"Birbone—a Jew, a cheat, a rogue, a vagabond, a liar, a coiner, an utterer of all things base and false—an Antiquary!"—Baretti's Italian Dict.

"Ah me! it is a dangerous freak,
When men will dabble with Antique."—Hudibras(?)

Scene I.—The Introduction.

We will now introduce the reader to an antiquarian scene or two chez nous, transcribed from our journal as we entered them therein at the time. When it was currently understood throughout Naples—it did not take long for the report to spread—that we were a professed purchaser of antiquities, and "at home" to antiquaries, we were besieged all day and every day by a host of dealers, jewellers and Jews, whom the waiters were weary of announcing, and were still obliged to announce, who came with bundles under their arms, filled with things "ugly and old exceedingly," which they wished to dispose of as bargains, and hoped we would purchase. They came early in the morning; they braved the fiery heat of noon; they bided their time whilst we sat at dinner; and, on returning from our moonlit drive, we are prepared for the announcement that somebody still waits with something still unshown for us to see. Sometimes one man will come alone, and if he finds us unassailable or indifferent, he will take care to return next time in company with an accomplice,—an honest, plain fellow in his dealings, who, actuated by feelings of pure humanity, and in pursuance of his sturdy motto of "fiat justitia ruat coelum," will, at the risk of offending his friend, alter his prices, and propose others vastly more equitable and advantageous for us. Enters one day a brace of these rogues at breakfast—two such palpable rogues in face that you needed no proficiency in Lavater to know at once with whom you had to deal. One of the pair, par nobile fratrum, gives a very respectful, the other, what is meant for a very courtly, bow. "This gentleman," says one unknown individual introducing the other—"This gentleman has just landed from Sicily, bringing with him a small collection of coins—vergini tutti—all virgins, and on which no amateur's eye has yet rested even for a moment." "Non e vero, Cavaliere?" "Altro che vero!" responds the cavalier. "I, sir," resumes the other, "am, as you have doubtless perceived, the poor mezzano, the mere umpire in this business; I have no interest in the sale of any articles in that gentleman's pockets; it was by the merest accident that I heard of his arrival an hour ago; and, as I know he must have something good, I pounced upon him at once—would not give him time even to shave, (voyez un peu cette barbe farouche—it was so), but brought him hither in great haste, lest others—vous concevez qu'À Naples." "To be sure we did; but did not the Cavaliere understand French?" "Not a word." "What says the Signore?" interrogates the unshaved Sicilian noble; "Domanda se lei capisce il Francese?" "Niente," not a bit of it, returns he, shaking his head guilelessly. "Non importa,—it's of no importance. You, Cavaliere, will mention your prices to me, I will propose them to this gentleman—he his; I will then give my opinion as to what is fair between you, and thus we shall, I trust, do a little business to the satisfaction of both. Signor Cavaliere s'accommodi." Thus admonished of our breach of manners in having kept the Cavaliere standing, we would fain atone for it on the spot, by begging the "mezzano" also to take a chair; but he declines it with modest confusion of face. "Come? ma che?" he has no pretension or business to place himself between "due illustrissimi signori," whose poor interpreter he is. We overcome his scruples, and all sit down, closely packed round a small table; while the noble dealer was unshrouding what seemed, from the length of time and material employed upon it, to be a mummy, and, from its size, perhaps a rat. We were all eagerness and expectancy, forming, as we sat, a capo d'opera for Valentine or Caravaggio, well grouped, and ripe and ready for the canvass. At length the "unwinding bout" draws to its close; the last wrapping is unwrapped; and a small bronze Venus, without a shift, falls on her haunches on the table. "What a beautiful pezzo have we here!" says the umpire, assuming the air of a man well versed in such matters, and turning her round to admire her proportions; "and where," asks he, in a manner that showed he had guessed the answer before receiving it; "where might this have been dug up?" "Nei contorni di Lentine," was the ready answer, and so he "had expected to hear it was; all the best opere Greche now come from that neighbourhood." We made no remark; there was a pause; we watched the countenance of the mezzano; he seemed to be getting more and more absorbed in the contemplation of the little Venus, till, after taking his time, while he appeared oblivious of time, his pent-up enthusiasm at the sight of charms which rivet his attention, but are beyond his powers of expression, finds vent in the very convenient formula of "Pare impossibile!" which, in the language of English dilletanteism has no equivalent; then suddenly recollecting himself, and fearing lest, if he kept her too long, we might be jealous, he confided her gently to our hands, and having done so, said a second time, "Pare impossibile!" We, too, turned her round, and (one good turn tending to another) in the absence of any better occupation at the moment, we turned her round a second time; and having done so, put her down upon the table, without a word of comment. It was a tolerably well-shaped little figure, in a very green modern gown, and when we were very green, three years ago, we had purchased a twin-born sister of hers at Capua, which we now rose to produce, and placed her side by side the other. Our visitors exchanged glances; the Cavaliere would have said that ours is a copy—his the original; but we remind him that a week ago his model did not exist, from which to have made such a copy; and the mezzano, seeing that the game is up, says his friend must have been imposed upon! that there is not a more honest man breathing than the Cavaliere! that, in fact, it has been an awkward affair for him! "Pare impossibile," thought we, that rogues should be so bold! "Had he, the Cavaliere, any thing more to show?" ask we of the mezzano in French. "To what purpose," answers the Cavaliere, suddenly understanding French; "to what purpose should I waste that gentleman's time, and my own, in the long process of unwrapping things, which, when unwrapped, he is sure to pronounce modern?" and the Cavaliere went away in dudgeon, and quite "cavalierly."

It being generally understood that yesterday was to be our last day in Naples, our friends the antiquari flocked in from all quarters of the town to pay valedictory visits, and to hope, each man for himself, that he at least had always given satisfaction in any little business we might have occasionally transacted together. The visits of that day began early, and ended—no, they never ended—till next morning after passing the barriÈre. Coco's black beard, standing at the bedside with a false "Augustus," was the first object that presented itself on waking, and the last pull of the bell at night was followed by the apparition of a mysterious figure in a cloak, with a small sack, full, not of truffles, but of "LucernÆ," just exhumed, and still smelling damp, from the lamp-teeming earth of Pozzuoli. All through that day the dealers seemed to have no other employment upon earth than to wait upon us, and accordingly backwards and forwards, and up and down stairs they came and they went, till by mid-day they had permanently established, as ants do when they forage, two counter-lines of communication between us and the street, each dealer further imitating the ant community, in stopping for a moment en passant, to touch antennÆ, and to exchange intelligences with his neighbour as he came up. All would kiss our hand and "augur" us a prosperous journey, and each had some little confidential revelation to make touching the Don Beppo, the Don Alessandro, or the Don Carlo whom he had met at the doorway. Grateful acknowledgments are due, of course, for so many proofs of their esteem; though their caveats come all too late for us to profit by; and once or twice, in the dearth of words to tell our feelings, we adopt that Italian formula for modesty at a pinch, and beseech then, per carita! not to speak so flatteringly of our attainments. At dinner, (an Italian friend being at table with us,) Don Gaetano Sbano, whom we have not seen for a twelvemonth, and who has been liberated purposely, as it should seem, from St Angelo, only just in time to pay his respects before we leave, stands smilingly behind our chair, talking over imaginary drafts which he has received upon Roman bankers, in return for a very beautiful set of objects of virtÙ with which he has been lately, it seems, enriching the Roman market!! After discanting on the moonlight beauties of the Coliseum, and other moonshine subjects which had kept him, he averred, in Rome a week longer than he intended, he abruptly accosts our Italian friend, assuring him that we have now become such a knowing proficient in all the tricks imposed upon travellers, and in all the various guiles of antiquaries as practised at Naples, that it would be difficult to impose upon us; and that, in fact, he would back us now against being cheated by the best of them—modest man! he might have said of us, in place of presenting a false lamp of dirty device, which threw the altering of this pronoun, and the substitution of the right one, upon the party whom he had been so politely praising. Purposing to start early next morning, most of our effects, both old and new, were packed up already; a few of the former, however, still remained out, and stood on a neighbouring side table. "What a beautiful Ryton!" said Don G. Sbano sauntering across the room, and taking up a finely executed stag's head in terra cotta, that had originally served for a drinking-cup—a purchase we had that morning made at old Rossi's curiosity shop. "Beautiful, indeed," replied we carelessly, and then sotto voce to our friend—"poor Rossi, pleased at our sincere sympathy at his late sad bereavements—he has lost two charming daughters within a month—insisted upon transferring it to us quite as a regallo at twenty piastres,"—these words were spoken in a low tone of voice, but Don Gaetano made it a point to hear every thing. "Of course we knew," enquired he maliciously, "that it was a forgery in all but the lips?" "And if the lips be true, it by no means follows, Signor, that because the lips are true, the vessel appended to them must be so." If any man ought to know about lying lips, it was Sbano; so at once admitting the truth of what indeed there was no gainsaying, we contended that the indestructibility of the glaze, tested as it had been with aquafortis by Rossi himself, proved the genuineness of its antiquity—it proved nothing but that we had something still to learn! The nola varnish was light as a soap-bubble, but this on the Ryton was thick and substantial. How he wished we had been to stay another week to have taught us the difference! and how we wished him gone, lest he should make some new revelations of a kindred character to the last, and betray our ignorance in sundry other matters connected with other recent purchases. The door has scarcely closed upon his coat-tails when in comes a tall strapping fellow out of breath, who begs to take a chair, and declares forthwith that he is "tutto bagnato di sudore,"—in our service, and he hopes it may not be in vain! After administering to him proper restoratives, (the remains of an agro-dolce, and half a bottle of lachryma,) four battered pieces of lead are presented by him for inspection, looking very much as if they had just been scraped from the house-top, but which, when duly put together by our ingenuity, make up the highly interesting inscription,—"Imp: CÆs: Vespas: Aug: Pont: Max: Opt; Princip: P. P.," and are no sooner so collocated than our new-comer seems enchanted at a discovery which he would have us think as important as any thing lately done in that way. After the making of which, he expects that we are to carry over this leaden trophy to England, and is much mortified accordingly at our disheartening remark, that "it was so easy to write upon lead!" Upon seeing that we are indisposed to be cheated, he resolved to humiliate us in the eyes of our friend, which he does effectually by merely glancing at a small urceolus with a painting on it, and then proclaiming it to be "ristaurata;" a most ungrateful return, as we think, for our "restoration" of him. He has scarcely vanished when a third party, "happy to catch us just at dinner-time," is announced; he comes with a mouthful of lies, and a pocketful of trash, and seeing that we are beginning to wince, is retiring, but suddenly recollecting himself, pulls up at the door to ask whether it be true that we have not bought Coco's Augustus, since, if we have been so lucky as to purchase it, Coco has in that case cheated him by pretending to have received nothing for it. "Go to ——!" exclaimed we, losing all patience at the ignorance thus plainly imputed to us, "do you think we were such a fool as to buy such a forgery?" Then comes a very douce, quiet-mannered dealer, wishing, if our friend will excuse him, to have a private interview with us just for a moment, as he has something confidential to communicate. "Signor mio," says he, "when we are in privacy," folding his hands over his breast and looking very contrite, "I am bound to confess to you that the man whom I have hitherto called 'cousin,' is not such, nor indeed any relation or connexion of mine! I know you have been cheated often, sadly, and by him; and, much as it has gone against my heart whenever I have heard him and his crew plot against your ingenuousness, I have long intended to be frank with you, as you have always treated me with frankness. Believe me I have ever opposed your 'ingannazione,' though without success; and, as I have no other shop in which to put my real antiques excepting this man's, I am glad to pay ten per cent to interest him in their sale; but that terra cotta cow that he sold you, 'twas a sad piece of business," and he looked at us as a Mackenzie might have looked upon some artless victim to man's depravity! Whereupon a new light seemed all at once to break in upon us, and we resolved to get at the truth, if we could, by a ruse which should throw him off his guard; so, in place of appearing put out by the discovery, we merely said—"Well, if all forgeries were but nearly as well executed as that, who would care to buy antiques at all; and besides, as it is a forgery, we may have a good chance of getting some more of the casts to take home with us, which we could not have done had the cow been ancient. How beautifully she stood in her horns and hoofs! and how well must he have studied the antique, who could have conceived and executed such a cow!" As we had imagined, there was no resisting such an appeal, and Roderick Dhu stood confessed! He now owns himself an extensive proprietor in these cows, and says they are by no means his best productions—offering us the whole dairy at a very moderate price!

Comes Coco, a little later, with a lad who is to be forthwith forwarded to buy an engraved stone at Tiano, where he is to sleep, in order to meet our carriage to-morrow morning at Calvi, with the jacinth on his finger! Lastly comes old Bonelli to kiss both cheeks, and to declare that our loss will be felt by all the honest men in Naples; and that, as for himself, he does not know what he shall do, he had always such a pleasure in coming to show us any thing. "It is not interest," says he, putting his hand to his side-pocket, "but affection," placing it over his heart, "that makes me so loth to lose you—ah! caro lei!" and he kissed us again and withdrew. In the darkness of earliest morning, while the stars are all glowing, and Aurora is still asleep, we discern figures in cloaks, sitting over the rippling sea, on the wall of Santa Lucia, and waiting to show us antiques by moonlight!—and then comes the barriÈre. And now, gentlemen, we wash our hands of you—and may you soon be consoled for the loss of us in the acquisition of some noble lord, with more money to spend amongst you than we ever had, and more time to devote to your winning manners and versatile accomplishments. We hope you will speak of us kindly and considerately; and, whilst you are busy in circulating our memoirs in the Strada Santa Caterina, the Toledo, and the piazza of the silversmiths, we are preparing yours, gentlemen, in a work which shall leave those of Benvenuto Cellini far—very far behind!

We have now given the reader a very brief notice of a scantling of our antiquarian acquaintance abroad, taking them nearly at random from the pages of a common-place book, which abounds, we observe, in such entries. Should he desire to know something more of the craft, we keep a second batch of introductions by us, which are at his service; but to give him even the shortest notice, nay, merely to attempt the nomenclature, and furnish a "catalogue raisonnÉ" of all that immense body, would be as wide of our purpose as it would wholly transcend our powers. Such a task would be as vain as—(but here, after the example of Boileau, Corneille, and Pope, let us give our paraphrase of the well-known passage of the bard of Aquinum:—)

"Vain as th' attempt on summer eve to count
What dogs and beggars haunt the Pincian Mount.
All Tuzzi's frauds, all Coco's falsehoods tell,
And all the Beckers[1] all the rogues shall sell;
How many sick some sapient quack at Rome
Helps—not to England, but their longer home;[2]
How many Couriers forge the scoundrel tale;
How many Maids their mistress' fame assail;
How many English girls, by foreign arts
Seduced, have smiled on needy 'Knaves of Hearts!'
Or left our church, in spite of solemn 'caves,'
To score off sins by rosaries and aves!
Number the gnats that cloud the dewy lawn,
Or flitting flies that light the sparkling corn;
Or pirate hawks that haunt Rome's lawless sky,
Or the fell fevers Pontine plains supply;
The locust legions count; or say as soon
What hoarse CicadÆ stun the sultry noon
With ringing dissonance; what flow'rets fair
In early spring inebriate the air:
Or count the gems in every dazzling shower
That Roman rockets detonating pour,
Dropping their liquid light o'er Hadrian's glowing tower:
Or tell what crowds on Easter-day repair
To see their Pontiff-bird, in high-swung chair
Upborne magnificent; when, rising slow,
Th' emerging figure stands, all white as snow,
Like some large albatross his arms outspreads,
O'er all that mighty, silent, sea of heads!
Thrice waves his wings, the voiceless blessing sends
Far, far away to earth's remotest ends!
The joyous news th' impatient cannon tells,
Louder and louder, as the discord swells,
Of clashing bands, and shouts, and drums, and loud-tongued bells!"