153 

 HOW VERY EXTRAORDINARY! 



A VENETIAN INCIDENT. 



" We have no rainbows now-a-days that will stay a quarter of an hour to 

 be looked at." — Goethe. 



[During our stay at Geneva I was induced to enter the shop of 

 a broker, to inquire the price of a small picture which hung 

 temptingly in his door-way. The subject represented was an 

 elegantly-formed youth, dressed in the Italian costume, in the act 

 of rising from his seat, and looking upon two other young men 

 who were standing beside him. The expression of the former 

 appeared to have been the chief attempt of the artist. Stupor, 

 vexation, surprise, and drollery, were all mingled; and upon 

 inquiring of the picture-dealer whether he knew the history of 

 the painting, he replied ; ** You are not the first by many who 

 have asked the same question; I esteem that picture so much, 

 that the price I have put upon it has deterred several connoisseurs 

 from purchasing it. The legend attached to it you will find 

 written on this scroll of parchment. Take it to your hotel, and 

 when you have perused it, return it to me." Thanking him for 

 the offer, I hastened home, and read the following story. — 

 T)ykes TravelUng Mems.^ 



A merrier man than Baptisto Biondetto, the barber, dwelt not 

 in all Venice. 'T was said, but we vouch not for the facts, nor 

 do they matter to our history, that he had Moorish blood in his 

 veins ; that his grandfather had emigrated from Granada, and 

 that his mother was my lady's lady to the beautiful Donna 

 Teresa Campacino, of Truxillo. Without staying to elucidate 

 these important matters, we proceed on our path. The barber 

 was young, handsome, and poor. His '^ right merrie conceits " 

 were sought after, not only by persons in his own sphere of life, 

 but also by the young wits of higher grades in Venice; and con- 

 sequently, in spite of numerous douceurs from his more wealthy 

 patrons, his pockets were more frequently empty than overflowing 

 with abundance. ^ 



The night was chill ; the ponderous ]3ell of St. Mark's cathe- 

 dral had tolled the vesper-hour long since ; and all the world in 

 Venice was lounging in the place, except Baptisto, who, seated 

 before a small but sparkling fire, was ruminating on the best 

 means of raising a few ducats to defray the night's expenses. 

 Fob after fob had he drawn out — all were empty ; and even the 

 ready-witted barber was in despair, seeing that old Grimaldi had 

 refused to give him credit for another scudo. " Heigho ! " sighed 

 he, drawing a face so long that even his favorite cat, Signora 

 VOL. VI. — 1835. V 



