THE ROMAN DOUANE--THE HOTEL CESARJ--MEDITATIONS--THE CAFFE GRECO--ITS
OCCUPANTS--MORNING WALK--WINE CARTS--THE RUSPOLI--BELLAMY’S
TOILET--PREPARATIONS FOR THE CERVARO--THE ROBING-ROOM--CHOICE
OF A DRESS--THE LIVERY STABLE--PORTA MAGGIORE--THE TORRE DEI
SCHIAVE--A GRAND REVIEW--THE QUARRIES--INCANTATION TO THE SYBIL--THE
DINNER--RETURN TO ROME.
I could scarcely venture to believe, as I stepped out of the diligence
in the court-yard of the dogana at Rome, that I had at length reached
the spot, which of all others I had most wished to visit, the golden
land of my earliest imaginations. My first impulse was to rush in the
dark to St. Peter’s, and I should possibly have acted upon it, had
not a civil functionary belonging to the customs, suddenly dissipated
my romance, by a request that I would hand out my keys and open my
_baullo_. After a loose inspection of my worldly effects, my new
friend shouldered the portmanteau, and begged to know the place of my
destination, a question somewhat difficult to answer, inasmuch as I
was unacquainted with the name of any hotel, and for all I knew, with
any individual of my own species in the city. Seeing that I hesitated,
my _douanier_ hinted that the “_Cesarj_” was at hand, where I might at
least stay until I found one more suited to my taste. To the “Cesarj”
therefore, we went. Arrived in my little bed-room, _au quatriéme_, and
fatigued with the dusty journey in the diligence, I rang the bell and
ordered some coffee. “We furnish nothing,” said my landlord, who had
himself obeyed the summons, “but a bed and breakfast, and the house
does not boast of a kitchen, but at the corner of the square hard by,
the Signor will find a good _trattoria_.” The old adage of “when at
Rome,” &c., occurred forcibly to my remembrance, and although somewhat
disposed to grumble at a mode of treatment so unusual in a hotel,
I groped my way out to the eating-house, resolving to seek a more
hospitable roof on the morrow.
In the digestive interval which followed my meal, it occurred to me,
that I might as well organize some plan for the best employment of
the time I intended to devote to Rome and its neighbourhood, for at
this time I had no idea that my stay would be so long protracted, as
afterwards proved to be the case. That I ought, in fact, to look round
at the various hotels, in the hope of falling in with the name of
some quarantine acquaintance, or quondam fellow-traveller, who would
bear me company, and give me the benefit of his experience. I have a
peculiar aversion to the _valets de place_, who infest large inns,
and an antipathy also to being seen gaping about in a foreign town,
with a rosy “Murray” in my hand, which, albeit the _ne plus ultra_ of
hand-books, entails upon every unfortunate possessor who may appeal to
it in the crowded highway, a host of petty annoyances, and in Italy
more especially, stamps him at once _Inglese_, fair game for all
kinds of imposition. Much of this might be avoided by the adoption of
some less conspicuous binding: one of my friends, who had taken the
precaution to ink his covers all over, attributed thereto the saving of
some considerable quantity of petty cash, during a two months’ sojourn
in Rome.
But to return. As I sat musing in the _trattoria_, I recollected with
much satisfaction, that an artistical friend, whose acquaintance I
had made in Egypt, had mentioned a certain Caffé Greco, as a likely
place to find him in, on my arrival in Rome, and as it was not much
past seven, I resolved immediately to begin my inquiries. One of
the waiters showed me the way to this retreat, which is in the Via
Condotti, and appears a favourite place of resort of artists of every
nation. Making my way through a thick smoke to the bar or counter, I
inquired if one Bellamy, an Englishman, were within, and was answered
by an affirmative nod of the head, from a tall man engaged in filling,
with black coffee, some two dozen or so of small cups. This operation,
though simple enough, was performed with much dexterity by a rotatory
motion of the arm, without breaking the continuous stream of liquid
Mocha, which flowed from the enormous tin biggin. In accordance with
the motion of the man’s head, which pointed to an inner room, I found
myself in an atmosphere still denser than that I had just quitted,
whilst my ears were assailed with a furious cross-fire of high Dutch.
From this I emerged into a third room, where, though a smoker myself, I
almost gasped for breath. Here I could see nothing whatever, save the
light of a lamp suspended from the ceiling, which looked dim and red,
like the sun on a foggy morning in London, but a rapid conversation in
the mother-tongue, betokened the presence of sundry and divers of my
countrymen, whose forms gradually developed themselves, in proportion
as my eyes became accustomed to the atmosphere.
Touching the waiter, as he passed me in one of his journeys to and
fro, I asked for coffee and a cigar, and proceeded at leisure to
contemplate the group before me. Had it not been for the use of my
native language, I should certainly not have guessed that I was in the
company of Englishmen, inasmuch as they were for the most part, dressed
in a costume varying _in toto_, save as to the nether integuments,
from any I had previously seen. The chief speaker, who seemed to be
expatiating upon some article in Galignani, of which he held a copy
in his hand, was shrouded, like the rest, in a loose paletôt of black
velvet, partly open at the sleeves, and relieved by the least glimpse
of Irish at the arms and collar. A handsome beard and moustache,
black as the coat, left but little of his features visible, and their
obscurity was still farther increased, by a black hat of felt, with
a brim of extraordinary dimensions, slightly turned up in front,
but partaking essentially of the form of a sou’-wester behind. The
rest of the company were dressed pretty much in the same way, the
countenance of each seeming to take its cast from the beard, of which
there was a variety of all forms and colours. By the time I had made
my observations, I discovered that my friend Bellamy was not of the
party, and entering into conversation with some one near me, learned
that he was not likely to make his appearance that evening. Having
obtained the number of his address in the Via Felice, I paid my score
and returned to the hotel, where I dreamed about black beards and
broad-brimmed hats, till a late hour in the morning.
The sun was high, when I rose and threw open my window, and the blue
sky and freshness of the air seemed so inviting, that I decided upon
dispensing with my host’s promised breakfast, preferring rather to take
my chance at some neighbouring _caffé_. Leaving the inn, I shortly
emerged into a square, that of the Colonna, and was more than half
inclined to refresh myself with some of the cooling fruits and drinks,
displayed around the fountain in front of the column, under tasty
little arbours of evergreens. Now I entered the Corso, already filled
with busy people passing to and fro, and noisy enough with its throng
of jingling hackney carriages and wine carts. These latter are very
picturesque looking vehicles, and the carrettieri seem perpetually
under the influence of their own juicy freights, so lazily do they
dangle their legs, and loll away their days, each under the shade of
his own vine or fig-tree.
Sauntering onwards, I discovered the Caffé Ruspoli, once a palace,
where, in a cool garden, amid lemon-trees and fountains, I enjoyed
my cream and Galignani, and had moreover, the good fortune to make
acquaintance with a countryman of the name of Savill, who, upon
learning that I was a stranger in Rome, politely offered to shew me
some of the most interesting parts of the city. My new friend wore
the sombre dress of, and looked every inch an artist, and had already
been several years resident in Rome, speaking its language with
singular fluency. He seemed indeed, so thoroughly _au fait_ at all
that was going on, that I hailed with pleasure the prospect of a more
intimate acquaintance with him, and having finished our breakfast at
the Ruspoli, we proceeded together to the lodgings of Bellamy in the
Via Felice. The house in which our friend had taken up his quarters,
was of great extent, and elegant external appearance, and I was rather
disappointed, on ascending the first two portions of its well-like
stone stair-case, to observe that each floor was subdivided into many
small sets of chambers. To every door was attached the card of the
occupant, though there was barely sufficient light for deciphering
the faint microscopic italics of the present day. Our announcement
of “_amici_,” at that belonging to Bellamy, was responded to by him
in person, half-dressed in so odd a style, that he seemed in the act
of rehearsing for a masquerade. He had managed to squeeze himself
into a pair of light blue pantaloons, garnished with a double row
of bright steel buttons, whilst his legs were encased in enormous
jack-boots, armed with long spurs. Seeing our look of surprise, he
hastily completed his toilet with a somewhat tarnished lace jacket
and courier’s cap, regarding himself at the same time with evident
satisfaction, in a small glass upon the table.
Savill now appeared suddenly to remember what had hitherto
unaccountably escaped him, that it wanted but two days to the _Cervaro
Fest_, or annual fête of the Roman artists, and I was speedily
informed that my arrival in the Holy City at the present moment, was
most opportune, inasmuch as I should be enabled to assist at that
ceremony,--“We’ll go immediately,” said Bellamy, “and put your name
down on the list, and can then make choice of a dress,” for it seemed
pretty fully decided upon that I should go in costume. My scruples,
on the score of not being sufficiently qualified to join the body
were speedily set aside by the assurance that my entrance fee of
five pauls, would effectually silence any questions that might be
raised. Repairing, therefore, to the Caffé Greco, I was introduced
to the president of the fête, a German artist of celebrity, who very
politely informed me, upon receiving my contribution, that I was
thereby entitled to as much wine and cold sausage as I could swallow
in one day. The Germans appear the chief movers in the affair, and
the _Cervaro Fest_ originated with a few individuals of that nation,
who, years gone by, had a custom of repairing annually to some ancient
quarries in the neighbourhood of Rome, where, with their wine and
_salame_, they would pic-nic on the grass, and sing some of their
native melodies, returning to the city at night-fall. By degrees,
however, their party increased, and being joined by artists of other
nations, eventually became so numerous, that it was deemed necessary
to elect a president, and frame rules for the preservation of order.
A club was also established in connexion with the Cervaro, called the
Ponte Molle,[18] which held its meetings once a week, and now forms one
of the most amusing of the attractions of modern Rome. But more of this
hereafter.
On quitting the Caffé Greco, a walk of half-an-hour brought us to a
species of robing-room, in the immediate neighbourhood of the Argentina
theatre, where Carnival and stage costumes of every description are
let out on hire. I found it difficult to make a selection, but at
length, from among a heap of miscellaneous rubbish, managed to rescue
a dress, which the meanest bog-trotter would have scorned to accept.
So far gone indeed was it, that the shopman refused to make any charge
for its hire, merely expressing a wish that I would return it if did
not absolutely fall to pieces. It cost me a good two hours’ work in
my bed-room, at the “Cesarj,” to sew on such buttons as were wanting,
and stitch up some of the rents in the coat and knee-breeches, besides
having to convert some old boots into a pair of high-lows, which, with
the addition of a well-battered hat, imparted a very satisfactory
degree of finish and reality to my _tout ensemble_. The waiter, who
entered my room whilst I was rehearsing, seemed to imagine that I
was some fellow in the act of plundering the hotel, for I had some
difficulty in restraining him from giving the alarm. When satisfied of
my identity, he burst into such an exaggerated fit of laughter, that I
was quite convinced my appearance was all I intended.
The next day Bellamy accompanied me to the English livery-stables,
as it was necessary that I should provide myself with some sort
of a horse. My companions having previously picked out the best
they could get, I found that I must either put up with a wretched
animal, discarded by the rest, or go on foot. As its appearance was
not ill-suited to the character I had assumed, I paid an earnest of
half-a-scudo to the ostler, and begged him to give the poor beast an
extra feed or two, by way of fitting him to undergo a day’s work.
The following morning, that of April 27th, proved bright and sunshiny,
although sundry suspicious-looking clouds, which floated across the
small patch of blue sky commanded by my bed-room window, seemed to
threaten an occasional shower. It was striking seven as I finished my
toilet, and throwing my long bernous cloak over all, save the ragged
hat, I soon reached the stables, where I found Bellamy waiting for me,
already mounted. We halted for a few minutes at a small shop in the
Via Felice, to swallow some coffee, and then made the best of our way
outside the city-walls, to the Porta Maggiore, where a numerous crowd
of idlers attested the presence of something out of the common way. As
we came up, the president of the Cervaro, in the midst of a group of a
hundred or more artists, was in the act of ascending his triumphal car,
a four-wheeled waggon of the country, drawn by two milk-white oxen, and
ornamented with evergreens, and appropriate banners and emblems.
We now formed into something like a procession, the president taking
the lead, at a pace more suited to a funeral than an occasion of
rejoicing. On getting into motion, the _coup d’œil_ was extremely
interesting, and of a very amusing character. It was with difficulty
that we could get on at all, so hemmed in were we on all sides, by the
crowds of Romans and country-people who had come to see us start. We
made a sort of forced march to the Torre dei Schiavi, a ruined temple
at a couple of stones’ throw from the road, and nearly three miles
from the gates. Here we consigned our horses and donkeys to the care
of some ragged urchins, who had purposely preceded us, and had just
time to avail ourselves of the partial shelter afforded by the ruin,
when a heavy shower came on. Until now, breakfast had been overlooked
by the majority of us, so a quarter-cask of red wine was broached, and
slices of _prosciutto_, or uncooked ham, with hard-boiled eggs and
salame, were handed round by certain of the artists, who had enrolled
themselves as waiters for the day, thinking it on such occasions, by
no means derogatory to wait upon the rest. The appointment, in fact,
appears to be much coveted, probably either from the novelty attending
“office,” or from the knowledge of a most convenient proximity to the
provision-baskets. Cigars and pipes were now kindled, and some of the
Germans sang in unison an illustrative song, composed by the president,
printed copies of it being at the same time handed round for such as
chose to accept them.
The shower being now over, there was a grand review of the mounted
forces, these on donkeys forming the front rank, with the horsemen
behind. We were put through sundry evolutions, which were utterly
confounded by the stupidity of the former, which sidled, backed, and
turned tail, and caused the greatest confusion, whilst many of those on
horseback got awkward falls, from the collisions that were continually
taking place. My animal, which was so very lame, that he had appeared
to possess only three legs when I left the stable, had, now that he was
a little warmed, recovered the proper number. The unwonted bustle, and
strange colours around him, had made him so wild and unruly, that I
lost all command of the bridle, and unwillingly cut some extraordinary
capers under the very nose of the president, who was issuing as gravely
as he could, his orders of “_recht_, _links_, _züzammen_,” &c.[19] A
sudden command of “_vorwarts_” seemed far more to his taste, as he
instantly turned tail and bolted for the road, where he pulled up of
his own accord. The others came up shortly after, and we then formed
into something like order again.
As the cavalcade trotted along, I had leisure to scrutinize the various
groups, and a more motley collection of outrè figures, I think I never
saw. First, came a huge French gen-d’arme, on a most diminutive donkey,
armed with a tin breast-plate and backpiece, and a long wooden sword,
with which ever and anon he belaboured his unwilling beast. Next to him
a Bedouin Arab with naked legs, followed by a nondescript in a cocked
hat and a blouse. Now, a well-mounted Spanish grandee rushed past,
resplendent with foil and tinsel, giving chase to a ragged Irishman,
with tattered hat and uplifted shillelagh, whose manner of sitting his
white pony, told of other things than the brush and pallette.
A half-hour’s gallop across the Campagna, after quitting the high road,
brought us to the Grottoes of the Cervaro, or deserted quarries, from
which the stones of the Coliseum were obtained. They form romantic
caves, and serve admirably for the annual picture of the artists. The
adjacent meadow was already dotted with parties, who had preceded us
to witness our arrival: carriages were drawn up in a line, the horses
untethered, as at a race-course, whilst locomotive wine stalls, with
their ample flasks of sparkling _rosso_, and tables laden with coarse
bread, and the never failing salame, added to the gaity of the scene.
Giving our horses in charge to the ragamuffins in waiting, we followed
our president in great solemnity, into one of the very darkest of the
caves, where a sort of opening incantation to the _genus loci_ was to
be delivered. The cavern was speedily filled, and it was with some
difficulty that I managed to secure a footing on the loose rubbish that
partially filled the opening. In the back-ground was a large cauldron
of burning spirit, which betrayed the extent of the cave, shedding a
dull light upon the faces of the innermost spectators, and revealing
the presence of many ladies. Silence being enjoined, the incantation,
in German, was audibly and impressively read, and its conclusion
followed up by a loud report as of thunder, when the spirit of the
cave appeared, and stirring up the contents of the cauldron, suddenly
vanished in a blue flame. And now broke upon the ear one of those
delightful German melodies, at its commencement, low, searching, and
solemn; but wild and gleeful at the end. The effect it produced was
extraordinary, and not to be easily forgotten. A few startling sobs,
were, ’ere half uttered, drowned in a loud hurrah, and in another
minute, we had all dispersed in different directions to prepare for
dinner.
For this part of the ceremony, an airy but covered portion of the
quarry was selected, and the ground thickly strewed with fresh-gathered
leaves, the benches and tables being rudely formed of loose masses of
stone. Each man seated himself where he listed, and wine, and cold
viands were plentifully supplied by the attendant ganymedes. Our repast
was soon over, for our seats were none of the softest, and we were glad
to rise as soon as etiquette would permit, and eat our salad standing.
This was served, ready-made, and carried round in large trays, like
those used by our butchers in London, and as no forks were allowed us,
each man put in his hand, and helped himself to an oily mouthful as
it passed him. Then followed speeches from the president and others,
in honour of the occasion; some healths were drank and responded to,
and the strangers present invited to partake; and then our leader,
with a mallet and chisel, proceeded to record on the smooth face of
a rock, already bearing the mementos of many former years, the date
of the present “Olimpiade.” This seemed the signal for a general
dispersion, and the whole body emerged into the sunny fields above, to
amuse themselves as best they might. All sorts of running and jumping
matches were engaged in by such as felt inclined, and an extempore
horse-race was got up by some of my countrymen, but as I did not care
to place too much confidence in my (barely) _four_-footed acquaintance
of a day, I tightened his girths, and took the road towards Rome,
greatly amused by the “Cervaro.”
FOOTNOTES:
[18] So called from the bridge over the Tiber, about a mile outside the
Porta del Popolo.
[19] “Right, left, together,” &c.