Continental Monthly, Vol. I., No. IV., April, 1862 by Various

V >> Various >> Continental Monthly, Vol. I., No. IV., April, 1862

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'_Iddio giusto!_' shouted two of the pipers; 'it is, IT IS the
_Cacciatore_! the hunter; the Great Hunter!'

'He is a painter!' shouted another.

'No, he isn't; he's a hunter. _Gran Cacciatore!_ Doesn't he spend all
his time after quails and snipe and woodcock? Haven't I been out with
him day after day at Ostia? Long live the great hunter!'

MacGuilp was touched in a tender spot. The homage paid him as a great
hunter more than did away with his anger at the bagpipe serenade. And
the last Caper saw of him he was leading six pifferari into a wine shop,
where they would not come out until seven of them were unable to tell
the music of bagpipes from the music of the spheres.

So ends the music, noises, and voices, of the seven-hilled city.

SERMONS IN STONES.

One bright Sunday morning in January, Rocjean called on Caper to ask him
to improve the day by taking a walk.

'I thought of going up to the English chapel outside the Popolo to see a
pretty New Yorkeress,' said the latter; 'but the affair is not very
pressing, and I believe a turn round the Villa Borghese would do me as
much good as only looking at a pretty girl and half hearing a poor
sermon.'

'As for a sermon, we need not miss that,' answered Rocjean, 'for we will
stop in at Chapin the sculptor's studio, and if we escape one, and he
there, I am mistaken. They call his studio a shop, and they call his
shop the Orphan's Asylum, because he manufactured an Orphan Girl some
years ago, and, as it sold well, he has kept on making orphans ever
since.

'The murderer!'

'Yes; but not half as atrocious as the reality. You must know that when
he first came over here he had an order to make a small Virgin Mary for
a Catholic church in Boston; but the order being countermanded after he
had commenced modeling in clay, he was determined not to lose his time,
and so, having somewhere read of, in a yellow-covered novel, or seen in
some fashion-plate magazine, a doleful-looking female called The Orphan,
he instantly determined, cruel executioner that he is, to also make an
orphan. And he did. There is a dash of bogus sentiment in it that passes
for coin current with many of our traveling Americans; and the thing has
"sold." He told me not long since he had orders for twelve copies of
different sized Orphans, and you will see them all through his asylum.
Do you remember those lines in Richard the Third,--

'"Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
And call us orphans--wretched?"'

They found Chapin in his shop, alias studio, busily looking over a
number of plaster casts of legs and arms. He arose quickly as they
entered and threw a cloth over the casts.

'Hah! gudmornin', Mister Caper. Glad to see you in my studiyo. Hallo,
Rocjan! you there? Why haven't you ben up to see my wife and daughters?
She feels hurt, I tell you, 'cause you don't come near us. Do you know
that Burkings of Bosting was round here to my studiyo yeserday: sold
_him_ an Orphan. By the way, Mister Caper, air you any relation to Caper
of the great East Ingy house of Caper?'

'He is an uncle of mine, and is now in Florence; he will be in Rome next
week.'

A tender glow of interest beamed in Chapin's eyes: in imagination he saw
another Orphan sold to the rich Caper, who might 'influence trade.' His
tone of voice after this was subdued. As Caper happened to brush against
some plaster coming in the studio, Chapin hastened to brush it from his
coat, and he did it as if it were the down on the wing of a beautiful
golden butterfly.

'I was goin' to church this mornin' long with Missus Chapin; but I guess
I'll stay away for once in me life. I want to show you The Orphan.'

'I beg that you will not let me interfere with any engagement you may
have,' said Caper; 'I can call as well at any other time.'

'Oh, no; I won't lissen to that; I don't want to git to meeting before
sermon, so come right stret in here now. There! there's The Orphan. You
see I've made her accordin' to the profoundest rules of art. You may
take a string or a yard measure and go all over her, you won't find her
out of the way a fraction. The figure is six times the length of the
foot; this was the way Phidias worked, and I agree with him. Them were
splendid old fellows, them Greeks. There was art for you; high art!'

'That in the Acropolis was of the highest order,' said Rocjean.

'Yes,' answered Chapin, who did not know where it was; 'far above all
other. There was some sentiment in them days; but it was all of the
religious stripe; they didn't come down to domestic life and feelin';
they hadn't made the strides we have towards layin' open art to the
million--towards developing _hum_ feelings. They worked for a precious
few; but we do it up for the many. Now there's the A-poller
Belvidiary--beautiful thing; but the idea of brushin' his hair that way
is ridicoolus. Did you ever see anybody with their hair fixed that way?
Never! They had a way among the Greeks of fixing their drapery right
well; but I've invented a plan--for which I've applied to Washington for
a patent--that I think will beat anything Phidias ever did.'

'You can't tell how charmed I am to hear you,' spoke Rocjean.

'Well, it _is_ a great invention,' continued Chapin; 'and as I know
neither of you ain't in the 'trade' (smiling), I don't care but what
I'll show it to you, if you'll promise, honor bright, you won't tell
anybody. You see I take a piece of muslin and hang it onto a statue the
way I want the folds to fall; then I take a syringe filled with starch
and glue and go all over it, so that when it dries it'll be as hard as a
rock. Then I go all over it with a certain oily preparation and lastly
I run liquid plaster-paris in it, and when it hardens, I have an exact
mold of the drapery. There! But I hain't explained The Orphan. You see
she's sittin' on a very light chair--_that_ shows the very little
support she has in this world. The hand to the head shows meditation;
and the Bible on her knee shows devotion; you see it's open to the book,
chapter, and verse which refers to the young ravens.'

'Excuse me,' said Caper, 'but may I ask why she has such a _very_
low-necked dress on?'

'Well, my model has got such a fine neck and shoulders,' replied Chapin,
'that I re-eely couldn't help showing 'em off on the Orphan: besides,
they're more in demand--the low neck and short sleeves--than the
high-bodied style, which has no buyers. But there is a work I'm engaged
on now that would just soot your uncle. Mr. Caper, come this way.'

Caper saw what he supposed was a safe to keep meat cool in, and
approached. Chapin threw back the doors of it like a showman about to
disclose the What Is It? and Caper saw a dropsical-looking Cupid with a
very short shirt on, and a pair of winged shoes on his feet. The figure
was starting forward as if to catch his equilibrium, which he had that
moment lost, and was only prevented from tumbling forward by a bag held
behind him in his left hand, while his right arm and hand, at full
length, pointed a sharp arrow in front of him.

'Can you tell me what _that_ figger represents?' asked Chapin. As he
received no reply, he continued: '_That_ is Enterprise; the two little
ruts at his feet represent a railroad; the arrow, showin' he's sharp,
points ahead; Go ahead! is his motto; the bag in his hand represents
money, which the keen, sharp, shrewd business man knows is the reward of
enterprise. The wreath round his head is laurel mixed up with lightnin',
showin' he's up to the tellygraph; the pen behind his ear shows he can
figger; and his short shirt shows economy, that admirable virtoo. The
wings on his shoes air taken from Mercury, as I suppose you know; and--'

'I say, now, Chapin, don't you think he's got a little too much legs,
and rather extra stomach on him, to make fast time?' asked Rocjean.

'Measure him, measure him!' said Chapin, indignantly; 'there's a string.
Figure six times the length of his foot, everything else in proportion.
No, _sir_; I have not studied the classic for nothin'; if there is any
one thing I am strong on, it's anatomy. Only look at his hair. Why, sir,
I spent three weeks once dissectin'; and for more'n six months I didn't
do anything, during my idle time, but dror figgers. Art is a kind of
thing that's born in a man. This saying the ancients were better
sculpters than we air, is no such thing; what did they know about
steam-engines or telegraphs? _Fiddle!_ They did some fustrate things,
but they had no idee of fixin' hair as it should be fixed. No, sir; we
moderns have great add-vantagiz, and we improve 'em. Rome is the Cra--'

'I must bid you good-day,' interrupted Caper; 'your wife will miss you
at the sermon: you will attribute it to me; and I would not
intentionally be the cause of having her ill-will for anything.'

'Well, she is a pretty hard innimy; and they do talk here in Rome if you
don't toe the mark. But ree-ly, you mustn't go off mad (smiling). You
must call up with Rocjan and see us; and I ree-ly hope that when your
uncle comes you will bring him to my studiyo. I am sure my Enterprise
will soot him.'

So Chapin saw them out of his studio. Not until Caper found himself
seated on a stone bench under the ilexes of the Villa Borghese, watching
the sunbeams darting on the little lizards, and seeing far off the
Albanian Mountains, snowcapped against the blue sky--not until then did
he breathe freely.

'Rocjean,' said he; 'that stone-cutter down there--that Chapin--'

'_Chameau!_ roared Rocjean. 'He and his kind are doing for art what the
Jews did for prize-fighting--they ruin it. They make art the
laughing-stock of all refined and educated people. Art applied solely to
sculpture and painting is dead; it will not rise again in these our
times. But art, the fairy-fingered beautifier of all that surrounds our
homes and daily walks, save paintings and statuary, never breathed so
fully, clearly, nobly as now, and her pathway amid the lowly and homely
things around us is shedding beauty wherever it goes. The rough-handed
artisan who, slowly dreaming of the beautiful, at last turns out a stone
that will beautify and adorn a room, instead of rendering it hideous,
has done for this practical generation what he of an earlier theoretical
age did for his cotemporaries when he carved the imperial Venus of
Milos. Enough; _this_ is the sermon _not_ preached from stones.'

A BALL AT THE COSTA PALACE

One sunlight morning in February, while hard at work in his studio,
Caper was agreeably surprised by the entrance of an elderly uncle of
his, Mr. Bill Browne, of St. Louis, a gentleman of the rosy, stout,
hearty school of old bachelors, who, having made a large fortune by
keeping a Western country store, prudently retired from business, and
finding it dull work doing nothing, wisely determined to enjoy himself
with a tour over the Continent, 'or any other place he might conclude to
visit.'

'I say, Jim, did you expect to see me here?' was his first greeting.

'Why, Uncle Bill! Well, you are the last man I ever thought would turn
up. They didn't write me a word of your coming over,' answered Caper.

'Mistake; they wrote you all about it; and if you'll drop round at the
post-office, you'll find letters there telling you the particulars. Fact
is, I am ahead of the mail. Coming over in the steamer, met a man named
Orville; told me he knew you, that he was coming straight through to
Rome, and offered to pilot me. So I gave up Paris and all that, and came
smack through, eighteen days from New York. But I'm dry. Got a match?
Here, try one of these cigars.'

Caper took a cigar from his uncle's case, lit it, and then, calling the
man who swept out the studios, sent him to the neighboring wine-shop for
a bottle of wine.

'By George, Jim, that's a pretty painting: that jackass is fairly alive,
and so's the girl with a red boddice. I say, what's she got that towel
on her head for? Is it put there to dry?'

'No; that's an Italian peasant girl's head-covering. Most all of them do
so.'

'Do they? I'm glad of that. But here comes your man with the liquor.'

And, after drinking two or three tumblers full, Uncle Bill decided that
it was pretty good cider. The wine finished, together with a couple of
rolls that came with it, the two sallied out for a walk around the
Pincian Hill, the grand promenade of Rome. Towards sunset they thought
of dinner, and Uncle Bill, anxious to see life, accepted Caper's
invitation to dine at the old Gabioni: here they ordered the best
dishes, and the former swore it was as good a dinner as he ever got at
the Planter's House. Rocjean, who dined there, delighted the old
gentleman immensely, and the two fraternized at once, and drank each
other's health, old style, until Caper, fearing that neither could
conveniently hold more, suggested an adjournment to the Greco for coffee
and cigars.

While they were in the cafe, Rocjean quietly proposed something to
Caper, who at once assented; the latter then said to Uncle Bill,--

'You have arrived in Rome just at the right time. You may have heard at
home of the great Giacinti family; well, the Prince Nicolo di Giacinti
gives a grand ball to-night at the Palazzo Costa. Rocjean and I have
received invitations, embracing any illustrious strangers of our
acquaintance who may happen to be in Rome; so you must go with us. You
have no idea, until you come to know them intimately, what a
good-natured, off-hand set the best of the Roman nobility are. Compelled
by circumstances to keep up for effect an appearance of great reserve
and dignity before the public, they indemnify themselves for it in
private by having the highest kind of old times. They are passionately
attached to their native habits and costumes, and though driven, on
state occasions especially, to imitate French and English habits, yet
they love nothing better than at times to enjoy themselves in their
native way. The ball given by the prince to-night is what might be
called a free-and-easy. It is his particular desire that no one should
come in full dress; in fact, he rather likes to have his stranger guests
come in their worst clothes, for this prevents the attention of the
public being called to them as they enter the palace. After you have
lived some time in Rome you will see how necessary it is to keep dark,
so you will see no flaring light at the palace gate; it's all as quiet
and common-place as possible. The dresses, you must remember, are
assumed for the occasion because they are, or were, the national
costume, which is fast disappearing, and if it were not for the noble
wearers you will see to-night, you could not find them anywhere in Rome.
You will perhaps think the nobility at the ball hardly realize your
ideas of Italian beauty and refinement, compared with the fine specimens
of men and women you may have seen among the Italian opera singers at
home: well, these same singers are picked specimens, and are chosen for
their height and muscular development from the whole nation, so that
strangers may think all the rest at home are like them: it is a little
piece of deception we can pardon.'

After this long prelude, Rocjean proposed that they should try a game of
billiards in the Cafe Nuovo. After they had played a game or two, and
drank several _mezzo caldos_, or rum punches, they walked up the Corso
to the Via San Claudio, No. 48, and entered the palace gate. It was very
dark after they entered, so Rocjean, telling them to wait one moment,
lit a _cerina_, or piece of waxed cord, an article indispensable to a
Roman, and, crossing the broad courtyard, they entered a small door, and
after climbing and twisting and turning, found a ticket-taker, and the
next minute were in the ball-room.

Uncle Bill was delighted with the excessively free-and-easy ball of
Prince Giacinti, but was very anxious to know the names of the nobility,
and Rocjean politely undertook to point out the celebrities, offering
kindly to introduce him to any one he might think looked sympathetic;
'what they call _simpatico_ in Italian,' explained Rocjean.

'That pretty girl in _Ciociara_ costume is the Condessa or Countess
Stella di Napoli.'

'Introduce me,' said Uncle Bill.

Rocjean went through the performance, concluding thus: 'The countess
expresses a wish that you should order a _bottiglia_ (about two bottles)
of red wine.'

'Go ahead,' quoth Uncle Bill; 'for a nobility ball this comes as near a
dance-house affair as I ever want to approach. By the way, who is that
pickpocket-looking genius with eyes like a black snake?'

'Who is _that_?' said Rocjean, theatrically. 'Chut! a word in your ear;
that is An-to-nel-li!'

'The devil! But I heard some one only a few minutes ago call him
Angelucio.'

'That was done satirically, for it means big angel, which you, who read
the papers, know that Antonelli is _not_. But here comes the wine, and I
see the countess looks dry. Pour out a half-dozen glasses for her. The
Roman women, high and low, paddle in wine like ducks, and it never
upsets them; for, like ducks, their feet are so large that neither you
nor wine can throw them. I wish you could speak Italian, for here comes
the Princess Giacinta _con Marchese_--'

'I wish,' said Uncle Bill, 'you would talk English.'

'Well,' continued Rocjean, 'with the Marchioness Nina Romana, if you
like that better. Shall I introduce you?'

'Certainly,' replied the old gentleman, 'and order two more what d'ye
call 'ems. It's cheap--this knowing a princess for a quart of red
teaberry tooth-wash, for that's what this "wine" amounts to. I am going
to dance to-night, for the Princess Giacinta is a complete woman after
my heart, and weighs her two hundred pound any day.'

The nobility now began begging Rocjean and Caper to introduce them to
his excellency _Il vecchio_, or the old man; and Uncle Bill, in his
enthusiasm at finding himself surrounded with so many princes,
Allegrini, Pelligrini, Sapgrini, and Dungreeny, compelled Caper to order
up a barrel of wine, set it a-tap, and tell the nobility to 'go in.' It
is needless to say that they _went_ in. Many of the costumes were very
rich, especially those of the female nobility; and in the rush for a
glass of wine the effect of the brilliant draperies flying here and
there, struggling and pushing, was notable. The musicians, who were
standing on what appeared to be barrels draped with white cloth, jumped
down and tried their luck at the wine-cask, and, after satisfying their
thirst, returned to their duties. There was a guitar, mandolin, violin,
and flute, and the music was good for dancing. Uncle Bill was pounced on
by the Princess Giacinta and whirled off into some kind of a dance, he
did not know what; round flew the room and the nobility; round flew
barrels of teaberry tooth-wash, beautiful princesses, big devils of
Antonellis. Lights, flash, hum, buzz, buzz, zzz--ooo--zoom!

Uncle Bill opened his eyes as the sunlight shed one golden bar into his
sleeping-room at the Hotel d'Europe, and there by his bedside sat his
nephew, Jim Caper, reading a letter, while on a table near at hand was a
goblet full of ice, a bottle of hock, and another bottle corked, with
string over it.

'It's so-da wa-ter,' said Uncle Bill, musing aloud.

'Hallo, uncle, you awake?' asked Caper, suddenly raising his eyes from
his letter.

'I am, my son. Give thy aged father thy blessing, and open that hock and
soda water quicker! I say, Jim, now, what became of the nobility, the
Colonnas and Aldobrandinis, after they finished that barrel? Strikes me
some of them will have an owlly appearance this morning.'

'You don't know them,' answered Caper.

'I am beginning to believe I don't, too,' spoke Uncle Bill. 'I say, now,
Jim, where did we go last night?'

'Why, Uncle Bill, to tell you the plain truth, we went to a ball at the
Costa Palace, and a model ball it was, too.'

'I have you! Models who sit for you painters. Well, if they arn't
nobility, they drink like kings, so it's all right. Give us the hock,
and say no more about it.'

* * * * *

HOWE'S CAVE.

Few persons, perhaps, are aware that Schoharie County, N.Y., contains a
cave said to be nine or ten miles in extent, and, in many respects, one
of the most remarkable in America. Its visitors are few,--owing,
probably, to its recent discovery, together with its comparative
inaccessibility;--yet these few are well rewarded for its exploration.

In the month of August, 1861, I started, with three companions, to visit
this interesting place.

I will not weary the reader by describing the beauty of the Hudson and
the grandeur of the Catskills; yet I would fain fix in my memory forever
one sunrise, seen from the summit of a bluff on the eastern bank of the
river, when the fog, gradually lifting itself from the stream, and
slowly breaking into misty fragments, unveiled broad, smiling meadows,
dark forests, village after village, while above all, far in the
distance, rose the Catskills, clear in the sunlight.

After two days crowded with enjoyment, we arrived in Schoharie, where we
passed the night. Having given orders to be called at five, we took
advantage of the leisure hour this arrangement gave us to view, the next
morning.

AN OLD FORT.

In reality, the 'fort' is a dilapidated old church, used as a shelter
during the Indian wars, and also in the days of the Revolution. On the
smooth stones that form the eastern side are carved the names of the
soldiers who defended it, with the date, and designation of the regiment
to which they belonged. I deciphered also, among other curious details,
the name of the person who 'gave the favor of the ground.' I would
gladly have indulged my antiquarian tastes by copying these rude
inscriptions; but the eager cries of my companions compelled me to hurry
on.

The western portion of the structure has also its story to tell. The
traces of besieging cannon balls are still to be distinctly seen, and in
one place I observed a smooth, round hole, made by the passage of a ball
into the interior of the fort.

As I stood on the walls of this ancient building, surveying the valley
it overlooked, with its straggling village lying at our feet, and the
fair Schoharie Creek, now gleaming in the sunlight of the meadows, or
darkening in the shade of the trees that overhung it, the past and the
present mingled strongly in my thoughts.

The Stars and Stripes, that on this very spot had seen our fathers
repelling a foreign foe, now waved over their sons, forced from their
quiet homes, not to contend with the stranger and the alien, but to
subdue those rebellious brothers whose sacrilegious hands had torn down
that sacred flag, reared amidst the trials and perils of '76. Not less
noble the present contest than the past, nor less heroic the soldier of
to-day than the patriot of the Revolution. We continue to-day the fight
they fought against injustice and oppression--a conflict that will end
only when every nation and every race shall lift unshackled hands up to
God in thanksgiving for the gift of freedom. A deeper love of my
country, and a firmer trust in the God of truth and justice, sank into
my heart as I turned away from those rude walls, sacred to the memory of
departed valor.

We hurried back to the breakfast that awaited us, and then drove to

THE CAVE,

which lies six miles from the village of Schoharie. The entrance is at
the base of a heavily-wooded mountain that shuts in a secluded little
valley. The only opening from this solitary vale is made by a small
stream that winds out from among the hills. The entire seclusion of the
place has prevented its earlier discovery; but the inevitable 'Hotel'
now rears its wooden walls above the cave to encourage future
adventurers to explore its recesses.

In the absence of the proprietor of the hotel, who usually acts as
cicerone, we took as guide a sun-burnt young man, with an economical
portion of nose, closely cut hair, and a wiry little mouth, which we saw
at a glance would open only at the rate of a quarter of a dollar a fact.
He proved himself, however, shrewd, witty, and, withal, good-natured,
and as fond of a joke as any one of us all. Bob, for so our new
companion named himself, showed us at once into a dressing-room,
advising us to put on, over our own garments, certain exceedingly coarse
and ragged coats, hats and pants, which transformed us at once from
rather fashionable young men into a set of forlorn-looking beggars. Each
laughed at the appearance of the other, unconscious of his own
transformation; but Bob, with more truth than politeness, informed us
that we all 'looked like the Old Nick;' whence it appeared that in Bob's
opinion the Enemy is usually sorely afflicted with a shabby wardrobe,
and that, in the words of the sage,

'Poverty is the devil.'

Being furnished with small oil lamps, we descended to the mouth of the
cave. This opens at once into an entrance-hall, one hundred and fifty
feet in length and thirty in width, and high enough for a tall man to
enter upright.

I inquired of Bob when the cave was discovered. 'In 1842,' he replied.
'And by whom?' I continued. 'Why,' rejoined our guide, 'Mister Howe was
a huntin' for caves, and he came across this one.' Rather a queer thing
to be hunting for, I thought, though without comment; but in future I
allowed Bob to carry on the conversation as best suited himself. He
plunged at once into a dissertation on the state of the country, gravely
stating that 'Washington was taken.' At the involuntary smile which this
astounding piece of news called forth, Bob confessed 'he might be
mistaken in this respect, as his paper came but once a week, and
frequently only once in two weeks.' Finding him a stanch Union man, and
inclined to serve his country to the best of his ability, we undertook
'to post him up' on the present state of affairs, for which the poor
fellow was truly grateful.

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