[21] I was afterwards informed, that the tendency of the couplets was at once humorous and satirical, hitting, in rather a severe manner, the artistical peculiarities of certain men of eminence, as well as of many then present.
[22] The celebrated Thorwaldsen held this decoration in such high estimation, that discarding those which his fame and talents had procured him in every court of Europe, he presented himself before that of Denmark, wearing only the solitary and unimposing decoration of the “Order of the Bajocco.”
[23] The gentleman here named is well known in Rome, and acted I believe, at one time as secretary to the Danish sculptor before alluded to.
[24] Maria de’ Monti, one of the most popular models of Rome, who had frequently suffered annoyance from the importunities of a contadino, met him one day in the Piazza Barberini, when the solicitations were again renewed. Having indignantly rejected his addresses, and received at the same time, a provoking schiaffo, or slap in the face, she drew the spadino from her hair, and stabbed him in the breast. No sooner was the blow given, than the irritated girl ran to the French Academy on the Pincio to seek refuge, it being considered by the models as a sort of sanctuary. The man died shortly after, and on being brought before the police, Maria was immediately acquitted on the score of her youth and previous good character, and in consideration of the provocation she had received. This specimen of Roman justice may appear very lax to English minds, and its want of severity can only be reconciled by the reflection, that the criminal deed was entirely unpremeditated, and that a blow in the face is regarded by the irritable Romans, as an unpardonable insult.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE “GRECO”—SIGNOR GIOVANNI—FREQUENTERS OF THE BARCACCIA—PIETRO—THE ROMAN CIGAR—CAFFE DU BONGOUT—“PUNCH A LA ROMAINE”—ITALIAN EATING-HOUSES—THE LEPRI—OLD AURELIO—TERRIBILE—ROMAN BILL OF FARE—SWEETS—ENGLISH ERRORS—DESSERT—THE LEPRI GARDEN—THE “GABBIONE”—ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD—FRIED FISH—ALESSIO—“UNA BOMBA ALLA CERITO.”
As I could get nothing cooked in my new domicile, and do not even know whether it possessed a kitchen or not, I was compelled to take my meals at the Caffé and Eating-house. Of course I patronized the Greco, which was not only close to me in the Via Condotti, but the resort of most of my artistical friends. Signor Giovanni, its padrone, a good-humoured old man of eighty, was at one time a waiter in the establishment, but having married its mistress, may now be seen every day inside the counter, raking up the mezzi-paoli. The Caffé is also known by its original name of Barcaccia, derived from the adjacent fountain in the Piazza di Spagna, and was famous during the war, as the scene of some noisy political meetings. Having been hallowed by the constant presence of men, whose names can never be lost to fame, and will be remembered when their works have perished, the marble tables and well-worn benches of the Greco, possess a charm for the artist, which no other Caffé in Rome can boast. It opens at four in the morning, when it is resorted to by the Vetturini, who take their caffé rhummeggiata. After them, about daylight, come the Italian shopkeepers of the Condotti, who make their early breakfast of chocolate and little rolls called chiffa, in shape like the crescent of Diana. These give place to the Danish and German artists, men with fierce moustaches and grizly beards, who dim the grey-light of morning by the clouds of smoke inseparable from the proper enjoyment of mischio[25] and caffé latte. These frequent a middle room, to which they seem to possess an exclusive right, and there they lounge, all dull and gloomy, sipping and smoking. At about eight o’clock, the little round tables in the front room are occupied one by one, whilst at a side bench, over which the notice of “non si fuma qui,”[26] seems to promise a few cubic yards of atmosphere less densely impregnated than the rest, may be seen two or three individuals drinking thé á latte, and conversing confidentially in an under tone. These are great men, whose chisels and brushes have astonished all Europe. And yet the eye of the ministro with the coffee-biggin is no oftener directed towards them, than to the humble stalliere, who is smacking his rhummeggiata on the opposite bench, nor is the customary obeisance of the Signor Giovanni, a whit lower to one party than the other. And now Pietro, the waiter, who has been fanning himself at the open door-way, suddenly arouses us by a prolonged cry of, “dolcissimo,” and we know that in another minute we shall see ——, whose scriptural subjects have gained him so great a notoriety, whilst a similar call for “mezza crema con poco zucchero,”[27] betokens the approach of the less sweet-toothed author of the “Life of Raffaelle.” Pietro knows and never fails to remember the peculiar taste of each of his customers, and I have heard him give the order for my “pane bruscato,” or dry toast, the moment that I have turned the corner of the Piazza di Spagna.
About the middle of the day, there is a sprinkling of Frenchmen, who drop in to open their appetites by a taste of the “gialla bottiglia,” so called from the amber-coloured abscynthe, without which preparative, and the subsequent chasse, their mid-day meal would be considered incomplete. During the afternoon, there is a constant succession of applicants for caffè-noir, accompanied by the regulation weed at one bajocco, a cigar generally supposed to have been born in a cabbage-bed, and baked brown in an oven, and which, after lying a month on the shelf of a spaccio normale, returns to dust in the Greco. In the evening, the caffé is generally filled with a miscellaneous company from all quarters of Europe, who indulge in mezzi-caldi and hot discussions, mixing punch with politics, and debating knotty questions bearing upon “art,” until midnight, when the house is closed.
Whilst speaking of Roman coffee-houses, I must not omit to mention the “Bon Goût,” in the Piazza di Spagna, certainly one of the best in the city, and although not much frequented by the generality of artists, its benches are often occupied by the older stagers, who mumble through an elaborate breakfast, unannoyed by the combined odours of tobacco and abscynthe. Here too, will always be found some of that peculiar class, so justly idolized by the Roman dealers in bronzes, mosaics, and marbles, men who carry with them to England, boat-loads of giallo and rosso-antico, and fill their carriages with camei and green lizards. Then again, the “Bon Goût” is the resort of those who prefer a French roll and newspaper, to the monotony of a hotel breakfast in their bedrooms, and is therefore crowded in the visiting season. In the afternoon, its tables are arranged outside, under an awning, and there is a constant demand for ices and barley-water, and as the genuine punch a la romaine, ought, if it really does not, to date from the Bon Goût, and may there be had in perfection, the ladies can want no excuse for a free indulgence therein.
Having disposed of the Caffè, I will devote another page or two to the unintellectual subject of gastronomy, and beg my reader to accompany me into a Trattoria, or Italian restaurant. Those of Rome are numerous and generally good, but as it is with that of the “Lepri,” that I am more particularly concerned, and may hereafter have frequently to allude to it, I will endeavour to give a short description of it and its frequenters. The “Lepri” is in the Via Condotti, exactly opposite the Caffè Greco, and takes its title from the palace which adjoins it. The head of the establishment is, or lately was, a wealthy widow, who would never scruple to render a service to an artist, and would lend her stock of plate, or tend a sick couch with unhesitating kindness. Her son lives upon his rentes, which are sufficiently good, and enable him to keep his carriage and shooting-box.