University of Virginia Library

BISCARI.

The late Prince of Biscari was the Roscoe of
Catania. Affluent as well as nobly born, instead of
leading the selfish and dissipated life too common
among the Sicilian nobility, he assiduously devoted
his wealth and influence to the cause of liberal taste.
Many works of public utility, entirely the result of
his enterprise and philanthropy, are to be seen both
within and without his native city. His house was
the resort of strangers, to whom he extended the
greatest hospitality. The beautiful granite columns
attached to the cathedral of St. Agatha by Roger,
the traces of baths in the vaults beneath, a few arches
of an aquaduct in the campagna, and the subterranean
remains of an amphitheatre near one of the

gates, would be the chief antiquities of which the
Catanese could boast, had it not been for the exertions
of Biscari. At his expense nearly the whole of
a Greek theatre has been excavated, and many
valuable relics collected and arranged in a museum,
which bears his name. These labors would, doubtless
have proceeded much farther, and been productive
of the most pleasing fruits, had the life of
the generous nobleman been spared. Enough, however,
was accomplished to render his name illustrious
as a public benefactor, and to exemplify how widely
useful wealth may become, in the hands of one with
liberality freely to bestow it, and judgment wisely to
direct its disbursement.

As Isabel, Vittorio, and Frazier were on their
way to visit these vestiges of antiquity, they were
struck with the unusual number of devotees surrounding
a shrine under a long archway. The object
of their reverence was a celebrated madonna,
exquisitely painted upon a slab of lava. Though
quite ancient, the colors wore a fresh appearance,
and the face was in that peculiar style of meek and
pensive beauty, which distinguishes these products
of the pencil. Around the picture were hung human
limbs moulded in wax, and the figures of infants,
upon which were colored the tokens of disease.
“These,” said Vittorio, “are the emblems of miraculous
cures, and are placed there as grateful offerings
by the sufferers, whose prayers this virgin is supposed
to have answered. This is a common method of
acknowledging the favors of saints in Sicily.”

Near the principal ruin stands the frame work of
a lesser theatre, wherein the musicians rehearsed
Beneath the dingy hues of time, and the marks of
violation, it is still possible to descry a few architectural
indications of what the edifice formerly was.
But the travellers were principally struck with the
contrast between the original purpose and present
appropriation of the building. It is, and has been
for years, the dwelling place of a score of poor
families, whom long usage, more than right of property,
has left in undisputed possession.

“Here is a change, indeed,” said the Count, “the
temple of harmony converted into a poor house; the
spot consecrated to the study of an elevating science,
where Grecian professors were wont to vie with
each other in melodious strains, become the last
refuge of the sons of want. Where rich cadences
echoed, half-starved children cry; where the dark
clear eye of the enthusiastic musician kindled, are
the haggard faces of beggars. Sounds of complaint,
and emblems of squalid misery fill the walls where
a luxurious art was cultivated; and the victims
of indigence throng the once gay resort of the
votaries of Euterpe!”

They passed on and entered the area of the theatre.
Several rows of stone seats are here discoverable,
overgrown with weeds, and at their base flows a
limpid spring. To Isabel the scene was altogether
new. She traced the passages along which the
spectators passed, the places assigned to the distinguished
among the audience, and endeavoured to

picture the whole fabric, of which the portion now discernable
was evidently but a small part. She fancied
the brilliancy of the scene, when the cold stones
around her were hidden by the assembled multitude;
when ranges of human faces were turned in myriads
toward the scena; when the profound stillness of
attention, the deep murmur of approval, and the loud
acclamations of delight alternately stirred the now
still air. She thought of the eyes that once glistened
with emotion in that place, now rayless, of the human
hearts which responded, in tumultuous beatings,
to the voice of song or the appeal of eloquence, now
pulseless forever. She thought of the efforts of
thought, the thrills of feeling, and the beamings of
inspiration, which this deserted scene might have
witnessed; and as she musingly gazed upon the
marble half covered with lava, corroded by time,
and clad in the rank herbage which shrouds the
neglected works of man,—a new and solemn sense
of the revolutions of time stole over her, like the
slowly gathering shadows of an autumn evening,
chastening each passion for earthly meeds, and
bringing home to the heart the truth, that that alone
in man is eternal which allies him to his maker.
With torches they explored the damp and lonely
corridors. Vittorio plucked a rose from a little bush
which had taken root in one of the interstices of the
seats, and gave it to Isabel as a memento of their
visit. “Thus,” said he, “nature flourishes amid the
decay of art, as the mind's flowers bloom over and
survive the destruction of its tenement. It has been
asserted, and with some reason, that Alcibiades once
delivered an oration in this theatre. There can be
no doubt that it has beheld some master efforts of
Grecian genius. And what though solitude and ruin
mark the spot? What, though the voice whose accents
roused every heart is hushed? What, though
the people that once congregated here are extinct?
Their essence lives, their poetry and philosophy,
their history is deathless. What was false in their
principles has been superseded; what is true has
been propelled into the eternal tide of humanity, and
is immortal.”

In the little chamber of the museum devoted to
bronzes, Isabel noted with curiosity the implements of
domestic economy, and the symbols of a period and a
people long since passed away. To Vittorio who was
familiar with the Vatican and the Museo Borbonico, the
collection, though interesting, was not so impressive
as to the less experienced mind of his fair companion.
She handled the curiously-wrought lamps which once
illuminated the dwelling of a Grecian family, and
inspected the little images which had constituted its
household gods, with mingled interest and incredulity.
It had not been difficult for her to realize the ancient
origin of the temple whose decayed magnificence
speaks eloquently of the past, but to feel that she
was surrounded by the domestic utensils, the objects
anciently familiar to that people whom she had
been wont to regard with such reverence, seemed
scarcely possible.

“The more I view the emblems of antiquity,” she
remarked, “the more vividly I feel the truth of that

trite saying—that ours is a common nature, that the
same passions have swayed and the same general
constitution characterised man from the earliest ages.
I know not how it is, but I have never been able to
feel till now that the ancients were men, such men
as now people the earth, only differing in mode of
life and method of development. But when I look
upon these things, I feel that their wants were like
ours, that the same burden of necessity was laid
upon them, but that in the earnest culture of the intellectual
and ideal, they beautified, as it were, the
rough pathway of destiny, and warmed the weary
atmosphere of being with the heavenly glow of
enthusiasm.”

“What more striking evidence of the universal love
of distinction which distinguishes the world, can we
have than this?” inquired Vittorio, pointing to some
bronze toys. “These were the playthings of the
patrician children; opposite are the same devices,
wrought in the more humble material of terra cotta,
for the diversion of the poorer class. The higher
ranks then had penates and lamps of metal, the lower
of earth; now, in these streets, the duke wears a
cloak of fine cloth, the laborer a garment of cotton.
Such are the poor badges of earthly distinction.”
They turned to look for Frazier. He was standing
with folded arms, attentively regarding a birchen
canoe—an American trophy. Isabel, too, paused
before the same object; and for some moments her
mind wandered from the Grecian era to her fatherland.
Visions of blue lakes, and green forests, rose

to view. She thought of her pleasant home, and
mused upon the object of her pilgrimage, and her eye
grew dim, as she remembered how doubtful it still
was whether she should ever retrace those scenes
as the companion of her father. Vittorio was meanwhile
admiring the splendid Torso, which adorns
the collection, and is a master-piece of Grecian
sculpture.

“You talk of the Greeks,” said Frazier, to his
niece; “but who shall say that the rude people whom
this canoe represents, understood not as much of the
philosophy of life? You smile; but remember,
Isabel, that the ancients were a luxurious race.
They often cultivated the ornamental at the expense
of the useful. They environed themselves with arrangements
expensive and enervating. Their baths
and theatres, their statues and paintings were agents
of improvement, it is true, but how often did they
become the means of voluptuous ease and selfish indulgence.
The sons of the forest, on the other hand,
cherished an active, free, and noble life. Their bodies
expanded as the Creator intended they should; and
habits of graceful activity and stern endurance marked
them for men.

“Yes,” said Isabel, smiling at his warmth; “and
for symbols of the beautiful they had no need. Architecture
they beheld in the vaulted sky, in the erect
shaft of the forest tree, in the green and gloomy aisles
of the woodland. Statuary was finely illustrated in
their own persons, and for the most magnificent landscapes
they had but to gaze upon the western horizon,

or into the clear mirror of the placid lakes. Thus
furnished, their minds were nurtured, perhaps, but
unfortunately for your theory never progressed.”

“I pray you,” said Vittorio, “mark well these two
busts, for they represent personages who are intimately
associated with Sicily. That large head, garlanded
with ears of corn, is Ceres. Would you have
thought the goddess of so masculine and rustic a
mien? There is the bust of one of the most distinguished
generals of that nation whose incursions
have so often ravaged the fair face of this island.
Note the stern and heavy features, the bald head, and
that deep scar; they proclaim Scipio Africanus. Polished
lava, Sicilian marbles, and a few little cabinets
in the several departments of natural history, served,
for a while longer, to entertain the visitors. The figures
of a dead maiden and a laughing boy, illustrated
the devotion to nature which, more than any other
characteristic, is evinced in the specimens of Greek
sculpture. A few pretty examples of the chisel of
Cali, the most celebrated modern Catanese sculptor,
also drew their attention. After viewing the Etruscan
vases, one or two of which are of a rare order,
and lingering among the fine old columnar fragments
in the court, they left the quiet precincts of the
museum.