towards the dwelling of the composer of "Il Matrimonio Segreto." At that time Domineco Cimarosa inhabited a small house in the Strada dei Fiorentini. He was a man of some five-and-forty years of age, middle sized, and of pleasant countenance. When Cimarosa wished to please, he was perfectly fascinating. His features bore a strong resem blance to those of Rossini. Kind-hearted, good it. The conqueror of Aboukir was not seen on the deck; could he not yet look without a blush of shame, without feeling that a blight had passed over his lately-acquired laurels, on those floating gaols in the which artists, litterati, men of science, aye, and helpless women and children, sighed for liberty, for even a breath of fresh air? The bay was covered with boats of every shape and kind, filled with soldiers, sailors, and rabble; the banks were lined with a lawless fierce multi-tempered, willing to oblige, exceedingly modest, tude, all shouting, panting, thirsting for blood. If one of the betrayed unfortunates dared appear at either of the port-holes to inhale a single gasp of fresh air, those at the distance took aim at the pale, anxious face, and those in the nearest boat thrust at it with bayonets, swords, sticks, or even with their clenched fists. Suddenly the hollow roll of muffled drums was heard; involuntarily the multitude became silent, and their attention was directed to the deck of a Neapolitan frigate, the Minerva, which lay at anchor opposite to the admiral's ship. The Prince Francesco Caraccioli, the admiral of the Neapolitan fleet, the noblest, bravest, and best beloved of all the officers, stood there laden with chains, and a priest by his side. But where was the scaffold? surely a nobleman had a right to demand that even in death his rank should be respected! Might had taken the place of right, and evil passions governed and blinded the else noble heart of the judge. A halter was suspended from the mast of the Minerva, and in a few moments the late commander of that frigate swung there a ghastly corpse, and was afterwards cut down and cast into the sea. An involuntary groan of horror burst even from that savage assembly; a cloud obscured the sun, as if that luminary refused to cast its light on so frightful a crime. An awful silence followed, which was broken by the clear, melodious voices of two of the betrayed patriots, youths of sixteen and twenty, who, hand in hand, on the deck of one of the dismantled vessels, their eyes fixed on the murdered prince, chanted the hymn of liberty and sincere as a child, he was universally beloved. His manners and conversation were full of spirit and wit; he sang beautifully, especially comic scenas; and was a first-rate violinist. So many attractions made him the idol of the best society in Naples, St. Petersburg, and Vienna. At the period when the revolution broke out, he was at the height of his fame and success. The musician was seated at his instrument, neatly and handsomely attired; by his side was a pupil, who, with his eyes fixed on the music, sang an air from "Artaxerxes," while the master accompanied him on the instrument, beating time with his foot, and smiling encouragement, or uttering a whispered "bravo," when some particularly difficult passage was conquered. It was a peaceful scene-the fair golden-haired boy with his cherub face, the pleasant looking man, the neat cheerful room; and then the sweet treble voice, and the soft harmonious accompaniment. But hark! what deep bass is that, which echoes like distant thunder? Nearer and nearer it comes! and now the tramp of many feet-dull and heavy sound-and wild yells and cries, are audible; and now they be come more distinct, and the words "Death to Cimarosa" peal trumpet-voiced through the air. The music died away on the lips of the boy; the fingers of the master seemed as if frozen to the keys of the instrument. Before they had time to think, still less to act, the yard was thronged, the staircase groaned beneath the weight of numbers, and the door was burst violently open, while the foremost of the mob were in a manner hurled into the chamber by those behind them, and stood there with dishe velled hair, torn clothes, foaming and panting, and as little conscious as the musician of the cause of their coming. They, like many others, For some moments all were too much astonished had seen the throng rushing through the streets, to interrupt what seemed like celestial melody, and joined it, had heard the cries, and repeated when contrasted with the sounds and sights of them, nothing knowing, nothing caring about horror that had hitherto filled each moment of the cause or consequence of their action, seeking that black day which should be blotted from the only the excitement it produced. Thus it hap annals of history; then, recovering themselves, pened that they paused, looked at each other, as the guards rushed upon these young martyrs, if inquiring who should begin, and what was to and dragged them brutally below. The multi-be said, and seemed as if suddenly tamed by the tude howled, that it too, that many-headed monster, could not at the moment find a prey. Suddenly a voice exclaimed, "Those words just sung by the young traitors are set to music by Domineco Cimarosa." "Or che innalzato è l'albero "Down with Cimarosa! Death to the Jacobite!" howled the mob, whose madness had become yet more inflamed by the scenes they had just witnessed; and, like wolves in pursuit of their prey, they rushed with one consent sight of that benevolent-looking man, and the sweet child who half shrank behind his preceptor, and yet could not refrain from peeping round at the wild horde, whose faces shifted and multiplied like a living kaleidoscope. common A sort of dumb pantomime took place be tween the invaders; and one being by consent invited to speak, shook his clenched fist, and thundered forth: 44 Ah ha! There thou art, dog of a jacobite!" 66 Heavenly Father!" involuntarily exclaimed Cimarosa, devoutly crossing himself. The fellows looked at each other, not knowing of what to accuse him, and yet resolved to believe and prove him guilty. So perverted were the minds of the people, that they saw all the actions of the patriots through an inverted me dium, and wrenched even those which had benefited the populace, and them only, to grounds of accusation. Thus in the present instance one exclaimed "You took the tax off salt !" Another shouted-" You caused the duty on meal to be diminished!" A third-" You set aside the taxes on fish, vegetables, and fruit !" To all these strange reproaches Cimarosa gently and firmly replied, that he had not had voice or part in any of the acts, or indeed power to alter or change anything. Again ensued a pause; the throng began to murmur at their leader for failing to prove to them that the intended victim was guilty; and the man, seeing the threatening glances which shot upon him, was meditating by what new atrocity he should recover his influence, when fresh cries were heard without, and another group forced their way up the staircase, and rushed into the room; at the head of which was a butcher, a giant in height, with large muscular arms, and a neck like a bull. This monster, who was welcomed by the crowd as 66 our good Pascalone," swung a huge hammer in his right hand, while in his left he held several nails, some two or three inches long; his head nearly touched the ceiling, while the boards cracked beneath his heavy footfall. "What is it, my children?" inquired the giant, looking round him with an air of paternal interest. ""Tis well thou art come "We lacked thee sadly"-" Where hast thou been the whole day through?" were some of the exclamations which greeted him on all sides. "Where have I been !" repeated the butcher; why over the way, crucifying a jacobite; and a precious job the rascal gave me, with his coarse hard skin.' This was said in the most natural and common-place manner possible. "I heard a noise, and said to myself, Come, I must see what all that's about-perhaps there may be some more work for me." assailants, and seized hold of the musician by the hair of his head. "Ah! he wears his hair like those smart fellows whom I finished off yesterday. What think you I did to them before I made them shorter by a head-eh, my children?" "Tell us, Pascalone!" 'I just drove one of these pretty little nails into each temple—it set their heads off amazingly, I promise you!" Some laughed at this frightful jest, while others cried, Serve him the same!" "No, no, my friends! Justice, let all have justice!" Then turning to Cimarosa, he said— "Now then, we shall examine thy pockets, thy cupboards, boxes, beds-in short, every corner; and if we find anything suspicious, or convicting thee, I shall immediately dash thy brains out with this hammer.” The mob awaited not their leader's permission, but dispersed themselves throughout the house, breaking, destroying, plundering, and burning all that fell into their hands; but to their vexation, finding nothing on which to ground an accusation against Cimarosa. "Now we have him!" exclaimed the lazzarone. "Here is the portrait of Championet, set round with precious stones." "Accused, what have you to reply?" said the butcher sententiously. "It is the portrait of the Emperor Leopold of Austria: his majesty presented it to me himself," replied Cimarosa. "It does not look much like an emperor," observed the fellow who had found it, stretching out his hand to recover his prize. "Wait a bit!" said the butcher, stowing the portrait away. "We must decide upon this point before the booty can be handed over to you." "And here is the portrait of the Goddess of Liberty!" exclaimed another, tearing from its satin-lined crimson morocco case a highly Only her neck is uncovered!" observed Pascalone gravely, also pocketing that miniature. It appeared then that there was no ground of accusation against the musician; and the butcher, as an advocate of justice, could not think of murdering an innocent man. Already there was a sort of movement among the throng, which swayed it to and fro like the waves of the sea; and the giant was preparing an harangue of acquittal, when that same voice which had inflamed the mob around the bay, hurled a fresh fire"Stop, stop, friends! The gentleman must brand into this magazine of combustibles, by have justice. Let's look at him." Thus speak-shouting "And that's just what there is!" exclaimed many voices. "Here's a heretic and a republican, who insists that he is as innocent as a new born babe." ing, he kicked the piano over, which had hitherto "Domineco Cimarosa set the republican Hymn served as a barrier between Cimarosa and his of Liberty to music !” and, not less skilful in chaunting those of the devil, it would seem, since he composed the Hymn to Liberty." A thousand throats uttered a wild yell, the butcher made a stride towards his victim, exclaiming, "What hast thou to reply?" "I did so!" firmly replied the musician; "but permit me to explain-" "No explanations!" yelled the crowd. "Not a word!" shouted the butcher, clutching his victim with his muscular hand, and half bearing, half dragging him off, so rapidly that the unhappy composer had not even time to cast one look on his beloved pupil, who had sunk down fainting. "To the gallows!"-"Into the sea with him!"-" Let's burn him alive!" were among the most merciful proposals of the raging multitude; and the butcher had much ado with his strength and influence to preserve his victim from instant annihilation. At length they reached the place of execution; a funeral pile was hastily erected. "Before we burn him, let's strip him, and paint the tree of liberty on his back and breast," shouted some of the more remorseless of the ruffians. "A capital notion!" laughed Pascalone, as he greedily surveyed the good and valuable clothes of his victim. This last stroke, which Cimarosa knew was but a pretext for every kind of horrible indignity and barbarity, destroyed all his remaining firmness. "Mercy!" he shrieked: "Kill me if you will, but at once, without further insult or degradation." "Would not one think it was a girl, to hear him!" laughed Pascalone. "Why we served Fonseca so, that distinguished scholar as he was considered; and San Felice, a princess; and many other of your betters :" and he began to strip his victim. At this moment a monk opened one of the small portals in the wall of the Castello. As soon as the crowd beheld the little, pock-marked, shrivelled man, who stood gazing on the scene with sparkling intelligent eyes, many voices called to him" Hillo? Fra Paolino! come and confess this sinner before we fix him to the stake!" The monk came forward with an air of indifference, as if accustomed to such scenes; but so soon as the circle had opened to him, and he beheld their victim, he retreated a few steps, and with a cry of astonishment exclaimed— Heavenly Father! Ye know not what ye do. This man is one of the greatest geniuses of this century. It is Cimarosa!" "We know it—and also that he is a jacobite, a traitor, and an impious wretch!" "He a traitor and jacobite! Ye rave, men. He impious, who sings the praises of God with a voice like a seraph, and has composed more psalms, masses, and Deus dixit, than ye have sins on your miserable souls. Back, profane wretches as ye are! nor dare to harm one hair of his head." "Then give him up to judgment,” observed the monk. "He is already judged by the mighty voice of the people." "In the name of his eminence the Cardinal, I command you to deliver this man to me." "The Cardinal is a jacobite, and his majesty our King refuses to sanction his acts." Ah, miscreant! darest thou!" exclaimed the monk; and exasperated by the audacity of his opponent, he raised a heavy oaken crucifix, adorned with a figure of Christ in bronze, and let it fall heavily forward on the forehead of Pascalone. The Goliah sunk like a felled ox; and while yet the astonished throng gazed on their disabled champion, the monk drew Cimarosa to a small door in the wall, which opened as when a spring is suddenly touched, and closed again behind the composer. Cimarosa made a few steps forwards, like one in a dream; but his legs trembled, his knees bent under him, his brain throbbed, and still he seemed to feel those rough hands which had well nigh throttled him. The gaoler came to his aid, and by voice and action endeavoured to bring him to a sense of surrounding objects, and eventually succeeded so far, that the composer understood where he was, arranged his disordered dress, and followed the man to confinement with a feeling of thankfulness. This latter led him through several courts, and round the walls, until they reached a low door, which he unlocked, invited his prisoner by a gesture to enter, and immediately closed and bolted it behind him. Cimarosa felt himself at the edge of a steep slippery staircase, and clung fast hold of the rope which supplied the place of balusters, in order not to be precipitated into the dungeon beneath. The lower he descended step by step, the more accustomed did his eyes become to darkness, and he was at last enabled to distinguish a species of cellar of considerable length, faintly lighted by air-holes, which, to judge from the sound of waves dashing against the walls, looked on to the sea. Cimarosa paused on the last step to take breath, put up his hand to his eyes to concentrate the light, and looked as steadily and fixedly around him as the indistinct twilight and his own injured features would permit him. This damp, dark dungeon seemed to be thronged with prisoners of all ages and sexes; all alike ready to meet their fate with courageous endurance, with stoicism, and with a lively, firm faith. No groans, no complaints were heard. Some conversed together in an under tone; others paced slowly up and down, like the spirits described by Dante in the fourth canto of his glorious poem. It was plain to see all hope on earth was lost, and that their thoughts and looks were already turned heavenwards. in While Cimarosa was considering how troduce himself to his fellow-prisoners, a man withdrew himself from the group with whom he had been conversing, and advanced with out stretched hands, and a cry of astonishment, and the composer recognised in him Annibale Giordano, professor of mathematics, a profound scholar, and the author of various works and of several important discoveries. Repeatedly imprisoned on the charge of high treason, he had escaped condemnation almost miraculously. His manners were agreeable, his conversation instructive and eloquent; but notwithstanding his fame, his acknowledged talent, his attractive character, there was something repelling about him, something which generated one of those instinctive antipathies so often experienced, so difficult to be defined. This man now drew Cimarosa forward, introducing him by name, exclaiming against the injustice, the tyranny of the royalists, and presenting him to all the celebrated individuals who were dispersed about that gloomy cavern. "Here," he said, "is Marcello Scotti, a blameless minister of God, an enlightened philanthro- | pist; these are Logoteta and Baffi, a first-rate Latin scholar, and a Hellenist; here is Nicola Fiorentino, one of our first counsellors; that proud-looking yet resigned woman is Elenora Pimentel; you must have heard of her, the editress of The Neapolitan Moniteur.' There stand Rotondo, Albanese, and Bagni, the pride of the medical profession; beyond them, Neri Ciaja, Falconieri, and the Caraffa, the Pignatelli, and the Colonna. No one escapes the fangs of those tigers in human form; the learned, the scientific, the noble, and even women, fall victims to their blood-thirsty rage." As Giordano had thus led the composer from one group of prisoners to another, and performed the office of master of ceremonies, some had courteously bowed, others pressed his hand, while others spoke a few kindly words of sympathy and regret. Cimarosa paused at last by two men, who were in such earnest conversation that they had not remarked the addition of a fellow-unfortunate to their number. Ah!" exclaimed Francesco Conforti, one of this twain, "our zeal misled us: this nation is not yet ripe for liberty." "Hush, my friend," replied Mario Pagano, "one might as well say that a child should not begin to breathe as soon as born, because its lungs are not yet accustomed to the fresh air. Every human being who beholds the light of day has a right to live, and every properly-constituted nation has a right to liberty." "But woe to that one which seeks to obtain it through the might of foreign arms!" observed Giordano, clapping the republican on the shoulder familiarly. "Do be silent, good folk! or at least speak a little lower, you fright away my muse, and lo! my song remains unfinished." "You'll finish it on the scaffold, good Vincenzo, and so, swan-like, die!" said Giordano. "Let us see what you have done, for here is Cimarosa to set it to music for you, and thus ensure your fame by uniting it with his, and add a last leaf to his own chaplet." "Is this place then the grave of hope?" asked Cimarosa anxiously. "Unless we can effect our own escapewhich-perhaps - we shall see. Expect nor justice nor mercy from our judges; we are the victims they will immolate on the altar of vengeance and bigotry. But hush! Here comes | Cerillo !" sublimest of the revolutionists, advanced up the That great physician, one of the noblest and dungeon until he reached the centre, where he paused, and a circle was immediately formed around him. "I am condemned to death," he said calmly, replying to the looks rather than the questions of his companions. "The trial was short. They asked me my name, my age, my profession, and what I now was? A physician,' was my reply. Good, we know that; but as thou standest there opposite us, what art thou?' A hero, and about to become a martyr,' was my reply." A shout of applause drowned the patriot's voice for a while; and when he again spoke, it was to Cimarosa, whom he had regarded as a friend, attended as a physician, and admired as a composer. You, too, here, my poor friend-and looking so pale and ill, and bearing such marks of recent brutal usage! But courage! all hope has not yet vanished. Conforti has drawn up a memoir, which has been forwarded to Nelson, explaining clearly to him the terms of our capitulation, and the treaty signed by Cardinal Ruffo. Nelson is a distinguished seaman, and a man of honour; and I cannot believe that he will consent to an act which will disgrace alike his own name and the annals of his country. I expect the answer every moment." 66 Meanwhile, I'll finish my poem," observed Vincenzo, re-seating himself. The door of the dungeon grated on its hinges, and an English officer of the marines was ushered in by the gaoler. "The answer of the Lord High Admiral Nelson to your memoir," said the seaman, presenting a sealed paper to Cerillo, who had advanced with that air of natural dignity which seemed to place him above those who surrounded him. He tore off the cover and read— A murmur arose, and many crowded with threatening looks forward; but Cerillo stilled them with a wave of his hand, and spoke"The only request I have to make is, that I may die with my dearest friends, Pagano, Ciaja, and Pignatelli." "I require," observed the Count di Ruvo, "that as a nobleman I may die on the scaffold, with my brow upturned to heaven, watching in scorn the descent of the knife which is to decapitate me, and rid me of a life now valueless." "And I, Eleonora Pimentel, condemned to be hanged by the tribunal of tyrants, ask as the last and only favour I would receive or crave at their hands, for permission to order for myself a pair of drawers." Two others spoke, and the two officers retired with feelings of deep sympathy and compassion. now "And now," said Cerillo, solemnly, fellow-citizens, we have done with this world. We shall pass from this dungeon to the scaffold; let us therefore raise our thoughts, our hopes, to heaven, and humbly and earnestly pray not only for ourselves, but especially for those among us who shall be the first to have the honour to shed their blood for liberty and patriotism !" A deep silence fell on all, broken only by the monotonous dash of the waves against the walls. Silent and fervent prayer occupied each spirit; and as they knelt on the damp ground, night's darkness gradually veiled them from each other, and only an occasional pressure of the hand between two friends, or an involuntary elevation of the voice in some moment of pious enthusiasm, told that living, breathing beings were yet there. Suddenly a hoarse voice summoned "Domineco Cimarosa." The composer shuddered, turned deadly pale; but one thought on the stoicism of those who surrounded him gave him fresh energy; and embracing those nearest, and waving an adieu to the others, he followed the gaolor with a firm step and composed mien. The man led him up staircases, and along galleries, and at length through the secret passage which unites the fortress with the Palazzo Vecchio, which at that time served as a dwelling for the Cardinal Ruffo and the commanders of the foreign troops. At length he paused at a door, and knocking three times, delivered up his prisoner into the hands of two soldiers who opened it; informing them that they were answerable with their heads for the safety of their charge. Cimarosa was now in total darkness with his new conductors, the gaoler having taken his dark lantern with him. The soldiers seemed, however, perfectly at home, and led him through several chambers, until they opened the door of a large well-lighted room, in the which a tall man, of distinguished appearance, and wearing the uniform of a general, was pacing up and down, Hitherto a species of feverish excitement and exaltation had sustained Cimarosa; but now, when placed thus suddenly before the man he doubted not was the judge, who, after a few questions put merely for form's sake, would hand him over to the executioner, death seemed so palpable, so fearful, so near, that he was compelled to lean on the back of a chair to hide the weakness of his tottering frame. On a sign from the general the soldiers withdrew; and scarcely had they closed the door, than rushing to the composer, he clasped him in his arms, exclaiming, "Saved! saved! Italian music will not lose one of her brightest ornaments. Aye, and I have not been able to accomplish my purpose without difficulty, mio caro maestro. By heavens, I was obliged to enter their assembly stick in hand, and threaten to break every bone in their bodies, if they did not that very moment sign an order for you to be set free !" "Most noble sir!" stammered Cimarosa, like one who, just awakened from sleep, knew not if he were waking or dreaming; "who is the protecting angel to whom I owe life and liberty?" "Ah! You do not know me! probably not. But I have long known you, and admired your music. I followed you from St. Petersburg to Vienna, from Vienna to Italy, to Rome, and at last to Naples. Not one of your operas has come out but I was present at its first represen tation; and woe to those near me whose want of taste or of enthusiasm led them not to applaud." "But your name! I pray you tell it to me, that I may bless my preserver." "I am Katanyvetern, envoy from Russia, and commandant of the Russian troops here at Naples. I saw you for the first time at the court of the Czarina, and have never since ceased to be one of your warmest admirers. But you need some refreshment; follow me into the next room, where I have prepared for ment." your entertain Cimarosa could scarcely believe in the actuality of all this. But a few moments before, and he was a prisoner, awaiting the sentence of death: now, the honoured guest of a Russian noble. He pressed his hand to his heart in silent expression of thanks and gratitude too deep, too overpowering for utterance. Nor did his generous preserver need words; his own heart, his own enthusiasm, repaid him for the exertions he had made to save his beloved, admired composer, of whose danger the first intimation he heard came from Fra Paolino, who told him how to rescue him from the people. He had placed him in the hands of the formidable Giunto di Stato. He seated his guest, and pressed him to eat, speaking meanwhile of music, of Cimarosa's own operas and compositions, * An historical fact. |