The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 10, No. 264, July 14, 1827

…

Again was the Alberoni palace illumined by innumerable tapers; again were the glittering saloons filled with all the noble population of Florence. A second nuptial feast, more splendid and joyous than the first, was celebrated; again Giacinta, lovelier than ever, shone as the bride, and by her side a cavalier appeared, whose summer of life was better adapted to match with her tender years than the mature age of her late husband had been.

The Count Alberoni Gonzago was dead; and Francesco succeeding to his wealth, had obtained the hand of his widow. Beatrice, also a bride, followed in the train of the Countess, but followed more like a mourner at some funeral solemnity than as the newly wedded consort of the husband of her choice. Francesco all smiles and triumph, as he stood with the fairest hand in Florence hanging on his arm, proudly greeting the guests who crowded to pay him homage, turned frequently, and cast looks of piercing examination and reproach upon his pale and trembling sister, and, as if fascinated by his glance, she would rally her, failing spirits and smile languidly upon the bridegroom, who bent over her enamoured; and then, as if beguiled from some painful contemplation by the sweet accents of the man she loved, she became calm, and her quivering features resumed their wonted placidity. But these moments of tranquillity were of short duration; she started at every shadow; the flash of one of the jewels which broidered her satin robe would cause a fit of trembling; and at length, when seated at the banquet opposite her brother and his bride, a richly clad domestic offered wine in a golden goblet; for a moment she held it to her lips, and then dashed it away, exclaiming—"It is poison! Hide me,—save me. I see it every where; in those green leaves from whence it was distilled.—Oh! Francesco, Francesco, let us be poor and happy!" The guests shrunk aghast from the speaker, who, falling from her seat, expired in convulsions.

The power conferred by Gonzago's immense riches silenced the whispered murmurs of the assembly. No man rose to higher eminence in the state than the idolized husband of the beautiful Giacinta; but a dark cloud hung upon his house, his children were all cut off in their infancy, and, after a few brief years of outward felicity, struck from his horse by the fragment of a building which fell upon him as he rode in pomp through the city, he received a mortal wound, surviving the accident only long enough to unburthen his soul to his confessor.

His dying words were addressed to Alessandro, from whom since the hour of his nuptials he had been estranged; pressing his hand, he exclaimed—"She was innocent! she heard not of the murder until it had been accomplished."—London Weekly Review.

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS

RAFTS AND RHINE SCENERY

Between Andernach and Bonn I saw two or three of those enormous rafts which are formed of the accumulated produce of the Swiss and German forests. One was anchored in the middle of the river, and looked like a floating island. These Krakens of the Rhine are composed of oak and fir floated in smaller rafts down the tributary streams, and, their size constantly increasing till they arrive hereabouts, they make platforms of from four hundred to seven hundred feet long, and one hundred and forty feet in breadth. When in motion, a dozen boats and more precede them, carrying anchors and cables to guide and arrest their course. The navigation of a raft down the Rhine to Dort, in Holland, which is the place of their destination,4 is a work of great difficulty. The skill of the German and Dutch pilots who navigate them, in spite of the abrupt turnings, the eddies, the currents, rocks and shoals that oppose their progress, must indeed be of a very peculiar kind, and can be possessed but by few. It requires besides a vast deal of manual labour. The whole complement of rowers and workmen, together with their wives and children, on board one of the first-rates, amounts to the astonishing number of nine hundred or a thousand; a little village, containing from forty to sixty wooden houses, is erected upon each, which also is furnished with stalls for cattle, a magazine for provisions, &c. The dwelling appropriated to the use of the master of the raft and the principal super-cargoes was conspicuous for its size and commodiousness. It is curious to observe these rafts, on their passage, with their companies of rowers stationed at each end, making the shores ring again to the sound of their immense oars.

The succession of grand natural pictures, which I had been gazing upon since my departure from Mentz and the district of the Rheingau, are undoubtedly similar, but not the same; there is alternately the long noble reach, the sudden bend, the lake-like expanse, the shores on both sides lined with towns whose antique fortifications rise in distant view, and villages whose tapering spires of blue slate peer above the embosoming foliage; the mountains clothed with vines and forests, their sides bristled and their summits crowned with the relics of feudal residences,5 or of cloistered fanes: but the varieties in the shape and character of all these are inexhaustible; it is this circumstance that enhances the pleasure of contemplating, scenery, in which there is, as Lord Byron says,

"A blending of all beauties, streams and dells,Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells,From gray but leafy walls where ruin greenly dwells."

The oppositions of light and shade; the rich culture of the hills contrasted with the rugged rocks that often rise from out of the midst of fertility; the bright verdure of the islands which the Rhine is continually forming; the purple hues and misty azure of the distant mountains—these and a thousand other indescribable charms constitute sources of visual delight which can be imparted only by a view of the objects themselves. And is excitement awakened in contemplating the borders of this graceful and magnificent river? Yes. When we revert to the awful convulsions of the physical world, and the important revolutions of human society, of which the regions it flows through have been successively the theatre—when we meditate on the vast changes, the fearful struggles, the tragic incidents and mournful catastrophes, which they have witnessed from the earliest ages to the very times in which we have ourselves lived and marked the issue of events—"the battles, sieges, fortunes" that have passed before its green tumultuous current, or within ken of its mountain watch-towers—the shouts of nations that have resounded, and the fates of empires that have been decided, on its shores—when we think of the slaughtered myriads whose bones have bleached on the neighbouring plains, filled up the trenches of its rock-built strong-holds, or found their place of sepulture beneath its wave—when, at each survey we take of the wide and diversified scene, the forms of centuries seem to be embodied with the objects around us, and the record of the past becomes vividly associated with the impression of present realities—it is then that we are irresistibly led to compare the greatness of nature with the littleness of man; it is then that we are forcibly struck with the power and goodness of the Author of both; and that the deepest humility unites itself in a grateful mind, with the highest admiration, at the sight of "these His lowest works."

But do you pretend, it may be asked, in the course of a three days' journey, however lengthened by celerity of conveyance, or favoured by advantages of season or weather—do you pretend to have experienced that very eminent degree of gratification which the country is capable of communicating? Certainly not. I speak of these scenes but as of things, which before my own hasty and unsatisfied glances came like shadows—so departed. Instead of two or three days, a whole month should be spent between Mentz, Coblentz, and Bonn, in order fully to know and thoroughly to enjoy the beauties and grandeurs with which that space abounds.—Stevenson's Tour in France, &c.

THE BARBER

Nick Razorblade a barber was,  A strapping lad was he;And he could shave with such a grace,  It was a joy to see!And tho' employ'd within his house,  He kept like rat in hole;All those that pass'd the barber's door,  Could always see his pole!His dress was rather plain than rich,  Nor fitted over well;Yet, tho' no macaroni, Nick,  He often cut a swell!And Nick was brave, and he could fight,  As many times he proved;A lamb became a lion fierce,  Whenever he was moved!Like many of his betters, who  To field with pistols rush,When Nicky lather'd any one,  He was obliged to brush!Some say Nick was a brainless block,  While those who've seen him wavingHis bright sharp razor, o'er scap'd chins,  Declare he was a shaving!His next door neighbour, Nelly Jones,  A maid of thirty-eight,'Twas said regarded Nick with smiles,  But folks will always prate.'Tis known in summer time that she,  (A maid and only daughter)To show her love for Razorblade,  Kept Nicky in hot water!For politics Nick always said,  He never cared a fig;Quoth he:—"If I a Tory were,  I likewise wear a wig!"No poacher he, yet hairs he wired,  With skill that made maids prouder;And though he never used a gun,  He knew the use of powder!He never took offence at words,  However broad or blunt;But when maids brought a front to dress,  Of course he took a front!Beneath his razor folks have slept,  So easy were they mown;Yet (oh! most passing strange it was!)  His razor was his own!Nick doubtless had a tender heart,  But not for Nelly Jones;He made Miss Popps "bone of his bone,"  But never made old bones!He died and left an only son,  A barber too by trade;But when they ope'd his will, they found  A cruel will he'd made.And doubtless he was raving mad,  (To slander I'm unwilling)For tho' a barber, Nicky cut  His heir off with a shilling!Absurdities: in Prose and Verse.

BONAPARTE ATTEMPTS SUICIDE

While we endeavour to sum up the mass of misfortunes with which Bonaparte was overwhelmed at this crisis, it seems as if Fortune had been determined to show that she did not intend to reverse the lot of humanity, even in the case of one who had been so long her favourite, but that she retained the power of depressing the obscure soldier, whom she had raised to be almost king of Europe, in a degree as humiliating as his exaltation had been splendid. All that three years before seemed inalienable from his person, was now reversed. The victor was defeated, the monarch was dethroned, the ransomer of prisoners was in captivity, the general was deserted by his soldiers, the master abandoned by his domestics, the brother parted from his brethren, the husband severed from the wife, and the father torn from his only child. To console him for the fairest and largest empire that ambition ever lorded it over, he had, with the mock name of emperor, a petty isle, to which he was to retire, accompanied by the pity of such friends as dared express their feelings, the unrepressed execrations of many of his former subjects, who refused to regard his present humiliation as an amends for what he had made them suffer during his power, and the ill-concealed triumph of the enemies into whose hands he had been delivered.

A Roman would have seen, in these accumulated disasters, a hint to direct his sword's point against his breast; a man of better faith would have turned his eye back on his own conduct, and having read, in his misuse of prosperity, the original source of those calamities, would have remained patient and contrite under the consequences of his ambition. Napoleon belonged to the Roman school of philosophy; and it is confidently reported, especially by Baron Fain, his secretary, though it has not been universally believed, that he designed, at this extremity, to escape from life by an act of suicide.

The emperor, according to this account, had carried with him, ever since the retreat from Moscow, a packet containing a preparation of opium, made up in the same manner with that used by Condorcet for self-destruction. His valet-de-chambre, in the night betwixt the 12th and 13th of April, heard him arise and pour something into a glass of water, drink, and return to bed. In a short time afterwards, the man's attention was called by sobs and stifled groans—an alarm took place in the chateau—some of the principal persons were roused, and repaired to Napoleon's chamber. Yvan, the surgeon, who had procured him the poison, was also summoned; but hearing the emperor complain that the operation of the poison was not quick enough, he was seized with a panic-terror, and fled from the palace at full gallop. Napoleon took the remedies recommended, and a long fit of stupor ensued, with profuse perspiration. He awakened much exhausted, and surprised at finding himself still alive; he said aloud, after a few moments' reflection, "Fate will not have it so," and afterwards appeared reconciled to undergo his destiny, without similar attempts at personal violence. There is, as we have already hinted, a difference of opinion concerning the cause of Napoleon's illness; some imputing it to indigestion. The fact of his having been very much indisposed is, however, indisputable. A general of the highest distinction transacted business with Napoleon on the morning of the 13th of April. He seemed pale and dejected, as from recent and exhausting illness. His only dress was a night-gown and slippers, and he drank from time to time a quantity of tisan, or some such liquid, which was placed beside him, saying he had suffered severely during the night, but that his complaint had left him.

After this crisis, and having ratified the treaty which his mareschals had made for him. Napoleon appeared more at his ease than he had been for some time before, and conversed frankly with his attendants upon the affairs of France.

NAPOLEON TAKES LEAVE OF THE IMPERIAL GUARD

Napoleon having now resigned himself entirely to his fate, whether for good or evil, prepared, on the 20th of April, to depart for his place of retreat. But first, he had the painful task of bidding farewell to the body in the universe most attached to him, and to which he was probably most attached,—his celebrated Imperial Guard. Such of them as could be collected were drawn out before him in review. Some natural tears dropped from his eyes, and his features had the marks of strong emotion while reviewing for the last time, as he must then have thought likely, the companions of so many victories. He advanced to them on horseback, dismounted, and took his solemn leave. "All Europe," he said, "had armed against him; France herself had deserted him, and chosen another dynasty. He might," he said, "have maintained with his soldiers a civil war of years, but it would have rendered France unhappy. Be faithful," he continued, (and the words were remarkable,) "to the new sovereign whom France has chosen. Do not lament my fate; I will always be happy while I know you are so. I could have died—nothing was easier—but I will always follow the road of honour. I will record with my pen the deeds we have done together. I cannot embrace you all, but I embrace your general,"—(he pressed the general to his bosom.)—"Bring hither the eagle,"—(he embraced the standard, and concluded)—"Beloved eagle, may the kisses I bestow on you long resound in the hearts of the brave!—Adieu, my children,—Adieu, my brave companions.—Surround me once more—Adieu." Drowned in grief, the veteran soldiers heard the farewell of their dethroned leader; sighs and murmurs broke from their ranks, but the emotion burst out in no threats or remonstrances. They appeared resigned to the loss of their general, and to yield, like him, to necessity.—Scott's Napoleon.

THE ARK OF NOAH

The Rabbins make the giant Gog or Magog contemporary with Noah, and convinced by his preaching. So that he was disposed to take the benefit of the Ark. But here lay the distress; it by no means suited his dimensions. Therefore, as he could not enter in, he contented himself to ride upon it astride. And though you must suppose that, in that stormy weather, he was more than half boots over, he kept his seat, and dismounted safely, when the Ark landed on Mount Ararat. Image now to yourself this illustrious Cavalier mounted on his hackney; and see if it does not bring before you the Church, bestrid by some lumpish minister of state, who turns and winds it at his pleasure. The only difference is, that Gog believed the preacher of righteousness and religion.—Warburton's Letters.

THE GATHERER

"I am but a Gatherer and disposer of other men's stuff."—Wotton

A preacher had held forth diffusely and ingeniously upon the doctrine that the Creator of the universe had made all things beautiful. A little crooked lawyer met him at the church door, and exclaimed, "Well, doctor, what do you think of my figure? does it correspond with your tenets of this morning?"—"My friend," replied the preacher, with much gravity, "you are handsome for a hunch-backed man."

Kosciusko once wished to send some bottles of good wine to a clergyman of Solothurn; and as he hesitated to send them by his servant, lest he should smuggle a part, he gave the commission to a young man of the name of Zeltner, and desired him to take the horse which he himself usually rode. On his return, young Zeltner said that he would never ride his horse again unless he gave him his purse at the same time. Kosciusko asking what he meant, he answered, "As soon as a poor man on the road takes off his hat and asks for charity, the horse immediately stands still, and won't stir till something is given to the petitioner; and, as I had no money about me, I was obliged to make believe to give something, in order to satisfy the horse."

Persons in warm countries certainly possess powers of imagination superior to persons in colder climates. The following description of a small room will appear very poetic to an English reader: "I am now," says a Turkish spy, writing to his employers, "in an apartment so little, that the least suspicion cannot enter it."

An author, as too often happens, was very irritable in his disposition, and very unfortunate in his productions. His tragedy and comedy had both been rejected by the managers of both theatres. "I cannot account for this," said the unfortunate bard to his friend; "for no one can say that my tragedy was a sad performance, or that my comedy was a thing to laugh at."

1

Poems, by John Keats, p. 93.

2

MIRROR, Vol. viii., p. 324.

3

Their part in the procession formed to welcome our monarch to his Scottish metropolis, should be excepted.

4

About twelve of these rafts annually arrive at Dort, in July or August; when the German timber merchants, having converted their floats into good Dutch ducats, return to their own country. When the water is low, those machines are sometimes months upon the journey.—Campbell's Guide.

5

There are the ruins of fourteen castles on the left bank, and of fifteen on the right bank of the Rhine, from Mentz to Bonn, a distance of thirty-six leagues.