The improvisatore

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CHAPTER L

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Chapter II

THE VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS. — I BECOME A CHORISTER. *— THE LOVELY ANGEL-CHILD. THE IMPROVISATORE.

OUR lodger, the young painter, took me with him sometimes on his little rambles beyond the gates. I did not disturb him whilst he was making now and then a sketch ; and when he had finished he amused himself with my prattle, for he now understood the language.

Once before, I had been with him to the curia hostilia^ deep down into the dark caves where, in ancient days, wild beasts were kept for the games, and where innocent captives were thrown to ferocious hyenas and lions. The dark passages ; the monk who conducted us in, and continually struck the red torch against the walls ; the deep cistern in which the water stood as clear as a mirror, — yes, so clear, that one was obliged to move it with the torch to convince one’s self that it was up to the brim, and that there was no empty space, as by its clearness there seemed to be, — all this excited my imagination. Fear, I felt none, for I was unconscious of danger.

“ Are we going to the caverns ? ” I inquired from him, as I saw at the end of the street the higher part of the Coliseum.

No, to something much greater,” replied he ; “where thou shalt see something ! And I will paint thee, also, my fine fellow ! ”

Thus wandered we further, and ever further, between the white walls, the inclosed vineyards, and the old ruins of the baths, till we were out of Rome. The sun burned hotly, and the peasants had made for their wagons roofs of green branches, under which they slept, while the horses, left to themselves, went at a foot’s pace, and ate from the bundle of

THE VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS. 9

hay which hung beside them for this purpose. At length we reached the grotto of Egeria, in which we took our breakfast, and mixed our wine with the fresh water that streamed out from between the blocks of stone. The walls and vault of the whole grotto were inside covered over with the finest green, as of tapestry, woven of silks and velvet, and round about the great entrance hung the thickest ivy, fresh and luxuriant as the vine foliage in the valleys of Calabria.

Not many paces from the grotto stands, or rather stood, for there are now only a few remains of it left, a little, and wholly desolate house, built above one of the descents to the catacombs. These were, as is well known, in ancient times, connecting links between Rome and the surrounding cities j in later times, however, they have in part fallen in, and in part been built up, because they served as concealment for robbers and smugglers. The entrance through the burial-vaults in St. Sebastian’s Church, and this one through the desolate house, were then the only two in existence ; and I almost think that we were the last who descended by this, for, shortly after our adventure, it also was shut up ; and only the one through the church, under the conduct of a monk, remains now open to strangers.

Deep below, hollowed out of the soft puzzolan earth, the one passage crosses another. Their multitude, their similarity one to another, are sufficient to bewilder even him who knows the principal direction. I had formed no idea of the whole, and the painter felt so confident, that he had no hesitation in taking me, the little boy, down with him. He lighted his candle, and took another with him in his pocket, fastened a ball of twine to the opening where we descended, and our wandering commenced. Anon the passages were so low that I could not go upright ; anon they elevated themselves to lofty vaults, and, where the one crossed the other, expanded themselves into great quadrangles. We passed through the Rotunda wdth the small stone altar in the middle, where the early Christians, persecuted by the Pagans, secretly performed their worship. Federigo told me of the fourteen popes, and the many thousand martyrs, who here lie buried : we held the light against ihe great cracks in the tombs, and saw the yellow bones lO

THE IMPROVISATORE.

within.^ We advanced yet some steps onward, and then came to a stand, because we were at the end of the twine. The end of this Federigo fastened to his button-hole, stuck the candle among some stones, and then began to sketch the deep passage. I sat close beside him upon one of the stones ; he had desired me to fold my hands and to look upwards. The light was nearly burnt out, but a whole one lay hard by ; besides which he had brought a tinder-box, by the aid of which he could light the other in case this suddenly went out.

My imagination fashioned to itself a thousand wonderful objects in the infinite passages which opened themselves, and revealed to us an impenetrable darkness. All was quite still, the falling waterdrops alone sent forth a monotonous sound. As I thus sat, wrapped in my own thoughts, I was suddenly terrified by my friend the painter, who heaved a strange sigh, and sprang about, but always in the same spot. Every moment he stooped down to the ground, as if he would snatch up something, then he lighted the larger candle and sought about. I became so terrified at his singular beha^vior, that I got up and began to cry.

“ For God^s sake, sit still, child ! ’’ said he ; “ for God in heaven’s sake ! ” and again he began staring on the ground.

“ I will go up again ! ” I exclaimed ; “ I will not stop down here ! ” I then took him by the hand and strove to draw him with me.

Child ! child ! thou art a noble fellow ! ” said he ; ‘‘I will give thee pictures and cakes — there, thou hast money ! ” And he took his purse out of his pocket, and gave me all that was in it : but I felt that his hand was ice cold and that he trembled. On this I grew more uneasy, and called my mother : but now he seized me firmly by the shoulder, and, shaking me violently, said, — “I will beat thee if thou art not quiet ! ” Then he bound his pocket-handkerchief round my

^ The monumental stones here are without any ornament ; on the contrary, one finds in the catacombs at Naples the images of saints and inscriptions, but all very indifferently done. On the graves of the Christians a fish is figured, in the Greek name of which occur the initial letters of {^\r}aovg Xptaroc, Oeov vloq au>T7ip) Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Redeemer. — Author's Atote.

THE VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS. II

arm, and held me fast, but bent himself down to me the next moment, kissed me vehemently, called me his dear little Antonio, and whispered, Do thou also pray to the Madonna ! ” Is the string lost ? ” I asked.

We will find it — we will find it ! ” he replied, and began searching again. In the mean time the lesser light was quite burnt out, and the larger one, from its continual agitation, melted and burnt his hand, which only increased his distress. It would have been quite impossible to have found our way back without the string j every step would only have led us deeper down where no one could save us.

After vainly searching, he threw himself upon the ground, cast his arm around my neck, and sighed, Thou poor child ! ’’ I then wept bitterly, for it seemed to me that I never more should reach my home. He clasped me so closely to him as he lay on the ground that my hand slid under him. I involuntarily grasped the sand, and found the string between my fingers.

“ Here it is ! ’’ I exclaimed.

He seized my hand, and became, as it were, frantic for joy, for our life actually hung upon the single thread. We were saved.

O, how warmly beamed the sun, how blue was the heaven, how deliciously green the trees and bushes, as we came forth into the free air ! Poor Federigo kissed me yet again, drew his handsome silver watch out of his pocket, and said, “ This thou shalt have ! ”

I was so heartily glad about this, that I quite forgot all that had happened ; but my mother could not forget it, when she had heard it, and would not again consent that Federigo should take me out with him. Fra Martino said also that it was only on my account that we were saved ; that it was to me to whom the Madonna had given the thread — to me, and not to the heretic Federigo ; that I was a good, pious child, and must never forget her kindness and mercy. This, and the jesting assertion of some of our acquaintance, that I was born to be of the priesthood, because, with the exception of my mother, I could not endure women, instilled into her the determination that I should become a servant of the Church. I

THE IMPROVISATORE.

do not myself know why, but I had an antipathy to all women, and, as I expressed this unhesitatingly, I was bantered by every girl and woman who came to my mother’s. They all would kiss me : in particular was there a peasant girl, Mariuccia, who by this jest always brought tears to my eyes. She was very lively and waggish, and maintained herself by serving as a model, and always appeared, therefore, in handsome, gay dresses, with a large white cloth upon her head. She often sat for Federigo, and visited my mother also, and then always told me that she was my bride, and that I was her little bridegroom, who must and should give her a kiss ; I never would do so, and then she took it by force.

Once when she said that I cried childishly, and behaved myself exactly like a child that still sucked, and that I should be suckled like any other baby, I flew out, down the steps, but she pursued and caught me, held me between her knees, and pressed my head, which I turned away with disgust, ever closer and closer to her breast. I tore the silver arrow out of her hair, which fell down in rich abundance over me and over her naked shoulders. My mother stood on the hearth, laughed, and encouraged Mariuccia, whilst Federigo, unobservedly, stood at the door, and painted the whole group.

“ I will have no bride, no wife ! ” I exclaimed to my mother ; “ I will be a priest, or a Capuchin, like Fra Martino ! ”

The extraordinary meditations into which I was wrapt for whole evenings also were regarded by my mother as tokens of my spiritual calling. I sat and thought then what castles and churches I would build, if I should become great and rich ; how I then would drive like the cardinals in red carriages, with many gold-liveried servants behind ; or else I framed a new martyr-story out of the many which Fra Martino had related to me. I was, of course, the hero of these, and, through the help of the Madonna, never felt the pangs which were inflicted upon me. But, especially, had I a great desire to journey to Federigo ’s home, to convert the people there, that they also might know something of grace.

Whether it was through the management of my mother or Fra Martino I know not, but it is enough that my mother,

I BECOME A CHORISTER, . 1 3

early one morning, arrayed me in a little kirtle, and drew over it an embroidered shirt, which only reached to the knees, and then led me to the glass that I might see myself. I was now a chorister in the Capuchin Church, must carry the great censer of incense, and sing with the others before the altar. Fra Martino instructed me in the whole duty. O, how happy all this made me ! I was soon quite at home in that little but comfortable church, knew every angel’s head in the altar-piece, every ornamental scroll upon the pillars ; could see even with my eyes shut the beautiful St. Michael fighting with the dragon,^ just as the painter had represented him, and thought many wonderful things about the death’s heads carved in the pavement, with the green ivy wreaths around the brow.

On the festival of All Souls, I was down in the Chapel of the Dead, where Fra Martino had led me when I was with him for the first time in the convent. All the monks sang masses for the dead, and I, with two other boys of my own age, swung the incense-breathing censer before the great altar of skulls. They had placed lights in the chandeliers made of bones, new garlands were placed around the brows of the skeleton-monks, and fresh bouquets in their hands. Many people, as usual, thronged in ; they all knelt, and the singers intoned the solemn Miserere, I gazed for a long time on the pale, yellow skulls, and the fumes of the incense which wavered in strange shapes between them and me, and everything began to spin round before my eyes ; it was as if I saw everything through a large rainbow ; as if a thousand prayerbells rung in my ear ; it seemed as if I was borne along a stream ; it was unspeakably delicious — more, I know not ; consciousness left me — I was in a swoon.

The atmosphere, made oppressive by crowds of people, and my excited imagination, occasioned this fainting-fit. When I came to myself again, I was lying in Fra Martino’s lap, under the orange-tree in the convent garden.

The confused story which I told of what I seemed to have seen, he and all the brethren explained as a revelation : the

1 The celebrated picture of St. Michael, the archangel, who, with the beauty of youth, and with great wings, sets his foot upon and pierces the head of the Devil. — Author’’ s Note,

THE IMPROVISATORE.

holy spirits had floated over me, but I had not been able to bear the sight of their glory and their majesty. This occasioned me before long to have many extraordinary dreams, and which, put together, I related to my mother, and she again communicated to her friends, so that I became daily more and more to be regarded as a child of God.

In the mean time, the happy Christmas approached. Pifferari, shepherds from the mountains, came in their short cloaks, with ribbons around their pointed hats, and announced with the bagpipe, before every house where there stood an image of the Virgin, that the time was at hand in which the Saviour was born. I was awoke every morning by these monotonous, melancholy tones, and my first occupation then was to read over my lesson, for I was one of the children selected, “ boys and girls,” who, between Christmas and New-year, were to preach in the church Ara Cceli, before the image of Jesus.

It was not I alone, my mother, and Mariuccia, who rejoiced that I, the boy of nine, should make a speech, but also the painter Federigo, before whom I, without their knowledge, had had a rehearsal, standing upon a table ; it would be upon such a one, only that a carpet would be laid over it, that we children should be placed in the church, where we, before the assembled multitudes, must repeat the speech, which we had learned by rote, about the bleeding heart of the Madonna, and the beauty of the child Jesus.

I knew nothing of fear; it was only with joy that my heart beat so violently as I stepped forward, and saw all eyes directed to me. That I, of all the children, gave most delight, seemed decided ; but now there was lifted up a little girl, who was of so exquisitely delicate a form, and who had, at the same time, so wonderfully bright a countenance, and such a melodious voice, that all exclaimed aloud that she was a little angelic child. Even my mother, who would gladly have awarded to me the palm, declared aloud that she was just like one of the angels in the great altar-piece. The wonderfully dark eyes, the raven-black hair, the childlike, and yet so wise expression of countenance, the exquisitely small hands, — nay, it seemed to me that my mother said too much of all these, although she added that I also was an angel of God.

/ BECOME A CHORISTER.

There is a song about the nightingale, which, when it was quite young, sat in the nest and picked the green leaves of the rose, without being aware of the buds which were just beginning to form ; months afterwards, the rose unfolded itself, the nightingale sang only of it, flew among the thorns, and wounded itself. The song often occurred to me when I became older, but in the church Ara Coeli I knew it not j neither my ears nor my heart knew it !

At home, I had to repeat before my mother, Mariuccia, and many friends, the speech which I had made, and this flattered my vanity not a little ; but they lost, in the mean time, their interest in hearing it earlier than I mine in repeating it. In order now to keep my public in good humor, I undertook, out of my own head, to make a new speech. But this was rather a description of the festival in the church than a regular Christmas speech. Federigo was the first who heard it ; and, although he laughed, it flattered me still, when he said that my speech was in every way as good as that which Fra Martino had taught me, and that a poet lay hidden in me. This last remark gave me much to think about, because I could not understand it; yet thought I to myself, it must be a good angel, perhaps the same which shows to me the charming dreams, and so many beautiful things when I sleep. For the first time during the summer, chance gave me a clear notion of a poet, and awoke new ideas in my own soul-world.

It but very rarely happened that my mother left the quarter of the city in which we lived ; therefore it seemed to me like a festival when she said to me, one afternoon, that we would go and pay a visit to a friend of hers in Trastevere.^ I was dressed in my holiday suit, and the gay piece of silk which I usually wore instead of a waistcoat was fastened with pins over the breast, and under my little jacket ; my neckerchief was tied in a great bow, and an embroidered cap was on my head. I was particularly elegant.

When, after the visit, we returned home, it was somewhat late, but the moon shone gloriously, the air was fresh and blue, and the cypresses and pines stood with wonderfully sharp out-

1 That part of Rome which lies on the higher banks of the Tiber. — Author's Note, i6

THE IMPROVISATORE.

lines upon the neighboring heights. It was one of those even^ ings which occur but once in a person’s life, which, without signalizing itself by any great life-adventure, yet stamps itself in its whole coloring upon the Psyche-wings. Since that moment, whenever my mind goes back to the Tiber, I see it ever before me as upon this evening : the thick yellow water lit up by the moonbeams ; the black stone pillars of the old ruinous bridge, which, with strong shadow, lifted itself out of the stream where the great mill-wheel rushed round ; nay, even the merry girls who skipped past with the tambourine and danced the saltarello.^

In the streets around Santa Maria della Rotunda, all was yet life and motion ; butchers and fruit-women sat before their tables, on which lay their wares among garlands of laurel, and with lights burning in the open air. The fire flickered under the chestnut-pans, and the conversation was carried on with so much screaming and noise, that a stranger who did not understand a word might have imagined it to be some contention of life and. death. An old friend whom my mother met in the fish-market kept us talking so long, that people were beginning to put out their lights before we set off again, and as my mother accompanied her friend to her door it had now become as silent as death in the street, even in the Corso ; but when we came into the square di Trevi, where there is the beautiful cascade, it seemed on the contrary quite cheerful again. ^

The moonlight fell exactly upon the old palace, where the water streams out between the masses of foundation-rock which seem loosely thrown together. Neptune’s heavy stone-

1 A popular Roman dance to a most monotonous tune. It is danced by one or two persons, yet without these coming in contact with each other ; most frequently by two men, or two women, who with a quick, hopping step, and with increasing rapidity, move themselves in a half-circle. The arms are as violently agitated as the legs, and change their position incessantly, with all that natural grace peculiar to the Roman people. Women are accustomed in this dance to lift up their petticoats a little, or else to beat time themselves upon the tambourine : this, otherwise, is done by a third person on the monotonous drum, — the changes in the time alone consisting in the greater or less rapidity with which the strokes follow one another. — Author's Note*

THE IMPROVISATORE. I7

mantle floated in the wind, as he looked out above the great waterfall, on each side of which blooming Tritons guided seahorses. Beneath these the great basin spread itself out, and upon the turf around it rested a crowd of peasants, stretching themselves in the moonlight. Large, quartered melons, from which streamed the red juice, lay around them. A little square-built fellow, whose whole dress consisted of a shirt, and short leather breeches, which hung loose and unbuttoned at the knees, sat with a guitar, and twanged the strings merrily. Now he sang a song, now he played, and all the peasants clapped their hands. My mother remained standing ; and I now listened to a song which seized upon me quite in an extraordinary way, for it was not a song like any other which I had heard. No ! he sang to us of what we saw and heard, we were ourselves in the song, and that in verse, and with melody. He sang, How gloriously one can sleep with a stone under the head, and the blue heaven for a coverlet, whilst the two Pifferari blow their bagpipes ; ” and with that he pointed to the Tritons who were blowing their horns j “how the whole company of peasants who have shed the blood of the melon will drink a health to their sweethearts, who now are asleep, but see in dreams the dome of St. Peter’s, and their beloved, who go wandering about in the Papal city. Yes, we will drink, and that to the health of all girls whose arrow has not yet expanded.^ Yes,” added he, giving my mother a little push in the side, “ and to mothers who have for their sweethearts lads on whose chins the black down has not yet grown ! ”

“ Bravo ! ” said my mother, and all the peasants clapped their hands and shouted, “ Bravo, Giacomo ! bravo ! ”

Upon the steps of the little church we discovered, in the mean time, an acquaintance — our Federigo, who stood with a pencil and sketched the whole merry moonlight piece. As we went home he and my mother joked about the brisk Improvisatore, for so I heard them call the peasant who sung so charmingly.

1 The arrow which the peasant women wear in their hair has a ball at the end if they are free ; but, if betrothed or married, has an expanded head. — Author's Note.

i8

“Antonio,” said Federigo to me, “thou, also, should’st improvise ; thou art truly, also, a little poet ! Thou must learn to put thy pieces into verse.”

I now understood what a poet was j namely, one who could sing beautifully that which he saw and felt. That must, indeed, be charming, thought I, and easy, if I had but a guitar.

The first subject of my song was neither more nor less than the shop of the bacon-dealer over the way. Long ago, my fancy had already busied itself with the curious collection of his wares, which attracted in particular the eyes of strangers. Amid beautiful garlands of laurel hung the white buffalocheeses, like great ostrich eggs ; candles, wrapped round with gold paper, represented an organ ! and sausages, which were reared up like columns, sustained a Parmesan cheese, shining like yellow amber. When in an evening the whole was lighted up, and the red glass-lamps burned before the image of the Madonna in the wall among sausages and ham, it seemed to me as if I looked into an entirely magical world. The cat upon the shop-table, and the young Capuchins, who always stood so long cheapening their purchases with the signora, came also into the poem, which I pondered upon so long that I could repeat it aloud and perfectly to Federigo, and which, having won his applause, quickly spread itself over the whole house, nay, even to the wife of the bacon-dealer herself, who laughed and clapped her hands, and called it a wonderful poem, — a Divina Commedia di Dante !

From this time forth everything was sung. I lived entirely in fancies and dreams, — in the church when I swung the censer, in the streets amid the rolling carriages and screaming traders, as well as in my little bed beneath the image of the Virgin and the holy-water vessel. In the winter time, I could sit for whole hours before our house, and look into the great fire in the street, where the smith heated his iron, and the peasants warmed themselves. I saw in the red fire a world glowing as my own imagination. I shouted for joy, when in winter the snow of the mountains sent down to us such severe cold, that icicles hung from the Triton in the square ; pity that it was so seldom. Then, also, were the peasants glad, for it was to them a sign of a fertile year ; they took hold of each

THE IMFRO VISA TORE,

^9

other’s hands, and danced in their great woolen cloaks round about the Triton, whilst a rainbow played in the high-springing water.

But I loiter • too long over the simple recollections of my childhood, which cannot have for a stranger the deep meaning, the extraordinary attraction, which they have for me. Whilst I recall, whilst I hold fast every single occurrence, it seems as if I again lived in the whole.

“ My childhood’s heart was to my dreams a sea Of music, whereon floated picture-boats ! ”

I will now hasten on to the circumstance which placed the first hedge of thorns between me and the paradise of home — which led me among strangers, and which contained the germ of my whole future.

CHAPTER HI.

IT was in the month of June, and the day of the famous flower-feast which was annually celebrated at Genzano approached. My mother and Mariuccia had a mutual friend there, who, with her husband, kept a public-house.^ They had for many years determined to go to this festival, but there was always something or other to prevent it ; this time there was nothing. We were to set off the day before the flower-feast, because it was a long way ; I could not sleep for joy through the whole night preceding.

Before the sun had risen, the vetturino drove up to the door, and we rolled away. Never before had I been among the mountains. Expectation, and joy of the approaching festival, set my whole soul in motion. If in my maturer years I could have seen nature and life around me with the same vivid feeling as then, and could have expressed it in words, it would have been an immortal poem. The great stillness of the streets, the iron-studded city-gate, the Campagna stretching out for miles, with the lonely monuments, the thick mist which covered the feet of the distant mountains, — all these seemed to me mysterious preparations for the magnificence which I should behold. Even the wooden cross erected by the wayside, upon which hung the whitened bones of the murderer, which told us that here an innocent person had perished, and the perpetrator of his death had been punished, had for me an uncommon charm. First of all, I attempted to count the innumerably many stone arches which conduct the

1 A little city in the mountains of Albano, which lies upon the high-road between Rome and the Marshes. — Note by the Author.