The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 2, August, 1862: Devoted to Literature and National Policy — John Shaqi
The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 2, August, 1862: Devoted to Literature and National PolicyVarious
History
The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 2, August, 1862: Devoted to Literature and National Policy
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; United States -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Periodicals
'Well,' said Rocjean, as he halted in front of the ruined house, and
looked carefully at the ornamented stones still left, 'when Saint
Peter's church shall be a circus, this house shall be a shrine.'
'That being the state of the case,' spoke Caper, 'let us walk up to the
Trevi fountain and see the effect by moonlight of its flashing waters,
and inhale the flavor of fried fish from the adjacent stands.'
They stood in front of the wild waters dashing, sparkling over the grand
mass of tumbled rocks reared behind the wall of a large palace. Neptune,
car, horses, tritons, all, stone as they were, seemed leaping into life
in the glittering rays of the moonlight, and the rush and splash of the
waters in the great basin below the street, contrasted with the silence
of the city, left a deep impression of largeness and force on the minds
of the two artists.
'Let us go down and drink the water, for he who drinks of it shall
return again to Rome!'
'With all my heart,' said Caper; 'for if the legend has one word of
truth in it, Garibaldi will be back again some _bello giorno_----'
'_Bello giorno_ means fine day; _giorno di bello_ means a day for war: I
drink to both!' spoke Rocjean, dipping water up in his hand.
They returned to the street, and were walking toward the Piazza di
Spagna, when they overtook two well-dressed men evidently none the
better for too much wine. As they passed them, one of the men said to
the other:
'J-im! I don't see but what we-we-'ll have to r-r-roost out-tall night.
I don't know 'ny 'talian, _you_ don't know 'ny 'talian, we-we-'re
nonpl'sh'd, I'm th-think'ng.'
'Ary borry boutere spikinglish?' said the other one to the two artists,
as they were walking on.
'Yes,' said Caper, 'four of 'em. If you've lost your way we'll set you
right. Where's your hotel?'
''Tel? Why, 'Tel Europe p'aza Spanya. Are you English?'
'No, sir! I'm an American born, bred and--buttered,' said Caper.
'B-bullyf'ryou! We'resame spishies--allrite--d-driv'on!'
'Look here,' said the one of the two men who was least tipsy, 'if this
tother g-gen'leman and I could stick our heads into c-cold water we'd
come out tall right.'
'It's only a block or two back to the Trevi fountain,' answered Caper,
'and if your friend will go with you, you'll find water enough there.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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