Josephine had a large dinner in the evening for the Grand d.u.c.h.ess and Cardinal Vannutelli. It was very easy and pleasant, and we all wore our little fichus most correctly as long as the Cardinal was there (they never stay very long), but were glad to let them slip off as soon as he went away, for we had a great many people in the evening and the rooms were warm. I had rather an interesting talk with an old Italian friend (not a Roman) over the tremendous influx of strangers and Italians from all parts of Italy to Rome. He says au fond the Romans hate it--they liked the old life very much better--they were of much more importance; it meant something then to be a Roman prince. Now, with all the Northern Italians, Court people and double Diplomatic Corps Rome has become too cosmopolitan. People amuse themselves, and dance and hunt, and give dinners at the Grand Hotel and trouble themselves very little about the old Roman families (particularly those who have lost money and don't receive any more). The Romans have a feeling of being put aside in their own place.

It was beautiful this morning, so I took my convenient tram again and went over to see the pictures of the Vatican. Such a typical peasant couple were in the tram, evidently just down from the mountains, as they were looking about at everything, and were rather nervous when the tram made a sudden stop. The woman (young and rather pretty) had on a bright blue skirt, a white shirt with a red corset over it, a pink flowered ap.r.o.n, green fichu on her head, and long gold ear-rings with a coral centre. The man, a big broad-shouldered fellow, had the long cloak with the cape lined with green that the men all wear here, and a slouched hat drawn low down over his brows. They got out at St. Peter's and went into the church. I went around by the Colonnade as I was going to the pictures. There were lots of people on the stairs. It certainly is a good stiff pull up.

I stayed about an hour looking at the pictures--all hanging exactly where I had always seen them, except the Sposalizio of St. Catherine, which was on an easel near the window; some one evidently copying it. I was quite horrified coming back through the Stanze by some English people--three women--who were calmly lunching in one corner of the room.

They were all seated, eating sandwiches out of a paper bag, and drinking out of a large green bottle. Everybody stopped and looked at them, and they didn't mind at all. The gardien was looking on like all the rest. I was so astounded at his making no remarks that I said to him, surely such a thing is forbidden; to which he replied smilingly: "No--no, non fanno male a nessnno--non fanno niente d'indecente" (No, they are doing no harm to any one, they are doing nothing indecent). That evidently was quite true; but I must say I think it required a certain courage to continue their repast with all the public looking on, giggling and criticising freely.

I dined this evening with Malcolm Kahn--Persian Minister--and an old colleague of ours in London. It was very pleasant--General Brusatti, one of the King's Aides-de-Camp, took me in, and I had Comte Greppi, ancien Amba.s.sadeur, on the other side. Greppi is marvellous--really a very old man, but as straight as an arrow, and remembering everybody. t.i.ttone, Minister of Foreign Affairs, was there, but I wasn't near him at table, which I regretted, as I should have liked to talk to him.

Palm Sunday, March 27th.

Bessie and I went to the American church this morning, and afterward to the Grand Hotel to breakfast with some friends. The restaurant was crowded, so many people have arrived for Easter, and it was decidedly amusing--a great many pretty women and pretty dresses. It poured when we came away. We had all promised to go to an amateur performance of the Stabat Mater at the old Doria Palace in Piazza Navona. It was rather damp, with draughts in every direction, so Mrs. Law and I decided we would not stay to the end, but would go for a drive until it was time to go back to tea at the Grand Hotel (it is rather funny, the first month I was here I never put my foot in the Grand Hotel, and I was rather disappointed, as tea there in the Palm Garden with Tziganes playing, is one of the great features of modern Rome, and now I am there nearly every day). It was coming down in torrents when we came out of the concert, and a drive seemed insane, so I suggested a turn in St. Peter's (which is always a resource on a rainy day in Rome). That seemed difficult to accomplish, though, when we arrived at the steps--we couldn't have gone up those steps and across the wide s.p.a.ce at the top without getting completely soaked. However I remembered old times, and told the man to drive around to the Sagrestia. He protested, so did all the beggars around the steps, who wanted to open the door of the carriage. We couldn't get in--the door was shut, etc., but I thought we would try, so accordingly we drove straight to the Sagrestia. The door was open--a man standing there who opened the carriage door and told the coachman where to stand. I don't think I ever saw rain come down so hard, and so straight. It was very interesting walking through all the pa.s.sages at the back of St. Peter's, and into the church through the sacristy, where priests and children were robing and just starting for some service with tapers and palms in their hands. We followed the procession, and found ourselves just about in the middle of the church.

There were still draperies hanging on the columns and seats marked off.

There had been a ceremony of some kind in the morning, and a great many people were walking about. We stopped some little time at the great bronze statue of St. Peter. I was astounded at the quant.i.ty and quality of people who came up and kissed the toe of the Saint. Priests and nuns of course, and old people, both men and women, but it seemed extraordinary to me to see young men, tall, good-looking fellows, bend down quite as reverently as the others and kiss the toe. They were singing in one of the side chapels--we listened for a little while--and all over the church everywhere people kneeling on the pavement.

We went back to the Grand Hotel for tea, and dined with the young Ruspolis, who have a handsome apartment in the Colonna Palace. The dinner was for the Grand d.u.c.h.ess, and was pleasant enough. There was a small reception in the evening, and almost every one went afterward to Princesse Pallavicini's who receives on Sunday evening. I like the informal evening receptions here very much. It is a pleasant way of finishing the evening after a dinner, and so much more agreeable than the day receptions--at least you do see a few men in the evening--whereas they all fly from afternoons and teas. As every one receives there is always some house to go to.

Monday, March 28th.

I have had a nice solitary morning in the Forum, with my beloved Italian guide book, a little English brochure with a map of the princ.i.p.al sights, and occasional conversations with the workmen, of whom there are many, as they are excavating in every direction, and German tourists.

The Germans, I must say, are always extremely well up in antiquities, and quite ready to impart their information to others. They are a little long sometimes, but one usually finds that they know what they are talking about.

There are of course great changes since I have seen the Forum. They are excavating and working here all the time. The King takes a great interest in all that sort of work, and often appears, it seems, early in the morning and unexpectedly, when anything important is going on. The Basilica Julia (enormous) has been quite opened out since my day; and another large temple opposite is most interesting, with splendid bits left of marble pavement--some quite large squares of pink marble that were beautiful; and in various places quant.i.ties of coins melted and incrusted in the marble which looks as if the temple had been destroyed by a fire.

There was little shade anywhere. I hadn't the courage to walk in the sun as far as the Vestals' house, which is really most interesting. The recent excavations have brought to light so many rooms, pa.s.sages, frescoes, etc., that the ordinary, every-day life of the Vestal Virgins has been quite reconstructed. One could follow them in their daily avocations. From where I was sitting I could see some of the great statues--some of the figures in quite good preservation, two of them holding their lamps. I found a nice square stone, and sat there lazily taking in the enchanting views on all sides--the Palatine Hill behind me, the Capitol on one side, on the other the three enormous arches of the Temple of Constantine; at my feet the Via Sacra running straight away to the Colosseum, the sky a deep, soft blue throwing out every line and bit of sculpture on the countless pillars, temples and arches that spring up on all sides. From a height, the Palatine Hill, for instance, the Forum always looks to me like an enormous cemetery--one loses the impression of each separate building or ruin. It might be a street of tombs rather than the busy centre of a great city.

There were plenty of people going about--bands of Cook's tourists being personally conducted and instructed. If the gentleman who explains Roman history gives the same loose rein to his imagination as the one we used to hear in Versailles conducting the British public through the Historical Portrait Gallery, the present generation will have curious ideas as to the deeds of daring and wonderful rule of all the Augustuses and Vespasians who have made the Palace of the Caesars the keystone of magnificent and Imperial Rome; and again "unwritten history" will be responsible for many wonderful statements. However, I wasn't near enough to hear the explanations. People were still coming in when I left, and all the way home I met carriages filled with strangers.

We went out again rather late. I went for tea to Marchesa Vitelleschi, and before I came away Vitelleschi came in. I wanted to see him to thank him for sending me his book, a Roman novel, "Roma che se ne va."[34] It is very cleverly written, and an excellent picture of the Rome of 35 years ago, as we first knew it. I should think it would interest English and Americans very much, I wonder he hasn't translated it.

[34] Rome which is disappearing.

I found quite a party a.s.sembled in the little green salon when I got back--Don Guery, the Benedictine monk, who wishes to arrange a concert with Josephine for her charities, and M. Alphonse Mustel, who has just come from Paris with his beautiful organ. He arrived this morning early and hadn't yet found a room anywhere--all the hotels crowded. They say that for years they haven't had so many strangers for Holy Week. He is coming to play here Thursday afternoon.

We had a quiet evening, and after dinner Mr. Virgo read to us the book I am so mad about, "The Call of the Wild." He read extremely well, and I liked the book even better hearing it read. It is a marvellous description of that wild life in the Klond.y.k.e, and a beautiful poetical strain all through. The children listened attentively, were wildly interested, particularly when poor Buck was made to drag the sledge so heavily loaded, for his master to win his bet. We also want to read Cardinal Mathieu's article in the "Revue des Deux Mondes," "Les derniers jours de Leon XIII."; but we have so rarely a quiet evening, and in the daytime every one is out in the beautiful Roman sunshine.

We have all come upstairs early (ten o'clock) so I am profiting of a quiet hour to write, as I can't go to bed so early. This street is rather noisy. It is on the way to the station and some of the big hotels. Cabs and big omnibuses go through it all day and all night. I don't mind the noise. I rather like the roar of a big city--it means life.

Thursday, March 31st.

It is pouring to-day, and we have been out all day. I went to church this morning, but didn't get too wet with a thick serge dress and umbrella; then to breakfast at the Grand Hotel with some friends, and an excursion to the Palace of the Caesars in prospect, under the guidance of Mr. Baddeley, who is an authority on all Roman antiquities and a great friend of Boni's. It rained so hard when we were sitting in the Palm Garden for coffee, that it seemed impossible the drops shouldn't come through, and we looked to see if little puddles were not forming themselves on the floor under our chairs, but no, it was quite dry.

We started in shut carriages, thinking we would try for the Palace of the Caesars, where we could get refuge, but it was shut, so we went on to San Giovanni in Laterano, and had an interesting hour wandering about the church. Our guide had old artistic Rome at his fingers' ends, and it certainly makes all the difference in seeing the curious old tombs and monuments when one has some idea as to who the people were, and what sort of lives they led. Mr. Baddeley said, like all the people who really live in Italy, that the summer was the time to see Rome; that no one could imagine what a Roman "festa" was unless he had seen one in the height of summer, when the whole population was out and in the streets all day and all night, in a frenzy of amus.e.m.e.nt. No priests were in the streets; a sort of tacit concession, or tolerance for just one or two occasions.

We came back here for tea, as M. Mustel had promised to play for us this afternoon, and Josephine had asked some of her friends. The organ sounded splendidly in her big music-room, where there is little furniture and no draperies to deaden the sound. He played of course extremely well, and brought out every sound of his instrument. Two preludes of Bach were quite beautiful; also the prelude of "Parsifal"--so much sound at times that it seemed an orchestra, and then again beautifully soft. We were all delighted with it.

People stayed rather late, but Bessie and I and Sir Donald Wallace, who had come to tea, started off to St. Peter's. It is the tradition in Rome to go to St. Peter's on Holy Thursday. In our time the whole city went--it was quite a promenade de societe. I believe they do still, but we were rather late. The church looked quite beautiful as we drove up--brilliantly lighted, the big doors open, quant.i.ties of people going up the steps and through a double line of _Italian_ soldiers into the church. The "Miserere" was over, but the chapel was still lighted, a good many people kneeling at the altar. The church was crowded, and every one pushing toward the grand altar, which was being washed. They were also exposing the relics from the two high balconies on each side of the altar. Many people were kneeling, and every now and then a procession came through the crowd of priests and choir-boys with banners, all chanting, and kneeling when they came near the altar--of course there was the usual collection of gaping, irreverent tourists, commenting audibly, and wondering if anybody really believed those were the actual nails that came out of the cross, or the thorn out of the Crown of Thorns, etc., etc., also "why are they making such a fuss washing their altar--why couldn't they do it this morning when no one was in the church."

We had some little difficulty in getting away, as the crowd was awful--getting worse every moment. It was beautiful when we did get out--the great Piazza quite black, a steady stream still pouring into the church. The lights from inside threw little bright spots on the gun-barrels and belts of the soldiers--the great ma.s.s of the Vatican quite black, with little lights twinkling high up in some of the windows.

I am decidedly tired and stiff--I think being rained upon all day and standing on damp pavements and in windy corners is rather a trial to any one with rheumatic tendencies--but I have enjoyed my day thoroughly, particularly the end at St. Peter's. It so reminded me of old times when we used to go to all the ceremonies, beginning with the "Pastorale" at Christmas time and finishing with the Easter Benediction and "Girandola."

We finished "The Call of the Wild" this evening, and now we must take something else. I should like the "Figlia di Jorio" of d'Annunzio. They say the Italian is quite beautiful, but the morals, I am afraid, are not of the same high order. I shall try and see it.

ROME, Sat.u.r.day, April 2, 1904.

It was bright yesterday, but cold. The snow was quite thick on the Sabine Hills--they looked beautiful as we drove out into the country through Porta San Giovanni before going to the church of Santa Croce in Jerusalemme, where Prince Colonna had asked us to come and see a curious ceremony--he himself carrying a cross at the head of a procession.

Bessie and I with the two children and the dog (we would have left him in the carriage) tried to see some of the churches and hear some music, but there were such crowds everywhere that we couldn't get in, so we took a drive instead. There was such a crowd at Santa Croce that we couldn't have got anywhere near the altar if we hadn't had a card from Colonna; that took us into the Sagrestia where they gave us chairs, and we sat there some little time watching all the "neri" (Blacks) a.s.semble.

They proposed to show us the relics to while away the time, so we were taken up a very steep staircase, along a narrow short pa.s.sage to a small room where they are kept. The priest lighted tapers, made his little prayer, and then unveiled his treasures. There were pieces of the Cross, a nail, St. Thomas's unbelieving finger, and the inscription on a piece of wood that was over the Cross, "Jesus King of the Jews." It was an old, blackened, almost rotten square, with the inscription in Latin, hardly legible, but the priest showed us some letters and numbers that were quite distinct.

When we got back again to the sacristy the procession was forming--a number of gentlemen dressed in black, with gold chains and crosses around their necks, and a long procession of monks, priests, and choristers. Colonna himself at the head, carrying quite simply a rather large wooden cross; all with tapers and all chanting. As soon as they had filed out of the sacristy we went upstairs again to a high balcony, from which we had a fine view of the church. It was packed with people, the crowd just opening enough to allow the procession to pa.s.s, which looked like a line of fire winding in and out. There was a short, simple service, and then all turned toward the balcony from where the relics were shown, every one in the church kneeling, as far as I could see. We came away before the end, and had great difficulty in getting through the crowd to our carriages.

This morning it was beautiful so we all started off early to the Wurts'

Villa (old Sciarra Villa) on the Janiculum. Just as we crossed the bridge the bells rang out the Hallelujah (the first time they had rung since Wednesday). They sounded beautiful, so joyous, a real Easter peal. We had a delightful hour in the garden of the Villa. There were armies of workmen in every direction, and the place will be a perfect Paradise. There are fine trees in the garden, ma.s.ses of rhododendrons, every description of palm, and of course flowers everywhere. The views were divine to-day--the Sabine Mountains with a great deal of snow, Soracte blue and solitary rising straight out of the Campagna, and the Abruzzi snow-topped in the distance. Mr. and Mrs. Wurts were there and showed us all the improvements they intend making.

After breakfast I walked about in the Via Sistina looking for some photographs. I wanted to find some of old Rome (at least Rome of 24 years ago) but that seemed hopeless. My artist friend had promised to look in some of his father's old portfolios and see what he could find, but he was not in a business frame of mind this afternoon. He was eating his dinner at his counter, his slouched hat on his head, which he didn't remove while I was talking to him. A young woman with her face tied up in a red fichu was stretched out on the floor behind the counter, sound asleep, her head on a pile of books; another over at the other end of the shop, her chair tilted back, talking sometimes to him and sometimes to people in the street. I suppose my eyes wandered to the one who was asleep, for he instantly said, "She is ill, tired, don't disturb her."

He said he hadn't found any old photographs, only one rather bad and half-effaced of Pio IX. I said I wanted one of Antonelli. "E morto lui."

I said I knew that, but he _had_ lived however once, and not so very long ago, and had been a person of some importance. He evidently didn't think it worth while to continue that conversation, and had certainly no intention of looking for any photographs for me that day. It was "festa"--Easter Eve--and work was over for him until Monday morning, so I was really obliged to go, he wishing me "buon giorno" and "buona Pasqua" quite cheerfully, without getting up or taking off his hat.

I came in to tea, as Mustel was to play. We had about 40 people, and he was much pleased at the way in which every one listened, and appreciated his instrument. Of course he plays it divinely and brings out every sound. Josephine had asked the Marquise Villa Marina to come and hear him. He naturally wants very much to play for Queen Margherita (who is a very good musician and plays the organ herself), and if the Marquise makes a good report the Queen will perhaps send for him to play for her.

Easter Sunday, April 3d.

It has been a beautiful day. Bessie and I went to the English church, which was crowded. We could only find seats quite at the bottom of the church, and those were chairs which had been brought in at the last moment. We went afterward to breakfast with the Wurts in their beautiful apartment. They had flowers everywhere (from their villa) and the rooms looked like a garden. We were quite a party--16--and stayed there talking and looking at everything until after three. Then we started for a drive. I wanted to go to the Protestant Cemetery and see the little mortuary chapel we built after father's death. Some one told me it was utterly uncared for, going to ruin. The gates were open as we drove up, a good many carriages waiting, and plenty of people walking about inside. It is a lovely, peaceful spot, so green and still, many fine trees, quant.i.ties of camellias, and violets on almost every grave. The chapel stood just as I remembered it--in the middle of the cemetery. It is in perfectly good order, and had evidently been used quite lately as there were wooden trestles to support a coffin, and bits of wreaths and stalks of flowers lying about. The two inscriptions, Latin on one side and English on the other, are both quite well preserved and legible. I wanted very much to see a guardian or director of the cemetery, but there was only a woman at the gate, who knew nothing, hadn't been there very long, in fact she knew nothing about the chapel, and showed me a room opening into the old cemetery (where Keats is buried) which looked more like a lumber room than anything else. There are some interesting monuments, one to Mrs. Story, quite simple and beautiful, an angel kneeling with folded wings. It was done by her husband, the last thing he did, his son told me. The old cemetery looks quite deserted, close under the great pyramid of Caius Cestius, the few graves quite uncared for, a general air of neglect, a fitting resting-place for the poor young poet whose profound discouragement will go down to posterity.

Every one goes to the grave and reads the melancholy inscription, "Here lies one whose name was writ in water."

It was such a lovely afternoon that we drove on to Tre Fontane. There, too, there were people. The churches were open, but there was no service going on; however the place has always a great charm. The tops of the eucalyptus trees were swaying in a little breeze, and the smell was stronger and more aromatic than when we were there the other day.

We have had a quiet evening, all of us, children and grown-ups, Protestants and Catholics, singing the English Easter Hymns. Josephine, who is a very strict Catholic, loves the English hymns, and certainly we can all sing "Christ the Lord is Risen To-day," for Easter is a fete for all the world. I am sorry I didn't go to St. Peter's this morning. I don't know that there was any special ceremony, but for the sake of old times I should have liked to have had my Easter and Hallelujah there.

I am writing rather under difficulties as the telephone is ringing furiously (it goes all day, as every one in the house uses it for everything). At the present moment Josephine seems conversing with "all manner of men"--the Marquise Villa Marina from the Queen's Palace, the padrone of the hotel where Mustel is staying, and one or two others. It seems Queen Margherita would like to have Mustel and his organ to-morrow night at the Palace; and has asked us three, Bessie, Josephine and me, to come. I am very glad for Mustel who wants so much to be heard by the Queen. He hopes to sell some of his organs here. They are not expensive, but so few people care about an organ of their own.

Wednesday, April 6th.

We had an interesting evening at the palace on Monday. I couldn't get there for the beginning, as I had a big dinner, and a very pleasant one, at the Iddings'. When I arrived I heard the music going on, but the Marquise de Villa Marina came to meet me in the corridor, and we walked up and down talking until the piece was over. I found a small party--the Queen, her mother, the d.u.c.h.ess of Genoa, and about fifteen or twenty people. The Queen was in black, with beautiful pearl necklace. She received me charmingly and was most kind and gracious to Mustel, saying she was so pleased to see a French artist, and taking great interest in his instrument. He played several times: Handel's grand aria, Bach, and the Marche des Pelerins from "Tannhauser," which sounded magnificent--quite an effect of orchestra.

About 11.30 there was a pause. The d.u.c.h.ess of Genoa came over and talked to me a little, saying she had known my husband and followed his career with great interest, his English origin and education making him quite different from the usual run of French statesmen. She also spoke of my sister-in-law, Madame de Bunsen, whom she had known formerly in Florence. She exchanged a few words with the other ladies, and then withdrew, the Queen and her ladies accompanying her to her apartments.

We remained talking with the other guests until Queen Margherita came back. She asked Mustel to play once more--and then we had orangeade, ices, and cakes. There was a small buffet at one end of the drawing-room. It was quite half-past twelve when the Queen dismissed us.

We had a real musical evening, pleasant and easy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Cardinal Antonelli. From a picture painted for the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar.

From a photograph given to Madame Waddington by the Hereditary Grand d.u.c.h.ess of Saxe-Weimar at Rome.]