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NOTES TO CANTO IV.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
Stanza i. lines 1 and 2. The communication between the ducal palace and the prisons of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above the water, and divided by a stone wall into a passage and a cell. The state dungeons, called “pozzi,, or wells, were sunk in the thick walls of the palace; and the pri. soner when taken out to die was conducted across the gallery to the other side, and being then led back into the other compartment, or cell, upon the bridge, was there strangled. The low portal through which the criminal was taken into this cell is now walled up; but the passage is still open, and is still known by the name of the Bridge of Sighs. The pozzi are under the flooring of the chamber at the foot of the bridge. They were for. merly twelve, but on the first arrival of the French, the Venetians hastily blocked or broke up the deeper of these dungeons. You may still, how. ever, descend by a trap-door, and crawl down through holes, half-choked by rubbish, to the depth of two stories below the first range. If you are in want of consolation for the extinction of patrician power, perhaps you may find it there; scarcely a ray of light glimmers into the narrow gallery which leads to the cells, and the places of confinement themselves are totally dark. A small hole in the wall admitted the damp air of the passages, and served for the introduction of the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a
foot from the ground, was the only furniture. The conductors tell you that a light was not allowed. The cells are about five paces in length, two and a half in width, and seven feet in height. They are directly beneath one another, and respiration is somewhat difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was found when the republicans descended into these hideous recesses, and he is said to have been confined sixteen years. But the inmates of the dungeons beneath had left traces of their re. pentance, or of their despair, which are still vi. sible, and may perhaps owe something to recent ingenuity. Some of the detained appear to have offended against, and others to have belonged to, the sacred body, not only from their siguatures, but from the churches and belfries which they have scratched upon the walls. The reader may not object to see a specimen of the records prompted by so terrific a solitude. As nearly as they could be copied by more than one pencil, three of them are as follows:
NON TI FIDAR AD ALCUNO PENSA e TACI
1607. ADI 2. GENARO, FUI RETENTO PP LA BESTUEMMA PAVER DATO DA MANZAR A UN MORTO
JACOMO. GRITTI, SCRISSE.
UN PARLAR POCHO et
The copyist has followed, not corrected the solecisms; some of which are however not quite so decided, since the letters were evidently scratched in the dark. It only need be observed that bestemmia and mangiar may be read in the first inscription, which was probably written by a prisoner confined for some act of impiety committed at a funeral; that Cortellarius is the name of a parish on terra firma, near the sea; and that the fast initials evidently are put for Viva la santa Chiesa Kattolica Romana.
She looks a sea Cubele, fresh from ocean,
Stanza ii. lines 1 and 2. An old writer, describing the appearance of Ve. nice, has made use of the above image, which would not be poetical were it not true.
"Quo fit ut qui superne urbem contempletur, turritam telluris imaginem medio Oceano figura tam se putet inspicere. „ 1)
In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more.
Stanza iii. line 1. The well known song of the gondoliers, of alternate stanzas from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with the independence of Venice. Editions of the poem, with the original on one column, and the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the boatmen, were once common, and are still to be found. The following extract will serve to show the difference between the Tuscan epic and the "Canta alla Barcariola.»
Che 'l gran Sepolcro libero di Christo.
1) Marci Antonii Sabelli de Venetae Urbis sitn uarratio, edit.
Taurin. 1527, lib. i. fol. 202.
Molto egli oprò col senno, e con la mano
Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto;
S' armò d' Asia, e di Libia il popol misto, Che il Ciel gli diè favore, e sotto a i Santi Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti.
E de Goffredo la immortal braura
Del nostro buon Gesú la Sepoltura
Missier Pluton non lha bu mai paura: Dio l' ha agiutá, e i compagni sparpagnai Tutti 'I gh' i ha messi insieme i di del Dai.
Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up and continue a stanza of their once familiar bard.
On the 7th of last January, the author of Childe Harold, and another Englishman, the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lido with two singers, one of whom was a carpenter, and the other a gondolier. The former placed himself at the prow, the latter at the stern of the boat. A little after leaving the quay of the Piazzetta, they began to sing, and continued their exercise until we arrived at the island. They gave us, amongst other essays, the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida; and did not sing the Venetian, but the Tuscan verses. The carpenter, however, who was the cleverer of the two, and was frequently obliged to prompt his companion, told us that he could translate the original. He added, that he could sing almost three hundred stanzas, but had not spirits (morbin was the word he used) to learn any more, or to sing what he already knew: a man must have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat, and, said the poor fellow, "look at my clothes and at me; I am starving... This speech was more affecting than his performance, which habit alone can make attractive. The recitative was shrill, screaming, and monotonous, and the gondolier
hehind assisted his voice by holding his hand to one side of his mouth. The carpenter used a quiet action, which he evidently endeavoured to restrain; but was too much interested in his sub. ject altogether to repress. From these men we leasat that singing is not confined to the gondoliers, and that, although the chant is seldom, if ever, voluntary, there are still several amongst the lower classes who are acquainted with a few stanzas.
It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to row and sing at the same time. Al. though the verses of the Jerusalem are no longer casually heard, there is yet much music upon the Venetian canals; and upon holidays, those strangers who are not near or informed enough to distinguish the words, may fancy that many of the gondolas still resound with the strains of Tasso. The writer of some remarks which appeared in the · Curiosities of Literature must excise his being twice quoted; for, with the exception of some phrases a little too ambitious and extravagant, he has furnished a very exact, as well as agreeable, description.
«In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long passages from Ariosto and Tasso, and often chant them with a peculiar melody. But this talent seems at present on the decline: - at least, after taking some pains, I could fiud no more than two persons who delivered to me in this way a pas. sage from Tasso. I must add, that the late Mr. Berry once chanted to me a passage in Tasso in the manner, as he as ured nie, of the gondoliers.
There are always two concerned, who alternately sing the strophes. We know the melody eventually by Rousseau, to whose songs it is printed; it has properly no melodious movement, and is a sort of medium between the canto fermo and the canto figurato; it approaches to the former by re. citativical declamation, and to the latter by pas. sages and course, by which one syllable is detained and embellished.
“I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placed himself forwards, and the other aft, and