we could get easily to Capri. He could recommend an excellent boatman
who had a large, safe boat and who was most prudent, as well as his son.
With a fair wind we ought to go over in two hours. We wanted to stay
over one night, and he arranged everything. The boat would wait and
bring us back the next evening. We started early--about 9 o'clock--so as
to get over for breakfast. The boat was most comfortable, a big broad
tub, with rather a small sail, plenty of room for all our bags, wraps,
etc. The sea was divine, blue and dancing, but there was not much wind.
We progressed rather slowly, the breeze was mild, the boat heavy and the
sail small, but nobody minded. It was delicious drifting along on that
summer sea--just enough ripple to make little waves that tumbled up
against the side of the boat, and a slight rocking motion that was
delightful--couldn't have suggested sea-sickness or nervousness to the
most timid sailor. There were plenty of boats about (mostly fishermen)
of all sizes, some of them with the dark red sail that is so effective,
and several pleasure boats and small yachts. _They_ were almost as broad
and solid as our boat; hadn't at all the graceful outlines and large
sails that we are accustomed to. We were exactly three hours going over
though the breeze freshened a little as we got near Capri. We were quite
excited when we made out the landing-place ("Marina grande") and the
long, steep flight of steps leading up to the town. The last time we
were there we went by the regular tourist steamer from Naples. There
were quantities of people and a perfect rush for donkeys and guides as
soon as we arrived; also the whole population of Capri on the shore
chattering, offering donkeys, flowers, funny little bottles of wine, and
a troop of children running up the steps alongside of the donkeys and
clamouring for "un piccolo soldo." This time there was no one at the
landing-place, but the man of the hotel with a sedan chair for mother,
donkeys for us if we wanted them (we didn't--preferred walking) and a
wheelbarrow or hand cart of some kind for the luggage, which was
slight--merely bags and wraps. There were a good many steps, but they
were broad, we didn't mind. We found a very nice little hotel, kept by
an English couple. The woman had been for years maid in the Sheridan
family. She told us there was no one in the hotel but one Englishman--in
fact no foreigners in the island. We had a very good breakfast in a
nice, fairly large room with views of the sea in all directions, and
started off immediately afterward to see as much as we could. Mother had
her chair, but didn't go all the way with us. We passed through narrow,
badly paved little streets with low, pink houses, lots of people, women
and children, standing in the doorways--no men, I suppose they were all
fishing--and then climbed up to the Villa Tiberius--a steep climb at the
end, but such a view. Before we got quite to the top we stopped at the
"Salto di Tiberio," a rock high up over the water from which the guide
told us that monarch had his victims precipitated into the sea. We
dropped down stones (I remember quite well doing the same thing when we
were there before) to see how long it was before they touched the water,
which showed at what a height one was. The palace is too much in ruins
to be very interesting, but there was enough to show how large it must
have been, and bits of wall and arches still standing. We went on to the
chapel, drank some rather bad wine which the hermit offered us, bought
some paper weights and crosses made out of bits of coloured marble which
had been found in the ruins, and wrote our names in his book. We looked
back in the book to see if there were any interesting signatures, but
there was nothing remarkable--a great many Germans.
We came home by another path, winding down through small gardens,
vineyards, and occasionally along the steep side of the mountain, all
stones and ragged rocks, with the sea far down at our feet. There were a
good many houses scattered about, one or two quite isolated near the
top. We had a running escort of little black-eyed brown children all
talking and offering little bunches of mountain flowers. The guides
remonstrated vigorously occasionally and they would disappear, but were
immediately replaced by another band from the next group of houses we
passed.
We were rather tired when we got back to the hotel as the climbing was
stiff in some parts, and glad to rest a little before dinner. The
padrona came in and talked to us. It seemed funny to see an English
woman in that milieu with her brown hair quite smooth and plain and a
clean print dress. She said she liked her life, and the people of the
island. They were industrious, simple and easy-going. She talked a great
deal about the Sheridans, for whom she had of course the greatest
admiration, said one of the sons came often to Capri, and that his
cousin Norton had married a Capri fisher-girl. We had heard the story,
of course, and were much interested in all she told us. She said the
girl was lovely, an absolute peasant, had walked about with bare feet
like all the rest, but that she had been over to England, was taught
there all they could get into her head, and was quite changed, had two
children. I remember their telling us in Rome what a difficult process
that education was. She was willing and anxious to learn to read and
write, but her ambition and her capability of receiving instruction
stopped there--when they wanted to teach her a little history (not very
far back either) and the glories of the Sheridan name she was
recalcitrant, couldn't interest herself and dismissed the subject
saying, "ma sono morti tutti" (they are all dead). She always kept her
little house at Capri, in fact was there now, perhaps we should like to
see her. We said we should very much.
We had nice, clean comfortable rooms and made out our plan for the next
day. We didn't care about the Blue Grotto--we had seen it before, and
besides they told us that at this season of the year it would be almost
impossible, one must have a perfectly still sea as the entrance is not
easy--very low--and a big wave would swamp the boat. We heard the wind
getting up a little in the night and we woke the next morning to see a
grey, cloudy sky, little showers falling occasionally, and a fine gale,
sea rough, no little boats out, one or two fishing boats racing along
under well-reefed sails, anything but tempting for a three hours' sail
in an open boat. Mother looked decidedly nervous; however the matter was
taken out of our hands, for the boatmen appeared saying they would not
go out, which was rather a relief; we didn't mind staying. There was a
fair library in the house, books that visitors had left, so we hunted up
a history of Capri (Baedeker was soon exhausted), and got through our
morning pretty well, some reading aloud, the others knitting or working.
We had all taken some sort of work in our bags, various experiences of
small hotels on rainy days having taught us to provide our own
amusement.
It cleared in the afternoon though the wind was still very high and we
set off--on donkeys this time--and mother in her chair, to the other
side of the island. Two or three girls, handsome enough in their bright
skirts, bare brown legs and thick braids of hair, came with us to take
charge of the donkeys. As we were going up a steep flight of steps
(which the donkeys did very well and deliberately) they began to tell us
about Mrs. Norton and said we should pass her house. It was amusing to
hear them talk of her wonderful luck in being married to this "bel
Inglese"; "adesso fa la signora sta in camera tutto il giorno--colle
mani bianche" ("Now she does the lady, sits in her room all day with
white hands"). We passed several houses rather better than the ordinary
fisherman's cottage and then came upon a nice little white house,
standing rather high, with a garden and gate, which they told us was
Mrs. Norton's. We stopped a moment at the gate, looking at the garden;
mother's bearers put her chair down and gave themselves a rest, and we
saw a lady appear very simply dressed in something dark, who came to the
gate and asked us in very nice English with a pretty accent if we would
come in and rest, as the day was hot and we had had a steep climb. We
heard all the fisher-girls giggling and saying "Eccola la Signora." We
were half ashamed to have been seen gaping in at her garden, but the
invitation was simply and cordially given, and we accepted. Her manner
to mother was quite pretty, respectful to the older lady. We went into
a pretty little sitting-room quite simply furnished, with books and
photographs about. She showed us pictures of all her family, her husband
(regretting extremely that he was not there), her mother-in-law, Mrs.
Norton, and her children. She seemed very proud of her son, said he was
at school in England and didn't care very much for Capri. I asked her if
she liked England, and though she said "very much," I thought I detected
a regret for her old home, though not perhaps her old life. Her face
quite lighted up when we said how much we admired her island with its
high cliffs and beautiful blue sea. I didn't find her as handsome as I
expected, but the eyes were fine and her smile charming. Her manner was
perfectly natural, she showed us very simply all she had, and was not in
the least curious about us--asked us no questions, was evidently
accustomed to seeing foreigners and tourists at Capri. We stayed about
half an hour, and then went on our way. She shook hands with us all, and
looked most smilingly at mother; couldn't quite understand her black
dress and white cap--said we mustn't let her do too much, "she is not so
young as you, la mamma."
Of course the fisher-girls were in a wild state of excitement when we
came out--all talked at once, stopping in the middle of the path, the
donkeys, too; when they had much to say, and telling the whole story
over again. I said to one of them, "Should you like to marry a 'bel
Inglese' and go and live in another country far away from Capri with no
sun nor blue sky?" She thought a moment, looking straight at me with her
big, black eyes and then answered, sensibly enough, my rather foolish
question--she had never thought about it--was quite happy where she was.
It was a curious meeting.
When we got back to the hotel we asked our padrona about Mrs. Norton
and the life she led. She told us Mrs. Norton mere[25] had been in
despair when her son married the fisher-girl--he was very good-looking
and her favourite, and it was a great blow to her, but that she had been
very good to her and was fond of the boy. She didn't seem to think the
young woman had had a very happy life, but that she was always delighted
to get back to Capri. "Did she see any of her old friends?" "Not
much--that was difficult--she only came in the summer, the children
generally with her, and they fished and sailed and made their own life
apart."
[25] The well-known poetess and beauty, nee Sheridan.
We got back to Sorrento the next morning--the sea beautifully smooth and
calm--no trace of the great waves that had roared all night into the
numerous caves, throwing up showers of foam.
My dear, I seem to have prosed on for pages about Naples, but once
started I couldn't stop. Tell Henrietta I feel rather like her when we
used to call her Mrs. Nickleby, because she never could keep to any one
subject, but always made long, foolish digressions.
Monday, April 13th.
Last night we had a pleasant dinner at Mr. Hooker's, the American
banker. He still lives in one end of his apartment in the Palazzo
Bonaparte, but has rented the greater part to the Suzannets.[26] We were
a small party--ourselves, Schuylers, Ristori (Marchesa Caprannica), and
her charming daughter. Ristori is very striking looking--very large, but
dignified and easy in her movements, and a wonderfully expressive face.
The girl, Bianca Caprannica, is charming, tall, fair, graceful. Ristori
talked a great deal, speaks French, of course, perfectly.
[26] Comte de Suzannet, Secretary of the French Embassy.
She admires the French stage, and we discussed various actors and
actresses. I should love to see her act once, her voice is so full and
beautiful. Such a characteristic scene took place after coffee. We were
still sitting in the dining-room when we heard a carriage come in, and
instantly there was a great sound of stamping horses, angry coachman,
whip freely applied, etc. It really made a great noise and disturbance.
Ristori listened for a moment, then rushed to the window (very high
up--we were on the top story), exclaiming it was her man, opened it, and
proceeded to expostulate with the irate coachman in very energetic
Italian--"Che diavolo!" were these her horses or his, was he a Christian
man to treat poor brutes like that, etc.--a stream of angry remonstrance
in her deep, tragic voice. There was a cessation of noise in the
court-yard--her voice dominated everything--and then I suppose the
coachman explained and excused himself, but we were so high up and
inside that we couldn't hear. She didn't listen, but continued to abuse
him until at length Hooker went to the window and suggested that she
might cease scolding and come back into the room, which she did quite
smilingly--the storm had passed.
This morning we have been to the Doria Gallery. The palace is enormous,
a great court and staircase and some fine pictures. We liked a portrait
by Velasquez of a Pope--Innocent X, I think--and some of the Claude
Lorraines, with their curious blue-green color. We walked home by the
Corso. It was rather warm, but shady always on one side of the street.
After breakfast Cardinal Bibra, the Bishop of Frascati, came to see us.
He was much disappointed that we had had such a horrid day for our
Frascati and Tusculum expedition, and wants us to go again, but we
haven't time. We want to go to Ostia and Albano if it is possible. He
and W. plunged into ecclesiastical affairs. It is curious what an
importance they all attach to W.'s being a Protestant; seem to think his
judgment must be fairer. He also knew about Uncle Evelyn having married
and settled in Perugia, and had heard the Pope speak about him. He spoke
about the Marquis de Gabriac (Desprez's predecessor) and regretted his
departure very much. I think he had not yet seen the new Ambassador. W.
told him Desprez would do all he could to make things go smoothly, that
his whole career had been made at the Quai d'Orsay, where every
important question for years had been discussed with him.
Tuesday, April 14th.
We dined last night at the Black Spanish Embassy with the Cardenas. It
was very pleasant. We had two cardinals--Bibra and a Spanish cardinal
whose name I didn't catch; he had a striking face, keen and stern,
didn't talk much at dinner--Desprez and his son, the Sulmonas, Bandinis,
Primolis (she is nee Bonaparte), d'Aulnays, all the personnel of the
French Embassy, and one or two young men from the other embassies; quite
a small dinner. W. took in Princess Sulmona and enjoyed it very much.
Primoli took me, and I had Prince Bandini on the other side. Both men
were pleasant enough. All the women except me were in high dresses, and
Primoli asked me how I had the conscience to appear "decolletee" and
show bare shoulders to cardinals. I told him we weren't told that we
should meet any cardinals, and that in these troubled days I thought a
woman in full dress was such a minor evil that I didn't believe they
would even notice what one had on; but he seemed to think they were
observant, says all churchmen of any denomination are. Their life is
so inactive that they get their experience from what they see and hear.
I talked a few minutes to Princess Bandini after dinner, but she went
away almost immediately, as she had music (Tosti) at home. We promised
to go to her later--I wanted very much to hear Tosti. The evening was
short. The cardinals always go away early--at 9.30 (we dined at 7.30,
and every one was punctual). As long as they stayed the men made a
circle around them. They are treated with much deference (we women were
left to our own devices). W. said the conversation was not very
interesting, they talk with so much reserve always. He said the Spaniard
hardly spoke, and Cardinal Bibra talked antiquities, the excavations
still to be made in Tusculum, etc. I think they go out very little now,
only occasionally to Black embassies. Their position is of course much
changed since the Italians are in Rome. They live much more quietly;
never receive, their carriages are much simpler, no more red trappings,
nothing to attract attention--so different from our day. When Pio Nono
went out it was a real royal progress. First came the "batta strada" or
"piqueur" on a good horse, stopping all the carriages and traffic; then
the Pope in his handsome coach, one or two ecclesiastics with him,
followed by several cardinals in their carriages, minor prelates,
members of the household and the escort of "gardes nobles." All the
gentlemen got out of their carriages, knelt or bowed very low; the
ladies stood in theirs, making low curtseys, and many people knelt in
the street. One saw the old man quite distinctly, dressed all in white;
leaning forward a little and blessing the crowd with a large sweeping
movement of his hand. He rarely walked in the streets of Rome, but often
in the villas--Pamphili or Borghese. There almost all the people he met
knelt; children kissed his hand, and he would sometimes pat their little
black heads. We crossed him one day in the Villa Pamphili. We were a
band of youngsters--Roman and foreigners--and all knelt. The old man
looked quite pleased at the group of young people--stopped a moment and
gave his blessing with a pretty smile. Some of our compatriots were
rather horrified at seeing us kneel with all the rest--Protestants doing
homage to the head of the Roman Catholic Church--and expressed their
opinion to father: it would certainly be a very bad note for my
brother.[27] However, father didn't think the United States Government
would attach much importance to our papal demonstration, and we
continued to kneel and ask his blessing whenever we met His Holiness. He
had a kind, gentle face (a twinkle, too, in his eyes), and was always so
fond of children and young people. The contrast between him and his
successor is most striking. Leo XIII is tall, slight, hardly anything
earthly about him--the type of the intellectual, ascetic priest--all his
will and energy shining out of his eyes, which are extraordinarily
bright and keen for a man of his age.
[27] General Rufus King, last United States Minister to the Vatican.
[Illustration: Pope Pius IX.]
We didn't stay very long after the cardinals left, as I was anxious to
get off to Princess Bandini. We found a great many people, and music
going on. Some woman had been singing--a foreigner, either English or
American--and Tosti was just settled at the piano. He is quite charming;
has very little voice, but says his things delightfully, accompanying
himself with a light, soft touch. He sang five or six times, principally
his own songs, with much expression; also a French song extremely well.
His diction is perfect, his style simple and easy. One wonders why every
one doesn't sing in the same way. They don't, as we perceived when a
man with a big voice, high barytone, came forward, and sang two songs,
Italian and German. The voice was fine, and the man sang well, but
didn't give half the pleasure that Tosti did with his "voix de
compositeur" and wonderful expression. He was introduced to me, and we
had a pleasant talk. He loves England, and goes there every season. A
good many people came in after us. I wanted to introduce W. to some one
and couldn't find him, thought he must have gone, and was just going to
say good-night to Princess Bandini when her husband came up, saying,
"You mustn't go yet--your husband is deep in a talk with Cardinal
Howard," and took me to one of the small salons, where I saw the two
gentlemen sitting, talking hard. The Cardinal was just going when we
came in, so he intercepted W. and carried him off to this quiet corner
where they would be undisturbed. They must have been there quite
three-quarters of an hour, for I went back into the music-room, and it
was some little time before W. found me there. Every one had gone, but
we stayed on a little while, talking to the two Bandinis. It is a funny
change for W. to plunge into all this clerical society of Rome; but he
says he understands their point de vue much better, now that he sees
them here, particularly when both parties can talk quite frankly. It
would be almost impossible to have such a talk in France--each side
begins with such an evident prejudice. The honest clerical really
believes that the liberal is a man absolutely devoid of religious
feeling of any kind--a dangerous character, incapable of real patriotic
feeling, and doing great harm to his country. The liberal is not quite
so narrow-minded; but he, too, in his heart holds the clergy responsible
for the want of progress, the narrow grooves they would like the young
generation to move in, and the influence they try to exercise in
families through the women (who all go to church and confession). With
the pitiless logic of the French character every disputed point stands
out clear and sharp, and discussion is very difficult. Here they are
more supple--leave a larger part to human weaknesses.
Thursday, April 16th.
We have finally had our day at Albano, and delightful it was. W. and I
went alone, as Gert was not very well, and afraid of the long day in the
sun. We started early--at 8.30--though we had been rather late the night
before as Count Coello, Spanish Ambassador,[28] sent us his box for the
opera. It was Lohengrin--well enough given, orchestra and chorus good,
but the soloists rather weak. _Elsa_, a very stout Italian woman of
mature years, did not give one just the idea of the fair patrician
maiden one imagines her to be. The Italian sounded very funny after
hearing it always in German, and "Cigno gentil" didn't at all convey the
same idea as "Lieber Schwan." The tenor had a pretty, sympathetic voice
and looked his part well (rather more like _Elsa's_ son than her lover),
but one mustn't be too particular. The house was fairly brilliant--much
fuller than the last time we were there--and quantities of people we
knew. Hardly any one in full dress, which is a pity, as it makes the
salle look dull. One or two women in white (one very handsome with
diamond stars in her hair, whom nobody knew) stood out very well against
the dark red of the boxes. Del Monte came in and sat some time with us.
He is quite mad about Wagner--rare for an Italian. They generally like
more melody and less science. We invited him to come to Albano with us
and show us everything, and I think he was half inclined to accept, but
he was de service that day and it was too late to find any one to
replace him.
[28] To the Quirinal.
We finally decided to drive out after various consultations as to hours,
routes, etc. It is quicker by the railway and we should perhaps have
rather more time, but we both of us love the drive on the Campagna, and
W. was very keen to take the old Via Appia again and realize more
completely the street of tombs. It was a lovely morning and every minute
of the drive interesting, even when we were almost shut in between the
high grey walls which stretch out some little distance at first leaving
the Porta San Sebastiano. They were covered with creepers, pink roses
starting apparently out of all the crevices; pretty, dirty little
children tumbling over the broken bits into the road almost under the
horses' feet; every now and then a donkey's head emerging from an
opening, or a wrinkled old woman appearing at some open door smiling and
nodding a cheerful "Buon giorno!" to the passers-by. There was a long
string of carts with nothing apparently in them. They didn't take much
trouble about getting a little to one side to let the carriage pass; and
their drivers--some of them stretched out on their backs in the carts,
the reins hanging loosely over the seat--didn't at all mind the
invectives our coachman hurled at them, "pigs, lazy dogs, etc." Of
course we passed again Cecilia Metella, also two tombs said to be the
Horatii and Curatii; and the Casale Rotondo with a house and olive trees
on the top, but I cannot remember half the names, nor places.
We were armed with our Baedeker, but it goes into such details of all
the supposed tombs and monuments that one gets rather lost. I don't know
that it adds very much to the interest to know the names and dates of
all the tombs. One feels in such an old-world atmosphere they speak for
themselves. The colours were beautiful to-day--the old stones had a
soft, grey tint. It is a desolate bit of road all the same--so little
life or movement of any kind. As we got further out we came upon the
long line of aqueducts, but there were apparently miles of plain with
nothing in sight--occasionally a flock of sheep in the distance, the
shepherd riding a rough, unkempt little pony, and looking a half-wild
creature himself--some boys on donkeys, and the shepherds' dogs, which
came barking and jumping over the plain toward the strangers. They are
sometimes very fierce. Years ago in Rome when we used to make long
excursions riding to Vei or Ostia, the gentlemen of the party always
carried good big whips to keep them off. They have been known to spring
on the horses, who are afraid of them. One sprang on Gert once, when we
were cantering over the Campagna, and almost tore her habit off. We
didn't meet any cart or vehicle of any description. I wondered where all
these were going that we passed on the road, and asked our Giuseppe, but
he merely shrugged his shoulders and said they were "robaccia" (trash).