A BRIEF MEMOIR OF METASTASIO. "Darsi in braccio ancor conviene Pietro Trapassi, afterwards named Metastasio, was the son of Felice and Francesca Trapassithe former a native of Assisi, and the latter a Bolognese. At the birth of our poet, in 1698, the father was a resident in Rome, where he carried on some obscure trade, the precise nature of which has not been very satisfactorily ascertained."* Whatever might have been the plans laid down by the elder Trapassi for his son, they must have been extremely moderate in their ambition, since neither his present circumstances nor his future prospects could have been other than of the very humblest scope. But Fortune had, even from his cradle, marked out young Pietro for her favour. As he grew in years he seems to have exhibited an intelligence which attracted considerable attention; and the quickness of his mind appears to have been seconded by a more than ordinary beauty of person. At a very early age we find him exhibiting signs of great poetical talent; and at ten years old he was a fluent, graceful, and successful improvisatore. Whether he was taught any portion of his father's business, or left-as the custom is in Italy-to lead a sort of roving life, we can only conjecture; but the distaste which, later in life, he confessed to the exertion even of those literary talents which were at once his ornament and his means, would seem to sanction the supposition that he never seriously employed himself for any length of time in a regular or settled pursuit. His happy star, however, soon brought about a day which changed at once his position and his prospects. The civilian Gravina, a man of great legal acquirements and some literary taste, was passing one summer's evening through the Campus Martius, where the shop of Trapassi was situated, when his attention, together with that of the Abbé Lorenzini, his companion, was attracted by a group of listeners assembled round a young improvisatore, of singularly prepossessing appearance, and not more than ten years of age. While they listened to his voice, * Madame Piozzi, however, states that he was a goldsmith. + Gravina (Giovanni Vincenzo) was a critic, antiquary, lawyer, and dramatic poet. His tragedies have been universally condemned by his countrymen, and his fame now rests solely on his patronage of Metastasio and his three books, "De ortu et progressu juris civilis." which was peculiarly melodious, and were admiring the readiness with which he turned to purpose both the objects around him and the topics of the day, the young poet, with an address which bespoke both modesty and self-possession, paid to his more distinguished auditors an apt and graceful compliment, which was not destined to be thrown away. Gravina, who, being an author, was not proof against flattery, soon found the impression he had first received deepen into an intense and powerful interest. Who could this young lad be, who seemed to have caught at once the lyre and beauty of Apollo? Nor was this interest diminished when the object of it refused with dignity the gift which he almost pressed upon him. He immediately inquired concerning him, and having learned both his character and parentage determined to adopt him for his son. But little persuasion was needed to induce Trapassi to part with Pietro to an eminent and influential patron; nor can we imagine that the young poet was likely to put many objections in the way. Appreciation and encouragement win their passage into all hearts, and into none more readily than that of the literary aspirant. Severed from the rest of mankind alike by the character of his mind and the nature of his pursuits, it is but seldom that he is understood, and still more seldom that he meets with sympathy and aid. It is too often his lot to find admirers only among his inferiors, and to be surrounded only with flatterers whom he detests and despisescounsellors, who help him not, and lovers who comprehend him not; but happy is the poet who finds a friend among the many, who feeling with him, and growing towards him, knows him as he should be known, to be appreciated as he ought, "from his lowest note to the top of his compass." Be it said, in justice to Gravina, that his patronage was as judicious as it was generous. Less eager to exhibit the wonder of a precocious boyhood than careful to perfect the fulness of a successful manhood, his protegé was no sooner in his new home than he set about inducting him into a course of long and laborious study. His was no morbid ambition to display what genius without education may effect; but rather a hope, at once confident and well-founded, to add the one thing wanted by his young and interesting charge. No talent, he well knew, could compensate for lack of knowledge; and no genius, however brilliant, survive the enervating 66 to have possessed a due share of the poet's failing of improvidence, appears to have so reduced in the course of three years, as to render his future livelihood a serious and pressing consideration. Accordingly, in 1721, we find him removed from Rome to Naples, and occupied in the chambers of a strict and learned lawyeran inveterate enemy to poets, and who only re influence of an idle and desultory life. Doubtless Gravina saw, too, the ill effects which must have arisen from a continuance of inferior and undiscriminating praise. The audience of the Campus Martius, composed as it was of a mixed, and for the most part illiterate assembly of casual loungers, was naturally one whose judgment could be of little or no service, and whose encomiums of little or no real worth.ceived Metastasio under the stipulation that he He doubtless knew, also, the pernicious effect of should renounce the Muses from that time forth a too early initiation into the excitement of a life | for ever—a condition with which he would in all of fame. Nothing," says Bulwer, in his "Life probability have complied, but for a circumof Schiller," is more beneficial to a man of ge- stance which happened almost immediately to nius yet young, than to frequent society in which prevent him. he is not over-estimated;-nothing more injurious than to be the sole oracle of his circle." It was at this period that Pietro changed his surname from Trapassi to Metastasio. But a greater change had taken place in his prospects, habits, and employments. No longer" the observed of all observers," and in the receipt of that quick return for small and unlaborious exertions, which is always within the reach of every man of average talents, provided he is not particular as regards its quality-he found himself engaged in a tedious and difficult career of study, whose recompence was distant, and whose drudgery distasteful. But the exercise was at the same time as healthy as it was severe. "Nil sine magno labore," is a truth which ages have confirmed; and while his present toil seemed to be a hardship and a penance, and a painful self-restraint and self-denial, it was, in reality, bracing every power of his mind, and strengthening every effort of his will. Nor was Gravina careless to provide for failure as well as success. In addition to the classical acquirements to which he urged his pupil, he took great pains to furnish him with a knowledge of his own profession. So matters continued for four years, at the end of which time we find the young student very considerably advanced in fearning, and having completed his first tragedy, "Giustino." And now arrived the harvest of his long and weary labour. His patron, delighted beyond measure, and overjoyed at the successful result of his instruction, took him triumphing to Naples, where he contended with, and proved superior to, many of the most celebrated improvisatori of Italy. Still, however, continuing his study of the law, he took the minor order of priesthood, and became the Abbate Metas tasio. Here we have a long interval before our next hearing of him. His patron, Gravina, died in 1718, bequeathing to his foster-son the whole of his personal property, to the amount of fifteen thousand crowns. This Metastasio, who seems The Prince Borghese, Viceroy of Naples, having determined to celebrate the birthday of the Empress Elisabetta Christina, wife of Charles VI., with a theatrical entertainment, was anxiously seeking out a poet equal to the task of providing a new and apposite drama for the occasion, when he was directed to Metastasio as the most likely person in the kingdom to execute the plan in an elegant and tasteful manner. Accordingly he sent for the young lawyer, and overruling his objections by a promise of inviolable secresy, at last prevailed on him to undertake the work. The result of this arrangement was the production of the "Orti Esperidi," which met with so much success, that the proud and delighted poet could not restrain himself from declaring its authorship, in despite of the condition which has been stated above. Here, then, was an end of his connexion with the stern and matter-of-fact civilian; and here also was a fresh inducement to resign himself entirely to the pursuits of literature and poetry. But there was another, perhaps stronger, in the case. He had become acquainted, since his resi dence in Naples, with a charming actress and singer of the name of Marianna Bulgarini, or Brugnatelli-more commonly called "La Romanina." As the dramas of Metastasio were indebted subsequently to this clever girl for some portion of their success, so also a far greater advantage accrued to her from the pains taken by the poet to fit her with becoming characters, such as "Galatea," Angelica," &c. Thus mutually indebted to each other, we can hardly wonder that a warm friendship sprang up between them, which was at length drawn still closer by his residence in the same house with her husband and herself. For her he wrote the "Didone Abbandonata," one of the happiest of his efforts, which he followed up almost immediately with "Catone in Utica" and "Siröe." 66 He had now fairly immortalized himself, and, amply repaid for all his labour and self-denial, could have had but one regret-that the friend and father, whose liberality and prudence had changed the obscure and uneducated improvisatore of the Campus Martius into the accom* And no very great change either, since Metas-plished idol of all Italy, was not living to be tasio is only Trapassi Grecized. Either name, hold the triumph which his generosity and providence had procured. however, inasmuch as it signifies removal, seems peculiarly appropriate to this poet, who was translated so completely out of the sphere in which he was born, and changed so entirely by the education which he received. In the meantime, the pecuniary circumstances of our poet by no means kept par with his literary success. But fortune, who never deserted Indeed in his latter days he never took any pains to ascertain whether or no he had a single relation living. him throughout his long and happy life, soon wrought another change in his favour, of the highest and utmost importance. In the year 1730, an invitation was sent him from the court Such were the weaknesses and peculiarities in of Vienna, to reside in that city under the impe- a character naturally amiable and ingenuous. rial auspices and protection, and to share with Perhaps few men could live in a Court in those Apostolo Zeno, the laureate, the duties belong-days, and preserve themselves so uncontaminated ing to his situation. This he at once accepted, and shortly afterwards, on the retirement of Zeno, undertook the whole onus of the office which descended to him. In the service of this court he appears to have spent the remainder of his long and prosperous career-in the receipt of constant and munificent favours from the emperor and his successors, and commanding throughout the respect due to a worthy, amiable, and accomplished man. The death of Metastasio took place on the 12th of April, 1782, in the 85th year of his age. He left behind him twenty-six operas, besides oratorios, canzonets, sonnets, and minor poems. And now a few words respecting his character and peculiarities. That he was of a generous and noble disposition, is evident from his conduct to the husband of " La Romanina." This accomplished lady at her death had left the whole of her personal property to Metastasiobut in consideration of her husband it was immediately relinquished in his favour. Unambitious, and desirous rather of a calm and easy than a splendid and brilliant fortune, he seems to have made it his chief aim to glide down the stream of life without opposition, and with the least possible trouble. His answer to one who endeavoured to persuade him to read the works of sceptical and licentious authors, displays the very mainspring and motive of all his ways and actions-"Mi costa meno il credere che il dubitare." "It cost me less to believe than to doubt." "Mi costa meno" was his ruling passion. Ilis habits were extremely regular and methodical. He always sate in the same seat at church, and never changed the fashion of his wig, or the cut and colour of his coat. He rose, studied, ate and slept at the same hours for more than half his life. He never dined from home, and always used the utmost secresy with regard to his meals; so that his nearest friends had never seen him eat, except now and then a biscuit, in their presence. In temper he was cheerful and genial, and was only open to one single provocation. No one was permitted to speak either of death or of the small-pox in his company; and this injunction disobeyed, he could never be prevailed upon to see the offender again. He refused to hear of his own family, which he appears entirely to have neglected. * It is said that Zeno retired in deference to the superior merit of his coadjutor. If so, the story is equally creditable to both parties. + Strange to say, the very labours of his muse were distasteful and irksome to him. He speaks constantly in his letters of the repugnance with which he undertook even the official duties of his laureateship. as he did. Besides, fame and popularity bring with them strange and unconsidered temptations. Indeed, if we calmly and dispassionately review his faults and excellencies together, it will be rather a matter of wonder that so many of the latter were present in him, than that they were in some measure defaced and tarnished by the upgrowth of the former. For one man of genius who has lived without his foibles, we shall find a thousand without his virtues. THE LADY WITH THE VEIL. (A Sketch from Life.) BY W. H. MAXWELL, ESQ. There is a common-place remark which has been said and sung for ages, asserting what has never been denied, that the romance of reality immeasurably surpasses the wildest creations of a heated fancy. To this doctrine we religiously subscribe, forasmuch that we can bear to its truth our personal evidence. Forty-five years since-from this ominous commencement the reader must prepare himself for an old story-a lady took possession of a small, but comfortable house, situated in a country town in the north of Ireland. In effecting the preliminary arrangements, a stranger of advanced years was the agent. The negotiation was short, simple, and easily concluded; and, late on an autumnal evening, the new tenant took possession of the premises, her luggage having been previously deposited in her domicile, and all household appurtenances that might be required most liberally provided for her use, by the old gentleman who seemed the director of her temporal concerns. The name given by the occupant was a common-place one-she appeared a person seeking a life of privacy-and in her advent, settlement, and mode of life, there was nothing which could excite surprise or provoke curiosity. Her expenditure was far from mean; but whatever her income might be, it was evidently abundantly sufficient to meet her moderate outlay--and a middle-aged female disbursed it. The personage who managed the lady's household affairs, and to whom we have alluded, was from dialect, complexion, and general appearance a foreigner, and she evidently enjoyed the unbounded confidence of her mistress. While once in the year, and at a regular season, the old gentleman paid a visit-was closeted with the lady for some hours-and departed the same evening. Whence he came, or where he returned to, was known only to himself and the secluded fair one. The name given by the lady was anything but aristocratic; and many believed that it was not a real, but an assumed one. Another circumstance elicited much speculation. The stranger's religious creed was doubtful, for she never attended any place of worship, and declined holding private communings alike with the ministers of England and Rome. Attempts had been made by fanatical sectarians to force themselves upon her privacy; but these had been repelled with dignity and firmness. Although the lady did not worship publicly, wherever charity was advocated, thither her female agent constantly repaired; and the donative that she was bearer of was always generous, and occasionally munificent. Even in illness, as in health, the same mystery was preserved. The unknown lady frequently consulted an eminent practitioner, but it was always by letter. Her supposed ailment was lucidly detailed; and her remarks, on treatment previously recommended, were acute, sensible, and perfectly intelligent. To her medical director she was a most liberal patient; and fees returned as undeserved were sent a second time, and it was earnestly requested they should be accepted. From the quiet dignity with which she asserted and maintained her incognita, so far from any intrusionist being found, had "The Lady with the Veil "-as the townspeople termed her— had she been inconvenienced by the slightest impertinence, Tyrian or Trojan would have rudely taught the delinquent how all-sufficient popular protection will be found. Election riots occurred, adjacent houses were dismantledwhile not a window of "The Lady with the Veil" was broken. Party fights were frequent, and all in the vicinity of the affray were sufferers. On the morning after one of these, priest and parson had to sing "willestrue!" alike, over what had been well-glazed sashes but the day before, they being so totally demolished in the late melée, that even from an extensive bay-window a sufficiency of splintered glass could not have been collected to afford repairs to a garden-frame. Once only, and during a street row, the Veiled Lady's domicile was disrespected, and a drunken fool, in sheer wantonness, smashed a pane or two. Instantly, this atrocity was bruited; the belligerents then engaged surceased hostilities; and-lynch-law not being that of the land-by mutual consent they exacted a horse-pond penalty from the offender; and the ordeal was so severe, that all means of resuscitation recommended by the Humane Society were taxed even to the uttermost, before the recovery of the criminal was accomplished. Years passed, and still the Veiled Lady rose steadily in popular estimation: none passed her dwelling that did not respect it; and when an election was at hand, and conflicting interests were so nicely balanced, that between Orange and Green final success was a mere toss up, a pleasant gentleman intimated that much confusion and a large assortment of broken bones would be avoided by proposing a candidate who should be acceptable to both parties. He begged to name "The Lady with the Veil;" and while Orange seconded, Green received the nomination with three cheers. That long space in mortal existence-ten years-had passed (in the simple history of the Lady with the Veil, one month's passages would have told the story of the whole), when the town was startled from its propriety by a current rumour that the Veiled Lady was seriously indisposed. Her foreign attendant increased the alarm; to numerous and anxious inquiries she announced the unwelcome intelligence that her mistress was not only ill, but hourly growing worse; and that her malady, as she feared, was most dangerous. Presently, the introduction of the clergyman and chief physician confirmed the statement. Before the invalid would consent to receive either the kindly attentions of her doctor, or the spiritual assistance of the divine, she made certain stipulations; one was, that the joint visit should be postponed for two hours-and the delay was fatal; for doubtful as recovery might have been even in the morning, the interval before the malady was attempted to be arrested had allowed the disease to occupy life's citadel, and sealed the patient's doom. She died the same night. After her lady's decease, her foreign attendant narrated the closing scene of a life, whose early and mediæval history was impenetrably concealed. When her mistress had reluctantly consented to receive spiritual and medical aid, she stipulated that the chamber, before admission, should be carefully darkened; and in the interval occupied the time in destroying and consigning to the fire numerous letters and documents carefully bound together. Of these, some were written upon paper, and others more durably recorded upon parchment. They had been taken by her desire from a secret crypt in a bureau, and committed to the flames, with a miniature, a bracelet, and a ring-all of the latter, to appearance, extremely valuable. The task ended, she sank exhausted on the bedand her professional assistants only came to see her die. The parting agony once over, many a secret hidden for a life, has been revealed. In the lady's case, although the grand mystery was not disclosed, still a strange discovery resulted; and wrapped in secresy as her history to all outside her dwelling might have been, to those within it was, as it appeared afterwards, equally impenetrable. During two hours, morning and evening, she always secluded herself; her bedroom door was fastened jealously; and one, a confidant in all besides, could never tell in what manner was her lady occupied during these stated intervals. She naturally conjectured that the seclusionist was engaged in religious exercises; but what might be their character, or according to the forms of what faith, she knew not. The secret, whatever it might be, the Veiled Lady preserved undetected even unto death; but before the grave closed, one mystery was revealed, although all beside, remained impenetrable as they had ever been. Death lifts the veil; and what has been the business of a long existence to keep behind the curtain will frequently, and in one brief moment, be posthumously disclosed. Life is a tissue of mistake and unreality. Men live, and are reputed wealthy; they die, and it is found out that for twenty years they have been insolvent. The military misconception of an order has secured a decisive victory. A churchwarden has often chalked the slate honestly between himself and the parishioners. Quacks, from frequent repetition of the humbug, have at last believed the fallacies they promulgated; and publishers have credited in time the character themselves had given to a fashionable novel. An Irish gentleman has so often alluded to his utopian estates, that at last he has imagined that they had an actual resting-place on the earth's surface. Life, from its opening to its close, is nothing but sheer delusion, and the stage best typifies it. A coriphee springs before the footlights-the wreath of beauty is round her brows-her smile is joyous; and to carry out the business of the stage, she looks happiest of the happy; yet all is flimsy as her tinselled robe; and the thousand brilliant lights that gleam around her, in one brief hour will be exchanged for the yellow glare of a solitary candle! Soon after the spirit had passed away, preparations were commenced for performing the last sad offices which the living pay to the departed. As the pale face of the deceased lady rested on the pillow, than the profile it presented to the eye nothing could be more beautiful. Slightly would the imagination have been taxed, to have fancied that one of Canova's sweetest creations -a sleeping nymph-was there reposing. But when a change in the position of the corpse disclosed suddenly that portion of the countenance which had been hitherto concealed, a cry of horror burst from the lookers-on: one side of the entire face had been completely destroyed, apparently from the number and character of the wounds, by a close discharge of fire-arms. The jaw-bone was fractured, the eyesight gone, and the seared and shrivelled skin punctured by a dozen scars, and blackened by a violent explosion. Promptly, although by what means intelligence had reached him was never known, the old gentleman appeared, and superintended the lady's obsequies. Her establishment was broken up, quietly and mysteriously, as it had ten years before been formed. When, on the day after the funeral the stranger departed, and none could guess whither, the foreign attendant accompanied him. A plain unlettered slab covers the lonely spot, in a corner of the church-yard where the lady's remains repose. Her memory, like a vision of the night, is fading fast away. In life she coveted oblivion, and in death she has obtained it. Peace to her ashes! |