Mark Twain's sketches, new and old now first published in complete form |
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 | THE CAPITOLINE VENUS. |
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 | Mark Twain's sketches, new and old |  |
THE CAPITOLINE VENUS.
1. CHAPTER I.
[Scene—An Artist's Studio in Rome.]
“OH, George, I do love you!”
“Bless your dear heart, Mary, I know
that—why is your father so obdurate?”
“George, he means well, but art is folly to
him—he only understands groceries. He
thinks you would starve me.”
“Confound his wisdom—it savors of inspiration.
Why am I not a money-making,
bowelless grocer, instead of a divinely-gifted
sculptor with nothing to eat?”
“Do not despond, Georgy, dear—all his prejudices will fade away as soon as
you shall have acquired fifty thousand dol—”
“Fifty thousand demons! Child, I am in arrears for my board!”
2. CHAPTER II.
[Scene—A Dwelling in Rome.]
“My dear sir, it is useless to talk. I haven't anything against you, but I can't
let my daughter marry a hash of love, art, and starvation—I believe you have
nothing else to offer.”
“Sir, I am poor, I grant you. But is fame nothing? The Hon. Bellamy Foodle,
of Arkansas, says that my new statue of America is a clever piece of sculpture, and
he is satisfied that my name will one day be famous.”
“Bosh! What does that Arkansas ass know about it? Fame's nothing—the
market price of your marble scare-crow is the thing to look at. It took you six
months to chisel it, and you can't sell it for a hundred dollars. No, sir! Show
me fifty thousand dollars and you can have my daughter—otherwise she marries
young Simper. You have just six months to raise the money in. Good morning,
sir.”
“Alas! Woe is me!”
3. CHAPTER III.
[Scene—The Studio.]
“Oh, John, friend of my boyhood, I am the unhappiest of men.”
“You're a simpleton!”
“I have nothing left to love but my poor statue of America—and see, even she
has no sympathy for me in her cold marble countenance—so beautiful and so
heartless!”
“You're a dummy!”
“Oh, John!”
“Oh, fudge! Didn't you say you had six months to raise the money in?”
“Don't deride my agony, John. If I had six centuries what good would it do?
How could it help a poor wretch without name, capital or friends?”
“Idiot! Coward! Baby! Six months to raise the money in—and five will do!”
“Are you insane?”
“Six months—an abundance. Leave it to me. I'll raise it.”
“What do you mean, John? How on earth can you raise such a monstrous sum
for me?”
“Will you let that be my business, and not meddle? Will you leave the thing
in my hands? Will you swear to submit to whatever I do? Will you pledge me
to find no fault with my actions?”
“I am dizzy—bewildered—but I swear.”
John took up a hammer and deliberately smashed the nose of America! He
made another pass and two of her fingers fell to the floor—another, and part of an
ear came away—another, and a row of toes was mangled and dismembered—
another, and the left leg, from the knee down, lay a fragmentary ruin!
John put on his hat and departed.
George gazed speechless upon the battered and grotesque nightmare before him
for the space of thirty seconds, and then wilted to the floor and went into convulsions.
John returned presently with a carriage, got the broken-hearted artist and the
the artist at his lodgings, and drove off and disappeared down the Via Quirinalis
with the statue.
4. CHAPTER IV.
[Scene—The Studio.]
“The six months will be up at two o'clock to-day! Oh, agony! My life is
blighted. I would that I were dead. I had no supper yesterday. I have had no
breakfast to-day. I dare not enter an eating-house. And hungry?—don't mention
it! My bootmaker duns me to death—my tailor duns me—my landlord haunts
me. I am miserable. I haven't seen John since that awful day. She smiles on
me tenderly when we meet in the great thoroughfares, but her old flint of a father
makes her look in the other direction in short order. Now who is knocking at
that door? Who is come to persecute me? That malignant villain the bootmaker,
I'll warrant. Come in!”
“Ah, happiness attend your highness—Heaven be propitious to your grace! I
have brought my lord's new boots—ah, say nothing about the pay, there is no hurry,
none in the world. Shall be proud if my noble lord will continue to honor me with
his custom—ah, adieu!”
“Brought the boots himself! Don't want his pay! Takes his leave with a bow
and a scrape fit to honor majesty withal! Desires a continuance of my custom!
Is the world coming to an end? Of all the—come in!”
“Pardon, signor, but I have brought your new suit of clothes for—”
“Come in!!”
“A thousand pardons for this intrusion, your worship! But I have prepared
the beautiful suite of rooms below for you—this wretched den is but ill suited
to—”
“Come in!!!”
“I have called to say that your credit at our bank, sometime since unfortunately
interrupted, is entirely and most satisfactorily restored, and we shall be most happy
if you will draw upon us for any—”
“Come in!!!!”
“My noble boy, she is yours! She'll be here in a moment! Take her—marry
her—love her—be happy!—God bless you both! Hip, hip, hur—”
“COME IN!!!!!”
“Oh, George, my own darling, we are saved!”
“Oh, Mary, my own darling, we are saved—but I'll swear I don't know why nor
how!”
5. CHAPTER V.
[Scene—A Roman Café.]
One of a group of Amercan gentlemen reads and translates from the weekly
edition of Il Slangwhanger di Roma as follows:
“Wonderful Discovery!—Some six months ago Signor John Smitthe, an American gentleman
now some years a resident of Rome, purchased for a trifle a small piece of ground in the Campagna,
just beyond the tomb of the Scipio family, from the owner, a bankrupt relative of the Princess
Borghese. Mr. Smitthe afterwards went to the Minister of the Public Records and had the piece
of ground transferred to a poor American artist named George Arnold, explaining that he did it as
payment and satisfaction for pecuniary damage accidentally done by him long since upon property
belonging to Signor Arnold, and further observed that he would make additional satisfaction by
improving the ground for Signor A., at his own charge and cost. Four weeks ago, while making
some necessary excavations upon the property, Signor Smitthe unearthed the most remarkable
ancient statue that has ever been added to the opulent art treasures of Rome. It was an exquisite
figure of a woman, and though sadly stained by the soil and the mould of ages, no eye can look
unmoved upon its ravishing beauty. The nose, the left leg from the knee down, an ear, and also
the toes of the right foot and two fingers of one of the hands, were gone, but otherwise the noble
figure was in a remarkable state of preservation. The government at once took military possession
of the statue, and appointed a commission of art critics, antiquaries and cardinal princes of the
church to assess its value and determine the remuneration that must go to the owner of the ground
in which it was found. The whole affair was kept a profound secret until last night. In the meantime
the commission sat with closed doors, and deliberated. Last night they decided unanimously
that the statue is a Venus, and the work of some unknown but sublimely gifted artist of the third
century before Christ. They consider it the most faultless work of art the world has any knowledge
of.
“At midnight they held a final conference and decided that the Venus was worth the enormous
sum of ten million francs! In accordance with Roman law and Roman usage, the government
being half owner in all works of art found in the Campagna, the State has naught to do but pay
five million francs to Mr. Arnold and take permanent possession of the beautiful statue. This
morning the Venus will be removed to the Capitol, there to remain, and at noon the commission
will wait upon Signor Arnold with His Holiness the Pope's order upon the Treasury for the princely
sum of five million francs in gold.”
Chorus of Voices.—“Luck! It's no name for it!”
Another Voice.—“Gentlemen, I propose that we immediately form an American
joint-stock company for the purchase of lands and excavations of statues, here,
with proper connections in Wall Street to bull and bear the stock.”
All.—“Agreed.”
6. CHAPTER VI.
[Scene—The Roman Capitol Ten Years Later.]
“Dearest Mary, this is the most celebrated statue in the world. This is the
renowned `Capitoline Venus' you've heard so much about. Here she is with her
little blemishes `restored' (that is, patched) by the most noted Roman artists—
and the mere fact that they did the humble patching of so noble a creation will
make their names illustrious while the world stands. How strange it seems—this
place! The day before I last stood here, ten happy years ago, I wasn't a rich man
—bless your soul, I hadn't a cent. And yet I had a good deal to do with making
Rome mistress of this grandest work of ancient art the world contains.”
“The worshipped, the illustrious Capitoline Venus—and what a sum she is
valued at! Ten millions of francs!”
“Yes—now she is.”
“And oh, Georgy, how divinely beautiful she is!”
“Ah, yes—but nothing to what she was before that blessed John Smith broke
her leg and battered her nose. Ingenious Smith!—gifted Smith—noble Smith!
Author of all our bliss! Hark! Do you know what that wheeze means? Mary,
that cub has got the whooping cough. Will you never learn to take care of the
children!”
THE END.
The Capitoline Venus is still in the Capitol at Rome, and is still the most charming
and most illustrious work of ancient art the world can boast of. But if ever it
shall be your fortune to stand before it and go into the customary ecstacies over it,
don't permit this true and secret history of its origin to mar your bliss—and when
you read about a gigantic Petrified Man being dug up near Syracuse, in the State
of New York, or near any other place, keep your own counsel,—and if the Barnum
that buried him there offers to sell to you at an enormous sum, don't you buy. Send
him to the Pope!”
Note.—The above sketch was written at the time the famous swindle of the “Petrified Giant”
was the sensation of the day in the United States.
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