medailles. The Director, a most learned, courteous old gentleman, was
waiting for him, and though he knew W. and his collection by reputation,
he was quite surprised to find that W. knew quite as much about his
coins and treasures as he did himself. He hadn't supposed it possible
that a statesman with so many interests and calls upon his time could
have kept up his scientific work.
We shall leave to-morrow night, and before we started for our drive we
sent off letters and telegrams to Paris. I can hardly believe it
possible that Friday morning I shall be breakfasting in Paris, going to
mother to tea in the afternoon, and taking up my ordinary life.
Henrietta writes that she has told Francis we are coming home, but
frankness compels her to say that he has received that piece of
information with absolute indifference. He has been as happy as a king
all the months we have been away--spoiled to his heart's content and
everybody in the two establishments his abject slaves.
We started about 4 for La Superga in a nice light basket carriage and
pair of strong little horses. It was rather interesting driving all
through the town, which is comparatively small--one is soon out of it.
The streets are narrow, once one is out of the great thoroughfares, with
high houses on each side. Every now and then an interesting cornice with
a curious round tower and some funny old-fashioned houses with high
pointed roofs and iron balconies running quite around the house, but on
the whole it is much less picturesque and colder looking than the other
Italian cities. The road was not very animated--few vehicles of any
description, a few fiacres evidently bound for the Superga like us.
There were not many carts nor many people about. What _was_ lovely was
the crown of green hills with little chestnut groves--some of the little
woods we drove through were quite charming, with the long slanting rays
of the afternoon sun shining through the branches--just as I remember
the Galleria di Sotto at Albano--the chestnuts grow high on all the
hillsides. We had quite a stiff mount before we got to the church (but
the little horses trotted up very fairly) and a good climb after we left
the carriage. One sees the church from a long distance. It has a fine
colonnade and a high dome which lifts itself well up into the clouds. We
followed a pretty steep, winding path up to the top, quantities of wild
roses, a delicate pink, like our eglantine at home, twisting themselves
around the bushes. There is nothing particularly interesting in the
church. It is the burial place of the Kings of Savoy, and their vault is
in the crypt. The last one buried there was Charles Albert. Victor
Emmanuel is buried in the Pantheon in Rome. We found a nice old
sacristan who took us about and explained various statues to us--also
all the glories of the Casa di Savoia, winding up with an enthusiastic
eulogy of Queen Margherita--but never as Queen of Italy, "nostra
Principessa." She has certainly made herself a splendid place in the
hearts of the people--they all adore her. We climbed up to the roof, and
what a view we had, all Turin at our feet with its domes and high,
pointed roofs, standing in the midst of the green plain dotted all over
with villas, farms, gardens, little groves of chestnuts, the river
meandering along through the meadows carpeted with flowers, and looking
in the sunlight like a gold zig-zag with its numerous turns--always the
beautiful crown of hills, and in the background the snow peaks of the
Alps. It was very clear--they looked so near, as if one could throw a
stone across. Our old man pointed out all the well-known peaks--Monte
Rosa, Mont Cenis, and many others whose names I didn't catch. He said he
had rarely seen the whole chain so distinct. It reminded me of the view
we had of the Bernese Oberland so many years ago--the first time we had
seen snow mountains. On arriving at Berne we were hurried out on the
terrace by the padrone of the hotel as he said we might never again see
all the chain of the Alps so distinctly. Beautiful it was--all the snow
mountains rolling away in the distance; some of them straight up into
the sunset clouds, others with little wreaths of white soft clouds half
way up their summits, and clouds and snow so mingled that one could
hardly distinguish which was snow. I thought they were all
clouds--beautiful, airy intangible shapes.
We loitered about some time on the terrace after we came down, watching
the lights fade and finally disappear--the mountains looking like great
grey giants frowning down on the city. The air was decidedly cooler as
we drove home, but it was a perfect summer evening. There were more
people out as we got near Turin--all the workers getting a little breath
of air after the toil of the day.
May 15th.
I will send this very long letter off this evening. Our trunks are
packed and downstairs, and I will finish this while we are waiting for
dinner. We have had a nice day. Madame Hubert and I strolled about this
morning and went to see the house where Cavour was born, and also to the
Giardino Pubblico. The grounds are handsome, but not particularly
interesting at that hour in the morning, and there wasn't a creature
there but ourselves. There are various monuments--one of Manin with a
fine figure of the Republic of Venice.
I breakfasted as usual alone, and at 3 W. came in, having quite finished
his work at the Museum. He had given rendezvous to Mr. Hoffman for 3.30,
and while we were sitting talking waiting for him the padrone came up
and said an officer "de la part du Duc d'Aoste" wanted to see us. We
begged him of course to send him up, and in a few minutes a very
good-looking young officer in uniform made his appearance. He named
himself--Count Colobiano I think--but we didn't catch the name very
distinctly; said he had had the honour of dining with us at the Quai
d'Orsay with his Prince, and that the Prince was "desole" not to be in
Turin these days and had sent him to put himself at our disposition. He
proposed all sorts of things--the opera, a drive (or a ride if we
preferred) to a sort of parade ground just outside the gates where we
would see some cavalry manoeuvres. He knew I rode, and could give me a
capital lady's hack. I was rather sorry he hadn't come before--it would
have amused us to see the manoeuvres, and also to ride--but that would
have been difficult as I had no habit with me. However, as we are
leaving this evening there was nothing to be done. He was very civil and
I think rather sorry not to do us the honours of his city. He said there
were beautiful excursions to be made from Turin, and asked us if we had
seen anything. We said only the Superga which he evidently didn't
consider very interesting. He said the Duke was very sorry to have
missed us, and that he thought I would have enjoyed an evening at the
Palace, as the receptions were very gay and informal. I cannot imagine
(I didn't tell him that) anything gay with the Duc d'Aoste. He is very
sympathetic to me, but a type apart. A stern, almost ascetic appearance,
very silent and shy, but a beautiful smile. He looks exactly as one
would imagine a Prince of the House of Savoy would. We saw him often in
Paris, and his face always interested me--so grave, and as if he were
miles away from the ordinary modern world. It was just after he had
given up his Spanish throne, and although I didn't think that crown
weighed very heavily on his brow he must have had some curious
experiences and seen human nature in perhaps not its best form. The
young aide-de-camp paid us quite a visit, and we made him promise to
come and see us if ever he came to Paris. We sent all sorts of messages
and regrets to the Duke. Just as he was going out Mr. Hoffman appeared
and he sat an hour with us. He was delightful, has lived almost all his
life in and near Turin, and had all the history of Piedmont at his
fingers' ends. He seems to have met W. years ago at a dinner in London
and has always followed his career with much interest. It was most
interesting to hear him talk. He admires Cavour immensely--said his
death was a great calamity for Italy--that he hadn't given half of what
he could, and that every year he lived he grew in intellect and
knowledge of people. He also said (as they all do) that he mistrusted
Louis Napoleon so intensely, and through all their negotiations and
discussions as to Italy's future he was pursued by the idea that the
Emperor would go back upon his word. He said the Piedmontese were a race
apart--hardly considered themselves Italian, and that even now in the
little hamlets in the mountains the peasants had vague ideas of
nationality, and never spoke of themselves as Italians, or identified
themselves with Italian interests and history--that in the upper classes
traces of French occupation and education, superstition and priestly
rule were just getting effaced. For years in the beginning of the
century the priests (Jesuits) had it all their own way in Turin. The
teaching in the schools was entirely in their hands, and most
elementary; and numerous convents and monasteries were built. Cavour as
a very young man soon emancipated himself from all those ideas, and if
he had lived, Hoffman thinks, much trouble would have been averted, and
that he would certainly have found some means of coming to a better
understanding with the Vatican, "the most brilliant and far-seeing
intellect I have ever met."
He wanted to take us to some palace where there are some very curious
and inedites letters of Cavour's to the owner, who was one of his
friends, and always on very confidential terms with him; but of course
we couldn't do that as we are off in a few hours.
Hoffman would never have gone, I think, if the padrone hadn't appeared
to say dinner was ready. I left him and W. talking while I went to give
some last instructions to the maid, and when I got back to the salon
they had drifted away from Cavour and Piedmont and were discussing
French politics, the attitude of Germany and the anti-religious feeling
in France.
I shall miss all the talk about Italy and her first struggles for
independence when I get home. French people, as a rule, care so little
for outside things. They travel very little, don't read much foreign
literature, and are quite absorbed in their own interests and
surroundings. Of course they are passing through a curious phase--so
many old things passing away--habits and traditions of years upset, and
the new regime not yet sufficiently established nor supported by all
that is best in the country. I think W. has been impressed and rather
surprised at the very easy way in which all religious questions are
disposed of in Italy, and yet the people are certainly superstitious
and have a sort of religious feeling. The churches are all full on great
feast days, and one sees great big young peasants kneeling and kissing
relics when they are exposed; and several times even here about Turin we
have seen men and women kneeling at some of the crosses along the road.
I have rarely seen that in France--but then the Italians are a more
emotional race. They are difficult problems--a country can't live
without a religion.
RUE DUMONT D'URVILLE.
We got back yesterday morning early. Hubert and the big mare were
waiting for us, and we were whirled up to the house in a very un-Italian
manner (for the horses in Italy are just as easy-going as the people and
never hurry themselves nor display any undue energy). Francis and
"nounou" were waiting at the door--he really quite excited and pleased
to see us--and the sisters appeared about 11. We talked a little and
they helped me unpack; and I went to see mother directly after breakfast
and stayed there all the afternoon. This morning I am writing as usual
at the window and hearing all the familiar Paris sounds. The goat-boy
has just passed with his 6 goats and curious reed pipe, the marchande de
cressons with her peculiar cry advertising her merchandise, and ending
"pour la sante du corps" on a long shrill note--the man who sits on the
pavement and mends china. He is just at our door, and has a collection
of broken plates and cups around him. I suppose some are ours. The
"light lady" next door is standing at her door in her riding habit, the
skirt already very short and held well up over her arm displaying a fair
amount of trousers and high boots. She is haranguing in very forcible
language the groom who is cantering the horse up and down the street,
and of course even in our quiet street there are always badauds who stop
and ask questions, and hang around the porte-cocheres to see all that is
going on. W. has just started on horseback and that is a most
interesting moment for the street, for his big black "Paddy" has a most
uncomfortable trick. From the moment he takes the bridle in his hand and
prepares to mount, the horse snorts, and stamps and backs, making such a
noise in the little court-yard you would think he was kicking everything
to pieces. As soon as the big doors are opened and he can get out he is
as quiet as a lamb.
It is a beautiful morning and Paris looks its best--all the
horse-chestnuts in full bloom, the sky a bright blue, and quantities of
equipages and riders streaming out to the Bois. I suppose I shall ride
too in a day or so, and by the end of the week Italy will be a thing of
the past, and I shall be leading my ordinary Paris life.
There was a procession of people here all the afternoon yesterday to see
W., and now he is quite au courant of all that has taken place in his
absence, and I think in his heart he is delighted to be back and in the
thick of the fight again. He is going to the Senate this afternoon.
We had a most comfortable journey from Turin--a lit-salon to ourselves,
the maid just behind us. All the first hours were charming as long as we
could see as all the country about Turin is so lovely. We passed
Moncalieri which stands high on the hills--a long low building, and one
or two other fine old castles, all perched high on the slope of the
mountains. I always sleep so well in a train that I was hardly awake
when we passed at Modane, though I was dimly conscious of the stop, the
lanterns flashing along the train and a great deal of conversation.
Nobody disturbed us as we had given our "laissez-passer" to the garde,
but I fancy we made a long halt there as the train was very crowded. We
had our coffee at Dijon very early in the morning. It was quite pleasant
to see the regular little French brioche again.
I went to tea with Mother and afterward we went for a turn in the Bois,
which looked beautiful--so green--all the horse-chestnuts out (the road
from Auteuil to Boulogne with the rows of red horse-chestnuts on each
side quite enchanting); the hills, St. Cloud and Mont Valerien blue and
standing out sharply against the sky, but I missed the delicious soft
atmosphere of Italy and the haze that always hung around the hills and
softened all the outlines. The Seine looked quite animated. There really
were one or two small boats out, and near Puteaux (the club) some women
rowing, and of course the little river steamers flying up and down,
crowded.
We are dining with l'Oncle Alphonse who will give us all the news of the
day, and the opinion of the "Union."
PART II
ITALY REVISITED
_To H. L. K._
ROME, Friday, February 12, 1904.
It seems so strange to be back here, dear, after twenty-four years, and
to find Rome so changed, so unchanged. The new quarter, an absolutely
new modern city, might be Wiesbaden, or Neuilly, or any cheerful resort
of retired business men who build hideous villas with all sorts of
excrescences--busts, vases, and plaques of bright-coloured majolica--and
the old city with the dirty little winding streets going toward St.
Peter's exactly the same; almost the same little ragged, black-eyed
children playing in the gutters.
We had a most comfortable journey down. Hardly any one in the
sleeping-car but ourselves, so we all had plenty of room. It was a
bright, beautiful morning when we got to Modane--the mountains covered
with snow, and the fresh keen wind blowing straight from the glaciers
was enchanting after a night in the sleeping-car. They are frightfully
overheated. I had some difficulty in persuading the attendant to open my
window for the night; however, as I was alone in my compartment, he
finally agreed, merely saying he would come and shut it when we passed
through the great tunnel. We dined at the buffet at Genoa, and it didn't
seem natural not to ask for the Alassio train. The station was crowded,
the Roman train too--they put on extra carriages. We got to Rome about
9.30. I had been ready since 6.30, eagerly watching to get a glimpse of
St. Peter's. I had visions of Civita Vecchia and running along by the
sea in the early morning.
I was quite awake, but I didn't see St. Peter's until we were quite near
Rome. We ran through long, level stretches of Campagna, with every now
and then a great square building that had been probably a mediaeval
castle, but was now a farm--sheep and cattle wandering out of the old
gateway, and those splendid big white oxen that one sees all over the
Campagna--some shepherds' huts with their pointed thatched roofs dotted
about, but nothing very picturesque or striking. We passed close to San
Paolo Fuori le Mura, with the Testaccio quite near. We paid ourselves
compliments when we arrived at the station for having made our long
journey so easily and pleasantly. No one was tired and no one was bored.
Between us all (we were four women) we had plenty of provisions and
Bessie[30] and Mme. de Bailleul were most successful with their afternoon
tea, with delicious American cake, that Bessie had brought over in the
steamer.
[30] Marquise de Talleyrand-Perigord, nee Curtis.
After all, Josephine[31] finds she has room for me and my maid, which of
course is infinitely pleasanter for me than being at the hotel. Her
house is charming--not one of the old palaces, but plenty of room and
thoroughly Italian. The large red salon I delight in; it couldn't exist
anywhere else but in Rome, with its red silk walls, heavy gilt
furniture, pictures, and curious bits of old carving and majolica. It
opens into a delightful music-room with fine frescoes on the walls (a
beautiful bit of colour), and beyond that there is a small salon where
we usually sit.
[31] Princess di Poggio-Suasa, nee Curtis.
She has a picture there of her husband, Don Emanuele Ruspoli (late
syndic of Rome), which has rather taken possession of me. It is such a
handsome, spirited face, energetic and rather imperious--he looks a born
ruler of men, and I believe he was. They say Rome was never so well
governed as in his time. He was one of the first of the young Roman
nobles who emancipated themselves from the papal rule. As quite a youth
he ran away from college and entered the Italian army as a simple
soldier, winning his grade as captain on the battle-field. He was a
loyal and devoted servant of the House of Savoy, and took a prominent
part in all the events which ended in proclaiming Victor Emanuel King of
Italy, with Rome his capital.
This quarter, Piazza Barberini, is quite new to me. It used to seem
rather far off in the old days when we came to see the Storys in the
Barberini Palace, but now it is quite central. The great new street--Via
Veneto--runs straight away from the Piazza, past the Church of the
Cappucini--you will remember the vaults with all the dead monks standing
about--the Palace of the Queen Mother, and various large hotels, to
Porta Pinciana. Just the other side of the road is the new gate opening
into the Villa Borghese. I rather lost myself there the first day I
prowled about alone. It was raining, but I wanted some air, and turned
into the Via Veneto, which is broad and clean. I walked quite to the
end, and then came to the Porta Pinciana, crossed the road, and found
myself in a beautiful villa. I didn't come upon any special landmark
until I got near the Museum, which, of course, looked quite familiar.
However, I was bewildered and hailed a passing groom to inquire where I
was, and even when he told me could scarcely believe it. I had never
gone into the Villa Borghese except by the Piazza del Popolo. They have
made extraordinary changes since the Government has bought it--opened
out new roads and paths, planted quantities of trees and flowers, and
cleaned up and trimmed in every direction. It will be a splendid
promenade in the heart of the city, but no longer the old Villa Borghese
we used to know, with ragged, unkempt corners, and little paths in
out-of-the-way places, so choked up with weeds and long grass that one
could hardly get through.
I haven't quite got my bearings yet, and for the first three or four
mornings I took myself down to the Piazza di Spagna, and started from
there. There, too, there are changes--new houses and shops (I was glad
to see old Spithoever in the same place) and a decided look of business
and modern life. There were not nearly so many people doing nothing,
lounging about, leaning on the "barca," or playing mora on the Spanish
Steps. All the botte were still standing in the middle of the street,
the coachmen smiling, cracking their whips, and making frantic little
dashes across the piazza whenever they saw an unwary stranger who might
want a cab.
The Spanish Steps looked beautiful, glowing with colour--pink, yellow,
and that soft grey tint that the Roman stones take in the sunlight. All
the lower steps are covered with flower stalls (they are not allowed any
longer scattered all over the piazza), and most picturesque they
looked--daffodils, mimosa, and great bunches of peach-blossoms which
were very effective. There were very few models in costume sitting
about; a few children playing some sort of game with stones, which they
interrupted to run after the forestieri and ask for a "piccolo soldo" (a
penny), and one or two old men with long white beards--might have done
for models of the apostles or Joseph in the flight into Egypt--wrapped
in their wonderful long green cloaks, sitting in the sun. There is one
novelty--an "ascenseur." I haven't been in it yet, but I shall try it
some day. One must get accustomed to many changes in the Rome of to-day.
I recognised some of the houses at the top of the steps--the corner one
between Vias Sistina and Gregoriana, where the Rodmans used to live one
year, and where we have dined so often, sitting on the round balcony and
seeing the moon rise over the Pincio.
I walked home the other day by the Via Sistina to the Piazza Barberini,
and that part seemed to me absolutely unchanged. The same little open
mosaic shops, with the workmen dressed in white working at the
door--almost in the street. In one shop they were just finishing a
table, putting in countless bits of coloured marble (some of them very
small). It was exactly like the one we brought from Rome many years ago,
which stands now in Francis's smoking-room. There was of course the
inevitable jeweller's shop, with crosses and brooches of dull yellow
Roman gold and mosaic, and silk shops with Roman silk scarfs, and a sort
of coarse lace which I have seen everywhere. In the middle of the street
a miserable wrinkled old woman, her face mahogany colour, attired in a
red skirt with a green handkerchief on her head, was skirmishing with a
band of dirty little children, who had apparently upset her basket of
roast chestnuts, and were making off with as many as they could find,
pursued by her shrill cries and "maledizioni."
We went out in the open carriage yesterday, and drove all around Rome
leaving cards--finished with a turn in the Villa Borghese and Pincio. It
was too late for the Villa--almost every one had gone, and one felt the
chill strike one on going into the thick shade after coming out of the
bright sun in the Piazza del Popolo. We crossed Queen Margherita at the
gate. She looked so handsome--the black is very becoming and threw out
well her fair hair and skin. She was driving in a handsome carriage--the
servants in mourning. One lady was with her--another carriage and two
cyclists following. All the people bowed and looked so pleased to see
her, and her bow and smile of acknowledgment were charming.