The new streets, Via Garibaldi and Nazionale--an abomination, tall ugly
maisons de location and official buildings so new and regular--awful! It
wasn't until we got into the town and near the Piazza di Spagna that I
really felt that I was back in Rome; that of course was unchanged. It
brought back such a flood of memories as we passed 20, and all the first
happy days in Rome came back to me, before father's illness, when he
enjoyed everything so much, and wrote to Uncle John that "the hours were
golden." The "barca" looked just the same, with boys and women leaning
up against the stones, flower-girls on the Spanish Steps, and even old
Nazzari's low, dark shop opposite looked picturesque. W. was quite
surprised to see me so sentimental, though I had warned him that for me
there was no place in the world like Rome.
The Schuylers stayed talking some little while, then had to go, as they
were dining out, but promised to come in after dinner. W. asked me if I
was too tired to go for a little stroll (the tea had refreshed us), so
we started up the Spanish Steps to the Villa Medici, where we had that
beautiful view of Rome. I showed him the stone pines of the
Doria-Pamphili, which stood out splendidly against the last bright
clouds of the sunset--it was quite lovely. We stayed out quite late, and
were received with respectful, but decidedly disapproving greetings from
the gerant when we came in. It was not at all prudent for "Eccellenza"
and Madame to remain out late, particularly as they must be very tired
after a long journey. We dined downstairs in the big dining-room. There
was a long table d'hote full--people about half through their
dinner--and at the extreme end of the room five or six small tables, one
of which had been reserved for us. I didn't see any one I knew, but two
men got up and bowed as we passed. The dinner was good--the head waiter
hovering about us all the time, and of course always addressing W. as
"Eccellenza." We had coffee upstairs. W. smoked and I read the paper and
one or two notes. About ten the Schuylers appeared, very cheerful and
full of propositions of all kinds. They have got a big reception for us
on Sunday night--Roman and diplomatic--and we agreed to breakfast with
them to-day. Gert looked very well in blue, with her diamond necklace
and feathers. They don't seem very pleased with Marsh--our Minister.
Always the same old story and jealousy--the ministers consider
themselves so far above a consul. But really when the Consul-General
happens to be Schuyler and his wife King, one would think these two
names would speak for themselves--for Americans, at any rate.
We told Schuyler how many compliments we had had both in Paris and
Florence for his "Peter the Great"--so much in it, and yet the subject
one that had been written about so often. They went off about eleven,
and I was glad to go to bed; could hardly believe I was sleeping again
in the Piazza di Spagna. I certainly never imagined when I left Rome
tearfully so many years ago that I would come back as the wife of a
French statesman.
I was busy all the morning unpacking and settling myself, and of course
looking out of the window. It is all so delightfully familiar--all the
botte standing in the middle of the street, and the coachman trying so
hard to understand when some English or American tourists give them some
impossible address in Italian--you know the kind of people I mean,
conscientious tourists who think they must always speak the language of
the country they are in, learned out of a phrase-book. We have various
invitations, from our two Embassies, Quirinal and Vatican, also the
Teanos, and W. had a nice visit from Lanciani, who wants to show him all
Rome. We took a botta to go to the Schuylers. It isn't far, but I wasn't
quite sure of finding my way the first time. They have a charming
apartment in Palazzo Altemps, near the Piazza Navona, not at all far
really from our hotel, and now that I know the way I can often walk over
in the mornings when W. is off sight-seeing seriously with some of his
learned friends. It is a fine old palace with a large open court and
broad stone staircase. San Carlo Borromeo is supposed to have lived
there. Their apartment belongs to Mrs. Terry, wife of the artist, who
had arranged it very comfortably, and the Schuylers have put in all
their Turkish rugs, carpets, and bibelots, so it really looks very
pretty. There are quantities of green plants and flowers about (they are
both fond of flowers and are always making experiments and trying
something new) and of course books, papers, reviews, and a piano.
I told Gert I thought I would write to Vera and have some singing
lessons--I have done so little singing since I have been married. Eugene
is a charming host, and he and W. had plenty to talk about. I inspected
Gert's wardrobe while they were smoking. Her dresses are all right, and
I think her maid is good. I wrote all this after I came in. The man of
the hotel had engaged a carriage for us--a nice little victoria with a
pair of greys. It comes from Tomba's stables--do you remember the name?
The same loueur we had when we lived here. The coachman said he
remembered me perfectly, had often driven the "signorine" to the meets,
and hoped la maman was well. We were lucky to get such a nice little
carriage. The d'Aubignys, a French couple, had just given it up, as they
were leaving the Embassy here for Berlin.
We drove about a little--left cards for the Noailles, Desprez, Cairolis,
and wound up in the Villa Borghese, which was again quite changed--such
quantities of carriages and people walking, also Italian officers
riding, and soldiers, bersaglieri, etc., about. We crossed the
Wimpffens, looking very smiling, and saw in the distance, as we were
coming out, the royal red liveries, but the carriage was too far off to
see who was in it. Now we are going to dinner, and I shall be glad to
get to bed early. I think I am more tired than yesterday.
HOTEL DE LONDRES,
February 26, 1880.
I will begin again this afternoon, as I have a little time before
dinner. The weather is divine, quite the same deep-blue sky and bright
sun of our first Roman winter. We have had an enchanting drive out of
Porta San Sebastiano and along the Via Appia as far as Cecilia
Metella--everything exactly the same as when we were there so many years
ago. The same peasant carts blocking up the narrow gateway, everybody
talking at once, white teeth gleaming, and quantities of little brown
children with black eyes and jet black hair tumbling down over their
eyes and outstretched hands for anything the forestieri would put into
them. W. was a little disappointed at first. The road is narrow, an
atrocious pavement, and high walls almost shutting out the view.
However, as we got farther out there came gaps in the walls through
which one saw the whole stretch of the Campagna with the Claudian
Aqueduct on one side, and when we finally emerged into the open fields,
he was delighted. How extraordinary all these old tombs and pyramids
are, most of them falling in ruins, with roses and creepers of all kinds
holding them together. On one of the largest round tombs there was a
peasant house with a garden and vines, and smoke coming out of the
chimney, perched quite on the top, with a steep, stony path winding
down, where the coachman told me the donkey went up and down, as he too
lived in the house with the family. Some of the tombs are very
high--real towers. There is hardly a trace of marble or inscription
left, but the original building so strong that the walls remain.
The queer old tombs, towers, and bits of ruins all along the road
interested W. immensely; though he has never been here he knows them all
from photographs and reproductions, and could tell me a great deal more
than I could tell him. We went as far as the round tomb of Cecilia
Metella, and then got out and walked a little. I wanted to show him the
low wall which we used to jump always when the meet was at Cecilia
Metella. Do you remember the first time you came out to see us jump, not
at a hunt but one afternoon with Dyer practising to see what the horses
and riders would do? You saw us start at a canter for the wall, and then
shut your eyes tight until we called out to you from the other side.
This morning W. and I had our first regular turn at sight-seeing. We
took a nice little botta on the Piazza, had our Baedeker--a red one,
like all the tourists--and were quite happy. Some of the old colleagues
were highly entertained seeing us driving about with our Baedeker; said
it was W. under a wholly different aspect. We wandered about the
Vatican for two hours, seeing quantities of things--Sistine Chapel,
Stanze Raphael, Apollo Belvedere, etc., and always a beautiful view over
the gardens. Later, he says, he must do it all regularly and
intelligently with one of his men friends, as I naturally could not
stand for hours recognising and deciphering an old inscription. I left
him from time to time, sat down on one of the stone benches, talked to
the custode, looked at the other people, and gave them any information I
could. It interested me to see the different nationalities--almost
entirely English, American, German, very few Italian, and no
French--yes, one artist, a rather nice looking young fellow who was
copying something on the ceiling of one of the "Stanze," rather a
difficult process apparently. There were many more women than
men--groups of English spinsters doing their sights most thoroughly--the
Americans more casual. The Apollo looked splendid, so young and
spirited. We walked some little distance, coming home before we could
get a fiacre, and I had forgotten how cruel that Roman pavement was. I
don't believe any of my boots will stand it; I shall have to get
somewhere here a pair of thick-soled walking shoes.
We had a quiet hour after breakfast. I have arranged a ladies' corner in
the drawing-room. I was in despair the first two days over the room. I
had never lived in small hotel quarters with a man, and I had no idea
how disorderly they are. The table was covered with pens, papers--piles
of them, three or four days old, thick with dust--cigars, cigar ashes
over everything, two or three large, bulky black portfolios, very often
a pot hat, etc. So we compromised; W. took one end of the room and I the
other. I obtained from the gerant (thanks to Madame Hubert, who is very
pretty and on the best of terms with him) a small table, large china
vase for a plant, a nice arm-chair, and a cushion for the sofa, borrowed
a table-cloth from Gert, also some small things for my table, and my end
looked quite respectable and feminine. The room is large, so we can
really get on very well. We had a pleasant visit from the Marquis de
Noailles, French Ambassador to the Quirinal, before we went out. He has
a charming, easy manner. We are to breakfast at the Embassy, Palazzo
Farnese, to-morrow for me to make Madame de Noailles's acquaintance. I
wonder what I shall think of her? The men all say she is a charmeuse.
She is Polish born, was a beautiful woman--I think all Poles have a
great charm of manner.
Trocchi came in, too--so pleased to see me again and to make W.'s
acquaintance. The two senators talked politics, and Noailles put me a
little au courant of Roman society and the two camps black and white. We
went out at 3.30, as I said before, to Cecilia Metella, and stopped at
Gert's for tea. W. walked home, and I stayed a little while with her
talking over the arrangements for their reception on Sunday. Every
one--Romans, diplomats, and Americans--they have asked has accepted; but
their rooms are fairly large and I don't think they will be crowded.
HOTEL DE LONDRES,
Monday, February 29, 1880.
I am still tired from the quantity of people we saw last night at the
Schuylers. Their reception was most brilliant; all the world----However,
I will begin at the beginning. We went to church on Sunday, as Dr. Nevin
came to see us Saturday afternoon and said he hoped we would not fail to
come. W. found him clever and interesting. He said he thought I should
hardly recognise him in his new church. It is very pretty--English
style, built by an English architect (Street) in the new quarter, Via
Nazionale, utterly unlike the bare little room outside the Porta del
Popolo, where we used to go and do the music. It makes me laugh now when
I think of the congregation all embarked on a well-known hymn, when
suddenly Henrietta would lower the tune one note--if I was tired, as
often happened, as one of the gayest balls in Rome was Princess
Sciarra's on Saturday night. When I had danced until four o'clock in the
morning (the test of the ball was how late it lasted) it was rather an
effort to be at church at 10.30 Sunday morning and sing straight through
the service. Henrietta had the harmonium and I led the singing. I will
say that the effect of the sudden change was disastrous from a musical
point of view. However, we did our best. I am afraid Henrietta was not
always faithful to Bach and Beethoven in her voluntaries. We had no
music, and she played whatever she could remember, and occasionally
there were strains of "Araby's Daughter" or "When the Swallows Homeward
Fly," which were quite perceptible even through the minor chords. I
liked doing it all the same, and like it still. I am so fond of the old
hymns we used to sing as children, and should like to hear "Shout the
Glad Tidings" every Christmas. I never have since we left America and
Oyster Bay, where also we did the music, and where, when we were late
sometimes for church, Faust, the big black Newfoundland dog would come
and bark when the bell had stopped, telling us quite plainly we were
late--he knew all about it.
We made the regular Sunday turn in the afternoon--Villa Borghese and
Pincio--sent the carriage away and walked home by the Villa Medici. W.
loves the view from the terrace. We met Mrs. Bruce, also looking at the
view, and walked home together. She told W. Cardinal Howard wanted to
see him, had known him in England in the old days, also a young English
monsignore--called _English_ oddly enough. She will ask us all to dine
together some night next week. I asked her if she remembered her famous
dinner long ago with Cardinal Howard and Dean Stanley. The two divines
were very anxious to cross swords. They were such a contrast. Dean
Stanley, small, slight, nervous, bright eyes, charming manners, and a
keen debater. The Cardinal, tall, large, slow, but very earnest,
absolutely convinced. The conversation was most interesting--very
animated--but never personal nor even vehement, though their views and
judgments were absolutely different on all points. However, both were
gentlemen and both large-minded. W. was much interested, as he knew Dean
Stanley and his wife Lady Augusta well; they came often to Paris, and
were habitues of Madame Mohl's famous salon, where the literary men of
all creeds and countries used to meet. It was there, too, that Dean
Stanley and Renan used to meet and talk, the two great intellects
finding points in common. I was taken there once or twice after I was
first married. It was a curious interior; Madame Mohl, a little old
lady, always dressed in white, with a group of men standing around her
chair--many more men than women, and never more than twenty or thirty
people. I suppose it was the type of the old French literary salon where
people went to talk. I naturally listened in those days, not being
sufficiently up in all the political and literary questions, and not
pinning my faith absolutely on the "Revue des Deux Mondes." Mrs. Bruce,
too, was often at Madame Mohl's.
We stopped in a few minutes at the Trinita de' Monti, where there was a
service of some kind going on. The nuns were singing a low, monotonous
chant behind their grating; the church was quite dark, lights only on
the altar, a few women kneeling and absorbed, and a few irreverent
forestieri looking about and talking in whispers. We came down the
Spanish Steps, which were quite deserted at that hour--models, beggars,
flaneurs, all resting from their labours.
I was glad to rest a little before dinner, and only dressed afterward,
as I couldn't well go down to the public dining-room in a low red satin
dress and diamonds. We went rather early--ten o'clock--to Palazzo
Altemps, but found many people already there. The apartment looked very
pretty, quantities of flowers and plants wherever they could be put.
Gert looked very well in yellow satin, and Eugene is always at his best
in his own house--very courteous and receiving people as if it were a
pleasure to him (which I think it is). We found quantities of old
friends--Pallavicinis, Teanos, Lovatellis, Calabrinis, Bandini, Pagets,
Mrs. Bruce, Hooker, Grants, etc., and quantities of people we didn't
know, and whose acquaintance we made of course--Mesdames Minghetti,
Cairoli, Despretis, and almost the whole of the Corps Diplomatique.
W. enjoyed it very much, did his manners very well, and never looked
stiff or bored. I was delighted to see the familiar faces once more. I
almost felt as if we had never been away. Madame de Noailles was
astounded at the number of people I knew--I think she hadn't realized
how long I had lived in Rome as a girl. She had heard W. say it was his
first visit to Rome, and thought I, too, was here for the first time,
and she was naturally surprised to hear me talking to Calabrini about
the hunts, cotillons, his coach, and tempi passati generally.
I have accepted so many invitations that I never can remember them, but
the ladies promised to send a card. Aunt Mary Gracie was rather put out
with me because I wore no necklace (which couldn't be said of the Roman
ladies, who all wore splendid jewels), but I told her it was the last
chic in Paris to wear your necklace on your bodice, not on your neck.
We stayed on after all the beau monde had gone with Aunt Mary, Hooker, a
Russian friend of Schuyler's, and Count Palfy, had a nice little supper,
champagne and sandwiches, and talked over the party, saying of course
(as they say we Kings always do) how pleasant our party was. W. was much
interested in the various talks he had. He found Minghetti charming--so
intelligent and well up in everything. Cairoli, too, he had been anxious
to see; also Visconti Venosta. He was naturally (like all the men)
charmed with Madame Minghetti. She must have been beautiful, and has an
extraordinary charm of manner. The Cairolis are a very big couple. He is
tall and broad, fine eyes--she, too, on a large scale, but handsome. Of
course there were many inquiries from all the old friends for la maman
and the family generally. Mrs. Bruce says she never drives in the
Doria-Pamphili without thinking of you driving about in your plain black
dress and bonnet, with two or three daughters (not quite so plainly
dressed) in the carriage, and all always talking and laughing, and
enjoying life together. I told her about Florence, where the King of
Italy always bowed to you in the Cascine, evidently taking you for the
superior of some religious order (he must have thought the novices were
lively), and the children in the street used to run up to you and kiss
your hand. "He was quite right, to bow to you," she said, "my grand old
Republican."
[Illustration: The Spanish Steps.
In the Piazza di Spagna, Rome.]
March 4, 1880.
Yesterday we went again to the Vatican. W. is quite happy, I thought I
should never get him away. It is most amusing to walk about old Rome
with him, for suddenly over a gateway or at the bottom of an ordinary
little court he discovers an inscription or a slab, or an old stone
which he knows all about, and we stop. He reads, and recognises, and
translates to me, and is wildly interested. It is all so good for him,
and puts politics and little annoyances out of his head. It is quite new
for me to see Rome from a classical point de vue, but I suppose one
enjoys things differently as one grows older. I certainly enjoyed the
mad gallops over the Campagna in the old days; do you remember Mrs. S.
who was so severe with us--first because we were Americans (she was
English) and then because we knew everybody and enjoyed
ourselves?--"when she was young people came to Rome to educate
themselves and enjoy the pictures, museums, historical associations,
etc. _Now_ one saw nothing but American girls racing over the Campagna
with a troop of Roman princes at their heels." Poor dear, she really
thought it was a calamity not to be born under the British flag. I
suppose that makes the great strength of the English, their absolute
conviction that England is the only country in the world.
They are funny, though--I was discussing something one day with Lady S.,
and we didn't quite agree; upon which she remarked she supposed I
couldn't understand her ideas--she came from a big country where one
took broad views of things. I said I thought I did too, but perhaps it
is a matter of appreciation--I think, though, I have got geography on my
side.
After breakfast we drove about paying visits. We found Princess Teano
(who has asked us to dine on Wednesday) and she showed us her boys--the
eldest one a beauty. She looked very handsome with her pure Madonna
face. She told us her beau-pere (the blind Duke of Sermoneta) had been
so pleased to meet W. in Florence. They had a long talk somewhere, and
W. was so amused with the Duke's politics and liberalism--all so
easy-going, half chaffing, but very decided too, no sounding phrases nor
profession de foi; simply accepting (what he couldn't really like very
much) the inevitable, de bonne grace; and seizing and ridiculing all the
weak points.
In France they are frightfully logical, must always argue and discuss
everything--I think they are born debaters.
We left cards on various people, Princess Bandini, Cenci, Countess
Lovatelli, and then went for a little turn out of the San Lorenzo gate,
but not far, as we wanted to go to Princess Pallavicini, who received
that afternoon. W. was much struck with the apartment--so many rooms,
all very high ceilings, that we passed through before getting to the
boudoir where the Princess was sitting. It all looked so natural, I
remembered the hangings--bright flowers on a light satin ground--as soon
as I got into the room, and some of the pictures. She was very cordial
and friendly, told W. how long she had known me, and recalled some of
our rides at Frascati with her and Del Monte. She asked us to come on
Friday evenings, she was always at home. No one else was there but a
Princesse de Thurn and Taxis (nee Hohenlohe) who was introduced to us,
and the talk was pleasant enough. She was quite interested in our two
audiences--Pope and Quirinal--but we told her we had heard nothing from
either court yet. W. walked home, and I went on to Gert as it was her
reception day. She gave me a cup of tea, and I found various friends
there, including Father Smith who was quite pleased to see me again. He
doesn't look any older, and is apparently quite as energetic as ever. He
told me he had enjoyed his talk with W. very much, and they had made a
rendezvous for two days--the Catacombs and San Clemente. He remarked
casually that W. wasn't at all what he expected to find him; not at all
his idea of a "French Republican." I wonder what sort of trade-mark he
expected to see? If he had pictured W. as a slight, nervous, black-eyed,
voluble Frenchman, he must naturally have been surprised.
We have heard people discussing us sometimes in English as we pass down
the long dining-room to our table--"There goes Waddington, the late
French Premier." "Never--that man is an Englishman." "I have seen
pictures of Waddington--he doesn't look at all like that, etc." The head
waiter always points us out as distinguished strangers.
I found quantities of cards when I came home--one from Lily San Vito
with a nice little message of welcome. (We crossed her in the Corso the
other day and she looked lovely.) Also Valerys, Middletons, Pantaleones,
etc. After I had gone to my room to dress W. had a visit from Desprez,
the French Ambassador to the Vatican. He has just arrived, his wife not
yet come, and he feels a little strange in this very divided society. We
are going to meet him at dinner at the Portuguese Embassy. He told W.
there would be several Cardinals at the dinner--a regular black
assemblage. It will be a funny experience for W.
March 6, 1880.