CHANGE OF DOMICILE--FRANCESCO--FRIENDS FROM
ENGLAND--PICTURE-SHOPS--OLD PAINTINGS--ARTISTS AND THEIR PATRONS--MR.
TITMARSH--ANECDOTE OF N---- --THE DINNER AT BERTINI’s--THE
ENGLISH ACADEMY--TABLE TALK--HARMONY--THE AMERICANS--ROMAN
GAIETIES--TORLONIA’S--THE FESTINI--HOSPITAL OF SAN MICHELE--THE
QUIRINAL--VIA GREGORIANA--MR. RAVEN AGAIN--THE ENGLISH CHURCH--THE
FRIENDS’ MEETING-HOUSE--ILLUMINATION OF ST. PETER’S.
Being informed that my old friend Quatremolle, the artist, had taken
a studio outside the Porta del Popolo, I called on him the day after
my arrival, and found him snugly located in a Casino belonging to
the Borghese Gardens, exactly opposite the building known as the
English Church. I had no sooner made my appearance, and told him that
I was roofless, my old rooms in the Sistina being occupied, than he
introduced me to a fine unfurnished room, adjoining his own, of which
he said I might at once take possession. The proposal was liberal, and
the situation, if not the most convenient, was at least so agreeable
that I hastened to an upholsterer in the Corso, who supplied me on
hire with such few articles of furniture as were necessary, and in
the course of a few days I was snugly settled in my new quarters.
Francesco, the _Barbarossa_, served us in the capacity of factotum,
lighting the fires in the morning, and running for red herrings and
butter to the shop of a neighbouring _pizzicarolo_. Underneath my room
was a decent coffee-shop, from whence two or three taps upon the floor
would produce my breakfast, whilst for dinner I paid the usual mid-day
visit to the “Lepri.”
I was busy one morning in finishing up a Venetian sketch, when I
was surprised by the apparition of an intimate acquaintance, fresh
from England. He was travelling in quest of health with two of his
friends, to whom he introduced me at the Hotel d’Angleterre, and as
they appeared resolved to see all they could of Rome, a week or more
was passed in one continued round of sight-seeing. The galleries,
however, were the great objects of attraction, and there were very few
that escaped their notice, to say nothing of the host of picture-shops
which they visited in search of bargains. Mack himself would hardly
have displayed greater perseverance in ferretting among old worm-eaten
and decayed rubbish, than did my London friends, who have to answer
for the rubbing up of many an atrocious daub, which, but for their
extraordinary resolution, would never again have known the smell of
varnish. Small dealers, who had hitherto never possessed anything
beyond a Sacchi or a Bassano, now suddenly became the proprietors of
sundry undoubted Correggios, or maybe an indisputable Sebastian del
Piombo, in a mahogany frame, with a lock and a glass window. Almost
every one had a genuine Nicolo Poussin, an unfortunate who might now
have been living had he painted two-thirds of the pictures ascribed to
him. This poor man too appears to have possessed the queer habit of
obliterating his own foregrounds with an over-coating of brambles and
brushwood; the sagacious dealer never failing to declare, that by the
merest accident imaginable, the genuine picture was brought to light by
the removal of a thick over-stratum of paint.
After having pretty well visited all the sights of Rome, and filled
a large deal case with plasters, bronzes, mosaics, and paintings, my
friends started off one fine morning for Florence, leaving behind
them one of their party who was in poor health. This gentleman had
been strongly recommended to Dr. P., an English physician of great
and deserved popularity, who had made Rome his residence, and the
introduction was no sooner effected, than W. put himself into the
doctor’s hands, and taking a commodious suite of rooms in the Via
Gregoriana, settled down for the winter. I staid a month or more in
the studio outside the Popolo, when my friend Quatremolle decided on
giving up the place and going northwards, and I then joined W----,
who had begun to weary of living alone. Christmas time was fast
approaching, and Rome becoming every day more and more crowded with
English and other strangers, and consequent upon their arrival was
a rapid succession of evening parties and artistical réunions. The
brothers of the brush are not less averse than others to glitter in
the reflected light of such stars of great magnitude, as twinkle
away the winter in the Holy City, and when one of them does manage
to nail a great man, there is generally some little manifestation of
exclusiveness. Patrons, however, are by no means so plentiful as to be
held in very light estimation, and the feeling is therefore excusable,
whilst there can be no harm in fête-ing a pseudo-connoisseur with his
own scudi, or standing treat at the Aliberti to Lord this, or the
Marquis of that, with a heavy draft on Torlonia in prospectu. Of the
great men who visited Rome during this winter, M. A. Titmarsh was among
the most popular. Himself an artist, he dropped down among us on
his way from Cairo, no one knowing when he came or how he went away.
Installed in a quiet bed-room at Franz’s, in the Condotti, he appeared
to amuse himself, like Asmodeus, with peering into the studios of his
countrymen, and while he rummaged over their dusty portfolios, or
critically scanned the pictures on the wall, would unconsciously read
their secret thoughts, and penetrate, as it were, the arcana of their
pockets, without allowing them for a moment to imagine that he intended
aught save a mere friendly visit. Many, however, were the poor devils
who managed to push through the winter on the strength of the timely
fillip administered by Titmarsh,[40] who was moreover one of those
pleasant paymasters who get a bad character because they make their
settlements beforehand. Painting, however, ought certainly to be a
ready-money business, as artists seldom like to give, what they somehow
always manage to take--long credits; and as they never approach nearer
to the practice of book-keeping than a chalk or charcoal memorandum
on the wall or door-post, possess the happy knack of never knowing
how their accounts stand, or may take the same businesslike view of a
transaction, as my friend Savill, who declared that Mr. Milnes owed him
£25. for a picture, which he afterwards gravely admitted he had neither
commenced nor thought about.
I met Titmarsh at many of the evening parties which were held at this
season by the artists. Perhaps the greatest display of this sort was
made on a certain holiday, when the whole of us dined together at
Bertini’s, and he was voted into the chair. It happened unfortunately,
that the dinner provided on the occasion was of a most indifferent
character, and very ill-calculated to impress the F. C. with any
great idea of Roman advancement in gastronomy. Our motive, however,
for thus meeting in a social way, was not that of mere feasting: a
great amount of elocution had to be got through, in addition to the
usual round of song and sentiment. It happened just at this time,
that there was a schism among the members of the English Academy in
Rome respecting a proposition originating with Mack,--that an Italian
Professor of drawing should be appointed to the Academy! This proposal
had met with the most vigorous and animated opposition from the other
faction, headed by O’Neil, who had proved himself a most able champion,
having set forth in an eloquent and elaborate speech, the consequences
of such a measure,--the impropriety of introducing an Italian style
of drawing to the annihilation of all originality,--the injustice of
placing a master over men who never would submit to his criticism, and
the unenviable position in which such a master would necessarily be
placed,--the reflection, in fact, upon the state of English art, and
other weighty considerations. O’Neil was supported by men of eminence
and standing, as well as by a very conclusive argument adduced by
the Secretary, who proved that the funds of the institution would
ill support the expense. Mack, however, like an able general, having
canvassed the whole body beforehand, carried his motion by a majority
of eight! The master therefore was appointed, _not_ as Professor of
drawing to the English Academy, but to give his assistance to such as
might ask it, a qualification of the original measure, which it was
hoped would meet the views of all parties.
With this important question fresh upon the tapis, it was no wonder
that a considerable portion of the evening was consumed in long-winded
speeches, and had it not been for a deeply guttural proposal on the
part of our friend Beardman, “to take the basso part in a glee,” a
harmonious feeling would scarcely have been arrived at. His instigation
was succeeded by a call for a song from the chair, amid a vociferous
shout of “Viva Titmarsh!” and a deafening clatter of dessert furniture.
Our great friend assured us he was unable to sing, but would endeavour
to make amends by getting up a recitation, if some one in the mean
time would make a beginning. Whilst a few, therefore, on the right of
the chair, were tantalizing the company by a tortured version of one
of Calcott’s glees, the F. C., busy with his tablets under the table,
produced the following affecting narrative, of which he soon after
delivered himself in a fittingly lugubrious tone of voice.
THE THREE SAILORS.
There were three sailors in Bristol City,
Who took a boat and went to sea.
But first with beef and captains’ biscuit,
And pickled pork they loaded she.
There was guzzling Jack and gorging Jimmy,
And the youngest he was little Bil-_ly_.
Now very soon they were so greedy,
They did’nt leave not one split pea.
Says guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy,
I am confounded hung-_ery_.
Says gorging Jim to guzzling Jacky,
We have no wittles, so we must eat _we_.
Says guzzling Jack to gorging Jimmy,
Oh! gorging Jim, what a fool you be.
There’s little Bill as is young and tender,
We’re old and tough--so let’s eat _he_.
Oh! Bill, we’re going to kill and eat you,
So undo the collar of your chemie.
When Bill he heard this information,
He used his pocket-handkerchee.
Oh! let me say my Catechism,
As my poor mammy taught to me.
Make haste, make haste, says guzzling Jacky,
Whilst Jim pulled out his snicker-snee.
So Bill went up the main top-gallant mast,
When down he fell on his bended knee.
He scarce had said his catechism,
When up he jumps; there’s land I see!
There’s Jerusalem and Madagascar,
And North and South Ameri-_key_.
There’s the British fleet a riding at anchor,
With Admiral Napier, K.C.B.
So when they came to the Admiral’s Vessel,
He hanged fat Jack, and flogged Jim-_my_.
But as for little Bill, he made him
The Captain of a Seventy-three.
It is needless to say that the recital of M. A. Titmarsh was received
with all the applause it merited. Even the “Emperor,” stoically
indifferent as he uniformly was to either music or moral, was betrayed
into some expression of feeling, distinctly audible to those near him,
whilst he repeatedly pledged the author of the interesting ballad.
Other songs followed as a matter of course, but our ears were become
so accustomed to the oft-heard and unvarying effusions of our brother
artists, that few of them elicited farther comment than a faint
“bravo,” or a few raps upon the table, and we were beginning to think
of separating, when our chairman received a polite message from a party
of Americans, who had been dining in another room. With a laudable wish
to sink a certain feeling of national prejudice, which I believe some
of the English entertained against “Brother Jonathan,” these gentlemen
expressed a desire to fraternize and join us, a proposal which so
aroused the bile of Vetch and Warmey, that they immediately quitted the
apartment in a state of great excitement, whilst our esteemed chairman
formed, and personally headed, a mission of peace into the quarters of
the enemy, who afterwards gave us their company for the rest of the
evening.
With the commencement of February came the Carnival again, a more
brilliant affair this year than the last, in consequence of the great
number of strangers wintering in Rome. Among the English, and others,
there was a constant succession of evening parties in every grade of
style and grandeur, from the grand crash at Torlonia’s to the quiet
tea-drink of a first-floor in the Due Macelli. Great was the dismay of
those unfortunate bachelors, who had been so unwary as to place their
temporary accounts in the hands of one of the Condotti bankers, to
find their names excluded from the long list of eligibles on the books
of the Signor Spada. No large card with the attracting German-text of
the Principe and Principessa, greeted them from the corners of their
chimney-glasses, and unless they could squeeze themselves in under
cover of the family invite of some large party of English friends, or
suddenly transfer their accounts, the _salons_ of the mighty banker
were to them a _terra incognita_.
At one of the Festini in the Argentina, which were this time
particularly gay, I made the acquaintance of an agreeable family,
through the medium of the father, who puzzled me for many nights, by
a well-dressed character, and extraordinary command of language. My
new friends, having been long resident in Italy, introduced me to many
Roman families whom I should otherwise scarcely have fallen in with,
to whose kindness I am indebted for many subsequent obligations. In
company with H. and his amiable wife, I visited, among other places,
the Hospital of San Michele, for which purpose he had obtained a
private order from Cardinal Tosti, the resident director of the
institution. At this admirable establishment, five hundred of the
Roman youth of both sexes are clothed and maintained, having also
the advantage of a good education, and the opportunity of qualifying
themselves for any trade that may appear most suitable to their tastes.
A young Italian showed us over the building, which is situated on the
right bank of the Tiber, below the Ponte Rotto. We found a number of
youths busied at various artistical occupations, such as architectural
drawing, engraving on copper, cartooning, music, tapestry, and the
cutting of _pietra dura_ and camei, whilst on the ground-floor were
sculptors’ studios, and shops for weavers and dyers of cloth.
In another part of the establishment were the girls, likewise employed
in various branches of useful labour, as spinning, weaving, and the
manufacture of army ornaments. All those of the Papal troops are made
here, from the coloured flames on the coat-tails of the recruit, to the
pink plume of the Swiss guard. The bed-rooms are particularly neat and
comfortable, some of the dormitories containing as many as fifty beds.
In answer to an inquiry from one of our party, why some of these beds
were larger than others, resembling in fact a genuine four-poster, the
old lady who conducted us informed us that, in the event of a marriage
taking place in the institution, the fortunate couple were presented
with a good bed and its furniture by way of a portion. We saw the
kitchens, which are admirably fitted up, the girls acting as cooks for
the female department. In a spacious yard were an incredible number of
hens, each girl keeping as many as she can afford to nourish, disposing
of the eggs to furnish pocket-money.
From San Michele we drove back to the Quirinal, to view the palace
of the Pope, which, of all the regal dwellings I ever visited, is
decidedly the least ostentatious. Our guide informed us that stuffed
chair-bottoms were forbidden, and certainly the seats in the reception
room, which were of painted wood and of the most ordinary description,
seemed to corroborate his assertion. The private rooms of the great
Vicar were nevertheless somewhat more comfortable, and in one
apartment, a well-appointed billiard-table evinced a degree of luxury
ill-according with the rest of the furniture. Fancy Cardinal B----i,
starring with two lives and pocketing the Pope!
As W. and I were one day dozing after dinner in the “Via Gregoriana,”
Settimio silently ushered in a tall figure, whose face, as he peered
at us over the baize screen, I recognized as that of my old friend Mr.
Raven. He was on his way to England, after having spent many years of
usefulness in Egypt, in the personal direction of the Overland transit,
which had now passed into other hands. How he had managed to discover
my whereabouts, was of no moment; few visitors could have been more
welcome; and finding that he proposed spending some days in Rome, to
give his protegeé and travelling companion an opportunity of seeing
some of its wonders, I offered to assist him to the best of my ability.
My friends had arrived just in time to witness some of the ceremonies
of the Holy Week, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the grand
processions in St. Peter’s, and hearing the solemn music of the
Sistine. At the former, the King of Naples, although not wearing any
uniform, was conspicuous among the crowd, which was dotted in all parts
with our militia officers, whose cocked hats and gay coats, have a very
imposing appearance in the eyes of the worthy Romans, who don’t know a
recruiting sergeant from a field marshal.
The English Church, to which I have before alluded as being little
better than a mere barn, is _outside_ the Porta del Popolo. It seems
strange that this manifestation of intolerance should exist in a
capital like Rome, and it is to be hoped that the more enlightened
policy which has marked the opening of the new Pontificate, will be
allowed to extend to matters of greater moment than the licensing
of itinerant hawkers, or the extension of iron-roads throughout the
Papal states, and that before long, it will be unnecessary for those
professing with the Church of England to pass beyond the walls of
the city, to reach their place of worship. This veto, however, would
hardly appear to extend to those who dissent therefrom, inasmuch as
for many weeks, W. and I attended the little meeting of Friends, which
was held in a small street leading out of the Piazza di Spagna. We
met in a little room belonging to the apartment of our friend B----n,
which opened at one side on to the leads of the house underneath, and
at the back looked out upon the slopes of the Pincian Hill. I often
thought (when my thoughts should have been better engaged) that, had
any of the good friends from the benches of Devonshire House popped
in accidentally upon us, they would have found some difficulty in
recognising a gathering of their own particular people. Although few
in number, we mustered some black moustaches, and, I believe, a beard
or two, whilst our female friends, of whom we had the company of four
or five, would, I fear, scarcely have passed muster at the great May
Meeting in Bishopsgate. With respect to the hat, to which some attach
so distinguished an importance, the most fastidious would hardly have
found fault, for the remotest corners of Pennsylvania never gave birth
to a more preposterous breadth of brim, than that possessed by my own
_cinque-cento_, whilst those of my friends were of such dimensions as
best suited the sunny climate of Rome.
[Illustration: FRIENDS’ MEETING AT ROME.]
On one occasion of our meeting together, the sitting was somewhat
abruptly concluded by a deafening salute from the cannons of St.
Angelo, which shook the very _piombi_ of friend B----n. It was Easter
Day, and the Pope had just pronounced a blessing upon the thousands
of souls assembled in the Piazza of St. Peter’s. After we had
separated, I hunted up my friend Raven, who had just returned from the
“Benediction,” and with him visited some of the Roman villas, going
subsequently to the Ponte St. Angelo, to secure a convenient window
for the fireworks of the following day. In the evening we drove to a
favourable position in the great square of St. Peter, where, hemmed
in by hundreds of vehicles, we had to wait until the illumination of
the Duomo should commence. Being curious to see the method of lighting
the lamps, I left the party in the carriage, and squeezing through the
dense crowd, got as near as I could to the church. The whole façade was
stuck over with bajocco candles, each having a little wooden stand and
shade of stiff paper to keep off the wind, and these were arranged in
such a way as perfectly to develope the architectural outlines of the
building. The candles were ignited by men suspended from the top of
the façade, looking, as they dangled on their ropes in mid-air, like
the fowlers of the Orkneys, and plying apparently quite as perilous a
pursuit. I now returned to Raven, but the pressure of the crowd was
so great, that the lighting up of the cupola had commenced before I
reached him. This seems to be effected by the simultaneous ignition
of an immense number of small pots of tow and turpentine, placed
in proper position, in belts around the dome, and in vertical lines
between the gores, there being one man to about every ten lamps. These
poor fellows have a very dangerous task to perform, being suspended by
ropes passing through apertures in the dome. Sometimes, though rarely,
one of them misses his hold, and extinguishes in his fall the row of
lamps he has just lighted, which have been remarked to go out one by
one, as the unfortunate scrapes them off in his rapid descent. Having
satisfied ourselves with a near inspection of this really wonderful and
costly exhibition, we returned to view it at a distance from the summit
of the Pincian.
FOOTNOTES:
[40] That artists are sometimes grievously _hard up_, there can be
little doubt. I happened one cold morning, to call upon N----, whose
absence from his usual seat at the Lepri had been remarked by many of
us. Instead of finding him, as I had anticipated, unusually busy with
his chisel, he was engaged in shooting his dinner at the open window
of the garret, which commanded an extensive range of leads, tiles and
gutters. His sport, which he pursued in solemn silence, was the common
sparrow, and his weapon a machine much in use among lawyers’ clerks
when the principal has turned his back, known by the name of a _puff
and dart_, from which any one with a good pair of lungs, can expel
pin with great force. Having knocked over nearly a dozen birds, N----
walked out of window to collect them, and then plucked and spitted
them, enjoying his repast with a thankful relish unknown to those who
get a good dinner every day.