But whether it be so, or be a
remnant of the ancient Saturnalia, or an incorporation of both, or
have its origin in anything else, I shall always remember it, and
the frolic, as a brilliant and most captivating sight:
No less
remarkable for the unbroken good-humour of all concerned, down to
the very lowest (and among those who scaled the carriages, were
many of the commonest men and boys), than for its innocent
vivacity. For, odd as it may seem to say so, of a sport so full of
thoughtlessness and personal display, it is as free from any taint
of immodesty as any general mingling of the two sexes can possibly
be; and there seems to prevail, during its progress, a feeling of
general, almost childish, simplicity and confidence, which one
thinks of with a pang, when the Ave Maria has rung it away, for a
whole year.
Availing ourselves of a part of the quiet interval between the
termination of the Carnival and the beginning of the Holy Week:
when everybody had run away from the one, and few people had yet
begun to run back again for the other: we went conscientiously to
work, to see Rome. And, by dint of going out early every morning,
and coming back late every evening, and labouring hard all day, I
believe we made acquaintance with every post and pillar in the
city, and the country round; and, in particular, explored so many
churches, that I abandoned that part of the enterprise at last,
before it was half finished, lest I should never, of my own accord,
go to church again, as long as I lived. But, I managed, almost
every day, at one time or other, to get back to the Coliseum, and
out upon the open Campagna, beyond the Tomb of Cecilia Metella.
We often encountered, in these expeditions, a company of English
Tourists, with whom I had an ardent, but ungratified longing, to
establish a speaking acquaintance. They were one Mr. Davis, and a
small circle of friends. It was impossible not to know Mrs.
Davis's name, from her being always in great request among her
party, and her party being everywhere. During the Holy Week, they
were in every part of every scene of every ceremony. For a
fortnight or three weeks before it, they were in every tomb, and
every church, and every ruin, and every Picture Gallery; and I
hardly ever observed Mrs. Davis to be silent for a moment. Deep
underground, high up in St. Peter's, out on the Campagna, and
stifling in the Jews' quarter, Mrs. Davis turned up, all the same.
I don't think she ever saw anything, or ever looked at anything;
and she had always lost something out of a straw hand-basket, and
was trying to find it, with all her might and main, among an
immense quantity of English halfpence, which lay, like sands upon
the sea-shore, at the bottom of it. There was a professional
Cicerone always attached to the party (which had been brought over
from London, fifteen or twenty strong, by contract), and if he so
much as looked at Mrs. Davis, she invariably cut him short by
saying, 'There, God bless the man, don't worrit me! I don't
understand a word you say, and shouldn't if you was to talk till
you was black in the face!' Mr. Davis always had a snuff-coloured
great-coat on, and carried a great green umbrella in his hand, and
had a slow curiosity constantly devouring him, which prompted him
to do extraordinary things, such as taking the covers off urns in
tombs, and looking in at the ashes as if they were pickles--and
tracing out inscriptions with the ferrule of his umbrella, and
saying, with intense thoughtfulness, 'Here's a B you see, and
there's a R, and this is the way we goes on in; is it!' His
antiquarian habits occasioned his being frequently in the rear of
the rest; and one of the agonies of Mrs. Davis, and the party in
general, was an ever-present fear that Davis would be lost. This
caused them to scream for him, in the strangest places, and at the
most improper seasons. And when he came, slowly emerging out of
some sepulchre or other, like a peaceful Ghoule, saying 'Here I
am!' Mrs. Davis invariably replied, 'You'll be buried alive in a
foreign country, Davis, and it's no use trying to prevent you!'
Mr. and Mrs. Davis, and their party, had, probably, been brought
from London in about nine or ten days. Eighteen hundred years ago,
the Roman legions under Claudius, protested against being led into
Mr. and Mrs. Davis's country, urging that it lay beyond the limits
of the world.
Among what may be called the Cubs or minor Lions of Rome, there was
one that amused me mightily. It is always to be found there; and
its den is on the great flight of steps that lead from the Piazza
di Spagna, to the church of Trinita del Monte. In plainer words,
these steps are the great place of resort for the artists'
'Models,' and there they are constantly waiting to be hired. The
first time I went up there, I could not conceive why the faces
seemed familiar to me; why they appeared to have beset me, for
years, in every possible variety of action and costume; and how it
came to pass that they started up before me, in Rome, in the broad
day, like so many saddled and bridled nightmares. I soon found
that we had made acquaintance, and improved it, for several years,
on the walls of various Exhibition Galleries. There is one old
gentleman, with long white hair and an immense beard, who, to my
knowledge, has gone half through the catalogue of the Royal
Academy. This is the venerable, or patriarchal model. He carries
a long staff; and every knot and twist in that staff I have seen,
faithfully delineated, innumerable times.
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