the Grand Hotel to breakfast with some friends. The restaurant was
crowded, so many people have arrived for Easter, and it was decidedly
amusing--a great many pretty women and pretty dresses. It poured when we
came away. We had all promised to go to an amateur performance of the
Stabat Mater at the old Doria Palace in Piazza Navona. It was rather
damp, with draughts in every direction, so Mrs. Law and I decided we
would not stay to the end, but would go for a drive until it was time to
go back to tea at the Grand Hotel (it is rather funny, the first month I
was here I never put my foot in the Grand Hotel, and I was rather
disappointed, as tea there in the Palm Garden with Tziganes playing, is
one of the great features of modern Rome, and now I am there nearly
every day). It was coming down in torrents when we came out of the
concert, and a drive seemed insane, so I suggested a turn in St. Peter's
(which is always a resource on a rainy day in Rome). That seemed
difficult to accomplish, though, when we arrived at the steps--we
couldn't have gone up those steps and across the wide space at the top
without getting completely soaked. However I remembered old times, and
told the man to drive around to the Sagrestia. He protested, so did all
the beggars around the steps, who wanted to open the door of the
carriage. We couldn't get in--the door was shut, etc., but I thought we
would try, so accordingly we drove straight to the Sagrestia. The door
was open--a man standing there who opened the carriage door and told the
coachman where to stand. I don't think I ever saw rain come down so
hard, and so straight. It was very interesting walking through all the
passages at the back of St. Peter's, and into the church through the
sacristy, where priests and children were robing and just starting for
some service with tapers and palms in their hands. We followed the
procession, and found ourselves just about in the middle of the church.
There were still draperies hanging on the columns and seats marked off.
There had been a ceremony of some kind in the morning, and a great many
people were walking about. We stopped some little time at the great
bronze statue of St. Peter. I was astounded at the quantity and quality
of people who came up and kissed the toe of the Saint. Priests and nuns
of course, and old people, both men and women, but it seemed
extraordinary to me to see young men, tall, good-looking fellows, bend
down quite as reverently as the others and kiss the toe. They were
singing in one of the side chapels--we listened for a little while--and
all over the church everywhere people kneeling on the pavement.
We went back to the Grand Hotel for tea, and dined with the young
Ruspolis, who have a handsome apartment in the Colonna Palace. The
dinner was for the Grand Duchess, and was pleasant enough. There was a
small reception in the evening, and almost every one went afterward to
Princesse Pallavicini's who receives on Sunday evening. I like the
informal evening receptions here very much. It is a pleasant way of
finishing the evening after a dinner, and so much more agreeable than
the day receptions--at least you do see a few men in the
evening--whereas they all fly from afternoons and teas. As every one
receives there is always some house to go to.
Monday, March 28th.
I have had a nice solitary morning in the Forum, with my beloved Italian
guide book, a little English brochure with a map of the principal
sights, and occasional conversations with the workmen, of whom there are
many, as they are excavating in every direction, and German tourists.
The Germans, I must say, are always extremely well up in antiquities,
and quite ready to impart their information to others. They are a little
long sometimes, but one usually finds that they know what they are
talking about.
There are of course great changes since I have seen the Forum. They are
excavating and working here all the time. The King takes a great
interest in all that sort of work, and often appears, it seems, early in
the morning and unexpectedly, when anything important is going on. The
Basilica Julia (enormous) has been quite opened out since my day; and
another large temple opposite is most interesting, with splendid bits
left of marble pavement--some quite large squares of pink marble that
were beautiful; and in various places quantities of coins melted and
incrusted in the marble which looks as if the temple had been destroyed
by a fire.
There was little shade anywhere. I hadn't the courage to walk in the sun
as far as the Vestals' house, which is really most interesting. The
recent excavations have brought to light so many rooms, passages,
frescoes, etc., that the ordinary, every-day life of the Vestal Virgins
has been quite reconstructed. One could follow them in their daily
avocations. From where I was sitting I could see some of the great
statues--some of the figures in quite good preservation, two of them
holding their lamps. I found a nice square stone, and sat there lazily
taking in the enchanting views on all sides--the Palatine Hill behind
me, the Capitol on one side, on the other the three enormous arches of
the Temple of Constantine; at my feet the Via Sacra running straight
away to the Colosseum, the sky a deep, soft blue throwing out every line
and bit of sculpture on the countless pillars, temples and arches that
spring up on all sides. From a height, the Palatine Hill, for instance,
the Forum always looks to me like an enormous cemetery--one loses the
impression of each separate building or ruin. It might be a street of
tombs rather than the busy centre of a great city.
There were plenty of people going about--bands of Cook's tourists being
personally conducted and instructed. If the gentleman who explains Roman
history gives the same loose rein to his imagination as the one we used
to hear in Versailles conducting the British public through the
Historical Portrait Gallery, the present generation will have curious
ideas as to the deeds of daring and wonderful rule of all the Augustuses
and Vespasians who have made the Palace of the Caesars the keystone of
magnificent and Imperial Rome; and again "unwritten history" will be
responsible for many wonderful statements. However, I wasn't near enough
to hear the explanations. People were still coming in when I left, and
all the way home I met carriages filled with strangers.
We went out again rather late. I went for tea to Marchesa Vitelleschi,
and before I came away Vitelleschi came in. I wanted to see him to
thank him for sending me his book, a Roman novel, "Roma che se ne
va."[34] It is very cleverly written, and an excellent picture of the
Rome of 35 years ago, as we first knew it. I should think it would
interest English and Americans very much, I wonder he hasn't translated
it.
[34] Rome which is disappearing.
I found quite a party assembled in the little green salon when I got
back--Don Guery, the Benedictine monk, who wishes to arrange a concert
with Josephine for her charities, and M. Alphonse Mustel, who has just
come from Paris with his beautiful organ. He arrived this morning early
and hadn't yet found a room anywhere--all the hotels crowded. They say
that for years they haven't had so many strangers for Holy Week. He is
coming to play here Thursday afternoon.
We had a quiet evening, and after dinner Mr. Virgo read to us the book I
am so mad about, "The Call of the Wild." He read extremely well, and I
liked the book even better hearing it read. It is a marvellous
description of that wild life in the Klondyke, and a beautiful poetical
strain all through. The children listened attentively, were wildly
interested, particularly when poor Buck was made to drag the sledge so
heavily loaded, for his master to win his bet. We also want to read
Cardinal Mathieu's article in the "Revue des Deux Mondes," "Les derniers
jours de Leon XIII."; but we have so rarely a quiet evening, and in the
daytime every one is out in the beautiful Roman sunshine.
We have all come upstairs early (ten o'clock) so I am profiting of a
quiet hour to write, as I can't go to bed so early. This street is
rather noisy. It is on the way to the station and some of the big
hotels. Cabs and big omnibuses go through it all day and all night. I
don't mind the noise. I rather like the roar of a big city--it means
life.
Thursday, March 31st.
It is pouring to-day, and we have been out all day. I went to church
this morning, but didn't get too wet with a thick serge dress and
umbrella; then to breakfast at the Grand Hotel with some friends, and an
excursion to the Palace of the Caesars in prospect, under the guidance of
Mr. Baddeley, who is an authority on all Roman antiquities and a great
friend of Boni's. It rained so hard when we were sitting in the Palm
Garden for coffee, that it seemed impossible the drops shouldn't come
through, and we looked to see if little puddles were not forming
themselves on the floor under our chairs, but no, it was quite dry.
We started in shut carriages, thinking we would try for the Palace of
the Caesars, where we could get refuge, but it was shut, so we went on to
San Giovanni in Laterano, and had an interesting hour wandering about
the church. Our guide had old artistic Rome at his fingers' ends, and it
certainly makes all the difference in seeing the curious old tombs and
monuments when one has some idea as to who the people were, and what
sort of lives they led. Mr. Baddeley said, like all the people who
really live in Italy, that the summer was the time to see Rome; that no
one could imagine what a Roman "festa" was unless he had seen one in the
height of summer, when the whole population was out and in the streets
all day and all night, in a frenzy of amusement. No priests were in the
streets; a sort of tacit concession, or tolerance for just one or two
occasions.
We came back here for tea, as M. Mustel had promised to play for us this
afternoon, and Josephine had asked some of her friends. The organ
sounded splendidly in her big music-room, where there is little
furniture and no draperies to deaden the sound. He played of course
extremely well, and brought out every sound of his instrument. Two
preludes of Bach were quite beautiful; also the prelude of
"Parsifal"--so much sound at times that it seemed an orchestra, and then
again beautifully soft. We were all delighted with it.
People stayed rather late, but Bessie and I and Sir Donald Wallace, who
had come to tea, started off to St. Peter's. It is the tradition in Rome
to go to St. Peter's on Holy Thursday. In our time the whole city
went--it was quite a promenade de societe. I believe they do still, but
we were rather late. The church looked quite beautiful as we drove
up--brilliantly lighted, the big doors open, quantities of people going
up the steps and through a double line of _Italian_ soldiers into the
church. The "Miserere" was over, but the chapel was still lighted, a
good many people kneeling at the altar. The church was crowded, and
every one pushing toward the grand altar, which was being washed. They
were also exposing the relics from the two high balconies on each side
of the altar. Many people were kneeling, and every now and then a
procession came through the crowd of priests and choir-boys with
banners, all chanting, and kneeling when they came near the altar--of
course there was the usual collection of gaping, irreverent tourists,
commenting audibly, and wondering if anybody really believed those were
the actual nails that came out of the cross, or the thorn out of the
Crown of Thorns, etc., etc., also "why are they making such a fuss
washing their altar--why couldn't they do it this morning when no one
was in the church."
We had some little difficulty in getting away, as the crowd was
awful--getting worse every moment. It was beautiful when we did get
out--the great Piazza quite black, a steady stream still pouring into
the church. The lights from inside threw little bright spots on the
gun-barrels and belts of the soldiers--the great mass of the Vatican
quite black, with little lights twinkling high up in some of the
windows.
I am decidedly tired and stiff--I think being rained upon all day and
standing on damp pavements and in windy corners is rather a trial to any
one with rheumatic tendencies--but I have enjoyed my day thoroughly,
particularly the end at St. Peter's. It so reminded me of old times when
we used to go to all the ceremonies, beginning with the "Pastorale" at
Christmas time and finishing with the Easter Benediction and
"Girandola."
We finished "The Call of the Wild" this evening, and now we must take
something else. I should like the "Figlia di Jorio" of d'Annunzio. They
say the Italian is quite beautiful, but the morals, I am afraid, are not
of the same high order. I shall try and see it.
ROME, Saturday, April 2, 1904.
It was bright yesterday, but cold. The snow was quite thick on the
Sabine Hills--they looked beautiful as we drove out into the country
through Porta San Giovanni before going to the church of Santa Croce in
Jerusalemme, where Prince Colonna had asked us to come and see a curious
ceremony--he himself carrying a cross at the head of a procession.
Bessie and I with the two children and the dog (we would have left him
in the carriage) tried to see some of the churches and hear some music,
but there were such crowds everywhere that we couldn't get in, so we
took a drive instead. There was such a crowd at Santa Croce that we
couldn't have got anywhere near the altar if we hadn't had a card from
Colonna; that took us into the Sagrestia where they gave us chairs, and
we sat there some little time watching all the "neri" (Blacks) assemble.
They proposed to show us the relics to while away the time, so we were
taken up a very steep staircase, along a narrow short passage to a small
room where they are kept. The priest lighted tapers, made his little
prayer, and then unveiled his treasures. There were pieces of the Cross,
a nail, St. Thomas's unbelieving finger, and the inscription on a piece
of wood that was over the Cross, "Jesus King of the Jews." It was an
old, blackened, almost rotten square, with the inscription in Latin,
hardly legible, but the priest showed us some letters and numbers that
were quite distinct.
When we got back again to the sacristy the procession was forming--a
number of gentlemen dressed in black, with gold chains and crosses
around their necks, and a long procession of monks, priests, and
choristers. Colonna himself at the head, carrying quite simply a rather
large wooden cross; all with tapers and all chanting. As soon as they
had filed out of the sacristy we went upstairs again to a high balcony,
from which we had a fine view of the church. It was packed with people,
the crowd just opening enough to allow the procession to pass, which
looked like a line of fire winding in and out. There was a short, simple
service, and then all turned toward the balcony from where the relics
were shown, every one in the church kneeling, as far as I could see. We
came away before the end, and had great difficulty in getting through
the crowd to our carriages.
This morning it was beautiful so we all started off early to the Wurts'
Villa (old Sciarra Villa) on the Janiculum. Just as we crossed the
bridge the bells rang out the Hallelujah (the first time they had rung
since Wednesday). They sounded beautiful, so joyous, a real Easter
peal. We had a delightful hour in the garden of the Villa. There were
armies of workmen in every direction, and the place will be a perfect
Paradise. There are fine trees in the garden, masses of rhododendrons,
every description of palm, and of course flowers everywhere. The views
were divine to-day--the Sabine Mountains with a great deal of snow,
Soracte blue and solitary rising straight out of the Campagna, and the
Abruzzi snow-topped in the distance. Mr. and Mrs. Wurts were there and
showed us all the improvements they intend making.
After breakfast I walked about in the Via Sistina looking for some
photographs. I wanted to find some of old Rome (at least Rome of 24
years ago) but that seemed hopeless. My artist friend had promised to
look in some of his father's old portfolios and see what he could find,
but he was not in a business frame of mind this afternoon. He was eating
his dinner at his counter, his slouched hat on his head, which he didn't
remove while I was talking to him. A young woman with her face tied up
in a red fichu was stretched out on the floor behind the counter, sound
asleep, her head on a pile of books; another over at the other end of
the shop, her chair tilted back, talking sometimes to him and sometimes
to people in the street. I suppose my eyes wandered to the one who was
asleep, for he instantly said, "She is ill, tired, don't disturb her."
He said he hadn't found any old photographs, only one rather bad and
half-effaced of Pio IX. I said I wanted one of Antonelli. "E morto lui."
I said I knew that, but he _had_ lived however once, and not so very
long ago, and had been a person of some importance. He evidently didn't
think it worth while to continue that conversation, and had certainly no
intention of looking for any photographs for me that day. It was
"festa"--Easter Eve--and work was over for him until Monday morning, so
I was really obliged to go, he wishing me "buon giorno" and "buona
Pasqua" quite cheerfully, without getting up or taking off his hat.
I came in to tea, as Mustel was to play. We had about 40 people, and he
was much pleased at the way in which every one listened, and appreciated
his instrument. Of course he plays it divinely and brings out every
sound. Josephine had asked the Marquise Villa Marina to come and hear
him. He naturally wants very much to play for Queen Margherita (who is a
very good musician and plays the organ herself), and if the Marquise
makes a good report the Queen will perhaps send for him to play for her.
Easter Sunday, April 3d.
It has been a beautiful day. Bessie and I went to the English church,
which was crowded. We could only find seats quite at the bottom of the
church, and those were chairs which had been brought in at the last
moment. We went afterward to breakfast with the Wurts in their beautiful
apartment. They had flowers everywhere (from their villa) and the rooms
looked like a garden. We were quite a party--16--and stayed there
talking and looking at everything until after three. Then we started for
a drive. I wanted to go to the Protestant Cemetery and see the little
mortuary chapel we built after father's death. Some one told me it was
utterly uncared for, going to ruin. The gates were open as we drove up,
a good many carriages waiting, and plenty of people walking about
inside. It is a lovely, peaceful spot, so green and still, many fine
trees, quantities of camellias, and violets on almost every grave. The
chapel stood just as I remembered it--in the middle of the cemetery. It
is in perfectly good order, and had evidently been used quite lately as
there were wooden trestles to support a coffin, and bits of wreaths and
stalks of flowers lying about. The two inscriptions, Latin on one side
and English on the other, are both quite well preserved and legible. I
wanted very much to see a guardian or director of the cemetery, but
there was only a woman at the gate, who knew nothing, hadn't been there
very long, in fact she knew nothing about the chapel, and showed me a
room opening into the old cemetery (where Keats is buried) which looked
more like a lumber room than anything else. There are some interesting
monuments, one to Mrs. Story, quite simple and beautiful, an angel
kneeling with folded wings. It was done by her husband, the last thing
he did, his son told me. The old cemetery looks quite deserted, close
under the great pyramid of Caius Cestius, the few graves quite uncared
for, a general air of neglect, a fitting resting-place for the poor
young poet whose profound discouragement will go down to posterity.
Every one goes to the grave and reads the melancholy inscription, "Here
lies one whose name was writ in water."
It was such a lovely afternoon that we drove on to Tre Fontane. There,
too, there were people. The churches were open, but there was no service
going on; however the place has always a great charm. The tops of the
eucalyptus trees were swaying in a little breeze, and the smell was
stronger and more aromatic than when we were there the other day.
We have had a quiet evening, all of us, children and grown-ups,
Protestants and Catholics, singing the English Easter Hymns. Josephine,
who is a very strict Catholic, loves the English hymns, and certainly we
can all sing "Christ the Lord is Risen To-day," for Easter is a fete for
all the world. I am sorry I didn't go to St. Peter's this morning. I
don't know that there was any special ceremony, but for the sake of old
times I should have liked to have had my Easter and Hallelujah there.
I am writing rather under difficulties as the telephone is ringing
furiously (it goes all day, as every one in the house uses it for
everything). At the present moment Josephine seems conversing with "all
manner of men"--the Marquise Villa Marina from the Queen's Palace, the
padrone of the hotel where Mustel is staying, and one or two others. It
seems Queen Margherita would like to have Mustel and his organ to-morrow
night at the Palace; and has asked us three, Bessie, Josephine and me,
to come. I am very glad for Mustel who wants so much to be heard by the
Queen. He hopes to sell some of his organs here. They are not expensive,
but so few people care about an organ of their own.
Wednesday, April 6th.
We had an interesting evening at the palace on Monday. I couldn't get
there for the beginning, as I had a big dinner, and a very pleasant one,
at the Iddings'. When I arrived I heard the music going on, but the
Marquise de Villa Marina came to meet me in the corridor, and we walked
up and down talking until the piece was over. I found a small party--the
Queen, her mother, the Duchess of Genoa, and about fifteen or twenty
people. The Queen was in black, with beautiful pearl necklace. She
received me charmingly and was most kind and gracious to Mustel, saying
she was so pleased to see a French artist, and taking great interest in
his instrument. He played several times: Handel's grand aria, Bach, and
the Marche des Pelerins from "Tannhaeuser," which sounded
magnificent--quite an effect of orchestra.
About 11.30 there was a pause. The Duchess of Genoa came over and
talked to me a little, saying she had known my husband and followed his
career with great interest, his English origin and education making him
quite different from the usual run of French statesmen. She also spoke
of my sister-in-law, Madame de Bunsen, whom she had known formerly in
Florence. She exchanged a few words with the other ladies, and then
withdrew, the Queen and her ladies accompanying her to her apartments.
We remained talking with the other guests until Queen Margherita came
back. She asked Mustel to play once more--and then we had orangeade,
ices, and cakes. There was a small buffet at one end of the
drawing-room. It was quite half-past twelve when the Queen dismissed us.
We had a real musical evening, pleasant and easy.
[Illustration: Cardinal Antonelli. From a picture painted for the Grand
Duke of Saxe-Weimar.
From a photograph given to Madame Waddington by the Hereditary Grand
Duchess of Saxe-Weimar at Rome.]