story of the Devil's Head in Il Piccol Nello was as well known as any other current lie in the city. In this chamber Beatrice was placed. Meanwhile the chancellor had found his bullies where Ascanio left them, but could persuade none of the three to tell him what had brought them into so sad a plight, and for this reason; two of them were dead, and the other was so faint, from the loss of blood, that he could not speak, and seemed very likely to follow his companions. He, however, pursued the fugitives, resolved, in his rage, to devote the youth to utter ruin, as soon as he should catch him; and, in the meantime, he proposed to glut his rage by sacrificing Benvenuto Cellini, who, as we said before, had made himself many enemies. Aware of Cellini's favor with the king, he was obliged to tread warily; but the superstition of that age rendered a charge of sorcery too grave to be parried. The haunted head was therefore made the hinge on which the artist's ruin was to turn; and the Duchess d'Estampes, the king's mistress, and his majesty's confessor, both enemies of Cellini, entered into the confederacy against him. The confessor devoutly believed in all the legends of the Romish church, and thought it highly probable, that a man who could execute such beau. tiful sculptures, as Cellini had exhibited on the preceding day, must be in league with the devil. When, therefore, the chancellor began to tell his story, these two worthy personages chimed in, and backed his villanous project so well, that the good-natured king was diverted from his first intention, which had been to kick the chancellor, and to leave the confessor and the sultana (the only two persons in the world of whom he had ever been afraid,) to themselves. He said he ⚫ would see Cellini, who had staid all night in the palace by his orders; and the artist was accordingly sent for. "How now, Cellini ?" said the monarch, as he approached, " did I send for you to Paris that you should bring with you troops of fiends and demons, who, it is said, help you in your works?" "I have no devils to help me in my work," said Cellini, "but your majesty's subjects; and if my great countryman, Alighieri, were to lead me through all the darkest places in the Inferno, I could not find worse fiends." "But here," said the king, holding out the papers, men swear that you have a head of the devil in Îl Piccol Nello, "two and that the whole of the neighbourhood is infested by his legions, to the disturbance of the public tranquillity, and the great scandal of our holy church." The confessor crossed himself. "I abjure the devil and his power," said Cellini, crossing himself with no less fervor; and next to them I hate and abhor the villains who have thus slandered me to your gracious majesty. Give me to know their names, and I swear they shall be better acquainted with the real devil, ere long. The king decided on examining into the matter personally: but Ascanio had married the fair Beatrice before the royal commission got to Paris, and was going to restore the stranger's horse, according to the directions he had received, at the time it arrived at the Testa di Marte, wherein the bride was lodged. The consternation of Beatrice may be better imagined than described, when she heard the arrival of so many strangers; but it was increased to an almost intolerable degree as she listened to the conversation which ensued, and heard the odious voice of her oppressor, the chancellor. She could not see any of the persons unless she had looked out at the eyes of the figure, and this she dared not to do lest she should discover herself. "And this," said the king, "is what they call the Devil's Head." "Who calls it so?" asked Cellini, fiercely? "it is the head of Mars, and whoever has called it the head of the devil, is an ass, and a liar!" "Patience, good Benvenuto," said the king; "let us hear what they have to say against the head, which seems to be a very fine work of art, whether it has been wrought by man or demon." The chancellor, who had taken care on the journey to mature his plans, now produced the little tailor, who saw here a glorious opportunity of being revenged on his formidable antagonist. He, therefore, began a long story, every third word of which was a lie, about the sights he had seen, and the sounds he had heard, in and about this dreadful head. He had often seen the foul fiend himself go in and out, he said; he had heard the devils performing the sacred office of mass backwards; he had seen flames issue from the mouth, and no longer ago than last night, as he was a Christian and a tailor, he swore that he had seen two fiends enter the head, immediately after which it was seen to roll its fiery eyes in a manner truly horrible and awful. It would be impossible to convey any adequate notion of the extravagances which Cellini committed while this little idiot was uttering his lies. If he had not been restrained, he would have killed him on the spot; he roared all sorts of imprecations—he cursed every tailor that had been on the earth since the creation, and then, adding all those curses together, he heaped them in a lump on the head of the particular tailor then before him; in short, he acted so whimsical a madness, that the king laughed until his sides ached. The chancellor, however, took up the matter in a much more serious light. He said it was evident from the relation of the witness, that some foul deeds were practised, and that the head ought to be exorcised; never doubting that if he could once gain the assistance of the clergy, they would invent some pretext on which Cellini might be sent to prison, and, knowing that their influence with the king was much greater than his own, the confessor fell into his scheme readily, and he said he did not doubt that there was a spirit in the head, and repeated that it ought to be exorcised. The king had no objection to this, and as he had already enjoyed the farce so far, he wished to see it played out. Some of the brethren of the neighbouring Carmelite church were sent for, in all haste, and preparations made for the exorcising. The confessor directed a large stack of faggots, which stood in a corner of the yard, to be laid around the head; because, he said, the application of fire was always necessary to dislodge a spirit so malignant as that appeared to be which had taken up its abode in this structure. The preparations were soon made, and a torch applied, when a faint shriek was heard to issue from the head. All the bystanders looked aghast; the priests crossed themselves,-even the king looked grave; Cellini's hair stood on end; and the tailor ran away. At this moment Ascanio had returned from the park, and learning from a bystander that they were about to exorcise the magic head, at the Italian sculptor's, because there was a spirit in it, he rushed in just time enough to dash the torch from the hand of a lay brother of the Carmelites, who was applying it, and whom he knocked down, at the same time trampling out the fire which had began to catch one of the faggots. "Fiends!-monsters!" he cried, "advance one step, and your lives shall be the forfeit." Beatrice heard his voice, and, almost fainting with terror, she rushed out, and threw herself into his arms. Supporting her with his left arm, and holding out his sword with his right, he continued to menace all who should approach. "What means all this?" cried the king. But Ascanio was too much busied in encouraging the terrified girl to listen to the question. The old chancellor, however, who recognised Beatrice instantly, now thought that his plan had succeeded even beyond his expectation." My gracious liege," he cried, "this maiden is a ward of mine, whose person I require to be instantly restored to me; the youth I charge with having, in company with others, slain three of my household, and having carried off the maiden by force." "It is false, !" cried Beatrice, as she threw herself frantically at the king's feet," they were killed in fair combat, and I went willingly with him to seek protection from the cruelty of that vicious tyrant. Here, at your majesty's knees, I implore your pity and protection." But what says the youth?" asked the king, of Ascanio, who had been gazing on him in almost stupifying astonishment. He saw before him, in the person of the gallant Francis, the stranger who had so generously aided him in the forest of Fontainebleau. Has he any witness besides that maiden, who is too deeply interested in this matter, to prove that he killed his antagonist in fair fight?" "He is one of a band of murderers and ravishers," cried the chancellor, in a rage, "he has no witness. "Thou art a liar, though thou wert a thou 66 sand chancellors," replied the youth; and since peaceful 66 men, like thee, do not make war but on weak maidens, I defy thee by thy champion. No, my liege," he added, turning to the king, and kneeling,-"I have no witnesses, save God and your majesty.' And may every honest man have witnesses as good in time of need to oppose to perjurors and lawyers. He is no murderer, chancellor; by my holy patron, St. Denis, I believe he could himself have killed those three murderous villains whom thou didst retain, but know, that I helped him that I cut the throat of that traitor, Sangfeu, whom, in spite of me, thou didst cherish, to do deeds which thy black heart planned, but dared not achieve. I helped him to carry off the maiden, thy dead friend's daughter, whom thou didst basely oppress; and if he had not been there I had done it myself." The king and his train then departed, leaving the young people with Cellini, whom the disgrace of the chancellor had put into mighty good humour. He made Ascanio tell him the story of the fight in the forest over and over again. He kissed Beatrice, and called her his child; he forbade all work in Il Piccol Nello for a week, had the wedding celebrated with great magnificence, and said, that of all works he had ever produced, none had made him so happy as LA TESTA DI MARTE. ADDRESS SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE NEW ROCHESTER THEATRE. This address shows the progress of population and civilization in the United States: it was spoken by Mrs. H. A. Williams at the opening of a theatre at New Rochester, a town that has sprung up entirely within the last few years. It is written by F. Whittlesey, esq. an inhabitant, we believe, of New Rochester; and is no mean specimen of American poetry. Scarce thrice five suns have roll'd their yearly round, When its rude beauties were unmark'd by man, The soul of enterprise has changed the land.- |