We are dining with l'Oncle Alphonse who will give us all the news of the day, and the opinion of the "Union."

PART II

ITALY REVISITED

_To H. L. K._

ROME, Friday, February 12, 1904.

It seems so strange to be back here, dear, after twenty-four years, and to find Rome so changed, so unchanged. The new quarter, an absolutely new modern city, might be Wiesbaden, or Neuilly, or any cheerful resort of retired business men who build hideous villas with all sorts of excrescences--busts, vases, and plaques of bright-coloured majolica--and the old city with the dirty little winding streets going toward St.

Peter's exactly the same; almost the same little ragged, black-eyed children playing in the gutters.

We had a most comfortable journey down. Hardly any one in the sleeping-car but ourselves, so we all had plenty of room. It was a bright, beautiful morning when we got to Modane--the mountains covered with snow, and the fresh keen wind blowing straight from the glaciers was enchanting after a night in the sleeping-car. They are frightfully overheated. I had some difficulty in persuading the attendant to open my window for the night; however, as I was alone in my compartment, he finally agreed, merely saying he would come and shut it when we pa.s.sed through the great tunnel. We dined at the buffet at Genoa, and it didn't seem natural not to ask for the Ala.s.sio train. The station was crowded, the Roman train too--they put on extra carriages. We got to Rome about 9.30. I had been ready since 6.30, eagerly watching to get a glimpse of St. Peter's. I had visions of Civita Vecchia and running along by the sea in the early morning.

I was quite awake, but I didn't see St. Peter's until we were quite near Rome. We ran through long, level stretches of Campagna, with every now and then a great square building that had been probably a mediaeval castle, but was now a farm--sheep and cattle wandering out of the old gateway, and those splendid big white oxen that one sees all over the Campagna--some shepherds' huts with their pointed thatched roofs dotted about, but nothing very picturesque or striking. We pa.s.sed close to San Paolo Fuori le Mura, with the Testaccio quite near. We paid ourselves compliments when we arrived at the station for having made our long journey so easily and pleasantly. No one was tired and no one was bored.

Between us all (we were four women) we had plenty of provisions and Bessie[30] and Mme. de Bailleul were most successful with their afternoon tea, with delicious American cake, that Bessie had brought over in the steamer.

[30] Marquise de Talleyrand-Perigord, nee Curtis.

After all, Josephine[31] finds she has room for me and my maid, which of course is infinitely pleasanter for me than being at the hotel. Her house is charming--not one of the old palaces, but plenty of room and thoroughly Italian. The large red salon I delight in; it couldn't exist anywhere else but in Rome, with its red silk walls, heavy gilt furniture, pictures, and curious bits of old carving and majolica. It opens into a delightful music-room with fine frescoes on the walls (a beautiful bit of colour), and beyond that there is a small salon where we usually sit.

[31] Princess di Poggio-Suasa, nee Curtis.

She has a picture there of her husband, Don Emanuele Ruspoli (late syndic of Rome), which has rather taken possession of me. It is such a handsome, spirited face, energetic and rather imperious--he looks a born ruler of men, and I believe he was. They say Rome was never so well governed as in his time. He was one of the first of the young Roman n.o.bles who emanc.i.p.ated themselves from the papal rule. As quite a youth he ran away from college and entered the Italian army as a simple soldier, winning his grade as captain on the battle-field. He was a loyal and devoted servant of the House of Savoy, and took a prominent part in all the events which ended in proclaiming Victor Emanuel King of Italy, with Rome his capital.

This quarter, Piazza Barberini, is quite new to me. It used to seem rather far off in the old days when we came to see the Storys in the Barberini Palace, but now it is quite central. The great new street--Via Veneto--runs straight away from the Piazza, past the Church of the Cappucini--you will remember the vaults with all the dead monks standing about--the Palace of the Queen Mother, and various large hotels, to Porta Pinciana. Just the other side of the road is the new gate opening into the Villa Borghese. I rather lost myself there the first day I prowled about alone. It was raining, but I wanted some air, and turned into the Via Veneto, which is broad and clean. I walked quite to the end, and then came to the Porta Pinciana, crossed the road, and found myself in a beautiful villa. I didn't come upon any special landmark until I got near the Museum, which, of course, looked quite familiar.

However, I was bewildered and hailed a pa.s.sing groom to inquire where I was, and even when he told me could scarcely believe it. I had never gone into the Villa Borghese except by the Piazza del Popolo. They have made extraordinary changes since the Government has bought it--opened out new roads and paths, planted quant.i.ties of trees and flowers, and cleaned up and trimmed in every direction. It will be a splendid promenade in the heart of the city, but no longer the old Villa Borghese we used to know, with ragged, unkempt corners, and little paths in out-of-the-way places, so choked up with weeds and long gra.s.s that one could hardly get through.

I haven't quite got my bearings yet, and for the first three or four mornings I took myself down to the Piazza di Spagna, and started from there. There, too, there are changes--new houses and shops (I was glad to see old Spithoever in the same place) and a decided look of business and modern life. There were not nearly so many people doing nothing, lounging about, leaning on the "barca," or playing mora on the Spanish Steps. All the botte were still standing in the middle of the street, the coachmen smiling, cracking their whips, and making frantic little dashes across the piazza whenever they saw an unwary stranger who might want a cab.

The Spanish Steps looked beautiful, glowing with colour--pink, yellow, and that soft grey tint that the Roman stones take in the sunlight. All the lower steps are covered with flower stalls (they are not allowed any longer scattered all over the piazza), and most picturesque they looked--daffodils, mimosa, and great bunches of peach-blossoms which were very effective. There were very few models in costume sitting about; a few children playing some sort of game with stones, which they interrupted to run after the forestieri and ask for a "piccolo soldo" (a penny), and one or two old men with long white beards--might have done for models of the apostles or Joseph in the flight into Egypt--wrapped in their wonderful long green cloaks, sitting in the sun. There is one novelty--an "ascenseur." I haven't been in it yet, but I shall try it some day. One must get accustomed to many changes in the Rome of to-day.

I recognised some of the houses at the top of the steps--the corner one between Vias Sistina and Gregoriana, where the Rodmans used to live one year, and where we have dined so often, sitting on the round balcony and seeing the moon rise over the Pincio.

I walked home the other day by the Via Sistina to the Piazza Barberini, and that part seemed to me absolutely unchanged. The same little open mosaic shops, with the workmen dressed in white working at the door--almost in the street. In one shop they were just finishing a table, putting in countless bits of coloured marble (some of them very small). It was exactly like the one we brought from Rome many years ago, which stands now in Francis's smoking-room. There was of course the inevitable jeweller's shop, with crosses and brooches of dull yellow Roman gold and mosaic, and silk shops with Roman silk scarfs, and a sort of coa.r.s.e lace which I have seen everywhere. In the middle of the street a miserable wrinkled old woman, her face mahogany colour, attired in a red skirt with a green handkerchief on her head, was skirmishing with a band of dirty little children, who had apparently upset her basket of roast chestnuts, and were making off with as many as they could find, pursued by her shrill cries and "maledizioni."

We went out in the open carriage yesterday, and drove all around Rome leaving cards--finished with a turn in the Villa Borghese and Pincio. It was too late for the Villa--almost every one had gone, and one felt the chill strike one on going into the thick shade after coming out of the bright sun in the Piazza del Popolo. We crossed Queen Margherita at the gate. She looked so handsome--the black is very becoming and threw out well her fair hair and skin. She was driving in a handsome carriage--the servants in mourning. One lady was with her--another carriage and two cyclists following. All the people bowed and looked so pleased to see her, and her bow and smile of acknowledgment were charming.

We made a short turn in the Villa and then went on to the Pincio, which was crowded. There were some very handsome, stately Roman equipages, plenty of light victorias, a few men driving themselves in very high phaetons, and the inevitable botta with often three youths on the one seat. The carriages didn't draw up--the ladies holding a sort of reception as in our days, when all the "gilded youth" used to sit on the steps of the victorias and surround the carriages of the pretty women.

They tell me the present generation comes much less to the Villa Borghese and Pincio. They are much more sporting--ride, drive automobiles and play golf. There are two golf clubs now--one at Villa Pamphili Doria, the other at Aqua Santa. Every time we go out on the Campagna we meet men with golf clubs and rackets.

Monday I prowled about in the morning, always making the same round--Via Sistina and the Spanish Steps. The lame man at the top of the steps knows me well now, and we always exchange a cheerful good morning.

Sometimes I give him some pennies and sometimes I don't, but he is always just as smiling when I don't give him anything.

In the afternoon Madame de B. and I went for a drive and a little sight-seeing. She wanted a bottle of eucalyptus from the monks at Tre Fontane, so we took in San Paolo Fuori le Mura on our way. The drive out is charming--a few dirty little streets at first--past the Theatre of Marcellus, which looks blacker and grimmer, if possible, than when I last saw it--and then some distance along the river. There are great changes---high buildings, quays, boats, carts with heavy stones and quant.i.ties of workmen--really quite an air of a busy port--busy of course in a modified sense, as no Roman ever looks as if he were working hard, and there are always two or three looking on, and talking, for every one who works--however, there is certainly much more life in the streets and the city looks prosperous.

The great new Benedictine Monastery of Sant' Anselmo stands splendidly on the heights (Aventine) to the left, also the walls and garden of the Knights of Malta. The garden, with its long shady walks, between rows of tall cypress trees, looked most inviting. We left the Testaccio and Protestant Cemetery on our right and followed a long file of carriages evidently going, too, to San Paolo. That of course looked exactly the same--an enormous modern building with a wealth of splendid marble columns inside. The proportions and great s.p.a.ces are very fine, and there was a brilliant effect of light and colour (as every column is different). Some of the red-pink was quite beautiful, but it is not in the least like a church--not at all devotional. One can't imagine any poor weary souls kneeling on that slippery, shining marble pavement and pouring out their hearts in prayer. It is more like a great hall or academy. We went out into the quiet of the cloisters, which are interesting, some curious old tombs and statues, but small for such a huge basilica--always the square green plot in the centre with a well.

We had some difficulty in making our way to the carriage through a perfect army of boys and men selling photographs, postal cards, mosaic pins with views of the church, etc., also bits of marble, giallo antico, porphyry and a piece of dark marble, almost black, which had come from the Marmorata close by.

We went on to the Tre Fontane, about half an hour's drive--real country, quite charming. We didn't see the churches until we were quite close to them--they are almost hidden by the trees. I never should have recognised the place. The eucalyptus trees which the monks were just beginning to plant when we were here before have grown up into a fine avenue. They were cutting and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g them, and the ground was covered with great branches making a beautiful green carpet with a strong perfume. Various people were looking on and almost every one carried off a branch of eucalyptus. We did too, and one is now hanging over the bed in my room. It is supposed to be very healthy. It has a very strong odour--to me very agreeable.

A service was going on in one of the churches, the monks singing a low monotonous chant, and everything was so still; one was so shut in by the trees that the outside world, Rome and the Corso might have been miles away. We went into the church to see the three fountains built into the wall. Tradition says that when St. Paul was executed his head bounded three times and at each place a fountain sprang up. A tall young monk was going about with some seminarists explaining the legend to them.

They were listening with rapt attention and drinking reverently at each fountain.

We went into the little farmacia and found there a German monk who was much pleased when he found we could speak German. He told us there were 90 monks there, and that the place was perfectly healthy--not as when they began their work, when many died of fever. We each bought a bottle of eucalyptus, and were sorry to come away. The light was fading--the eucalyptus avenue looked dark and mysterious, and the low chant of the monks was still going on.

We went to a beautiful ball in the evening at the Brancaccios'. They built their palace--which is enormous--has a fine marble staircase (which showed off the women's long trailing skirts splendidly) and quant.i.ties of rooms filled with beautiful things. I didn't take them all in as I was so much interested in the people, but Bessie has promised to take me all over the palace some morning.

To-day we have been to the Brancaccio garden. It was a beautiful bright morning, so Bessie Talleyrand proposed we should drive up and stroll about there. We telephoned to Brancaccio, who said he would meet us in the garden. You can't imagine anything more enchanting than that beautiful southern garden in the heart of Rome. We drove through the court-yard and straight up the hill to a little bridge that connects the garden with Mrs. Field's old apartment. Mrs. Field really made the garden (and loved it always). When they bought the ground it was simply an "orto" or field, and now it is a paradise filled with every possible variety of trees and flowers. It seems that wherever she saw a beautiful tree she immediately asked what it was and where it came from, and then had some sent to her from no matter where. Of course hundreds were lost--the journey, change of soil, transplanting them, etc., but hundreds remain and the effect is marvellous. Splendid tall palms from Bordighera, little delicate shrubs from America and Canada all growing and thriving side by side in the beautiful Roman garden. There is a fine broad allee which goes straight down from the winter garden to the end of the grounds with the Colosseum as background. It is planted on each side with green oaks, and between them rows of orange and mandarin trees--the branches heavy with the fruit. We picked delicious, ripe, warm mandarins from the trees, and eat them as we were strolling along.

It was too early for the roses, of which there are thousands in the season--one saw the plants twining around all the trees. There are all sorts of ruins and old walls in the garden, baths of t.i.tus, Sette Celle, and one comes unexpectedly, in odd corners, upon fine old bits of carving and wall which have no name now, but which certainly have had a history.

The sky was a deep blue over our heads, and the trees so thick, that the ugly new buildings which skirt one side of the garden are almost completely hidden. It was a pleasure just to sit on a bench and live--the air was so soft, and the garden smell so delicious.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Barberini Palace.

The residence of the Storys.]

After breakfast I went out early with Josephine--leaving of course some cards first--after that we took a turn on the Pincio, which was basking in the sunshine (but quite deserted at that hour except by nurses and children), and then drove out toward the Villa Pamphili. The road was so familiar, and yet so different. The same steep ascent to the Janiculum with the beggars and cripples of all ages running alongside the carriage and holding out withered arms and maimed limbs--awful to see. The road is much wider--more of a promenade, trees and flowers planted all along.

The fountains of San Pietro in Montorio looked beautiful--such a rush of bright, dancing water. We drove through the Villa Corsini--quite new since my time--a beautiful drive, and drew up on the terrace just under the equestrian statue of Garibaldi from where there is a splendid view--the whole city of Rome at our feet, seen through a warm, grey mist that made even the ugly staring white and yellow houses of the new quarter look picturesque. They lost themselves in a charming ensemble. St. Peter's looked very near but always a little veiled by the haze which made the great ma.s.s more imposing. We looked straight across the city to the Campagna--all the well-known monuments--Cecilia Metella, aqueducts and the various tombs scattered along the Via Appia were quite distinct. The statue of the great revolutionary leader seemed curiously out of place. I should have preferred almost the traditional wolf with the two little boys sucking in her milk. We couldn't stay very long as we had a tea at home. We met many people and carriages going up as we came down, as it was the day for the Villa Pamphili, which is open to the public twice a week.

We went to a ball at the Storys' in the evening, and as we went up the great staircase of the Barberini Palace (the steps so broad and shallow that one could drive up in a light carriage) finishing with the steep little flight quite at the top which leads directly to the Story apartment, I could hardly realize how many years had pa.s.sed since I had first danced in these same rooms, and that I shouldn't find the charming, genial maitre de maison of my youth who made his house such an interesting centre. I think one of Mr. Story's greatest charms was his absolute simplicity, his keen interest in everything and his sympathy with younger men who were still fighting the great battle of life which he had brought to such a triumphant close. His son, Waldo Story,[32] who has inherited his father's talent, keeps up the hospitable traditions of the house.

[32] The well-known sculptor.

The ball was very animated--all the young dancing Rome was there.

Monday, February 15th.

I am alone this morning--the others have gone to the meet at Cecchignola fuori Porta San Sebastiano. I should have liked to go for the sake of old times, but I was rather tired, and have the court ball to-night.

Last night I had a pleasant dinner at Count Vitali's. He has bought the Bandini palace, and made it, of course, most comfortable and modern. The rooms are beautiful--the splendid proportions and great s.p.a.ce one only sees now in Rome in the old palaces. The dinner was for M. Nisard (French Amba.s.sador to the Vatican), but it wasn't altogether Black.

There were one of the Queen's ladies and one or two secretaries from the Quirinal emba.s.sies. The line between the two parties is not nearly so sharply drawn as when I was here so many years ago. A few people came in the evening. Among the first to appear was Cardinal Vincenzo Vannutelli, whom I was delighted to see again. It is long since I have seen a cardinal in all the bravery of his red robes and large jewelled cross, and for the first time I felt as if I were back in old Rome. We had a nice talk and plunged into Moscow and all the coronation festivities. I told him I was very anxious to see the Pope, which he said could easily be arranged. Nisard, too, was charming--said I should have an audience speciale as ancienne amba.s.sadrice. I waited to see the cardinal go with all the usual ceremonies for a prince of the Church. Two big footmen with flambeaux and tall candles escorted him to his carriage. The cardinal came alone, which surprised me. I thought they always had an attendant--a sort of ecclesiastical aide-de-camp.

Sat.u.r.day Marquise de Bailleul and I were received by the Queen. Our audience was at four. I went for her a little before. We drove straight to the Quirinal, the great entrance on the piazza. Two swell porters were at the door, but no guards nor soldiers visible anywhere. We went up the grand staircase, where there was a red carpet and plenty of flowers, but no servants on the steps. The doors of a large anteroom at the top of the stairs were open, and there were four footmen in powder, culottes, and royal red liveries, and three or four men in black. We left our wraps. I wore my grey velvet and Marquise de Bailleul was in black with a handsome sable cape (which she was much disgusted at leaving). We went at once into a large room, where the dame de palais de service was waiting for us. She had a list in her hand, came forward at once and named herself, d.u.c.h.esse d'Arscoli, said she supposed I was Madame Waddington. I introduced Marquise de Bailleul. The gentleman also came up and said a few words. There were one or two other ladies in the room, evidently waiting their turn. In a few minutes the door into the next room opened and two ladies came out. The d.u.c.h.ess went in, remained a second, then coming back, waved us in. She didn't come in herself, didn't announce us, and shut the door behind us. We found ourselves in a large, rather bare room, with no trace of habitation--I fancy it is only used for official receptions. The Queen was standing at a table about the middle of the room. She is tall, dark, with fine eyes and a pretty smile. We made our two curtseys--hadn't time for the third, as she advanced a step, shook hands, and made us sit down. The visit didn't last very long. I fancy she was rather tired, as evidently she had been receiving a good many people, and was probably bored at having to make phrases to utter strangers she might never see again. We had the usual royal questions as to our children. As I only had _one_ child my conversation on that subject soon came to an end, but Marquise de Bailleul has three small ones, so she got on swimmingly. The Queen talked very prettily and simply about her own children, and the difficulty of keeping them natural and unspoiled; said people gave them such beautiful presents--all sorts of wonderful mechanical toys which they couldn't appreciate. One thing she said was rather funny--that the present they liked best was a rag doll the American Amba.s.sadress had brought them from America.

As soon as we came out other people went in. I fancy all the strangers asked to the ball had to be presented first to the Queen. I think the London rule was rather simpler. There the strangers were always presented at supper, when the Princess of Wales made her "cercle."

We went to a ball in the evening at Baron Pasetti's (Austrian Amba.s.sador to the Quirinal). They have a fine apartment in the Palazzo Chigi. I remembered the rooms quite well, just as they were in the old days when Wimpffen was Amba.s.sador. The hall was most brilliant--all Rome there.

The Pasettis are going away, and will be much regretted. I think he is rather delicate and has had enough of public life. I hadn't seen him since Florence, when we were all young, and life was then a succession of summer days--long afternoons in the villas, with roses hanging over the walls, and evenings on the balcony, with nightingales singing in the garden and the scent of flowers in the air, "der goldener Zeit der jungen Liebe" (the golden days of young love).

Sunday Bessie and I went to the American church. Dr. Nevin is still away. The church is large, but was quite full--there are evidently many Americans in Rome. The great mosaics over the altar were given by Mrs.

Field.