Posted 2:48 PM by laura r.
FERRARI, Chapter V
Being always intent on stimulating my interest in business, my father took advantage of the occasion of accompanying me as far as Bolzano to give my a taste for attending the fairs which they used to hold there four times a year. He chose the fair of S. Bartolomeo, since it was the most brilliant and pleasing of them all. We left therefore, going by stages from Roveredo to Trent, then San Michele, Egna, Bronzuolo and finally Bolzano. This is a quite considerable and rich city, as much for its fairs, as for its geographical position, which allows it to do business without great difficulty with Switzerland, Alsace, Bavaria, Carinthia, Carniola and the with northern part of Italy.
The surroundings of Bolzano are picturesque; the soil is fruitful, and even at fifty miles north of Roveredo we must give them the advantage in the production of grains, fruits, vegetables etc. etc.
Their silks and tobaccos are not worth much, but the wines which the Bolzanesi make are exquisite, and they drink them copiously with merriment. They have a proverb which they repeat and put into practice daily:
Qui bene bibit bene dormit
Qui bene dormit non peccat;
Et qui non peccat in Paradisum volat.

I stayed there about eight days, and as I was not able to be of any use to my father I asked permission to go to my destiny; he granted this, and I left with horse, seat and guide, commended to the Reverend Father the Prior and the Prelate and Most Reverend Father Abbot of the Benedictines of Mariaberg. This monastery is found in the Val Venosta, just a hundred miles from Bolzano. We were three days journeying to get there, and it wasn't much, considering that the roads are rocky, badly kept, and almost always climbing upwardsi. Eighty of those miles offer a perpetual monotony; one passes through the lugubrious and dispopulated city of Merano, which would give Pulcinella hypochondria; after which one enters and exits valley after valley, seeing nothing but the same sort of trees, greenery and boulders; sometimes one can go ten to fifteen miles without seeing a house or living ruin; a kind of little river runs continually, slow and mute, which makes you cold, or rather chills you.
But at Val Venosta however there is a complete change of scenery. Slaunders is the first village which is found on the right, built on a great rock; from there the little city of Glurentz can be seen not far off, built as a square, girded with a wall and four gates on the sides which are always open and without any sentinels; it was under the orders of a captain who had no other soldiers to command but his wife and children. Beyond Glurentz is seen the entrance to the Valle Enghedina, which leads in a few hours to Choira, the capital of the Grigioni. Straight ahead, and three miles from Slaunders, the Church and Monastery of Mariaberg faces you in an elegant and pompous perspective, situated a vertical mile above the plain of the valley. At the foot of that mountain is seen the village of Purgaitz which contains few houses but a beautiful little Church and a little fort where a judge resides with two invalid soldiers, who have nothing to do but eat, drink and sleep, since it has never happened that these heros have been called out for a brawl, a theft or a homicide. The good inhabitants of these valleys being so good, religious, and honest, there is no need for force to keep them at peace. They are moreover so devoted to their Sovereign as the beggars of Naples to San Gennaro; and if they find themselves sick or in misfortune they pray God that he may beseech the Emperor to allow them the grace of which they have need. If you offer them alms of a single penny, they load you, almost molest you with thanks and blessings; and say in their peasant tongue, and from the bottom of their heart: Vergelt's God in Himmel ham; vergelt's God, truila, truila, tansend male - God give you thanks in heaven, God give you thanks, three time, three times, a thousand times! To see them on Sunday at Mass, the devotion with which they genuflect, bow at the consecration, elevation and communion, kissing the earth, even, and giving tremendous blows of contrition on their chests, as if they had committed horrible sins, is a thing to edify you and make you laugh at the same time! O blessed mountaineers, how I admire you and envy you!

Posted 6:04 AM by laura r.
Chapter V

Departure from Roveredo - Brief Description of Bolzano and the Valleys which
lead to Mariaberg - Part of my Stay in this Monastery - School and Music


Being always intent on stimulating my interest in business, my father took advantage of the occasion of accompanying me as far as Bolzano to give my a taste for attending the fairs which they used to hold there four times a year. He chose the fair of S. Bartolomeo, since it was the most brilliant and pleasing of them all. We left therefore, going by stages from Roveredo to Tret, then San Michele, Egna, Bronzuolo and finally Bolzano. This is a quite considerable and rich city, as much for its fairs, as for its geographical position, which allows it to do business without great difficulty with Switzerland, Alsace, Bavaria, Carinthia, Carniola and the with northern part of Italy.
The surroundings of Bolzano are picturesque; the soil is fruitful, and even at fifty miles north of Roveredo we must give them the advantage in the production of grains, fruits, vegetables etc. etc.
Their silks and tobaccos are not worth much, but the wines which the Bolzanesi make are exquisite, and they drink them copiously with merriment. They have a proverb which they repeat and put into practice daily:
Qui bene bibit bene dormit
Qui bene dormit non peccat;
Et qui non peccat in Paradisum volat.

I stayed there about eight days, and as I was not able to be of any use to my father I asked permission to go to my destiny; he granted this, and I left with horse, seat and guide, commended to the Reverend Father the Prior and the Prelate and Most Reverend Father Abbot of the Benedictines of Mariaberg. This monastery is found in the Val Venosta, just a hundred miles from Bolzano. We were three days journeying to get there, and it wasn't much, considering that the roads are rocky, badly kept, and almost always climbing upwardsi. Eighty of those miles offer a perpetual monotony; one passes through the lugubrious and dispopulated city of Merano, which would give Pulcinella hypochondria; after which one enters and exits valley after valley, seeing nothing but the same sort of trees, greenery and boulders; sometimes one can go ten to fifteen miles without seeing a house or living ruin; a kind of little river runs continually, slow and mute, which makes you cold, or rather chills you.
But at Val Venosta however there is a complete change of scenery. Slaunders is the first village which is found on the right, built on a great rock; from there the little city of Glurentz can be seen not far off, built as a square, girded with a wall and four gates on the sides which are always open and without any sentinels; it was under the orders of a captain who had no other soldiers to command but his wife and children. Beyond Glurentz is seen the entrance to the Valle Enghedina, which leads in a few hours to Choira, the capital of the Grigioni. Straight ahead, and three miles from Slaunders, the Church and Monastery of Mariaberg faces you in an elegant and pompous perspective, situated a vertical mile above the plain of the valley. At the foot of that mountain is seen the village of Purgaitz which contains few houses but a beautiful little Church and a little fort where a judge resides with two invalid soldiers, who have nothing to do but eat, drink and sleep, since it has never happened that these heros have been called out for a brawl, a theft or a homicide. The good inhabitants of these valleys being so good, religious, and honest, there is no need for force to keep them at peace. They are moreover so devoted to their Sovereign as the beggars of Naples to San Gennaro; and if they find themselves sick or in misfortune they pray God that he may beseech the Emperor to allow them the grace of which they have need. If you offer them alms of a single penny, they load you, almost molest you with thanks and blessings; and say in their peasant tongue, and from the bottom of their heart: Vergelt's God in Himmel ham; vergelt's God, truila, truila, tansend male - God give you thanks in heaven, God give you thanks, three time, three times, a thousand times! To see them on Sunday at Mass, the devotion with which they genuflect, bow at the consecration, elevation and communion, kissing the earth, even, and giving tremendous blows of contrition on their chests, as if they had committed horrible sins, is a thing to edify you and make you laugh at the same time! O blessed mountaineers, how I admire you and envy you! How appropriate seem these two strophes:
Happy age of gold,
fair ancient innocence,
when virtue was no enemy
to pleasure!

By pomp and decorum
we find ourselves oppressed
and make ourselves
our own servitude.
Metastasio, Demetrio.

I left my guide and rig at Purgaitz, and went up by foot to Mariaberg, the road being too steep and stony to go up in a carriage. Having entered the Monastery, I sent my references to the appropriate persons and was received with the greatest affability. The Father Prior presented me to his Reverence the Prelate, before whom, according to custom, I bent my right knee, kissing the gleaming and blessed ring which he was wearing. I was then introduced to the school master, Father Mariano Stecker, a young man of twenty-five years, of peasant origins, but with the best manners. He had an aquiline nose, grey eyes, red hair, but all together a sweet and pleasing physiognomy. He did not know Italian and I did not know German at all; so that at the beginning we communicated with the little Latin which I had learned. But not many weeks passed before I was making myself understood, marvelously well, in the elegant German-Tirolian dialect. (Author's Note: Stecker was already at that time a great musician, and by studying Fux and other masters of theory he later became a great composer, especially for organ fugues.) I guessed my father's intention in sending me there, so that I might be safe from the fair sex, since there were no other women in that place but three ugly old peasant women to milk the cows, make cream and butter, to wash the laundry and to do other typically feminine tasks; but he had gravely erred in believing that he would distance me from music. The rule at this establishment was to not admit any brother or cleric if he did not know how to sing, or play some instrument extempore; the laymen were admitted there as doormen, cooks or servants, and without knowing music; but there were always twenty or more musical fathers and brothers who took as boarders thirty-two scholars, provided with everything, except for wine, and without tips or gifts, for only ninety florins a year per head, being obliged, beyond their maintenance, to instruct them in the German and Latin tongues, in arithmetic and in whatever branch of music was practiced by these monks.
A day did not pass in which there was not some service with music in the church of this Madonna. I immediately took lessons on violin and viola, and a little violone and French horn. During the free hours from school Father Stecker was good enough to give me now and then some harpsichord leassons, or permitted me to practice on his instrument. This was a spinet or clavichord of three and a half octaves, with hammers of tin. In spite of the poverty of the instrument I delighted in hearing the sonatas of Schobert, of Metzger etc., the fugues of Handel, of Bach, etc., and with what precision and spirit that brother played them! He had a precious collection of music which he had nabbed and copied, and permitted me to copy everything which pleased me as well. It wasn't long before I became the confident and accomplice in Stecker's musical thefts.
Among the monks in that monastery there was a certain Father Bonifazio, the fattest man I had ever seen. His body resembled a barrel, his chin rolled halfway down his chest, his hands looked like two feather pillows, and his fingers like so many Verona sausages. He played the violin and harpsichord like a bagpiper, and sang like a barn owl. But he had his own wealth, and spent considerable money to have sent from Leipzig, Frankfurt, and Mannheim the newly published music which he desired. He even had sent from Augsburg a grand piano of four and a half octaves, a phenomenon which had never yet been seen in the Tirol.
Father Mariano was an intimate friend of the Father Prior; he, according to the rule of that institution possessed a skeleton-key with the right to open at will all the bed chambers of the Monastery. He lent this key to my maestro from time to time, who not obliged by the night duties of these monks, used to choose the moment to open Bonifazio's chamber when they were at first matins; he took and carried into the school the music which he desired; at second matins, he brought it back in the above-mentioned room, without its owner noticing. What is more, Father Mariano would sometimes visit Father Bonifazio and play on his pianoforte the works he had copied. The disappointed Bonifazio went into a rage, not knowing how someone else could have the music which he believed he was the sole possessor of.
As soon as I was informed of this scam I offered my assistance, which was accepted with pleasure. Stecker often came to wake me at midnight, and I would get up, ready as a puppy and content and happy to honestly steal the music of someone who was not able to make good use of it.
I had great difficulty in the beginning, but then I accustomed my eye and ear to how to abbreviate, and wrote as fast as my preceptor; and copying in that way three sonatas for harpsichord or pianoforte in one hour was no big deal for us. It's true that that music was not so long, or so filled with notes and accidentals as is that of the present day.
I had moreover the pleasure of taking breakfast every Sunday with my preceptor; he treated me to fresh eggs, toast and butter; I served him the coffee which I had brought along with me from Roveredo, and I made it not with water but with cream, which produces an exquisite beverage, and which I recommend to all gluttons. (Author's note: The cream at Mariaberg was skimmed from pure cow's or goat's milk, and not from the corrupt and adulterated milk which is sold with impunity in all the streets and dairies of London!)
After breakfast we put ourselves to filling out the abbreviations; then to church to make music; then again to writing, lunching, writing again; back to church again; and thus passed the Sundays, with holy religion, good meals and divine music. Copying, filling out the sketches, and seeing and hearing the copied music performed was of unutterable advantage to me in reading at sight.
But with such occasions and temptations what could I become! Goodbye, office, goodbye, silk-rooms, goodbye, deluded hopes of my father. Viva la musica!

Posted 7:32 AM by laura r.
Chapter IV.

Promise of Matrimony - Return to Roveredo - Death of my Mother - Scabrous Situation of my Father.

A few months before leaving Verona I was invited to the nuptials of two brothers of Don Pandolfi who with him made up a family in the same house, and seeing that they were so contented and happy, the notion of taking a wife popped into my head as well. I confided my plan to my friend Gujerotti, and he suggested to me his sister Giuditta, who was boarding in a convent of nuns. I told him that first I wanted to get to know her and let her get to know me. Thus I wrote her, and she with a little bribe seduced the sister doorkeeper to let me, along with her brother, into the parlor. The young virgin was already present; she came to the grate, I bowed to her, she did the same: "your servant! - your servant!" She pleased me, I pleased her, and with a mutual smile and no further conversation we agreed to be betrothed. She was eleven, I was thirteen and a half. In leaving the parlor we came face to face with the wolf: the prioress was at a window. She saw us, became suspicious, and informed the family of my friend, and from that moment on I never saw my dear betrothed again. It bothered me terribly, because she was truly very beautiful, and as long as I was at Verona I did not cease to yearn for her. What became of her hasty love I do not know; only that mine must have vanished on my trip, since having arrived at Roveredo I thought of Giuditta no more.
It is easy to imagine the consolation and delight which I felt in seeing my fatherland once more and in embracing my parents and relatives, but the anxiety of providing evidence of my progress in music and further of showing off my silvery and very high voice topped everything. I was hoping to induce my father to allow me to devote myself entirely to music, instead of commerce; but it was all for naught.
My mother, as anxious as I was to hear me and have me heard, had put together for my arrival a little recital, inviting some freinds among whom was Pulli, my first teacher.
When I began to sing I felt hoarse. I tried and tried again, but in vain, or rather I could not begin a note. Pulli came up to me, and having as an old master already discovered from my speaking voice that the change of voice was upon me, exhorted me not to force it, since I might lose it. I wept like a baby, and could do nothing further that evening. To console me my dear father permitted me to take flute lessons from Signor Francesco Untersteiner, a miserable player! Yet after only one month I played the things from those days passably well with a one-key flute.
My mother then tried to recommence her jokes between the Salesian father and mother Teresa, without noticing that having lived for two consecutive years in a large city had opened my eyes and my mind a bit, and that my ideas were beginning to develop. I took pity on her however, once only, and went with her to confess with the Salesian, then in the evening she left me alone in the parlor with Teresa. She, as she had done before, told me my sins; I thanked her ironically, and then looking at her keenly I winked at her. She became as red as a lobster, and ran off immediately to tell my mother of my words and gestures. I then became suspicious, and returning home declared to my mother that I wanted to change my confessor and that I was too old to be paying attention to the chatter of a Theatine. That was enough that I never heard any further talk of the Salesian, or of Teresa.
Up until that point my father's business had had the wind in its sails; he had saved money, bought a nice field, and a filatojo or silk mill, where he employed at that time up to twenty-five or more people. He had also set up two brothers at Verona, one a broker the other a silk merchant, which had cost him a pretty penny. But his first disgrace was to take into his house and as a partner his brother Giambattista, and to change the firm from Francesco and Co. to Ferrari Brothers.
Giambattista had a wife, two daughters and a son, the last of which became the bane of my father and of my brothers and myself. Sometime thereafter my uncle died, and my father had the weakness of taking for a partner my uncle's son, to agree to give him five hundred florins a year in salary, a share of the profits, free housing etc. etc. He also arranged a marriage with Signora Teresa Fuiten of Trent, heiress of thirty thousand florins, which sum was given to my cousin under the responsibility of my father.
At that time there were four of us brothers still living, and four sisters, two of whom were twins who then died in infancy. There were two others mouths to feed at the stove; the uncle who was a priest, and a marriageable aunt, who, both favored by nature with a happy appetite and a very refined taste, employed them marvelously well, choosing the best foods and the best wines, especially since it cost them nothing.
The worst then that could happen to my father was to lose his consort; she finished her life at the premature age of thirty-seven years, leaving her husband in the greatest desolation and all the affairs of his numerous family in turmoil. My mother was grieved not only by her relations but by everyone who knew her; for even if she was overly devout, as I said above, she nevertheless had a generous heart and looked after everything that pertained to her family as the most active and economical house wife possible. My father's situation then became one to cause pity. My uncle the priest occupied himself with nothing but making good wine; he went walking, hunting, to the confessional, and every evening to play trumps or tressette, in the house of Vigagnoni, with his penitents. My aunt was always with her rosary, with the office of the Madonna in her hand, or with her fingers in the holy water as soon as she saw a font. My two remaining sisters were sickly and pious to the nth degree. (Author's note: I will never forget my sister Barbara, when I took her to Saco to hear an opera buffa there, performed marvelously bu the noble dilettants of that little spot; she came along only for my sake, but it was observed by those who were next to her that she never raised her eyes to the stage, nor moved them from the catechism which she had brought along, and which she read and reread until the curtain fell!) My cousin, humbug and hypocrite, was looking forward to when he might undo his uncle and benefactor.
Of four brothers I was the oldest, but still too young to give assistance to my father; and beside I hated business and adored music, and instead of frequenting the office and the silk rooms I was almost always at the harpsichord or with the flute at my lips. My voice had changed and I exercised it as much as possible; Pulli counseled me wisely not to force it on the high notes, but to seek little by little to unite the chest voice with the head voice, the falsetto, in order to acquire, he said, the violoncello of human voices, the Tenor. But still other nuisances were disturbing my poor father not a little. Since there was no longer a mistress of the house the affairs of the family remained in the care of my unhappy sisters and my emaciated aunt, the three of them not making up one between them. I, in addition to music's distraction, had also taken up the custom of going, now and then, to visit the silk working women, and their conversation interested me more than the account books and the organzas of the business. Among these young women there was a certain Orsolina Vitadèo, daughter of a wig-maker who lived two doors down from my father's house. She was polite and striking, and she struck my eye and pierced my heart a little more than Giuditta of Verona. The sly girl noticed this; it didn't bother her, nor was it unwelcome. Not being able to visit such a family openly, I visited with her when she came to work the silk.
One evening as it was getting dark I came out of a granary and clambered like a cat up the neighboring house, then launching and dragging myself with my legs apart up on the roof, I arrived at the window of my beauty’s granary. I jumped in, but in jumping bumped into the heads for the wigs and into other obstacles, making a great clatter. Vitadèo heard, and believing that it was thieves he armed himself with a large club to assault them, but tender Orsolina, knowing what was going on, and concerned for my bones, confessed everything to her father. He came up into the granary, and even if he was a little angry, he couldn't keep himself from laughing at seeing me so frightened, agitated and confused by my imprudence. He shouted at me more for having exposed myself to the danger of falling to the street than for having tried to make love with his daughter. She wept with compassion for me; he embraced her, pardoned her, then accompanied me from his house to mine and made me promise that that I would no longer get up to such tricks.
Informed of this, and of what I related a little earlier, and seeing that he couldn't make of me what he had desired, my father proposed to me that I should go for two years to the monastery of the Benedictine Fathers at Mariaberg, to learn the German language; but his aim was to remove me from the tempations of music, of Orsolina, and of the fair sex in general. And as I was seduced by a great desire to travel, by curiosity about living in a monastery and learning the German language there, without thinking about anything else I immediately accepted the offer, and my departure was fixed for the fifteenth of September.

Posted 6:03 AM by laura r.
Chapter III.
My Father's Vow - Sanctuary on Montebaldo - My Education at Verona - Pasquinades



My brother Lodovico caught a mild case of smallpox, and of the two pox which he had one injured his right eye, which caused him to lose his sight. My unhappy father, due to this misfortune, made a vow to the Madonna della Corona to visit that sanctuary with his wife and two elder daughters if Lodovico was healed. He spared neither means nor gold; but there was no remedy. In spite of this he believed that he owed an offering to the Virgin and resolved to leave, since my mother had decided to send me to Verona. I thus went with them.
We left Roveredo in the morning, and stayed in Ala for a few hours, a prosperous and pleasing city. At night we slept at Peri, a little village, but well- situated; it is about a quarter mile from the Adige, beyond which is the Rivalta gate, that is two barks covered with tables for transporting passagers and merchandise back and forth across the river. Facing Peri one sees the very tall Montebaldo, which protects Lago Garda; halfway up the hill the canonry and the church or the Sanctuary of the Madonna della Corona appear.
We stayed at the post house, kept by a certain Signor Ventura, a placid and hospitable man; he gave us an exquisite meal, at a good price, and what is more some excellent vin santo, made in the house. Two silk makers of that place, correspondents of my father, dined with us, and chatting after the meal they were asked if they could give us any correct information on the history of the Madonna della Corona. One answered that the Sanctuary appeared unexpectedly one day to the unutterable surprise of the vicinity and of the wayfarers; and that the great miracles done by that Virgin were innumerable.
The other added without cerimony that the story was false, but that a hermit and his friends having gone up Montebaldo and having brought up the machinery with ropes had built the canonry and the church in secret in the forest. Then, having cut down the trees that was covering it one night, the above-mentioned Sanctuary appeared in full view the next day; that he had heard tell of the quantity of miracles done by that Virgin, but that he had not seen a single one. (Author's note: However what is not
false is that after the battle of Rivoli Napoleon miraculously brought his army over Montebaldo, and with the large artillery tirata su a contrappeto, and with a cannon of immense calibre, whose roar brought panic to the entire valley).
This did not discourage my parents in the least. They left at the next dawn with my sisters and with the postmaster, who courteously accompanied them beyond the Adige, to the Riva Alta gate, where they found the asses already in order and ready to slowly ascend that very steep mountain. At a mile from the Sanctuary they were obliged to leave the asses in a kind of shelter, only being able to ascend there on foot. Having arrived at the church and made their devotions they returned to Peri and from there to Roveredo, with the hope of finding Lodovico cured by a miracle; but they found him as unhappy as they had left him.
In the meantime I had gone with the carriage passing through Volargne, the end of the Tirolian Alps, where the rich plain of Venetian Lombardy majestically presents itself. Having arrived at Verona, I had myself brought immediately to my fated preceptor, the justly venerated Don Antonio Pandolfi. He instructed me a little better in Italian and Latin, gave me an idea of mathematics, of geography, of Muratori's moral philosophy, and of the works of Metastasio, which interested me more than anything. But the enthusiasm and the prevailing taste which I had for music detracted not a little from the instructions of Don Pandolfi.
Cubri was given to me as my master for solfege, a dull and knavish priest, good only for bringing a beginner along; still he gave me lessons in accompaniment, and after a year I knew my solfege, accompanied tolerably at sight, took lessons every weekday and holiday, and paid a Bavarian dollar for every sixteen lessons.
My precepter and his friends seeing that Cubri could do no more for me, I was given as my singing master, Marcolla, an excellent professor, and Borsaro, much better at the keyboard than Cubri; I paid them the same price for every twelve lessons, but my father's money was better spent, since in the following year while I remained at Verona I made rapid and visible progress.
At this time something happened which has always weighed on my heart, and confessing which give me some consolation.
Shortly before I went to Verona my mother wrote there to the archpriest of Santa Maria Antica, to ask him to be my confessor while I was in that city. He agreed to her request with pleasure, and I went often to him immediately after my arrival, but rarely thereafter; as much because he seemed to me a sort of Salesian father, as through a circumstance which I am about to tell, and which proved to me that his principles were not liberal.
He and other fanatics or religious bigots encouraged me to despise, rather to hate the Jews, calling them the greatest enemies of we Christians. It didn't take much to persuade me, and when I went walking through Verona with my companions and we met a Jew, we would mock him with impunity, with words, with gestures, now caricaturing the songs of his Synagogue, now the shouts that those poor folk make in their ghetto or in the streets.
One day, while I was playing ball with some boys in the courtyard of the Palazzo Zenobio, a Jew passed by there with a sack on his shoulders, shouting as usual "old clothes!" We left our game and began to torment that poor man; he angered and upset, took his burden from his shoulders to throw it at me, who was closest to him; but I, younger and more agile than him, ran out of the palazzo; he followed me, but when I was at a certain distance, I took a stone from the street, and threw it at his head. Stunned by the blow and the wound he stopped, and I escaped to Don Antonio's house, passing through the pharmacy which his two brothers kept.
It was not long until the mistreated merchant of old clothes presented himself in the same shop, complaining justly and bitterly of me. My precepter came down, and hearing my misdeed obliged me to ask pardon of him, and give that little money which I had in my wallet. The Israelite was satisfied, and after being treated by Pandolfi he went back to the Ghetto.
Don Antonio then brought me in his chamber, and chastised me severely, making me understand that I ought not to mingle with any but those of my own religion, nor to have scorn for any other, and above all for that of the Jews, since we Christians as well believe in the the old Testament. And further that I should note that our Savior himself was born of a Jewish Virgin.
That was enough to emancipate me from the prejudices of my Archpriest and his like; when I later got to know some of those persecuted people I considered them always as my friends.
In that spring an opera seria was presented at the Teatro Filarmonica. Danzi, in her first youth, a singer of surprising agility, was there, David, father of the present David, in his flower, as well as Paccherotti, the model for singers of that time; in spite of all that the opera was a failure.
Since I have spoken of the Theatre, I will tell here two rather biting pasquinades.
When maestro Mortellari left England, he left London with Cavalier Pisani, a noble Venetian and his patron. Having arrived at Padua the good Cavalier saw that his protege was engaged to write an opera and a ballet there. The company was certainly poor, but Mortellari was one of those stubborn old men who won't adapt themselves to the good taste of the day, and what's more his music was weak and bare of harmony. He made a fiasco, a grand fiasco, and was served with this compliment:
Singers without voice,
Dancers without legs,
Music by Mortellari!

The last appearance that the celebrated Mombelli, known as the tenor dei terzetti, made, was Pergola in Florence; he was over seventy years old, and still wanted to sing; the little voice that he still had was trembling, and falling in a disgusting way, etc. etc. Since he had been for twenty years the idol of the Florentines he was respected, but when he went to the theatre the second evening to get in costume he found on the door of his dressing room, written in red pencil:
At seventy, one doesn't sing or dance!

Now, changing the tone, but not the subject, I ask permission to tell another which I find brilliant.
The Republic of Venice had been on the brink of its precipice for more than a century; various senators with good sense and great politicians had died or retired; some dandies with little intellect and ignoramuses and taken their place, and in consequence the affairs of the Republic were going to the dogs. One daythe initials reproduced below could be seen affixed to a door of the Palace of the Doge:
PPP
III
RRR
G.

These produced great suspicion and fear on the part of the new senators. There were spies at the balls; secret denunciations one after the other; arrests everywhere.
Finally they offered a great sum of money and pardon to whomever might be able to explain the meaning of the above-mentioned letters. Their author had no need of money and neither did he trust the promised pardon. In consequence, some time later, he caused the letters to be filled out as follows:

Patres Patriae Perierunt.
Iuvenes Ignari Imperant.
Respublica Recens Ruit
Gratis.

Posted 5:15 AM by laura r.

Ferrari, Chapter 2

Posted 11:46 AM by laura r.

Ferrari, Chapter 1