ROMANCES
Another day found the travellers on their way to Rome. Yielding
to Sidney’s persuasions and those of three fellow _pensionnaires_
Miss Cavendish took first-class tickets that the six might have a
compartment to themselves. “Though really,” said she, “it is a waste
of money, for the only difference that I can see is in tidies or no
tidies; the first-class have them and the second do not, but as the
trains are usually very crowded this time of year it may be as well
that we go this way.”
“We shall be regarded as such rich Americans,” remarked Gabriella.
“But we shall have all the room we need for our comfort,” said Sidney.
But alas, for their hopes, on this occasion it rained for the first
time since their arrival in Italy, and the roof of the first-class
carriage was leaky, so that to obtain any comfort at all they had to
squeeze closely into the four corners to prevent their receiving the
constant dripping from overhead and to keep their feet from the little
puddle of water which gathered in the middle of the floor.
“And they call this first-class,” said Gabriella, as they left their
places when their destination was reached. “Give me second-class after
this. I’ll willingly forego the tidies,--or antimacassars as our
English friends call them,--for the sake of a dry journey. We couldn’t
have been more crowded if there had been ten of us instead of six.”
“Never mind, it is all over now,” said Miss Cavendish, “and we will not
do it again.”
“Is this really Rome?” said Sidney, as they drove through the Via
Nazionale; “it looks so dreadfully new.”
“It certainly is Rome,” returned Miss Cavendish, “but it is not all of
Rome.”
“I am sure there is an old, a very old something,” said Gabriella, who
had caught sight of the Thermæ of Diocletian.
“Oh, but I am disappointed,” said Sidney. “It doesn’t look a bit like
what I expected.”
“This is the modern quarter,” said Miss Cavendish, reassuringly. “I
fancied we would get better air in this direction. When you have looked
upon the wonders of the Vatican, have seen the Colosseum by moonlight,
and have driven out the Appian Way you will recognize the antiquity of
it.”
“And when we have seen the Catacombs and the Forum and all that, I am
sure we shall know it is Rome. There are some soldiers, Sid.”
“Yes, the old Prætorian camp was not far from here and is still used, I
am told.”
“There! what do you want more antiquely suggestive than that?” said
Gabriella. “Imagine Peter and Paul and all those perhaps walking over
this very spot.”
“Yes, but it didn’t look then as it does now,” said Sidney, who had not
recovered from the blow to her expectations. “Is this the house, Gem?”
Miss Cavendish alighted and made her inquiries. “Seven flights up,
girls, and no lift. This is dreadful. If I had only thought to inquire
what floor the _pension_ was on I would never have engaged our rooms
here. I see visions of a worn-out trio when we are through with our
sight-seeing.”
“Oh, well, if we don’t like it we can go somewhere else,” said
Gabriella cheerfully. “You know it was hard enough to get in anywhere
and I am sure this looks very nice. Now, what we want to do is to get
in out of the rain.”
They were not impressed with the accommodations offered them, but the
city was overcrowded, there being the Easter visitors still remaining
and now supplemented by those who had arrived because of the promised
pageant in honor of a visiting dignitary, therefore it was decided
to make the best of it, though the table was poor and the rooms
unattractive. Still, the neighborhood was a convenient one, and their
hostess was a person of unusual intelligence, ready to give them any
information they stood in need of.
“We shall have to stand the dreadful butter and the awful bread for the
sake of the mental stimulants we obtain here,” said Gabriella. “When
we cannot stand it any longer we can get something at one of the rias
outside. I noticed that there is a _latteria_, a _drogheria_ and a
_beccharia_ just over the way,” she added glibly.
“For pity’s sake,” cried Sidney, “how could you notice and remember all
those names?”
“Oh,” returned Gabriella nonchalantly, “I am learning the language from
the signs; I find it an excellent way. I feel the need of sustenance
this very minute after that sample luncheon. Will you come with me, you
two? I will treat you to some chocolate, then we will go to the office,
where I hope we may find some letters.”
“I am developing a craze for photographs,” Sidney announced a day or
two later. “I cannot pass by a shop where they are displayed without
wanting to rush in and get some. We must all go to Anderson’s some
afternoon, and I will treat you each to a dozen.”
“Dear Sidney,” exclaimed Gabriella, “I adore you when you say such
things. And that reminds me, Gem, Sidney is developing a romance, or
I am, I don’t know which it is. We were standing on the Palatine hill
looking at the Italianness of a street down which two soldiers were
slowly riding. A perfect riot of roses overhung the wall on one side,
and one of the soldiers reached up to gather a rose, which he held in
his hand as he rode along. Just as he was opposite us he looked up and
kissed the rose--to me or Sidney? I don’t know which; I only know he
had the most glorious eyes in the world and that he looked a picture.
The strange thing about it is that I met Miss Bailey on the street
afterward and as we stood there talking, who should step up but this
same beautiful military person. I recognized him in a minute, and I
almost think he recognized me. To marry an Italian and live forever in
Italy, what bliss! On second thoughts, would it be? At all events I am
not likely to have the chance of trying the experiment, for all these
Italians of good family are poor, Miss Bailey says, and are on the
lookout for American heiresses. I forgot to ask Miss Bailey what had
become of Taffy, I was so taken up with the sojer man.”
“Taffy?” said Miss Cavendish inquiringly.
“Yes, the Welshman, you know. Mr. Owen Morgan.”
“Am I to continue to have these romances thrust upon me?” said Miss
Cavendish. “I ought to have taken that possibility into consideration.
If you are to have decayed Italian noblemen and thieving Welshmen
tagging us all over the country, what will become of us?”
“Did you say thieving Welshmen, Gem?”
“Yes, Taffy was a thief as well as a Welshman, wasn’t he? and if he
attempts to steal either of my goddaughters he will hear my opinion of
him.”
“Now, don’t get disgruntled, Gem dear; you are in quite as much danger
as we are. I am not a heroine and Sid will not make the most of her
opportunities. I am trying to persuade her to do her hair differently,
and to discard that flippy-floppy blouse she wears. She could look
stunning if she tried. She is the dearest thing in the world, but she
has no more style than a well-worn rag-baby, and you know it is your
own fault, Miss Sidney.”
“When we get to Paris we will put her in the hands of a first-class
dressmaker and stand over her while she decides upon her costumes.”
“That will be fun. You can hold yourself in readiness, miss.”
“I am afraid I shall have spent all my money by that time,” said
Sidney; “there are so many enticing things to buy.”
“Wait till you get to Florence and see the goldsmith shops,” Miss
Cavendish warned her. “Now, if you have nothing else on hand, this
afternoon, girls, I propose we go to _San Paolo fuori le mura_.”
“St. Paul without his gates,” said Gabriella flippantly. “How shall we
go, by tram, or shall we take a cab?”
“Perhaps we would better go the democratic way by tram and save our cab
hire for our drive on the Appian Way.”
“The Protestant cemetery is not far from San Paolo, is it?” said
Sidney, looking up from the Baedeker she was poring over. “We might
take that in, too. I’d like to lay a flower on the grave of Keats.”
“Shelley’s grave is there, too, isn’t it?” asked Gabriella.
“Yes,” Sidney consulted her book, “he is buried there, though his
heart was sent to England. We shall find the graves of Trelawney and
Constance Fennimore Woolson, too, as well as those friends of our
childhood, Mary and William Howitt.”
“Come along then. If we have all those to look up we’d better be
moving.” And Gabriella led the way.
“I think all the world must be possessed to visit St. Paul without the
gates,” remarked Sidney a half-hour later, when they tried vainly to
gain a place in the crowded cars.
“Shall we give it up?” said Miss Cavendish, looking discouraged.
“Never. There must be an end to this dreadful rush at some time,” said
Gabriella. “It cannot be eternal. Meantime I shall amuse myself by
seeing just how cheaply I can buy some of those mosaics that are being
so constantly thrust upon us. I have been waiting for exactly such an
occasion when I should feel savage enough not to weaken when a dirty
little urchin with glorious eyes should offer me marvellous blue and
rosy-posy pins for half a franc. I cannot resist them, when after I
have shaken my head at them they say ‘No-a,’ in that pathetic way.
To-day I am judicial and shall select with calmness and--”
“There comes our car,” cried Sidney, making a rush. And the mosaic pins
were left behind.
“The imposing effect of the vast dimensions and the costly materials
of the church is best perceived from the west end of the nave,” read
Miss Cavendish from her guide book; “consequently we go to the west end
of the nave. It is fine, very fine. I think I like it as well as any
church in Rome.”
“It is very impressive,” murmured Sidney. “There is a good deal of
color, too, not garish, but effective. I suppose it would be heresy to
say that I consider St. Peter’s a bit garish. I like quiet simplicity
better than feverish ornateness, don’t you, Gabriella?”
“Yes, I certainly do, and I like all this very much, though I specially
want to see the cloisters; those I expect to charm me. I begin to feel
very religious when I think that St. Peter and St. Paul had all sorts
of doings around here. That little chapel just beyond the gate is where
they parted on their last journey; over there in that direction is
where St. Paul was executed, and here he was buried. He was a great and
fearless person, though I always preferred St. Peter, myself; he was
so delightfully human.”
“They say this was even a finer church before the fire of 1828,” said
Sidney, viewing with interest the portrait medallions of the popes.
“What a number of those old fellows there have been. Dear me, I feel
thankful for every morsel of Bible study I have ever had; I only wish I
had studied more.”
“It isn’t the Bible study for which I feel a crying need,” confessed
Gabriella, “it is history and languages. Ah, here are the cloisters.
Just look at those beautiful twisted columns; those mosaics. Now I am
happy. You were right, Gem; it was well worth the trouble of getting
here.”
“We might walk to the Protestant cemetery; it’s not far, they tell
me,” said Miss Cavendish as they issued from the church. “The cars are
so crowded, and if we need a cab we can take one after we leave the
cemetery.”
They started out valiantly, but stretch after stretch of road was
covered and they seemed no nearer the cemetery than at first. Finally
Sidney stopped short. “I cannot go another step,” she declared. “Do
let’s call a cab.”
But, alas, no cab was in sight nor did any appear, and the weary
pedestrians at last sat down by the roadside to rest.
“We may as well go on,” said Gabriella after a few moments spent in a
contemplation of their surroundings. “We gain nothing by staying here,
and, really, it cannot be very far now. When you are rested, Sidney, we
will go on, and if an empty cab overtakes us we can hail it. What do
you say to that plan?”
“I agree,” returned Sidney, rising to her feet again.
“Just before the gate is reached a short side street on the left leads
to the Protestant cemetery,” read Miss Cavendish. “I think I have
strength enough left to get there, for the gate is just ahead.”
But Sidney succumbed again before they reached their destination.
“I positively cannot go on,” she declared. “Leave me here, you two,
and go explore for yourselves. I am not going to move from this spot
till a cab comes along.” She sank down on a stone by the way and Miss
Cavendish followed her example. “It is exhausting,” she sighed. “If I
had known there were no cabs to be had in this direction and that it
was so far I never would have come.”
“You all haven’t a bit of pluck,” said Gabriella, laughing. “Here when
we are within sight of the place, to say you won’t go on is ridiculous.”
“Yes, but though that may be the wall of the cemetery, who knows where
the gate is? And even if that were close at hand, how many miles shall
we have to walk before we find Keats’s grave? No, not for all the dead
poets that ever lived will I drag myself further. I shall faint if
I do, and will have to be buried where I lie, another victim for the
Protestant cemetery.”
“That is all nonsense,” said Gabriella. “At all events, I shall go
and explore a little further.” She sauntered off up the street and
presently they saw her applying her eye to a hole in the wall. Then she
began to beckon violently.
Miss Cavendish watched her with interest. “She has discovered
something,” she said. “I think I must go and see what it is.” She
started off to meet Gabriella, and Sidney obediently followed.
“It’s right here,” Gabriella announced as they came up. “You can see
for yourselves. I peeped through that little hole in the wall and there
was Keats’s grave directly before me. Wasn’t that remarkable?”
Encouraged to new effort by this discovery, the three set off for the
gate, gained entrance and laid a memorial flower upon the graves of
the two poets. “I shall never forget them now; never,” said Sidney. “I
shall hold them in remembrance forever after this tramp. Please don’t
walk me outside the gates again, Gem. If I must go, let it be in a cab,
or any way but on foot.”
“It was a mistake,” said Miss Cavendish, “and I will promise not to
lead you astray again. I move we do not go back to dinner, but take the
first cab that comes along, drive to the Pincian hill and watch the
crowds, and then go to a café and have dinner.”
“That will be lovely,” cried Gabriella, “and you will pick out one of
those dear little out-door places, won’t you? I do like them so much
better than the stuffy, smelly in-door ones.”
“If we can find an attractive one, as I have no doubt we can.”
In the course of time an empty cab came along and they were soon a part
of the throng which crowded the Pincio.
“There is Miss Bailey over there,” said Sidney, nudging Gabriella, who,
with head held high, was looking persistently in another direction.
“I know it.”
“You saw her? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Didn’t want to.”
Sidney gave her a glance of surprise, then turned her attention again
to Miss Bailey. She was accompanied by Signor, the count Rondinelli,
and behind her walked Miss Mildred and Mr. Morgan.
Sidney glanced back at Gabriella, whose head was still resolutely
turned. It was at that moment that Miss Cavendish caught sight of
her acquaintances and she stood up. Miss Bailey, looking that way,
recognized her, and pushed her way through the throng to where they
were sitting. “My word!” she exclaimed, “fancy finding you here. When
did you come? Isn’t there a crowd to-day? One can’t get on at all.
Fancy my seeing you among so many.”
“It is a wonder that we saw you,” returned Miss Cavendish. “Sidney!
Gabriella!” But Gabriella had fled. “Where is that perverse child?”
Miss Cavendish asked Sidney.
“She wanted to walk up the road a little way. She said she would come
back.”
“Perhaps she saw some one she knew,” remarked Miss Cavendish. Sidney
turned the conversation, but out of the tail of her eye she espied Mr.
Morgan followed by the count, both elbowing their way along in the
direction Sidney had indicated.
“I sent the count for Miss Thorne,” said Miss Mildred, “and Mr.
Morgan must have thought I meant that he should go, too.” Her eyes
followed the two, and Sidney smiled, for there was Gabriella with her
two attendant cavaliers, utterly regardless of the havoc she might
be playing in Miss Mildred’s virgin heart. This fluttering, girlish
creature nearly twisted off her thirteen jewelled rings, drooped her
shoulders more depressingly, and rattled her many chains with more
abandon than ever as she stood talking to Sidney in nervous excitement,
her eyes following the fast receding trio. At last she stood on tip-toe
when the top of Mr. Morgan’s hat was the only object by which the three
could be identified, then even that vanished, and Miss Mildred drew a
sigh.
Miss Bailey turned around suddenly. “It’s so curious”--she pronounced
it _kyarrious_--“how independent you Americans are,” she remarked. “Now
I should never think of allowing Mildred to leave my side in a place
like this.”
“Really?” said Miss Cavendish. “But Gabriella is not alone, and she
permits me to leave her side, so why should I not accord her the same
privilege?”
Miss Bailey looked at her with vague distrust. Was this American
chaffing, or did Miss Cavendish really not appreciate the situation?
As the years of the younger Miss Bailey outnumbered those of Miss
Cavendish by half a decade, it may be supposed that Miss Cavendish did
not appreciate the situation.