If his fee had been as many napoleons as it was
francs, there could not have shot over the twilight of his
shabbiness such a gleam of sun, as lighted up the whole man, now
that he was hired.
'Well!' said I, when I was ready, 'shall we go out now?'
'If the gentleman pleases. It is a beautiful day. A little fresh,
but charming; altogether charming. The gentleman will allow me to
open the door. This is the Inn Yard. The court-yard of the Golden
Lion! The gentleman will please to mind his footing on the
stairs.'
We were now in the street.
'This is the street of the Golden Lion. This, the outside of the
Golden Lion. The interesting window up there, on the first Piano,
where the pane of glass is broken, is the window of the gentleman's
chamber!'
Having viewed all these remarkable objects, I inquired if there
were much to see in Mantua.
'Well! Truly, no. Not much! So, so,' he said, shrugging his
shoulders apologetically.
'Many churches?'
'No. Nearly all suppressed by the French.'
'Monasteries or convents?'
'No. The French again! Nearly all suppressed by Napoleon.'
'Much business?'
'Very little business.'
'Many strangers?'
'Ah Heaven!'
I thought he would have fainted.
'Then, when we have seen the two large churches yonder, what shall
we do next?' said I.
He looked up the street, and down the street, and rubbed his chin
timidly; and then said, glancing in my face as if a light had
broken on his mind, yet with a humble appeal to my forbearance that
was perfectly irresistible:
'We can take a little turn about the town, Signore!' (Si puo far
'un piccolo giro della citta).
It was impossible to be anything but delighted with the proposal,
so we set off together in great good-humour. In the relief of his
mind, he opened his heart, and gave up as much of Mantua as a
Cicerone could.
'One must eat,' he said; 'but, bah! it was a dull place, without
doubt!'
He made as much as possible of the Basilica of Santa Andrea--a
noble church--and of an inclosed portion of the pavement, about
which tapers were burning, and a few people kneeling, and under
which is said to be preserved the Sangreal of the old Romances.
This church disposed of, and another after it (the cathedral of San
Pietro), we went to the Museum, which was shut up. 'It was all the
same,' he said. 'Bah! There was not much inside!' Then, we went
to see the Piazza del Diavolo, built by the Devil (for no
particular purpose) in a single night; then, the Piazza Virgiliana;
then, the statue of Virgil--OUR Poet, my little friend said,
plucking up a spirit, for the moment, and putting his hat a little
on one side. Then, we went to a dismal sort of farm-yard, by which
a picture-gallery was approached. The moment the gate of this
retreat was opened, some five hundred geese came waddling round us,
stretching out their necks, and clamouring in the most hideous
manner, as if they were ejaculating, 'Oh! here's somebody come to
see the Pictures! Don't go up! Don't go up!' While we went up,
they waited very quietly about the door in a crowd, cackling to one
another occasionally, in a subdued tone; but the instant we
appeared again, their necks came out like telescopes, and setting
up a great noise, which meant, I have no doubt, 'What, you would
go, would you! What do you think of it! How do you like it!' they
attended us to the outer gate, and cast us forth, derisively, into
Mantua.
The geese who saved the Capitol, were, as compared to these, Pork
to the learned Pig. What a gallery it was! I would take their
opinion on a question of art, in preference to the discourses of
Sir Joshua Reynolds.
Now that we were standing in the street, after being thus
ignominiouly escorted thither, my little friend was plainly reduced
to the 'piccolo giro,' or little circuit of the town, he had
formerly proposed. But my suggestion that we should visit the
Palazzo Te (of which I had heard a great deal, as a strange wild
place) imparted new life to him, and away we went.
The secret of the length of Midas's ears, would have been more
extensively known, if that servant of his, who whispered it to the
reeds, had lived in Mantua, where there are reeds and rushes enough
to have published it to all the world. The Palazzo Te stands in a
swamp, among this sort of vegetation; and is, indeed, as singular a
place as I ever saw.
Not for its dreariness, though it is very dreary. Not for its
dampness, though it is very damp. Nor for its desolate condition,
though it is as desolate and neglected as house can be. But
chiefly for the unaccountable nightmares with which its interior
has been decorated (among other subjects of more delicate
execution), by Giulio Romano. There is a leering Giant over a
certain chimney-piece, and there are dozens of Giants (Titans
warring with Jove) on the walls of another room, so inconceivably
ugly and grotesque, that it is marvellous how any man can have
imagined such creatures. In the chamber in which they abound,
these monsters, with swollen faces and cracked cheeks, and every
kind of distortion of look and limb, are depicted as staggering
under the weight of falling buildings, and being overwhelmed in the
ruins; upheaving masses of rock, and burying themselves beneath;
vainly striving to sustain the pillars of heavy roofs that topple
down upon their heads; and, in a word, undergoing and doing every
kind of mad and demoniacal destruction.
