We could not help thinking, the last time we went over to Paris, that our friend Dubois, the wine-merchant—him from whom we get our Chambertin, and who has about the same relative income as Johnson—was much better housed. His cellars are down at the Halle aux Vins, like every body else's; and he is shut up there in his little box of a counting-house nine hours every day of his life; but he lives, now that he has moved from the Marais, in the Rue Neuve des Mathurins, which leads out of the Chaussée d'Antin. Here he has apremier, as they call it in Paris—or a first-floor, as we should term it in London; and he pays 2000 francs, or £80 a-year for it, with about 100 francs of rates and taxes. For this he has two drawing-rooms, a dining-room, a study, six bed-rooms, kitchens, and cellars; some of the rooms look into the street, the rest run round the ample court-yard of the house. To get at him you go up a flight of stone stairs that four people can easily mount abreast; when you enter his door, from the little hall paved with stone and marble, you pass from the sitting-rooms one into the other—for they all form a suite; while the bed-rooms lie mostly along a corridor, into which they open. Once up the two flights of stairs that lead to the doorway, and the mounting, whether for masters or servants, is done with. The kitchen is at the furthest end, away from the other rooms, and is approached by a back staircase from the court-yard. There are no beggars nor dogs, nor butcher's boys, nor other bores, except what the concierge at the gateway allows to come in; and though the street is rather noisy, being in a fashionable quarter, yet the court-yard is perfectly quiet, and free from all plagues of organs, singers, &c. The rooms are, one and all,twelvefeet high; their Windows down to the ground; the floors of solid oak, polished till you can slide on them; the doors are in carved oak, painted white and richly gilt; the chimney-pieces are all marble—none of the flimsy thin slabs of Paragon Place, but good solid blocks, cut out from the red quarries of the Pyrenees; with polished brass dogs in the fireplaces, and large logs of flaming wood across then. The drawing-rooms are hung in silk on the walls; the other rooms are tastefully papered. There is abundance of good furniture, which, from the ample size of the apartments—the principal room being thirty feet by twenty—sets off the proportions of the dwelling without blocking it up. Dubois has not a four-post bed in his house; no more has any man in France. They are all those elegant and comfortable things which we know a French bed to be; and the long sweeping folds of the red and white curtains that come down to the floor from the ceiling, form a graceful contrast to the curves of the other furniture. The walls are all of good solid stone, two feet thick on the outside; the house has been built these fifty years, and is of a better colour than when first put up; the windows are richly ornamented in their frames without, and form commodious recesses for settees within. You may dine twenty, and dance forty people here! or you may throw your rooms open, give a soirée, (no boiled mutton affair, remember; but music, dancing, and cards; coffee, ice, andchampagne,) and cram each room full of people, and the landlord will never fear for the safety of his building.
Now, there are three other sets of apartments in the same house, and above Dubois, not so lofty as his, but nearly as commodious, and all with their proportionate degree of elegance and solid comfort. Dubois has not got a house at Dieppe, it is true; but then, like all Frenchmen, he is so absorbed in his dear Paris, that he hardly cares to stir out from it. If ever he does, he runs off to Vichy or Mont Dor for a fortnight in thesaison des eaux, and he is contented.
But then, you will say, Dubois lives, after all, in another man's house—he is only a lodger; whereas Johnson dwells in what the law calls his "castle." Be it so; for the same money we would rather have the positive advantages of the one,en société, than the tasteless and inconvenient isolation of the other.
And, after all, is Johnson more decidedly at home in his own house, than Dubois is in his "appartement?" What does it matter whether you have people living on each side of you, with their street doors so close to yours that their wives or their daughters pop up their noses above the green blinds every time a cab or a jarvey drives up; or whether you have people who come in at the same gateway with yourself, and go up the same stairs, it is true, and who live either above or below you, and who can, if they like, run out on their landings to see who is thumping at your door panels? Upon our conscience as honest folks, who have lived in half the capitals of Europe, to say nothing of those of our own islands, we never found the slightest intrusion on privacy arising from the collecting of several families in the same house, in Paris, Rome, Florence, or Vienna. All we know is, and we often think of it agreeably, that these continental houses seemed to us like so many social colleges, and that the having a set of rooms with a common staircase, used to put us in mind of our old Christ Church, and of Garden Court in the Temple. 'Tis true, that in the one set of rooms we had no fellow-inmates except our dog, and every now and then a joyous set of fellows that would have made any place tolerable; that in the other there was our old laundress and bed-maker, and our "boy," and for a short time our "man," and actually, upon our honour it is true, we did once see a client in them! whereas, in our continental suites of chambers, we areen famillewith wife, bairns, and "bounes" to boot, and that we didparfoistry the elasticity or the stretching powers of ourcamerepretty considerably, and did cram therein no end of guests. But on the whole, we have fairly made the experimentin propriâ personâ; we have weighed well friend Johnson's castellated independence, andl'amiDubois's social contiguation;—and, rent for rent, we prefer the latter. If we must live with two neighbours within a few feet of us, we would rather have one under us on the ground floor, and one above us on the second, and ourselves in the midst on the first, and all three clubbing together to live in a little palazzo:—we would rather have this, than be crammed in between Mr A and Mr B, each of us in a third or fourth rate kind of house, with poor thin walls, small low rooms, dirty areas, melancholy gardens, shabby-genteel fronts, ugly backs, and little comfort.
It may be said, and justly, that the idea of a man living in his own castle is applicable only to that state of society when large towns do not exist, inasmuch as the idea can be nothing more than an idea, and can hardly ever approach to a reality, the moment men begin to congregate themselves together in cities. Doubtless, it is indispensable to all our notions of comfort, and of the due independence of social life—it is, indeed, one of the main elements of the constitution of a family, that a certain degree of isolation should be maintained and respected; but we submit to the candid observer, that the only difference between English cities and continental ones in this respect is, that Englishmen aim at "horizontal" independence, foreigners at "vertical." Englishmen form their line of location every man shoulder to shoulder, or rather, elbows in ribs; foreigners mostly get upon one another's backs and heads, and form a living pyramidlike the clown and boys at Astley's. By this arrangement, however, it comes to pass, that for the same number of inhabitants much more ground is occupied by an English than by a continental town; and also, that each single dwelling is of mean, or, at the most, moderate architectural appearance, the great condition of elevation being wanting, and the power of ornamentation being generally kept closely under by the limitation of each individual's pecuniary resources. Practically, we contend, there is quite as much comfort (we think, indeed, in many cases more) in the continental manner of arranging houses as in the English one: while the former allows of and encourages architectural display, and indeed requires a much more solid system of construction; but the latter leads to the running up of cheap, slight, shabby-genteel houses, and represses all attempts at external ornament as superfluous from its expense. Upon this subject, we appeal to the experience of all who have dwelt for any length of time on the Continent, not to those who merely run across the water for six weeks or so, and come back as blind as they went; but rather to those who have given themselves time and opportunity enough for the film of national prejudice to wear away from before their eyes, and have been at length able to use that natural good sense with which most Englishmen are blessed by Providence. To them we would say, that the plan of several families tenanting one large dwelling, clubbing together, as it were, for the erection of a handsome and commodious edifice, and just so far sacrificing their independence as to consent occasionally to run up against their neighbour in the common court-yard, or perchance to see his coat-tails whisking by their door up or down stairs, is the more sensible of the two. There is practically a great saving of walls, of spaces of support, as the architects term it, in this plan: great saving in roofing; and, from the mere dimensions of the building, a certain degree of grandeur is necessarily given to it. This plan requires the edifice to be built court-fashion, and sometimes will admit of a good garden being appended: it also requires that a most useful servant, a porter, in a suitable lodge, should be kept by the little social community; and every body knows what an useful body the porter, orconcierge, as the French call him, may be made. Just as bachelors join together in clubs to the great promotion of their individual comfort, and certainly to the outward advantage of a city, so should families join together for their civic residences; they would all derive benefit from their mutual support, and the appearance of a town would be immediately improved.
We do not say that any joining together of houses should take place in country, nor even in suburban residences. No; there let every man have a house to himself; the foundation of the whole system is quite different: and there is also a certain class of persons who should always have separate dwellings in a town; but to these subjects we will revert on another occasion. We will only allude to one objection which the fastidious Englishman will be sure to raise: if you live under the same roof with one or more families he will say, you must necessarily be acquainted with all the members of the same: you must, in fact, know what they are going to have for dinner, and thus must be acquainted with all the secrets of their household economy. Well, so one would undoubtedly expect to be the case: unfortunately, however, for the theory, the practical working of the thing is just the contrary: we do not know of any town where so much isolation is kept up as in Paris, though there men crowd together under the same roof like bees into the common hive. We have lived ourselves, between the epochs of our bachelor or embryo state, and that of our full-blown paternal maturity, on every floor of a Parisian house, from theentresoljust over the stable, where we could lean out of our window of a morning, smoke our hookah, and talk to the "Jockey Anglais" who used to rub down our bit of blood, up to theSeptième, where in those celestial regions we could walk about upon our little terrace, look over the gardens of the Tuileries, ('twas in the Rue de Rivoli, gentle reader!) all the way to St Cloud and Meudon, one of the sweetest and gayest prospects in the world,by the by, and hold soft communings either with the stars or our next neighbours—(but thereon hangs a tale!) and yet never did we know the name even of any other soul in the house, nor they ours. Oh! we have had many an adventure up and down that interminable staircase, when we used to skip up two hundred and twenty steps to get to our eyry; many a blow-up with our old porter: she was a good soul, too, was old Madame Nicaise; many a time have we seen flounces and redingotes coming in and out of doors as we went up or down; but actually we cannot call to mind the reality, the living vision of a single individual in that vasty mansion. On the contrary, we used to think them all a set of unsociable toads, and, in our days of raw Anglicism, we used to think that we might be just as well called in to "assist" at some of the charming soirées which we used to hear of from the porter: we did not then know that a Parisian likes to be "chez lui" as he calls it, quite as much as an Englishman. We should have lived on in that house, gentle reader,ad infinitum; but one day on going up-stairs, we saw in ominous letters, on a new brass plate, "au troisième, de la cour,"Legrand, Tailleur. Horror of horrors! 'twas our own man! we had not paid him for two years: we gavecongéthat evening, and were off to the Antipodes.
Signor Rusca.
A more knowing man in his way than Signor Avocato Rusca R—— it would not be easy to find; so first-rate is he in his style, though his style may not be quite first-rate! His father intended him for a lawyer, whilst nature qualified him for a cheat; and, as there seemed to be nothing absolutely incompatible in the prosecution of these two professions,
"He sought, without offence to either,How he might deal in both together;"
in doing which for a season, he accumulated much useful knowledge, besides laying the foundation of his future fortune. Whether in his earlier career he followed the practice of his learned predecessor, Paulus, and sought, like him, to augment his fees by pleading in a hired Sardonyx,[74]we have not heard; but his passion for jewels, none who have seen him without his gloves (and we never saw him otherwise) can for a moment doubt.
"Tight girt with gems, in massive mountings set,Beneath their weight his tumid fingers sweat."
When he had come to find that his dealings asdealerbetter repaid the cost of his earlier education than the teasing uncertainties of the law, a sense of filial duty perhaps, and of inclination certainly, led him ultimately to give up all his time and talents, together with whatever little money he had accumulated,legallyorotherwise, to the acquisition of practical archæology. He had seen enough of antiquarian transactions already, to convince him of the unlimited credulity of a certain class of connoisseurs—this knowledge was important, and he began to apply it presently. Having made himself acompetent scholar, (he could quote Horace, and had Seneca's[75]moral precepts at hisfinger-ends;) being plausible in speech, and knowing the market-price of every ancient relic by rote, he could not but succeed; he succeeded accordingly—and is now considered throughout Italy as amezzo galant'uomoof first-rate abilities and tact!
By putting himself early under efficient tutelage atRome, and doing as they didthere, he soon outstripped most of his masters in his art; the art, that is, of buying "uncertain merchandise," as low as duplicity can buy of ignorance and want; and of re-selling at as high a price as credulity will pay to cunning.[76]His unusual astuteness made it really diverting, when you knew your man, to have dealings with him, otherwise it was likely to turn out an expensive amusement. Our acquaintance with him began in the full maturity of his powers, when his mode of cross-questioning false witnesses who brought himsoi-disantantiques to sell, and his lawyer-like mode of eliciting the truth, were capital. How he would lie! and what lungs he had to lie with!immensa cavi spirant mendacia folles!What action! what volubility of tongue! what anecdotes! and then only to see how he would look afalseAugustus in the face, and discern that wily sovereign from a thousand counterfeits; or when a sly forger brought him a modern gold coin, carefully coated in mould—how he knew byinstinctthat it was an imposture, and would not condescend to exhume and expose the fraud. Like all knaves, he would take incredible pains to prove that there was not a more honest man than himself breathing—and when he considered himself to have quite establishedthison his own showing, he would sometimes speak with "honest indignation" of men who were palpable rogues: assuring you all the while, that it gave him pain thus to bear testimony against his neighbour, but then every honest man owed it to his Pope and to the people to expose Birbonism. On one occasion, when he had a large batch ofsilver Emperorsfor sale, we said we must see about theirpricesin Mionnet.[77]Upon which, with a look of frightened honesty, he asked us if "we really knew what we were talking of?" "Perfectly," we replied. "Well, sir," continued he, "Mionnet was a Frenchman; didyouever know anhonest Frenchman?" "Not as many as we could have wished to know; but we had knownsome." "We had in that case," he confessed, "the advantage over him—he never had!As to Mionnet's book, it was written, at least so thought Rusca, with a frightfully corrupt view, being published during the French occupancy of Italy, for the joint benefit of Mr M. and theBibliotheque du Roi. I admit," quoth our lawyer, "that the French only entertained a natural wish (nay, sir, as far as themoodwasoptativemerely I commend it as a highly laudable one) in desiring to have the best monetary collection in Europe; but was it honourable, or just, to pledge this Mionnet to affix such prices for rare and better specimens, (such as I have the honour to show you here!) when both they and he knew them to be preposterous, and then to launch forth this misguiding book as a guide? This precious book, sir, was in the hands of all M——'s myrmidons, and the only book of appeal then extant;this—(thumping his fist, by way of emphasis, upon our copy of it)—this, which has been the ruin of Italy, and is the degradation of France! I only wish you could hear my friendSestini(quelnumendegli numismcatici) inveigh against this man and his prices, with less reluctance, I assure you, than I feel in doing it, and much more powerfully too, because he knows so much more; but come now, if youwon'tthink me vain, I will show you the difference between honesty and dishonesty. I wish it was of some one else I was about to speak, but truth compels me here to introduce my own name. Last week that pleasant countryman of yours, Lord X——,—do you know him? (we did for a goose!)—comes to buy some gold coins of me; one of the lot he fixed upon was a Becker, and so of course only worth what it weighed. He had purchased it for fifty Napoleons of me, and we went to his bankers together for the payment. There, having duly received the money, I requested him to let me see once more the coins he had just purchased of me—there might have been a dozen—and instantly picking out the Becker, I pushed him over his fifty Napoleons again, and said, "Milord, I cannot let you have that coin." "Why?" says he, alarmed and in anger. "Becauseit is false, Milord!—and I was quite grieved," added our ingenuous informant, "to see how much Lord X—— was disconcerted at this disclosure." "You did not let so pretty a coin go a-begging, I dare say?" said we with laudable curiosity and interest. "No, two days ago in comes Coco—you know Coco?" we smiled. Know Coco! did we know St Peter's? did we know the Pope? for whom did Rusca take us, we wonder? "He came," prosecuted Signor R——, "to see if I had by me any first-rate imitations from the antique, for he knew a gentleman who might fancy something of the sort; and, as soon as he had set eyes upon this Becker, he must haveit;itwas just the thing to tempt Lord X——; and so I let him have it forfive timesits supposititious value, but not for atenthof what Lord X—— would, I knew, buy it for a second time as an undoubted antique; and lest that rogue should at any time take liberties with my name, (for he is capable of anything,) and say he had been duped by Avocato Rusca into the purchase of a false thing for a true, here is a document with his name to it, which I then and there caused him to sign, whichprovesthe contrary. I met him to-day, and he seems much pleased with Lord X——'s liberality, who has bought the coin!!" The above is a sample of Avocato Rusca'sconfessions, and of his somewhat original notions of honesty! Once, however, our honest friend forgot himself in a purchase we made of him. And no wonder, for we had also forgotten ourselves; for the time when we transacted business was the gloaming, and the room being dark had lent its aid to the deception. We had also an engagement to dine out, and it was getting late, and we were in a hurry. But that same night, on returning from our party, we had looked again at what we had bought, and then, first perceiving our mistake, determined, if possible, to repair it by repairing early next morning to the Minerva Hotel, there to surprise him in his dressing-gown, by which boldcoup-de-main(having pre-arranged in our own minds what we should take awaywith us in lieuofwhat we brought back) we carried our point at last!—and hardly carried it; for while thenewbatch and theoldconfronted each other on his table, the one being fair, the other like himself, ill-favoured in appearance, we saw his restless glance move wistfully from the one to the other. Three times in one minute his countenance fell; he coughed, he hesitated, hecospetto'donce, he wished we had made known our mind over night; hecospetto'dagain, and finally was about to reconsider the affair, when, not to be foiled by a rogue, we threw it uponhis honour, (of which he had not a particle,) and, by the extravagance of such a compliment, prevailed. "He had never cheated us before," (which was strictly true; but the reason, which the reader will have no difficulty to guess, we did not think it necessary or prudent to assign;) would he, after so long an acquaintance with us, change his tactics now?—we need not ask him—we were "persuasissimi" that he would not, neither did he! We removed the temptation out of his way as soon as we could, and felt, as we went home, that we had achieved that morning asgreata piece of diplomacy, and as difficult, as ever did Lord Palmerston when he was minister for our foreign affairs; and grateful were we to Apollo, the god of medicine, who had for once assisted us to overreach Mercury, the god of rogues.
Coco.
We cut our pen afresh to say a few words concerning that arch-impostor, that "Fourbum imperator," Coco the coiner. Had it not been for theprosperityof the St Angelo ministry at Naples, that three-headed Cerberus of iniquity, of whom the people,
"Tre Angeli a noi più recan dannoChe trenta orrendi Demoni non fanno,"
had it not been thattheirsuccess seemed to militate against such an inference, we might have supposed that Coco, poor, starving, and in utter disesteem, had been thus let to live, to prove by a sad contrast the truth of the old adage—that "honesty is the best policy." Coco is the very impersonation of wiliness and subtlety—a fox amongst foxes—the Metternich of his craft;—he has cheated every dealer in turn, and by turns has learnt to know the internal arrangements of every prison throughout the kingdom. By sheer force of talent he has been able, like Napoleon, to maintain his cause single-handed against a host of rivals who would crush him, and cannot; and, whenever he is notcloseted elsewhere, he is either holding a privy council with St Angelo, or transacting busines with his Serene Highness of Salerno, against whom (par parenthese) we have not a word to say. Cicero's oration for Milo is not better than Coco's oration for Coco; and to hear him plead it personally for the first time, is certainly entertaining. He seems to have takenthatoration for his model, setting out, as Tully for that client did, with a staunch negation of the charges alleged against him; but embarrassed, as he proceeds in his harangue, to maintain himself strictly honest, he gradually throws off reserve, converts your room into a court of justice, and, confronting imaginary accusers, endeavours to shake their testimony by making out that they are just as great rogues as himself! "Coco! say over again just half a dozen ofthose sentences—you know where to begin—that you have so often been the habit of indulging me with; not thewholespeech, Coco, if you please." "Eccelenza, no! I was saying, then, that I was in advance of my age, and that, if I had been born in France or England in place of Naples, I should not now have been called Coco the cheat, the thief, thebirbone, butSirCoco—or Monsieur le Marquis de Cocon. Look at the things I have done, sir, and see what they havedone for me. No sooner have I devised some newgalanteria—elegant, classical, and sure to take—when it is enough to whisper 'Coco's,' to bring it into discredit: a great outcry is raised against me as its author, and, like a second Galileo, I am cast into prison! Knowledge is not power at Naples; for my countrymen know that I have knowledge enough when I mulct their ignorance, as I sometimes do. It istoo muchknowledge that has brought me into all my scrapes and difficulties! Do you doubt it, signor? Why, then, was Ifirstsent to prison?—why, but because my mint was frequently preferred to that of his majesty here, and he feared lestmyFerdinands should drivehisFerdinands out of the market! Had I done the same in England, I suppose they would, on discovering my talent, have made me master of their mint, in place of sending me to expiate my offence in a dungeon—bastaabout that affair!—but when I had given up making Ferdinands, and took to mintingDomitians, what business was that to the King of Naples, I wonder, unless indeed I had puthisname to that tyrant'shead? Yet he sent me a second time to prison for it, notwithstanding for which in return I have taken the liberty of sending him to a warmer place. See, here's a pretty baioccho—Ferdinand's head on one side, and a 'concordia-Augustorum' on the other, where the devil and he are holding hands over a lighted altar, he wanting to withdraw his hand,—but the devil's clutch is too tight for that!—whilst a little imp is putting a bit of live coal into his palm, and another is doing the same under his right foot! For four elegant horses in bronze, of whichI forgot the age, and sold them to St Angelo asantiques, I was sent to prison again, and a third time. Though, when it suitedhimlast year to sell off certain old horseflesh that had been many years on his hands asyoung,hispurchaser of course got no redress. Out upon that old Birbone! with his galleries, his harems, and his horses;—but he eats too much, and is never well,—a great consolation to me, who might else have repined at his successes; but when I compare myhealthwith his, I bless the good St Januario who keeps me poor! Again, I ought to be grateful to our good Saint that, though men may pretend that I lie and cheat, (which perhaps I do a little,) you never heard any body say ofme, what all the world says ofHIM, that I amcruel,—mai, you never heard that; and if I make money occasionally in some way that it don'tsoundwell to speak of, what then? I never hoard it up, the lottery office is my banker, and it circulates again presently. And as to cheating, if we look it boldly in the face, and see in what company we cheat, why should I be ashamed of what all the world does here from King Ferdinand, to Beppo Tuzzi of the Mergellina? Didn't Ferdinand try hard to cheat you last year in the sulphur question? and would he not have succeeded, too, unless you had thought of mixing up the sulphur with some nitre and charcoal, and of converting it into aquestion of gunpowder!" "That's true, Coco! and now tell us of your last device for raising the wind." "Here it is," and Coco has presented us with a small opaque lachrymatory, glistening all over in the exquisite irridescence of old glass. "Was it not beautiful?" he enquired. "Yes; and ancient as well," replied we; "the decomposition of the glass showed that, and the elegant and classical form of the vessel showed it too." "Well! he would manufacture just such another before us, if we would like to see it done!" "Comè?we should be delighted!" "Dunque e fatto subito, now that I haveshown howit is to be effected—just as when that great sea-captain,quel famoso Cristoforo Colombo"—"Yes, yes! Coco, never mind abouthimjust now." "Ah, your excellency, I perceive, knows the story! Well, here you see is a small clay vessel moulded from the antique; here a small packet which I untie; and here a little gum-water in a phial." We require no other materials—a child might do the rest. In the packet now open, we remark a quantity of a beautiful, many-coloured glass-dust, in the midst of which appear thousands of filmy flakes that have been scraped off from the sides of old lachrymatories, and present every hue of colour. In a twinklingCoco hasgummedthe vessel all over, and in less than a minute he has rolled round its sides a rainbow robe of the most rich and glowing colours, while not a speck of clay remains visible by which to make out the fraud! "Eccolo!" says he, placing the beautiful fabrication in our hand; "Eccolo!do you think that for such a work asthatI ought to have been sent for the twentieth time to prison?" Fearful of having our moral sense dazzledby the glassinto making some indiscreet admission, we now change the theme. We had heard that morning a good story; it was "the case of CocoversusCasanuova," in which the cleverness of the former rogue had prevailed against his equally astute rival, who had himself been so obliging as to favour us with the full particulars thereof, in words like the following:—"Coco—(you know Coco?")—(Coco and I smiled, for we knew each other perfectly,)—"Well, he presents himself one day before me in a shop in the Piazza degli Orefici, bringing in a coin in his hand, which he throws down carelessly on the counter, asking me what price he should put upon it? On taking it up, I see 'Υελιων,' which, with the common type of the Velian Lion, as we all know,vale poco; but, in place of a lion, this had the Atheniandiota(or two-earedamphora) upon the field of the reverse. Knowing that the rogue was eyeing me to see how I liked it, in order that he might charge for it accordingly, I asked him doubtingly whetherhewas quite sure it was genuine, (entertaining no doubt on that subject myself.) 'Rather an ingenious question for a profound connossieur like Casanuova, to put to a poor devil who has the good fortune for once in his life to buy something good.Youhave no doubt about it; but if you say you have, I will take it to Tuzzi, and get his opinion first.' Fearing to lose it if he did, I confessed that I believed it genuine, and then asked him his price. 'He hadrefusedfifty; we might have it at seventy dollars.' Of course I 'was astonished,' and offered 'forty—Would that do?' No!honestmen had but one price; seventy he had said—seventy, he repeated, was the price.' I bought it, and paid for it and took it home, and consulted my books, andtherethere was no such type to be seen—learned friends who called upon me had never seen its fellow—it was pronounced anineditedcoin, as indeed it turned out afterwards to be! The annual meeting of our archæological society was at hand. I determined tomemorializemy coin, and to read my memoir at the meeting. In three weeks I had finished my labours. There were some striking conjectures in the paper, which I went early to deliver. We had waited half an hour for the Prince St Georgio. At last he came. 'Look!' said I, putting the coin into his hands, (and I said not a word beyond this.) Mightily pleased he seemed with itat once, looking from me to it and from it to me. I thought he was going to propose for it. At last he spoke—it was but a word; but his emphasis and accent made my ears tingle. 'Excellent!' said he; but I was reassured on hearing him add, 'Casanuova has the luck of St Angelo, and nobody ever took him in.' Relieved by this announcement, I could now afford to be modest, and said it was but by accident that I hadfirstseen the coin. 'Not first, Casanuova," said the prince—'but second, Ibelieve. I saw itfirst.' 'You!' said I, aghast; 'you saw this coin, and did not buy it?' 'Costava!it cost too much; besides, to tell you the truth,Coco, who had just made it, told me it was expressly intended for the cabinet ofquel dottissimo suo amico J. Battista Casanuova.'" "'Tis all true," said Coco, rubbing his hands; "and I believe I can do almost any thing Ilikewith any of them." "Except not to tell lies, and not to impose upon antiquaries?" "Caro lei!these are the very things I like todo most, and do accordingly."
"What has become of Coco?" asked we of anorefice, three years later, on finding ourselves a second time in Naples, and nothing doubting, as he had not been to visit us, that he was doing Baron Trenck, and exercising his ingenuity in prison. We were surprised, therefore, to learn that he now kept a smart shop, and was a sort of joint householder with a respectable man, and that nothing particular had occurred to tarnish hisreputation for now nearly a year! The shop we had already noticed as one of promise on the outside; for, as yet, we had not found time to visit its interior. It stood half-way up the Toledo, on the left hand side as you go to the Studii. Etruscan jars were painted on all the shutters, and bits of statues and bas-reliefsbossagedand projected from the house front. In face of each window was an enormous shelving tray, full of all sorts of odds and ends, from the Flood downwards, the whole under protection of a strong irongrillage. In one corner of the shop (we hadnowgone forth to visit it) sat a pretty young woman, in spectacles, reading Manzoni, or sleeping over him (the aforesaid spectacles prevented our noticing which) as he lay open in her lap; while on another chair, in the opposite corner, an old man, almost in his dotage, looked wistfully round his shop, not suppressing an anxious sigh when the scrutiny was done. In an inner room ofhispalace—for such, in derision of its owner, was the house called—busy in preparing and cleaning the specimens that were about to be transferred into the shop, lurked, like some keen-eyed tarantula, the industriousCocohimself, with such an eye to business, and such an ear, that we were no sooner turned in from the street than he, too, had turned in, and was beside us.—"Well, Coco,bon giorrio, &c. &c. &c., 'tis said you have become anhonestman at last; how does thisnewtrade answer?" "Not at all," sighed the old man behind us. "Nonsense!" rejoined Coco; "whoever heard of a man's making money all at once? Nothing stake, nothing make—there's no mending where there's no spending. 'Necesse est facere sumptum qui quærit lucrum, dice bene il Plauto.'" "Allegro though you be, Coco, I am not. With you nothing can go ill, for you have nothing to lose, either in money or in character; but to me, who am old, bankruptcy and a prison are not matters of jest." "Nonsense, again, you are not going to prisonyet!" "Notat all, I hope, Coco," said the poor little lazy woman in the corner. "If I had my 5000 ducats, and my vineyard, again, at Sorrento, that you persuaded me to sell for yourScaviat Calvi, which never brought me any thing but a few lamps, andlots of lachrymatories!" "Basta, 'tis too late to talk about what youwould doif you had it to do over again. Let bygones be bygones. Who knows what this gentleman may come to buy of us? and he never would have come to you but from his previous acquaintance withme. Isn't it so, sir? Ah, there are some pretty thingsthere," continued he, following our eyes into a placarded recess. "Antichi Sono?" and we look into his face; "I'd as lief sell my own flesh and blood, as any thingherethat was not. Think, sir, of my position. I am theresponsiblehead of this firm. That good old gentleman, having begun antiquities late in life, does not know much about them. The signora there has taste, plenty; but it is not a lady's business to know the prices of things she may value or take an interest in; for suppose, now, she should wish to make money by the sale ofCoco, she would hardly know what to ask for him." The old man fidgeted; Coco shot a glance at the blue spectacles, which were raised at this sally. But the signora, who sat behind them, said nothing. "Whence came these same things?" we inquire, for on going close up to them, they seemed not unfamiliar to us. Before Coco could coin the forthcoming lie, the old man had told us whence they came. "From Baroni's shop!" adding that they had cost 700 ducats. This confirmed the story we had heard from the beginning to its end. Our clever scoundrel had contrived, it seems, to engage the old man in a speculative excavation at Calvi; from which a few lachrymatories turning up, the old man's cupidity was excited; and, on the false representations made to him by Coco, he sold his estate; left the country; and hiring the expensive shop in which we see him,leaves Coco to stock it! which he does by the purchase of such merchandise ashis friendshave to dispose of—"When," says he, "they don't sell them too dear!" The old man admits that his employer is very clever; but says quietly, that he has not muchfiduciain his honesty. Coco says, on his side, that his employer is mean in his conduct towards him, and pays hisactivity and zeal in a very niggardly manner. Thus neither is satisfied with the other. Meantime the public are saying, that in less than a year the shop will be again for sale; that Coco will have bolted; and that the old man, if he be alive, will be fretting his soul out in St Elmo! Nobody speculates upon what is to become of the lady with the blue spectacles.Wepredict, that should she be alive, and the old man dead, in the course of another year, she will have entirely given up her taste for things old and curious, and have become curious to try something new and comely; if, indeed, Coco shall have left her any money to indulge in such a fancy.
On returning from this visit to our hotel, about an hour later, we found Coco under the gateway, and on the look-out for us.More solito, he had something to show us. The porter looked after us inquiringly, as we bid him follow up-stairs; but was surprised by a counter look, and by our calling him by hisname. Even on the stairs, he could not forbear sundry short ejaculations, by way of preparing us for what we were to see presently. "Ah! ché bella roba!Ah, what flowers of the mint I have brought you to see to-day!—bought for a song—at three Carlini a-piece! You shall have them at three and a half—I content myself with small gains. But you, sir, who are discreet, and know the value of these things, shall judge whether I have told you a falsehood or no." By this time we were in our room. The dirty bag was untied; and there leaped out of it, not indeed a cat, but a large heap of consular coins, with which we seemed forthwith to be vastly familiar; and no wonder; since, on inspecting them, we found that the whole had been ours not twelve hours before, we having disposed of them to a refiner for their weight in silver, to melt. "Take them all, sir,tutti quanti, at three Carlines and a half a-piece." "No; nor yet for two Carlines, Coco," said we, putting the paper from us. Upon which the cunning fellow hopedhehad not been taken in; having certainly purchased them in the persuasion of reselling them, as a catch, to us. "TheItalian marquis, of whom he had bought them, assured him, on his honour, that he had made a rare bargain with him." "Are the coins your own, Coco?" "To my cost are they, signor, unless you re-purchase them." "I sold them only this morning, Coco, for the weight of the silver; you must try somebody else." Upon which Coco, with admirable presence of mind, replaced them in his bag, and said "he had made amistake!" "We regretted that he had not purchased them from us at the rate of one Carline and a-half per piece; in place of having been duped into paying three and a-half." Though he saw plainly, from our manner, that we were aware of his roguery, he was not put out; but shrugging his shoulders, and twitching the angles of a mouth remarkable for its mobility, he merely said—"Pazienza! a bargain's a bargain; we grow wiser as we grow older," and speedily withdrew.
Basseggio.
Near a fountain in one of the main streets of the west end of Rome, in which a recumbent figure bends over his ever-gushing urn; his body half hid from sight, and slowly dissolving in the water, under protection of a dimly lit shrine of a gaily painted Madonna; a tarnished brass plate with the word B—— engraved thereon, is inserted into the panels of a dingy-looking door, out of which a long piece of dirty string dangles through a hole. If you touch the electric cord, the shock is instantly transmitted to the other end, and the importunate tinkling of a well-hung bell is responded toby a clicking of the latch, when an invisible arm pulls back the door, and your entrance is secured into a passage encumbered with broken busts and bas-reliefs, tier above tier, and a series of marble tablets, withDis manibusinscriptions, let into the wall on either side. If, now, you pick your way amid the many stumbling-blocks that beset it, till you have reached the stair, (a narrow stair and dark, and encumbered like the passage, with numerous relics of antiquity,) a female voice, loudly shrilling from above, demands your business—"Chi c'e?"—you answer of course "Amico," and are bid to mount accordingly. Arrived at the summit of the stair, that same voice, the high-pitched key of which startled you from below, sounds less disagreeable, now that you are close beside the fair proprietress of it, who at once greets you affably, begs you to be seated, has seated herself beside you, and, premising that her "marito" will appear anon, has begun to ask you a hundred questions, some of which you are relieved from answering by the actual advent of Signor B——, who makes his politest bow, while Madame introduces you as an old acquaintance. You see at a glancethispart of Signor B——'s history, that he has bought a young and pretty wife out of many years' traffic in antiquities. Whatever else he may at any other time have purchased, was with intention to dispose of afterwards, a suitable opportunity offering. But this pretty wife he keeps like an inedited coin, or fancies that he keeps to himself entirely. Few antiquaries have shown more enterprise than B——. Possessed of little, very little money in his youth, he did not, like many other Roman youths of this day, squander it away in cigars, and was under twenty when he undertook his first commercial expedition. He went into Egypt, could not buy the Pyramids, they were too large for his portmanteau; then into Greece; then to Sicily. He sailed to Syracuse, landed at Naxos, sacked Taormina and Catania; came back and sold his curiosities well; went abroad again, and again returned like an industrious bee laden with spoils. Enriched at length by these numerous journeys, he was able to purchase a vineyard, and to plant it. His next step was to build a villa upon it, and to marry an ancient dame, who, dying shortly, left him at liberty to marry again. The lady whom he now calls his own being at the time poor, his treasures soon won her heart, while his house flattered her ambition, and so they made a match of it; and she now accompanies him in most of his antiquarian prowling excursions during the summer; and theménage, on the whole, for an Italian ménage, goes on well enough.
One day—(this was when, by much frequentation of the premises, we had become intimate with its inmates)—one day we had just beenringingan Etruscan vase, and liked the sound thereof; and examining the painting, we liked that too; and therefore, agreeing as to price, completed the purchase, and were sitting between old husband and young wife, round a brazier mounted on an ancient tripod, with a handful of gems,loculis quæ custoditur eburnis, talking carelessly, and taking ourimpressionsof them, and of the stones, as we talked. It was a fête day, and, now we came to notice it, Madame B—— was engrande toilette, and had been hearing Padre S—— preach, as she informed us, at St Carlo's in the Corso. When she heard we had not been there, she sighed for our sakes—"Our friendshouldhave heard Padre S—— to-day, is it not so?" to her husband, who assented to this good opinion of the Padre: "It was such a good sermon! all about doing as you would be done by—no loophole for a self-deceiver to escape by. I only wish A—— had been there to hear it." "Bagatello!" said Signor B——, stirring the brazier, "Do you think he would not have cheated Lord V—— just the same in this head of Medusa, which he palmed off upon him for an antique, knowing it was a Calandrelli? Good sermons are thrown away upon some people." "Well," sighed the lady, looking up to the ceiling, and then taking a second dose of it—"well, at least we may apply itto ourselves." "Not a bit of it.Wenever apply any thing to ourselves. Do you think, for instance, when I married you, I sought to mate me with a lark, or a nightingale—risponde." She had nodifficulty in doing so. "And was I not a lark till my poor sister died—poverella—eighteen months ago?" "Si, Signora!butsincethat time you treat me with coldness; are always looking up to the sky; and always telling me your soul is with her soul in Paradise. No Paradise for me! What think you, sir?" "We always sided with those who were suffering from the loss of friends." "Bene, bene, for three months or so—'twas all very well, natural. But beyond this? Besides, though it were ever so sincere—what was the use of it?" "Oh! ofno use, of course," said we. "I shall never give over mourning for her, I promise you that," said the lady, much moved. The husband shrugged his shoulders; said, "That all women were more or less foolish;" and asked us if we were married? Before we had time to answer, in came Padre S——, whose sermon had made such impression on B—— and his wife. We now sit all around the brazier; both wife and husband being, for some time, loud in their praises, which were somewhat extravagant! "It was a divine sermon—St Paul could not have preached a better"—when the good man hopes it may, by God's blessing, do good, politely acknowledges the compliment implied in our regrets that we had not been of the auditory, and then rises to look round, Signor B—— doing the honours, at the curiosities of the shop; at the sight of several objects of virtù, he expresses, somewhat naïvely, great pleasure—would like to have seen more, but has another sermon to deliver in St Jacomo—the bell is ringing!—he must sayidioat once. As he makes his exit, (Madame kisses his hand first,) two other visitors present themselves; the one a young Roman, who comes to console her; the other a young English nobleman, who comes to buy in haste, and will have to repent at leisure afterwards. In five minutes, Madame seems to have entirely forgotten her sister; B—— his wife! The one is receiving comfort in compliment; the other, in cash! Hush! Surely we heard Lord A—— ask if that vamped old vase, which will fall some day to pieces, wasantique; and B——assert that it was! Why, the paint is scarcely dry on its sides! Lord A——'s unlucky eye lights upon a bust, which, when he gets it over to England, he may match at the stone-mason's in the New Road, and at half-price—twowords,threesyllables, and the purchase is made "Chi?" Whose bust is it? "Cicero's," of course! "Quanto," what's the price of it? "Twenty Napoleons!" You old rogue B——! you are safe in sending it to Terny's,packed; for, if it should be seen, you might have to refund the purchase-money.Necdum finitus?Another bust tempts him; he inquires, and finds it is aJove—a Jove! and is
"Jupiter, hæc nec labra moves, quum mittere vocemDebueras, velmarmoreus, vel aheneus?... Quod nullum discrimen habendum estEffigies inter vestras, statuamque Bathylli?"
And this too, he buys for twenty Napoleons more; and having paid the purchase-money, away goes the possessor of Jupiter, and at the same juncture away goes the Cavaliere—each perfectly satisfied with his visit.
"Molto intelligente, that countryman of yours," said B——, spelling his card. "He seems to take things very much upon trust," said we. "'Tis a pity he don't understand Italian or French better. Otherwise, Imighthave perhaps suggested better things than those he has actually chosen. But after all," added he, "people don't like being put out of conceit with their own opinions; and think you personally interested, if you offer yours unasked." "I should have been sorry to have taken that vase as antique, as he has done; or to have paid the tenth of the price he has paid you for it." "Oh! don't be afraid; he can afford it—an English gentleman!—and tohimit is worth what he paid for it; else, if he did not think so, who forced him to take it?" "Iwondernow what Father S—— would have said to it;" asked Madame of her husband, looking up to the ceiling, and sighing. "Nothing, 'twas not in his province to pronounce judgment in such a matter." We toowondered, perhaps, what he might have said to Madame, touching her Cavaliere, whose discourse seemed to have told almost as powerfully onher ashissermon at St Carlo's. We wondered, butto ourselves, and making the common-place remark, that it seemed easier topreachthan topractise, exchanged smiles with B—— and his wife, and withdrew, to think over what we had seen; and to arrive at our own conclusions, touching the general utility of fashionable and popular preaching!
Herr Ascherson.
Sly old fox, what pen shall do justice to thy cunning! Grave, venerable, ancient cheat, who showest aBible, left thee by some pious enthusiast (the old family pew-book, morocco, in silver clasps—well thou lookest to them at least) in return for many dealings with thee, and in requital, so thou sayest, for thine incomparable disinterestedness and honesty!
It would be no harder task to unwind a mummy, than to unroll and unriddlethee, old rogue, in thy endless windings and detours! "Have no dealings with A——," said thattimidrogue, the Florentine attorney R——; "the man is so gigantic a cheat, that he frightens me!" "and cunning to a degree" was D——'s account of him. "He is up to a thing or two," said S——, looking knowing, and putting his finger, like Harpocrates, to his mouth, that it went no further. A brother dealer called him a Hebrew; another (himself as sly as any fox) admitted that he had been overreached by him. His name, whenever mentioned, seldom failed to call forth a smile, or a shrug, in those who had not dealt with him; and a thundering oath against his German blood in those that had. Mr A—— was therefore too remarkable a man for us, ourself an incipient collector, not to visit; and so, as soon as we got to Naples, we dispatched a note, and the next day followed it in person; rang at the bell, and were ushered into his sanctum; where we beheld the oldnecromancerstanding at his table, looking out for us. He put down his eyeglass and his old coin; and said in answer to our question, which was in English, "Ya! ya! mein name is A——." Forgetting at this moment what R—— had said of him, and only recollecting that they were acquainted, we began, by way of introducing ourselves to his best things, to say, that we had lately seen his friend R—— at Rome—"Dat is not mein friend, dat is mein enemy," said he, displeased at our mentioning the name; and looking at us half suspiciously, half spitefully. "I hav notin to say wit him more," and he took a huge pinch of snuff, and wasted a deal on his snuffy waistcoat and shirt frill. We at once saw our mistake, which indeed, but for our anxiety to get to business, we should not, assuredly, have been guilty of. We had now to make the best of it. "A mistake, Mr. A——, we assure you. Mr. R—— might say that, ononeoccasion, youhadbeenbrusquewith him; but advised us, notwithstanding, to pay you a visit, regretting that, from some little difference between you,hecould not give us the introduction, which, under more favourable circumstances, he would have pressed upon us;" an announcement which completely mollified the old rogue, who, in his heart of hearts, was thinking that a new victim had turned up to him, and one of Rusca's recommending. "It is pleasant to make peace between two honest men," said we; "Rusca and you should not have quarrelled. Ill-natured people take advantage of these disputes, and begin to profess open distrust as to the age and genuineness of whatever you sell." "For dis reason I hate not Mr Rusca; but he has too muchstrepitusnessof voice—il s'emporte trop facilement." "Ah," interpose we in the mediatorial capacity we had assumed, "'tis the character of the Italian to do so." "Ya, dat is true," assented he; and then we went to look at his coins. "Weare not blind friends of Rusca's," said we, sitting down to the first tray which he gave us to look at, and seeing, from the character of the coins therein exhibited, that A—— had presumed wemightbe. "We only buy from R—— when he is discreet, and does not overcharge; which,entre nous, he is very apt to do." The old man glanced at us approvingly, and trying hard to look honest, said, "Ya, ya; when he can geteinpiastre he will not takeein halb—but when I ask a piastre for any tings, (and he was grave again,) it is tantamount as to say, 'dis is deleastestpreis to give.'" "All here has a fixed price, has it?" "Ya, ya." "And what may this pretty little figure be worth?" "I shall confess dat is dear; two hundred piastres is de preis—Rusca would have said four hundred to begin mit." We admitted its beauty; but said two hundred spread out upon the table were also beautiful. "De good ting is de dear ting," said he, and we admitted the truth of the proposition, both in the abstract and in its application; took up a specious-looking coin, which he took as abruptly out of our hand—"Nein gewiss nicht," we must not buy that. "Why?" Because some people had not scrupled to tell him (though they knew better) that it was a Rusca. "Rusca!" said we, "and what does that mean?" "In Neapolitanpatois," said he, "we call all our specious but doubtful wares Ruscas! But dis," continued he, taking up a companion to it—"dis I baptize in my own name, and offer for a true John A——." "Ah!" sighed we, but withoutemphasis, as if it had onlyjustoccurred to us "how difficult, now-a-days,notto be deceived;" and we replaced the J—— A—— in his box accordingly. "Ven all amateurs," said he, (following out his own thought, rather than replying to ours,) "ven all amateurs were connoisseurs likewise, we might say goot-night to dis bissnesse."
In the days of our novitiate, when we used to say, and think we knew (as the phrase is) what would please us, and would buy according to our means, we found (as indeed all purchasers in these matters find) that time, while it brought with it a nicer appreciation in judging works of art, diminished also our opinion of what we had formerly purchased; and, to avoid fresh disappointments, we used to apply to anantiquarioto give us his advicepro re nata;—as the reader will see by the following note of Herr A——, which, as it prevented our making one or two foolish purchases, was not without its value, and we preserved it accordingly. It ranverbatimthus—