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.