 | Rambles and reveries |  |
THE CAPUCHIN OF PISA.
“Grey was his hair, but not with age.”
Anon.
For one inclined to a studious life, there is no more
desirable residence, in Italy, than Pisa. The calls of pleasure
and society which so constantly assail the student
in the capital cities, are far less numerous and exciting
here. Boasting the oldest university in Tuscany, Pisa,
with the downfall of her commercial importance, lost not
the attractiveness which belongs to an ancient seat of
learning. The reputation for military prowess, gained
by her brave citizens in the crusades, and the maritime
consequence she enjoyed in the primitive era, when small
vessels only were in use, are distinctions which have
long since ceased to exist. She sends forth no fleets of
galleys, as of old, armed with bold mariners panting to
destroy the Saracenic pirates. The Islands in the Mediterranean,
once tributary to her arms, now acknowledge
another master. Bloody feuds no longer divide her citizens;
nor has she ventured to dispute the empire of the
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a memorable defeat in a naval combat with the Genoese,
under Admiral Doria. So great was the number
of her distinguished people who, in this and previous battles,
fell into the power of her formidable rival, that it was
a common saying in that age, that, `whoever whould see
Pisa, must go to Genoa.'
The edifices upon the right bank of the Arno, many of
them rich in architectural decorations, are built in the form
of a sweeping curve admirably exposed to the sun. In
these buildings are the best winter lodgings; and the
broad street forms a delightful promenade. Here the invalids
stroll at noon or evening, completely sheltered
from the wind; while about the adjacent bookstores the
literati lounge in the sun, to con a new publication, or
discuss some mooted point in science or belles lettres.
Sometimes on an autumn evening, when nature is in her
balmiest mood, and the walk filled with students, the several
bridges reflected in the river, and the avè Maria stealing
on the breeze, the scene is delightfully significant of
calm enjoyment. On a pleasant afternoon, as I noted
this picture from beneath an awning which surmounted
the door of a caffé, my eyes encountered those of a Capuchin
friar, who was sitting on the parapet opposite, occasionally
enjoying the same pastime, but more frequently
engaged in turning over the leaves of an old folio. The
members of this fraternity, usually seen in Italy, are very
unprepossessing in their appearance. Their brown robes
generally envelope a portly person, and the rough hood
falls back from a face whose coarse features bedaubed
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than sanctity. This Capuchin, however, had an eye
which, at the first glance, seemed beaming with intelligence;
but, upon inspection, betrayed an unsettled expression,
such as might pertain to an apprehensive or
disordered mind. But the most striking peculiarity in the
monk's appearance, as he sat with his cowl thrown back
to enjoy the evening air, was the remarkable contrast between
a face decidedly youthful, and hair that exhibited
the grey of sixty winters. An effect was thus produced
similar to that observed on the stage, when a juvenile performer
is invested with one of the heavy powdered wigs
of the last century. It was as if youth and age were
miraculously conjoined in one person. The adolescent
play of the mouth, the freshness of the complexion, and
the careless air, bespoke early manhood, and were in
startling contradiction to the thick locks blanched almost
to snowy whiteness. The friar noticed my gaze of curiosity,
and advancing towards me with a good-natured
courtesy, proffered the curious volume for my inspection.
It was truly a feast for a connoisseur in black-letter
and primitive engravings—one of those parchment-bound
church chronicles which are sometimes met with in Italy,
filled with the most grotesque representations of saints
and devils. The Capuchin it appeared, was an amateur
in such lore; and this his last prize, had just been bought
of a broker in similar matters, who had long watched for
him on the promenade as a sure purchaser of the worm-eaten
relic. Most patiently did he initiate me into the
mysteries of the volume, apparently delighted to find so
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and especially on account of the pictures, that he prized
the book; and my wonder was increased by the general
knowledge and worldly wisdom displayed by this member
of a brotherhood noted for their ignorance. Perhaps he
interpreted my curiosity aright, for when we had turned
over the last leaf, he proposed an adjournment to his convent,
that I might view his collection of ancient tomes,
an invitation I was not slow to accept. His cell was at
the corner of the monastery, and commanded a fine view
of the surrounding country on the one side, and of the
river and city on the other. It was neatly furnished, and
not without ornament. He pointed out several bookshelves,
and evidently enjoyed the surprise with which I
read the titles of works usually found in the libraries
of men of taste, but seldom known in the dormitory of the
priest. At length, he raised them en masse, and what I
had deemed a little library, proved but an ingenious imitation.
Beneath the painted boards was disclosed the veritable
collection of the poor Capuchin—a few vellumbound
volumes, chiefly refering to the theology of his
sect. I was not a little interested in the quiet humor thus
displayed by this singular brother of a gloomy fraternity.
His cheerful eye was at variance with the dark, rough
robe, and coarse rope which bound him. His little room
was furnished with a view to the enjoyment of the occupant;
and, judging by the fine old Malaga with which he
entertained me, not without the means of indulgence. I
could not but fancy the feelings which must sometimes
visit him as he gazed from his secluded nook upon the
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one of the many equipages start from the adjacent square,
bearing hearts intent upon re-union with the loved in the
place of its destination, or youthful spirits eager for the
excitement and adventure of a distant tour, has he not
sighed for a share in the blessed ministry of the affections,
or panted to throw himself into a more expanded sphere
of experience? or, if sincerely deeming all earthly friendship
vain, and all knowledge of the world unholy, in musing
at sunset over the richness, the silent and varying
beauty of that lovely landscape, has he not momently
caught the inspiration of nature's freedom, and felt that
the breezes of heaven are not less chainless, by Heaven's
ordination, than the spirit within him? The Capuchin
understood and interrupted my reverie.
“Signor,” said he, “I perceive you are surprised at
the obvious want of harmony between my character and
my destiny. You think the friar's garb does not altogether
become me, and wonder how it is that so youthful a
brow should be shaded by hoary locks. I will endeavor
to explain the apparent anomaly, if you are disposed to
listen to a brief recital. A Corsican by birth, I reached
the age of sixteen without clearly understanding the word—
responsibility. My life had flown on beneath the paternal
roof, unmarked by vicissitude, unembittered by sorrow.
My education was intended to prepare me for a naval life,
and, as far as theoretical knowledge is important, perhaps
it was not valueless. I had acquired, too, some dexterity
in the management of such small craft as ply about the
Mediterranean coast. But no duty had ever been imposed
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and if at times, I was deep in mathematical
studies, or intent upon displaying my nautical skill when
a storm had lashed our bay into a foam, it was my native
love of excitement rather than any settled principle of action,
which prompted my exertions. I was regarded as a
spoiled child, and the rebukes to which I was, in consequence,
subjected, aroused my indignation more deeply
than corporeal punishment often does that of less ardent
beings. On one occasion, when smarting inwardly from
a taunting reproach my father had bestowed, I suddenly
resolved to flee, if it were only to prove that I could depend
upon myself, and be indeed a man. Such resolutions
doubtless abound at that age, and are not unfrequently
acted upon. With a few louis-d'ors in my purse,
I embarked for Marseilles, and after a few weeks' stay in
that city, found myself without money or friends, and prevented
by pride from revealing myself or my situation to
any one. Want, however, was fast undermining my resolution;
and one bright morning I walked towards the
quay, hoping to discover some Corsican captain who would
convey me home. As I stood near one of the docks,
glancing over the shipping, I observed a man whose vestments
were those of a dandy mariner, rapidly pacing the
wharf. His keen gaze soon fell upon my person, and, at
the next turn in his promenade, he abruptly clapped me
on the shoulder, and, pointing to a neat brig with Sardinian
colors in the offing, asked my opinion of her build
and appearance. As I had been an observer of vessels
from early boyhood, I answered him with frankness, introducing
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him that I was no novice in such matters. When I had
concluded; `my lad,' said he, `I am the supercargo of that
craft. Ask no questions, navigate her to Corsica,
and this is your's,' shaking a purse before my eyes.
Without hesitation I accepted the proposal. Mindful of
my immediate necessities, and elated at the idea of entering
our harbor the recognised commander of so fine a
vessel, I banished all doubts of my capacity, trusted to fortune
to carry me safely through the enterprise, and springing
with alacrity after the supercargo, into a boat, soon
stood with all the pride of youth mantling in my cheek,
upon the quarter deck of the Maria Teresa. Several
Jews were clustered about the mainmast, awaiting our
arrival to secure their passage. They offered to make
up what was deficient in the cargo, by shipping several
cases of liqueurs, and agreeing to pay liberally, the bargain
was soon closed. It was arranged that we should
sail at sunset; and leaving the supercargo at his desk in
the cabin, I hastened on shore to atone for my recent abstinence.
The commencement of our voyage was highly
prosperous. After several days, having been blest with
clear weather, and favorable, though light breezes, I began
to congratulate myself upon my success, when, one
afternoon, there appeared along the horizon, indubitable
tokens of a coming storm. I knew not precisely where
we were, though I had concealed my doubts on the subject;
and as night approached, a strange feeling of melancholy
came over me. I leaned over the bulwarks, watching the
ominous masses of clouds, and listening to the heavy and
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I was under, began to oppress me. Misgivings
crowded upon my hitherto resolute mind; and, at
length, a presentiment of evil took entire possession of
my fancy. Inexperienced, and prevented by false pride
from exposing my fears, I bitterly repented of the task I
had undertaken. I felt, however, that it was now too late
to retreat, and observing an old sailor casting an eye of
curiosity upon my anxious countenance, I suddenly determined
at all hazards, to maintain the character I had assumed.
The wind increasing, before dark every thing was
snug on board, and at midnight it blew a tempest. The
brig, heavily laden as she was, ploughed wearily through
the waves, every timber creaking as she flew before the
wind. Sometimes it seemed impossible she should rise
after a plunge so convulsive, and a pause so awful. My
heart beat with agonizing suspense, till I felt the quivering
fabric slowly lifted again on the billow, to dive once more
madly on her way. The mast fell with an awful crash,
and for a second, the crew stood astounded, as if the vessel
herself had burst asunder; but, when the extent of the
mischief was discovered, they worked on assiduously as
before. We were scudding under a reefed jib, and I
stood braced against the companion-way, awaiting, with
mingled feelings of awe, perplexity, and hope, the crisis
of the storm. Encouraged by the firm bearing of our
gallant bark, I began to think all would eventuate happily,
when a flash of lightning revealed to me the old mariner
on his knees by the forecastle, the other sailors standing
in terror and dismay about him, and the Jews huddled together
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even the raging elements seemed not to divert. At the
same moment a strong smell of sulphur filled the atmosphere.
Conceiving a thunderbolt had struck the brig,
and scarce knowing what I did, I rushed forward, and
seizing the foremost Jew with a savage grasp, `base Israelite!'
cried I, `are you the Jonah?' Trembling, he
sunk upon his knees, and implored me for the love of
Abraham, to spare his life, confessing they had stowed
a quantity of aqua fortis in the hold. The mystery was
explained. The jars of sulphuric acid had broken in the
heavings of the vessel, and their contents mingling
with the silks and woollen stuffs, produced combustion.
The sailors already abandoned themselves to despair. In
vain I ordered, supplicated and reviled. They lay in supine
misery, calling upon the Virgin, and giving themselves
up as lost. O the excitement of that hour! Years
appeared concentrated in moments. I seemed endowed
with an almost supernatural energy, and firmly resolved
to stretch every nerve and sinew for preservation. With
no assistance but that of the cabin boy, who alone listened
to my orders, I threw off the hatches. A tremendous
cloud of steam rolled up in thick volumes. Half suffocated,
we proceeded to throw boxes and bales into the sea;
saturated with the acid, they fumed and hissed as they
struck the water. Our hands and clothes were soon terribly
scorched; yet with breathless haste we tailed on,
while the lightning flashed with two-fold vividness, and
the gale raged with unabated fury. The sailors finally
came to our aid; and after many hours of incessant exertion,
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on the deck. The darkness was intense, and as
we lay, still tossed by the tempest, a new and horrible
fear entered our minds. We apprehended that we were
drifting towards the Barbary coast, and should be thrown
on shore only to be cruelly murdered. The horrors of
such a fate we could too easily imagine, and with torturing
anxiety, awaited the dawn. It was then that I vowed,
if my life was spared, to dedicate it to St. Francis. The
horrible scene of that night had revolutionized my nature.
The danger passed like a hot iron over my soul. My
previous life had been a pastime. This first adventure was
replete with the terrible, and its awful excitement penetrated
my heart. An age seemed to exhaust itself in every
passing moment of our painful vigil. We gazed in silent
suspense towards the east. There an ebon mass of vapor
hung, like a wall of black marble. At length, a short,
deep, crimson gush, glowed through its edge. Slowly the
sun arose, and displayed to our astonished and gladdened
eyes the farthest point of Sardinia. How we entered
the harbor unpiloted, was a mystery to us as well as the
hospitable inhabitants. From the vessel we hurried to
the church, to render thanks to the Virgin for our deliverance.
I threw my cap upon the pavement, and knelt at
the first shrine. My companions uttered an exclamation
of surprise. The intense care and apprehension of that
night of terrors, had sprinkled the snow of age amid my
locks of jet.”
| Rambles and reveries | |