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.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE “PONTE MOLLE” CLUB—TECHNICAL ALPHABET—MOCCOLETTI—THE BLACK BOARD—ELECTION OF CANDIDATES—THE ILLUSTRATED CHORUS—HARMONIES—CHANGE OF DOMICILE—THE VIA SISTINA—THE PINCIAN PROMENADE—TRASTEVERINI—THE FRENCH ACADEMY—HIGH ART AND ITS VOTARIES—ROMAN MODELS—PIFFERARI—PIETRO POMBO—THE VIA MARGUTTA—L—— AND HIS PAINTING—EXTRAORDINARY MODEL—PICTURES AND STUDIOS.
Connected with the Cervaro Fest, is a humorous artistical club[20] called the “Ponte Molle,” which also owes its origin to the Germans. The weekly meetings of this Roman society of odd-fellows, are held in the Palazzo Fiano, at the rear of the “Belli Arti” coffee-house in the Corso, and are of so curious a nature, that although I cannot hope to do them justice, I shall not be satisfied to let them go in silence. I also presume that as I know but little of the rules or regulations by which the club is governed, I can reveal nothing which may not be given to the public. I was introduced by an English artist, on an occasion when two candidates were to be initiated, and on entering a large room on the first floor, found myself in the presence of a hundred or more people of all countries, chiefly, if not entirely, artists, who seemed by the remains still scattered before them, to have just finished their supper. The tables were laid out round three sides of the room in the form of the letter E, the chairman’s seat being filled by Herr ——, the president of the late Cervaro: before him lay an auctioneer’s hammer, and a gigantic speaking trumpet, whilst behind, upon the wall, there hung a large black board.
We had no sooner taken our seats, and called for some sort of refreshment, than an individual on the right of the chair, nearly deafened us by an announcement in German, which he bellowed through the trumpet, to the effect that some ceremony was about to take place, and on looking towards the chairman, I found that he held in his hand an enormous illustrated alphabet, of which the first page presented a coloured sketch, bearing allusion to the letters, great A and little a, printed in large characters underneath. This exhibition was accompanied by a German rhyme, chanted by the company in chorus, each man standing on his chair, whilst the whole of the alphabet was expounded.[21] Then some one distributed to each person present, about four or five inches of wax taper, or moccoletti, and with these was also handed round a printed song. At a sign from the chairman, the tapers were ignited, each individual tied his napkin round his head, and forming into single file, promenaded around the room, singing in unison a melody written in honour of the “Ponte Molle.” The moccoletti seemed of service in enhancing the outrè appearance of such as aimed at making themselves as ridiculous as possible, for I noticed one tall fellow with a row of a dozen or more stuck round the brim of his sombrero, whilst another had attached a piece to the end of his nose. At the conclusion of the recitation, we resumed our places, and the wine bottles being replenished, the chairman and others sung a few songs, whilst preparations were making for the election of the two fresh candidates, who were shortly ushered in amid a deafening shout of applause, and stationed under the ominous black board before alluded to. The only qualification, which to me as a stranger, appeared necessary to ensure admission to the club, was that of being able happily to illustrate upon the board, the solution of some knotty enigmatical query, propounded by the chairman. If an architect or painter, the candidate would be required to sketch some device appertaining to his art, whilst a sculptor would be expected to exercise his skill upon a lump of wet clay, from which he would probably produce some grotesque figure that would set the room in a roar. Be this as it may, the parties on the present occasion, receiving at the hands of the president, the decoration of the order of the Bajocco,[22] were declared amid much laughter, to have acquitted themselves to the satisfaction of their judges, and to have “passed the Ponte Molle,” and then, the hieroglyphs having been obliterated, another part of the evening’s performance was gone through, which I was enabled more readily to understand, and will, therefore, endeavour to describe. The chief performer therein, was as usual the chairman. Marking upon the board with chalk, a short line, thus ——, he inquired—
“Ist das nicht der kürz ünd lang?”