Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 341, March, 1844, Vol. 55 by Various

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Jane was sitting in the great hall, feeling disconsolate enough. Often, in
her father's comfortable parlour, she had read accounts of baronial
residences of the olden time; and one of the greatest pleasures she had
felt in becoming Mrs Belfront, was to be the possessor of a real _bona
fide_ castle that had been actually a fortress in the days of knighthood.
She had studied long ago the adventures of high-born dames and stately
nobles, till she was nearly as far gone in romance as Don Quixote; and
many questions she had asked about Belfront, and donjon-towers, and keeps,
and tiltyards, and laboured very hard to acquire a correct idea of the
mode of life and manners of the days of chivalry. Her imagination, we have
seen, was too lively to be restrained by the more matter-of-fact nature of
her husband; and she now felt with great bitterness the difference between
presiding at a tournament, or being present at the Vow of the Peacock, and
the slavish submission in which she, with the whole household, was held by
Mr Pepper. Deeply she now regretted the feelings of superiority she had
experienced over her own relations by her marriage into such an ancient
race as the Belfronts. She felt ashamed of the contempt she had felt for
the industrious founders of her own family's wealth, and at that moment
would have preferred the blue coat and brass buttons of her uncle Samson,
to all the escutcheons and shields of the Norman conquest; and at that
moment, luckily, the identical coat and buttons made their appearance.

"Well, niece, here's a go!" exclaimed the angry uncle. "Is this a way to
receive a near relation after such a journey?"

"Oh, uncle!"

"Why, did ye never hear tell of such a place as Kidderminster?--have you
no carpets?"

"Mr Belfront says there were no carpets in his ancestor's time"--

"And no railroads, nor postchaises, nor books, nor nothing; and is that
any reason why we shouldn't have lots of every thing now? By dad, before
I've been here a week I'll have a reg'lar French Revolution! No Bastille!
says I; let's have a Turkey carpet, and a telescope dining-table, good
roads, and no infernal punts--and, above all, let's get quit of the
villain Peeper."

"Oh! if Reginald would only consent!"

"Why not? by dad, I'll make his fortune. I'll give him a thousand a-year
for the water-power that's now all thrown away. I'll have a nice village
built down in the valley. I'll get him two guineas an acre for his land
that's now lying waste. I'll dig for coal. We'll build a nice comfortable
house, and leave this old ruin to the crows."

"And the neighbours, uncle Samson?"

"Why, we'll build a church, and the parson will be a good companion. When
the roads are made, you'll give a jolly dinner once a-week to every squire
within ten miles. You'll have a book club. You'll help in the Sunday
school. You'll go to the county balls. Your husband will join the
agricultural society, and act as a magistrate. He'll subscribe to the
hounds. He'll attend to the registrations. He'll have shooting-parties in
September. And as to any old-world, wretched talks about chivalry and
antiquity, we'll show him that there never was a time like the
present--commerce, land, property, and intelligence, all in the very best
condition. We'll make Lutter superintendent of the whole estate, and send
old Peeper about his business. And in all this you must help; for there's
nothing to be done without the help of the ladies: so give me your hand,
dear niece, and don't cry."

"It would make me so happy! I would never look into Amadis de Gaul again!"

"Hang Amadis de Gall and Amadi de Spurzheim, too! Where is your husband?"

"I seldom see him now. He is always in the oratory with Mr Peeper."

"The deuce he is!" said the uncle. "And how do you get on in other
respects? Are you comfortable--happy--contented?" Jane told him all she
had encountered since she had come to the castle, and the uncle seemed
thunderstruck at the recital.

"Well! bold measures are always the best," he said at last; "I'll kick
Peeper into the moat!" and before his niece could interfere, the uncle had
rushed across the quadrangle, guided, we are sorry to say, by Mr Lutter,
and, grasping the venerable Peeper, whom he met near the drawbridge, he
dragged him towards the water.

Jane ran to get assistance for the unfortunate victim; and crying "Help!
help!" as she saw the wretched man forced over the walls, she looked in a
state of distraction towards her husband. "Dear Jane," said that
individual, smiling blandly, "I told you you had overtired yourself with
walking." Jane gazed round; there was Reginald sitting beside her, with
her head reclining on his shoulder, at the open window of the inn in Wales.
The vale of Cwmcwyllchly was spread in a beautiful landscape below. They
were still on their wedding tour.

"You have been asleep, Jane," said Reginald.

"And have had such dreadful dreams. Oh, Reginald! I have had such visions
of horrid things and people. I shall never be romantic again about
chivalry. Such coarseness!--such slavery!--such ignorance! Ah, how happy
we ought to be that we are born in a civilized time, with no Mr Peepers
for father confessors, nor fighting with firebrands for amusement!"

"You have been reading _Hallam's Middle Ages_--a present from your uncle
Samson--till you have become a right-down Utilitarian. Come, let us ring
for tea; and to-morrow we must start for Yorkshire! The Quarter-sessions
are coming on."

* * * * *

DUMAS IN HIS CURRICLE.

We left M. Dumas at Marseilles: we find him again at Naples. Three volumes
are the result of his visit to the last named city--volumes in which he
manages to put a little of every thing, and a good deal of some things.
Antiquarian, historian, virtuoso, novelist, he touches upon all subjects,
flying from one to the other with a lightness and a facility of transition
peculiarly his own, and peculiarly agreeable. English travellers and
Italian composers, St Januarius and the opera, Masaniello and the
_gettatura_, Pompeii, princes, police spies, Vesuvius, all have their
turn--M. Dumas, with his usual tact, merely glancing at those subjects
which are known and written about by every tourist, but giving himself
full scope when he gets off the beaten track. His book is literally
crammed with tales and anecdotes, to such a degree indeed, and most of
them so good, that our principal difficulty in commencing a notice of it,
is to know where to pick and choose our extracts; _l'embarras des
richesses_, in short. The best way will probably be to begin at the
beginning, and go as far as our limits allow us, referring our readers to
the original for the many good things that want of space will compel us to
exclude.

M. Dumas calls his book the _Corricolo_, and devotes a short and
characteristic preface to an explanation of the title. This explanation we
must give in his own words. It is so highly graphic, that, after reading
it, we fancied we had seen a picture of what it describes.

"A _corricolo_ is a sort of tilbury or gig, originally intended to hold
one person, and be drawn by one horse. At Naples they harness two horses
to it; and it conveys twelve or fifteen individuals, not at a walk nor at
a trot, but at full gallop, and this, notwithstanding that only one of the
horses does any work. The shaft horse draws, but the other, which is
harnessed abreast of him, and called the _bilancino_, prances and curvets
about, animates his companion, but does nothing else.

"Having said that the gig built to carry one is made to carry fifteen, I
am, of course, expected to explain how this is accomplished. There is an
old French proverb, according to which, when there is enough for one there
is enough for two; but I am not aware of any proverb in any language which
says, that when there is enough for one, there is enough for fifteen.
Nevertheless, it is the case with the _corricolo_. In the present advanced
state of civilization, every thing is diverted from its primitive
destination. As it is impossible to say at what period, or in how long a
time, the capacity of the vehicle in question was extended in the ratio of
one to fifteen, I must content myself with describing the way of packing
the passengers.

"In the first place, there is almost invariably a fat greasy monk seated
in the middle, forming the centre of a sort of coil of human creatures. On
one of his knees is some robust rosy-cheeked nurse from Aversa or Nettuno;
on the other, a handsome peasant woman from Bauci or Procida. On either
side of him, between the wheels and the body of the vehicle, stand the
husbands of these two ladies. Standing on tiptoe behind the monk is the
driver, holding in his left hand the reins, and in his right the long whip
with which he keeps his horses at an equal rate of speed. Behind _him_ are
two or three lazzaroni, who get up and down, go away, and are succeeded by
others, without any body taking notice of them, or expecting them to pay
for their ride. On the shafts are seated two boys, picked up on the road
from Torre del Greco or Pouzzoles, probably supernumerary _ciceroni_ of
the antiquities of Herculaneum and Pompeii. Finally, suspended under the
carriage, in a sort of coarse rope network with large meshes, which swings
backwards and forwards at every movement of the vehicle, is a shapeless
and incomprehensible mass, which cries, laughs, sings, screams, shouts,
and bellows, all by turns and none for long together, and the nature of
which it is impossible to distinguish, dimly seen as it is through the
clouds of dust raised by the horses' feet. This mass consists of three or
four children, who belong to Heaven knows who, are going Heaven knows
where, live Heaven knows how, and are there Heaven knows wherefore.

"Now then, put down, one above the other, monk, women, husbands, driver,
lazzaroni, boys and children; add them up, include the infant in arms,
which has been forgotten, and the total will be fifteen.

"It sometimes happens that the _coricolo_ passes over a big stone, and
upsets, pitching out its occupants to a greater or less distance,
according to their respective gravity. But, on such occasions, nobody
thinks of himself; the attention of every one is immediately turned to the
monk. If he is hurt, the journey is over for the day; they carry him to
the nearest house; the horses are put into the stable, and he is put to
bed; the women nurse him, make much of him, cry and pray over him. If, on
the other hand, the monk is safe and sound, nobody has a right to complain;
he resumes his seat, the nurse and the peasant woman resume theirs, the
others climb up into their respective places--a crack of the long whip,
and a shout from the driver, and the _corricolo_ is off again full speed."

From this we learn what a _corricolo_ is, but we have not yet been told
why M. Dumas should christen his book after the degenerate descendant of
the Roman curriculum. Patience--we shall get to it in time. Materials
crowd upon our traveller, and it is only in the second chapter that the
desired explanation is given. In the first we are informed of M. Dumas's
installation at the Hotel Vittoria, kept by M. Martin Zill, who, besides
being an innkeeper, is a man of much taste in art, a distinguished
antiquary, an amateur of pictures, a collector of autographs and
curiosities. Apropos of the hotel we have an anecdote of the ex-dey of
Algiers, who, on being dispossessed of his dominions by the French, took
refuge at Naples, and established himself under M. Zill's hospitable roof.
The third floor was entirely occupied by his suite and attendants, the
fourth was for himself and his treasures, the fifth, or the garrets, he
converted into his harem. The curious arms, costumes, and jewels which
Hussein Pacha had brought with him, were a godsend to the virtuoso weary
of examining and admiring them; and, before the African had been a week in
the house, he and his host were sworn friends. Unfortunately this harmony
was not destined to last very long.

"One morning Hussein Pacha's cook (a Nubian as black as ink, and as
shining as if he had been polished with a shoe-brush) entered the kitchen
of the hotel, and asked for the largest knife they had. The head-cook gave
him a sort of carving-knife, some eighteen inches long, sharp as a razor,
and pliant as a foil. The negro looked at it, shook his head as if in
doubt whether it would do, but nevertheless took it up stairs with him.
Presently he brought it down again, and asked for a larger one. The cook
opened all his drawers, and at last found a sort of cutlass, which he
hardly ever used on account of its enormous size. With this the Nubian
appeared more satisfied, and again went up stairs. Five minutes afterwards
he came down for the third time, and returned the knife, asking for a
bigger one still. The cook's curiosity was excited, and he enquired who
wanted the knife, and for what purpose.

"The African told him very coolly that the dey, having left his dominions
rather in a hurry, had forgotten to bring an executioner with him, and had
consequently ordered his cook to get a large knife and cut off the head of
Osmin, chief of the eunuchs, who was convicted of having kept such
negligent watch and ward over his highness's seraglio, that some
presumptuous Giaour had made a hole in the wall, and established a
communication with Zaida, the dey's favourite _odalisque_. Accordingly
Osmin was to be decapitated; and as to the offending lady, the next time
the dey took an airing in the bay of Naples, she would be put into the
boat in a sack, and consigned to the keeping of the kelpies. Thunderstruck
at such summary proceedings, the cook desired his Nubian brother to wait
while he went for a larger knife; then hastening to M. Martin Zill, he
told him what he had just heard.

"M. Martin Zill ran to the minister of police, and laid the matter before
him. His excellency got into his carriage and went to call upon the dey.

He found his highness reclining upon a divan, his back supported by
cushions, smoking latakia in a chibouque, while an icoglan scratched the
soles of his feet, and two slaves fanned him. The minister made his three
salaams; the dey nodded his head.

"'Your highness,' said his excellency, 'I am the minister of police.'

"'I know you are,' answered the dey.

"'Then your highness probably conjectures the motive of my visit.'

"'No. But you are welcome all the same.'

"'I come to prevent your highness from committing a crime.'

"'A crime! And what crime?' said the dey, taking the pipe from his mouth,
and gazing at his interlocutor in the most profound astonishment.

"'I wonder your highness should ask the question,' replied the minister.
'Is it not your intention to cut off Osmin's head?'

"'That is no crime,' answered the dey.

"'Does not your highness purpose throwing Zaida into the sea?'

"'That is no crime,' repeated the dey. 'I bought Osmin for five hundred
piasters, and Zaida for a thousand sequins, just as I bought this pipe for
a hundred ducats.'

"'Well,' said the minister, 'what does your highness deduce from that?'

"'That as this pipe belongs to me, as I have bought it and paid for it, I
may break it to atoms if I choose, and nobody has a right to object.' So
saying, the pacha broke his pipe, and threw the fragments into the middle
of the room.

"'All very well, as far as a pipe goes,' said the minister; 'but Osmin,
but Zaida?'

"'Less than a pipe,' said the dey gravely.

"'How! less than a pipe! A man less than a pipe! A woman less than a pipe!'

"'Osmin is not a man, and Zaida is not a woman: they are slaves. I will
cut off Osmin's head, and throw Zaida into the sea.'

"'No!' said the magistrate. 'Not at Naples at least.'

"'Dog of a Christian!' shouted the dey, 'do you know who I am?'

"'You are the ex-dey of Algiers, and I am the Neapolitan minister of
police; and, if your deyship is impertinent, I shall send him to prison,'
added the minister very coolly.

"'To prison!' repeated the dey, falling back upon his divan.

"'To prison,' replied the minister.

"'Very well,' said Hussein. 'I leave Naples to-night.'

"'Your highness is as free as air to go and to come. Nevertheless, I must
make one condition. Before your departure, you will swear by the Prophet,
that no harm shall be done to Osmin or Zaida.'

"'Osmin and Zaida belong to me, and I shall do what I please with them.'

"'Then your highness will be pleased to deliver them over to me, to be
punished according to the laws of the country; and, until you do so, you
will not be allowed to leave Naples.'

"'Who will prevent me?'

"'I will.'

"The pacha laid his hand on his dagger. The minister stepped to the window
and made a sign. The next moment the tramp of heavy boots and jingle of
spurs were heard upon the stairs; the door opened, and a gigantic corporal
of gendarmes made his appearance, his right hand raised to his cocked hat,
his left upon the seam of his trouser.

"'Gennaro,' said the minister of police, 'if I gave you an order to arrest
this gentleman, would you see any difficulty in executing it?'

"'None, your excellency.'

"'You are aware that this gentleman's name is Hussein Pacha.'

"'I was not, your excellency.'

"'And that he is dey of Algiers.'

"'May it please your excellency, I don't know what that is.'

"'You see?' said the minister, turning to the dey.

"'The devil! exclaimed Hussein.

"'Shall I?' said Gennaro, taking a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and
advancing a pace towards the dey, who, on his part, took a step backwards.

"'No,' replied the minister, 'it will not be necessary. His highness will
do as he is bid. Go and search the hotel for a man named Osmin, and a
woman named Zaida, and take them both to the prefecture.'

"'What!' cried the dey; 'this man is to enter my harem?'

"'He is not a man,' replied the minister; 'he is a corporal of gendarmes.
But if you do not wish him to go, send for Osmin and Zaida yourself.'

"'Will you promise to have them punished?' enquired the dey.

"'Certainly; according to the utmost rigour of the law.'

"Hussein Pacha clapped his hands. A door concealed behind a tapestry was
opened, and a slave entered the room.

"'Bring down Osmin and Zaida,' said the dey.

"The slave crossed his hands on his breast, bowed his head, and
disappeared without uttering a word. The next instant he came back with
the two culprits.

"The eunuch was a little round fat fellow, with beardless face, and small
hands and feet. Zaida was a beautiful Circassian, her eyelids painted with
kool, her teeth blackened with betel, her nails reddened with henna. On
perceiving Hussein Pacha, the eunuch fell upon his knees; Zaida raised her
head. The dey's eyes flashed, and he clutched the hilt of his kangiar.
Osmin grew pale; Zaida smiled. The minister of police made a sign to the
gendarme, who stepped up to the two captives, handcuffed them, and led
them out of the room. As the door closed behind them, the dey uttered a
sound between a sigh and a roar.

"The magistrate looked out of the window, till he saw the prisoners and
their escort disappear at the corner of the Strada Chiatamone. Then
turning to the dey--

"'Your highness is now at liberty to leave Naples, if he wishes so to do,'
said the imperturbable functionary with a low bow.

"'This very instant!' cried Hussein. 'I will not remain another moment in
such a barbarous country as yours.'

"'A pleasant journey to your highness,' said the minister.

"'Go to the devil!' retorted Hussein.

"Before an hour had elapsed, the dey had chartered a small vessel, on
board of which he embarked the same evening with his suite, his wives, and
his treasures; and at midnight he set sail; cursing the tyranny that
prevented a man from drowning his wife and cutting off the heads of his
slaves. The next day the minister of police had the culprits brought
before him and examined. Osmin was found guilty of having slept when he
ought to have watched, and Zaida of having watched when she ought to have
slept. But, by some strange omission, the Neapolitan code allots no
punishment to such offences; and, consequently, Osmin and Zaida, to their
infinite astonishment, were immediately set at liberty. Osmin took to
selling pastilles for a livelihood, and the lady got employment as _dame
de comptoir_ in a coffeehouse. As to the dey, he had left Naples with the
intention of going to England, in which country, as he had been informed,
a man is at liberty to sell his wife, if he may not drown her. He was
taken ill, however, on the road, and obliged to stop at Leghorn, where he
died."

M. Dumas, not being in good odour with the Neapolitan authorities, on
account of some supposed republican tendencies of his, is at Naples under
an assumed name; and, as it is uncertain how long he may be able to
preserve his incognito, he is desirous of seeing all that is to be seen in
as short a time as possible. He finds that Naples, independently of its
suburbs, consists of three streets where every body goes, and five hundred
streets where nobody goes. The three streets are, the Chiaja, the Toledo,
and the Forcella; the five hundred others are nameless--a labyrinth of
houses, which might be compared to that of Crete, deducting the Minotaur,
and adding the Lazzaroni. There are three ways of seeing Naples--on foot,
in a _corricolo_ or in a carriage. On foot, one goes every where, but one
sees too much; in a carriage, one only goes through the three principal
streets, and one sees too little--the _corricolo_ is the happy medium, the
_juste milieu_, to which M. Dumas for once determines to adhere. Having
made up his mind, he sends for his host, and enquires where he can hire a
_corricolo_ by the week or month. His host tells him he had better buy one,
horse and all. To this plan M. Dumas objects the expense.

"'It will cost you,' said M. Martin, after a momentary calculation in his
head, 'it will cost you--the _corricolo_ ten ducats, each horse thirty
carlini, the harness a pistole; in all, eighty French francs.'

"'What! for ten ducats I shall have a _corricolo_?'

"'A magnificent one.'

"'New?'

"'Oh! you are asking too much. There are no such things as new _corricoli_.
There is a standing order of the police forbidding coachmakers to build
them.'

"'Indeed! How long has that order been in force?'

"'Fifty years, perhaps.'

"'How comes it, then, that there is such a thing as a _corricolo_ in
existence?'

"'Nothing easier. You know the story of Jeannot's knife?'

"'To be sure I do; it is one of our national chronicles. The blade had
been changed fifteen times, and the handle fifteen times, but it was still
the same knife.'

"'The case of the _corricolo_ is exactly similar. It is forbidden to build
new ones, but it is not forbidden to put new wheels to old bodies, and new
bodies on old wheels. By these means the _corricolo_ becomes immortal.'

"'I understand. An old body and new wheels for me, if you please. But the
horses? Do you mean to say that for thirty francs I shall have a pair of
horses?'

"'A superb pair, that will go like the wind.'

"'What sort of horses?'

"'Oh, dead ones, of course!'

"'Dead ones!'

"'Certainly. At that price you could hardly expect any thing better.'

"'My dear M. Martin, be kind enough to explain. I am travelling for my
improvement, and information of all kinds is highly acceptable.'

"'You are acquainted with the history of the horse, I suppose?'

"'The natural history? Buffon's? Certainly. The horse is, after the lion,
the noblest of all the beasts.'

"'No, no; the philosophical history. The different stages and vicissitudes
in the existence of those noble quadrupeds.'

"'Oh yes! first the saddle, then a carriage or gig, thence to a
stage-coach or omnibus, hackney-coach or cab, and finally--to the
knacker's.'

"'And from the knacker's?'

"'To the Elysian fields, I suppose.'

"'No. Not here, at least. From the knacker's they go to the _corricoli_.'

"'How so?'

"'I will tell you. At the Ponte della Maddalena, where horses are taken to
be killed, there are always persons waiting, who, when a horse is brought,
buy the hide and hoofs for thirty carlini, which is the price regulated by
law. Instead of killing the horse and skinning him, these persons take him
with the skin on, and make the most of the time he yet has to live. They
are sure of getting the skin sooner or later. And these are what I mean by
dead horses.'

"'But what can they possibly do with the unfortunate brutes?'

"'They harness them to the _corricoli_.'

"'What! those with which I came from Salerno to Naples'--

"'Were the ghosts of horses; spectre steeds, in short.'

"'But they galloped the whole way.'

"'Why not? _Les morts vont vite._'"

_Et cetera, et cetera_. For the price stated by his host, M. Dumas finds
himself possessor of a magnificent _corricolo_ of a bright red colour,
with green trees and animals painted thereon. Two most fiery and impatient
steeds, half concealed by harness, bells, and ribands, are included in his
purchase. After a vain attempt to drive himself, the phantom coursers
having apparently a supreme contempt for whipcord, he gives up the reins
to a professional charioteer, and commences his perambulations. His first
visit is to the Chiaja, the favourite promenade of the aristocracy and of
foreigners; his second to the Toledo, the street of shops and loungers;
his third to the Forcella, frequented by lawyers and their clients. He
makes a chapter, and a long one too, out of each street; but not in the
way usually adopted by those pitiless tour-writers who overwhelm their
readers with dry architectural details, filling a page with a portico, and
a chapter with a chapel--not letting one off a pane of a painted window or
line of worm-eaten inscription however often those things may have been
described already by previous travellers. M. Dumas prefers men to things
as subjects for his pen; and the three chapters above named are filled
with curious illustrations of Neapolitan manners, customs, and character.
Apropos of the Toledo, we are introduced to the well-known _impresario_,
Domenico Barbaja, who had his palazzo in that street, and who, from being
waiter in a coffeehouse at Milan, became the manager of three theatres at
one time, namely, San Carlo, La Scala, and the Vienna opera. He appears to
have been a man of great energy and originality of character, concealing
an excellent heart under the roughest manners and most choleric of tempers.

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