OF THE APPROVED METHOD OF DOING BUSINESS WITH AN ITALIAN DEALER—OF THE ARTISTIC DECEPTION OF THE CUSTOMER—OF THE MASTERFUL PROFANITY AND THE UNCONVINCING ASSEVERATIONS OF THE DEALER—AND OF THE ULTIMATE SATISFACTION OF BOTH PARTIES
Thepurchase of antiques in Italy, in order to be successful, must be attended with enormous amounts of subtlety, gesticulation, swearing, lying, and passion. The proceeding is, or should be somewhat as follows:
The antiquer first locates an antique-shop, which he does by walking along a street until he is struck in the nose by a peculiarly fusty odor, faintly resembling recently disinterred boots, and finds the proprietor sitting in a gloomy corner of the shop writing, or pretending to write, in a ledger and giving an excellent but unconscious imitation of a large spider observing the approach of a juicy bluebottle fly.
The customer greets the proprietor simply but elegantly, and the proprietor, going on with his writing, replies in an apparently perfunctory and preoccupiedmanner. Then the customer proceeds to look about. He notes without interest the worm-eaten sideboards and chests, the paintings of anæmic bunches of flowers, the bronze mortars and pestles made in Florence, the Venetian mirrors that make the face look as though it had been run through a clothes-wringer, the venerable priests’ vestments and coatments and pantments, and the hanging silver lamps made out of superb tin; and finally his eye lights on, say, a marble plaque of a Pope’s head from a monastery wall.
It has an air, that plaque. He examines it carefully while pretending to scrutinize a small but offensive painting of Saint Mark’s by Moonlight. The buying fever seizes him, and he prepares for action.
“Have you not a pair of beaten-iron candlesticks in the Venetian manner, projecting straight out from the wall?” he asks the proprietor, making gestures like a candlestick. He asks this question in order to provide a smoke-screen for his future movements.
“No, signore,” replies the proprietor gloomily. “We had them, but they were sold yesterday.”
“Ah,” says the customer in disappointment. He starts as though to go; and then, as an afterthought,he picks up a bronze mortar and weighs it meditatively. “This little thing, now,” he ventures. “The price unquestionably is prohibitive, eh?”
“A very fine thing, very old and very fine,” says the dealer, examining it appreciatively. “And very cheap, signore; very cheap. Four hundred lire only, signore.”
The signore laughs loudly and bitterly and turns away with a shudder. “Cheap!” he ejaculates in scornful tones, “Cheap! You mistake me for two millionaires. Madonna! What a price! For such a thing as that good-for-nothing imitation in the corner, that pretended Pope’s head, you would probably charge such an impossible price as one hundred lire!”
“Hah!” says the dealer, staring carefully at the customer. “Hah!” Then he goes over to the corner and looks at the Pope’s head as though he were seeing it for the first time.
“Signore,” he says solemnly, “this is a very fine and very rare piece. It is an historical piece. I will sell it for one tenth of its value.”
“Ah, true?” asks the customer sarcastically. “And what is that, signore?”
“Six hundred lire, signore,” replies the dealer calmly.
“Body of Bacchus!” gasps the customer, as though he had been mortally wounded. “Six hundred lire! Are you mad, signore? It is robbery! The thing is good for nothing! It would be dear at sixty lire!”
“Signore,” declares the dealer earnestly, “your words are an insult. That Pope is worthy of a museum. Look at it, signore! In the large establishments you would pay six thousand lire for it. Signore, I am experienced in the buying and selling of antiques. In selling it at six hundred lire, I am giving it away.”
The customer shakes his head pityingly. “Poor little one,” says he, “that Pope’s head is a forgery. It probably cost six lire. In buying it at all you must have fallen among thieves.”
“Signore, it is not true,” says the dealer indignantly. “It is a gift at six hundred lire.”
“Pah!” says the customer, wagging his extended thumb and forefinger at the level of his ear to signify utter contempt and disbelief.
“Then what will you give, signore?” demands theproprietor in exasperation. “Name me a fair price and let us speak about it.”
“No,” says the customer, “I do not want it. Your prices, signore, would make a cow weep.”
“Then name me a price,” insists the proprietor. “Come, name it and let me hear.”
“Sixty lire!” shouts the customer defiantly.
“Sixty lire!” wails the proprietor. “Presence of the Devil, signore, I paid five hundred lire for that object. I am a poor man, signore, and the thief of a Government takes everything away in taxes—the luxury tax and the tax for the wounded and the export tax. One must live. Come, signore, give me five hundred and fifty lire and take it.”
“Madonna!” cries the customer in a rage. “I would not pay five hundred and fifty lire for a dozen of them. I will give you one hundred lire and not another soldo.”
“Ah, Madonna!” shrieks the proprietor. “You are stealing the bread from the mouths of my children. Ah, my God, but this business is ruining me. No, I will not do it! Come, signore, take it for five hundred and let us weary ourselves no longer with fruitless talk.”
“It is useless, signore,” declares the customer firmly. “I will not pay your price. Come, now: here is my last word: wrap it up and take three hundred lire for it.”
“Body of Bacchus,” moans the proprietor. “We cannot deal together, you and I. Go to a cheap shop, signore. I—I am not a noted dealer, signore. I cannot do those things. Farewell, signore.”
“Three hundred lire,” says the customer firmly.
“Three hundred and fifty,” counters the proprietor.
“Three hundred,” insists the customer hoarsely, starting toward the door.
The proprietor gives his shoulders the tremendous shrug which, in Italy, signifies that the shrugger can do nothing more to prevent you from utterly wrecking yourself by your colossal idiocy. He reseats himself at his desk and paws around among his papers with sudden and complete absorption.
“Three hundred and twenty-five,” says the customer, holding the door half open and making what the modern school of diplomacy would call a gesture of departure.
Plate IXCOLOGNE CATHEDRAL AS IT IS TO-DAY
Plate IX
COLOGNE CATHEDRAL AS IT IS TO-DAY
Plate XNEW DESIGN FOR COLOGNE CATHEDRALThe enthusiasm of Professor Kilgallen for the pure Colonial has led him to propose the remodeling of Cologne Cathedral. Above is a design drawn and submitted to the Archbishop of Cologne by the Professor, without charge. It is felt that the alterations would give the building a more restful character.
Plate X
NEW DESIGN FOR COLOGNE CATHEDRAL
The enthusiasm of Professor Kilgallen for the pure Colonial has led him to propose the remodeling of Cologne Cathedral. Above is a design drawn and submitted to the Archbishop of Cologne by the Professor, without charge. It is felt that the alterations would give the building a more restful character.
The proprietor capitulates, rolling up his eyes and tossing his hands in the air to show that he accepts misfortune’s dread harpoon in a sportsmanlike spirit. “You have a bargain, signore,” says he genially, rising and unhooking the marble plaque of the Pope from the wall. “To-morrow I shall have candlesticks of beaten iron in the Venetian style. Come to-morrow and I will sell them to you for nothing.”