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

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"It would be impossible," says M. Dumas, "to translate into any language
the abuse with which Barbaja used to overwhelm the singers and musicians
at his theatres when they displeased him. Yet not one of them bore him
malice for it, knowing that, if they had the least triumph, Barbaja would
be the first to embrace and congratulate them: if they were unsuccessful,
he would console them with the utmost delicacy: if they were ill, he would
watch over them with the tenderness of a father or brother. The fortune
which he had amassed, little by little, and by strenuous exertions, he
spent in the most generous and princely manner. His palace, his villa, and
his table, were open to all.

"His genius was of a peculiar and extraordinary kind. Education he had
none: he was unable to write the commonest letter, and did not know a note
of music; yet he would give his composers the most valuable hints, and
dictate with admirable skill the plan of a libretto. His own voice was of
the harshest and most inharmonious texture; but by his advice and
instructions he formed some of the first singers in Italy. His language
was a Milanese patois; but he found means to make himself excellently
understood by the kings and emperors, with whom he carried on negotiations
upon a footing of perfect equality. It was a great treat to see him seated
in his box at San Carlo, opposite that of the King of Naples, on the
evening of a new opera; with grave and impartial aspect, now turning his
face to the actors, then to the audience. If a singer went wrong, Barbaja
was the first to crush him with a severity worthy of Brutus. His '_Can de
Dio_!' was shouted out in a voice that made the theatre shake and the poor
actor tremble. If, on the other hand, the public disapproved without
reason, Barbaja would start up in his box and address the audience.
'_Figli d'una racca_!' 'Will you hold your tongues? You don't deserve good
singers.' If by chance the King himself omitted to applaud at the right
time, Barbaja would shrug his shoulders and go grumbling out of his box.

"With all his peculiarities, he it was who formed and brought forward
Lablache, Tamburini, Rubini, Donzelli, Colbran, Pasta, Fodor, Donizetti,
Bellini, and the great Rossini himself, whose masterpieces were composed
for Barbaja. It is impossible to form an idea of the amount of entreaties,
stratagems, and even violence, expended by the _impresario_ to make
Rossini work. I will give an example of it, which is highly characteristic
both of the manager and of the greatest and happiest, but most
_insouciant_ and idle, musical genius that ever drew breath under the
bright sky of Italy."

We are sorry to tantalize our readers, but we have not space for the story
that follows. It relates to the opera of _Othello_, which was composed by
Rossini in an incredibly short time, whilst a prisoner in an apartment of
Barbaja's house. For nearly six months had the composer been living vith
the manager, entertaining his friends at his well-spread table, drinking
his choicest wines, and occupying his best rooms--all this under promise
of producing a new opera within the half-year, a promise which he showed
little disposition to fulfil. Barbaja was in a fever of anxiety, and
finding remonstrance unavailing, had recourse to stratagem. One morning,
when Rossini was about to start on a party of pleasure, he found his doors
secured outside; and, on putting his head out of the window, was informed
by Barbaja that he must remain captive until his ransom was paid. The
ransom, of course, was the opera.

Rossini subsequently revenges himself on his tyrant in a very piquant
manner; and, finally, the morning after _Othello_ has been performed with
triumphant success, he starts for Bologna, taking with him, as travelling
companion, the _prima donna_ of the San Carlo theatre, Signora Colbran,
whom he had privately married. All this is related very amusingly by M.
Dumas, but at too great length for our limits.

We have a naval combat in the second volume, in which a French frigate is
attacked by two English line-of-battle ships, one of which she sinks, and
receives in return the entire point-blank broadside of the other, a
three-decker; which broadside, we in our ignorance of nautical matters,
should have thought sufficient to blow her either out of the water or
under it. It has not that effect, however, and the frigate is captured;
the captain of her, when he has hauled down his flag in order to save the
lives of his men, stepping into his cabin and blowing his brains out. All
this is very pretty, whatever may be said of its probability. But there
are two subjects on which the majority of Frenchmen indulge in most
singular delusions. These are, their invincibility upon the sea, and the
battle of Waterloo. M. Dumas has not escaped the national monomania.

Our author is very hard upon the poor English in this book. He attacks
them on all sides and with all weapons. Nelson and Lady Hamilton occupy a
prominent position in his pages. The execution of Admiral Carraciolo, an
undoubted blot on the character of our naval hero, is given in all its
details, and with some little decorations and embellishments, for which we
suspect that we have to thank our imaginative historian. Nelson's weakness,
the ascendency exercised over him by Lady Hamilton, or Emma Lyonna, as M.
Dumas prefers styling her, her intimacy with the Queen of Naples, and
subservient to the wishes and interests of the Neapolitan court, are all
set forth in the most glowing colours. This is the heavy artillery, the
round-shot and shell; but M. Dumas is too skilful a general to leave any
part of his forces unemployed, and does not omit to bring up his
sharpshooters, and open a pretty little fire of ridicule upon English
travellers in Italy, who, as it is well known, go thither to make the
fortunes of innkeepers and purchase antiquities manufactured in the
nineteenth century. Strange as it may appear, we should be heartily sorry
if M. Dumas were to exchange his evident dislike of us for a more kindly
feeling. We should then lose some of his best stories; for he is never
more rich and amusing than when he shows up the sons and daughters of _le
perfide Albion_. In support of our assertion, take the following sketch:--

"During my stay at Naples an Englishman arrived there, and took up his
quarters at the hotel at which I was stopping. He was one of those
phlegmatic, overbearing, obstinate Britons, who consider money the engine
with which every thing is to be moved and all things accomplished, the
argument in short which nothing can resist. Money was every thing in his
estimation of mankind; talent, fame, titles, mere feathers that kicked the
beam the moment a long rent-roll or inscription of three per cents were
placed in the opposite scale. In proportion as men were rich or poor, did
he esteem them much or little. Being very rich himself, he esteemed
himself much.

"He had come direct to Naples by steam, and during the voyage had made
this calculation: With money I shall say every thing, do every thing, and
have every thing I please. He had not long to wait to find out his mistake.
The steamer cast anchor in the port of Naples just half an hour too late
for the passengers to land. The Englishman, who had been very sea-sick,
and was particularly anxious to get on shore, sent to offer the captain of
the port a hundred guineas if he would let him land directly. The
quarantine laws of Naples are very strict; the captain of the port thought
the Englishman was mad, and only laughed at his offer. He was therefore
obliged to sleep on board in an excessively bad humour, cursing alike
those who made the regulations and those who enforced them.

"The first thing he did when he got on shore, was to set off to visit the
ruins of Pompeii. There happened to be no regular guide at hand, so he
took a lazzarone instead. He had not forgotten his disappointment of the
night before, and all the way to Pompeii he relieved his mind by abusing
King Ferdinand in the best Italian he could muster. The lazzarone, whom he
had taken into his carriage, took no notice of all this so long as they
were on the high-road. Lazzaroni, in general, meddle very little in
politics, and do not care how much you abuse king or kaiser so long as
nothing disrespectful is said of the Virgin Mary, St Januarius, or Mount
Vesuvius. On arriving, however, at the _Via dei Sepolchri_, the ragged
guide put his finger on his lips as a signal to be silent. But his
employer either did not understand the gesture, or considered it beneath
his dignity to take notice of it, for he continued his invectives against
Ferdinand the Well-beloved.

"'Pardon me, Eccellenza,' said the lazzarone at last, placing his hand
upon the side of the barouche, and jumping out as lightly as a harlequin.
'Pardon me, Eccellenza, but I must return to Naples.'

"'And why so?' inquired the other in his broken Italian.

"'Because I do not wish to be hung.'

"'And who would dare to hang you?'

"'The king.'

"'Why?'

"'Because you are speaking ill of him.'

"'An Englishman has a right to say whatever he likes.'

"'It may be so, but a lazzarone has not.'

"'But you have said nothing.'

"'But I hear everything.'

"'Who will tell what you hear?'

"'The invalid soldier who accompanies us to visit Pompeii.'

"'I do not want an invalid soldier.'

"'Then you cannot visit Pompeii.'

"'Not by paying?'

"'No.'

"'But I will pay double, treble, four times, whatever they ask.'

"'No, no, no.'

"'Oh!' said the Englishman, and he fell into a brown study, during which
the lazzarone amused himself by trying to jump over his own shadow.

"'I will take the invalid,' said the Englishman after a little reflection.

"'Very good,' replied the lazzarone, 'we will take him.'

"'But I shall say just what I please before him.'

"'In that case I wish you a good morning.'

"'No, no; you must remain.'

"'Allow me to give you a piece of advice then. If you want to say what you
please before the invalid, take a deaf one.'

"'Ooh!' cried the Englishman, delighted with the advice, 'by all means a
deaf one. Here is a piaster for you for having thought of it.' The
lazzarone ran to the guard-house, and soon returned with an old soldier
who was as deaf as a post.

"They began the usual round of the curiosities, during which the
Englishman continued calling King Ferdinand any thing but a gentleman, of
all which the invalid heard nothing, and the lazzarone took no notice.
They visited the Via dei Sepolchri, the houses of Diomedes and Cicero. At
last they came to Sallust's house, in one of the rooms of which was a
fresco that hit the Englishman's fancy exceedingly. He immediately sat
down, took a pencil and a blank book from his pocket, and began copying it.
He had scarcely made a stroke, however, when the soldier and the lazzarone
approached him. The former was going to speak, but the latter took the
words out of his mouth.

"'Eccellenza,' said he, 'it is forbidden to copy the fresco.'

"'Oh!' said the Englishman, 'I must make this copy. I will pay for it.'

"'It is not allowed, even if you pay.'

"'But I will pay ten times its value if necessary; I must copy it, it is
so funny.'

"'If you do, the invalid will put you in the guard-room.'

"'Pshaw! An Englishman has a right to draw any thing he likes.' And he
went on with his sketch. The invalid approached him with an inexorable
countenance.

"'Pardon me, Eccellenza,' said the lazzarone; 'but would you like to copy
not only this fresco, but as many more as you please?'

"'Certainly I should, and I will too.'

"'Then, let me give you a word of advice. Take a blind invalid.'

"'Ooh!' cried the Englishman, still more enchanted with this second hint
than with the first. 'By all means, a blind invalid. Here are two piasters
for the idea.'

"They left Sallust's house, the deaf man was paid and discharged, and the
lazzarone went to the guard-room, and brought back an invalid who was
stone-blind and led by a black poodle.

"The Englishman wished to return immediately to continue his drawing, but
the lazzarone persuaded him to delay it, in order to avoid exciting
suspicion. They continued their rambles, therefore, guided by the invalid,
or rather by his dog, who displayed a knowledge of Pompeii that might have
qualified him to become a member of the antiquarian society. After
visiting the blacksmith's shop, Fortunata's house, and the public oven,
they returned to the abode of Sallust, where the Englishman finished his
sketch, while the lazzarone chatted with the blind man, and kept him
amused. Continuing their lounge, he made a number of other drawings, and
in a couple of hours his book was half full.

"At last they arrived at a place where men were digging. There had been
discovered a number of small busts and statues, bronzes, and curiosities
of all kinds, which, as soon as they were dug up, were carried into a
neighbouring house, and had his attention speedily attracted by a little
statue of a satyr about six inches high. 'Oh!' cried he, 'I shall buy this
figure.'

"'The king of Naples does not wish to sell it,' replied the lazzarone.

"'I will give its weight in sovereigns--double its weight even.'

"'I tell you it is not to be sold,' persisted the lazzarone; 'but,' added
he, changing his tone, 'I have already given your excellence two pieces of
advice which you liked, I will now give you a third: Do not buy the
statue--steal it.'

"'Oh--oh! that will be very original, and we have a blind invalid too.
Capital!'

"'Yes, but the invalid has a dog, who has two good eyes and sixteen good
teeth, and who will fly at you if you so much as touch any thing with your
little finger.'

"'I'll buy the dog, and hang him.'

"'Do better still; take a lame invalid. Then, as you have seen nearly
every thing here, put the figure in your pocket and run away. He may call
out as much as he likes, he will not be able to run after you.'

"'Ooh!' cried the Englishman, in convulsions of delight, 'here are three
piasters for you. Fetch me a lame invalid.'

"And in order not to excite the suspicions of the blind man and his dog,
he left the house, and pretended to be examining a fountain made of
shell-work, while the lazzarone went for a third guide. In a quarter of an
hour he returned, accompanied by an invalid with two wooden legs. They
gave the blind man three carlini, two for him and one for his dog, and
sent him away.

"The theatre and the temple of Isis were all that now remained to be seen.
After visiting them, the Englishman, in the most careless tone he could
assume, said he should like to return to the house in which were deposited
the produce of the researches then making. The invalid, without the
slightest suspicion, conducted them thither, and they entered the
apartment in which the curiosities were arranged on shelves nailed against
the wall.

"While the Englishman lounged about, pretending to be examining every
thing with the greatest interest, the lazzarone busied himself in
fastening a stout string across the doorway, at the height of a couple of
feet from the ground. When he had done this, he made a sign to the
Englishman, who seized the little statue that he coveted from under the
very nose of the astounded invalid, put it into his pocket, and, jumping
over the string, ran off as hard as he could, accompanied by the lazzarone.
Darting through the Stabian gate, they found themselves on the Salerno
road--an empty hackney-coach was passing, the Englishman jumped in, and
had soon rejoined his carriage, which was waiting for him in Via dei
Sepolchri. Two hours after he had left Pompeii he was at Torre del Greco,
and in another hour at Naples.

"As to the invalid, he at first tried to step over the cord fastened
across the door, but the height at which the lazzarone had fixed it was
too great for wooden legs to accomplish. He then endeavoured to untie it,
but with no better success; for the lazzarone had fastened it in a knot
compared to which the one of Gordian celebrity would have appeared a mere
slip-knot. Finally, the old soldier, who had perhaps read of Alexander the
Great, determined to cut what he could not untie, and accordingly drew his
sword. But the sword in its best days had never had much edge, and now it
had none at all; so that the Englishman was halfway to Naples whilst the
invalid was still sawing away at his cord.

"The same evening the Englishman left Naples on board a steamboat, and the
lazzarone was lost in the crowd of his comrades; the six plasters he had
got from his employer enabling him to live in what a lazzarone considers
luxury for nearly as many months.

"The Englishman had been twelve hours at Naples, and had done the three
things that are most expressly forbidden to be done there. He had abused
the king, copied frescoes, and stolen a statue, and all owing, not to his
money, but to the ingenuity of a lazzarone."

The lazzarone is a godsend for M. Dumas, an admirable peg upon which to
hang his quaint conceit and sly satire; and he is accordingly frequently
introduced in the course of the three volumes. We must make room for one
more extract, in which he figures in conjunction with his friend the
sbirro or gendarme, who before being invested with a uniform, and armed
with carbine, pistols, and sabre, has frequently been a lazzarone himself,
and usually preserves the instincts and tastes of his former station. The
result of this is a coalition between the lazzarone and the
sbirro--law-breaker and law-preserver uniting in a systematic attack upon
the pockets of the public.

"I was one day passing down the Toledo, when I saw a sbirro arrested. Like
La Fontaine's huntsman, he had been insatiable, and his greediness brought
its own punishment. This is what had happened.

"A sbirro had caught a lazzarone in the fact.

"'What did you steal from that gentleman in black, who just went by?' he
demanded he.

"'Nothing, your excellency,' replied the lazzarone. A lazzarone always
addresses a sbirro as _eccellenza_.

"'I saw your hand in his pocket.'

"'His pocket was empty.'

"'What! Not a purse, a snuff-box, a handkerchief?'

"'Nothing, please your excellency. It was an author.'

"'Why do you go to those sort of people?'

"'I found out my mistake too late.'

"'Come along with me to the police-office.'

"'But, your excellency--since I have stolen nothing?'

"'Idiot, that's the very reason. If you _had_ stolen something, we might
have arranged matters.'

"'Only wait till next time. I shall not always be so unfortunate. I
promise you the contents of the pocket of the next person who passes.'

"'Very good; but I will select the individual, or else you will be making
a bad choice again.'

"'As your excellency pleases.'

"The sbirro folded his arms in a most dignified manner, and leaned his
back against a post; the lazzarone stretched himself on the pavement at
his feet. A priest came by, then a lawyer, then a poet; but the sbirro
made no sign. At last there appeared a young officer, dressed in brilliant
uniform, who passed gaily along, humming between his teeth a tune out of
the last opera. The sbirro gave the signal. Up sprang the lazzarone and
followed the officer. Both disappeared round a corner. Presently the
lazzarone returned with his ransom in his hand.

"'What have you got there?' said the sbirro.

"'A handkerchief,' replied the other.

"'Is that all?'

"'That all! It is of the finest cambric.'

"'Had he only one?'[11]

[11] At Naples, it is customary to carry two handkerchiefs, one of
silk, and the other of cambric; the latter being used to wipe the
forehead.

"'Only one in that pocket.'

"'And in the other?'

"'In the other he had a silk handkerchief.'

"'Why didn't you bring it?'

"'I keep that for myself, excellency. It is fair that we should divide the
profits. One pocket for you, the other for me.'

"'I have a right to both, and I must have the silk handkerchief.'

"'But, your excelleilcy'----

"'I must have the silk handkerchief.'

"'It is an injustice.'

"'Ha! Do you dare speak ill of his majesty's sbirri? Come along to prison.'

"'You shall have the silk handkerchief, your excellency.'

"'How will you find the officer again?'

"'He is gone to pay a visit in the Strada de Foria. I will go and wait for
him at the door.'

"The lazzarone walked away, turned the corner of the street, and
established himself in the recess of a doorway. Presently the young
officer came out of a house opposite, and before he had gone ten paces,
put his hand in his pocket, and found he was minus a handkerchief.

"'Pardon me, excellency,' said the lazzarone, stepping up to him; 'you
have lost something, I think?'

"'I have lost a cambric handkerchief.'

"'Your excellency has not lost it; it has been stolen from him.'

"'And who stole it?'

"'What will your excellency give me if I find him the thief?'

"'I will give you a piastre.'

"'I must have two.'

"'You shall. Hallo! What are you doing?'

"'I am stealing your silk handkerchief.'

"'In order to find my cambric one?'

"'Yes.'

"'And where will both of them be?'

"'In the same pocket. The person to whom I shall give this handkerchief is
the same to whom I have already given the other. Follow me, and observe
what I do.'

"The officer followed the lazzarone, who gave the handkerchief to the
sbirro, and walked away. The latter had hardly put his prize in his pocket
when the officer came up and seized him by the collar. The sbirro fell on
his knees, but the officer was inexorable, and he was sent to prison. As
the sbirro had himself been a lazzarone, he saw at once the trick that had
been played him. He wanted to cheat his confederate, and his confederate
had cheated him; but far from bearing him malice for having done so, the
sbirro views the conduct of the lazzarone in the light of an exploit, and
feels an additional respect for him in consequence. When he is released
from prison, he will seek him out, and they will be hand and glove
together. When that time comes, look to your pockets."

We are introduced to Ferdinand IV. of Naples, King Nasone, as the
lazzaroni nicknamed him; also to Padre Rocco, a popular preacher, and the
idol of the lower classes of Neapolitans; and to Cardinal Perelli,
remarkable for his simplicity, which quality, as may be supposed, loses
nothing in passing through the hands of his present biographer. With his
usual skill, M. Dumas glides from a ticklish story of which the cardinal
is the hero, (a story that he does _not_ tell, for which forbearance we
give him due credit, since he is evidently sorely tempted thereto,) to an
account of the Vardarelli, a band of outlaws which for some time infested
Calabria and the Capitanato.

"Gaetano Vardarelli was a native of Calabria, and one of the earliest
members of the revolutionary society of the Carbonari. When Murat, after
for some time favouring that society, began to persecute it, Vardarelli
fled to Sicily, and took service under King Ferdinand. He was then
twenty-six years of age, possessing the muscles and courage of a lion, the
agility of a chamois, the eye of an eagle. Such a recruit was not to be
despised, and he was made sergeant in the Sicilian guards. On Ferdinand's
restoration in 1815, he followed him to Naples; but finding that he was
not likely ever to rise above a very subordinate grade, he became
disgusted with the service, deserted, and took refuge in the mountains of
Calabria. There two of his brothers, and some thirty brigands and outlaws,
assembled around him and elected him their chief, with right of life and
death over them. He had been a slave in the town; he found himself a king
in the mountains.

"Proceeding according to the old formula observed by banditti chiefs both
in Calabria and in melodramas, Vardarelli proclaimed himself redresser
general of wrongs and grievances, and acted up to his profession by
robbing the rich and assisting the poor. The consequence was, that he soon
became exceedingly dreaded by the former, and exceedingly popular among
the latter class; and at last his exploits reached the ears of King
Ferdinand himself, who was highly indignant at such goings on, and gave
orders that the bandit should immediately be hung. But there are three
things necessary to hang a man--a rope, a gallows, and the man himself. In
this instance, the first two were easily found, but the third was
unfortunately wanting. Gendarmes and soldiers were sent after Vardarelli,
but the latter was too cunning for them all, and slipped through their
fingers at every turn. His success in eluding pursuit increased his
reputation, and recruits flocked to his standard. His band soon doubled
its numbers, and its leader became a formidable and important person,
which of course was an additional reason for the authorities to wish to
capture him. A price was set on his head, large bodies of troops sent in
search of him, but all in vain. One day the Prince of Leperano, Colonel
Calcedonio, Major Delponte, with a dozen other officers, and a score of
attendants, were hunting in a forest a few leagues from Bari, when the cry
of '_Vardarelli_!' was suddenly heard. The party took to flight with the
utmost precipitation, and all escaped except Major Delponte, who was one
of the bravest, but, at the same time, one of the poorest, officers of the
whole army. When he was told that he must pay a thousand ducats for his
ransom, he only laughed, and asked where he was to get such a sum.
Vardarelli then threatened to shoot him if it was not forthcoming by a
certain day. The major replied that it was losing time to wait; and that,
if he had a piece of advice to give his captor, it was to shoot him at
once. The bandit at first felt half inclined to do so; but he reflected
that the less Delponte cared about his life, the more ought Ferdinand to
value it. He was right in his calculation; for no sooner did the king
learn that his brave major was in the hands of the banditti, than he
ordered the ransom to be paid out of his privy purse, and the major
recovered his freedom.

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