A MOONLIGHT RAMBLE
The proposal for a moonlight ramble was received with acclamation by all the younger portion of the company.They immediately set forth and descended from story to story, dimly lighting their way by waxen tapers, which are a necessary equipment to those whose thoroughfare, in the night-time, lies up and down a Roman staircase.Emerging from the courtyard of the edifice, they looked upward and saw the sky full of light, which seemed to have a delicate purple or crimson lustre, or, at least some richer tinge than the cold, white moonshine of other skies.It gleamed over the front of the opposite palace, showing the architectural ornaments of its cornice and pillared portal, as well as the ironbarred basement windows, that gave such a prison-like aspect to the structure, and the shabbiness and Squalor that lay along its base.A cobbler was just shutting up his little shop, in the basement of the palace; a cigar vender's lantern flared in the blast that came through the archway; a French sentinel paced to and fro before the portal; a homeless dog, that haunted thereabouts, barked as obstreperously at the party as if he were the domestic guardian of the precincts.
The air was quietly full of the noise of falling water, the cause of which was nowhere visible, though apparently near at hand.This pleasant, natural sound, not unlike that of a distant cascade in the forest, may be heard in many of the Roman streets and piazzas, when the tumult of the city is hushed; for consuls, emperors, and popes, the great men of every age, have found no better way of immortalizing their memories than by the shifting, indestructible, ever new, yet unchanging, upgush and downfall of water.They have written their names in that unstable.element, and proved it a more durable record than brass or marble.
"Donatello, you had better take one of those gay, boyish artists for your companion," said Miriam, when she found the Italian youth at her side. "I am not now in a merry mood, as when we set all the world a-dancing the other afternoon, in the Borghese grounds.""I never wish to dance any more," answered Donatello.
"What a melancholy was in that tone!" exclaimed Miriam."You are getting spoilt in this dreary Rome, and will be as wise and as wretched as all the rest of mankind, unless you go back soon to your Tuscan vineyards.Well; give me your arm, then! But take care that no friskiness comes over you.We must walk evenly and heavily to-night!"The party arranged itself according to its natural affinities or casual likings; a sculptor generally choosing a painter, and a painter a sculp--tor, for his companion, in preference to brethren of their own art.Kenyon would gladly have taken Hilda to himself, and have drawn her a little aside from the throng of merry wayfarers.But she kept near Miriam, and seemed, in her gentle and quiet way, to decline a separate alliance either with him or any other of her acquaintances.
So they set forth, and had gone but a little way, when the narrow street emerged into a piazza, on one side of which, glistening and dimpling in the moonlight, was the most famous fountain in Rome.Its murmur--not to say its uproar--had been in the ears of the company, ever since they came into the open air.It was the Fountain of Trevi, which draws its precious water from a source far beyond the walls, whence it flows hitherward through old subterranean aqueducts, and sparkles forth as pure as the virgin who first led Agrippa to its well-spring, by her father's door.
"I shall sip as much of this water as the hollow of my hand will hold," said Miriam.
"I am leaving Rome in a few days; and the tradition goes, that a parting draught at the Fountain of Trevi insures the traveller's return, whatever obstacles and improbabilities may seem to beset him.Will you drink, Donatello?""Signorina, what you drink, I drink," said the youth.
They and the rest of the party descended some steps to the water's brim, and, after a sip or two, stood gazing at the absurd design of the fountain, where some sculptor of Bernini's school had gone absolutely mad in marble.It was a great palace front, with niches and many bas-reliefs, out of which looked Agrippa's legendary virgin, and several of the allegoricsisterhood; while, at the base, appeared Neptune, with his floundering steeds, and Tritons blowing their horns about him, and twenty other artificial fantasies, which the calm moonlight soothed into better taste than was native to them.
And, after all, it was as magnificent a piece of work as ever human skill contrived.At the foot of the palatial facade was strewn, with careful art and ordered irregularity, a broad and broken heap of massive rock, looking is if it might have lain there since the deluge.Over a central precipice fell the water, in a semicircular cascade; and from a hundred crevices, on all sides, snowy jets gushed up, and streams spouted out of the mouths and nostrils of stone monsters, and fell in glistening drops; while other rivulets, that had run wild, came leaping from one rude step to another, over stones that were mossy, slimy, and green with sedge, because, in a Century of their wild play, Nature had adopted the Fountain of Trevi, with all its elaborate devices, for her own.Finally, the water, tumbling, sparkling, and dashing, with joyous haste and never-ceasing murmur, poured itself into a great marble-brimmed reservoir, and filled it with a quivering tide; on which was seen, continually, a snowy semicircle of momentary foam from the principal cascade, as well as a multitude of snow points from smaller jets.The basin occupied the whole breadth of the piazza, whence flights of steps descended to its border.A boat might float, and make voyages from one shore to another in this mimic lake.
