The improvisatore

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Translated from the Danish of

Chapter I. The Circumstances Of My Childhood

HOEVER has been in Rome is well acquainted with the Piazza Barberina, in the great square, with the beautiful fountain, where the Tritons empty the spouting conch-shell, from which the water springs upwards many feet. Whoever has not been there, knows it, at all events, from copperplate engravings ; only it is a pity that in these the house at the corner of the Via Felice, is not given, that tall corner-house, where the

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water pours through three pipes out of the wall down into a stone basin. That house has a peculiar interest for me ; it was there that I was born. If I look back to my tender youth, such a crowd of bright remembrances meet me, that I scarcely know where to begin ; when I contemplate the whole drama of my life, still less do I know what I should bring forward, what I should pass over as unessential, and what points may suffice to represent the whole picture. That which appears attractive to me may not be so to a stranger. I will relate truly and naturally the great story, but then vanity must come into play — the wicked vanity, the desire to please. Already, in my childhood, it sprung up like a plant, and, like the mustard-seed of the Gospel, shot forth its branches towards heaven, and became a mighty tree, in which my passions builded themselves nests.

One of my earliest recollections points thereto. I was turned six years old, and was playing in the neighborhood of the Church of the Capuchins, with some other children, who were all younger than myself. There was fastened on the church-door a little cross of metal ; it was fastened about the middle of the door, and I could just reach it with my hand. Always when our mothers had passed by with us they had lifted us up that we might kiss the holy sign. One day, when we children were playing, one of the youngest of them inquired, “ Why the child Jesus did not come down and play with us ?” I assumed an air of wisdom, and replied, that he was really bound upon the cross. We went to the church door, and, although we found no one, we wished, as our mothers had taught us, to kiss him, but we could not reach up to it ; one, therefor, lifted up the other, but just as the lips were pointed for the kiss, that one who lifted the other lost his strength, and the kiss-

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ing one fell down just when his lips were about to touch the invisible child J esus. At that moment my mother came by, and when she saw our child’s-play, she folded her hands, and said, “ You are actually some of God’s angels ! And thou art mine own angel !” added she, and kissed me.

I heard her repeat to a neighbor what an innocent angel I was, and it pleased me greatly, but it lessened my innocence — the mustard-seed of vanity drank in therefrom the first sunbeams. Nature had given to me a gentle, pious character, but my good mother made me aware of it ; she showed me my real and my imaginary endowments, and never thought that it is with the innocence of the child as with the basilisk, which dies when it sees itself.

The Capuchin monks, Fra Martino, was my mother’s confessor, and she related to him what a pious child I was. I also knew several prayers very nicely by heart, although I did not understand one of them. He made very much of me, and gave me a picture of the Virgin weeping tears, which fell like rain-drops down into the burning flames of hell, where the damned caught this draught of refreshment. He took me over with him into the convent, where the open colonnade, which inclosed within a square the little potato-garden, with the two cypress and orange-trees, made a very deep impression upon me. Side by side, in the open passages, hung old portraits of deceased monks, and on the door of each cell were pasted pictures from the history of the martyrs, which I contemplated with the same holy reverence as afterwards the master-pieces of Raphael and Andrew del Sarto.

“ Thou art really a bright youth,” said he ; “ thou shalt now see the dead.”

Upon this, he opened a little door of a gallery which

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lay a few steps below the colonnade. We descended, and now I saw round about me skulls upon skulls, so placed one upon another that they formed walls, and therewith several chapels. In these were regular niches, in which were seated perfect skeletons of the most distinguished of the monks, enveloped in their brown cowls, and with a breviary or a withered bunch of flowers in their hands. Altars, chandeliers, and ornaments, were made of shoulder-bones and vertebrae, with bas-reliefs of human joints, horrible and tasteless as the whole idea.

I clung fast to the monk, who whispered a prayer, and then said to me :

“ Here also I shall some time sleep ; wilt thou thus visit me ?”

I answered not a word, but looked horrified at him, and then round about me upon the strange, grisly assembly. It was foolish to take me, a child, into this place. I was singularly impressed by the whole thing, and did not feel myself again easy until I came into his little cell, where the beautiful yellow oranges almost hung in at the window, and I saw the brightly colored picture of the Madonna, who was borne upwards by angels into the clear sunshine, while a thousand flowers filled the grave in which she had rested.

This, my first visit to the convent, occupied my imagination for a long time, and stands yet with extraordinary vividness before me. This monk seemed to me quite a different being to any other person whom I knew ; his abode in the neighborhood of the dead, who, in their brown cloaks, looked almost like himself, the many histories which he knew and could relate of holy men and wonderful miracles, together' with my mother’s great reverence for his sanctity, caused me to begin thinking whether I too could not be such a man.

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My mother was a widow, and had no other means of subsistence than what she obtained by sewing, and by the rent of a large room which we ourselves had formerly inhabited. We lived now in a little chamber in the roof, and a young painter, Federigo, had the saloon, as we called it. He was a life-enjoying, brisk young man, who came from a far, far country, where they knew nothing about the Madonna and the child Jesus, my mother said. He was from Denmark. I had at that time no idea that there existed more languages than one, and I believed, therefore, that he was deaf when he did not understand me, and, for that reason, I spoke to him as loud as I could ; he laughed at me, often brought me fruit, and drew for me soldiers, horses, and houses. We soon became acquainted ; I loved him much, and my mother said many a time that he was a very upright person.

In the meantime I heard a conversation one evening between my mother and the monk Fra Martino, which excited in me a sorrowful emotion for the young artist. My mother inquired if this foreigner would actually be eternally condemned to hell.

“He and many other foreigners also,” she said, “ are indeed, very honest people, who never do anything wicked. They are good to the poor, pay exactly, and at the fixed time ; nay, it actually often seems to rqe that they are not such great sinners as many of us.”

“ Yes,” replied Fra Martino, “ that is very true — they are often very good people ; but do you know how that happens ? You see, the devil, who goes about the world, knows that the heretics will some time belong to him, and so he never tempts them ; and, therefore, they can easily be honest, easily give up sin ; on the contrary, a good Catholic Christian is a child of God, and, therefore, the Devil sets his temptations in

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array against him, and we weak creatures are subjected. But a heretic, as one may say, is tempted neither of the flesh nor the Devil J”

To this my mother could make no reply, and sighed deeply over the poor young man ; I began to cry, for it seemed to me that it was a cruel sin that he should be burned eternally — he who was so good, and who drew me such beautiful pictures.

A third person who played a great part in my childhood’s life, was Uncle Peppo, commonly called “ Wicked Peppo,” or “ the King of the Spanish Steps,”* where he had his daily residence. Born with two withered legs, which lay crossed under him, he had had from his earliest childhood an extraordinary facility in moving himself forwards with his hands. These he stuck under a frame which was fastened at both ends to a board, and, by the help of this, he could move himself forward almost as easily as any other person with healthy and strong feet. He sat daily, as has been said, upon the Spanish Steps, never indeed begging, but exclaiming, with a crafty smile, to every passer-by, “ bon giorno ?” and that even after the sun was gone down.

My mother did not like him much, nay, indeed, she was ashamed of the relationship, but, for my sake, as she often told me, she kept up a friendship with him. He had that in his chest which we others must look after, and if I kept good friends with him I should be his only heir, if he did not give it to the Church. He had, also, after his own way, a sort of liking for me, yet

* These lead from the Spanish Place up to Monte Pincio, a broad flight of stone steps. These, which consist of four flights, are an especial resort of the beggars of Rome, and, from their locality, bear the name of the Spanish Steps. — Author s Note .

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I never felt myself quite happy in his neighborhood. Once I was the witness of a scene which awoke in me fear of him, and also exhibited his own disposition Upon one of the lowest flights of stairs sat an old blind beggar, and rattled with his little leaden box that people might drop a bajocco therein. Many people passed by my uncle without noticing his crafty smile and the wavings of his hat ; the blind man gained more by his silence — they gave to him. Three had gone by, and now came the fourth, and threw him a small coin. Peppo could no longer contain himself ; I saw how he crept down like a snake, and struck the blind man in his face, so that he lost both money and stick.

“ Thou thief !” cried my uncle, “ wilt thou steal money from me — thou who art not even a regular cripple ? Cannot see ! that is all his infirmity ! and so he will take my bread from my mouth !”

I neither heard nor saw more, but hastened home with the flask of wine which I had been sent to purchase. On the great festival days I was always obliged to go with my mother to visit him at his own house ; we took with us one kind of present or other, either fine grapes or preserved golden pippins, which were his greatest luxury. I was then obliged to kiss his hand and call him uncle ; then he smiled so strangely, and gave me a half-bajocco, always adding the exhortation that I should keep it to look at, not spend it in cakes, for when these were eaten I had nothing left, but that if I kept my coin I should always have something.

His dwelling was dark and dirty ; in one little room there was no window at all, and in the other it was almost up to the ceiling with broken and patched up panes. Of furniture there was not one article, except a great wide chest, which served him for a bed, and two tubs, in which he kept his clothes. I always cried when

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I had to go there ; and true it is, however much my mother persuaded me to be very affectionate towards him, yet she always made use of him as a bugbear when she would punish me ; she said then that she would send me to my dirty uncle, that I should sit and sing beside him upon the stairs, and thus do something useful, and earn a bajocco. But I knew that she never meant so ill by me ; I was the apple of her eye.

On the house of our opposite neighbor there was an image of the Virgin, before which a lamp was always burning. Every evening when the bell rang the Ave Maria, I and the neighbors’ children knelt before it, and sang in honor of the mother of God, and the pretty child Jesus, which they had adorned with ribands, beads, and silver hearts. By the wavering lamp-light it often seemed to me as if both mother and child moved and smiled upon us. I sang with a high, clear voice ; and people said that I sang beautifully. Once there stood an English family and listened to us ; and, when we rose up from our knees, the gentleman gave me a silver piece ; “ it was,” my mother said, “ because of my fine voice.” But how much distraction did this afterwards cause me ! I thought no longer alone on the Madonna when I sung before her image ; no ! I thought, did any one listen to my beautiful singing ? but always when I thought so, there succeeded a burning remorse. I was afraid that she would be angry with me ; and I prayed right innocently that she would look down upon me, poor child !

The evening-song was, in the meantime, the only point of union between me and the other neighbors’ children. I lived quietly, entirely in my own selfcreated dream-world ; I lay for hours *upon my back, with my face to the open window, looking out into the wonderful, gloriously blue Italian heaven, into the

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*5 play of colors at the going down of the sun, when the clouds hung with their violet-hued edges upon a golden ground. Often I wished that I could fly far beyond the Quirinal and the houses, to the great pine-trees, which stood like black shadow-figures against the fire-red horizon. I had quite another scene on the other side of our room : there lay our own and our neighbors’ yards, each a small, narrow space, inclosed by tall houses, and almost shut in from above by the great wooden balconies. In the middle of each yard there was a well inclosed with masonry, and the space between this and the walls of the houses was not greater than to admit of one person moving round. Thus, from above, I looked properly only into two deep wells ; they were entirely overgrown with that fine plant which we call Venus’-hair, and which, hanging down, lost itself in the dark depth. It was to me as if I could see deep down into the earth, where my fancy then created for herself the strangest pictures. In the meantime, my mother adorned that window with a great rod, to show me what fruit grew for me there, that I might not fall down and get drowned.

But I will now mention an occurrence which might easily have put an end to my life’s history before it had come into any entanglement.

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, j 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 hyaenas 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 Colosseum.

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

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Thus wandered we farther, and even farther, 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 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 ; 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 onl}~ 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

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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 with 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 the great cracks in the tombs, and saw the yellow bones 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 buttonhole, 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 dark-

* 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 ('h/dous Xpidrot, Geov vioi dGorr/p) Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Redeemer. — Author's Note .

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ness. All was quite still, the falling water drops 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 behavior, 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 — here, 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 a pocket-handkerchief round my 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 meantime 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

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string, 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 this single thread. We were saved.

Oh, 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 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 par-

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ticular 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

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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, 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. Oh, how happy all this made me f . 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 Saints, 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 incensebreathing 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 skeletonmonks, and fresh bouquets in their hands. Many people* as usual, thronged in ; they all knelt, and the singers

* The celebrated picture of St. Michael, the arch-angel, who, with the beauty of youth, and with great wings, sets his foot upon and pierces the head of the Devil . — Author s Note.