“I assure you, my good fellow, that it is perfectly uneatable; here take it all away, and hand the fruit and wine. I am sorry I told you to attempt any thing in English style. I might have known we should get nothing to suit us; however, make haste, for our carriage is at the door, to take us to the campagna.”
Peppo, in great agitation, at the failure of his attempt, removed the dishes, and as soon as we had dispatched dessert, we entered our Stanhope, and drove to the campagna.
I kept my promise, and often visited Signor Carrara. I liked him more, the better I became acquainted with him; there are some characters who only show their fine traits upon a close acquaintance. We all of us, more or less, feel an attraction of sympathy, or repulsion of antipathy at first sight, an indefinite presentiment that we shall either like or dislike; there was something in Carrara’s manner, so different to the giddy light-heartedness of the generality of his countrymen, calculated to inspire one with confidence in his integrity: his calm countenance expressed benevolence, patience, and philosophical indifference. I might have sought in vain for those deep traces of satiety and discontent, which pleasure imprints upon the faces of her votaries. He seemed to be at peace with all mankind, and among all his extensive acquaintance in Rome, I never once heard him unkindly spoken of. I frequently passed hours in his studio, while Morton was engaged in a continual round of pleasure.
CHAPTER II.
Carrara inhabited but two apartments in his stately mansion, besides his elegant studio, and a large exhibition room of magnificent paintings. All the other apartments were locked up, and left untenanted, although the old domestic, who had been a household fixture for more than twenty years, informed me they were all splendidly furnished; although uninhabited, and seldom opened, except twice a year, to be cleaned; I could not help wondering that any man, especially a bachelor artist, should keep a large, vacant house to himself, of no use to him, without letting it to some one, as an Englishman would have done; unless, indeed, he were a man of rank and fortune, but this Carrara, I presumed, was not, and I had seen enough of him to be convinced of his unassuming mind, and simple mode of living. Perhaps he had accumulated a comfortable fortune by his unwearied application, and economy, and having secured sufficient means for the future years of his life, thought it unnecessary to make money by his house. Of his private circumstances I knew nothing, and, therefore, dismissed the subject from my mind.
“How many different faces, and what varieties of character you must see in the course of a year,” I one day remarked to him, as he stood at his easel, a large bunch of brushes in his hand, busily employed in painting a naked nymph, bathing in a limpid stream.
“Yes,” he replied, “an artist has ample opportunity, if he is capable of doing so, of observing characters, as well as faces.”
“Are you a physiognomist?”
“I make no pretensions to being one.”