The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 482, March 26, 1831

In the course to be pursued with the lesser malefactors, no difficulty was likely to arise: the rack and the gibbet were their legal portion. But for the doge, the law afforded no precedent; and, upon a crime which it had not entered into the mind of man to conceive (as with that nation which, having never contemplated parricide, had neglected to provide any punishment for it), no tribunal known to the constitution was competent to pass judgment. The Council of X. demanded the assistance of a giunta of twenty nobles, who were to give advice, but not to ballot; and this body having been constituted, "they sent for my Lord Marino Faliero the Duke, and my Lord was then consorting in the palace with people of great estate, gentlemen, and other good men, none of whom knew yet how the fact stood."

The ringleaders were immediately hanged between the Red Columns on the Piazzetta—some singly, some in couples; and the two chiefs of them, Bertuccio Israello and Calendaro, with a cruel precaution not uncommon in Venice, were previously gagged. Nor was the process of the highest delinquent long protracted. He appears neither to have denied nor to have extenuated his guilt; and, "on Friday the 16th day of April, judgment was given in the Council of X. that my Lord Marino Faliero the Duke should have his head cut off, and that the execution should be done on the landing-place of the stone staircase, the Giant's Stairs, where the doges take their oath when they first enter the palace. On the following day, the doors of the palace being shut, the duke had his head cut off, about the hour of noon; and the cap of estate was taken from the duke's head before he came down the staircase. When the execution was over, it is said, that one of the chiefs of the Council of X. went to the columns of the palace against the Piazza, and, displaying the bloody sword, exclaimed, "Justice has fallen on the traitor!" and, the gates being then opened, the populace eagerly rushed in to see the doge who had been executed."

The body of Faliero was conveyed, by torchlight, in a gondola, and unattended by the customary ceremonies, to the church of San Giovanni and San Paolo; in the outer wall of which a stone coffin is still imbedded, with an illegible inscription, which once presented the words, Hic jacet Marinus Feletro Dux. His lands and goods were confiscated to the state, with the exception of 2,000 ducats, of which he was permitted to dispose; and, yet further to transmit to posterity the memory of his enormous crime, his portrait was not admitted to range with those of his brother doges in the Hall of the Great Council. In the frame which it ought to occupy is suspended a black veil, inscribed with the words, Hic est locus Marini Feletro decapitati pro criminibus.

The fate of Beltramo deserves a few words. He was amply rewarded for his opportune discovery, by a pension of a thousand ducats in perpetuity, the grant of a private residence which had belonged to Faliero, and inscription in the Golden Book. Dissatisfied, however, with this lavish payment for a very ambiguous virtue, he lost no occasion of taxing the nobles with neglect of his services, and of uttering loud calumnies against them, both secretly and in public. The government, wearied by his importunities and ingratitude, at length deprived him of his appointments, and sentenced him to ten years exile at Ragusa; but his restless and turbulent spirit soon prompted him to seek a spot less under the control of the signory, in which he might vent his railings afresh, and with impunity. It is probable that the long arm of the Council of X. arrested his design, for we are significantly informed that he perished on his way to Pannonia.

The volume is embellished with seven Plates, by Finden, from Drawings by Prout; and nine characteristic Wood-cuts, chiefly from Titian. Considering the excellence of the originals, more pains might have been bestowed upon the latter; and Mr. Prout might surely have found different points of view from those he has so recently given in the Landscape Annual. The book altogether is a marvel of cheapness.

THE SKETCH-BOOK

FAIRY FAVOURS

THE CITY OF THE FAIRIES(For the Mirror.)

Again, yet once again, during the days of my weary mortal pilgrimage, did the blessed vision of the veritable Fairy Land open upon my enchanted sight! Once more I found myself in that world of inexpressible beauty! The radiance and sweetness of delicious morning were around me;—balmy were the stealthy, odorous winds;—and the fluttering verdure of that pleasant land glittered like countless emeralds, and swelled itself in the breeze, as if conscious of, and glorying in, its immortality! Beside me flowed a river—or rather, a broad, bright, lovely lake—slumbering as stilly in the morning light as those who are at peace with the world, and with Heaven. Romantic woods skirted the shores of this waveless water;—here trees, for which the language of man hath no name, drooped gracefully over the liquid crystal—as if, in enamoured admiration, gazing upon their richly-coloured, luxuriant, and feathery foliage, reflected in vivid freshness upon the bosom of that transcendently natural mirror;—there, copse-wood, equally foreign and lovely, closed all interstices—whilst fruits of tempting form and colour, and flowers of inimitable hues, flashed like gems in the unclouded sunlight. I bowed down my head for a draught of the cool, clear waters, and immediately upon tasting them, felt through my frame a pleasant, vivifying thrill;—I felt also as if I had at once thrown off the heavy trammels of mortality, with its wearying cares, its feverish hopes, and its over-burdening sorrows. Light as air, fresh as morning, and joyful as the martyr at the gates of death, I gazed on the enchanting loveliness around me.

"Come!" sighed a voice, low and mellifluous as that of the wind-harp, parleying with "the breath of the sweet south,"—"ravishing and radiant as is this spot, its bowery beauty must thou quit, for the splendour of the Golden City, the City of the Fairies! Thrice happy mortal! thither, even to our city, am I commissioned to conduct thee!—Come!"

So saying, the tiny essence, whose substance resembled a portion of lucent morning mist, wrought into the draperied and miniature image of humanity, and whose slight figure skimmed the pure, thin air, extended its delicate hand, and smiling encouragement, beckoned me onwards. I followed—rather instinctively, than by any act of the understanding, for the faculties of my ravished spirit were absorbed, as in a dream of heaven, by the ethereal loveliness of this transcendent land, by the soft, crystalline light, the glorious, romantic landscape, the vivid verdure, the celestial odours, and by the snatches of unearthly melody, which ever and anon, borne on the undulating wings of the breeze, came from afar upon my wildered senses, breathing ineffable felicity. Above all, my bosom was immersed in a flood of delicious feeling, by the holy repose, the unutterable peace of the Fairy Paradise; and my heart, surcharged with rapture, could find no vent for the overwhelming influences of gladness and devotion, because I remembered that to me was speech in this hallowed land forbidden!

"Behold!" cried the friendly Fay, after we had traversed for some time the flowery wilds, "yonder is the City of the Fairies!"

Long indeed had my eyes been fixed upon a great, clear light, gleaming through a considerable cluster of luxuriantly foliaged trees, beneath whose spreading branches flitted and reposed numerous aerial beings, resembling my beautiful guide. Love, joy, innocence, and everlasting peace were sensibly expressed in their angelic countenances; and sweet were the words, precious the benisons, wherewith they welcomed a mortal into the Grove of the Golden City! The glorious light of that city proceeded from the sun shining full upon the palaces of sapphire-coloured crystal, erected in all styles of the richest architecture, each symmetrical in itself, and perfect in design and execution.—Fairy fancy, in sooth, seem to have been exhausted in supplying models of temples, palaces, castles, porticoes, colonnades, triumphal arches, &c. &c; for here was displayed every species of building of which Earth boasts for ornament and defence, in every order of every civilized nation on its bosom;—whilst orders and edifices, for which exist no denominations among men, arose and spread themselves—highly adorned, and richly magnificent—in this singularly superb and beautiful city. Not upon the model of Thebes, of Babylon, of Macedon, of Rome, or of Salem, did I, in the excess of astonishment, gaze—not upon any one of the proud triumphs of Art, ancient or modern; but rather upon a wild, yet exceedingly lovely, combination of, and improvement on, the Beautiful of all! Gates were there none to this city, neither closing portals to the habitations thereof; for rapine and violence were in that delicious land unknown. Highly-ornamented apertures, in the fashion of porticoes and arcades, &c., stood ever open for the ingress and egress of the social denizens of this Elfin Eden; and the windows of the shining structures seemed, when the orb of day poured down his glorious beams upon them, each a sun, being formed of entire white crystals, brilliant and spotlessly pure as adamant! But the dazzling and overwhelming effulgence of the Golden City as far surpasses the power of mortal speech to declare, as did it that of mortal eyes to endure. The ever-living wreathlets of odorous leaves and rainbow-coloured flowers, thickly clustering and climbing around column and pinnacle, and the shadowing trees, bending and waving with guardian air over and amidst temple and palace, were no defence against this supernatural radiance; but as my dazzled eyes unwittingly closed upon the brilliant vision of the Golden City, my auricular organs became more exquisitely sensible to the tide of heavenly melodies, now rolling in awful and inexpressible beauty around me; my spirit, lapped in ecstacy, quaffed with avidity the majestic stream, and upon me seemed opening the light and loveliness of worlds more enrapturing even, and ineffable, than this! But there was a pause in the music, and anon the magic bells of the Golden City were heard chiming in harp-like notes, which dropped upon the ear, small, distinct, and purely brilliant as the melodious tears of the Renealmia into the near bosom of the waters. A rush of fervent feeling and exhaustless poetry bore upon my yet subdued spirit;—resistless, but pleasant sadness enwrapt my soul;—yes! an unearthly and delicious mournfulness it was, more precious far than the transient sparklings and flashes of unalloyed mirth. But, alas! inadequate are words to convey an idea of the heavenly sensations—love, awe, sweet melancholy, divine joy, and unspeakable devotion—which then struggled for ascendancy in my softened, purified soul! An odorous, strong wind swept past me—in it was the sound of a rushing multitude who trod not upon earth, but cut the air alone; and in it, too, with the murmur of voices, was that of many instruments, touched only by the breeze.

"Hark!" cried my exquisite companion, "they pass to meet, and to welcome, to honour, to felicitate, and to crown, a Fairy emancipated from mortal toil; and those bells, all tones of which speak so eloquently of immortal peace and life—those liquid bells, at once so mysteriously sad and so blessed, send forth, in token of gratulation, their charmed songs. But hearken! for thou, O mortal! art permitted to hear the lay of welcome and victory chanted by heavenly essences, upon the arrival in this glorious region of our dear companion, who shall depart from it no more!"

Thereupon ensued a delicious burst of young, glad voices, and rich, sweet instruments; but, as a shadow to reality, as man to those immortal and spotless beings, so to their glorious Paean is the subsequent faint memory of

THE ELFIN TRIUMPHAL SONG

Beautiful! beautiful!—On they floatThose lyre-like bells—a soul in each note,A tongue in each tone of the elfin chime,To carol the bliss of our fadeless clime.Beautiful! beautiful!—halcyon restBreathe they to the weary, woe-worn breast;Lost in their song is the dream of Earth's dree,Companion dear! and they're singing for thee.Beautiful! beautiful!—thou shalt feelTheir eloquent music from thee stealThose darkling thoughts, that should mournfully twineWith the light, the life, and the joy—now thine.Beautiful! beautiful!—each glad bellSings to thy soul—'Thou hast borne thee well:The toil, the strife, and the tempest are o'er,And thy rest is won—on the Deathless Shore.'M.L.B

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

MR. HUNT, M.P. FOR PRESTON

(From Speakers and Speeches in Parliament, in the New Monthly Magazine.)

Feb. 3. Mr. Hunt.—I was particularly curious to witness the debut of the Hon. Member for Preston, in an assembly so little accustomed, as that so long misnamed the House of Commons, to such an out-and-outer of the Demos coming between the wind and their nobility—to see whether any gaucherie of manner would betray an uneasy consciousness of his not being quite at ease among those scions of aristocracy, who occupy benches originally intended for the virtual representatives of the people. Mr. Hunt, on the whole, bore himself well; and, by a total absence of affectation, of either tone or manner—that surest test of the gentleman, at least of Nature's forming—disappointed his audience of their ready smiles at demagogue vulgarity. But once, and that for a moment, did his self-possession seem to fail him while going through the ceremonies preceding a new member's taking his seat. After the member has signed his name and taken the oaths, he is formally introduced by the Clerk of the House to the Speaker, who usually greets the new trespasser on his patience by a shake of the hands. This ceremony is in general performed by the present Speaker with a gloved hand towards those not particularly distinguished by wealth or pedigree. When the new member for Preston was introduced to him, he was in the act of taking snuff, with his glove off. Mr. Hunt made a bow, not remarkable for its graceful repose, at a distance—apprehensive, as it struck me, that the acknowledgment would be that of a noli me tangere, exclusive. He was agreeably disappointed: the Speaker gave him his ungloved hand at once, in a manner almost cordial; and Mr. Hunt took his seat, evidently pleased by the flattering courteousness of his reception.

I take it that the personal appearance of Mr. Hunt is too well known to require description. He is, take him altogether, perhaps the finest looking man in the House of Commons—tall, muscular, with a healthful, sun-tinged, florid complexion, and a manly Hawthorn deportment—half yeoman, half gentleman sportsman. To a close observer of the human face divine, however, his features are wanting in energy of will and fixedness of purpose. The brow is weak, and the eyes flittering and restless; and the mouth is usually garnished with a cold simper, not very compatible with that heart-born enthusiasm which precludes all doubt of truth and sincerity.

TRUTH

Friend, Truth is best of all. It is the bedWhere Virtue e'er must spring, till blast of doom;Where every bright and budding thought is bred,Where Hope doth gain its strength, and Love its bloom.As white as Chastity is single Truth,Like Wisdom calm, like Honour without end;And Love doth lean on it, in age and youth,And Courage is twice arm'd with Truth its friend.Oh! who would face the blame of just men's eyes,And bear the fame of falsehood all his days,And wear out scorned life with useless lies,Which still the shifting, quivering look betrays?For what is Hope, if Truth be not its stay?And what were Love, if Truth forsook it quite?And what were all the Sky,—if Falsehood grayBehind it like a Dream of Darkness lay,Ready to quench its stars in endless, endless night?New Monthly Magazine.

SCENE FROM "THE FROGS OF ARISTOPHANES"

Translated in the Quarterly Review

We are not at present breathing the air either of Christ Church meadow or Trinity gardens; and if our version of a piece of mere pleasantry, which involves nothing in it beyond a moment's laugh, should be so happy as to satisfy the 'general reader,' we shall affect 'for the nonce,' to know nothing of the objections which more scientific persons, the students of the brilliant Hermann, and acute Reisigius, might be supposed to make to our arrangement of this little extravaganza.

Scene, the Acherusian Lake. BACCHUS at the oar in Charon's Boat; CHARON;—CHORUS OF FROGS; in the background a view of Bacchus's Temple or Theatre, from which are heard the sound of a scenical entertainment.

Semi-chorus. Croak, croak, croak.Semi-chorus. Croak, croak, croak.

(In answer, and with the music an octave lower.)

Full Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.LEADER of the Chorus. When1 flagons were foaming,And roisterers were roaming,And bards flung about them their gibe and their joke;The holiest songStill was found to belongTo the sons of the marsh, with theirFull Chorus Croak, croak.LEADER. Shall we pause in our strain,Now the months bring againThe pipe and the minstrel to gladden the folk?Rather strike on the earWith a note strong and clear,A chant corresponding of—Chorus. Croak, croak.BACCHUS (mimicking.) Croak, croak, by the gods I shall choke,If you pester and bore my ears any moreWith your croak, croak, croak.LEADER. Rude companion and vain,Thus to carp at my strain;(To Chor) But keep in the vein,And attack him againWith a croak, croak, croak.Chorus (crescendo.) Croak, croak, croak.BACCHUS (mimicking.) Croak, croak, vapour and smoke,Never think it, old Huff,That I care for such stuff,As your croak, croak, croak.Chorus (fortissimo.) Croak, croak, croak.BACCHUS. Now fires light on thee,And waters soak;And March winds catch theeWithout any cloak.For within and without,From the tail to the snout,Thou'rt nothing but croak, croak, croak.LEADER. And what else, captious Newcomer, say, should I be?But you know not to whom you are talking, I see:(With dignity) I'm the friend of the Muses, and Pan with his pipe,Holds me dearer by far than a cherry that's ripe:For the reed and the cane which his music supply,Who gives them their tone and their moisture but I?And therefore for ever I'll utter my cryOf—Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.BACCHUS. I'm blister'd, I'm fluster'd, I'm sick, I'm ill—Chorus. Croak, croak.BACCHUS. My dear little bull-frog, do prithee be still.'Tis a sorry vocation—that reiteration,(I speak on, my honour, most musical nation,)Of croak, croak.LEADER (maestoso.) When the sun rides in glory and makes a bright day,Mid lilies and plants of the water I stray;Or when the sky darkens with tempest and rain,I sink like a pearl in my watery domain:Yet, sinking or swimming. I lift up a song,Or I drive a gay dance with my eloquent throng,Then hey bubble, bubble—For a knave's petty trouble,Shall I my high charter and birth-right revoke?Nay, my efforts I'll double,And drive him like stubbieBefore me, with—Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.BACCHUS. I'm ribs of steel, I'm heart of oak,Let us see if a noteMay be found in this throatTo answer their croak, croak, croak.

(Croaks loudly.)

LEADER. Poor vanity's son—And dost think me outdone,With a clamour no biggerThan a maiden's first snigger?(To Chorus) But strike up a tune,He shall not forget soon(Chorus.) Of our croak, croak, croak,

(Croak, with a discordant crash of music.)

BACCHUS. I'm cinder, I'm coke,I have had my death-stroke;O, that ever I wokeTo be gall'd by the yokeOf this croak, croak, croak, croak.LEADER. Friend, friend, I may not be still:My destinies high I must needs fulfil,And the march of creation—despite reprobationMust proceed with—(To Chor.) my lads, must I make applicationFor a—Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.BACCHUS (in a minor key.) Nay, nay—take your own way,I've said out my say,And care naught, by my fai',For your croak, croak, croak.LEADER. Care or care not, 'tis the same thing to me,My voice is my own and my actions are free;I have but one note, and I'll chant it with glee,And from morning to night that note it shall be—Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.BACCHUS. Nay then, old rebel, but I'll stop your treble,With a poke, poke, poke:Take this from my rudder—(dashing at the frogs)—and that from my oar,And now let us see if you'll trouble us moreWith your croak, croak, croak.LEADER. You may batter and bore,You may thunder and roar,Yet I'll never give o'erTill I'm hard at death's door,—(This rib's plaguy sore)—Semi-chorus With my croak, croak, croak.Semi-chorus (diminuendo.) With my croak, croak, croak.Full Chorus (in a dying cadence.) With mycroak—croak—croak.

(The Frogs disappear)

BACCHUS (looking over the boat's edge.)Spoke, spoke, spoke.(To Charon.) Pull away, my old friend,For at last there's an endTo their croak, croak, croak.

(Bacchus pays his two obols, and is landed)

NOTES OF A READER

LAYING A GHOST

In the Memoirs of J.F. Oberlin, Pastor of a poor Protestant flock, in one of the wildest parts of France, we find the following pleasant recipe for laying a ghost:—

An honest tradesman, relying on the power of his faith, came to him one day, and after a long introduction, informed him, that a ghost, habited in the dress of an ancient knight, frequently presented itself before him, and awakened hopes of a treasure buried in his cellar; he had often, he said, followed it, but had always been so much alarmed by a fearful noise, and a dog which he fancied he saw, that the effort had proved fruitless, and he had returned as he went. This alarm on the one hand, and the hope of acquiring riches on the other, so entirely absorbed his mind, that he could no longer apply to his trade with his former industry, and had, in consequence, lost nearly all his custom. He therefore urgently begged Oberlin would go to his house, and conjure the ghost, for the purpose of either putting him in possession of the treasure, or of discontinuing its visits. Oberlin replied, that he did not trouble himself with the conjuration of ghosts, and endeavoured to weaken the notion of an apparition in the man's mind, exhorting him at the same time to seek for worldly wealth by application to his business, prayer, and industry. Observing, however, that his efforts were unavailing, he promised to comply with the man's request. On arriving at midnight at the tradesman's house, he found him in company with his wife and several female relations, who still affirmed that they had seen the apparition. They were seated in a circle in the middle of the apartment. Suddenly the whole company turned pale, and the man exclaimed, "Do you see, sir, the count is standing opposite to you?"

"I see nothing."

"Now, sir," exclaimed another terrified voice, "he is advancing towards you?"

"I still do not see him."

"Now he is standing just behind your chair."

"And yet I cannot see him; but, as you say he is so near me, I will speak to him." And then rising from his seat, and turning towards the corner where they said that he stood, he continued, "Sir Count, they tell me you are standing before me, although I cannot see you; but this shall not prevent me from informing you that it is scandalous conduct on your part, by the fruitless promise of a hidden treasure, to lead an honest man, who has hitherto faithfully followed his calling, into ruin—to induce him to neglect his business—and to bring misery upon his wife and children, by rendering him improvident and idle. Begone! and delude them no longer with such vain hopes."

Upon this the people assured him that the ghost vanished at once. Oberlin went home, and the poor man, taking the hint which in his address to the count he had intended to convey, applied to business with his former alacrity, and never again complained of his nocturnal visiter.

No ghost was ever more easily laid; but supposing the story to be accurately related, Oberlin's presence of mind is not more remarkable, than that the whole company should have concurred in affirming that they saw an apparition which was invisible to him.