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Massimilla Doni By: Honoré de Balzac (1799-1850) |
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By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Clara Bell and James Waring
DEDICATION To Jacques Strunz. MY DEAR STRUNZ: I should be ungrateful if I did not set your name
at the head of one of the two tales I could never have written but
for your patient kindness and care. Accept this as my grateful
acknowledgment of the readiness with which you tried perhaps not
very successfully to initiate me into the mysteries of musical
knowledge. You have at least taught me what difficulties and what
labor genius must bury in those poems which procure us
transcendental pleasures. You have also afforded me the
satisfaction of laughing more than once at the expense of a
self styled connoisseur. Some have taxed me with ignorance, not knowing that I have taken
counsel of one of our best musical critics, and had the benefit of
your conscientious help. I have, perhaps, been an inaccurate
amanuensis. If this were the case, I should be the traitorous
translator without knowing it, and I yet hope to sign myself
always one of your friends. DE BALZAC. MASSIMILLA DONI
As all who are learned in such matters know, the Venetian aristocracy is
the first in Europe. Its Libro d'Oro dates from before the Crusades,
from a time when Venice, a survivor of Imperial and Christian Rome which
had flung itself into the waters to escape the Barbarians, was already
powerful and illustrious, and the head of the political and commercial
world. With a few rare exceptions this brilliant nobility has fallen into utter
ruin. Among the gondoliers who serve the English to whom history here
reads the lesson of their future fate there are descendants of long
dead Doges whose names are older than those of sovereigns. On some
bridge, as you glide past it, if you are ever in Venice, you may admire
some lovely girl in rags, a poor child belonging, perhaps, to one of
the most famous patrician families. When a nation of kings has fallen
so low, naturally some curious characters will be met with. It is not
surprising that sparks should flash out among the ashes. These reflections, intended to justify the singularity of the persons
who figure in this narrative, shall not be indulged in any longer, for
there is nothing more intolerable than the stale reminiscences of those
who insist on talking about Venice after so many great poets and petty
travelers. The interest of the tale requires only this record of the
most startling contrast in the life of man: the dignity and poverty
which are conspicuous there in some of the men as they are in most of
the houses. The nobles of Venice and of Geneva, like those of Poland in former
times, bore no titles. To be named Quirini, Doria, Brignole, Morosini,
Sauli, Mocenigo, Fieschi, Cornaro, or Spinola, was enough for the pride
of the haughtiest. But all things become corrupt. At the present day
some of these families have titles. And even at a time when the nobles of the aristocratic republics were
all equal, the title of Prince was, in fact, given at Genoa to a member
of the Doria family, who were sovereigns of the principality of
Amalfi, and a similar title was in use at Venice, justified by ancient
inheritance from Facino Cane, Prince of Varese. The Grimaldi, who
assumed sovereignty, did not take possession of Monaco till much later. The last Cane of the elder branch vanished from Venice thirty years
before the fall of the Republic, condemned for various crimes more
or less criminal. The branch on whom this nominal principality then
devolved, the Cane Memmi, sank into poverty during the fatal period
between 1796 and 1814. In the twentieth year of the present century they
were represented only by a young man whose name was Emilio, and an old
palace which is regarded as one of the chief ornaments of the Grand
Canal. This son of Venice the Fair had for his whole fortune this
useless Palazzo, and fifteen hundred francs a year derived from a
country house on the Brenta, the last plot of the lands his family had
formerly owned on terra firma , and sold to the Austrian government... Continue reading book >>
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