long procession; many very nice-looking women. They were all dressed in
black, and most of them wore bonnets--some few had black veils--priests
of course, and a fair amount of men of all ages. They passed in
procession up the aisle, chanting a psalm, which sounded very well, full
and solemn. One or two stragglers, two young men and a woman stopped to
see what we were looking at, and we had a little talk. They had just
arrived over the St. Gothard, hadn't much time, and were very keen to
see everything. They said it was very cold crossing the mountain--the
heavy rain we had had at Milan had been deep snow on the pass. We went
to look at Queen Theodolinda's tomb in one of the side chapels, and then
started for the "Casa Reale" as they call the Royal Villa. It has no
pretensions to architecture; is a large square building with long,
rambling wings. We could only see the great hall and some of the
reception rooms downstairs, as they were painting and cleaning upstairs.
The rooms had no particular style--large, high ceilings, great windows
looking on the park; just what one sees in all Royal Palaces. All the
furniture was covered with housses--the gardien took one off an
arm-chair to show us the red velvet. The lustres also were covered--the
mirrors were handsome. The park is delightful--quantities of trees of
all kinds, lovely shady walks, and bosquets. There seemed to be a great
deal of game--deer and pheasants walking about quite tame and
undisturbed in all directions. The communs and dependances are enormous,
quite a little colony of houses scattered about--regisseur, head-keeper,
head-gardener, all with good gardens.
We had a nice talk with a half-gardener half-guide who went about with
us and showed us all the beauties. The place is low--I should think
would be very warm in summer, for even to-day the shade was pleasant and
the low afternoon sun in our faces rather trying. There were splendid
views every now and then of the distant Alps. The gardener, like every
one else who has ever been thrown with her, apparently adored the
Queen--said she knew all about the place, and trees, and flowers, and
was so beloved in the town. I remember Peruzzi telling me how fond she
was of Monza--happier there than anywhere. They certainly love their
"Margherita di Savoia." There are pictures of her everywhere, and some
one told us that all the girls in Monza are called Margherita.
When we were starting back we met the pilgrims again, still walking and
chanting on their way to the station. They had a white banner with them,
but I couldn't see what the inscription was. The drive home was lovely,
even along the long straight road bordered with poplars (quite like a
French country road). The evening was delicious, a little cool driving,
as we went a very good pace. I was glad to put a light wrap over my
shoulders. The sunset clouds were gorgeous, and every now and then
glimpses of the snow mountains. I love to see them--those beautiful
white peaks, half clouds, half snow--they seem so mysterious, so far
away from our every-day life and world. The road was dull, very little
passing until we got near Milan. There we met bands of peasants coming
in from their work in the fields, and country carts loaded with
people--all the young ones singing and talking, and the wrinkled old
women looking on smiling. We noticed again what a fine, strong race they
are--both men and women--such broad shoulders, and holding themselves so
straight. They must have been nasty adversaries when their time came and
they shook off the hated Austrian yoke; but they were not cruel victors
(so says my book), the wives and daughters of men who had fallen under
Austrian cannon nursing and tending their sick and wounded enemies.
We met three or four handsome private carriages, also a young man
driving a phaeton with a pair of handsome steppers. Our coachman pointed
him out proudly to us as the Marchese ----, some name I didn't catch,
but he was evidently a swell. I suppose there are villas in the
neighborhood, but we didn't see any, nothing but trees, rice fields and
little canals and ditches.
I think we shall get off the day after to-morrow. W. thinks one more
morning with the coins will be enough for him, he wants now to get back.
I think he is homesick for the Senate and politics generally, but he
won't allow it. We had thought of going to Como for two days, it is so
easy from here, but he wants to stop at Turin, so we must give it up. I
suppose it won't be as cold at Turin now as we always used to find it
crossing in winter. Do you remember one of the first years, coming over
the Mount Cenis, how bitterly cold it was, and how we shivered in the
big, high rooms of the hotel--a mosaic pavement, bits of thin carpet on
the floor, and a fire of shavings in the chimney. We will write and
telegraph, of course, from there. I don't think we shall stay more than
one night.
May 11th.
We are really leaving to-morrow morning, get to Turin for dinner. As we
telegraphed yesterday the address I hope we shall find letters. It has
been lovely again all day, so our last impressions are good. I have
quite forgotten the rain and dark of the other day. The padrone has just
informed us, with much pride, that the Crown Princess of Germany arrives
to-night in this hotel from Vienna. I wish she had come yesterday--I
should have liked to see her again. I have been out shopping this
morning, but it is difficult; there is not much to buy, at least not in
the nice big shops of the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, and I am a little
afraid of the antiquities--I know so little about bric-a-brac (au fond
like modern things just as well, but other people don't, and would much
rather have a really ugly, queer-shaped old cup or glass than the most
graceful modern creation).
The padrone gave me the address of a good antiquity shop, and said I
could be perfectly sure in taking anything they said was old, and I need
only say he had recommended me to go there. I found beautiful things,
but all large, cassoni, high-backed, carved arm-chairs and Venetian
mirrors, but the prices were awful and the things much too big. I wanted
something smaller that I could put into my trunk. We went back to the
Piazza dei Mercanti and, after looking about at many of the little
shops, I did find some rather curious silver spoons and boxes. The
spoons have quaint, long handles ending in a head, not apostles, but
soldiers and women with veils and crowns. The boxes are most elaborately
carved--on the cover of one there are 21 figures--a sort of vintage with
bunches of grapes. As usual there were many people lounging about and
stopping at all the shops--some of them wildly interested in my
purchases. One funny little old man with a yellow face and bright eyes
was apparently much pleased with the box I chose--nodded and smiled at
me, saying: "Una bellezza questa" (this is a beauty). On our way back we
went into the great court-yard of the Ospedale Maggiore, an enormous
brick building with fine facade and high pointed windows; the walls
covered with medallions and ornaments in terra-cotta. I believe it is
one of the largest hospitals that exist and certainly once inside those
great courts one would feel absolutely cut off from the outside world.
There seemed to be gardens and good trees at the back--we saw the green
through the cloisters, and there was a fine loggia overlooking the
court. It was as sleepy and quiet as possible to-day--no sign of life,
no concierge nor porter, nor patient of any kind visible. If we had had
time and wanted to go over the hospital I don't know whom we could have
applied to.
It was very warm walking home. Happily our way lay through narrow
streets, with high houses on each side, so we had shade. I found cards
and a note from the Murrays (English friends we had met in Rome). They
are staying at the Cavour, but will come and dine at our hotel to-night.
They are off to the Lakes to-morrow, and as we leave too early it will
be our only chance of meeting. It will seem quite strange to see any one
we know--we have lived so entirely alone these few days in Milan. I told
W. last night I found him a most agreeable companion. We haven't talked
so much to each other for years. He is always so busy all day in Paris
that except for the ride in the morning, I don't see much of him--and of
course in Rome and Florence we were never alone.
It is rather late but I will write a few lines and send them off
to-morrow morning. W. came home about 4, fussed a little over trunks and
interviewed the porter about our tickets, places, etc., and then we
started off for the Duomo. There was a party going up just as we got to
the door, so we joined forces--about 8 people. The ascent was very
fatiguing, quite 500 steps, I should think, mostly inside the tower,
with openings giving fine views over the city and Lombard plains. We all
halted every now and then--I was the only lady. There were two
Englishmen with whom we fraternized. They were making a walking tour
through the North of Italy--Piedmont and Lombardy. They addressed W. by
name, which surprised him extremely, so much so that he said: "I don't
remember, but I suppose we must have met before." "Not at all," they
said, "we recognised you from all the pictures we had seen of you in
the illustrated papers." What it is to be a celebrity!
We did finally, with many stops, get up on the roof, and were well
repaid, for the view was enchanting--Milan so far below us we could
hardly believe it was a big city, but the mountains quite beautiful.
There was a man with a telescope on top, and he pointed out the
principal peaks. Monte Rosa was magnificent--stood out splendidly, a
round snow peak; Mt. Cervin, Mt. Cenis, the Bernese far away,
disappearing in the clouds; and various others whose names I forget,
nearer. I couldn't see the Chartreuse of Pavia, though they said it was
quite visible, and just the Superga of Turin. Nearer these were various
churches and monasteries standing high on hills nearer the town, but I
couldn't look at anything but the snow mountains. You can't imagine how
divine they were, with the beautiful, soft afternoon sun on them. One
couldn't really tell which was cloud and which was mountain--they seemed
to be part of the sky.
I found the going down more disagreeable than coming up. It was darker,
the steps were a little broken at the edge and decidedly slippery;
however, we arrived without any adventures. Just as we got to the hotel
we saw three or four carriages drive up, and as we went in the porter
told us the German Crown Princess with her daughters and a large suite
was arriving. We stood in the court to see them pass--but the Princess
was not there, only her daughters (3). They were tall, fair, very
German-looking, each one with a large bouquet. There seemed any number
of ladies and gentlemen in attendance, and a great deal of bowing and
deferential manners.
We went downstairs about a quarter to eight. We had given the Murrays
rendezvous in the reading-room, but they came in just as we crossed the
court, and we went straight to the dining-room. They told us the Crown
Princess only comes to-morrow. They had gone to the station to meet her
(they had seen her in Venice), but there were only the young Princesses.
We had a pleasant dinner. They are a nice couple (Scotch). He is very
clever, a literary man, rather delicate, can't stand the English winter,
and always comes abroad. He knows Italy well and is mad about Venice.
She is clever, too, but is rather silent--however, we didn't either of
us have a chance to-night, for the two gentlemen talked hard, politics,
which Mr. Murray was very keen about. He had a decided thirst for
information, and asked W. so many questions about France, the state of
politics, the influence of the clergy, etc., that I was rather anxious,
as in general there is nothing W. hates like being questioned. However,
he was very gracious to-night, and disposed to talk. When he doesn't
feel like it wild horses couldn't drag anything out of him.
They stayed till ten o'clock, and now I have been putting the last
things in my small trunk. The big trunks go straight through from here,
and we will pick them up at the Gare de Lyon. The padrone has just been
up to ask if we were satisfied with the hotel, and would we recommend
him.
_To G. W. S._
TURIN, HOTEL DE L'EUROPE,
May 13, 1880.
This will be my last letter from Italy, dear. I am sorry to think I am
turning my back on this enchanting country. To-day has been perfect;
everything, sky, sun, mountains, ugly yellow palaces, grim, frowning
buildings, look beautiful--a perfect glow of light and colour. I can
scarcely believe it is the same city we used to freeze in, when we
passed through it often in old times going down to Rome. Heavens--how
cold it was everywhere--a wind that seemed to come straight from the
glaciers cutting one in two when there was a great square to be crossed,
or whistling through the arcades when we wished to loiter a little and
see the shops and curiosities. I can't remember if we stayed at this
hotel--I don't think so, as it is very comfortable and that was by no
means my recollection of the one we always went to on our way down so
many years ago. The rooms are high--we have a nice apartment on the
first floor, well furnished--quite modern.
We got here yesterday quite early in the afternoon. It is only about 4
or 5 hours by train. We had a most festive "send-off" from Milan. I was
well "bunched" as some of our compatriots would say. The padrone gave me
a beautiful bouquet of roses when we came downstairs to the carriage,
also a nice little basket of fruit which he thought might be acceptable
on our journey. He had seen about our carriage--so that was all
right--and we found the Director of the Museum, and the Greek friend at
the station--also with a bouquet. All our bags and wraps were stowed
away in the carriage, and the Director of the Museum (I have never known
his name) had also put papers--some illustrated ones--on the seats. I
felt rather like a bride starting on her wedding journey.
The road wasn't very interesting. We had glimpses of the Alps
occasionally, and the day was beautiful, making everything look
picturesque and charming. It was rather a relief to get out of the rice
fields and little canals. We stopped some little time at Novara--where
we had a good cup of coffee. As we got near Turin everything looked very
green. There seemed to be more trees and little woods than in the
neighbourhood of Milan. The hotel porter was waiting for us at the
station with a carriage--so we drove straight off, leaving Madame Hubert
in charge of the porter, who spoke French perfectly, to follow with the
trunks.
The hotel is on the great Place du Chateau, faces the Palazzo Madama.
They have given us a nice apartment, with windows and a good balcony
looking out on the Place. We went upstairs immediately to inspect the
rooms--the padrone himself conducting us. There were flowers on the
table, nice lounging chairs on the balcony. It looked charming. He
wanted to send us tea or coffee--but we really couldn't take anything as
it wasn't more than two hours since we had had a very fair little gouter
at Novara. We said we would dine in the restaurant about 8. He was
rather anxious we should have our dinner in the anteroom which was large
and light--often used for a dining-room--but we told him we much
preferred dining downstairs and seeing the people.
We brushed off a little dust--it wasn't a very dirty journey--and
started off for a stroll across the Piazza Castello. It is a fine large
square, high buildings all around it, and the great mediaeval pile
Palazzo Madama facing us as we went in. It looked more like a fortress
than a palace, but there is a fine double staircase and facade with
marble columns and statues--white, I suppose, originally, but now rather
mellowed with years and exposure and taking a soft pink tint in the
waning sunlight. It was inhabited by the mother of one of the kings,
"Madama Reale," hence its name. There is a monument to the Sardinian
army in front of the palace with very elaborate bas-reliefs. They told
us there was nothing to see inside, so we merely walked all around it,
and then went over to the Palazzo Reale, which is a large brick
building, with no pretensions to architecture. They say it is very
handsome inside--large, high rooms, very luxuriously furnished. Somehow
or other luxuriously furnished apartments don't seem to go with Princes
of the House of Savoy. One can't imagine them reclining in ladies'
boudoirs on satin cushions, with silk and damask hangings. They seem
always to have been simple, hardy soldiers, more at home on a
battle-field than in a drawing-room. We asked at the entrance if the Duc
d'Aoste was here. He told us when he was in Paris that if ever we came
to Turin we must let him know--that he always received twice a week in
the evening when he was at home and that he would be delighted to see us
(I had put an evening dress in my trunk in case we should be invited
anywhere)--however he isn't here, away in the country for three or four
days on some inspection--so we wrote ourselves down in the book that he
might see that we intended to pay our respects.
We walked through some of the squares--Piazza Carignano, with the great
palace Carignano which also looks grim and frowning, more like a prison
than a stately princely residence. I wonder if there are any what we
should call comfortable rooms in those gaunt old palaces. I have visions
of barred windows, very small panes of glass, brick floors, frescoed
ceilings black with age and smoke, and straight-backed, narrow carved
wooden chairs. However a fine race of sturdy, fighting men were brought
up within those old walls--perhaps Italy would not have been "unita" so
soon if the pioneers of freedom had been accustomed to all the luxury
and gaiety of the present generation.
We wandered back through more squares and saw numberless statues of
Princes and Dukes of Savoy--almost all equestrian--the Princes in
armour, and generally a drawn sword in their hand--one feels that they
were a fighting race.
The hills all around the city are charming, beautifully green, with
hundreds of villas (generally white) in all directions; some so high up
one wonders how the inhabitants ever get up there. In the distance
always the beautiful snow mountains. The town doesn't look either very
Italian or very Southern. I suppose the Piedmontese are a type apart.
We had a table to ourselves in the dining-room, which was almost
empty--evidently people dine earlier than we do--and yet it is tempting
to stay out on a lovely summer evening. There were several officers in
uniform at one table--evidently a sort of mess--about 10. They were
rather noisy, making all sorts of jokes with the waiters, but they had
nearly finished when we came in and soon departed with a great clatter
of spurs and swords. We went for a few moments into the reading-room,
which was also quite deserted--only two couples, an English clergyman
and his wife both buried in their papers--and a German menage discussing
routes and guides and prices for some excursion they wanted to make.
I had kept on my hat as we thought we would go out, take a turn in the
arcades and have a "granita." The padrone told us of a famous cafe where
the "granita" was very good, also very good music. W. is becoming such a
flaneur, and so imbued with the dolce far niente of this enchanting
country that I am rather anxious about him. I think he will want to go
every evening to the "Ambassadeurs" when we get back to Paris.
We strolled about for some time. It was cool and there were not too many
people. Everybody sitting out, smoking and drinking. We got a nice
little table--each took an ice (they were very good--not too sweet), and
the music was really charming--quite a large orchestra, all guitars and
mandolins. Whenever they played a well-known air--song or waltz--the
whole company joined in. It sounded very pretty--they didn't sing too
loud, and enjoyed themselves extremely. We stayed some time.
I am writing as usual, late, while W. is putting his notes in order. He
found a note, when he came in, from the Director of the Museum, saying
he would be delighted to see W. at the Museum to-morrow morning at 9
o'clock, and would do the honours of the cabinet de medailles--also the
card of a Mr. Hoffman who wants very much to see W. and renew his
acquaintance with him after many years. He is in this hotel and will
come and see us to-morrow. W. has no idea who he is, but of course there
are many Hoffmans in the world. I suppose the gentleman will explain
himself. If it is fine we shall drive to the Superga to-morrow
afternoon, and start for Paris the next evening. W. says three seances
(and his are long) will be all he wants in the Museum.
May 14th.
It has been again a lovely summer day--not too hot, and a delicious
breeze as we drove home from La Superga. I have been out all day. W. was
off at 9 to meet his Director, and I started at 10 with Madame Hubert to
flaner a little. We went first to the arcades where are all the best
shops, but I can't say I was tempted. There was really nothing to
buy--some nice blankets, half silk, half wool--not striped like the Como
blankets, a plain centre, red or blue, with a bright border--but it was
not a day to buy blankets, with the sun bright and strong over our
heads. There was a good deal of iron work, rather nice. I didn't care
for the jewellery. I didn't see myself with a wrought-iron chain and
cross, but I did get a large ring--strong and prettily worked, which the
man said many people bought to put in a hall and hang keys on. There
were plenty of people about. I didn't think the peasants were any
particular type--the men looked smaller than those about Milan--slight,
wiry figures. A good many were evidently guides, with axes and coils of
rope strapped on their backs. They told us in one of the shops (where as
a true American I was asking questions, eager for information) that
there were several interesting excursions to be made in the
neighbourhood.
We went again to the Piazzo Castello which is so large that it is a very
fair walk to go all around the square--and went into the hall to see the
statue (equestrian of course) of Victor Amadeus the First. The horse is
curious, in marble. Then we went to the Cathedral, which is not very
interesting. The sacristan showed us a collection of small, dark
pictures over the altar which he said were by Albert Duerer; but they
were so black and confused I couldn't see anything--a little glimpse of
gilding every now and then that might be a halo around a saint's head.
What was interesting was the "Cappella del S. S. Sudario," where the
linen cloth is kept which is said to have enveloped the body of our
Saviour. It is kept in an urn, and only shown by special permission.
This, however, the sacristan obtained for us. He disappeared into the
sacristy and soon returned bringing with him a nice fat old priest in
full canonicals and very conversationally disposed. He lifted off the
top of the urn and drew out the linen cloth most carefully. It is very
fine linen, quite yellow and worn--almost in holes in some parts. He
spread it out most reverently on a marble slab, and showed us the
outlines of a man's figure. Marks there were certainly. I thought I saw
the head distinctly, but of course the imagination is a powerful factor
on these occasions. The chapel was dimly lighted, a few tapers burning,
and the old priest was so convinced and reverent that it was catching. I
suppose it might be possible--certainly all these traditions and relics
were an enormous strength to the Catholic Church in the early days when
there were no books and little learning, and people believed more easily
and simply than they do now. The chapel is a rather ugly, round
building, almost black, and with a quantity of statues (white) which
stand out well. It is the burial chapel of the House of Savoy, and there
are statues apparently to every Emmanuel or Amadeus that ever
existed--also a large marble monument to the late Queen of Sardinia. Do
you remember when Prince Massimo, in Rome, always spoke of Victor
Emmanuel, when he was King of Italy, and holding his court in Florence,
as the King of Sardinia?
We had walked about longer than we thought, but everything is close
together, and it was time to get back to the hotel for breakfast. I had
the dining-room almost to myself--my table was drawn up close to the
open window, a vase of roses upon it, and one or two papers--English,
Italian, and the "Figaro." Paris seems to be amusing itself. Henrietta
writes that the Champs Elysees are enchanting--all the horse chestnuts
in full bloom. Here there is abundance of flowers--one gets glimpses of
pretty gardens through open gates and openings in railings and walls.
There are plenty of street stalls, too, with fruits and flowers, but one
doesn't see the wealth of roses and wistaria climbing over every bit of
wall and up the sides of houses as in Florence. The city is perfectly
busy and prosperous, but has none of the delightful look of laziness and
enjoyment of life and the blue sky and the sunshine that one feels in
Rome and Florence.