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

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"No more of this, Antonio!" at length exclaimed the old painter with
energy, after gazing for some time at the gradual appearance of an old
woman's lean and winkled features, dried up and yellow as if one of the
dead, and yet lighted up by a pair of dark deep-set eyes, which seemed to
blaze with supernatural life and lustre. At each touch of the artist, this
mummy-like and unearthly visage was brought out into sharper and more
disgusting relief, when Contarini, no longer able to control his
indignation, dashed the charcoal from his pupil's hand. "Apage, Satanas!"
he shouted, "thy talent hath a devil in it. I see his very hoof-print in
that horrible design."

Startled by this unexpected violence, the young artist turned round, and
beheld with amazement the usually benign featutes of his venerable teacher
flashing upon him with irrepressible anger, which was the more impressive
because the Cavaliere had just returned from a visit to the Doge, and was
richly attired in the imposing patrician costume of the period. Around his
neck was the golden chain hung there by the imperial hands of Rodolph the
Second, and he wore the richly enameled barret, and lofty heron's plume,
which the same picture-loving emperor had placed upon his head when he
knighted him as a reward for the noble pictures he had painted in Germany.
There was a true and fine air of nobility in his lofty form and
well-marked features--a character of matured thought and intellectual
power in the expansive brow, and in the firm gaze of his large dark eyes,
as yet undimmed by age--with evidence of decision and self-respect, and
habitual composure in the finely formed mouth and chin. Thus splendidly
arrayed, and thus dignified in form, features, and expression, this
distinguished man recalled so powerfully to the memory of his imaginative
pupil the high-minded doges of the heroic period of Venice, and the
imposing portraits of Titian's senators, that, with a deep sense of his
own moral inferiority, he obeyed in silence, and with starting tears
removed the offending sketch. Then placing before him a small picture of a
weeping and lovely Magdalen by Contarini, which he had undertaken to copy,
he began the sketch, patiently awaiting a voluntary explanation of this
unwonted vehemence in his beloved teacher, who, seated in his armchair,
leaned his head upon his hand and seemed lost in thought.

And now again for some time was the deep stillness of the studio
interrupted only by the strokes of Antonio's charcoal, which, unlike his
rapid and feverish efforts when sketching the old woman, were now subdued
and tranquil. As he gazed into the upraised and pleading eyes of the
beautiful Magdalen, his excitement gradually yielded to the pacifying
influence of her mute and eloquent sorrow. This salutary change escaped
not the observation of Contarini, whose benevolent features softened as he
gazed upon these tokens of a better spirit in his pupil.

"I rejoice to see, Antonio," he began, "that you already feel, how ever
imperfectly, the soothing and hallowed influence of the Beautiful in Art
and Nature, and the peril to soul and body of delighting in imaginary
forms of horror. If you indulge these cravings of a distempered fancy, you
will sink to the base level of those Flemish artists who delight in
painting witches and demons, and in all fabulous and monstrous forms. You,
who are nobly born, devoted to poetry and fine art, and possess manifest
power in portraiture, should aim at the Heroic in painting. Make this your
first and steadfast purpose. Devote to it your life and soul; and, should
the power to reach this elevation be wanting, you may still achieve the
Beautiful, and paint lovely women in lovely attitudes. But tell me,
Antonello!" continued he, resuming his wonted kindness, "how came that
horrid visage across thy path, or rather across thy fancy? for surely no
such original exists. Say, didst thou see it living, or was it the growth
of those distempered dreams to which painters, more than other men, are
subject?"

"No, padre mio! it was no dream," eagerly answered his pupil. "Yesterday I
went in our gondola, as is my wont on festivals, to the beautiful church
of San Moyses, which I love for its oriental and singular architecture.
When near the church I heard a melodious voice calling to Jacopo, my
gondolier, the only boatman in sight, and begging a conveyance across the
canal. Issuing from the cabin, I saw a tall figure, closely veiled,
standing on the steps of the palace facing the church and occupied by the
Archduke's ambassador. Approaching the steps, Jacopo placed a plank for
the stranger; but, as she stepped out to reach it, a sudden gust caught
her large loose mantle, which, clinging to her shape, displayed for a
moment a form of such majestic and luxuriant fulness--such perfect and
glorious symmetry, as no man, still less an artist, could look on unmoved.
In trembling and indescribable impatience, I awaited the raising of her
veil. Another gust, and a slight stumble as she bounded rather than
stepped into the boat, befriended me; the partial shifting of her veil,
which she hastily replaced, permitted a glimpse of her features--brief,
indeed, but never to be forgotten. Yes, father! the face which surmounted
that goddess-like and splendid person, was the horrid visage I have
sketched, lean and yellow, drawn up into innumerable wrinkles, and with
black eyes of intolerable brightness, blazing out of deep and faded
sockets. Staggered by this unearthly contrast, I fell back upon the bench
of the gondola, and gazed in silent horror at the stranger, who answered
not the blunt questions of Jacopo; and, as if ashamed of her astounding
ugliness, sat motionless and shrouded from head to foot in her capacious
mantle. I followed her into the church; but, unable to hold out during the
mass, I left her there and hastily returned to sketch this sublime example
of the hideous before any of its points had faded from my memory. Forgive
me, father, for yielding to an impulse so strong as to overwhelm all power
of resistance. Yet why should I abandon this rare opportunity of
displaying any skill I may have gained from so gifted a teacher? Pictures
of Madonnas and of lovely women so abound in all our palaces, that a young
artist can only rise above the common level by representing something
extraordinary, something rarely or never seen in life."

Contarini gazed with sorrowing and affectionate interest upon the flushed
features of his pupil, again excited as before by his own description of
the mysterious stranger. One less acquainted with human nature, would have
mistaken the flashing eyes and animated features of the youthful artist
for the sure tokens of conscious and advancing talent; but the aged
painter, whose practised eye was not dazzled by the soft harmony of
features which gave a character of feminine beauty to Antonio, saw in the
excitement which failed to give a more intellectual character to his
countenance, sad evidence of a soul too feeble and infirm of purpose to
achieve eminence in any thing, and with growing alarm he inferred a
predisposition to mental disease from those morbid and uncontrolled
impulses, which delighted in portraying objects revolting to all men of
sound and healthy feelings.

He arose in evident emotion, and after pacing the studio some time in
silence, he approached Antonio, who, yielding to his eccentric longings,
had seized the sketch of the old woman's head, and was gazing on it with
evident delight. "Give me the sketch, Antonio!" resumed the painter in his
kindest tone, "'Tis finished, and the hunter cares not for the hunted
beast when stricken. What wouldst thou with it?" "What would I, maestro?"
exclaimed the alarmed youth, hastily removing his sketch from the extended
hand of the painter, "Finish the subject of course, and place this
wonderful old head upon the magnificent form to which it belongs."

"But, saidst thou not, Antonio, that the poor creature in the gondola
hastily concealed her features when accident revealed them, as if ashamed
of her unnatural ugliness? And canst thou be so heartless as to publish to
the world that strange deformity she is doomed to bear through life, and
which she is evidently anxious to conceal? Wouldst thou add another pang
to the existence of one to whom life is worse than death, and whose
eternal veil is but a foretaste of the winding-sheet and the grave? Thou
wilt not, canst not, my Antonio, make such unheard-of misery thy
stepping-stone to fame and fortune." This impassioned appeal to all his
better feelings at length reached the heart of Antonio. For a short time
he continued to withhold the drawing; but his kindly nature triumphed.
Tearing his sketch into fragments, he threw himself into the extended arms
of his beloved teacher, who with deep emotion placed his trembling hand on
the curling locks of his pupil, and implored the blessing of Heaven on his
better feelings and purposes.

With a view to improve the impression he had made, the painter led Antonio
round the studio, and sought to fix his attention upon several portraits
of lovely women which adorned it. "Here," said he, "are heads worthy to
crown that striking figure in the gondola. Behold that all-surpassing
portrait by Giorgione, of such beauty as painters and poets may dream of
but never find, and yet not superhuman in its type. Too impassioned for an
angel; too brilliant for a Madonna; and with too much of thought and
character for a Venus--she is merely _woman_. Belonging to no special rank
or class in society, and neither classical nor ideal, she personifies all
that is most lovely in her sex; and, whether found in a palace or a
cottage, would delight and astonish all beholders. This rarely gifted
woman was the daughter of Palma Vecchio, and the beloved of Giorgione, one
of the handsomest men of his time; but her sympathies were not for him,
and he died of grief and despair in his prime. She was the favourite model
of Titian and his school, and the type that more or less prevails in many
celebrated pictures.

"How different and yet how beautiful of its kind, is that portrait of a
Doge's daughter, by Paris Bordone! Less dazzling and luxuriant in her
beauty than Palma's daughter, she is in all respects intensely
aristocratic. In complexion not rich and glowing, but of a transparent and
pearly lustre, through which the course of each blue vein is visible. In
shape and features not full and beautifully rounded, but somewhat taller
and of more delicate symmetry. In look and attitude not open, frank, and
natural; but astute, refined, courteous, and winning to a degree
attainable only by aristocratic training and the habits of high society.
In apparel, neither national nor picturesque, but attired with studied
elegance. Rich rows of pearls wind through her braided hair, in colour
gold, in texture soft as silk. A band of gold forms the girdle of her
ruby-coloured velvet robe, which descends to the wrist, and there reveals
the small white hand and tapering fingers of patrician beauty. All this
may captivate the fastidious noble; but, to men less artificial in their
tastes and habits, could such a woman be better than a statue--and could
love, the strongest of human passions, be ever more to her than a
short-lived and amusing pastime?

"From these immortal portraits, my Antonio, you may learn that _colour_
was the grand secret of the great Venetian painters. _Their_ pale forms
are never white, nor their blooming cheeks rose-colour, but the true
colour of life--mellow, rich, and glowing; both men and women strictly
true to nature, and looking as if they could turn pale with anger or blush
with tender passion. From these great men can best be learned how much
charm may be conveyed by _colour_, and what life and glow, what passion,
grace, and beauty it gives to _form_.

"But I weary thee, Antonio; and after such excitement thou hast need of
repose. To-morrow, let me see thee early."

The exhausted youth gladly departed from a scene of so much trial; and,
hastening to his gondola, sought refreshment in an excursion to the Lido.
Returning after nightfall, he landed on the Place of St Mark's, and
wandered through its cool arcades until they were deserted. In vain,
however, did he strive to banish the graceful form and grisly features of
the stranger. The strong impression he had received became so vivid and
absorbing, that at every turn he thought he saw her gazing at him as if in
mockery, and lighting up the deep shadows beneath the arches with her
glowing orbs, which seemed to his disordered fancy to emit sparks and
flashes of fire. No longer able to resist the impulse, forgetting alike
the paternal admonitions of the old painter, and the promises so sincerely
given, he quitted the piazza and hastened to the palace of his father, the
Proveditore Marcello, then absent on state affairs in the Levant.

Retiring to his own apartment, he fixed an easel with impetuous haste, and
by lamp-light again began to sketch the Medusa head of the old woman.
Yielding himself up to this new frenzy, he succeeded beyond his hopes; a
supernatural power seemed to guide his hand, and soon after midnight he
had drawn to the life not only the appalling head, but the commanding and
beautiful person, of the mysterious personage in the gondola. After gazing
awhile upon his work with triumphant delight, he retired to bed; but slept
not until long after sunrise, and then the extraordinary incidents of the
past day haunted his feverish dreams. A female form, youthful and of
surpassing beauty, hovered around his couch, but ever changing in
appearance. At first her head was invisible and veiled in mist, from which,
at intervals, flashed features of resplendent loveliness, and eyes of
heavenly blue, which beamed upon him with thrilling tenderness; and then
the mist dispersed, and the beauteous phantom stooped down to kiss his
cheek, when suddenly her blooming face darkened and withered into the
death-like visage of that fearful stranger, and her long bright hair was
converted into hissing sepents. Starting with a scream of horror from his
troubled and exhausting slumbers, he again sought refuge in his gondola,
but returned, alas! to make his sketch into a picture, which the hues of
life made still more hideous and repulsive. After several days thus
occupied, he sketched in various attitudes the imposing figure of the old
woman, and endeavoured to fit this beautiful Torso with a head not
unworthy of it. But herein, after many attempts, he failed. His excitement,
so long indulged, had risen into fever. His diseased fancy controlled his
pencil, and blended with features of the highest order of beauty so many
touches of the old woman's ghastly visage, that he threw down his pencil,
and abandoned all further efforts in despair.

CHAPTER II.

THE CAVERN.

The shores of Austrian Dalmatia south of the port of Fiume, are of so
rugged and dangerous a nature, that although broken into numerous creeks
and bays, there are but few places where vessels, even of small dimensions,
dare to approach them, or indeed where it is possible to effect a landing.
A long experience of the coast, and of the adjacent labyrinth of islands
which block up the gulf of Carnero, is necessary in order to accomplish in
safety the navigation of the shallow rocky sea; and even when the mariner
succeeds in setting foot on land, he not unfrequently finds his progress
into the interior barred by precipices steep as walls, roaring torrents,
and yawning ravines.

It was on a mild evening of early spring, and a few days after the
incidents recorded in the preceding chapter, that a group of wild-looking
figures was assembled on the Dalmatian shore, opposite the island of
Veglia. The sun was setting, and the beach was so overshadowed by the
beetling summits of the high chalky cliffs, that it would have been
difficult to discover much of the appearance of the persons in question,
but for an occasional streak of light that shot out of a narrow ravine
opening among the rocks in rear of the party, and lit up some dark-bearded
visage, or flashed on the bright barrel of a long musket. High above the
ravine, and standing out against the red stormy-looking sky behind it, the
outline of a fortress was visible, and in the hollow beneath might be
distinguished the small closely-built mass of houses known as the town of
Segna.

This castle, which, by natural even more than artificial defences, was
deemed impregnable, especially on its sea face, was the stronghold of a
handful of hardy and desperate adventurers, who, although their numbers
never exceeded seven hundred men, had yet, for many years preceding the
date of this narrative, made themselves a name dreaded throughout the
whole Adriatic. The inhabitants of the innumerable Dalmatian islands, the
subjects of the Grand Turk, the people of Ancona--all, in short, who
inhabited the shores of the Adriatic, and were interested in its commerce,
or in the countless merchant vessels that skimmed over its
waters--trembled and turned pale when the name of these daring freebooters
was mentioned in their hearing. In vain was it that the Sultan, who in his
sublimity scarcely deigned to know the names of some of the great European
powers, had caused his pachas to take the field with strong armaments for
the extermination of this nest of pirates. These expeditions were
certainly not disadvantageous to the Porte, which seized the opportunity
of annexing to its dominions some large slices of Hungarian and Venetian
territory; but their ostensible object remained unaccomplished, and the
proverbial salutation of the time, "God save you from the Uzcoques!" was
still on the lips of every one.

The word "Uzcoque," by which this dreaded people was known, had grown into
a sound of mourning and panic to the inhabitants of the shores and islands
of the Adriatic. At the utterance of that fearful name, young girls
crowded together like frightened doves; the child hid its terrified face
in its mother's lap; the eyes of the matron overflowed with tears as the
images of murdered sons and outraged daughters passed before her mind's
eye, and, like Banquo's ghost, filled the vacant seats at the table; while
the men gazed anxiously out, expecting to see their granaries and
store-houses in flames. Nor were the seaman's apprehensions less lively,
when night surprised him with some valuable cargo in the neighbourhood of
the pirates' haunts. Every rock, each tree, and bush became an object of
dread; the very ripple of the waves on the shingle a sound of alarm. To
his terrified fancy, a few leafless and projecting branches assumed the
appearance of muskets, a point of rock became the prow of one of those
light, sharp-built boats in which the Uzcoques were wont to dart like
seabirds upon their prey; and, invoking his patron saint, the frightened
sailor crossed himself, and with a turn of the rudder brought his vessel
yet nearer to the Venetian galleys that escorted the convoy.

At the cry "Uzcoque" the slender active Albanian grasped his fire-lock,
with rage and hatred expressed on his bearded countenance: the phlegmatic
Turk sprang in unwonted haste from his carpet; his pipe and coffee were
neglected, his women and treasures secured in the harem, while he shouted
for the Martellossi,[3] and slipping them like dogs from a leash, sent
them to the encounter of their foes on the devastated plains of Cardavia.
In the despatches from Madrid, from the ministers of that monarch on whose
dominions the sun never set, to his ambassadors, the name of these seven
hundred outlaws occupied a frequent and prominent place. But by none were
the Uzcoques more feared and detested than by the greyheaded doge and
senators of the Ocean Queen, the sea-born city, before whose cathedral the
colours of three kingdoms fluttered from their crimson flagstaffs; and the
few young Venetians in whose breasts the remembrance of their heroic
ancestors yet lived, blushed for their country's degradation when they
beheld her rulers braved and insulted by a band of sea-robbers.

[3] The Turks, finding their own troops not well adapted to the
irregular and desperate kind of warfare waged by the Uzcoques, and
also unable to compete with them in the rapidity of their movements,
formed a corps expressly for the pursuit of the freebooters, which
was composed of men as wild and desperate as themselves. With these
_Martellossi_, as they were called, the Uzcoques had frequent and
sanguinary conflicts. Minucci says of the Martellossi, in his
_Historia degli Uscochi_, that they were "Scelerati barbari anco
'ordine de' medesime Scochi."

To this band belonged the wild figures, whose appearance on the shore has
been noticed, and who were busily employed in rummaging a number of sacks
and packages which lay scattered on the ground. They pursued their
occupation in profound silence, except when the discovery of some object
of unusual value elicited an exclamation of delight, or a disappointment
brought a grumbling curse to their lips. They seemed carefully to avoid
noise, lest it should draw down upon them the observation of the castle
that frowned above their heads, and at the embrasures and windows of which
they cast frequent and frightened glances, although the darkness of the
ravine, at the entrance of which they had stationed themselves, and the
rapidly deepening twilight, rendered it almost impossible to discover them.

"By the beard of the prophet, Hassan!" exclaimed in a suppressed tone a
young Turk, who lay bound hand and foot at a short distance from the
pirates, "why do these mangy curs keep us lying so long on the wet grass?
Why do they not seek their kennel up yonder?"

The person addressed was a little, round, oily-looking Turk, a Levant
merchant, whose traffic had called him to one of the neighbouring islands,
and who had been laid hold of on his passage by the Uzcoques. He was
sitting up, being less strictly manacled than his more youthful and
energetic-looking companion; and his comical countenance wore a most
desponding expression, as, in reply to the question put to him, he shook
his head slowly from side to side, at the same time gravely stroking his
beard.

"By Allah!" exclaimed the young man impatiently, as he saw the pirates
rummaging more eagerly than ever, and now and then concealing something of
value under their cloaks, "could not the greedy knaves wait till they got
home before they shared the plunder? May their fathers' souls burn!"

"What saith the sage Oghuz?" quoth old Hassan slowly, "'As people grow
rich their maw widens.'"

"Silence, unbelieving hound!" exclaimed a harsh voice behind him, and a
thump between the shoulders warned the old Turk to keep his proverbs for a
more fitting season. The pirate was about to repeat the blow, when
suddenly his hand fell, and the curses died away upon his lips.

The clouds that had hitherto veiled the setting sun had suddenly broken,
and a broad stream of golden light poured down the ravine, flashing upon
the roofs and gables of the town, and making the castle appear like a huge
and magnificent lantern. The ravine was lighted up as though by
enchantment, and the unexpected illumination caused an alarm among the
group of pirates, not unlike that of an owl into whose gloomy
roosting-place a torch is suddenly intruded. Terror was depicted upon
their countenances as they gazed up at the castle. For a moment all was
still and hushed as the grave, and the Uzcoques scarcely seemed to breathe
as they drew their greedy hands in silent haste out of the sacks; then,
suddenly recovering from their stupefaction, they snatched up their
muskets and crowded into a dark cavern in the rock, which the beams of the
setting sun had now for the first time rendered visible, without, however,
lighting up its deep and dark recesses. In their haste and alarm, more
than one of the freebooters had his tattered mantle caught by the thorny
arms of some of the bushes scattered over the shore, and turned in terror,
thinking himself in the grasp of a foe. A few only had the presence of
mind to throw their cloaks over the varied and glittering plunder that lay
scattered about on the ground; and strange was the contrast of the
sparkling jewellery, the rich stuffs, and embroidered robes, strewed on
the beach, with the mean and filthy garments that partially concealed them,
and the wild and squalid figures of their present possessors.

A number of the Uzcoques now threw themselves with brutal violence upon
the two prisoners, muffled their heads in cloaks to prevent their crying
out, and carried them with the speed of light into the cave, in the
innermost recess of which they bestowed them. They then rejoined their
companions, who were grouped together at the entrance of the cavern like a
herd of frightened deer, and gazing anxiously up at the castle. After the
lapse of a very few minutes, the bright glow again faded away, the
fortress reassumed its black and frowning aspect, the roofs of Segna
relapsed into their dull grey hue, and shadows, deeper than before,
covered the ravine.

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