams which sportive play Around the slumb'rer's head, Each wings its flight at opening day ; And morn beholds them dead ! Oh blindness that I had not known, At whose imperious nod, The brightest visions soon have flown ! Thine, truth ! illusion's rod ! Yet, in my dream, a/orm so light Entranc'd my eager eyes ; It seemed as though some spirit bright Had left its native skies, Embodying in its earthly mould Its own ethereal love : 'Twas angel's form, as we behold, In visions from above ! Twas such a form as Raphael might Have dreamed his guardian saint, Or pictur'd as th' ideal bright Each heart alone can paint. She spoke, and in that voice's tone The echoes from on high Seem'd stealing o'er the sense, for none E'er heard such minstrelsy. Like Lethe's stream, her presence taught Forgetfulness of woe ; The heart forgot the past, and naught Of dark presage would know ! But that it was delusion's cheat My heart would sometimes guess ; I clung still fondly to Deceit, And welcom'd happiness ! Oh ! sweet it is to fly oneself, To feel oblivion near ; A waking dream is life itself, Unsullied by a tear ! H 3 154 MT CONFESSIONS. But soon too soon th' illusion's o'er, And life resumes its sting ; We wake more deeply to deplore How vain is fancy's wing ! So thus, sweet saint, when 'neath thy sun Such Heav'n it was to me ; My own forgetfulness was won In contemplating thee. 1 knew that though my heart was fond, Nought thou couldst be to me ; But still 1 revell'd in our bond Of sweetest sympathy. How little joy, alas ! can now The present give to me ! My heart in silence seems to bow, It dare not speak of thee ! But msy life's stream for thee e'er glide Unruffled by a storm, Reflecting in the tranquil tide But thy lov'd virtue's form ! Oh ! still live on the joy of those Whom destiny hath blest, To breathe thine atmosphere's repose, Near thee to find their rest. Enjoy that peace whose holy birth In heav'n o'er man descends ; That peace, from which alone on earth Our happiness depends ! Encompass'd by her lovely beam Vainly will storms arise, And threat'ning vapours, which oft seem To emulate the skies. Should e'er the light of Heav'n appear Less beauteous to thine eye, With her thine inmate, thou wilt wear A soul's serenity. MY CONFESSIONS. 155 Then, Fare thee well ! the hour hath told Its warning voice to me ! 1 go, where sorrow doth unfold The path from joy and thee. Oh think ! but ah my words are naught ! So distant now we dwell, That but the buoyant wing of thought Can ever break that spell J I go, but oh I 'tis bitterness To feel an object nigh Endowed with angel's loveliness, Then lose her thus ah why ? Two hours before my departure, I received from her the following letter : " Guido, dearer to me than ever ! " Never did virtue's altars teem with sacrifice but that a celestial flame consumed the welcome offering, in token of its acceptance by the Deity. So does each noble action carry with it its own recompense, in the peace derived from the consciousness that we have done that which is pleasing to God. " From this hour, dear Guido, must be dated the com- mencement of your happiness a happiness, of which, in its very dawn, it has pleased God to select me to be the instru- ment a happiness not yet enjoyed, but, when felt, inalterable and all your own. " Your early life has, by the wisdom of Providence, been so attended with visitations of sorrow and misfortune, that your mind, subdued, though fortified by these trials, will enable you to meet without surprize, dread or despair, any event that may befall you in your future career. Depart then, dear Guido, with the assurance that God blesses and pro- tects you. 156 MY CONFESSIONS. " Return to your country and to the bosom of your family, to whom your long absence has rendered you yet more dear ; but recall not Zurich to mind without blessing the hour in which God had conducted your steps thither as to that beacon, whence He has been pleased to reveal Himself to you, less as a Judge than as a Father of mercy. " Let literature be your occupation and your delight, re- membering that " It forms our pleasure here below, And opens the gate to heav'n." " Abandon your diffidence in your own talents, and do not hesitate to aspire to the glory of a poet's fame. You have faculties, which, should they never conduct you to the summit of fame, will yet guide you to so high an eminence that you will leave thousands far behind you. " The beams of the sun of your own Italy will warm you into an admiration of the works of your Creator, which will inspire you for they are too beautiful not to bear the stamp of goodness with love for Him, and good-will towards man. " Your young mind, nurtured amid storms and in the frozen atmosphere of a northern clime, will then melt into a deeper love for that Being, " Who bids the ready smile succeed the tear !" " It will suggest to you images, which your fancy will embody for the instruction of others ; you will feel as one who, having long contemplated the gathering clouds, sees with brighter glory the re-appearance of the azure sky ! He knows not peace her joys to him are vain Who has not dwelt amid war's troubled reigti !" MY CONFESSIONS. ] 57 '^In the society of your loved sister, and in the bosom of your family which Alfieri so truly designates the true and only inlet to happiness the dark colourings of this scene of sorrow will present themselves fainter and fainter to your retrospec- tion, until at length the roseate tints of a sweet serenity so long concealed from your view, which could never have been enjoyed had you remained here will stand revealed. " Guido, I know you so well so truly have I read your character, that 1 dare venture to predict that you will attain, by a path of little difficulty, the Christian's haven in peace with your God. But, my dear friend, I pray you, neglect not what I am about to add, and receive it in kindness. " You will return to an enslaved country, which, indeed, after many centuries of servitude, has now, for the first time, become aware that she is in bondage. This conscious- ness may be hailed as the peaceful dawn of liberty ; but the day that opens with a serene firmament is not always passed without a storm. " The independence of Italy is inevitably secure ; but no less certain it is, that the basis of its triumph, like the contest of op- posing religions, must be founded on the bones of its martyrs. How many of her sons have already fallen in the struggle ! but many, many more will yet become victims, ere the people are made sensible of the heaviness of their chains, and discover at length that they are not slaves, but that theirs is the true sovereignty. " But, Guido, I warn you to avoid faction. You are not born for strife. Nevertheless, do not suppose I hold you pusillanimous because I counsel you to eschew a political or military career. You are born to promote peace in every form, and to encourage every domestic virtue. You are born to feel and to teach that the heart is worth the conquest of a thousand worlds ; and that happy is the man who dedicates the fleeting hours of an uncertain existence to the government and the welfare of his own heart. " Follow undeviatingly the noble path in which Providence 158 MY CONFESSIONS. has placed you. To each individual hath God assigned his part in this drama of life. To each part is attached its attendant duty, which, if religiously fulfilled to its close, will secure a Paradise of bliss, equally to the humble subject as to the mag- nanimous Sovereign. " Heed not those who may deride you for avoiding a career of strife and danger, to pursue the only path you are born to enter upon. Should they deem you weak or deficient in courage, mind them no more than you would the croaking of a raven. Leave them to struggle amid the billows of existence, whilst you will continue, in your unobtrusiveness, not less dear to your country, nor less desirous of her welfare, than the lofty Lombard spirit of him whom Virgil met in Purgatory : " Still o'er his land a fading glance he throws, Like the fierce lion crouching to repose." " If you would ever preserve virtue's path, cease not to love your Maker above all things, and let your life be one continued prayer. This you will be able to do, when you are in a crowd as when you are alone in business as in repose in joy as in sorrow. Be mindful not to court applause for your virtue, or you will find it not less hazardous than the scandal awakened by the shamelessness of vice. Do not be influenced in doing what is right by the false pride of presenting a good example to others. That example is the best, which consists in the silent exemption from evil. " Give freely to your relations and friends, when it is in your power. But would you remain at peace with men, look for neither gratitude nor recompense at their hands. My dear Guido, it too often happens that those we benefit, thereby become our enemies. But be not discouraged by so melancholy a truth. If your reward be ingratitude, the Author of all goodness who has inspired you to aid the un- MY CONFESSIONS. 159 deserving, is Himself not unmindful of your actions, and will recompense you a thousand-fold. " With these few lines, dictated by the spirit of truth, from one who loves and honours you, you will, with a lighter heart, quit a city, whose inhabitants have not under- stood your character. But, if in future life, you should feel sometimes disposed to hate my countrymen for their conduct to you, recall to your remembrance the characters I here trace, and bless God, that from a mass of mankind, amongst whom He had declared it a special grace to meet one friend, you have found two in this small city, in my husband, and myself. " It will not be very long now ere the world and I shall bid each other farewell. It is now several years that I have felt myself slowly, yet sweetly, gliding from this abode of sorrow and separation. But so long as I am still permitted to remain on earth, you will continue to be an object in my mental vision ; you my friend, next to my husband, the dearest. You shall be disdain not the title my dear disciple ; and when at length, through the merits of my Saviour, my spirit wings its heavenward flight, 1 will should the consciousness and memory of earthly things be still be permitted to me pray at the throne of the Eternal, that the Peace of God may be ever with you, during your pilgrimage upon earth ! " Upon your arrival at Florence, salute Cleofe for me. Tell her how dear you are to me, and fail not to write me an account of your journey, which I augur will be a happy one. Direct your letters for me to my husband, who will himself convey them to me with the seal unbroken. He begs through me, to assure you of his inviolable friendship, and to promise, on his part, as steadfast an interest in your welfare, as though you were akin to us. And now, Guido, prove yourself worthy of your friends and of yourself, by courageously completing a noble sacrifice. Implore a Blessing upon a city that must ever be dear to you, and then depart 160 MY CONFESSIONS. from it with a smile on your lip, and with serenity in your heart. For ever, " YOUR FRIEND." " P.S. My husband begs me to add, that he proposes remitting to you an annual interest of twenty louis for the three hundred belonging to you, in his hands. To this he has permitted me to add a small sum, which I have set apart from the very handsome allowance with which he furnishes me. At Florence, where so small a sufficiency is required to live comfortably, forty louis, added to what you may acquire by teaching and literary undertakings, will constitute a respectable annuity, and enable you to live at your ease, and on equality with your friends. Let my husband and myself together, and for ever, hold a place in your affections. Go, com- mence your journey, and may God prosper you Farewell ! until we meet again in paradise." After another ejaculatory " thank God," which sprang so spontaneously and so sincerely from my heart, that I felt as though it were immediately wafted to the throne of the Eternal, I prostrated myself on the earth, and kissing that dear land, I humbly prayed through tears, rather than in words, that God would bless and protect that nation so lofty, so free, so invincible, so hospitable ; which, though divided in different cantons, still continued one family in peace and unanimity. I prayed that, if the blood-hounds which surround her, should again attempt as they had done to seek her destruction, they might themselves be humbled in their pride. I then left that dear little chamber the witness of so many pure and innocent delights, and the tabernacle of so many salutary griefs. I then sought the apartment of my good landlord Kerez, and, embracing the assembled familv whom MT CONFESSIONS. 16 1 [ left in tears, I quitted the house, and, accompanied by several of my pupils, whom I loved with the affection of i brother, and by some of my most ultimate friends, I reached he place of departure. We took another and a last farewell ; and I entered the chicle, which was to bear me thence for ever, with a tear in iy eye, but with my heart at peace with my fellow-men and esigned to the Will of my Maker. END OF PART II. PART III. PART III. CHAPTER I. " And now a fairer sea invites my sail, And sets my spirit to the fav'ring gale ! My bark moves kindlier on and leaves behind The memory of an ocean long unkind." Dante's Purgatorio, Canto II. IT was within an hour of sunset, and the serene beauty of the firmament seemed to reflect a deeper azure, from its con- trast with the thousand vermillion clouds, which suspended aloft in the air formed, as an attendant train, a semi-circular arch, apparently immoveable, round the great orb of day. But two steps more and behold me at the summit of the Appenines ! What a delicious prospect ! What a paradise on earth ! The Arno with its valley ; and Florence that city, which, so modest in her divine beauty, stands like the emerald amidst the brightest gems of Europe, encircled from without 166 MY CONFESSIONS. by lofty mountains, which, gradually sloping towards her, terminate in gently swelling hills of perpetual verdure ; while the surrounding villas, rich in their luxuriance, seem to look on her with the admiration of idolatry ! Oh spectacle of unparalleled of unspeakable beauty, where Earth appears to rival the Heavens, and seems to demand of them, " Am I not more beautiful than you ?" On beholding thee, the heart of the stranger yearns to thee in admiration ! How then must that of thy own sons bound towards thee ! Beneath the magic influence of thy serene and temperate atmosphere, men, whose diseases had baffled human skill in their own country, awake to renovated health and vigour. Like the flame, which, after languish- ing for lack of nourishment, blazes forth anew when supplied with aliment, so do those infirm of health revive almost with- out the aid of medicine, in a brief period, to the enjoyment of restored power, and either return to their own land, blessing God for His mercy, or, as too often happens, re-commence an unholy existence. Beneath thy magic influence, thy children enjoy almost unin- terruptedly the precious gift of health ! It is the hand of the Creator visibly resting on the head of His creature ; and where is the bosom which encloses not the heart of a brute that beats not in sincere and holy thankfulness for so great a blessing ? Yes, there the heart of man enjoys a perpetual holiday ; and if, in life, there be a balm for the broken heart, it is only while dwelling in thy heavenly climate that its efficacy can be experienced. Who will deny that Heaven ever smiled upon thee, and still continues to smile on thee, oh blessed Land of my fathers ! Divine city ! Parent of Dante, of Boccaccio, of Petrarch, of Machiavelli, of Galileo, of Amerigo Vespucci, of Giotto, of Michel Angelo, and of other lofty and sublime spirits, who, though Rome had indeed fallen from her high pinnacle of glory, still showed to her countrymen, that, while writhing under an inevitable yoke, their souls still triumphed MY CONFESSIONS. 167 in the consciousness, that, like Minerva beneath the disguise of the mortal Mentor, when in servitude to Azael, they were the instructors of their ignorant and savage task-masters. Many and varied are the bitter draughts which life's chalice presents to the Christian's lips, ere he can exchange this state of suffering for that of uninterrupted felicity ; but there is not a nail that binds me to my cross so painful in endurance as the necessity which compels me to dwell far away from Thee oh Florence ! my country ! Cruel necessity ! thou art the spear in my side ! To thy imagination, Silvio, I refer the portraiture of my heart's joy, as I descended the Appenines and to all who love their country and their kindred, I leave to judge of my feelings upon re-entering my native town, after so long an absence, and on beholding myself once more in the arms, and pressed to the bosom of my family. Words are inadequate to their expression. CHAPTER II. THE delight experienced upon awakening for the first time beneath an Italian sun, is beyond the poet's fancy to conceive, or the brightest dream to depict to the mind. Italy is a spot where the Atheist, in despite of his own hardened obduracy, is compelled to acknowlege that, " the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handy- work." In this beautiful country the hand of a merciful and boun- tiful Creator is made to appear so manifest, that the most callous must be impressed with reverence in contemplating His glorious works, while the good man will feel a double reliance on the Great Dispenser of those blessings ; and his 1 68 MY CONFESSIONS. heart will swell with gratitude when he reflects that great and wonderful must be God's love for mankind in making men the objects of such endless, exquisite and harmonious en- joyment. When Absence has for any length of time hidden from us the countenances of our nearest kindred, in the first ecstasy of return, our recognition of their well-remembered features is generally indistinct. It is not until having slept a night's tranquil sleep in the paternal mansion, that we can fix our eyes steadily on the sweet faces of those so dear to us, and begin gradually to recognise those individuals we so tenderly love, and by whom we are so tenderly beloved those who had tabernacled in their bosom so much of our own self, and who, by their presence, now restore to us what formed an entire drawback to our happiness, when absent from them. After enjoying the exquisite happiness of embracing one's kindred, and receiving again a parent's blessing, the first impulse of a well-regulated mind is to re-visit the temple of the Creator to seek again those altars, at whose shrine he was first presented spotless at the invisible throne of the Eternal by those, who, next to his Maker, were to be on earth his most faithful friends, and who, when he was helpless, and unconscious, and hardly yet capable of other expressions than piteous lamentations, prayed that peace might be his future lot amid the tumults of the world ; purity, where all is impure ; and, finally, eternal life beyond the reach of the fell destroyer. At that altar, where in the first days of innocence he had prayed to his heavenly Father at the foot of that altar, whose steps had received the tear shed in youth, in affliction, when not yet polluted by deadly sin a tear which, though long since cancelled to the eye of man, is still visible to God ; at the foot of that altar, whence had ascended the prayer of man in the days of adolescence a prayer ever audible to his Maker, though its utterance be unheard by his fellow- mortal ; at the foot of that altar Penitence pleads so strongly MT CONFESSIONS. l6Q in opposition to the just wrath of a Creator, that the anger of the Lord relents into mercy : and the sinner feels, in his heart, that God forgives him that God loves him. CHAPTER III. To seek out some of my friends, to encounter others in my path, and to receive those who had come in quest of me, was my occupation for the remainder of that day. It was to me a day of Paradise ! Life possesses some few moments of the brightest happiness, sufficient alone to prompt us to acknowledge it to be the gift of a Divine hand. But to appre- ciate those moments, and to feel them to be really the gift of heaven, it is not less imperative that man should, next to God, love his fellow-mortal. He who knows not the sweets of friendship, is like the vine unsupported by the poplar-tree ; he is as the ivy prostrated on the ground as a meadow unadorned with flowers a ring from which the gem has dropped a day without a sun a burthen to himself and a stumbling block to others. Friend- ship is a natural craving of the human heart ; its possession is as delightful as it is necessary to us ; and innumerable are the advantages which result from it, when it is founded in faithfulness and truth. That spirit of benevolence and that sympathy of feeling which it awakens within the soul, and whose tie is yet closer than those of blood and relationship, is as refreshing to the heart, as, in the summer hour, is heaven's dew to the thirsty flower and the spring in the desert to the parched lip. It is like the expression of the angel's countenance, who, while he offers to the lip of mortality its destined cup of bitterness, sweetens it by his compassion and encouragement. How sweet it is, after a long separation, to feel oneself in i 17O MY CONFESSIONS. the presence, but, perhaps, more than all, to listen once again to the voices of those we love ! It was evening : and H had been arranged, that I should ac- company my sister, Cleofe, to the Teatro della Pergola, where I should hear, for the first time, Rossini's charming opera of La Gazza Ladra. I was so anxious to reach the theatre, that Cleofe and I had proceeded thither before the commencement of the over- ture. This day was destined to prove one of entire festivity to me : for, upon entering the theatre, we found it splendidly illuminated, and saw displayed other tokens of festal mag- nificence. I asked, " What event were they about to celebrate that evening ?'' and was answered, " that the grand Duke, who had just recovered from a most dangerous illness, was then expected to present himself before the public.'"' Ferdinand the Third, brother to Francis Emperor of Austria, and father of Leopold II. the present Grand Duke, was a most amiable Prince, loving and beloved by his subjects, affable, pacific, and always more mindful of the interest of others than of his own. His actions obtained for him the applause and admiration of mankind. Holding a position at once so exalted and responsible, Ferdinand yet displayed in his rule more of the Father than the Sovereign ; while his subjects, who looked upon him with the affection of children, were themselves gay or sorrowful in proportion as they beheld him joyful or sad. For three successive days the churches of Florence had been thrown open, to receive the pious orisons of his subjects for the recovery of their Prince. God had accepted their prayers ; and Ferdinand was at this moment about to re- appear in public, the object alike of heaven's blessing and of his subjects' love. Every heart now beat with emotion, in expectation o* this anxiously looked for moment. But the tumultuous shout of applause and joy, which rang through the assembly, and the unanimous waving of handkerchiefs at his appearance, were MY CONFESSIONS. 171 but faint tributes of affection compared to the tears I beheld stealing down the cheeks of several of my acquaintance, who were actually members at that time of the society of the Carbonari. " But, is not the Duke your enemy ?'* I asked in an under tone of one of them ; " why then these tears ?" " Our enemy !" he exclaimed; " can you believe, Guido, that in our society we ever hold the virtuous as our enemies ? Oh no you know us but imperfectly if you judge of us thus. Ferdinand is a man, and a Prince, endowed with the rarest virtues, and naught else does he need attain to qualify him to become a brother Carbonaro." I smiled. With our short colloquy had also terminated the echo of that lengthened applause, which in its vortex had fortunately rendered inaudible the voice of the Carbonaro, a name, which was one day to become the terror of all the Italian Princes. Silence was now obtained ; after which the charming Mombelli sang " Di placer mi balza il cor," with a tone and expression so sweet, that " Sooth'd into sweet forgetfulness," I experienced the whole evening, that, however man may declaim to the contrary, life has in it some moments of enjoyment, not more alloyed with the bitterness of human existence, than the drop of dew is mingled with dust when descending from a sandy hillock pure, round, and unbroken into the plain ; and that, at the termination of a day of such happiness, it is possible to close our eyes in a tranquil repose blessing God and by Him blessed ! * CHAPTER IV. ONE day of happiness ! but one day did I say ? Oh no ! that more than one day's joy is permitted us here below, i 2 172 MY CONFESSIONS. the two succeeding years of my existence can testify ; for during that period, not one adverse gale arose to interrupt my bark's tranquil course in its sea of undisturbed navi- gation. A native of Florence, the beautiful ; a returned exile, and rendered, from my long absence, still dearer if that were possible to my father, to Cleofe, and the other members of my family ; a witness of their entire happiness, which was ensured either by their own means or by those I was enabled to add to the common stock, and by the health we each indi- vidually enjoyed ; valued by my friends, far beyond my merit, and with whom, from the fact of my having resided at Zurich, my nomenclature became " Guide, the great traveller ;" con- sidered a prodigy by many of my fellow Florentines, most of whom knew me by reputation, and many of them personally, from my having frequently performed in public and private theatricals as an amateur the favorite pupil of the celebrated Morrocchesi ; invited, respected, courted by all ; loved by the greater part, hated by none. Oh ! how were it possible to have felt otherwise than happy ! Oh ! bright dream of days gone by ! Sweet vision of de- parted joy ! At thy retrospection a tear will start in my eye. Alas ! is it a crime to offer that one last sacrifice upon thy fair altar ? Oh no. Thou wert happiness ! and that happiness came from God ! Thou wert then His glorious work. Is it therefore unnatural or unreasonable, that the exile should now prostrate himself at thy shrine, with the mental ejacula- tion, that " his actual situation is misery, 1 ' and that, though resigned to it, one tear and one sigh should fall from his eyes, should escape from his heart ? The well-filled purse, that I had carried with me to Florence, and my annuity of forty louis from Zurich, together with my professional engagements to teach the French language, contributed to make the first six months, after my return to Florence, glide away in that sweet MY CONFESSIONS. 173 indifference as to worldly anxiety that uncalculating hap- piness that repose of feeling which is lulled by the con- sciousness that our coffers yet evince no tokens of naked- ness a nakedness, whose appearance makes the possessor start back in affright a sight, which is the warning lightning of the falling thunderbolt the first knock at our door by that hag whom men call " Poverty." But, that I might not experience the slightest interruption to the happiness, which heaven willed should be my portion for the two succeeding years, and, when but little more than a hundred sequins remained in my coffers, it chanced that, at a brilliant fete given at one of our beautiful villas in the vicinity of Florence, I was introduced to an English captain, whose name I cannot now recall, but whose handsome countenance will ever be present to my remembrance. Scarcely had the usual salutations passed between us, than the Englishman requested me to read a splendid passage from Shakspeare's tragedy of " Romeo and Juliet," translated into Italian if I remember rightly by that excellent and learned man, Leoni of Parma. Although I then knew nothing of Shakspeare, of his Juliet, or of his language, I had already sufficient confidence in myself to hazard any new attempt, I therefore immediately com- menced reading the proposed passage, persuaded that the favourite pupil of Morrocchesi must awaken interest in his hearers, even though his task had been to declaim from so insignificant a work as Bertoldo. The passage was magnificent ; and I, obedient to the precepts of my excellent master, having suffered my eye to precede the perusal of each verse in order that my mind might become pre- pared with the sense, felt during this reading so imbued with the spirit of the great poet, that, losing sight of all surround- ing circumstances even of him from whom I had received the inspiring book I became as it were, identified with the hero. I felt myself a " Romeo." So vociferous was the applause of the group of hearers that J 74 MY CONFESSIONS. surrounded me, that every angle of that spacious villa rang with its echoes, while the Englishman, with his eyes fixed upon me, stood immoveable, applauding me by his silence alone a silence, however, whose eloquence spoke to me in promise, and whose realization was worth to me the crash of a hundred voices, which, however flattering to my self-love, was ephe- meral as the notes of a Catalani, or a Billington, which have no sooner created a momentary delight, than they are lost in empty air. The Englishman invited me to breakfast with him the next morning ; and then told me that some friends of his, an En- glish family, then residing at " Schneider's Hotel," wished to see me that very day, as they were desirous of commencing with me a course of Italian literature. We accordingly sought their hotel, and I was then introduced to this most charming family. They fixed an hour for my re-visiting them on the morrow, and begged me to specify to them the terms of my professional attendance. The Italian masters at Florence even those of the lowest pretensions had always demanded from the English, in consideration of their wealth, eighteen pence per hour as the recompence for their instructions. Hitherto I had looked upon this remuneration as sufficient ; but at this moment, imbued with an extra sense of my own importance, and con- scious that I was considered as the Professor the most in fa- shion and request, I took still farther advantage of the liberality of the English, and demanded half-a-crown for each lesson. I pause not to descant upon the justice or injustice of this my pro- ceeding ; estimating the English as a rich and generous people, I imagined not for an instant that I was wronging them. This is my only justification and now blame me who will ! "Very well," was the reply of the mother of my future pu- pils ; and so far from manifesting her astonishment at the exorbitance of my demand, she requested that I would devote an hour, each day in the week, to the instruction of her two daughters. MY CONFESSIONS. 175 The English, who are to be met with on the continent, gene- rally throw off that cold and chilling reserve, which so cha- racterizes their demeanour in their own island ; and thus they communicate to each other all the useful information they have procured in their travels, towards the attainment of " com- fort," a word that admits of no translation in a foreign language, but which is as necessary to an Englishman's happiness, as the watch-word to the security of an encamped army. Only a few days had passed away when my pupils satisfied with their master introduced me to several of their acquaint- ances, and these latter again to others ; so that, before the expiration of a month, from the time I had given my first les- son in Schneider's Hotel, Sorelli was pronounced to be the first Professor of Italian in Florence. This reputation, whether merited or not, never procured me an enemy, nor awakened towards me any feeling of envy or per- secution ; in a city too where the wrathful Alighieri assures us that in his day, " the cup of envy o'erflowed from its excess." On the contrary, such was the good feeling the other Professors evinced towards me, that when their own pupils were suffi- ciently advanced to commence reading Dante or Petrarch, they always assured them that there was but one teacher at Florence who was thoroughly versed in the knowledge of those two classics, and that he was by far more capable of continuing their studies than themselves. CHAPTER V. IT was about this period that the celebrated German author, Francesco Grillparzer quitted Florence, bequeathing to his printer, Marenigh also a German the last offspring of his 176 MY CONFESSIONS. muse the tragedy of " Sappho." Marenigh was acquaint- ed with my father, and having heard from him that his son Guido, " the great traveller, who had actually resided at Zu- rich," had returned to his native country, he requested to see me. I accordingly repaired to his house. The good German re- ceived me most kindly, and after having addressed me a few flattering words, he stated his object in desiring particularly to see me. This was that I should undertake the translation of Grillparzer's divine Tragedy, as he termed it into Italian, of which he was to be the publisher. Until now, one of the peculiarities in my character had been to regard authors as offsprings of the skies, who had but lighted on this nether world ; whilst I, in comparison, was in- deed but an humble son of earth. It was sufficient for me, either when at Florence or at Zurich, to understand that such a one alas ! often younger than myself had published a work, in order that I should regard that individual whether his work were good or execrable as holding a rank in my fancied class of supernatural beings. This singularity may perhaps afford a solution to the problem, why this Guido was never the object of envy or persecution in the city so constantly prolific in her production of literary sons. The confidence in my ability with which Marenigh had of- fered me the translation of Grillparzer's " Sappho," opened to mea new page in the volume of life. I seemed to trace there the assurance that my talents were not limited to the dwarfish estimate by which I had hitherto measured them, and that if there were giants in literature, I might, at all events, take my stand amongst men, as having already attained an unusual growth of intellect, and might perhaps ultimately rival the most gigantic amongst them. " Yes, I will undertake the work," I replied to Marenigh, fancying myself already three inches taller than I was but an hour ago ; and, with a cordial shake of the hand, we parted. As I stood alone without the door of my new friend, I felt as MY CONFESSIONS. 177 though I were another being it was the inebriation of self. During dinner, I recounted to the family my conversation with Marenigh. To those loved beings, with whom I was an object of so much affection, this intelligence seemed a harbinger not less beauteous in hope, than that offered by the rainbow .... no less a promise of joy, than that which we welcome with the first smile of spring ; and caresses and applause were unsparingly lavished upon me. It was the month of May ! As soon as our beautiful Italian sun had risen, I sprang from my bed, and, furnished with paper and pencil, the tragedy of Grillparzer and the first vo- lume of Dante, I took my path towards the Cascino. I arrived there just as the sun was gilding the hills with his magnificent beams, arraying nature in one of her gayest smiles. On my right, flowed the gentle Arno ; and beyond it, towered in celestial beauty that hill called in pre-eminence " the Monte," to whose crowned temple the surrounding hills seem to tow in submissive adoration. On my left, stood woods of undying verdure, composed of lofty trees, upon whose branches fluttered myriads of warblers of the gayest plumage, and who, from January to December enliven the groves with one perpetual song. My first care was to endeavour to seek inspiration, in my new attempt, from the perusal of the feelings of the " Divine Florentine." I therefore opened Dante, and recited aloud the three first cantos of his " Divina Commedia." This afforded me the inspiration I sought for at least I imagined it had. Opening, therefore, Grillparzer's tragedy, I translated, on the impulse of the moment, in blank verse three scenes of the first act, Here I paused, for I had always a superstitious reverence for the number three. Surprised at this feat for I had never supposed myself capable of accomplishing such an effort I re-entered the town, and passing the Square of Santa Trinita, it occurred to me that I would call on my friend Vittorio Silerio, who resided there, and who, in those days, occupied a dis- i 3 178 MY CONFESSIONS. tinguished rank among the literati of Florence. Vittorio has unluckily since married a woman without fortune, and much his junior in age : and now in him can no longer be traced I fear the noble spirit of the past. The reason is obvious. Poetry and poverty may journey on amicably hand in hand together, so long as poverty is the single spur to the poet's Pegasus ; but when she also clings to the dear objects of the poor poet's mortal love, and he is compelled to woo the inspira- tion, of his muse to satisfy the cravings of worldly necessity, poverty ceases to be the noble spur to her flight, but becomes the tormenting goad the " Peretta"* which the Italian, ill- taught by the barbarians of old, attaches to his race-horse, to urge him to reach the appointed goal. Poverty, in the former case, * The Peretta, is a piece of tin, cut in the form of a pear. To the centre is attached a tine cord, and from the end of the cord depends a ball covered with small iron spikes, not any of which, are however suffi- ciently long to penetrate the skin of the race-horse for which they are destined. The number of the Peretta should not exceed eight The noble courser is conducted to the starting post (la Scappata) from whence, without saddle or rider, he is to run in company with other racers two miles, on a level road covered with the softest and finest sand. As the race-horses approach '* la Scappata," the grooms who conduct them withdraw the ball from the little hook which had confined it to the centre of the Ft retta. The sagacious animal, who would have run equally well without this incentive, feeling himself pricked, becomes irritated, and in proportion as this irritation increases, so does he feel more acutely the inconvenience of the disengaged ball, which goads him more or less according as he moves with increased -or dimi- nished violence. Arrived at La Scappata, he no longer suffers him- self to be restrained, but drags the bold groom, who now having en- tirely freed the Perettas, holds by a kind of curb ; uutil at the sound of a given signal, he withdraws the bridle from the mouth of the animal with the velocity of lightning. Scarcely does the racer feel himself at liberty, than maddened by the goad, he flies impetuously onward : while the greater his speed, the more violently does the Peretta strike upon his sides, until, having gained the winning post, he stops to take breath, stoops once more to receive the rein of his tor- mentor, and becomes again tame and obedient. MY CONFESSIONS. 179 enables the poet to despise the riches he had not succeeded in attaining. He feels himself superior to fortune. Poverty per- suades him that the fortunate man was never the distinguished poet ; it makes him conscious that by sorrow alone is true poetry engendered : that when a man writes of the infernal regions or of a Paradise Lost, his soul may like that of Milton or Dante rise from the prostration of earth to the stars ; but when he attempts to describe the " beatitude of the blessed," or a <<; Paradise Regained," man finds again his own level, as those great authors have done before us. To the house, then, of my friend Vittorio Silerio I carried, ere the ink was dry, the first verses, that I had ever thought of submitting to the judgment of a capricious public. " Excellent ! Go on with your task," said Silerio, " and do not, as you always have hitherto done, turn aside from your labor like the butterfly from the flowers ; but be constant as the bee, which, in the course of a few short minutes, extracts from them all the sweets which had been accumulating during so many days of sunshine ere they had attained maturity, and gathers sufficient honey to last for weeks, months, and even years." This short encouragement, from a mind so sincere as his, coupled as it was with a reproof I well merited, impressed me so forcibly, that to these few words of Silerio, I am mainly in- debted for the stimulus which urged me subsequently to enter upon a literary career, in which, unlike that of love, even the most humble aspirant is sure to merit and obtain some applause. One word of encouragement from a man cf sense, is worth a thousand frivolous praises proceeding from the mouth of a shallow and insincere flatterer. I returned home. Cleofe, as may be supposed, was the first to read this first literary essay of her brother. " Oh ! Guido ! Guido !" was all she was able to utter : but she raised her hands to Heaven, either in gratitude for what I had done, or to implore in my behalf strength for a greater accomplishment. 180 MY CONFESSIONS. I withdrew into my own little study, which then appeared to me a paradise on earth. It was situated on the banks of the Arno, and from the windows which opened ' upon a small terrace, I could descend at pleasure to the water's side, which, if not always clear and abundant, ever presented to my mind the image of a classic stream. Here I recommenced my task. The sound of the most heavenly music from Cleofe's piano- forte, acted as inspiration to me. My progress in the ar- duous task I had undertaken was greatly facilitated by the delicious and inspiring influence of music. My sister, whose skill in playing the pianoforte was the admiration of all her friends, now lent me this seasonable aid with affectionate zeal. When mid-day arrived, she re-entered my study, bearing in her hand a little table, upon which stood a glass of Rhenish wine and some toasted bread. " Rhenish wine ! and why not Chianti or Montepulciano ?" will probably be enquired of me. " Could it be that Guido Sorelli, at Florence, at mid-day in the month of May, actually made it his habit to take potations of Rhenish wine so much more powerful than his own Tuscan wines ?" I must then observe that, before I quitted Italy, I had always disliked wine ; but in Switzerland I gradually began, if not to like it, at least to feel it necessary in a climate where constant smoking, accompanied with moderate indulgence in the exqui- sitely flavored Rhenish wines, formed the only recreation of the Zurich gentlemen, at the close of a day of sedentary occu- pation. After I had resided some time at Zurich, I began insensibly to participate in their habit of taking wine, which indeed I was at first induced to resort to, in order to counteract in some measure the effect of the fumes of tobacco, which often formed a cloud so dense, that it was difficult to recognise an object at an arm's length, so that our shadowy assembly fre- quently resembled a conversazione of spectres. I, however, abstained from smoking, as I feared that was a custom which, if once contracted, would be more difficult to MY CONFESSIONS. 181 break myself of when necessary, than the very small portion of wine I was in the habit of taking. Ultimately, from an increasing relish for its flavour, I came to consider the Rhenish wine as a nectar, which, without intoxicating, ex- hilirated the spirits, arid attuned my heart to a gayer strain, when prone to sadness or melancholy, as too frequently happens when under poetical inspiration. There was still another incentive to my availing myself of its inspiration in that first eventful moment, when the youth was about to lay the foundation of that literary reputation, which he fondly hoped the man was in maturity to confirm ; it was the assurance I hsd obtained from Fuseli and others at Zurich, that Schiller the Shakspeare of the Germans never , commenced his tragedies, without having first availed himself of the assistance of that generous wine ; he drank so copiously of it, that on one occasion, while writing his " Don Carlos" in an apartment, which opened on a low terrace, he remained quite unconscious of an uproarious tumult, caused by a crowd of washerwomen beneath his window so powerful was his poetical abstraction. I, to whom the conscious perception of surrounding objects, however, was not at all displeasing during those bright days of my life, contented myself with my half glass for each bottle that I heard Schiller used to take during his moments of poetizing. At the end of three months, I had concluded my first literary undertaking. CHAPTER VI. IT is doubtless a most culpable, if not indeed an unchris- tian-like act, to seek inspiration at the fountain of Bacchus. The poetic fire which is there imbibed, and the images which 182 MY CONFESSIONS* emanate from its spring, belong not properly to the votary who seeks its aid. It is like the Asphaltum lamp nourished in the regions of darkness, which seen there, appear to rival the splendour of the stars ; but never can the glare of Erebus compare with the light of heaven. " This wisdom descendeth not from above, but is earthly, sensual, devilish." Having at length completed my translation of Grillparzer's beautiful tragedy, I, one evening, read it to our assembled family. Abundant were the tears it awakened, and vociferous was the applause. Still, I was unwilling to rely wholly on the judgment of hearers naturally biassed in my favour : and, therefore, two evenings after, I submitted it to an audience of about fifty of my friends and acquaintances. On this occasion the tears were less profuse, but the ap- plause was even more frequent and louder. Gathering confidence from the success of my second reading, I carried my Sappho to the Secretary of the Accademia della Crusca, the celebrated Abate Zannoni, my particular friend. He promised to read it attentively, and to give me his opinion in three days. At the expiration of that time, I again presented myself at his house. " Well, Signore Abate, what is your opinion of my work ?" I eagerly asked, before we had exchanged the morning saluta- tion. "It is a beautiful tragedy !" replied Zannpni, " and the translation is excellent. What do you propose doing with it, Signor Guido ?" " I intend to publish it immediately." " But not in your own name !" " Why not ?" " For this reason, my dear Signor Guido : it generally happens that the public look upon a work proceeding from a name as yet unknown in literature, as the trifling of a novice one whose vanity, rather than the fulness of his MIT CONFESSIONS. 183 knowledge, urges him to turn author. A first essay should come out anonymously. It is not the name of the writer, which enhances the value of a first publication ; but, on the contrary, it is the book if it be good which reflects popularity on the author. Men, my dear Signore, who are for the most part weak, attach much importance to a name. Generally speaking, their first desire, upon opening a work, is to discover its author even before they read the title -as we would immediately read the signature of a letter, before we proceed to examine its contents. When an au- thor publishes for the first time, in his own name, the critics whose principal talent ordinarily lies in censure unable to discover who he may be, from his name being strange to them, examine his work with the impatient scrutiny, with which we run over the epistle of an unknown correspondent. ' Who is this unknown fellow ?' we say immediately, ' who presumes to address me, burthening me with the expense of postage and threatening me with so much loss of time in the perusal of his letter.' To a man thus prejudiced from ill-humour when he commences his task, even gold would be divested of its lustre ; whereas, on the other hand, the anonymous work, generally, receives the unbiassed judg- ment both of the critics and of the public, who if they happen to find it really valuable, and uncertain upon whom of the established authors to bestow these fresh laurels, dare not dip their pens in the gall of criticism." However just these sentiments were on the part of the Abate Zannoni, they made no more impression upon my mind than would the breath of the soft zephyrs upon the snowy heights of Mont Blanc. " And why," I reasoned with myself, " why should I have laboured to require the reputation of an author, if my name is to be thus buried in oblivion ? why am I to suffer a work, which has already gained for me so much approbation and applause, to be possibly ascribed to another, who will thereby usurp my laurels ?" 184 MY CONFESSIONS. I therefore made no reply to Zannoui, but thanking him warmly for having read my work, assured him of the hap- piness I experienced in having gained the applause of such a critic as himself; and asked him what value he would recom- mend me to set upon it ? " Signor Guido," replied Zannoni, " so beautiful a trans- lation as your Sappho is of considerable value ; and whatever sum you are likely to demand cannot exceed its merits ; but, should your contract be made with a Jew, for many of the publishers are Jewish in their dealings, I should advise you not to require less than between thirty and fifty sequins." I then took my leave of Zannoni, more than ever satisfied with myself and my splendid talents. " Here is the manuscript, Marenigh," said I, on calling upon him the next morning. " Well, and what is your own opinion of it, Signor Guido ?" " I think the tragedy splendid ;" I replied, " but it is not for me to decide upon the merits of the translation." " Will you object to leave it with me eight or ten days, that I may submit it to some of my literary friends ?" enquired the publisher. " Not at all," I replied. At the expiration of a fortnight, I again presented myself before Marenigh. " Ferroni, the mathematician, has read your work, Signor Guido," were his first words upon my entrance ; "he has pronounced it to be, not only a fine specimen of your acquaintance with the original language, but an undeniable proof of your being a good poet yourself. I assure you he has bestowed upon it the greatest eulogium. And now then let us complete our mutual arrangements. Tell me what sum you require for it ?" " Name your own value." " No, no, it is for the author to demand his price, not for the bookseller to offer one." MY CONFESSIONS. 185 " Thirty sequins, then." " Thirty sequins! Hold, hold, Signor Guido ; take back your manuscript, and publish it on your own account," ex- claimed Marenigh in affright. I who, notwithstanding my conviction of the splendor of my performance, could scarcely forbear smiling at the exorbitance of my own demand for a first work, and who was otherwise resolved not to acquire fame by the sacrifice of a single penny of my own, replied to Marenigh's sardonic smile with one much more natural and amiable, refusing, however, to accept the proffered manuscript, which Marenigh still held out to me with a long extended arm. " No, no," said I, calmly ; " keep the manuscript, and offer me what you like for it." " I offer you ! what offer can I think of making you after having heard your alarming demand ?" said Marenigh, with a face so inflexible, that I began to tremble for my Italian Sappho being published at all, and thus as I still resolved not to purchase fame with my own gold, I should have lost three months of my life ; have been applauded to no purpose ; and the world would not, as I had fondly hoped, hear the name of Guido Sorelli proclaimed as an author. " Offer me what you will;" I repeated, " and do not be alarmed at my valuation. I am sure we shall agree in five minutes." " My dear Signor Guido," returned Marenigh, " I should feel extreme pleasure in publishing your tragedy on your own account, in the best style, and, from the estimation in which I hold it, on the lowest possible terms ; but since you are resolved that I should purchase the manuscript, I will make you the only offer I can afford, but which, I warn you before- hand, will be irrevocable." " Name it then," said I, eagerly. " Nine golden sequins, and twenty- five per cent upon each subscription you may yourself procure for the work." 186 MY CONFESSIONS. " Nine sequins, and twenty-five per cent ?" " Yes, Signore." " Be it so, then ! The affair is concluded ; and now, where are my sequins ?" " Here they are in pieces of ' San Giovanni,' just issued from the mint ;" exclaimed the bookseller, counting the glitter- ing coin into my hand. " Brilliant, indeed!" said I, " and now, Signer Marenigh, I wish you a good morning." T quitted the printing office, and bent my steps towards the Ponte Vecchio. My heart was so light, from the admirable contract which I fancied I had concluded ; I felt so pleased, so contented with myself on the eve of beholding my name in print, and that obtained not by any sacrifice of my own, but accompanied by a gift of some bright sequins that scarcely did my steps seem to touch the earth. " Well, Guido," what arrangement have you made with Marenigh ?" asked my father, as I entered his counting-house, " is he not an excellent man ? He has, of course, given you the fifty sequins." " Fifty ! He has given me but nine/" " Nine!" " Yes, nine only!" I replied, opening my hand and dis- playing the nine sequins glittering like so many stars. " And so, you have sacrificed your beautiful translation for that paltry sum, Guido," said my father, mournfully. " And why not?" I exclaimed. "Would it not have been worse, if Marenigh had refused to purchase my work, and I had been compelled to pay him for introducing my name to the public ?" " Well, as you will, Guido ! If you are satisfied, we shall be equally so !" said the kind old man, with his placid smile. We then discussed the most agreeable method of disposing of this first golden reward of my labours. Although no prodigal, I had never been, nor shall I ever MY CONFESSIONS. 187 be remarkable for much prudence in the disposal of money. Distrusting my own discretion, I therefore begged my father would receive the sequins in return for a gold ring which he was to procure for me, and which I intended to wear in future on my finger in remembrance of my first successful literary performance. So splendid was the ring my father had ordered for me, that I am sure twenty sequins would not have repaid the artisan for its exquisite workmanship. The artist, whom my father had employed, was one of the most skilful on the Ponte Vecchio. He did not know me personally, but only by name : he had called upon me to ascertain the style in which I desired the ring should be made. I left that to his judgment ; but required him to introduce, on it, if it were possible, the arms of Florence. At the end of a fortnight he brought me my ring. It re- presented on one side the lily, and on the other the lion of Florence. I was so astonished at the beauty of the workmanship, that half afraid to ask him its value, I exclaimed: "What sum can ever remunerate you for so superb a work of art ?" " Your good-will to me, Signor Guido," was the reply, and this generous creature could never be induced to accept payment of any kind for his laborious and skilful work. This worthy man presented a faithful portraiture of 'the Florentine character. Notwithstanding his skill, he was extremely poor ; though occupied from seven in the morning until eight in the evening, he could scarcely earn his paltry seven paoli in the day. Excepting his professional knowledge, he was an ignorant and illiterate man, yet such was the veneration in which he held, not the individual himself, but what he considered to be that individual's talent, that, in spite of every attempt at dissuasion, he insisted upon offering as his homage, the result of fifteen days of gratuitous labour. When Napoleon's sister, Eliza, Grand Duchess of Florence, had commanded the removal of a beautiful statue of Michael 188 MY CONFESSIONS. Angelo's from the Loggia de Lanzi, to be transferred to the Tuileries, the then emporium for stolen works of art, the Florentines, who had patiently submitted their necks to the yoke of the French invaders, they who had unmur- muringly seen their sons torn from their arms, to be pressed into the service of a nation of spoliators, at this decree, these same Florentines rose en masse ; and had it not been that a counter order was issued almost immediately from the Pitti- Palace, to replace the divine statue in its original occupation, the French garrison at Florence, Fochet, the then prefet, Eliza, the Grand Duchess, and every other French resident would infallibly have fallen a sacrifice to the just resentment of the exasperated Florentines. Many of my conntrymen who were soon informed of my contract with Marenigh, now flocked to me from all quarters with their subscriptions, so that, at the conclusion of the week, I presented Marenigh with a list containing seven hundred names, for which I was to receive twenty-five per cent on the price of each copy according to our con- tract. The conduct of the Zurickers was still more generous : I had written to inform them of the terms upon which I had disposed of my manuscript. In reply, I received a letter of congratulation, and a cheque to the value of twenty-five louis, a similar number of my friends there having united thus to serve me, whilst at the same time they intimated their wish that I should not send them in return more than twenty five copies. I related this act of generosity to the family residing at Schneider's, who I afterwards discovered, by the bye, to be Irish, not English people. So pleased did they appear at the relation, that I beheld tears glistening in the eyes of the mother and her daughters. The Irish have, indeed, kind hearts. I dedicated my translation of Sappho to its author, although I was not personally acquainted with him. I forwarded a copy Mr CONFESSIONS. 189 of it to Vienna, where he resided, and at the expiration of a month, received from him a most kind and flattering letter. But it is time that I should have done with this poor Sappho. I will merely add, that two years after its publi- cation, Lord Byron happening to arrive at Florence, and having heard much of Grillparzer, he procured my version of the tragedy, as he was unacquainted with the German lan- guage. He soon after wrote to his friend Moore* in England, speaking favourably of the translation, and presented it to Teresa, one of his Florentine beauties, recommending it to her perusal. CHAPTER VII. To a reflecting mind, the feeling of exultation awakened within us, by the exalted opinion we conceive of ourselves, or by that others pronounce of us, is but ephemeral. The flame may spring brightly into existence ; but, in proportion to its primary ardor, so is it short-lived in duration. But a few brief moments, and the mental vision, which had rested upon the bewildering regions of poetry, is recalled to its native earth ; the magic power which had first raised, and there sustained us, amid those ethereal realms, from whence we had looked down in superiority upon all beneath us, suddenly withdraws its supporting hand, and the well-regulated mind returns to the conciousness of its humanity, and that that humanity is but dust. Scarcely a month had elapsed since the completion of my translation, and I had already forgotten Grillparzer and Sappho altogether. The applause I had obtained from it now * See Moore's Life of Lord Byron. 190 MY CONFESSIONS. dwelt upon my remembrance, only as the expiring note of a pleasing echo, and I was myself once more nothing. This inertness of mind and spirits lasted nearly two months, at the expiration of which, an inexplicable feeling from within began to agitate me like the spark, which having lain for some time smouldering beneath a heap of ashes, prepares to burst forth in a renewed flame bright and beautiful or, perchance, destructive and deadly in its effects. " Be mindful how you stop short in a race you have your- self chosen. Alas, if you do ! It had been better for you never to have attempted to distinguish yourself. Do you not think Goethe's Tasso a study worthy of you ?" These were a few kind words that, at this period I received from a friend. It will be easily imagined from what country and/row whom. Their import aroused me from my apathy. The desire of fame once more took possession of my heart, and recalled all its slumbering energies. He who commences his career, not too sanguine of success, as I fancy had been my case with the translation of Sappho, when he receives opinions, and judges of himself with as much humility as can be expected from a class of men (authors,) who are proverbially conceited, he will find that his powers, instead of lessening, augment in proportion to his course, and that, at each step, he has acquired additional strength " Vires acquirit eundo." CHAPTER VIII. " GOETHE'S Tasso" was my second translation ; and this, like my preceding work, owed much to the heavenly sounds awakened by my dear Cleofe on her sweet instrument, in the adjoining apartment, the delicious effect of which, was heightened by the perfume of the fragrant flowers, with which MY CONFESSIONS. 191 she was ever mindful to adorn my little study. " Something must surely be ascribed to the inspiration of the Rhenish wine !" I fancy I hear the reader say. No ! the Rhenish wine had this time no share in my inspiration. " Bravo, Guido ! your reformation, then, follows quickly on the footsteps of your errors." Be not so hasty in thy applause, my good friend ; my apparent self-denial sprang from a yet more serious evil. " Evil ! and wherefore ?" Because this abstinence was not the result of self-denial. Neither did it proceed from a stoical determination to reject the artificial aid of excitement. No ; a species of intoxica- tion was still required. I only changed its medium. Instead of invoking the exhilarating glow produced by the Rhenish grape, I drank deep draughts from the fountain of self-love, and so powerful was the stimulus, that I considered myself equal to any undertaking, and complacently considered my crude talents beyond the necessity of further cultivation. This was a change much to be lamented. That intoxication, which we experience at the orgies of Bacchus, has its term ; it yields to the soothing effects of the poppy of Morpheus; but, on the contrary, that which results from pride and vain- glory, is a waking, never-dying inebriation, and the deeper the draught the more insatiate is the thirst, and the more wilfully unquenchable. The facility I had acquired in writing blank verse enabled me to complete my second work in a week. I submitted it to my kind friend, Padre Mauro Bernardini, Professor of Eloquence at the Scolopi, who pronounced it to be excellent. In a very few days, I obtained a great number of sub- scribers, having determined to publish it on my own account. I dedicated it to my sweet sister Cleofe ; and found, that after defraying the expenses of publication, I had gained fifty sequins. 192 MY CONFESSIONS. At this period of my existence, every hour of my time was equally distributed between pleasure and useful occu- pation. My happiness continued uninterrupted ; for it pleased heaven that this portion of my journey through life should be calm, unalloyed, and bestrewn with flowers ; that on every side, should I behold realized an imaginary golden harvest un- mixed with a single tare. There were still several English at Florence to whom I gave instruction in Italian, all of whom were, fortunately for me, apt and diligent pupils. The hours which were not devoted to my profession, I employed in the study of elocution, under the guidance of the celebrated Morrocchesi, Professor at the Lyceum at Florence. It was now the year 1819, that in which Morrocchesi's pupils were to contend for the triennial distribution of prizes given by government. The highest prize was a gold medal, valued at about a hundred sequins. On the one side was struck a like- ness of " Michael Angelo, with these words around it, " Michel piu che mortale, angel divino !" On the other appeared three crowns with this motto, " Levan di terra al Ciel nostro intelletto." This splendid gift was accorded to him alone of the whole Lyceum, who surpassed the others in his powers of de- clamation, or in possessing a genius for painting. It may be readily imagined that Signer Guido would be a candidate in this trial of skill. For the scene of exhibition, the government of Florence selected the Teatro Goldoni. It issued two thousand free tickets to the most respectable inhabitants. Censors were nominated, and the Senator Alessandri a most excellent and erudite man was appointed president. Oreste, by Alfieri, was the tragedy selected on this oc- casion. At length the hour of trial arrived. When the beau- tiful overture was nearly concluded, I enquired of Galleni, the most formidable of my antagonists, and who was to MY CONFESSIONS. 1Q3 personate the character of Orestes, by which column he was to appear. During every rehearsal that had taken place, Galleni had gone through his part with the greatest apathy, probably with the design of overwhelming me with the unexpected fire and skill, which he reserved for the grand evening of trial. " I know not :" was his laconic reply to my question. There was no time for a rejoinder the curtain was raised. My courage was however, un quenched. I felt that Guido was himself ; so that far from being daunted by this incivility, it rather acted upon me as a stimulus to exertion. Behold Galleni on Goldoni's boards, Orestes himself, in the mimic palace of Atrides. Conceive .him in the presence of two thousand spectators mute with attention and thus commencing : " Pylades, yes ! behold my palace. Ah me ! what joy ! Beloved Pylades, embrace thy friend" with so exquisite a voice, that it seemed to me, never had such a tone reached my ear before. In this particular, which was, indeed, nature's gift, Galleni greatly surpassed me ; but as an actor, I excelled him both in skill and energy. In proportion as I beheld Galleni animated with the fire and spirit of his character, so did my enaction of Pylades become calm and grave ; presenting a contrast, which ob- tained for me the first general burst of applause. Hitherto every voice was for me for Guido even to vociferation. We had commenced the fourth act, and reached the scene of the confession of Orestes to Egisthus, when Pylades, in his delirium to save his friend, endeavours to make the tyrant believe that he is Orestes. I, at that period, became so unconscious of where I actually was, or rather I so identified myself with Pylades himself, that, on the K 194 MY CONFESSIONS. one hand, trembling with the violence of ray friendship for Orestes, whom I proposed to save ; and on the other with hatred for Egisthus whom we had come to destroy ; I stood, unconsciously, in the attitude which the struggle of feel- ing between Orestes and Eyistlius had called forth, speechless for the space of a minute, in short, to all appearance like an actor who had forgotten his part. Morrocchesi trembled for me behind the scenes, and vainly prompted aloud the words I ought to have uttered. In vain did a thousand friends, from the boxes and pit, prompt me, in their anxiety to recall me to myself. No ! It seemed or- dained that poor Guido should be no longer Guido. I had ceased to be there, though present ; stricken, as it were, by the magic wand of some fell enchanter, I was no longer under my own dominion. In that fearful moment, the leaves of the laurel chaplet which had so nearly encircled my brow, fell one by one withering at my feet, while I remained unable to break the spell of that waking dream, and to recover my speech. But I did at length revive. My power of utterance returned. A lightning flash glanced athwart my mind. By its flitting glare I beheld more irritated than appalled my leafless crown prostrate before me, and was then for the first time aware that I had inopportunely forgot Guido in Pylades. I resumed my personation with an energy, of which I scarcely thought myself capable, and which was succeeded by a burst of applause, which continued to reward my efforts until the con- clusion of the tragedy. II Cavalier di Spirito,' in versi Martellini, was the next trial, on the succeeding evening. Galleni took the pait of the Cavaliere, and recited splen- didly. Mine was that of the Captain, and I acquitted myself with as much ability, as could be expected to be displayed, in a secondary character. Le Ciane a comedy, and never before acted, by the Abate, Zannoni, secretary to the Accademia della Crusca was the third find last trial. Galleni had no part assigned to him in this ; MY CONFESSIONS. 195 and I personated one of our old Florentine women. Vittorio Pecchioli, a Florentine litterato and a dear friend of mine, repre- sented another old woman. Had Vittorio and myself not been known to be the actors, no one would have doubted that we were two of the vilest women in Florence, the very dregs of Camaldoli. Although the author was perfectly satisfied, at the rehearsal, with our personation of the characters, he much feared the success of his comedy ; from a conviction that a vein of mirth is much sooner exhausted on the part of the audience, than that of serious sympathy. But when the first act, which consisted of only one long scene between Pecchioli and myself, was con- cluded amidst a burst of laughter and applause, the success its merits deserved was fully assured. Adriana Morrocchesi, the Professor's niece, who personated admirably the character of Electro, in Orestes ; that of the Lady, in the Cavalier di Spirito ; and the Cobbler's aaughter, in Le Ciane, was pronounced the victor amongst the actresses ; Galleni amongst the actors ; while Signer Guido was obliged to content himself with his reputation of first accessit second in the race which, in his then state of mind, was equivalent to being utterly beaten and surpassed. CHAPTER IX. WHETHER the decision of the judges, in this matter, was just or not, is now but of little importance. I will not even pause to ask myself the question ; for neither then, nor at this period, could the result be important to me. Suffice it to say, Silvio, that their sentence no more disturbed the serenity of my mind than the minutest rain could ruffle the ocean's surface, when not even the sportive breath of the zephyr is playing upon it. It were almost impossible to describe the extent of the good K 2 196 MY CONFESSIONS. will the Florentines evinced towards me. Whenever I ap- peared at the Bottegone, or at any other cafe, the eyes of those who knew me only by sight, beamed upon me in kindness ; while their ready smiles seemed to bid me welcome, and ac- knowledge the pleasure they would feel in becoming better ac- quainted with Guido Sorelli. . How sweet it is to feel oneself beloved ! How does it coun- terbalance the many wrongs, that Fortune is so apt to heap upon us ! Not to have felt happy amid such sympathetic beings, would surely have argued a soul of Gothic dullness. Happy, did I say ? Alas ! what art thou, happiness ? A beauteous vision a dream ? Oh, wherefore should a stern rea- lity dispel so lovely an illusion to cause us, when awakened, " For ever to deplore Its loss, and other pleasures all abjure !" Or, if thy form be tangible, why dost thou so soon wing thy flight from him, who once had felt thee nestling in his bosom, dispensing thy gentle influence through his heart ? Alas ! that hour was at hand, in which the arms that had, or fancied they had, encircled the beautiful idol, were to return unfilled upon my breast ; and I was once again to become sensible of the poverty of myself, of that self, from which we look for so much, and receive so little ! A correspondence which I had maintained with an English gentleman, who had been a pupil of mine at Florence for six months, and with whom I had been in habits of the strictest intimacy, produced, at this period, a quick succession of letters from England ; and, at length I received one by the hands of an Italian, who had served my English friend in the capacity of courier from Florence to Dover, and afterwards as valet de chambre. This letter was accompanied by a remittance amounting if I well remember to five louis. It was to reimburse me, so MY CONFESSIONS. 197 wrote my friend, for the expense I had incurred in the postage of his letters, an expense which would have indeed been re- paid by two thirds of that sum. Its contents differed little in tenor from those I had lately received. They were all to the effect, "that Guido Sorelli ought not, in the very spring-time of his existence, to remain buried in obscurity at Florence, where he could do little more than vegetate ; that at Florence, the plant would never attain a vigorous growth, or should it reach maturity, the fruit would be tasteless or sour ; that England was the soil, in which the natural gifts of the Floren- tine would in two years not only become developed, but per- fected." The letter farther promised that the house of him, who thus offered his counsel, was open to receive Sorelli ; that there he would find an asylum, until his own circumstances should enable him to dispense with it ; that ultimate success, indeed, depended upon CHANCE, but that, should Fortune prove so con- trary as to withhold her countenance during the long trial of two years, still Guido could not but benefit by his experiment ; as it would not be an unimportant acquisition to add, to those with which he was already gifted, a proficiency in the English language, obtained in the country itself ; whilst he would at the same time form an acquaintance with that circle of society in England, which Voltaire likens to the purified particles of their native and salutary beverage ale. Being asked one day his opinion of the English, Voltaire thus replied "They are an exact epitome of their own beer. The nobility are the froth ; the middle classes which form the strength of the nation are the body of the beer ; and the lees the worst of all dregs- are their brutal plebeians." To the first part of the French cynic's assertion, I cannot assent ; for the English nobility consists principally of men of sound sense, superior education, many of whom are dis- tinguished for eminent talents. During the interesting political discussions, which have of late years agitated England ; parti- cularly those which related to the great measures of Catholic Emancipation and Parliamentary Reform ; who that has fre- 198 MY CONFESSIONS. quented the English House of Peers will not bear me out in my opinion ? With regard to the truth of his other two assertions, I will not cavil with the atheist, the tendency of whose writings con- tributed so much to promote the atrocious French Revolution. From a nervous weakness, from a want of sufficient confi- dence in myself, or from an undue proportion of that very necessary virtue called humility, I had never yet taken a step of importance without first consulting the opinion of my most intimate friends. Upon the receipt of this letter, therefore, considering it a point of duty not to consult Cleofe or my father alone, I in- vited a party of my chosen friends to a glass of Rhenish wine the next evening. Cleofe had already disposed the apartment, which was to receive her brother Guide's friends, with her usual taste and elegance. In the centre of the room was a circular table, covered with a handsome green cloth the colour of hope in Italy around which seats were arranged ; whilst the lights dis- posed in various elegant and symmetrical designs, had rendered it a tribunal not unworthy the assemblage of the " Forty." My friends, who were ignorant of my motive in assembling them, arrived punctually at the proposed hour. Having welcomed them, and seated my father in one of the two principal chairs placed opposite to each other, I begged of Cleofe to improvise for ten minutes on her piano. Ever ready to comply with my minutest wishes," my sweet sister, who had prepared every thing for the occasion ; though still unconscious of the motive of my thus collecting my friends ; and too delicate to seek to unravel that which I chose to consider a mystery, placed herself at the instrument ; and by the divine melody she improvised, which breathed a spirit at once pensive and mysterious, she filled my soul with a corresponding sadness, more sweet, however, than the most exuberant joy. When these heavenly sounds had ceased, I took her hand, and conducted her to the other distinguished seat opposite my MY CONFESSIONS. 199 father. Cleofe paused, and looked at me ; but she seemed to read my wishes in my countenance, for, without uttering a word, she immediately accepted the distinguished post with the dignity with which the accomplished Lord Stair complied with a sovereign's condescending request.* I placed myself on the left of Cleofe, and thus commenced my address : " My dear father, Cleofe, and my friends ! I have assembled you in order to bespeak your counsel upon a subject of the deepest moment to myself. You are all acquainted with the re- putation I enjoy at Florence how I am beloved, the happiness I experience, the prosperity I have attained. 1 am now urged to quit this, our charming Florence ; to leave my relations, my friends and the exercise of my profession, for a residence in England, where I am assured that I shall acquire an accession of literary reputation. These are the encouraging words of my English friend, accompanying his invitation. Let me en- treat you to consider attentively all the circumstances of the case, for unto you I leave the decision of this important question. * Louis XV, who, I believe, held himself to be the most polished man in Europe, having heard of the reputation of Lord Stair for great refine- ment of manners, was so piqued at the bare probability that he was surpassed by any one in this particular, that he determined upon putting that nobleman's reputation for high-breeding to the'test. With this view, he invited Lord Stair to dine with him, and placed him at his right hand. During dinner, the guest acquitted himself with his accustomed grace ; this was not displeasing to the king, himself a man of refine- ment. He however meditated a stroke of policy, which he felt confident his guest would be unprepared to encounter. Dinner concluded, the party rose from table, and the king led the way to the door of the apart- ment; when, suddenly stopping, he, with the most gracious air, signified that Lord Stair should precede him in quitting the room. " When the king commands, it is for the subject to obey," said the nobleman, and bowing profoundly, he passed out of the apartment, followed by the king. The monarch handsomely acknowledged Lord Stair's pre-eminence, remarking that any other man would have troubled him with cere- monious excuses. 300 MY CONFESSIONS. The letter from England was then read aloud, and its perusal was followed by an opinion from the council of " thirty nine" to this effect : " That Guido Sorelli, in quitting Florence, would not have to seek his fortune, on reaching the shores of England ; but to grasp one that had been already prepared for him !" This cordial reliance upon the promises and inducements held out by my English friend, and which led my advisers unhesi- tatingly to recommend my acceptance of his offer, proceeded from the high estimation in which the English were generally held by the Italians in those days ! when only the high-born and the intellectual portion of the nation travelled the spirit of absenteism, and the ostentatious display of wealth before foreigners, had not then infected those classes who sadly de- preciate the national character abroad by a display of their vulgarity, their prejudices and their upstart demeanour, The only dissentient opinion to my quitting Florence was ad- vanced by an individual whom I much esteemed ; but his single voice could hardly outweigh with me that of the multitude, more especially as he had the reputation of being a misanthrope. He advised that I should write to my English friend, requiring him to advance the sum necessary for my journey from Florence to England; and, from the readiness of his compliance, it might be judged whether that, which he promised to Guido Sorelli, was a substantial benefit or a mere shadowy anticipation. Then turning towards me a countenance, in whose earnest expression, the scepticisms of the misanthrope were lost in the disinterested friendship of the man, he added : " Remember, Guido, the caution which a great master has left to posterity in his ' Gerusalemme' " He madly sports with Fortune that, in daring, would O'er balance small uncertainty with greater good !" The proposition of the misanthrope was, however, unani- mously rejected upon the principle, that so mercenary a plan MY CONFESSIONS. 201 of action would doubtlessly offend one, in whom all agreed I had every reason to confide, and who was prepared they con- fidently believed to render Signer Guido a personage of no small importance in England. What was passing in the minds of my father and Cleofe, during this conference, could only be guessed by myself who knew them and loved them so well ! They had joined the majority who had voted for my quitting Florence, themselves, and my friends, to seek a more brilliant destiny in England. But to tear aside the veil of their feelings, would be to endea- vour, with a profane hand, to quench the flame that had come down from Heaven to consume a sacrifice accepted by the Creator. To those who love and feel acutely, I leave the task of analysing the elements that compose the sacrifice, which these two generous beings made in thus voluntarily consenting to part with their beloved Guido. .. .perhaps for ever! for ' Ere time hath will'd that I should see Mjr hour of absence fled, I may have bow'dto fate's decree, And slumber with the dead !" CHAPTER X. IT was on the evening of the first of December 1820, that I resolved to adopt the counsel suggested to me by my friends *the " Thirty-nine." I immediately wrote to Zurich, informing Madame V's husband of my decision, and requesting him to send me eighty louis, out of the three hundred he had belonging to me in his possession, in order that I might equip myself suitably for my appearance in London. My friend replied to me by return of post. K 3 202 MY CONFESSIONS. His letter was couched in strong terms of disapprobation, and contained every argument he could employ to dissuade me from a step, which he declared would be fatal to my well-being. These were urged, however, with the honest warmth of an upright man, and a tender friend. The following is the letter, which my friend and his wife, who was equally prejudiced with himself against the English, eemed to me to have mutually composed. " To our friend, Guido. " The contents of your last letter have surprised us ex- ceedingly, and filled our minds with sorrow on your account. Oh ! would that we were near you at this moment ; for our words might then descend with a deeper weight into your heart, than those produced by the cold and measured tracing of the pen ! " Oh ! why, dear Guido, will you again precipitate your- self into an abyss of darkness, after having found an asylum under an expanse of serenity ? Why, having gained a haven of peace, will you once more adventure your bark upon those waves, whose momentary calm was never assumed but to lure their victims to a surer destruction in the fatal vortex of their unquenchable wrath ? " The clouds, which have so long obscured your horizon the tempests whose fury had well nigh rendered you hopeless of ever gaining a haven of security, have not these been suf- ficient to show you what are the elements of- human ex- istence ? " To think of quitting again your beautiful Florence your country ! to abandon perhaps for ever an aged parent, who, from your infancy, has loved you with a love next to that of our Father in heaven ! To leave Cleofe the companion, the friend, the solace of such a mind as yours, which ever needs the support of a beloved friend's counsel ! To quit a circle of friends, who have made you their centre ! and thus con- verted for you this tearful world into a little paradise MY CONFESSIONS. 203 now to desert those, who seek in you their happiness, and whom it should be your duty to recompense with the greatest affection ; to give up your pupils, and, by so doing, to destroy a reputation difficult to establish, that of professor of the Belles- Lettres, which has already enabled you indi- vidually, to maintain so eminent a station, and to please your Maker, by doing good to your neighbour !" " And why is it thus ? " That you may go to England, and thus be enabled to boast with vain-glorious pretenders, ' I too have been to London.' " How poor a boast is this, dear Guido ! Do you fancy yourself likely to become a better man for having walked through the streets of London, which are for the greater part the paths of destruction ; where the sons of Mammon, more barefaced than Satan himself who to men ever veils his deformity beneath .an archangel's form glory in their sinful attributes, and commit crimes unblushingly before the eye of any uncontaminated being, who may have the misfortune to encounter them ; and who, exposed to such con- tagion, can hardly expect to escape, but through the inter- position of a merciful Providence ? " Do you imagine that when breathing, beneath a clouded sky, the murky atmosphere of an English November, and benumbed by the chilling and foggy exhalations of the Thames, images more poetical, more exalted will awaken within you, than those inspired by the rays of a Tuscan sun ; under whose gladdening influence yon are now respiring an air, which, in spring, in summer, or in autumn alike, partakes of the perfume of the rose, the jasmin and the orange flower ; and which, throughout winter, is impregnated with the sweetest odour of the violet ? " Oh ! do, we beseech you, remain upon the shores of Arno ! " Do you hope to meet in England more esteem, more friendship, more love than you have found in your own land ? 2Q4 MY CONFESSIONS. Oh no ! such liberality of treatment you must not look for from a race of people so proud, reserved and phlegmatic. " I am a free-born Englishman! Such is their boast such the quintessence of all that is noble in the estimation of an Englishman ! it is the fancied throne of envied distinction, which he claims as his birth-right ; and from whence he looks down in superiority upon the individuals of every nation, as if they were all beneath him. " What then do you seek in England what do you hope to find there ? Riches ? If wealth be your object, England certainly abounds with it, and there only, can a man gather more than he can ever live to enjoy. But beware that in obtaining your desire, it become not to you the silk-chain with which the enemy of mankind often entangles the victim he would lure to his dark kingdom. " Is Guido then longing for riches ? would he forsake every thing and all who are dear to him, in search of wealth through innumerable difficulties, in which his immortal soul must be exposed to imminent danger ? If this be true, how much have we mistaken the Guido of former years how have we been cheated by an ignis fatuus ! how have heard an imaginary voice in an empty echo ! and fancied we beheld the substance, where there was naught but the phantom a shadow resolving itself into nothingness. " This language may appear harsh to you : perhaps it is so ; but it proceeds from those, to whom you are very dear, and who feel that it is meant to save a friend threatened with ruin. It would be ill-timed to employ caresses, when by a necessary violence that friend can be rescued from im- pending danger is it not thus a piety to be relentless ? " We urge you, to pause for a moment : we supplicate you, in the name of heaven for our sakes who are dear to you for your own sake, to examine, with calm dispas- sionate feelings, your present position, together with the prospect that is before you; and to weigh well the fatigue MY CONFESSIONS. 205 the perils the uncertainty against the advantages you hope to obtain by your sojourn in England ! then let the balance determine, whether your anticipated gain will be worth the sacrifices it will cost. " In thus declaring to you, in the language of truth, that we look for no good in your contemplated expatriation, we have but performed our duty. " Nothing now remains for us but to recommend you to the keeping of the Most High, and to pray that He may enlighten and support you ; that, though He may suffer you to take a dangerous step, He may be pleased to be ever near you ; to raise you when falling, to dry your tear in affliction ; and, finally, that He may guide your shattered bark into a haven of security. " Whether in prosperity or in poverty, whether in joy or in sorrow, you will ever be our own Guido ; and we never will cease to be what we now subscribe ourselves, " THE FRIENDS OF GUIDO." Excellent and valued friends ! I exclaimed on concluding this letter; but, thought I, the number firee, now constituted by your votes against my visit to England, bears but a small proportion to that of thirty-nine, and cannot outweigh the deliberate judgment of the majority, whose opinion, I feel bound to adopt, and therefore commit myself to the pro- tection of Him, who knows all things sees and foresees all things ! I made no one the confident of this letter ; but I returned an answer to Zurich immediately, assuring my friends, I had read their communication with great attention, and with sentiments of affection and gratitude ; that they were not less dear to me for their advice ; but, that, upon a calm review of my own motives, of the two suggestions that offered themselves, to go, or to remain, the former had sounded so much more propitious to my ear, that I had hearkened to its dictate. 206 MY CONFESSIONS. CHAPTER XL ANOTHER ordeal now awaited me : my resolution to quit my native country had yet to be exposed to a powerful test. There was at this period at Florence, a company of come- dians under Andolfati himself an excellent actor. Two days after the decision against me on the occasion of my theatrical performances, a friend of Andolfati, called to offer me proposals to join his company as Prim' uomo, or Primo Amoroso, with a salary of four hundred sequins a year, with two benefits besides magnificent terms in Italy, in those days.* * Andolfati was the only actor whose company had been permitted to represent La Congiura de" Pazzi, during the reign of Eliza, sister to Napoleon. Fochet, prefect of Florence, himself a man of eminent talents, and, although a stern enforcer of the laws he was bound to execute, much beloved by the great, the generous and the good, was the person who had countenanced the performance. Upon the appointed evening, thousands of persons vainly attempted to obtain admission into the Teatro Nuovo, for scarcely were the doors opened before it was filled instantaneously. Fochet himself was present in the private box of the sovereign. The crowd was immense, but as the curtain arose, every sound was hushed. It seemed as though the silence of the dead pervaded that vast assembly. " To suffer.. ..still to suffer Alas ! None other counsel canst thou give me, Father ?" This was the commencement of a series of allusions, with which the piece abounded, to the political state of Italy at the period, and especially to local grievances that were calculated to rouse strong feelings of emotion upon a sensitive and much wronged people. A thrill seemed to run through the audience ; but their tumultuous applause lasted no longer than the report of a cannon, so fearful were they of losing any of the burning thoughts with which the tragedy abounds. Like the smothered heaving, whose subterranean MY CONFESSIONS. 207 Upon such a passionate lover of the histrionic art as I then was, this proposal acted so powerfully, that it completely shook my previous resolution ; so that, upon a self-examina- tion, I discovered it still remained a doubtful question, whe- ther my wishes exhibited a majority for a journey to England, or for my going on the Italian stage, where I flattered myself I should receive the applause of the public, the good will of the authors, and the approbation of the fair. That applause which manifests itself in an unbroken silence, on the part of thousands, for fear of losing even a syllable in the delivery of a good actor, awakens in him a thrill of indescrib- able exultation. This I had more than once experienced. To renounce the wreath now offered me by Andolfati, was certainly a great sacrifice, although the flowers which com- posed that wreath were only to last beautiful and fresh as long as a single drop of oil remained to nourish the lamp of life. Although our name may be forgotten with our existence, still does it seem the more alluring choice to pass the few days of our allotted pilgrimage, amid the delights of the valley, rather than to attempt an almost inaccessible acclivity, sustained but by a single hair of Hope's bright tress, who leads us and cheers us onwards to its crowning temple ! Thus involved in a question of some difficulty, I was happily within reach of excellent counsel. I had a kind father to re- fer to as well as my dear Cleofe. I accordingly acquainted them with Andolfati's proposals. Having heard me to an end, " Guido !" exclaimed my father, " you are now your own mas- ter ; but whenever in difficulty, you may need a parent's advice, echo is but the precursor of the earthquake, which is about to engulph a city, such was the half suppressed groan of the multitude, while Fochet sat gnawing the white handkerchief, he held to his face, with chagrin for having suffered the representation of La Congiura de* Pazzi. The performance over, he immediately despatched a message to Andolfati, prohibiting for ever a repetition of that performance in Italy. 208 MY CONFESSIONS. he will give it you according to his heart's best suggestions. I am inferior to you in talent and in judgment, but it is a rare thing for a father's heart to err in his advice. These then are my sentiments. By adopting the alluring career offered by the stage, you would lower yourself in my estimation, and most likely in that of others who wish your welfare. Should you forsake the elevating and ennobling paths of literature, for such a choice, you will descend below the level of your own dignity, you will perchance eat the bread of adversity : still, more probably turn a deaf ear to the dictates of virtue, and finally forfeit the love of good men, and the protection of your Maker. Whenever you have recited in my presence, when- ever I have listened to the applause you have so deservedly obtained, my eyes have overflown with tears ; not only from my heart's exultation in being the father of such a son, but from the inward fear that you might one day descend from the comparatively respectable position, which, as one of the dilet- tanti, you now maintain, to mingle in the vortex of those va- gabonds, who, generally destitute of honour, of morality, and religion, throng the Italian stage, and, at length, are refused by our church the rites of Christian burial. Yet still, Guido, I repeat, you are your own master ; you have sought my coun- sel I have given it and may God assist you in your deci- sion." " That decision is at once made and I will not be an actor," I exclaimed. Cleofe took my hand, and for some mo- ments held it to her lips, ere she imprinted upon it her heart-felt kiss ; whilst the good old man folding me in his arms, bathed my cheek with the tear of paternal affection. MY CONFESSIONS. 20Q CHAPTER XII. AFTER bidding adieu to my pupils, whom I had pre- viously transferred to the tuition of several professors my intimate friends I took leave of my native town ; and on the morning of the fifteenth of December, found myself at the " Porta del Popolo," the principal entrance to Rome. Yes ! I was now entering that Rome, whose name, however slandered by the debased part of mankind, however blighted by the withering hand of time, still lives to be cherished by all patriotic Italians those who " Serving, writhe beneath their chains," and have still the courage to glory in being the sons of a country so classical from its poetical associations, so noble and so romantic from its history. He who is not an Italian, cannot possibly feel the same in- tense emotions, upon first entering this city of sepulchres this city of ruins which even in their decay, surpass infinitely by their beauty and splendour the insignificance and degraded taste of the recent structures that surround them. An involuntary thrill of awe arrests the passer-by, as he gazes on those mute tokens of a departed nation, while from their sacred ashes, a voice seems to demand of him individu- ally : " Canst thou rank with a Scsevola, a Scipio, a Curtius, a Marcellus, a Titus, a Brutus, or a Cicero, or any of the mighty dead which surround thee in their repose ? Canst thou too, like ourselves, baost of being the love, the ornament, the support of thy countrymen? We demand of thee not, whether thou art a Roman, or a barbarian : we ask, art thou a true man, or art thou another Catiline, who, for the acquirement of riches or of other sordid enjoyment, 5 10 MY CONFESSIONS. wouldst barter thy country, thy kindred, thy wife, thy children, and even thine own soul ? Art thou like Anthony, who, on the very verge of royalty, forgot in the charms of an abandoned woman, his high calling ; forgot that he was a Roman and a man ? Dost thou lie before thy God, thy fel- low-men and thyself, by assuming the mask of a virtue thou does not possess ; and, like the hypocrite, dost thou besmear thy brow with ashes, to impose upon the credulous that thou art fasting at the festive board of mortal delights ?" Alas ! the degeneracy of these days ! Could we but pene- trate the secret recesses of the heart which is possible alone to God how many should we discover whose reply must be : " Yes, I too, am a Catiline ! I am an Antony ! 1 am an hypo- crite ! I am not a Roman ! I deserve not the dignified appella- tion of a true man." Many foreigners that visit Rome for the first time, seem to enter it with the arrogance of a tyrant about to possess himself of a country he has subjugated. In that moment they seem to fancy themselves the conquerors of the queen of the world ; and though they see her at their feet, humiliated and fallen, no sentiment of compassion is awakened within them for the poor victim of such unheard of misfortune. No ; each footstep they take, is but to trample on the prostrate giant ; tri- umphing as if they were the victors, and exulting over the vanquished. "It is now no longer Rome !" is the ejaculation of many profane authors of many foreign sacrilegious poets." That there are a few amongst these strangers, who, upon viewing this fallen grandeur, do, with hearts subdued, raise their souls to Heaven, acknowledge the vanity of this world, and thank God that, by so tragic a lesson, He has taught them their own insufficiency, I deny not : but such minds are like the lily, whose unobtrusive beauty surpasses Solomon on his throne, arrayed in all his glory. In this Rome, then, the native of Italy, makes his first en- MY CONFESSIONS. 211 trance, with a heart where not only the feeling I have before mentioned predominates, hut where that other sentiment reigns, whose primitive nature belongs but to the Italian, and is wholly Italian. It is that indefinable feeling of absorbing grief we experience upon beholding our deceased mother, a beloved, a lovely and virtuous parent, from whom, and upon whose prosperity and existence depended her son's liberty, and the happiness of all his days upon earth. With feelings such as these I entered Rome. But I must here pause in their expression : my heart is too full for words. Let him who can sympathize with me, think for me, reflect and feel with me ! I arrived in Rome in quality of travelling companion and pro- fessor of the Italian language to an English ecclesiastic, named Fortescue. He was a person of high literary attainments, of highly cultivated mind, and already invested with that refine- ment of manner, which the English of education acquire by travelling on the continent. Having been informed of my approaching visit to England, Fortescue persuaded me that, before I made my appearance in London, it was absolutely necessary I should have visited Rome. "We should think little of an Italian, or of any gentleman who had not seen the capital of the world," said he ; " besides we have a prejudice in England, which Zott'i a good gram- marian, but execrable poet has resolved into a proverb which all the English have learned by heart, ' the Tuscan dialect with the Roman accent.' If you reside some time in Rome, the English will regard you as a phenomenon, not doubting that from the mouth of Signor Guido who has tasted ' i broccoli strascicati' they must hear the Italian in all its purity. "This may be a weakness, but the world teems with the bigotry of prejudice, nor must you imagine that England is at all exempted from this failing. A seat in my carriage is at your service. In Rome you can continue your instructions to 212 MY CONFESSIONS. me in your language, and obtain as many more pupils as you may meet amongst my countrymen there." CHAPTER XIII. My desire to see St. Peter's was so great, that I scarcely re- garded the triumphal arch of Constantine, or any of the other wonders of Rome, and impatiently awaited the dawn of the following morning, after passing a sleepless night. Ere the sun had arisen, I was standing at the door of a dear friend and countryman of mine, Ferdinando Petzet, who was also a pupil of Morrocchesi, and had now with his wife joined the " Compagnia Blanes." Ferdinando had only arrived in Rome the preceding evening. We had fortunately met ; and had arranged the next morning to visit St. Peter's together. I found he had not yet risen ; " The world's excess. . . .its soft luxurious rest Has virtue chased, an exile from its breast." This classic reproof from me soon roused him from his in- dolence, and in a very short time he was prepared o accom- pany me to the cathedral of St. Peter's. Behold us now standing together at the entrance of La Piazza San' Pietro ! " And that is the cupola ? that the Church of St. Peter ?" I exclaimed, starting back with surprise ; " why how have you deceived me ! Brunellesco's cupola, our dome at Florence, is six times larger than that of this vaunted cathedral !" "A little patience, Guido!" replied Ferdinando drily, who was aware of the secret of my misconception. I soon found that MY CONFESSIONS. , 213 I had somewhat compromised myself in my observations upon St. Peter's Church. In some confusion, therefore, I preserved silence until I stood at the foot of the staircase of this "won- der of the world." " You cannot persuade me, Ferdinando," said I, approach- ing him with a look which would have bespoken his indulgence, " that this great St. Peter's is not, after all, but a little affair." " Come ! come ! let us ascend," said my friend smiling, and taking my hand, we gained the top of the grand staircase to- gether, and were now within a few steps of the principal en- trance. " What is your opinion now ?'' asked my companion. " I know not how it is," replied I, "but I fear, it is my destiny in this world to behold every thing through a most diminished medium." " Observe that column attentively for a moment,'' said my friend, pointing to the one we stood in front of. I obeyed : and what was my astonishment upon beholding that, which I I had but a few moments before pronounced almost a mean structure, had now assumed a dimension vaster than I had ever before seen or imagined. Whilst thus almost beside myself with surprise, and volubly demanding a solution of this illusion, Ferdinando, who had preceded me to the Porta Maggiore, raised the curtain with his right hand, and now stood pointing to me with his left, with a look of exultation, that he was to be the first to usher his friend Guido into this " temple of temples". . . .this tabernacle on earth, the most magnificent that, since the days of Solomon, man had ever raised to the glory of the King of Kings." If it be possible for man, while still in his state of corrupti- bility, to have a conscious foretaste of immortality ; if, while ou this stage of living death, he may behold the only true life ; if, amid the strife of human passions, where the heart is the great awakener of warfare, man may even for a brief moment anticipate a promised paradise, that, indeed, is the only moment 2 1 4 MY CONFESSIONS. when for the first time, an exalted mind finds itself within the walls of St. Peter's. There, though invisible to humanity, He who was born in a stable, but now in His own abode at the right hand and in the glory of His Father, is present to the mental vision. There the index of that fiery hand, whose import to Belshazzar had pronounced the departure of his kingdom, reappears to the mind of the Christian in the softer characters of a more celestial fire, declaring to the true church of Christ " The gates of Hell shall not prevail against thee !" There man cannot fail to remember his unworthiness ; yet. by the blessing of a Redeemer, feels himself restored to pardon and his Creator's love. There Heaven displays itself, in opposition to Hell, and man contrasts the darkness of vice with the resplendency of virtue the beauty of the angels with the deformity of their fallen brethren the ephemeral smile of a faithless and cruel world, with that of a God of Peace who beatifies man and gives him immortality ! As I entered St. Peter's, a feeling took possession of my whole being, unlike that I had ever before experienced, even in the most magnificent locality, or in the presence of the most beloved ! I felt as though in paradise ! In profound silence I advanced with my friend towards the principal altar, which, though apparently but three minutes' distance from us, occupied us at least a quarter of an hour in reaching. I prostrated myself at its shrine, and with a heart overflowing with emotion, inwardly ejaculated " I thank tbee, my God ! now I am content to die !" I could no more. He who has never been to St. Peter's, can form no con- ception of the magnificence of the architect's imagination ; or rather, he can never comprehend the beatitude, the celestial design and the sublimity of conception of a mortal architect inspired by the Holy Spirit, from whom alone emanates all that js noble all that is lovely ; but which weak and presumptuous MY CONFESSIONS. 215 man too often ascribes to his own powers, and calls the work of his own hands. I will not dwell upon a circumstance, with which most are doubtlessly acquainted viz, that the individual selected by God to raise this earthly temple to His glory, was not only an excellent architect, painter, poet and sculptor, but a virtuous man and a Christian the Florentine, Michael Angelo Bonar- rotti. The Christian who has never visited St. Peter's, where repose the ashes of that Apostle, and of his coadjutor, St. Paul, can hardly conceive the profound veneration produced upon the mind when thus brought into close proximity with the dust of two men, who were the first to erect the standard of Christ, who invited men to repair to it, and, who, by their example, showed them how to die on the cross of their divine master. It seems as though Christ, who has received them to His eternal throne in Heaven, had inspired Michael Angelo to invest the tombs of these His two dearest sons on earth, with the greatest honour and magnificence. One fancies we behold the sepulchral stone about to be removed at the blast 'of the last trumpet, sounded by that same angel who broke the seal at the sepulchre of Christ ! In the silence of these two tombs we hearken to an angelic choir, chanting their eternal hymn of peace ; and in the rays of the sun, whenever they stream down upon them, we behold the smile of a Creator, upon the stilly repose of His creature. One object which particularly attracted my attention at Rome, was the statue of Moses reproving the Israelites, after having broken the tablets of stone, for their rebellion to the God who had protected them. It is wonderful to trace, in such legible characters upon that marble-face, the zeal of the incensed servant of God, tinctured with the compassion of the man for his fellow-mortals. It is said, that upon its completion, Michael Angelo, in fixing his eyes once more upon his work, was so overcome himself with 216 MT CONFESSIONS. the expression of the countenance, that, striking a hammer on its head, he exclaimed " Why dost thou not speak ?" Having at length seen and admired together many objects of interest, we retraced our steps towards the Porta Maggiore. " Let us turn and take another view of the stupendous whole," said Ferdinando Petzet. We did so. " How is it, then," said I, " that this temple, which I now acknowledge to be so vast, appears to us, from this point, no bigger than an egg-shell ?" Petzet, who was tolerably conversant with architecture, con- tented himself with replying to me in general terms. " The secret is in the harmony of its whole construction," he replied, an explanation which, to one who knew nothing of the art, did not serve to clear up the matter. " What think you of this column, encircled with a garland, on the summit of which is placed a flying cherub," he continued. "It is free, delicate and graceful," I replied. *' Observe, then," he proceeded, " a single lily, or one of the roses of this garland, and tell me how large it appears to you." I fixed my eyes upon a rose, which became suddenly so magnified, that not only the infant Cupid, with his bow and quiver and arrow, but Ferdinando and myself could, with ease, have inserted ourselves within its encircling folds. Petzet, without giving time to my surprised exclamation, continued " Now, observe well the little angel which holds the wreath, and tell me what you think of him." " Little, indeed ! why he is a giant !" exclaimed I. Ferdinando smiled, and we left the church. MY CONFESSIONS. 217 CHAPTER XV. DURING my three months' residence at Rome, I had an opportunity of inspecting the greater part of its remarkable objects. But, amid all the ancient reliques, that which impressed my mind with the deepest veneration, was the view of the Colosseum by night. I had thought the silence which reigned without the building very remarkable but, when I stood within the ruined Amphitheatre, it fell upon my heart like the silence of death. Its effect upon my mind is indescribable ! I cannot conceal from you, dear Silvio, the melancholy and disgusting impression I received, while at Rome, from witnessing the spectacle I am about to describe. It was a Feast-day, in commemoration of one of the nu- merous saints, which crowd the calendar. The Pope the amiable and virtuous Pius VII was to celebrate mass in the Cathedral of St. Peter's, and afterwards to bestow the papal benediction. Upon such occasions, the English had exclusively as- signed to them the best places in the Church, close to the altar, from whence they could witness every part of the solemnity. I shared this advantage with them on the present occasion, from having accompanied my friend Fortescue thither. An innumerable concourse of Romans had assembled, I cannot say sufficient to fill St. Peter's, but, to lose themselves in its windings, as the rivulet is lost in the river, and the river in the sea, such being the vastness of this temple, that the greater the multitude, the more gigantic appear its di- mensions. We had been waiting about an hour, when we beheld through the Porta Maggiore, the pontifical dignitary ap- proaching. 2(8 MY CONFESSIONS. He was seated on a throne, borne upon the shoulders of several robust looking Romans, preceded by the herald, the bishops, cardinals and other officers of his palace, and accompanied on either side by a long file of soldiers in full uniform, with their hats on, their swords at their sides, and carbines thrown across their shoulders. As they approached the high altar, my eyes became rivetted upon him ; he who, in Florence, had bestowed upon me his benediction upon him whom I so loved and venerated, and in the marble hue of whose seraphic countenance I could not but trace the melancholy evidence, that this was probably the last look of affection he might be ever permitted to cast upon his flock. I felt as though my eyes would never be weary of gazing upon him, and regarded him with the same in- tensity as we look upon a beloved object for the last time. A feeling of anguish, of affection, of envy, each by turns took possession of my mind. It was anguish to behold the sufferings of fading mortality ; love for him, who had been a true father to the church, the friend to the poor, to the unhappy, to the upright man and the Christian ; and I envied the pilot who, having through this " Mighty flood, unchecked by tides," guided his bark safe and uninjured into its haven, seemed about to receive, in recompense, the crown of peace and glory from the hand of the most beneficent of sovereigns. Hitherto I had paid no attention whatever to the soldiery ; but after the Pontificate had descended from the throne, and had knelt at the foot of the altar with the profoundest humiliation, I was startled by the clank of the carbines which were thrown simultaneously from their shoulders, as they also prostrated themselves. I now observed the pomp and osten- tation which had accompanied the pontiff ; and such were the indignant sentiments it awakened in my heart, that though my faith in Jesus was still unshaken, every feeling MY CONFESSIONS. 2 19 of respect and veneration for this head of the church this visible Christ evaporated at once. " Just heaven" a voice within me seemed to ejaculate " what a fearful con- trast is this pomp, to the self-denial and humility which should characterize a representative of the Redeemer ! Is not this theatrical exhibition an impiety, by which a minister of the gospel assumes the air and importance of a Ca3sar ? Just God ! that man should not only be so profane, but so senseless ! Is it not virtually denying Christ to represent Him at the head of an armed force ? Where is the distinction between the Pope and the Grand Signer between Mahomet and this representative of Christ ? between the sword and the cross ? Oh blessed humility ! thou noble basis on which Jesus founded His doctrine ! alas ! into what an abyss art thou plunged by the Catholic priesthood of our day ! whither shall we seek thee ? where find thee ? when shall we ever look on thee again ? alas ! not in days like these of blind- ness and perversity ! " And the servant of the Lord must not strive ; but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient, in meekness instructing those who oppose themselves; if God, peradventure, will give them repentance to the acknowledging of the truth ; and that they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, who are taken captive by him at his will." (Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle, to Timothy, ,chap. 2. v 23, 24, 25.) " Thousands of angels, at thy nod Had wing'd their flight from realms of bliss To teach fell Judas, Thou wert God, And blast him for his traitor kiss \ But mercy e'en in that dread hour Reprov'd the warfare love had shown, And Malchus heal'd, proclamed the power Each other power had o'erthrown !" L 2 22O MY CONFESSIONS. CHAPTER XVI. EACH moment that I did not devote to Fortescue, in accompanying him to view every thing worthy of observation in Rome, I spent with my friend Petzet, who, with his wife, had enrolled himself among the Compagnia Blanes, in the Teatro Argentina. Petzet, who possessed a truly Italian, I might say a Roman spirit, was an enthusiastic admirer of all the broken columns nay, of the humblest stones, which bore upon themselves the seal of antiquity reliques after which not to disguise the secret feelings of my sacrilegious heart I, at that time, would not have given a straw, after having entered St. Peter's, and witnessed the splendour of design with which the Holy Spirit had inspired the sublime architect. One morning, Petzet and I quitted the house, my friend carrying three large volumes under his arm. " What do you propose doing with your library ?" I demanded; " and may I ask who are the authors, whose company seem so necessary to your walk ?" " These books are guides of Rome, by different authors," replied Ferdinando ; "I bring them with me, that in case any of the ancient reliques, we are about to visit, should not be noticed in the one, we shall have the resource of the other two. It would be highly culpable in us were we, upon our return to Florence, unable to speak authori- tatively upon what we have seen, and, like intelligent travellers, to satisfy our friends by substantial proofs, that we had really been at Rome, and well examined its wonders. My friend Petzet, though one of the most amiable of men, had however one failing common enough, I believe, in all MY CONFESSIONS. 221 countries that of possessing an ear that resented any grotesque or barbarous pronunciation of his native language. A whim- sical exemplification of this peculiarity occurred during our stay at Rome. One evening, Petzet engaged an Austrian officer to play with him at billiards. Ferdinando was the best player in Tuscany, and hitherto he had not met with a rival in Rome. The saloon in which they played was much frequented, and, on this occasion, the company was very numerous. The progress of the game appeared so interesting, that it gave rise to many bets, in most of which Petzet eagerly participated. For the first two hours, Petzet had decidedly the advantage, and the bets in which he was interested, realized a sum which he had never dreamed of possessing in his life. Meanwhile the German remained perfectly unmoved ; conscious of pos- sessing a little mountain of gold-sand, he heeded not the single grains constantly falling from the hillock. Not so, Petzet. Excited to a high degree, he suffered him- self, at the conclusion of every game, to be prevailed upon by the wealthy barbarian to play double or quits. His very soul seemed in his eyes, while every muscle of his expressive countenance was in action. At length Fortune, with the fickle- ness of her sex, seemed resolved to prove to Petzet, that in play, as well as in war, her favors are not, always bestowed on the most skilful and deserving. A false hit from Ferdi- nando gave rise to contention between the two players ; though from the state of the game, it might have turned in favor of the Austrian officer. Petzet, gifted with eloquence and great powers of per- suasion, advanced innumerable arguments to prove that he had not violated the laws of the game. But when the German, with Stentorian lungs, proceeded by his more boisterous arguments to appeal to the spectators, in Italian, as lu- dicrous as it was barbarous, all his verbs being in the in- finitive mood, Ferdinando, without waiting for their decision, flung the cue upon the board, and at once abandoned his ^2 MY CONFESSIONS. claim. Then closing both ears with his hands, he exclaimed z " Peace, peace, German ! " What hideous outrage this to Tuscan ears !" thus vindicating the wrong Fortune had so remcrselessly put upon him, by holding up to derision the ridiculous object of her favor. The peal of laughter which followed this impromptu, though HO more pleasing than the braying of the ass to the wealthy barbarian, discoursed such sweet music to my satirical friend, that it consoled him for the large sum of money by which it had been purchased. I was too glad to avail myself of the pleasant companion- ship of my gifted friend and countryman, Petzet, not to accompany him in most of his visits in search of antique remains. In his society I could hardly fail to imbibe some of the enthusiastic fervor which animated him, while con- templating the glorious fragments of ancient splendor, as- sociated as they are with characters and events that seem to increase our veneration and wonder, as time makes their separation from us wider. To have listened to Petzet's description ; the imposing cir- cumstances in which such a triumphal arch had been raised ; against what invaders such a bridge had been employed as a defence ; to what divinity a particular temple had been erected, what priest or priestess had presided at its shrine, and what was the nature of their sacrifice, had been enough to animate one less susceptible than Guido Sorelli. We had inspected many of these interesting objects, when one morning, Ferdinando and I found ourselves standing before a magnificent column, whose capital presented the splendid remnant of a great arch, but to which the bad taste of the present age had made some additions with a view, I suppose, of presenting to the modern Italian the humiliating contrast between the imperishable foundation of the dead, and the ephemeral superstructure of the living. Beneath this column, and in its vicinity stood men and women vending fish* MY CONFESSIONS. 223 Here my antiquarian friend paused, and proceeded hastily to turn over the pages of one of his constant companions the guide books. His eye glanced from the book to the column, from the column to the book with impatient rapidity. There was evidently no allusion to the column in the book he had opened : accordingly, another was eagerly scanned. That was equally barren. A third making no mention of this admired relique, he turned abruptly to me, and exclaimed : " Dost thou remember, Guido, in the history of Rome, to what temple, to what public building or triumphal arch this column relates ?'' " Not I, indeed," replied I, smiling. " The guides do not mention it," he added with some as- perity of manner ; but whether awakened by his own igno- rance, by mine, or by the insufficiency of the guides, I know not perhaps it was a combination of the three. His impatience, however, seemed not to be easily restrained ; for encountering a common-looking person, he cried aloud to him : " Here my worthy friend ! Tell me, if you please, what is the meaning of this column ?",, The poor man shrugged his shoulders, and by other tokens seemed to say : " What does it signify to me what may have been this column or any other of the ruins which you wealthy vagabonds post one end of the world to the other to visit ;" and without uttering a word, he continued his walk. Petzet looked at me quite disgusted at the rudeness of this Roman plebeian, accustomed as he was to the civility and the intelligence of the humblest of the Florentines, and which, indeed, characterizes all the Tuscan rustics. But, before he could utter the bitter sarcasm, which was on his lip, against the modern Roman, we beheld a respectable looking young priest advancing towards us, to whom, as he approached within hearing, Ferdinando exclaimed : " Signer Abatino, favor me by informing us to what temple or to what other structure this column belonged f " 224 MY CONFESSIONS. Without looking at the object in question, the ecclesiastic approached us, and after raising his eyes, he lowered them again with an expression of the deepest humility. " I am grieved, Sirs, that I am unable to satisfy you, not having yet completed my own researches upon the subject : but I pray you, attribute my ignorance to my youth, for I only yesterday attained my seventeenth year." He had until now held his nicc/iio* in his hand : but having uttered these words, he replaced it upon his head, made a profound obeisance, and departed. The mystery of this column began now to divert us, when we beheld a third personage approaching, one whose figure and stride made him appear almost a giant. Petzet's self- love having been pacified by the display of ignorance in others, he accordingly resumed his naturally sarcastic gaiety, and advancing towards the new-comer, exhibited in his person the contrast of a dwarf to a giant. With an air of importance that seemed but humility when compared with that of this moving mass of earth, he thus accosted him : " Sir Roman, I pray thee ! please to inform us of the ancient name of that column ?" " That column ?" " Yes, sir, that before us." The man -mountain raised his eyes towards the object, bent his brows, and observed it in profound silence for nearly three minutes ; he then looked down upon us, whose stature scarcely reached his hip, and replied in a voice of thunder : " The ancients, Sir, used to call it the arch of the fishmarket" "How, Sir," exclaimed Petzet, much irritated, " had then the ancient Romans so great a veneration for fish, that they actually erected a triumphal column to its honor ?" At these words, I was betrayed into so excessive a fit of laughter, that Petzet, apprehensive both for my safety and his own, took me by the arm, and compelled me to run along with him as fast as our legs would carry us ; not for- * Nicchio is the three cornered hat worn by the priests in Italy. MY CONFESSIONS. 225 Setting, however, to look behind him, from time to time, to observe if the leviathan was pursuing us. The latter, however, paralized at feeling himself the object of mirth to two young Florentines, who, contrasted with him, were like two squirrels presuming to bite the trunk of an elephant, remained for some minutes unable to advance a step, glaring upon us with eyes distended with rage, as long as the dust raised by our steps was visible. If Petzet's turn for sarcasm, and Guide's sense of the ridiculous had given a free rein to our tongues, the speed of our limbs was certainly superior. Taking advantage, there- fore, of the pause in which the spell of wrath seemed to have nailed the Roman to the pavement, we gained a distance far beyond the possibility of being reached by him whose little finger could have annihilated us. Weary at length with running, we came to a halt, and, after having spent a whole hour in a jesting review of the pretensions of our would-be instructor, and profound Roman antiquarian, we separated in a jovial mood. CHAPTER XVII, THB day had now arrived in which I was to bid adieu to the " Queen of the world" to wander for the last time among the sepulchres of the illustrious dead ; to contemplate the munificent hand of God, shown in the talent of that man who had raised the structure of St. Peter's, and to deplore, while lingering on this consecrated spot, the poverty of the modern world, in reflecting upon the byegoue days of antiquity. On the eve of my departure from Rome, wearied and de- pressed from having during the day, taken leave of so many L 3 226 MT CONFKSSIONS. valued friends, I sought to fly from myself or rather to dis- sipate the melancholy reflections solitude will always awaken. Deprived of the society of those we love, a painful sense of iso- lation oppresses us. To obviate this depression, I proceeded to the " Teatro Argentina," where I knew Ferdinando and his wife were to perform in one of Goldoni's comedies. I had bidden farewell to these excellent and valued friends, but a few hours before a farewell that it was but too likely would be the last I should exchange with them. On finding myself alone, the void in my heart produced by the final sepa- ration from these friends became so intolerable, that I could not resist the temptation of once more beholding them, though from a distance. Gazing from the pit of the theatre, upon their features, rendered so familiar to my contemplation from our recent close intimacy, it seemed to me as though they were the shades of friends who had departed. I returned to my hotel, but did not retire to rest. I packed my valise, and seating myself in the chimney corner, remained there revolving a multitude of thoughts, until four o'clock struck upon my ear. The next moment the loud appeal of the "Vetturino," roused me effectually from my reverie. I soon found myself seated in the coach, where, observing that I had three travelling companions, I drew my hat over my eyes, and passed once more the Porta del Popolo, full of regrets for all I had quitted, which were, however, not unmixed with pleasing anticipations of the joy I should feel in revisiting Florence. CHAPTER XVIII. ARRIVED at the confines of Tuscany, and about to enter once more that happy country, I felt my heart revive : 1 breathed anew. If the fruitful soil of my beloved country has justly obtained MY CONFESSIONS. 227 for it the title of the garden of Europe, it is no less remarkable that the genial influence of its heavenly climate equally ferti- lizes and invigorates the heart of man. Content the summit of worldly happiness is there to be found in a much larger pro- portion than in any other spot of the earth. Its inhabitants are eminently characterized by their feelings of natural refinement and benevolence. A worthy father of such a people, is the present Grand Duke ! One of the great evils of tb.3 unfortunate political division of Italy, is the want of a pervading national spirit which is needed to harmonize the manners, customs, tastes and feelings of the inhabitants of its separate states. They are now occasionally the very antipodes of each other. Is it just, is it natural, that at Rome, and at Naples, the Florentine should be called a foreigner ; he too, with equal absurdity, applying that epithet to the inhabitant of those states ? When such cruel distinc- tions shall become cancelled in the heart of the Italians, then may they hope to throw off the yoke of the barbarian ; then and not until then ! If the Englishman and the Swiss, in re-entering Tuscany from Naples or Rome, feel themselves at home in this land of ease, how much more reason had I, a Florentine, to feel myself not only consoled for my absence, but in a state of transport at my return ! Each respiration that I took, sounded to my heart as a warning of regret, conscious as I 'was that but a few brief days would behold me separated, perhaps for ever, from all I loved best on earth distant from the most beautiful land which the sun salutes with its golden rays. The influence of that delicious atmosphere, whose healing balm so soothes the heart, however, soon restored my serenity and inspired ms with that fortitude which is needful to encounter the evils tiiat destiny may have in store for us. From the hour I re-entered Florence to that in which I quitted it, nothing worthy of observation occurred to me, if I except the receipt of the two following letters from my Zurich friends. 223 MT CONFESSIONS. " Guido, " We are grieved to find that you are still resolved to take up your abode in dismal England, and thus, perhaps, to be- come lost to us for ever. Oh ! if we have any influence stilt remaining in your heart, we pray you to consider once more what you are about to do. Ask yourself again, am I born to dwell far away from those I love, and by whom I am loved ? Once more examine your own resources, and say if you find in yourself the courage, the apathy, the recklessness of feeling so indispensable to one in your position. If so, then prepare your- self for the encounter, turn from your native Florence, and quit it for ever, and may heaven be your guide. " YOUR FRIENDS." " P.S. Upon your reply will depend whether we retain your eighty louis, or remit them by return of post," I was now too deeply pledged to swerve from my engage- ment, without incurring the imputation of weakness and vacil- lation. I therefore wrote to this effect to my friends, and at the expiration of three weeks received an enclosure from Zu- rich. Upon opening it, however, I found it contained nothing but a bill of exchange to the value of eighty louis, not a line, not a word of friendship or affection. " They are angry with me !" I exclaimed, much mortified ; " but patience ! we shall yet be friends." But a very few days now remained of my stay at Florence. I had no occupation then of any kind. As soon as I had risen, there- fore, I used to repair to the " Magliabecana library" to study, to read, or to gossip sot to voce, with the students I there en- countered. In this splendid public library, I had passed the brightest hours of my existence before I had quitted Florence for Pka, and afterwards for Zurich, and, subsequently, when I spent my last two years in my native town. Notwithstand- ing this saloon was one of public resort, I always found a seat had been reserved for me at my accustomed table. Either by MY CONFESSION'S. 220 chance, or by the courtesy of those who, knowing me by sight, and observing my regular attendance, chose not to oc- cupy my post, even during my absence. Among the readers at this table, there was one individual who had occupied the same seat for fifty years. He was then eighty-five. He was a jew, of the name of Finzi, a man of great literary attainments, and was a cynic as well as a philo- sopher. His whole nourishment consisted of bread and an- chovies ; and as he both breakfasted and dined at the library, fragments of anchovy were often to be discovered between the pages of the old volumes which lay open before him. He was then occupied in the modern history of Europe. At the con- clusion of his frugal repast, he would lay his head upon his book, and indulge in profound repose for two hours. I could never ascertain what was his beverage, but i imagined it to be water, not only from the nature of his repast, which must have created much thirst, but from the appearance of the " outward man," which bespoke either great penury, or great avarice. To give to my readers an exact description of this man's physiognomy far exceeds indeed my powers, although his features seem still fresh in my recollection. Never have [ seen so lengthened, so attenuated a counte- nance on the shoulders of man ! His grey hair it was not yet totally white fell in profusion over his neck in the ex- tremest disorder. His forehead was very ample : upon each eye-brow two large fleshy protuberances were visible, which might have been mistaken for the horns of the Satyr. His thick grizzled eye-lashes were at the same time so long and close, as almost to conceal his eye. It always required a near vicinity to be able to discover that feature ; and when the thick curtain that interposed was at length raised, the effect was very remarkable. His eyes were exceedingly black, with an expression at once fiery, suspicious and penetrating. It ever seemed to me that they spoke neither love towards man, nor confidence in the virtue of which he is capable ; for, though his contraction of brow appeared natural to him, I always ob- 230 MT CONFESSIONS. served it scowled more darkly, when in immediate contact with any one of his species. His look then seemed to say " Never wert thou and never wilt thou be any thing of good. Either thou art the. slave of thy passions or thine heart's self-elected idol : but if perchance thou art possessed of some virtue, it is like the lightning's flash athwart a darkning sky, serving but to render more apparent the horror of those vices which blacken thy soul. Thou art, in fact, human consequently weak and despicable !" To encounter his gaze seemed to be as it were laying bare one's in most soul to the scrutiny of a judge. It was difficult to avoid such a feeling, and it always causes a shudder. His nose was perfectly aquiline. Cheeks, he had none but two deep indentures supplied their place ; while his mouth, in which were still ranged two rows of sound teeth, scarcely dis- coloured by time, was so capacious, that had not dame nature deemed it advisable to limit its extent for the accommodation of a couple of ears, it might possibly have formed a circle round his head. His chin was of unusual length, and so curled at the point, that it resembled the front of a Chinese shoe ; while the remainder of his appearance was that of an animated skeleton, enveloped in dingy habiliments of the most thread- bare texture, and disposed on his scare-crow figure with ludicrous irregularity. Such was Finzi, the jew, who, during the long course of fifty years, had uninterruptedly frequented the " Magliabecana," and had yet not formed one single friendship, or deigned to hold intercourse with a living being there. Whether it was that this cynic detected in my physiognomy that faculty with which the benificent Creator has, so much to my own comfort, endowed me good will to all mankind or whether it must be ascribed to an unaccountable caprice that will befal the most stoical, I cannot pretend to say ; but certain it is that, during our proximity at the table, I was the only one upon whom he ever raised his eyes. By and by, he MY CONFESSIONS. 23 1 condescended to return my salutation by a slight and almost imperceptible inclination of the head. To me, at length, he vouchsafed the sound of his voice, which " Had grown hoarse with silence ;' and finally his familiarity extended so far, that, in case of a difficulty occurring in my studies, I readily sought his assist- ance, and never failed to obtain advice and information from this singular being. Upon my re- appearance at the Magliabecana, after an absence of four years, the jew actually laid down his pen to shake my hand ; and muttering a few courteous words of salutation, his capacious mouth relaxed into something very like a smile. This was the first time he had ever offered his hand to a living being : and the first time to my knowledge his inflexible countenance had attempted to deck itself in the unwonted blandishments of a smile. Before my departure for Rome, I had acquainted him with my intention ; requesting him, at the same time, to inform me what were, in his opinion, the objects there most worthy of attention. " Michael Angelo's Moses !" he had replied, with much more enthusiasm than I had ever thought him capable of evincing. Upon my return, my first care had been to pourtray the im- pression this statue had made upon the feelings of his young Christian friend. He listened to me in mute attention ; that soul, whose emanations he had so carefully concealed within his own heart, now gradually burst forth beaming in ra- diant resplendency upon his countenance ; until at length, I became convinced that my sentiments were in unison with his own, and that now the jew felt more sympathy with me than ever. Encouraged by this evident disposition in my favour, I 232 MY CONFESSIONS. ventured upon a liberty which formerly I do not think I should have dared to take. " Now that we are upon a sacred subject," said I to him, " will you permit me to ask you one question ?" " Aye; freely." ' You have doubtless read, nay, deeply studied the Scriptures !" pursued I. " A talented man, like yourself would not turn aside from any track, where there might be a chance of gathering flowers by the way, or of acquiring knowledge." " You are right : I have read and studied the Scriptures, ex- actly as you have supposed." " Having, then, perused the life and doctrines of Jesus Christ, how is it possible that you can still persuade yourself that he was an impostor, and at the same time adhere to the faith of your ancestors by whom He was crucified ? You are an old man, I might say a decrepit man ; and though the protecting hand of your Maker shields you at present from the infirmities which are usually the companions of those ad- vanced in years ; yet, earth will very shortly require of you that which you owe her, and the passive clay must yield the spirit the essence of a Maker's breath which was awakened by a Deity, and by the act of a Deity can alone expire. When you shall have reached that period, do you not fear that, having denied Christ, you must have secured your eternal misery in the life to come ?" " No !" said the jew, laconically. " No ? Then must you regard Guido, the Christian, eternally condemned." " Not so." " Impossible! Surely one of us must be fatally wrong on this most important subject." " Neither you nor myself, nor he who dissents from us both !" At these words my heart sank within me, for with them had vanished the latent hope I had conceived of persuading this MY CONFESSIONS. 233 venerable jew to become a Christian ; while, at the next moment, a feeling so like disgust took possession of me at his uncon- querable heresy, that I was on the point of turning my back upon him as irreclaimable, when he, observing my movements, anticipated what was passing within my mind : " Stay awhile," he said, retaining me gently by his withered hands " stay awhile, and do not thus harshly give me up for lost. Be yourself a Christian : but be not unreasonable ; and, whilst you still heed the suggestions of your own heart, close not your ear to the arguments of others, which, if they fail to convince you, will confirm you yet stronger in your own faith, and thus will render it yet more triumphant in your own judg- ment." At these words I paused, and resumed my seat. For an instant the jew was lost in reflection. He then took a pen. " Observe," said he, describing a circle on a piece of card- board, " imagine this to be the city of Florence : this a square within the centre of the circle, we will suppose the square of the Gran Duca.* " We will now suppose that by an edict issued by Na- poleon, Sovereign of Italy, all the inhabitants of Florence are commanded to repair the next day to the Square Gran - Duca, to swear fealty to Napoleon, before the hour of mid- day, upon pain death. Behold, with the dawn, a concourse of people congregated at the entrance of the square. They are those who tremble lest some unforseen circumstance should intercept their timely obedience. Each moment, each hour brings with it an increase of multitude, until the clock of the square peals forth the eleventh hour. And now again observe the square thronged with the less timid aspirants, who had deemed one hour a sufficient anticipation of their submission. But one minute more now one second to the proscribed hour and now behold the last, the proudest in * The largest and most remarkable square in the city of Florence. 234 MY CONFESSIONS. their obedience entering the palace gates. Mid-day has sounded ! the register has closed ; and admittance is denied to every living being the disobedient are doomed to an unmitigated penalty." Finzi now looked up in silence, to see if I had understood him ; but, observing that I did not appear to have com- prehended his allegory, he continued : " Do you perceive that all who had repaired to the square, not excepting those who were but within a moment of the prescribed hour, are received into the favour of the Em- peror, and consequently exempted from the penalty of death ?" " Doubtless !" " You observe also that numerous streets surround the square. Here is the " Via de Calzajoli, gli Ufizi, Vacchereccia, besides many others, whose name I need not mention to you. Now, provided his subjects have obeyed his summons, think you it imports to the Emperor, ly which of these paths they have gained the square ? And thus it is with religion. The first principle in each sect is, to acknowledge a Sovereign Creator, and Benefactor, and to love and serve Him by loving our neighbour. God is the one universal good the Author of every good thing. We look up to Him as our only hope ; and that path by which His creatures have sought Him, and have striven to render themselves worthy of His protection, will by Him be regarded as the right road. He is that glorious star, which guideth man direct through every road. Guido ! it is not the distinctions of religion ; it is man's works which enable or degrade him, which separate or attach him to that Being of all goodness and all perfection. Suffer me then to continue a faithful jew and remain yourself a good Christian. Although you are many years younger than myself, it may not be very long ere we meet each other in that blessed land where God is alike the Father of all His creatures." These words made some impression upon my mind. They did not, however, shake my reliance upon Christianity as MY CONFESSIONS. 235 the only true religion. I was then too young, and my acquaintance with the higher and more solemn ordinances of the Christian faith was too slight, not be perplexed at the large, benevolence, and tolerant spirit, involved in the the Jew's sophistry. I took his hand, and bade him adieu, with the emotion we experience on taking a last farewell of a valued friend. The misanthrope seemed himself moved ; it was evident he entertained a regard for the individual he was now to part with for ever. But like the lightning's flash this feeling vanished from his mind ; for, laying his hand gently upon my shoulder, he uttered, " May God be your guide !" then turning from me, he seated himself calmly at the table, as if nothing had occurred to distract the mo- notony of his existence ; and, when I quitted the library, I beheld him once more immersed in his huge volume, with the same abstracted and studious countenance as ever. CHAPTER XIX. I HAD now reached the last scene in the second act of the drama of my life. The part I had now to perform', that of solemnly exchanging a last farewell with those I most loved on earth was heart-rending in the extreme ; but the die was cast, and it became me to meet it as a man, convinced I was that it would be as impossible for me to avert it, as it is impossible for man to arrest the wheel of fortune, or stay the flight of time. " Necessity makes e'en the humblest valiant." I therefore called to my aid, all the courage with which I was endued ; but having become soon aware that even 23C MY CONFESSIONS. that would not avail me much, I then tried to conjure up illusions of future happiness a mental dream that is readily created by the imagination in such a climate as Italy. Alas ! I knew it was but a dream ! " Oh ! sweet it is to fly one self To feel oblivion near ! A waking dream is life itself, Unsullied by a tear !'' With a steady gaze, therefore, I fixed my eyes upon that flattering mirror, which hope ever presents to the mind of youth, when lost in his dreamy anticipations of the future. Within its magic reflection, therefore, I beheld myself, after the lapse of a very few years, quitting England laden with wealth, with honors, and with fame, to return to the land of my fathers, there to dwell the friend and support of those I best loved. I felt now endued with a man's nay, with a lion's strength, and I prepared myself firmly to encounter the sorrow of parting, a sorrow which I then likened to the ordeal of passing through the infernal regions, in order to attain the gate, whose entrance presented the ecstatic prospect of the Elysian Fields. But whilst I stood in need of so much illusive support to struggle with the sorrow, which seemed ready to overwhelm me, Cleofe had recourse to a similar solace, and had indulged in the most pleasing anticipation of my future prosperity. Blind, therefore, to every object, and with eveiy other feeling concentrated in that one hope, she assumed the courage which should have been my portion : and, in that moment, which she felt to be the most critical to her brother, she placed herself at his side invested with the love, the dignity, the aspect, the JEgis of Minerva. There wanted but a fortnight to the day fixed for my departure from Florence, when one beautiful April morning, Cieofe and I were returning from a ramble we had taken MY CONFESSIONS. 237 together on the Mura. We had gained a point, from which we could enjoy the best view of the magnificent cupola of Brunellesco. This is by far the highest structure in Florence ; yet it rather seems to confer an additional grace upon the inferior buildings, than to tower above them in triumph ; thus resembling the majestic oak, which adds beauty to, while it protects and shelters, the thousand tender plants, that bloom beneath the shade of its magnificent branches. " Do you observe that splendid miracle of art, Cleofe ?" exclaimed I as, without regarding her countenance, I stood in deep contemplation of the object before us. " Alas ! with what different feelings do I now look upon it, now that I am about to quit it for heaven knows how long to those with which I contemplated it, when, upon my return from Leghorn, I heard my father exclaim, ' Guido, there is the cupola!' Cleofe! do you remember that scene I have so often recounted to you, though, perhaps, never in the sombre hues of reality ? To-day, that cupola is as much the object of my love, as it was then of my hate. In man's limited sphere of existence, so dependent is he upon the sympathy of his fellow-creatures, that when it fails him, Spring blooms not for him in its sweet and freshening verdure, Life, is but a mournful and wearying race : the Sun, beams not on him its vivifying power, and the Moon, is no longer Cynthia but Proserpine. Oh how sad must feel the heart of a man' who is compelled to exclaim with Moses, " I am a stranger in a strange landT' Having been for two years encompassed with the affection, and the esteem of my Florentine countrymen, this delicious abode seems to me invested with so celestial a beauty, that, I fear in quitting it, objects similar to those which are here so grate- ful to my senses, will lose their charm when beheld on other shores. The rose will not possess for me its fragrance or its lovely hues ; the evening star will never look so lustrous ; and I shall never again feel equal delight in gazing upon the serene azure of tho* sky." " Not so, Guido," replied Cleofe quickly, but with firmness; 238 MY CONFESSIONS. " beautiful as Florence appears to you now, its merits will be increased in your estimation by absence. In such a world as our own, which admits not of perfection, distance has the power of sanctifying the defects, which familiar association always makes so apparent to us. Your affectionate devotion to the noble and beautiful place of your nativity, will doubtless ope- rate in your mind most beneficially, by constantly presenting to your contemplation, a high standard of moral and intellectual excellence, and will be a powerful stimulus in urging you to advance in that career which will, at the same time, do honour to yourself and to your country. Remember that in taking the proud title of " Guido of Florence," your aspirations and conduct henceforward must prove you worthy of the appellation. " A separation from those we love, draws us nearer to our Creator, and concentrates our affections in Him. This He Himself knows : and thus it is, that He frequently condemns His elect to a separation from the worldly objects of their love. An inevitable chain of circumstances the will of Heaven compel you thus, a second time, to fly from the arms of you relations. It will be in vain to expect from strangers the love we have borne you ! . At a distance, we shall seem more ne- cessary to you than were you with us ; and amid the crowd that will surround you, then will our loss be more apparent to your heart ! But, Guido ! after the first tears of solitude and abandonment, you will turn to Him you will seek Him, who causes us to weep, that we may rejoice hereafter. But a very brief period, dear Guido, and we shall all be re-united in Him, a union unembittered by the remembrance of the short, but painful separation in this world. "In whatever position it may have pleased Providence to place us, it is a weakness natural to human nature, to extract some- thing from its association, at which we must repine, while from the extravagance of our selfishness, we exaggerate our own sufferings. That they are sometimes vast I deny not, but even then, we find their augmentation in our own discontent. There is but one method by which we may alleviate or diminish them ; MY CONFESSIONS. 239 that is, by relying firmly upon God. In that confidence, man is freed from the power of his own passions ; from the preju- diced judgment of his fellow-creatures ; from the terrors of an unprepared death ; from the remorse ever attendant upon unli- censed pleasures ; finally from the gloomy dread of eternal condemnation. " Grieve no more, then, dear Guido ; but enter courageously upon the career which God has pointed out to you. So confident do I feel in His succour, that I know He hath thus called you to your good, if not in this world, in that which is to come : and, in that happy consciousness, I am enabled to withdraw from you the hand which has been ever ready to assist you, and to resign you cheerfully to His single protection." " Divine sister," I could not forbear exclaiming, " what a mind is your's ! What soul the most fearful could listen to you without feeling itself braced into courage by such inspiration ? you are like that warm and genial ray, which amid the rigour of a January's frost, assures man that a spring sun will shortly return to cheer him once more ! Your's is the hand which pours the oil of light and life into the nearly expiring lamp ! You are the right hand of friendship that guardian angel of man ! You are in fine, dear Cleofe, that which woman can alone be in a world of trials and sorrow. CHAPTER XX. ^^ T HAT a strange receptacle of every possible contradictory feeling is the human heart ! On reaching the door of our residence, Cleofe exclaimed abruptly to me, ' ' Guido, I have a favour to request of you : it is, that you will take me with you to Lucca. In the society of our friends there, I think I may find it less difficult to part 240 MY CONFESSIONS. with you than at Florence the home of our childhood, sanc- tified by so many painful yet fond associations !" As she uttered these words, a shade of sorrow clouded her brow, and at once discovered that the firmness which had just before dictated her words of encouragement to me, had sprung merely from the temporary excitement of an exalted spirit, and that in reality, Cleofe's was but a woman's heart. " Your plan is most excellent, dearest Cleofe I 1 ' I replied, arming myself with an assumed strength, and conjuring up a smile in order to allay her anguish. Alas ! what calmness did my smile pourtray! yet it was but the mere mechanical movement of the lips, not unlike that of the poor maniac, who from between the gratings of his cell, smiles vacantly upon the passers-by, when either from curiosity or compassion, they stop to gaze upon his wretchedness. Oh existence ! what a fearful penalty is thine, which com- pels us to dissimulate with those even who are the nearest to our affections ! Wert thou not the brief passage to a tearless immortality, thy state would seem to be more like the sulphu- reous offering of the unblessed to the spirit of darkness, than a propitiating incense to the Creator ! "To-morrow at the hour you like to fix upon, we will quit Florence for Lucca then, dear Cleofe !" resumed I. At this suggestion, the cloud suddenly passed away from Cleofe's brow, and her eyes radiant with a sister's affection, beamed like the returning rays of the sun when after the tempest has passed, it sinks slowly with resplendent glory below the horizon. The next morning we accordingly commenced our journey to Lucca, where we arrived towards evening. Although we had not been expected by our friends, our unlocked for arrival, however, obtained for us a cordial welcome. Whether it was my intended, journey to England that caused them to fear this might be the last time they would see me, or whether they were merely gratified that I should make them my personal adieux previously to quitting MY CONFESSION'S. 241 Italy, is a question I cannot determine. Suffice it to say, my eight weeks' sojourn with them, were indeed festive days. My friends seemed anxious to make each pleasure succeed the other with rapid variety. And if the last were not more exquisite than that which preceded it, at least it was not in- ferior, and had always some unexpected charm. But it was reserved for Cleofe to dispose the tints of the last day of my visit, which she arranged in so harmonious a manner, that the effect upon my mind was similar to that produced when contemplating the cheering and refreshing hues of the rainbow, to which the memory clings more fondly than to the intenser glory of the sun. She had prepared a breakfast in the palace of the Lucchesi family, with whom we were staying. To this, she had in- vited all our friends and acquaintances at Lucca. When the repast was over, we all repaired to the cathedral, where was to be celebrated, that morning, the festival of one of our saints, and where we knew we should hear some fine music. How often have I subsequently wished, that, instead of the multiplicity of images of the Virgin and various supposed saints, which adorn the walls of the catholic temples, serving only to distract the attention of the worshippers, and pre- eenting to their contemplation things and associations con- nected with material existence, in their roonv I could behold the single image of the Redeemer, and but one altar to the glory of God. What a sacrilege is that, when an altar is raised to the honor of imagined saints, whilst David and Peter were pronounced to be sinners ! But, on the other hand, that music should have been for- bidden in some Christian protestant churches, \vhen it was by music from above that the nativity was announced to the shepherds, is surely the remnant of a barbarous spirit.* * Should any protestant be disposed to refute my assertion, by stating that psalms and hymns are sung in their churches, I can M 242 MY CONFESSIONS. Mass concluded, our party repaired to the house of a friend -who had preceded us thither to give us welcome. We entered the parlour, and assembled round a table elegantly provided with refreshments ornamented with flowers. Having each partaken slightly of the sumptuous fare, and kept up a gay and animated conversation, the host, whose glass was yet untouched, rose from his seat, and with an audible voice, pronounced: " Viva il Signor Guido." At these words, a magnificent burst of music struck up from the adjoining apartment. This had been a concerted project amongst roy friends, some time before ; and for this purpose, those whose musical skill called upon them to take a share in the per- formance, had disappeared a little before from the room, to await the signal. The door of the apartment now flew open : we all entered and took possession of our seats. The selection of music was in exquisite taste. Nothing mournful was permitted to form part of the performance, if I except an adagio that I myself requested Cleofe to improvise. My sister was celebrated, not only amongst her Florentine friends, for her excellent piano-forte playing, but the most distinguished professors from remote parts of Europe eagerly sought for an opportunity of bearing her when visiting Florence. The delight 1 experienced in listening to the de- licious effects, produced by her, when improvising on this only reply, that to their adaptation of psalmody, I am at a loss how to give the name of music ; while equally impossible do I find it to term that singing, which consists in the untuneahle shout of the poor little objects of charity who are the principal performers ; and at the same time, if I acknowledge that when hearing the united voices or fifteen or twenty thousand of these little songsters at St. Paul's, I have found it impossible to refrain from tears, I must acknowledge them to spring rather from admiration at the holy intention implied by this congregation of little children in pouring out their thanksgiving to God, rather than from the harmony they attempt to produce ? I feel a pleasure in doing homage to the generosity of the English, in thus clothing, feeding and providing a Christian education for so many des- titute children. MY CONFESSIONS. 24 U fascinating instrument, was too intense for me ever to forget it is equally impossible for me to do it justice in attempting to describe it. Disclaiming any undue partiality in my esti- mate of her skill, as being my sister, I do not hesitate to declare, that, in my opinion, there is no living performer who can transcend, or, perhaps, even approach Cleofe, in giving a deep soul-moving effect to an adagio. Although the character of her improvvisazione on this oc- casion, was of a serious cast, as an adagio properly should be, it bespoke not a mournful sadness. Her strain was like the organ's peal, which exalts the Christian's soul to a sen- timent of love, and confidence. At the sound of her notes, the tear sprang to the eye, from the fullness of the heart : it was, however, a tear of resignation, of hope, and trust ! At the conclusion of the concert, we all repaired to the Mura of Lucca. These walls are one of the wonders of Italy. They are so elevated, that from their heights the whole city and the cultivated and charming country around, are visible. Their breadth admits of four rows of carriages, without inconveniencing the promenaders in the least ; they are as smooth and level as the aisles of the Vatican; while the luxuriant trees, which tower magnificently on either side, compete with those which adorn the Stradone delle Cascine, at Florence. After a delightful promenade, we returned home to dinner at the Lucchesi palace. Coffee, music and conversation followed ; in the mean time, no allusion was made to my future journey, in order to avoid lessening the enjoyment of that happy day. Evening at length closed in ; and then a numerous company of amiable and distinguished guests poured into the ball, which my friend had so unexpectedly prepared in my honor. The fascination of the music ; the illuminated saloon ; the captivating beauty of the women, whose aspect at once com- manded respect and admiration ; these delights, heightened 1 S44 MY CONFESSIONS. by the flattering associations connected with the scene, exer- cised so powerful a sway upon me, that my whole existence seemed concentrated in that hour the past and the future were alike forgotten and uncared for. But, alas ! how surely do the brief enjoyments of this world terminate in darkness and sorrow ! Man tastes happiness for a moment, only to become more sensible to the inevitable anguish that succeeds it. How long and dreary a twilight waits upon youth's ephemeral sunshine ; while the more lengthened become its shadows, the heavier is our regret for the departed rays of the sun. If from the dream of love and friendship that sweet succour of the heart amidst the whirl- wind of existence we are fortunately enough not awakened suddenly by the rude hand of treachery and faithlessness, nevertheless a long contact with the world will surely present to us the cruel reality, which will disenchant the idol we had set up for worship. If such beings can be found, in whom these feelings have bloomed fresh and unwithered, even until the moment when the icy touch of the fell destroyer pronounces their earthly separation, they are few indeed ! They are more scanty than the leaves, which, in Italy's smiling meadows, preserve their verdure, amidst the chill of winter, around the oak, even until the coming spring ; they are, when compelled to surrender to earth her rightful spoils, descending spontaneously and gently into its parent- bosom to give place to the infant generation, which shoots forth and blooms in their stead ! What is happiness in this world but the absence of pain and sorrow ? We are conscious of the value of health, only after having experienced the infirmities of nature, and from the dread of their recurrence. We delight in the presence of a beloved object, in proportion as we feel alarm at the \ery idea of his loss. We feel a charm in contemplating the serenity of the firmament from having previously beheld it agitated with tempests, and from the anticipation of their repetition We enjoy the ocean's calm infinitely more, when contrasting MY CONFESSIONS. ?45 it with that fearful turbulence, in which the wrathful wave seems to wage fierce battle with the mighty winds of heaven. The eleventh hour sounded : the company separated ; and I conducted Cleofe to the house of the Marchesa Bernardini, who had invited her to pass some weeks with her. Cleofe had taken my arm ; but during our progress from the house of festivity we had just quitted, to the Bernardini palace, she had not uttered one word. It was the speakinj silence of sorrow ! We soon reached the door of the palace, and the deep bell pealed through the avenue. " Dear Cleofe !" I exclaimed, with a painful effort, " we must now part !" " Not here, not here!" said Cleofe, in a tone of great agitation, " I am not yet prepared ! Let us enter the house, Guido, la Marchesa would see you once more before you quit us for ever !" I felt as though my heart would break. But inured to the sacrifice of all that was dear to me, I prepared myself for the trial ; and, in this last moment, I endeavoured, though but for a moment, to invest myself with becoming firmness for the encounter. Accordingly, pressing the hand of Cleoie in silence, I was about to repeat to her a second farewell, the moment the door should open. But in vain; Cleofe had guessed my purpose, and now throwing her arm round my neck, she kissed me as she uttered in a tone of anguish : " Will you not go with me up stairs ?" " I will," I replied, conscious, at the same moment, that mv boasted resolution had degenerated into weakness. We ascended the staircase. According to a previously concerted arrangement between la Marchesa and Cleofe, a large party had already assembled to a splendid supper at the Bernardini palace. When we entered the saloon, la Marchesa advanced to meet us. She perceived tears in the eyes of Cleofe, who had previously promised to exert all her heroism at our parting, 246 MY CONFESSIONS. in order that I, equally dear to them both, and possessing, perhaps, less strength of mind than either, might imitate her example of firmness. " Shame, shame on thee ! dear Cleofe !" she uttered in a low tone of voice, at the same time applying her handkerchief to the eyes of her friend, and concealing both the action and her rebuke from the thronging assembly, by a prolonged and graceful embrace. Suppressing her emotion, Cleofe once more resumed cou- rage, and the usual serenity of her manner. " Signora Cleofina, do improvise on the piano- forte !" exclaimed at the same moment several voices from the joyous assembly. " What shall be the subject ?" said Cleofe, seating herself at the instrument. It was generally suggested that the Marchesa should pro- pose a theme for Cleofe's improvisation. " The safe return of our Guido from England f" eagerly exclaimed the Marchesa. " Evviva ! evviva!" burst from the whole company. " The safe return of our Signer Guido from England !" At the first note of this exquisite musician, the most breathless stillness prevailed. The first movement improvised by Cleofe at once bespoke her intention to address a prayer to the Most High, imploring Him to watch over and protect her brother in the foreign land, in which he was about to sojourn. The second movement was of a mixed character, alternately gay and pensive : it was intended to represent an epitome of human life, composed as it is of some few hours of sunshine with many more of darkness. At the conclusion of this movement, the audience could no longer suppress their admiration, and the echo of their applause responded from every corner of the palace. To this flattering, yet merited testimony of approbation, Cleofe remained for some moments insensible, pre- occupied by deep feeling, and unconscious of external circumstance. MY CONFESSIONS. 247 Then, resuming her performance, in a strain so exalted that she seemed to soar above herself, she proceeded to pourtray my existence henceforward, by notes expressive of life's turbulent and overwhelming tempests, but which she seemed to augur were to be succeeded by an ultimate long and happy calm ! Never had I heard Cleofe improvise with more success. Each sentiment of her exalted mind seemed that evening awakened into action, and through the medium of music's heavenly language, she called forth feelings, for the expression of which, words would have been insufficient. The banquet that followed was all that was gay and de- sirable. Cleofe alone was mute and abstracted. The hour of actual separation having at length arrived, she first rose from the table, and preceded me to the apartment which had been prepared for her. I remained to make my adieux to the Marchesa and her guests, each of whom had a thousand kind and sincere wishes to offer me. This having been accomplished, I repaired to Cleofe's chamber. Upon my re- appearance before her, she burst into a torrent of tears, betokening the anguish of her mind. " There will be no more happiness for me, Guido, when you have parted from me!" she exclaimed; " but God's will be done ! and I will henceforth learn to love only that which He loveth, and to will that which He willeth." " At a distance from Guido," she continued, " my soul will ever be a prey to disquiet and anxiety ! but God will know my grief, and in that consciousness I shall be con- tent. There is a calm, dear Guido, which I haye often experienced in my sorrow, and that is the blessed peace which attends us to the cross. It is by a long train of circumstances, that our Creator weans us from our affection to the creature, and finally from ourselves. The operation is gradual, and often most painful ; but God wounds us not for His pleasure. He tears asunder our dearest earthly ties but to animate us to 248 MY CONFESSIONS. a love for our friends, purer, more lasting and more spiritual -, and to secure us hereafter eternal joy in His bosom, and a happiness a thousand times more perfect than we ever here knew how to desire. " Go then, dear Guido ! commence your auspicious journey. Be steady ! be virtuous ! Virtue is every thing ! wherever you may be she will supply the place of country, riches, sister and friends ! Virtue, Guido 1 I have often heard you say, is the pure ore in the mine : it is the pearl in its shell : it is the presence of God it is the heart's paradise \ Do not take it ill, Guido, that a sister who loves you, and who is your superior in years, now presumes to repeat that which she first heard and learned from your own lips. How painful a moment is this ! existence can never present its equal existence which imposes upon us two kinds of death, a separation from those we love, and the separation of the soul from the body ! Farewell, we may never meet again !" At these words Cleofe's countenance became blanched with emotion. She threw her arm around my neck, and I supporting her pallid but expressive face upon my shoulders, imprinted upon it the kiss of fraternal affection that true spiritual love, so holy, so celestial in its nature, which alone will outlive the limits of our worldly existence ; if indeed it be permitted in a future state, that we shall be conscious of any other love than that for our Creator in whom alone / must believe will be concentrated every affection, which had so ' brightened our pilgrimage on earth. In this posture she remained for some moments, until, at length, I became sensible that she leaned heavier and heavier upon my shoulder, and bending gently to look upon her, I saw she had fainted. This sorrowful spectacle, though at the distance of fifteen years, is so painfully fresh in my memory, that its recollection fills me with anguish. At the moment of its occurrence, I was so paralized as to be scarcely conscious of what I did ; gently disengaging myself from her affectionate embrace, MY CONFESSIONS. 249 I I bore her senseless form to a sofa which stood in the apartment. Silently I knelt beside her, and taking that hand which was unable to return the pressure of mine, I raised my heart not my voice, for words I had not to the Most High, praying Him to accept the sacrifice I was about to make to Him of her dear presence, and recommending to His pro- tection with all my soul, that object of my purest affections. Once more I pressed that passive hand to my lips, and placed it upon her heart : then standing up, and ringing the bell violently, I rushed from the apartment. The Marchesa Bernardini was the first who encountered me upon hearing the summons. " Signora Marchesa," I had just power to utter, " Cleofe has fainted. To your care I resign her. When she revives, should she ask for me, say that I left her in a state of uncon- sciousness, in order to spare us both the agony of another farewell the infliction of such another fearful blow !" The Marchesa made no reply : but, with tears in her eyes, she pressed my hand with emotion to her heart, and walked hastily to Cleofe's apartment, whilst I, opening the hall- door, hastily rushed from the house. I returned to the Lucchesi palace. That estimable family quickly surrounded me, offering all the consolation their affection could suggest. However sub- dued by misery, the heart will ever prove accessible to a feeling of gratitude for the tear we see silently offered as a tribute to our sorrow ; and for the half uttered word of sym- pathy with our affliction, even when it should be too great to admit of consolation. At this moment my ear caught the sound of the hall bell ; and in the next, a courier from the Marchesa Bernardini entered the apartment. The man presented me with a note, saying at the same time in a respectful tone, " The Signora Cleofe has recovered, M 3 250 MT CONFESSIONS. and the Marchesa sends you her compliments." When he retired, I eagerly opened the note. " Guido, dearer than ever ! " Thus, Guido, I may now address you in the style adopted by your Zuricher friend ; for if, before this moment, I only imagined you dear to me, now do I feel you are indeed so, and will become dearer to me than ever. " Through the kind attention of the Marchesa, I was res- tored to consciousness a few moments after you had quitted the palace. Alas ! Guido, I had vainly dreamed myself su- perior to my sex, and had thought that in parting from you, I should be able to encourage you to firmness by my example, and have proved myself free from the shadow of a feminine weakness ; but when I should have crowned the effort which had hitherto supported me so successfully to the close of my triumph, I proved myself but a woman. " Thus much for the vain assumption of a strength which belongs not to our nature ! " Yet, Guido, thanks to the cultivation of those sentiments by which we have together been led to worship the Creator, it is consoling to me to assure you, that such is my faith in Him, that I would not alter one iota in our present con- dition ; and that though the clouds may for awhile darken thy horizon, the hope is in my heart, that the light will one day disperse them ; and that He who hath "separated you from your country and your friends, will Himself watch over your safety. " Should our separation be perpetual in this life, to the close of my existence, you will ever be accompanied by the prayers by the love of " YOUR CLEOFE." This letter, read aloud to me by Annina Lucchesi, to whom MY CONFESSIONS. 851 I had given it after breaking its seal, inspired me with re- newed consolation. My sister's noble sentiments, delivered by the sweet voice of Annina, awakened within me a courage, of which indeed, I at this moment stood much in need ; so that, instantly shaking off my lethargy, I rose from my seat, and embracing the dear friends who surrounded me ; with a tearless eye I pronounced my last adieu to them. Yes ! with a tearless eye \ Life had no longer for me any thorn, whose wound had power to send the heart's tear to the eye. Separated as I was from her, the dearest of friends at Zurich, and now, at Lucca, from the most cherished of sisters, I felt that every other separation would be but a trifling encounter ; and though I had still to bid adieu to the most beloved of parents, the cheering consciousness that I quitted him but to ensure, more effectually, his support and comfort in the trying hour of age and infirmity, would lighten the darkness of that moment, or at least weigh no heavier upon my soul, than that we experience at the sad- dening hour of twilight, after a festive day resplendent with the glory of the sun. CHAPTER XXI. I RETURNED to Florence, where I remained but three days,- previously to my journey to London. Upon the second day, I invited my most intimate friends to a collation upon the Cupola del Domo. It was the 30th April, 1321. At three o'clock P.M. we had all ascended the stupendous Cupola, from whose summit nearly every house in Florence can be distinctly seen, together with the charming gardens attached to each dwelling, and from whence may be traced the course of 252 MY CONFESSIONS. the Arno, separating the magnificent city from the adjacent mountains ; presenting together such a prospect for the imagi- native contemplation, that, in gazing upon it, man can hardly assure himself that that ground is accursed, in common with the rest of the Earth that death walks there or that the Eden which God had given to man to inhabit and enjoy, when he first issued spotless and beautiful from the creative hands of Perfection, could have surpassed that one little spot of the beautiful country, which " Part the lofty Apennines by Alps and sea environ'd." To repeat all the kind and friendly things my friends tittered ; the happy auguries with which they brightened those three blissful hours in which I beheld them for the last time ; the jests, the pungent remarks, the wit in which my talented companions indulged in unrestrained 'gaiety ; would be robbing my heart of a treasure, which still has the power to enliven me after the lapse of so many years. Before descending from the Cupola, rendered so dear to me by many interesting associations, I raised my eyes aod