Various - Continental Monthly, Vol. II. July, 1862. No. 1.
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Various >> Continental Monthly, Vol. II. July, 1862. No. 1.
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If Gigi's school is still kept up, (it was in a small street near the
Trevi fountain,) we would advise the traveler in search of the
picturesque by all means to visit it, particularly if it is in the same
location it was when Caper was there. It was over a stable, in the
second story of a tumble-down old house, frequented by dogs, cats,
fleas, and rats; in a room say fifty feet long by twenty wide. A
semi-circle of desks and wooden benches went round the platform where
stood the male models nude, or on other evenings, male and female models
in costumes, Roman or Neapolitan. Oil lamps gave enough light to enable
the artists who generally attended there to draw, and color in oils or
water-colors, the costumes. The price of admittance for the costume
class was one paul, (ten cents,) and as the model only posed about two
hours, the artists had to work very fast to get even a rough sketch
finished in that short time. Americans, Danes, Germans, Spaniards,
French, Italians, English, Russians, were numbered among the attendants,
and more than once, a sedate-looking English-woman or two would come in
quietly, make a sketch, and go away unmolested and almost unnoticed.
More than three-quarters of the sketches made by Caper at Gigi's
costume-class were taken from models in standing positions. At the end
of the first hour, they had from ten to fifteen minutes allowed them to
rest; but these minutes were seldom wasted by the artist, who improved
them to finish the lines of his drawing, or dash in color. The powers of
endurance of the female models were better than those of the men; and
they would strike a position and keep it for an hour, almost immovable.
Noticeable among these women, was one named Minacucci, who, though over
seventy years old, had all the animation and spirit of one not half her
age; and would keep her position with the steadiness of a statue. She
had, in her younger days, been a model for Canova; had outlived two
generations; and was now posing for a third. If you have ever seen many
figure-paintings executed in Rome, your chance is good to have seen
Minacucci's portrait over and over again. Caper affirms that of any
painting made in Rome from the years 1856 to 1860, introducing an
Italian head, whether a Madonna or sausage-seller, he can tell you the
name of the model it was painted from nine times out of ten! The fact
is, they do want a new model for the Madonna badly in Rome, for Giacinta
is growing old and fat, and Stella, since she married that cobbler, has
lost her angelic expression. The small boy who used to pose for angels
has smoked himself too yellow, and the man who stood for Charity has
gone out of business.
'I have,' said Caper to me the other day, 'too much respect for the
public to tell them who the man with red hair and beard used to pose
for; but he has taken to drinking, and it's all up with him.'
Spite of fleas, rats, squalling cats, dog-fights, squealing of horses,
and braying of donkeys, lamp-smoke, and heat or cold, the hours passed
by Caper in Gigi's old barracks were among the pleasantest of his Roman
life. There was such novelty, variety, and brilliancy in the costumes to
be sketched, that every evening was a surprise; save those nights when
Stella posed, and these were known and looked forward to in advance. She
always insured a full class, and when she first appeared, was the beauty
of all the models.
Caper was sitting one afternoon in Rocjean's studio, when there was a
tap at the door.
'_Entrate_!' shouted Rocjean, and in came a female model, called Rita.
It was the month of May, business was dull; she wanted employment.
Rocjean asked her to walk in and rest herself.
'Well, Rita, you haven't any thing to do, now that the English have all
fled from Rome before the malaria?'
'Very little. Some of the Russians are left up there in the Fratina; but
since the Signore Giovanni sold all his paintings to that rich Russian
banker, _diavolo_! he has done nothing but drink champagne, and he don't
want any more models.'
'What is the Signore Giovanni's last name?' asked Caper.
'Who knows, Signore Giacomo? I don't. We others (_noi altri_) never can
pronounce your queer names, so we find out the Italian for your first
names, and call you by that. Signore Arturo, the French artist, told me
once that the English and Russians and Germans had such hard names they
often broke their front-teeth out trying to speak them; but he was
joking. _I_ know the real, true reason for it.'
'Come, let us have it,' said Rocjean.
'_Accidente_! I won't tell you; you will be angry.'
'No we won't,' spoke Caper, 'and what is more, I will give you two pauls
if you will tell us. I am very curious to know this reason.'
'_Bene_, now the _prete_ came round to see me the other day; it was when
he purified the house with holy water, and he asked me a great many
questions, which I answered so artlessly, yes, so artlessly! whew! [here
Miss Rita smiled artfully.] Then he asked me all about you heretics, and
he told me you were all going to--be burned up, as soon as you died; for
the Inquisition couldn't do it for you in these degenerate days. After a
great deal more twaddle like this, I asked him why you heretics all had
such hard names, that we others never could speak them? Then he looked
mysterious, so! [here Miss Rita diabolically winked one eye,] and said
he: 'I will tell you, _per Bacco_! hush, it's because they are so
abominably wicked, never give any thing to OUR Church, never have no
holy water in their houses, never go to no confession, and are such
monsters generally, that their police are all the time busy trying to
catch them; but their names are so hard to speak that when the police go
and ask for them, nobody knows them, and so they get off; otherwise,
their country would have jails in it as large as St. Peter's, and they
would be full all the time!'
'H'm!' said Rocjean, 'I suppose you would be afraid to go to such
horrible countries, among such people?'
'Not I,' spoke Rita,'didn't Ida go to Paris, and didn't she come back to
Rome with such a magnificent silk dress, and gold watch, and such a
bonnet! all full of flowers, and lace, and ribbons? Oh! they don't eat
'nothing but maccaroni' there! And they don't have priests all the time
sneaking round to keep a poor girl from earning a little money honestly,
and haul her up before the police if her _carta di soggiorno_ [permit to
remain in Rome] runs out. I wish [here Rita stamped her foot and her
eyes flashed] Garibaldi would come here! Then you would see these black
crows flying, _Iddio giusto_! Then we would have no more of these
_arciprete_ making us pay them for every mouthful of bread we eat, or
wine we drink, or wood we burn.'
'Why,' said Caper, 'they don't keep the baker-shops, and wine-shops, and
wood-yards, do they?'
'No,' answered Rita, 'but they speculate in them, and Fra 'Tonelli makes
his cousins and so on inspectors; and they regulate the prices to suit
themselves, and make oh! such tremen-di-ous fortunes. [Here Rita opened
her eyes, and spread her hands, as if beholding the elephant.] Don't I
remember, some time ago, how, when the Pope went out riding, he found
both sides of the way from the Vatican to San Angelo crowded with people
on their knees, groaning and calling to him. Said he to Fra 'Tonelli:
''What are these poor people about?'
''Praying for your blessed holiness,' said he, while his eyes sparkled.
''But,' said the Pope, 'they are moaning and groaning.'
''It's a way the _poblaccio_ have,' answered 'Tonelli, 'when they pray.'
'The Pope knew he was lying, so, when he went home to the Vatican, he
sent for one of his faithful servants, and said he:
''Santi, you run out and see what all this shindy is about?'
'So Santi came back and told him 'Tonelli had put up the price of bread,
and the people were starving. So the Pope took out a big purse with a
little money in it, and said he:
''Here, Santi, you go and buy me ten pounds of bread, and get a bill
for it, and have it receipted!'
'So Santi came back with bread, and bill all receipted, and laid it down
on a table, and threw a cloth over it. By and by, in comes 'Tonelli.
Then the Pope says to him, kindly and smiling:
''I am confident I heard the people crying about bread to-day; now, tell
me truly, what is it selling for?'
'Then 'Toneli told him such a lie. [Up went Rita's hands and eyes.]
'Then the Pope says, while he looked so [knitting her brows]:
''Oblige me, if you please, by lifting up that cloth.'
'And'Tonelli did.
'Bread went down six _baiocchi_ next morning!'
'By the way, Rita,' asked Rocjean, 'where is your little brother,
Beppo?'
'Oh! he's home,' she answered, 'but I wish you would ask your friend
Enrico, the German sculptor, if he won't have him again, for his model.'
'Why, I thought he was using him for his new statue?'
'He was; but oh! so unfortunately, last Sunday, father went out to see
his cousin John, who lives near Ponte Mole, and has a garden there, and
Beppo went with him; but the dear little fellow is so fond of fruit,
that he ate a pint of raw horse-beans!'
'Of all the fruit!' shouted Caper.
'_Si, signore_, it's splendid; but it gave Beppo the colic next day, and
when he went to Signore Enrico's studio to pose for Cupid, he twisted
and wrenched around so with pain, that Signore Enrico told him he looked
more like a little devil than a small love; and when Beppo told him what
fruit he had been eating, Signore Enrico bid him clear out for a savage
that he was, and told him to go and learn to eat them boiled before he
came back again.'
'I will speak to the Signore Enrico, and have him employ him again,'
said Rocjean.
'Oh! I wish you would, for the Signore Enrico was very good to Beppo;
besides, his studio is a perfect palace for cigar-stumps, which Beppo
used to pick up and sell--that is, all those he and father didn't smoke
in their pipes.'
'Make a sketch, Caper,' said Rocjean, 'of Cupid filling up his quiver
with cigar-stumps, while he holds one between his teeth. There's a model
love for you! Now, give Rita those two pauls you promised her, and let
her go. _Adio_!'
GIULIA DI SEGNI.
(_Lines found written on the back of a sketch
in Caper's portfolio._)
By Roman watch-tower, on the mountaintop,
We stood, at sunset, gazing like the eagles
From their cloud-eyrie, o'er the broad Campagna,
To the Albanian hills, which boldly rose,
Bathed in a flood of red and pearly light.
Far off, and fading in the coming night,
Lay the Abruzzi, where the pale, white walls
Of towns gleamed faintly on their purple sides.
The evening air was tremulous with sounds:
The thrilling chirp of insects, twittering birds,
Barking of shepherds' fierce, white, Roman dogs;
While from the narrow path, far down below,
We heard a mournful rondinella ring,
Sung by a home-returning mountaineer.
Then, as the daylight slowly climbed the hills,
And the soft wind breathed music to their steps,
O'er the old Roman watch-tower marched the stars,
In their bright legions--conquerors of night--
Shedding from silver armor shining light;
As once the Roman legions, ages past,
Marched on to conquest o'er the Latin way,
Gleaming, white-stoned, so far beneath our gaze.
GIULIA DI SEGNI, 'mid the Volscians born,
Streamed in thy veins that fiery, Roman blood,
Curled thy proud lip, and fired thy eagle eyes.
Faultless in beauty, as the noble forms
Painted on rare Etrurian vase of old;
How life, ennobled by thy love, swept on,
Serene, above the mean and pitiful!
Stars! that still sparkle o'er old Segni's walls,
Oh! mirror back to me one glance from eyes
That yet may watch you from that Roman tower.
MR. BROWN BUYS A PAINTING.
Caper's uncle, from St. Louis, Mr. William Browne, one day astonished
several artists who were dining with him:
'My young men,' said he, 'there is one thing pleases me very much about
you all, and that is, you never mention the word Art; don't seem to care
any thing more about the old masters than I would about a lot of old
worn-out broom-sticks; and if I didn't know I was with artists in Rome,
the crib--no, what d' ye call it?'
'The manger?' suggested Rocjean.
'Yes,' continued Uncle Bill, 'the manger of art, I should think I was
among a lot of smart merchants, who had gone into the painting business
determined to do a right good trade.'
'Cash on delivery,' added Caper.
'Yes, be sure of that. Well, I like it; I feel at home with you; and as
I always make it a point to encourage young business men, I am going to
do my duty by one of you, at any rate. I shan't show favor to my nephew,
Jim, any more than I do to the rest. And this is my plan: I want a
painting five feet by two, to fill up a place in my house in St. Louis;
it's an odd shape, and that is so much in my favor, because you haven't
any of you a painting that size under way, and can all start even. I'll
leave the subject to each one of you, and I'll pay five hundred dollars
to the man who paints the best picture, who has his done within seven
days, _and puts the most work on it_! Do you all understand?'
They replied affirmatively.
'But what the thunder,' asked Caper, 'are those of us who don't win the
prize, going to do with paintings of such a size, left on our hands?
Nobody, unless a steamboat captain, who wants to ornament his berths,
just that size, and relieve the tedium of his passengers, would ever
think of buying them.'
'Well,' replied Uncle Bill, 'I don't want smart young men like you all,
to lose your time and money, so I'll buy the balance of the paintings
for what the canvas and paints cost, and give two dollars a day for the
seven days employed on each painting. Isn't that liberal?'
'Like Cosmo de Medici,' answered Rocjean; 'and I agree to the terms in
every particular, especially as to putting the most work on it! There
are four competitors--put down their names. Legume, you will come in,
won't you?'
'Certainly I will, by Jing!' answered the French artist, who prided
himself on his knowledge of English, especially the interjections.
'Then,' continued Rocjean, 'Caper, Bagswell, Legume, and I, will try for
your five hundred dollar prize. When shall we commence?'
'To-day is Tuesday,' replied Uncle Bill; 'say next Monday--that will
give you plenty of time to get your frames and canvases. So that ends
all particulars. There are two friends of mine here from the United
States, one, Mr. Van Brick, of New York, and the other, Mr. Pinchfip, of
Philadelphia, whom I think you all met here last week.'
'The thin gentleman with hair very much brushed, be Gad?' asked Legume.
'I don't remember as to his hair,' answered Uncle Bill, 'but that's the
man. Well, these two I know will act as vampires, and I am sure you will
be pleased with their verdict. Monday after next, therefore, we will all
call, so be ready.'
* * * * *
The four artists took the whole thing as a joke, but determined to paint
the pictures; and at Caper's suggestion, each one agreed, as there was a
play of words in the clause, 'most work on it,' to puzzle Uncle Bill,
and have the laugh on him.
On the day appointed to decide the prize, Uncle Bill, accompanied by
Messrs. Van Brick and Pinchfip, called first at Legume's studio; they
found him in the Via Margutta, (in English, Malicious street,) in a
light, airy room, furnished with a striking attention to effect. On his
easel was a painting of the required size, representing Louis XV. at
Versailles, surrounded by his lady friends. By making the figures of the
ladies small, and crowding them, Legume managed to get a hundred or two
on the canvas. A period in their history to which Frenchmen refer with
so much pleasure, and with which they are so conversant, was treated by
the artist with professional zeal. The merits of the painting were
carefully canvassed by the two judges. Mr. Pinchfip found it exceedingly
graceful, neat, and pretty. Mr. Van Brick admired the females, remarking
that he should like to be in old Louis's place. To which Legume bowed,
asserting that he was sure he was in every way qualified to fill it. Mr.
Van Brick determined in his mind to give the artist a dinner, at
Spillman's, for that speech.
Mr. Pinchfip took notes in a book; Mr. Van Brick asked for a light to a
cigar. The former congratulated the artist; the latter at once asked him
to come and dine with him. Mr. Pinchfip wished to know if he was related
to the Count Legume whom he had met at Paris. Mr. Van Brick told him he
would bring his friend Livingston round to buy a painting. Mr. Pinchfip
said that it would afford him pleasure to call again. Mr. Van Brick gave
the artist his card, and shook hands with him:...and the judges were
passing out, when Legume asked them to take one final look at the
painting to see if it had not the _most work_ on it. Mr. Van Brick
instantly turned toward it, and running over it with his eye, burst into
an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
'If the others beat that, I am mistaken,' said he. 'Look at there!'
calling the attention of Uncle Bill and Mr. Pinchfip to a fold of a
curtain on which was painted, in small letters,
'MOST WORK.'
'I say, Browne,' continued Mr. Van Brick, 'he is too many for you; and
if the one who puts 'most work' on his painting is to win the five
hundred dollars, Legume's chance is good.'
'Very ingenious,' said Mr. Pinchfip, 'very; it is a legitimate play upon
words. But legally, I can not affirm that I am aware of any precedent
for awarding Mr. Browne's money to Monsieur Legume on this score.'
'We will have to make a precedent, then,' spoke Van Brick, 'and do it
illegally, if we find that he deserves the money. But time flies, and we
have the other artists to visit.'
They next went to Bagswell's studio, in the Viccolo dei Greci, and found
him in a large room, well furnished, and having a solidly comfortable
look; the walls ornamented with paintings, sketches, costumes, armor;
while in a good light under its one large window, was his painting. They
found he had left his beaten track of historical subjects, and in the
_genre_ school had an interior of an Italian country inn--a
kitchen-scene. It represented a stout, handsome country girl, in
Ciociara costume, kneading a large trough of dough, while another girl
was filling pans with that which was already kneaded, and two or three
other females were carrying them to an oven, tended by a man who was
piling brush-wood on the fire. The painting was very life-like, and for
the short time employed on it, well finished. It wanted the fire and
dash of Legume's painting, but its truthfulness to life evidently made a
deep impression on Uncle Bill. Stuck on with a sketching-tack to one
corner was a piece of paper, on which was marked the number of hours
employed each day on the work; it summed up fifty-four hours, or an
average each day of nearly eight hours' work on it.
Mr. Pinchfip's note-book was again called into play. Mr. Van Brick had
another cigar to smoke, remarking that the artist had triple work in his
picture--head, bread, and prize-work: his picture representing working
in, over, and for bread!
They next went to see Rocjean, in the Corso; they found him in a
bournouse, with a fez on his head, a long chibouk in his mouth, smoking
away, extended at full length on a settee, which he insisted was a
divan. There was a glass bottle holding half a gallon of red wine on a
table near him, also a bottle of Marsala, and half a dozen glasses.
There was a roaring wood-fire in his stove--for it was December, and the
day was overcast and cool.
'This is the most out and out comfortable old nest I've seen in Rome,'
said Mr. Van Brick, as they entered; 'and as for curiosities and
plunder, you beat Barnum. _Will I take a glass of wine_? I am there!'
Rocjean filled up glasses. Mr. Pinchfip declining, as he never drank
before dinner, neither did he smoke before dinner. He told them that the
late Doctor Phyzgig, who had always been their (the Pinchfips') family
physician, had absolutely forbidden it.
No one made any remark to this, unless Mr. Van Brick's expressive face
could be translated as observing, in a quiet manner, that the late
Doctor was possibly dyspeptic, and probably nervous.
Rocjean's painting represented a view of the Claudian aqueduct,
mountains in the distance; bold foreground, shepherd with flocks, a
wayside shrine, peasants kneeling in front of it. Over all, bold cloud
effects. A very ponderous volume balanced on top of the picture, and
leaning against the easel, invited Uncle Bill's attention, and he asked
Rocjean why he had put it there? The artist answered that it was a folio
copy of _Josephus_, his works, and, as he was anxious to comply with the
terms of Mr. Browne, he had placed it there in order to put the _most
work_ on it.
Mr. Pinchfip having asked Rocjean why, in placing that book there, he
was like a passenger paying his fare to the driver of an omnibus?
The latter at once answered:
'I give it up.'
'So you do,' replied Pinchfip. 'You are quick, sir, at answering
conundrums.'
Mr. Brick saw it. Finally Uncle Bill was made to comprehend.
'Very excellent, sir; very ingenious! Philadelphians may well be proud
of the high position they have as punsters, utterers of _bon mots_ and
conundrums,' said Rocjean; 'I have had the comfort of living in your
city, and thoroughly appreciating your--markets.'
After Rocjean's the judges and Uncle Bill went to Caper's studio. As
they entered his room they found that ingenious youth walking, in his
shirt-sleeves, in as large a circle as the room would permit, bearing on
his head a large canvas, while a quite pretty female model, named
Stella, sat on a sofa, marking down something on a piece of paper, using
the sole of her shoe for a writing-desk.
'We-ell!' said Uncle Bill.
'One more round,' quoth Caper, with unmoved countenance, 'and I will be
with you. That will make four hundred and fifty, won't it, Stella?'
'_Eh, Gia_, one more is all you want.' And making an extra scratch with
a pencil, the female model surveyed the new-comers with a triumphant
air, plainly saying: 'See there! I can write, but I am not proud.'
'What are you about, Jim?'
'Look at that painting!' answered Caper. 'The Blessing of the Donkeys,
Horses, etc.; it is one of the most imposing ceremonies of the Church.
As my specialty is animal, I have chosen it for my painting; and not
contented with laboring faithfully on it, I have determined, in order to
put the thing beyond a doubt as to my gaining the prize, to put the
_most work_ on it of any of my rivals; so I have actually, as Stella
will tell you, carried it bodily four hundred and fifty times round this
studio.'
'Instead of a painting, I should think you would have made a panting of
it,' spoke Mr. Van Brick.
'The idea seems to me artful,' added Mr. Pinchfip, 'but after all, this
pedestrian work was not on the painting, but under it; therefore,
according to Blackstone on contracts, this comes under the head of a
consideration _do, ut facias_, see vol. ii. page 360. How far moral
obligation is a legal consideration, see note, vol. iii. p. 249
Bossanquet and Puller's Reports. The principle _servus facit, ut herus
det_, as laid down by....'
'Jove!' exclaimed Uncle Bill, 'couldn't you stop off the torrent for one
minute? I'm drowning--I give up--do with me as you see fit.'
* * * * *
'And now,' said Mr. Van Brick, 'that we have seen the four paintings,
let us, Mr. Pinchfip, proceed calmly to discover who has won the five
hundred dollars. Duly, deliberately, and gravely, let us put the four
names on four slips of paper, stir them up in a hat. Mr. Browne shall
then draw out a name, the owner of that name shall be the winner.'
It was drawn, and by good fortune for him, Bagswell won the five hundred
dollars. Thus Uncle Bill Browne bought one painting for a good round
sum, and three others at the stipulated price. Which one of the four had
the _most work_ on it, is, however, an unsettled question among three of
the artists, to this day.
FOR THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH.
Victory comes with a palm in her hand,
With laurel upon her brow;
Cypress is clinging about her feet,
But its dark blossoms are red and sweet,
And the weeping mourners bow.
It is well. Through her tears, the widow smiles
To the child upon her knee;
'Thou'rt fatherless, darling; but he fell
Gallantly fighting, and long and well,
For the banner of the free!'
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