watered his horses (had a drink himself, too) and was very anxious we
should try some of the "vino del paese." We tasted it--a sour, white
wine, very like all the cheap Italian wines. The view from the Osteria
looking back toward Rome was very striking. Long lines of ruined,
crumbling tombs and arches--great blocks of stone, heads of columns,
mounds, wide ditches choked up with weeds, broken walls--all the dead
past of the great city. The sun was bright, but there were plenty of
little clouds, and the changing lights and shades on the great expanse
of the Campagna were beautiful. The hills seemed now so near that we
almost felt like getting out and walking, but the man assured us we had
still three or four miles before us, and a steep hill to climb--Albano
on the top. The road was shady--between two lines of trees. As we got
near the city we saw Pompey's tomb--a high tower with bits of marble
still on the walls. W. is rather sceptical about all the tombs; would
like to have time enough to investigate himself and make out all the
inscriptions, but it would take a life-time.
We went at once to the hotel to order breakfast, and then strolled about
in the streets until it was ready. It looked more changed to me than
Frascati--more modern. They tell me many people go out there now for
their summer "villegiatura," principally English and Americans, bankers,
doctors, artists, etc., who are obliged to spend their summer in or near
Rome. There were many new houses, and in all the old palaces apartments
to rent. There were a few tourists walking about, but happily no Cook's
this time. When we went back to the hotel we told the landlord what we
wanted to see--Ariccia, Genzano and Nemi. He suggested donkeys, but that
we both declined, so he said he had a good little carriage which could
take us easily. The breakfast was good, we were both hungry, and after
coffee we walked about in the Villa Doria under the ilex trees. W.
smoked and was quite happy, and I wasn't sorry to walk a little after
having been so long in the carriage. We went to the gardens of the Villa
Altieri. It was there the Cardinal died in the cholera summer of '69
when we were at Frascati. We could almost have walked to Ariccia, it is
so near, and such a lovely road, all ilex trees and great rocks, winding
along the side of the hill. The church and old Chigi Palace look very
grand and imposing as one gets near the gates of the little town. We
walked about the streets and went into the church, but there was not
much to see, and I thought it less effective seen near; then on to the
gardens of the Capuchin Convent, from where there are splendid views in
every direction, and always the thick shade of the ilex. We couldn't
loiter very much as we had the drive to Genzano before us. The road was
quite beautiful all the way; every turn familiar (how many times we have
ridden over it), and Genzano with its little, old streets straggling up
the hill looked exactly the same. I had forgotten the great viaduct
which one sees all the time on that road, it is splendid. We again got
out of the carriage and walked up a steep little path to have a view of
Lake Nemi. It lay far down at our feet--a little green pond (yet high
too), they say it was a volcanic crater. The water was perfectly
still--not even a shimmer of light or movement. Every way we turned the
view was beautiful--either down the valley where the colours were
changing all the time, sometimes quite grey, when the sun was under a
cloud (one almost felt a chill), and then every leaf and flower
sparkling in the sunlight--or toward the hills where the little towns
Rocca di Papa and Monte Cavo seemed hanging on the side of the mountain.
The drive back to Albano by the "Galleria di Sotto" under the enormous
ilex trees was simply enchanting, the afternoon sun throwing beautiful
streaks of yellow light through the thick shade, and the road most
animated--groups of peasants coming in from their work in the fields;
old women tottering along, almost disappearing beneath the great bundles
of fagots they carried on their heads; girls with jet-black hair and
eyes, in bright-coloured skirts, and little handkerchiefs pinned over
their shoulders, laughing and singing and chaffing the drivers of the
wine carts, who usually got down and walked along with them, leaving
their horses, who followed quietly, the men turning around occasionally
and talking to them. In the fields alongside there were teams of the
splendid white oxen and quantities of children tumbling up and down the
banks and racing after the carriage. They spot the foreigner at once. I
had talked so much to W. about the beauty of the road, the Galleria in
particular, that I was afraid he would be disappointed; but he wasn't,
was quite as enthusiastic as I was.
When we got back to Albano I tried to find some of the little cakes
(ciambelle) we used to buy when we rode over from Frascati; the little
package wrapped up in greasy brown paper and tied to the pommel of the
saddle; but the woman at the very nice baker's or confectioner's shop we
went into hadn't any, but said she could make a "plome cheke" (she
showed us the ticket with the name on it with pride), which was what all
the "Inglesi" took.
The drive home was lovely--just enough of the beautiful sunset clouds to
give colour to everything; the air soft and the world so still that a
dog barking in one of the little old farms or shepherds' huts made quite
a disturbance. As the evening closed in we heard the "grilli" (alas, no
nightingales; it is still too early) and the bushes along the road were
bright with fire-flies. The road seemed much less lonely going back to
Rome; so many peasants were coming back from the fields, also boys on
donkeys with empty sacks--had evidently taken olives, cheese, or dried
herbs into the city--and always bands of girls laughing and singing. It
was an ideal day, and after dinner we were just tired enough to settle
in our respective arm-chairs and say how glad we were we had decided to
come and spend these months in Italy.
The Schuylers came in for a cup of tea and Gert was rather sorry she
hadn't come, as her headache wasn't very serious. I think they will
take themselves out to Albano for a little stay as soon as the heat
begins.
Friday, April 17th.
This morning we went for a last turn in the Vatican. That is what W.
likes best. There is so much to see in that marvellous collection. He
wanted to copy one or two inscriptions, so I wandered about alone and
talked to the custode, who has become an intimate friend of ours. He
hovers about W. when he is taking notes or examining things closely, and
is evidently much gratified at the interest he takes in
everything--quite like a collector showing off his antiquities. We saw a
little commotion at one end of the long gallery, and he came running up
to say "His Holiness" was walking in the garden, and if we would come
with him he would take us to a window from where we could see him quite
distinctly. This of course we were delighted to do, as one never sees
the present Pope, except in some great ceremony when he is carried in
the "sedia gestatoria," but so high over the heads of the people that
one can hardly distinguish his features. We walked down the gallery,
through two or three passages, up a flight of stairs, and came upon a
window looking down directly on the gardens. They are beautiful, more
like a park than a garden, and one can quite understand that the Pope
can get a very good drive there, the days he doesn't walk. The custode
says he only walks when it is quite fine, is afraid of the damp or wind,
but that he goes out every day. There is a wood, flowers, long alleys
stretching far away bordered with box and quite wide enough for a
carriage, various buildings, a casino, tower, observatory, etc., also
fountains and a lake (I didn't see a boat upon it). In the middle of one
of the alleys a little group was walking slowly in our direction--about
10 people I should think. The Pope, dressed always in white, seemed to
walk easily enough. He carried himself very straight, and was talking
with a certain animation to the two ecclesiastics who walked on each
side of him. He stopped every now and then, going on with his
conversation and using his hands freely. He was talking all the time,
the others listening with much deference. The suite seemed to consist of
three or four priests and two servants. I didn't see either a Suisse or
Garde-Noble, but they may have been following at a distance. Our glimpse
of him was fleeting, as he turned into a side alley before he got up to
our window--still it was enough to realize his life--think of never
going outside those walls, walking day after day in those same alleys,
cut off from all the outside world and living his life in the stillness
and monotony of the Vatican. However it certainly doesn't react in any
way upon his intellect. They say he is just as keen and well up in
everything as when he was Bishop of Perugia, and that his indomitable
will will carry him through.
We thanked our old custode very warmly (and in many ways) for having
brought us to the window, and also said good-bye to him, as this of
course was our last visit to the Vatican. He begged us to come back, but
it must be soon, or _he_ wouldn't be there, as he was as old as the
Pope.
When we got to the hotel we found Monsignor English in the salon with
the Pope's photograph, very well framed with a gilt shield with the
Papal arms on the top. It is exactly like him, sitting very straight in
his chair, his hand lifted a little just as if he were speaking, and the
other hand and arm resting on the arm of the chair. He is dressed in his
white robes, red cape and embroidered stole, just as we saw him; and his
little white cap on his head. He has written himself a few words in
Latin, of which this is a free translation: "The woman who fears God,
makes her own reputation. Her husband was celebrated in his country when
he sat with the Senators of the land." I am so pleased to have the
photograph--so many people told me I should never get it, that the Pope
rarely gave his picture to anybody and never signed one. Monsignor
English, too, was much pleased, as he had undertaken the whole thing. He
said again that the Pope was glad to have seen W., found him so
moderate, and yet very decided, too, about what the church mustn't do.
Leo XIII. has an awfully difficult part to play--the ultra-Catholics
disapprove absolutely his line--can't understand any concession or
compromise with Republican France, and yet there are very good religious
people on the liberal side, and he, as Head of the Church, must think
about all his children, and try to conciliate, not alienate. It is
wonderful that that old man sitting up there by himself at the top of
the Vatican can think out all those perplexed questions and arrive at a
solution. They say he works it all out himself--rarely asks advice. I
daresay it wouldn't help him if he did, for of course there are
divisions, too, in the clerical party of Rome, even among the Cardinals,
where the difference of nationalities must have a very great influence.
I should think there was almost as much difference between an American
and an Italian Cardinal as between Protestants and Catholics. The
American must look at things from a different point of view. Monsignor
English quite understood that--said Americans were more
independent--still when a great question came they must submit like all
the rest.
We then had a most animated discussion as to how far it was possible for
an intelligent man (or woman) to abdicate entirely his own judgment, and
to accept a thing which he was not quite sure of because the church
decided it must be. I think we should have gone on indefinitely with
that conversation, never arriving at any solution, so it was just as
well that breakfast put a stop to it.
We went for a lovely drive in the afternoon, out of the Porta del
Popolo, across Ponte Molle, and then along the river until we came to
that rough country road, or lane, leading across the fields where we
have gone in so many times on horseback, to the Villa Madama. We drove
as far as we could (almost to the gate) and then walked up the hill to
the Villa itself. There everything was quite unchanged--the garden
neglected, full of weeds, and grass growing high. The oval stone basin
was there still, the sides covered with moss, and a few flowers coming
quite promiscuously out of walls, stones, etc. We went into the loggia
to see the paintings and frescoes, all in good condition, and then sat
some time on the terrace looking at the view, which was
divine--everything so soft in the distance, even the yellow Tiber looked
silvery--at least I saw it so; I don't know that W. did. He generally
finds it sluggish and muddy. We came home by the Porta Angelica and
drove through the Square of St. Peter's. There are always people on the
steps, not a crowd of course as on fete days, but enough to give
animation, priests, beggars, and the people lounging and looking at
whatever passes in the Square. It is so enormous, the Piazza, when one
sees it empty, one can hardly realize what it used to be in the old days
for the great Easter ceremony when the Pope gave his blessing from the
balcony of St. Peter's. I can see it now, packed black with people, the
French soldiers with their red caps and trousers making great patches of
colour, and Montebello (who commanded the French Armee d'Occupation in
Rome) with a brilliant staff in the centre of the Square--he and his
black charger so absolutely motionless one might have thought both horse
and rider were cast in bronze. There were all sorts of jokes and
chattering in the crowd until the first glimpse of the waving peacock
plumes, and banners, passing high, high up, and just visible through the
arches, showed that the Pope's procession was arriving on the balcony;
and when at last one saw distinctly the white figure as the old man was
raised high in his chair there was an absolute stillness in all that
great mass; every one knelt to receive the blessing, and the Pope's
voice rang out clear and strong (one could hear every word). As soon as
it was over cannon fired, bells rang, and there fluttered down over the
crowd a quantity of little white papers (indulgences) which every one
tried to grasp. It was a magnificent cadre for such a ceremony--the dome
of St. Peter's towering above us straight up into the blue sky, the
steps crowded with people, the red umbrellas of the peasants making a
great show, and women of all conditions and all nationalities dressed in
bright, gay colours; uniforms of all kinds, monks and priests of every
order; the black of the priests rather lost in all the colour of
uniforms, costumes, etc. The getting away was long--we might have had
our carriage with the American cockade in one of the back courts of the
Vatican, but we wanted to see everything and come home by the Ponte St.
Angelo. It was a great show all the way--the long line of carriages and
pedestrians streaming back to Rome, cut every now and then by a
detachment of troops. Everybody was cheered, from Charette and his
Zouaves to Montebello and his staff. The crowd was in a good humour--it
was a splendid day, they had had a fine show, and politics and "foreign
mercenaries" were forgotten for the moment. Everybody had a flower of
some kind--the boys and young men in their hats, the girls in their
hair. One heard on all sides "buona festa," "buona Pasqua." How we
enjoyed it all, particularly the first time, when we were fresh from
America and our principal idea of a fete was the 4th of July. That
seemed a magnificent thing in our childish days, when we had friends on
the lawn at Cherry Lawn, a torch-light procession with a band (such a
band) from the town, and father's speech, standing at the top of the
steps and telling the boys that if they worked hard and studied well,
any one of them might become President of the United States, which
statement of course was always received with roars of applause.
[Illustration: Last Benediction of Pope Pius IX. from the Balcony of St.
Peter's.]
We went back to the Piazza always at night to see the "Girandola"
fireworks, and there was almost the same crowd waiting for the first
silvery light to appear on the facade of St. Peter's. It was marvellous
to see the lines of light spread all over the enormous mass of stone,
running around all the cupolas and statues like a trail of silver, in
such quantities that the stone almost disappeared, and the church seemed
made of light--quite beautiful. The illumination lasted a long
time--gold light came after the silver, and I think it was perhaps more
striking when they began to go out one by one, leaving great spaces in
darkness--then one saw what an enormous edifice it was.
I have written you a volume--but every turn here recalls old, happy
days--"Roma com'era"--and I must come back to the present and our
farewell dinner at the Noailles'.
We were a small party--all the French Embassy, the Duc de Ripalda, the
Chilian Minister and his wife, Maffel, Visconti Venosta, and Lanciani.
W. and Noailles retired to the fumoir and talked politics hard. We shall
soon be back in the thick of it now, and W. will take his place again
in the Senate. It will seem funny to be quietly settled in the rue
Dumont d'Urville--riding in the Bois in the morning and driving over to
the Senate in the afternoon, with the boy, to get W. Ripalda and I had a
long talk. He tells me he still holds the same opinion about American
women--they are the prettiest and most attractive in the world. There is
something--he doesn't know what--that makes them different from all the
others. I asked him if he remembered Antoinette Polk; to which he
promptly replied, "Ah, qu'elle etait belle--une deesse." I must tell her
how she lives in his old memory. I always find Noailles pleasant--so
grand seigneur.
We found all sorts of cards and invitations when we came in, and a
surprise for me from Father Smith which pleased me greatly, a silver
medal of Leo XIII. in a case. It is about the size of a five-franc
piece--rather larger if anything, and so like, the small head, and fine,
sharply cut features, such a nice note, too, from Father Smith; he was
very glad to be able to offer me something which he knew I would prize,
and that it wasn't necessary to be of the same religion to admire and
appreciate a great intellect and a good man. I am very proud of my two
pictures, and shall show them triumphantly to some of my Catholic
friends and relations who can't understand a Protestant and a heretic
caring for such souvenirs.
We can't accept any more dinners as we leave on Monday, W. for Naples
and I for Florence. I wanted very much to go to Ostia, I should like W.
to see that desolate, sandy shore with the pines coming down almost to
the water's edge, and the old castle rising up in the distance; but it
is an all-day excursion and we haven't time. We will try and do Vei,
which is an easy afternoon's drive. I must stop now--W. is deep in
Baedeker, looking out Ostia and Vei, and must also write a note to
Geoffroy about something they want to see to-morrow. I shall go and see
something with Gert.
Sunday, April 19, 1880.
Yesterday we had an enchanting day at Tivoli, W., Gert and I. Schuyler
was detained in Rome, much to his disgust, on business. He loves a day
in the country and is most amusing to go about with. He talks to
everybody, priests, peasants, soldiers, and always gets odd bits of
information about old customs, legends, family histories--all that makes
the story of a nation. Tomba gave us a light carriage and a pair of
strong horses (our little ones were not up to the long day). We started
at 8 in the morning and didn't get back until 8.30. There is a steam
tram now all the way out but we preferred driving, as we wanted to stop
at Hadrian's Villa. We went out by Porta San Lorenzo, crossed the Arno
(the river which makes the falls of Tivoli) at Ponte Mammolo, and had a
good two hours' drive (rather more, in fact) to Hadrian's Villa. I
didn't find that part of the Campagna very interesting (it was much
finer after one left the Villa). We left the carriage at the entrance of
a sort of lane (one doesn't see much before getting actually inside)
between high banks covered with every description of vine and creepers;
and wild flowers and weeds in a tangle at our feet (it was really
difficult walking sometimes), and found ourselves in an open space, with
ruins in every direction--a half-crumbling wall, weeds choking it up;
part of a theatre with broken columns and steps, a few bits of mosaic
but not much colour of any kind; some bas-reliefs very well preserved;
but one felt that everything of value had been taken away, and what was
left was so hidden in long grass and weeds that it was difficult to
understand all the former magnificence of the famous Villa.
The custode was most conscientious, explained everything--the arena,
theatre, baths, temples, etc., but my impression was a mass of grey,
broken bits of stones and columns. There were one or two splendid stone
pines standing up straight and tall, looking like guardians of past
splendour, and in every direction the crooked little grey-green olive
trees and fields full of flowers. Gert and I sat on the wall in a shady
corner, while W. and the custode went off some little distance to look
at a fountain, and we were not sorry to have the rest. The last part of
the drive, winding up the hill to Tivoli, was beautiful--such splendid
views all the time, either toward Rome (St. Peter's standing out, a
faint blue dome at the end of the long, flat plains of the Campagna; or
on the other side the Sabine Hills, Soracte, Frascati, etc.).
We went straight to the little old hotel of the Sybilla, which looks
exactly the same as in our day, and ordered breakfast. We were quite
ready for it, having had our "petit dejeuner" at 7.30. The padrone said
he wanted half an hour to prepare it, as the regular table-d'hote was
over. Of course the railway tourists got out much quicker than we did
and we met them all over the place, when we went out to see the famous
Temple of Vesta. It is perched on the top of the cliff, looking as if it
would take very little to precipitate it into the mass of rushing,
leaping water tumbling itself over the rocks far below at our feet. We
had a very good breakfast, capital trout for which Tivoli is famous, and
a most talkative landlord who came to superintend the meal and give us
any information we wanted. He said we must have donkeys to make the
"giro," which would take us about two hours, and we could finish at the
Villa d'Este, where the carriage would come and get us.
We walked about a little in the town after breakfast through narrow,
dirty streets with curious old bits of architecture, and into the
church, or cathedral as they grandly call it, of San Francesco; but
there was really nothing to see; and at two we started for our tournee
to the grottoes of Neptune and the Sirena. We all walked at first, two
donkeys with the usual pretty little black-eyed boys at their heads
following (W. of course wouldn't have a donkey but took a cane which the
padrone of the Sybilla strongly recommended as the steps going down to
the grotto were steep and slippery). I wondered how the donkeys would
get on, but made no remarks as I knew I could always get off. We walked
through the little town under a nice old arch and up a path which was
pleasant enough at first, but when we wound round the side of the hill
Gert and I were glad to mount our beasts as the sun was very hot and
there wasn't an atom of shade. It was a beautiful excursion, always
something to see--ruins of old castles, temples, gateways--so much
really that one couldn't take in details. From certain "points de vue"
the Temple of Vesta seemed almost standing on air--one lost the cliff,
which disappeared in a sort of mist. As soon as we began to go down the
noise of the rushing water was quite overpowering; we couldn't hear
ourselves speak, and the glimpses we had of the quantities of little
falls leaping over big rocks and stones were quite enchanting.
Our little donkeys were perfectly sure-footed and the path good though
steep. We dismounted before getting quite down to the grottoes and the
steps certainly were rough and slippery. The guide took charge of Gert,
and I followed in W.'s wake very carefully. It was icy cold when we got
all the way down. I am generally impervious to that sort of thing, but I
felt the cold strike me and didn't stay long. The chill passed entirely
as soon as we came out and began the ascent, leaving the dark, deep pool
behind us.