remonstrated vigorously with Maurizio, but he was so unfeignedly
astonished at being taken to task for greeting a very old friend warmly,
that I didn't make much impression. The ballet was pretty, and of course
there was an influx of young men as soon as it began--a handsome, rather
stout "ballerina" being evidently a favourite.
To-day we breakfasted with the Schuylers to meet Mrs. Bruce and Cardinal
Howard--no one else. We had a pretty little breakfast, most lively. I
didn't find the Cardinal much changed, a little stouter perhaps. He was
quite surprised at W.'s English; knew of course that he had been
educated at Rugby and Cambridge, and had the Chancellor's medal, but
thought he would have lost it a little having lived so many years in
France, and having made all his political career in French. I asked him
if he was as particular as ever about his horses. He always had such
splendid black horses when we lived in Rome, but he said, rather sadly,
that times were changed. W. and he talked a long time after breakfast.
He was very anxious to know whether _all_ the religious orders were
threatened in France or merely the Jesuits. Comte Palfy (Austrian) came
in just as we were leaving. He is so attractive--a great friend of
l'Oncle Alphonse--knows everybody here and loves Rome.
W. and I went off to the Villa Albani--out of Porta Salara. We walked
through the rooms--there are principally busts, statues, bas-reliefs,
etc.--and then loitered about the gardens which are fine. Fountains,
vases, and statues in every direction, and always that beautiful view of
the hills in the soft afternoon light.
I will finish when I come home from our _Black_ dinner. We are asked for
seven, so of course will get back early, as we do not go anywhere
afterward. I shall wear black, as I hear so many Princes of the church
are to be there. Madame Hubert is very sorry I can't wear the long black
veil that I did for the Pope--she found that most becoming.
Tuesday, March 12, 1880, 10.30 P.M.
We are just home from our dinner at the Portuguese Embassy, so I have
got out of my gauds and into my tea-gown, and will finish this long
letter. It was most interesting--a great deal of couleur locale. We
arrived very punctually--three or four carriages driving up at the same
time. There was of course a magnificent porter downstairs, and
quantities of servants in handsome liveries; a good deal of red and
powder. Two giants at the foot of the staircase, with the enormous tall
candles which are de rigueur at a Black embassy when cardinals or
ambassadors dine. They were just preparing to escort some swell up the
staircase as we arrived; there was a moment's halt, and the swell turned
out to be M. Desprez, the new French Ambassador to the Vatican
(replacing the Marquis de Cabriac). He was half embarrassed when he
recognised us; W. had so lately been his chef that he couldn't quite
make up his mind to pass before him--especially under such novel and
rather trying conditions. However, there was nothing to be done, and he
started up the great staircase between the tall candles, W. and I
followed modestly in his wake. We found several people, including two or
three cardinals, already there. The apartment is very handsome. The
Ambassador (Thomar) looked very well--"tres grand seigneur"--standing at
the door of the first salon, and one saw quite a vista of large,
brilliantly lighted rooms beyond. All the guests arrived very
quickly--we had hardly time to exchange a word with any one. I saw the
Sulmonas come in. I recognised her instantly, though I hadn't seen her
for years. She was born Apponyi, and they were married when we were
living in Rome. Also Marc Antonio Colonna and the d'Aulnays. Almost
immediately dinner was announced. Sulmona took me in and I had a
cardinal (Portuguese) on the other side. I didn't say much to the
cardinal at first. He talked to his neighbour, and Sulmona and I
plunged, of course, into old Roman days. He was much amused at the
composition of the dinner, and wondered if it would interest W. He asked
me if I remembered the fancy ball at the Palazzo Borghese. He had still
the album with all the photos, and remembered me perfectly as "Folie"
with short skirts, bells, mirror, etc. I remember it, of course, quite
well. Some of the costumes were beautiful, particularly those copied
from portraits. After a little while the cardinal turned his attention
to me. He was a nice old man, speaking either French or Italian (both
with a strong accent), and much interested in the guests. He asked me if
I belonged to the corps diplomatique. I said no--we were merely
strangers spending the winter in Rome. He thought there were a good many
strangers at table--he didn't know half the people, not having been long
in Rome; but he knew that there was one man dining whom he had a great
desire to see, Waddington, the late French Premier; perhaps I knew him,
and could point him out. He had always followed his career with great
interest, but there were some things he couldn't understand, "par
exemple son attitude dans la question--" Then as I didn't know what he
might be going to say, I interrupted, and said no one could point out
that gentleman as well as I, as I was Madame Waddington. He looked a
little uncomfortable, so I remarked, "Il diavolo non e tanto nero quant
e dipinto" (The devil is not so black as he is painted), to which he
replied, "Eh, no punto diavolo" (no devil)--was rather amused, and asked
me if I would introduce him to W. after dinner. We then, of course,
talked a little about France, and how very difficult the religious
question was. He asked me where I had learned Italian, so I told him how
many years we had lived in Rome when my brother was the last Minister
from the United States to the Vatican. Sulmona joined in the talk, and
we rather amused ourselves. Sulmona, of course, knew everybody, and
explained some of the people, including members of his own (Borghese)
family, who were very Black and uncompromising. Still, as I told him,
the younger generation is less narrow-minded, more modern. I don't think
they mean to cut themselves off from all participation in the nation's
history. After all, they are all Italians as well as Romans. The foreign
marriages, too, make a difference. I don't think the sons of English and
American mothers could settle down to that life of inaction and living
on the past which the Black Party means in Rome.
As soon as I could after dinner I got hold of W. (which was difficult,
as he was decidedly surrounded) and introduced him to my cardinal, whose
name I never got, and I went to recall myself to Princess Sulmona. We
had a nice talk first about her people--her father, Count Apponyi, was
Austrian Ambassador in Paris when Marshal MacMahon was President, and
their salon was very brilliant, everybody going to them; the official
world and the Faubourg St. Germain meeting, but not mingling. Then we
talked a little about Rome, and the future of the young generation just
growing up. Of course it is awfully difficult for families like Borghese
and Colonna who have been bound up in the old papal world, and given
popes to Italy, to break away from the traditions of centuries and go in
frankly for "Italia Unita." Do you remember what they used to tell us of
Prince Massimo? When some inquisitive woman asked if they really called
themselves Fabius Maximus, he replied that it had been a family name for
1,400 years.
The present Prince Massimo is one of the most zealous supporters of the
Pope. The great doors of his gloomy old palace have never been opened
since the King of Italy came to Rome. One can't help admiring such
absolute conviction and loyalty; but one wants more than that in these
days of progress to keep a country alive.
The evening wasn't long; the cardinals never stay late, and every one
went away at the same time. We again assisted at the ceremony of the big
candles, as of course every cardinal and the Ambassador had to be
conducted downstairs with the same form. It was altogether a very
interesting evening and quite different from any dinner we had ever been
at. I don't think the French cardinals ever dine out in France; I don't
remember ever meeting one. Of course the "nunzio" went everywhere and
always had the "pas"--but one looks upon him more as a diplomatist than
a priest.
W. enjoyed his evening very much. He is now settled in his arm-chair
with his very disreputable pipe, and has been telling me his
experiences. He found my old cardinal very intelligent, and very well up
in French politics, and life generally. He liked Sulmona, too, very
much; made her acquaintance, but didn't have a chance to talk much to
her, as so many people were introduced to him. There is certainly a
great curiosity to see him--I wonder what people expected to find? He
looks very well, and is enjoying himself very much. I am so glad we did
not stay in Paris; he would have had all sorts of small annoyances, and
as it is, his friends write and want him to come back. He is quite
conscious of the sort of feeling there is about him. First his
appearance--a great many people refuse to believe that he is a
Frenchman; he certainly is not at all the usual French type, with his
fair hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders; and when they realize that it
is he the cautious, doubtful way in which the clericals begin a
conversation with him, as if they expected red-hot anarchist
declarations to fall from his lips, is most amusing. Cardinal Howard
always seeks him out for a talk--but then he doesn't mince matters--goes
straight to the subject he wants to discuss, and told him the other day
he couldn't understand how a man of his English habits and education
should ever have dropped (he didn't say degenerated, but I think he
thought it) into a French republican government.
W. is very pleased to see the cordial way in which everybody meets me,
and I must say I am rather touched by it myself. I have never had a
moment's disappointment, and I was a little afraid, coming back in such
changed circumstances after so many years. Everybody asks after you, and
some one the other day--Countess Malatesta, I think--asked if you still
wore in Paris your plain black dress and bonnet. I suppose she thought
that even you couldn't have resisted the Paris modiste. It would seem
strange to see you in a hat and feathers.
Good-night, dearest; W.'s pipe is out, and we are going to bed.
HOTEL DE LONDRES,
March 14, 1880.
Cannons are firing, drums beating, flags flying in all directions
to-day, dear mother. It is King Humbert's birthday and there is to be a
great revue on the Piazza dell' Indipendenza. We are invited to go and
see it by Turkam Pacha, Turkish Minister, who has an apartment on the
Piazza; but as he told us that we should meet Ismail Pacha (the
ex-Khedive) we thought we had better remain at home. I hardly think it
would be a pleasure to Ismail to meet the man who was one of the chief
instruments in his downfall. My sympathies were rather with the
Khedive--I never quite understood why France and England should have
politely but forcibly insisted upon his leaving his throne and
country--but whenever I raised the question I had always that inert
force the "raison d'etat" opposed to me. We crossed him the other day
driving. The carriage full of red-fezzed men attracted my attention, and
our Giuseppe told us who they were. He looked very fat and smiling,
evidently was not ronge by his disasters. Turkam suggested that I should
come alone, but that of course I could not do.
Mrs. Bailey, who has also an apartment on the Piazza, has asked us to
come to her, but I think I shall stay quietly at home and look out of
the window. I see lots of officers and functionaries, in uniform,
passing in fiacres and riding, and a general migration of the whole city
including the beggars and flower girls of the Spanish Steps toward the
Piazza. W. says he will smoke his cigar walking about in the crowd, and
will see very well.
[Illustration: Queen Margherita of Italy.]
I was interrupted by a message from Gert begging me to come to her at
once. Her maid was in such an extraordinary state of violence she
thought she was crazy--and as Eugene was away for a day or two she was
really afraid. I questioned the little footman who brought the note but
he was very non-committal. W. was already off to see the review and I
left him a note explaining where I was and asking him if I didn't get
back to breakfast to come and get me at Gert's. I then started off with
the little footman who had a fiacre waiting. As I entered the court of
the Palazzo Altemps a glimpse of a white, frightened face at the window
told me what Gert's state was. Poor dear, she was terribly upset, and
Eugene's being away is a complication. Her two men-servants are very
devoted, but they evidently feel uncomfortable. She asked me if I would
go with her and see the woman. We found her sitting in a chair in Gert's
dressing-room looking certainly most unpleasant, sullen, and an ugly
look in her eyes. She is a great big Southern woman (French), could
throw Gert out of the window if she wanted to. Gert spoke to her very
gently, saying I had come to see her as I had heard she was not well.
She didn't answer nor move but gave Gert a nasty look--she evidently has
got something against her. I looked at her very steadily--said we were
very sorry she was suffering, which was most evident, and that the best
thing for her would be to rest, attempt no service of any kind and go to
her own room--that we had sent for Dr. Valery who would certainly be
able to relieve her. She didn't answer at first, and looked as if she
would like to spring upon us both, then burst into screams of
abuse--"She would go to her room of course--would leave the house at
once and never come back, etc." I told her I should certainly advise
Mrs. Schuyler to send her away--that evidently the climate did not suit
her, and she would be happier in France. She didn't answer, relapsed
into her sullen silence, and almost immediately Valery appeared. He
insisted very quietly that she should go to her own room (at the other
end of the apartment), and she went off with him, giving an ugly look at
Gert as she passed. It seems she already had had such an attack, less
violent, when they were at Birmingham, but once it was over went on
quite peaceably and didn't seem to realize how ill she had been. Valery
came back to tell us the result of his examination--said she had already
calmed down and was anxious to beg her mistress's pardon, but that she
was of a nervous, dangerous temperament, and at any moment might have a
relapse. Of course she must go, but it is very uncomfortable. I took
Gert out for a drive. W. sent me a line to say he was busy all the
afternoon and would not come unless I wanted him. I think the air and
distraction did her good. The streets had a decidedly festive
appearance. There were a good many flags everywhere, and soldiers still
passing on their way back to their various barracks. We were kept some
time in the Corso seeing a battalion of "bersaglieri" pass. They had
good music and looked very spirited as they moved along with all their
feathers flying. They were rather small, but well set up, and marched in
beautiful time with a light, quick step. We saw some cavalry too, but I
didn't care so much for them. I thought the men looked too tall for the
horses--their legs too near the ground.
We went to Nazzari's for tea, and the man was so smiling and pleased to
see me that I asked him if he knew me--"Ma si, certamente, la Signorina
King"--had seen me various times in the Piazza or driving, and hoped I
would come in some day for tea. I went upstairs with Gert when I took
her home, and left every possible instruction with the maitre d'hotel to
look after her, and above all to look after Louise, and not let her
leave her room. The cook's wife will help her dress, as the poor thing
has a dinner.
We have dined quietly at home. W. was tired, having been out all day.
There is a reception at the French Embassy, but we shan't go. I told W.
about the maid and the exciting morning we had had. He said of course
the woman must go at once--that she had evidently a grudge of some kind
against Gert, and might do her some injury. He had had rather a pleasant
day. He walked about in the crowd seeing everything very well. He was
rather favourably impressed with the Italian soldiers--said they were
small as a rule, but light and active--marched very well. The King
looked well, and was very well received. He thought him a striking
figure on horseback in uniform, that curious type of all the Savoy
Princes. They don't look modern at all, but as if they belonged to
another century. I don't know exactly what it is--one sees the same sort
of face so often in old Spanish and Italian portraits.
He had breakfasted alone, as I was over with Gert, and then started off
with Monsignor English to meet Father Smith at the Catacombs, where they
had a long delightful afternoon. He says Father Smith is a charming
guide, knows and loves every corner of the Catacombs. His brogue, too,
is attractive, sounds so out of place in that atmosphere of Latin and
old-world tombs and inscriptions. He also told me what pleased me very
much, that the Pope will give me his photograph, signed. Monsignor
English told him to tell me, and he will come and see us to-morrow.
Among our cards was one from the Cardinal Di Pietro--Doyen of the
College of Cardinals--coming first to see W. What would the Protocole
say?
March 16, 1880.
Schuyler has got back, and the maid is a lamb, but is going all the
same. The doctor and the other servants advise it strongly, and I am
sure Gert will find a nice Italian maid here to replace her. W. and I
have done a fair amount of sight-seeing these days, and yesterday he
paid a long visit to Cardinal Nina--Secretary of Foreign Affairs for the
Vatican. He found him reasonable and interesting. I tell him he is
getting quite a "papalino"--he finds the Cardinals so pleasant. He came
and got me after his visit and we went off to the Chambre des Deputes.
Visconti Venosta was going to make a great speech attacking the Ministry
on their foreign policy, and they thought there would be a lively
seance. We were in the Diplomatic box--all the Ambassadors were there,
and he had just got up to speak as we got there. They don't speak from
the tribune, as in France. Every man speaks from his own place--and as
he had his back to us we didn't hear very well. He spoke very easily,
and was very well listened to. Occasionally there would be a sort of
growl of disapproval, but on the whole the house was much quieter than
ours. Cairoli looked quite composed when Visconti was pitching into him,
smiling even when he remarked he didn't understand the Italian
character, nor how to use the great powers his position gave him, etc.
Various people came up and spoke to me, among others Countess Celleri,
who seems to be taking up politics now. She has grown a little older,
but is very handsome still, and was evidently a great attraction to all
the young diplomatists who were in the box. W. admired her appearance
and manner very much. We stayed there till 5.30 hoping that Cairoli
would answer, but he didn't, the discussion rather trailed on, so we
went for a turn in the Villa Borghese to get a little air before our
dinner at the British Embassy. It was very crowded, all the swells
driving--King, Queen, and Khedive all in separate carriages. The King in
a small victoria with one aide-de-camp--the Queen in her big landau with
one lady and the red royal liveries; the Khedive in an ordinary
carriage, but conspicuous, as he and his gentlemen all wore the red fez.
Our Paget dinner was pleasant. They have got a big villa in the Venti
Settembre out toward Porta Pia. There is a large garden with fine trees,
and the entrance and staircase are handsome. We were 36--Italians
chiefly--but a few Diplomatists. I knew almost every one, Calabrinis,
Minghettis, Somaglias (you will remember her name, she was Gwendoline
Doria, and married when we lived in Rome), Serristori, Castagneta and
some Deputies and gentlemen of the Palace who, of course, were strangers
to me. The dining-room is large with a quite round table which must be
very difficult to cover, there were such spaces. I think there must have
been hundreds of roses on the table. The Marquis de Villamarina, head of
the Queen's household, took me in, and I had Uxkull on the other side,
Lady Paget next to him. We all talked together, and I complimented Lady
Paget on the quickness of the service. It was always one of our
preoccupations at the Quai d'Orsay to get through these long official
dinners as soon as possible. W. took in Madame Visconti Venosta, and
they seemed to be getting on swimmingly. After dinner I talked some time
to Countess Somaglia, and asked to be introduced to the Marquise
Villamarina. She told me the Queen would certainly receive us, but
couldn't quite fix the day yet as she had many official rendezvous these
days. When the men came in from smoking I had a few words with
Calabrini, and one or two Deputies were presented, Sella, Lanza, etc.,
but I really only _talked_ to Sir Augustus Paget. He said they were
going to have a small ball after Easter, and hoped we should still be
here. I hope we shall, I should like to see the ball-room--they say all
the decoration, painting, flowers, cupids, etc., has been done by Lady
Paget herself. The party broke up early, no one stays late at dinner.
There is always a reception somewhere to which everybody goes.
We came home as I get tired at night. We begin our day early, and are
never in the house. This morning Gert and I went out shopping in the
Piazza della Minerva and Campo Marzo--it was most amusing. We got two
dresses for her--one of that coarse Roman linen, and a very pretty Roman
silk from Bianchi, the same man who existed in our days. He looked most
smiling and evidently recognised the familiar faces, though he could not
put a name to them. We got the linen in a funny little old shop, low,
and as dark as pitch. I never should have dreamed of going there for
anything, but some one told us it was _the_ place for linen, and we
found at once what we wanted. I bought two Roman sashes--one for Alice
and a ribbon for Nounou. We pottered about for some time looking at the
bits of old brocade and embroidery, some pieces stretched out on the
pavement with a stone at each end to hold them down. There were two
pieces of old rose brocade which looked very tempting, but when I took
them up I saw there were thin places in the silk, and spots--so I
resisted these "occasions." The woman was amusing, tried to make us buy,
but knew quite well her silk was not first-rate. She evidently attached
no importance to the spots (e vecchia), but allowed that the frayed bits
were not encouraging.
This afternoon we have been again to the Chambre des Deputes--Cairoli
was speaking. He has a good voice, we heard him much better than
Visconti Venosta. _I_ didn't find his speech very interesting. There
were all sorts of details and references to despatches and blue books
which were Greek to me, but of course W. liked it and knew the question
thoroughly so he said he would stay and I had much better go and get
some fresh air. The heat was something awful and the box full, so I took
myself off. One of the Austrian secretaries came down with me to look
for the carriage and I started for a solitary turn in the Villa
Borghese. I hadn't gone very far when I met Comtesse Wimpffen alone in
her carriage. We drew up for a little talk, and she proposed I should
send my carriage away and come into hers, which I was delighted to do.
We went for a little walk, and met various friends--Marchesa Theoduli[19]
looking lovely. She was very amusing over the divided state of
society--says she is not allowed to bow to the Queen, and as they meet
almost every day driving and neither of them can pass inapercue it is
rather awkward. Mrs. Lorillard Spencer came up too, she was walking with
her daughter, Princess Vicovaro, whose husband was "le beau Cenci" of
our days. It was delicious lounging about on the grass under the trees,
after the heat of the Chamber. We stopped at Nazzari's for tea, met
Bibra at the door and invited him to come with us--also Cornelie
Zuylen,[20] who had seen us from the street and rushed in to have a
little talk. She is in Rome for a few days--sight-seeing hard. We had
tea and very good cakes--and I was glad to have a few minutes before
dressing for the Calabrini dinner.
[19] Nee Lily Conrad.