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THE ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY.
[Illustration: THE CORNICHE ROAD.]
THE
ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY.
IMPRESSIONS OF LIFE
IN THE
ROMAN STATES AND SARDINIA,
DURING A TEN YEARS' RESIDENCE.
BY
MRS. G. GRETTON.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
Departure from Florence—The Vettura—Inn among the
Apennines—General aspect of towns in Romagna—Causes
of their decay—Austrian officers at Forli—Dangers
of the road—First impressions of Ancona 1
CHAPTER II.
Description of the Palazzo—An English family, though
Italian born—Complimentary visits of the Anconitan
nobility—How they pass their time—Dislike to country
walks—Modern _Cavaliere Servente_ 10
CHAPTER III.
A marriage in high life—Wedding outfit—The first
interview—Condition of single women—The laws of
courtship—Dependence of young married people—Anecdotes
of mothers-in-law 19
CHAPTER IV.
System pursued towards children—Results of Jesuit
training—Anecdotes of the Sacré Cœur—A
_Contessina_ just out of the convent—Difficulty
of giving a liberal education to young nobles—No
profession open to them but the Church—Their
ignorance and idleness 26
CHAPTER V.
The middle classes—Superior education of the men—Low
standard of female intellect and manners—Total
separation from the nobility—Cultivated physician—A
peep into his household—Family economy—_Conversazione_
at the chemist's—Passion for gambling—The _caffè_ 37
CHAPTER VI.
Prejudice against fires—General dilapidation of
dwelling-houses—A lady's _valet de chambre_—Kindness
towards servants—Freedom of intercourse with their
masters—Devotedness of Italians to the sick—Horror of
death—Funerals—Mourning 46
CHAPTER VII.
Decline of Carnival diversions—Dislike to being brought
into contact with Austrians—The theatre—Public
_Tombole_—Short-sighted policy of the Government 59
CHAPTER VIII.
The Lottery—Its miserable results—Evening parties—Absence
of all ostentation—Poverty no crime—Grand supper on
Shrove Tuesday—Reception of a Cardinal 67
CHAPTER IX.
Picturesque environs of Ancona—Dwellings of the
peasantry—Their simplicity and trust—Manner of life
and amusements—A wedding feast 76
CHAPTER X.
A rural christening—The young count 86
CHAPTER XI.
Lent observances—Compulsory confession—The sepulchres on
Holy Thursday—Procession on Good Friday—Blessing the
houses—Joyful celebration of Easter 95
CHAPTER XII.
Festivals of the Madonna—The Duomo—Legend of San
Ciriaco—Miraculous Picture—Course of sermons by Padre
G———General irreligion of the Anconitans—Ecclesiastical
tribunal of 1856—The Sacconi 103
CHAPTER XIII.
Political condition of Ancona—Arrogance of the Austrian
General—Strictness of the martial law—A man shot on the
denunciation of his wife—Application of the
stick—Republican excesses—Proneness to
assassination—_Infernal Association_ in 1849 110
CHAPTER XIV.
Execution of a criminal—Sympathy for his fate—The
Ghetto—Hardships of the Jews—The case of the Mortara
child not without precedent—Story of the Merchant and
his niece 121
CHAPTER XV.
A wedding in the Ghetto—Contrast between the state of the
Christian and Hebrew population—Arrival of the
post—Highway robberies—Exploits of Passatore 128
CHAPTER XVI.
A visit to Macerata—The journey—The Marziani
family—Volunnia the old maid—The Marchesa Gentilina's
midnight communications 137
CHAPTER XVII.
Comfortless bed-room—National fear of water—Waste of
time—Occupations of the different members of the
family—Volunnia's sitting-room—Her acquirements 145
CHAPTER XVIII.
Volunnia's inquisitiveness—Her strictures on English
propriety—The Marchesa Silvia's dread of heretics—The
dinner—The Marchesa Gentilina knits stockings and
talks politics 151
CHAPTER XIX.
A conversazione verbatim—Admiration for Piedmont—An
attack of banditti—The Marchesa describes the actual
wretchedness of the country—Cardinal Antonelli's addition
to the calendar year—Monopoly of the corn trade—Entrance
of the Knight of Malta 160
CHAPTER XX.
Conversazione continued—Match-making—The Codini opposed
to travelling—Hopes of the liberals centred in
Piedmont—Volunnia's pleasantries—Story of the young
noble and his pasteboard soldiers 169
CHAPTER XXI.
Unwillingness of the Italians to speak on serious
topics—Indifference of the majority to literature—Reasons
for discouraging the cultivation of female
intellect—The Marchesa Gentilina relates her convent
experiences—Admiration of English domestic life 176
CHAPTER XXII.
On the study of music in the Marche—Neglect of
painting—The young artist—His hopeless love—His
jealousy—His subsequent struggles and constancy 187
CHAPTER XXIII.
From Ancona to Umana—Moonlight view—The
country-house—Indifference of the Anconitans to flowers
and gardening—Ascent of the mount—Magnificent prospect
at sunrise—Trappist convent 196
CHAPTER XXIV.
The bishop's palace at Umana—Inroad of beggars—The
grotto of the slaves—The physician's political
remarks—Approach to Loretto—Bad reputation of its
inhabitants—Invitation from the Canonico 204
CHAPTER XXV.
The Santa Casa—Pilgrims—The treasury—Exquisite statues
and bassi-rilievi—Chocolate at the Canonico's—La Signora
Placida—A survey of the house—The rich vestments 214
CHAPTER XXVI.
Visit to the Carmelites at Jesi—Our joyous reception—The
casino and theatre—Infractions of convent discipline—The
dinner near the sacristy—In company with the friars we
visit the nuns 224
CHAPTER XXVII.
The writer's motive for not having dwelt minutely on
political or historical subjects—Antiquity of Ancona—Its
reputation under the Roman Empire—Its celebrated
resistance to the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa—Stratagem
employed by its deliverers—Continues to be a free city
till 1532, when it is surprised by Gonzaga, General of
Pope Clement VII., and subjected to the Holy
See—Flourishes under Napoleon—Restoration of the
Papacy—Pontifical possessions—Explanation of the terms,
Legations and Romagna—Bologna conquered in 1506, by
Julius II., but retains a separate form of
government—Ferrara, Urbino, &c.—Dates of their
annexation 234
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Injudicious policy of the Government at the
Restoration—Non-fulfilment of the _Motu proprio_
of Pius VII.—Disappointment of the pontifical
subjects—Inability of Cardinals Consalvi and Guerrieri
to contend against the narrow views of their
colleagues—Reasons of Austria's animosity against the
former—Guerrieri's projected reforms bring about his
fall—The constitutional movement of 1820-21—Its effect
in the Papal States—Abuse of Consalvi's
instructions—Extreme political rigour under Leo
XII.—Distracted condition of the country—The
_Sanfedisti_ rising of 1831—First Austrian army
intervention in Romagna—Conferences at Rome—Mr
Seymour's protest—Fresh disturbances in the
Legations—The Austrians again occupy Bologna—The French
land at Ancona—The reign of Gregory XVI. 241
CHAPTER XXIX.
Accession of Pius IX.—The amnesty—His unbounded
popularity—His reforms and concessions—Disasters
entailed by the French Revolution—The encyclical of the
29th April—Revulsion of feeling—The Mazzinians gain
ground—Austrian intrigues—Assassination of Count
Rossi—The Pope's flight to Gaeta—Efforts of the
Constitutionalists to bring about an accommodation—The
republic is proclaimed in Rome—Excesses in Ancona and
Senigallia—Moderation of the Bolognese—Their courageous
resistance to General Wimpffen—Siege of Ancona—Extreme
severities of the victors 252
CHAPTER XXX.
Rome subjugated by the French—Leniency of General
Oudinot—Rigour of the Pope's Commissioners—Investigation
into the opinions of Government _employés_—Disfavour
of the Constitutionalists—The Pope's edict and second
amnesty—He returns to his capital, April, 1850—Bitter
disappointment of the Romans—Count Cavour's appeal to
the Congress of Paris on their behalf—The Papal progress
in 1857—Public feeling at the opening of 1859—Excitement
in the Pontifical States at the outbreak of the war—The
Austrians evacuate Bologna—Establishment of a Provisional
Government—The revolt spreads through the Legations—Ancona
loses the favourable moment—Declares itself too
late—Approach of the Swiss troops from Perugia and
Pesaro—Capitulates to General Allegrini—Arbitrary
proceedings of General Kalbermatten—The
_Gonfaloniere_—His mendacious addresses to the
Pope—Misery of Ancona—Contrast presented by the
Legations 261
CHAPTER XXXI.
The English community of Nice—A pleasant meeting—The
Corniche road—The smallest sovereignty in the world—An
oppressive right of the prince—Rumoured
negotiation—Rencontre with pilgrims—An old Genoese
villa—A Piedmontese dinner—The culture of lemon
trees—Piedmontese newspapers—The towers of the
peasantry—Cultivation of the olive and the
fig-tree—Popular mode of fishing 274
CHAPTER XXXII.
Excursion to Ventimiglia—The Duomo—Visit to a convent—La
Madre Teresa—Convent life—A local archæologist—Cities
of the coast—The presents of a savant—End of a
pleasant visit 290
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A glance at Turin in 1858—The progress of
Sardinia—Exhibition of national industry—Productions of
Piedmont—Appearance of the Piedmontese—Railway
enterprise—Progress in machinery 300
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Turin in 1858—Partisans of the old régime—The native
Protestants—The conservative party—Their hostility to
Cavour—Clerical intolerance—The fashionable
promenade—Turinese characteristics—The Piedmontese
dialect—A marriage in high life 308
CHAPTER XXXV.
The House of Savoy—Its warlike princes—The Green
Count—Prostration of Piedmont—Persecution of the
Vaudois—The Island of Sardinia—Genoa added to
Piedmont—The constitution of 1848—War with
Austria—Victor Emmanuel 323
THE
ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY.
CHAPTER I.
Departure from Florence—The Vettura—Inn among the
Apennines—General aspect of towns in Romagna—Causes of their
decay—Austrian Officers at Forli—Dangers of the road—First
impressions of Ancona.
Three or four years ago I enjoyed an opportunity, such as very rarely
falls to the lot of strangers, of becoming acquainted with the inner
life and customs of a part of the Italian peninsula comparatively
little visited,—untrodden ground, in fact, to the majority of English
tourists. An invitation from my uncle, an English merchant at Ancona,
the principal seaport of the Roman States on the Adriatic, to spend a
few months there with his family, was gladly accepted. My experiences
of Italy as yet consisted only of a gay winter in Florence, and the
Holy Week at Rome; and I was still young and enthusiastic enough to
hail with delight any proposal which tended to increase my acquaintance
with the country that had so much enchanted me. It was therefore with a
light heart I found myself, one lovely autumnal morning, the fourth in
a _vettura_, having been confided to the care of an English family who
were going to Ancona, in order to embark from thence for the Levant.
I had never travelled in a vettura before, and I thought the lumbering,
crazy old vehicle, with its high, narrow step, small windows, hard
seats, and peculiar smell of mouldering straw, quite novel and
refreshing; and the four lean horses, with their gay tufts of scarlet
worsted and bells, the _vetturino_ or driver himself, with his pipe
and blouse and low-crowned hat, seemingly devoid of all human sympathy
save for a mongrel quadruped, which alternately formed the apex of the
pyramid of boxes and carpet-bags upon the roof, or limped dolorously in
the rear—all promised me an inexhaustible store of amusement, even for
the four days which the journey was to employ.
Soon after leaving Florence the road begins to ascend; and before
twenty miles were over we found ourselves in the defiles of a
magnificent mountain-pass, and in a temperature of exceeding coldness.
That night we stopped at an inn amongst the Apennines, and it would be
difficult to convey an idea of the contrast its rude inhabitants and
miserable accommodation afforded to the luxury of Florence, which lay
behind us. The people of the house spoke in some uncouth dialect it
was impossible to understand—the Romagnolo patois, I was afterwards
told—and looked so savage and repelling, that one involuntarily
recalled all the stories of robbery and assassination with which the
neighbouring country had been so rife a few months before. They all,
old as well as young, stared at us as if we had been wild beasts;
and from the time we arrived till supper could be got ready, and the
rough hostess prevailed on to make our beds, there was an incessant
coming and going of spectators. They gave us some soup, which, to our
English palates, appeared nothing but warm water with a little coarse
vermicelli in it, followed by the miserable fowl of which the broth
had been made, with its head on, and inefficiently plucked; and then an
omelet—the last being an invaluable accessory to such repasts. It was
bitterly cold, and we asked for a fire; a large bundle of fagots was
brought and lighted in a huge chimney, almost roomy enough to contain
settles, like those of olden time. The flame soon kindled cheerily, and
cast a bright glow over the squalid room, with its filthy, unwashed
brick floor; an open cupboard, containing the available crockery of
the establishment; six rush-bottomed chairs, so dirty that we were fain
to cover them with our handkerchiefs; and placed upon the shelf, that
served as a mantel-piece, two broken figures in coloured plaster of
Paris, representing a valorous Greek leering rapturously at a rubicund
Zuleika opposite.
We had time to notice all these details, to count the rafters of the
cobwebbed ceiling, to become familiarized with the barefooted urchins
who gazed curiously at us from the threshold, ere the requisite
preparations for our sleeping apartments were completed, and the
slipshod landlady informed us that we were at liberty to retire to
rest. But fortunately, before allowing her to depart, we remembered
a caution that had been given us, to be particular in inspecting the
bed-linen; and thence ensued a dispute as to the perfectly-unsullied
state of that which was first assigned to us. Seeing us determined
on rejecting her sheets, she at last made a sullen gesture to her
daughter, who soon reappeared with another supply, whose freshness
compensated for the nutmeg-grater texture of the homespun hemp of which
they were made.
We mounted upon chairs to climb up into our beds, and then had all
sorts of laughing alarms at the strange noises that seemed to pervade
the house: the gruff voice of the vetturino and stable-boys, the
stamping and snorting of the horses which were located beneath us, and
the screams of another unhappy fowl, immolated for the refection of
a fresh party of travellers, whose arrival about midnight completely
disturbed the short interval that remained to us for repose. At three
o'clock we were called, and shivering, sleepy, and miserable, made
a hasty toilet, and hurried to the carriage; it being one of the
peculiar delights of this mode of travelling, that inasmuch as the
entire journey is performed with the same horses, the day is divided
into two stages, morning and afternoon, and the driver's object is to
insure as long a rest, or _rinfrescata_, between these as possible.
Thus, often long before noon, one stops for three or four hours of
ennui and discomfort, such as the uninitiated in these matters can with
difficulty conceive.
It was of course dark when we set off, and by the time day had fully
dawned, we had emerged from the mountains, and were in a broad,
fertile country, approaching the boundary-stone that separates Tuscany
from the Roman States. A custom-house on each territory is of course
encountered; the Tuscans first see that you carry nothing contraband
out, and then the Romans ascertain that you take nothing forbidden in.
With us, the examination of our luggage was merely nominal; offering
the keys of our boxes, with the assurance that they contained nothing
illegal, they were immediately and politely returned to us; and thus
the magic of our English name, seconded by the donation of a few
_pauls_, carried us in triumph through both ordeals. To the Italians
themselves it is a very different sort of affair, as they are always
subjected to a very rigorous search, chiefly with a view to discovering
whether they are carrying arms or prohibited publications.
About ten, we reached Forli—the first of those large, deserted,
decaying cities which are to be met with at every fifteen or twenty
miles' distance in the Roman States, and which, in their grass-grown
streets, their ruined palaces, and ragged, idle population, give a more
striking testimony to the workings of the dominant system than the
most heart-stirring eloquence could achieve. As we sauntered through
the dreary town, to wile away the hours that must elapse before we
could resume our journey, we saw no evidences of industry or employment
beyond a few wretched shops, where tobacco, cigars, tape, needles,
and such gear were promiscuously sold. The necessity for a trifling
purchase led me into one of these _negozj_, the owner of which, a
garrulous old man, upon discovering that I was English, and yet not
indifferent to the state of things around me, speedily ventured on a
few confidential lamentations. The miserable condition of the country
he ascribed, not so much to the presence of the Austrians, who had been
stationed in Romagna and the Marche[1] since 1849, disastrous as that
occupation undoubtedly was, as to the injustice and venality of all
the government officials, with whom, he observed, “a little of this,”
rubbing his fore and middle finger significantly against his thumb, to
denote money, “a little of this does everything. They are all alike,
_Signora mia_, from the lowest _impiegato_ to the high personage who
rules the Pope as well as his subjects.” I was conversant enough with
Italian politics to know that he alluded to Cardinal Antonelli, of
whose widespread unpopularity amongst the commercial and industrial
classes I thus early had a specimen. “All is falling to pieces,
Signora,” he added, as he handed me my parcel, wrapped in the leaf of
an old account book; “but who can wonder at it? _We are governed by men
who have no children._”
The only place where any of the natives seemed to congregate was one
of the cafés, in and outside of which we observed numbers of fine,
well-grown young men, indolently lounging and smoking, or staring at
any stray passer-by with a vacant sort of interest; and all these were
the rising generation—the gentry and nobility of Forli. I say _one_ of
the cafés advisedly, because another that was pointed out to us near
the theatre was occupied solely by Austrian officers, and consequently
unfrequented by any of the citizens. Priests, soldiers, and beggars
straggled about the streets, the last besieging chiefly the cafés and
church doors, and exhibiting their withered limbs and deformities as
an incentive to the compassion of the charitably disposed. Near the
chief square, and evidently the fashionable locality, we saw one or two
ladies, followed by a dirty lackey, in a threadbare livery coat hanging
down to his heels, with a faded gold band round his hat, and altogether
with such an air of poverty and squalor as rendered this attempt at
maintaining traditional dignity pitiably ridiculous. The only public
building that looked flourishing, or in good repair, was the theatre,
which subsequent observations have shown me to be the case in most, if
not in all towns in the Papal States. At Cesena, for instance, which
was our next halting-place, a new opera house, scarcely yet completed,
was shown to us, on the erection of which the municipality—of course
with the approbation of the government of Rome—had expended a very
large sum; while the town bore the semblance of a vast lazar-house, its
unsheltered poor in every variety of human wretchedness, lying huddled
together by night beneath porticos and arcades, and by day shocking
every sense by the display of their wounds, nakedness, and suffering.
But I am digressing, and must return to Forli, and to our hotel of
La Posta, where we dined in a very large hall that must have been a
banqueting-room centuries ago. Our places were laid at one end of a
long table, the other extremity of which was soon occupied by several
white-coated Austrian infantry officers, belonging to the Army of
Occupation. They came in, clanking their swords and speaking in a loud,
overbearing tone, evidently being in the habit of frequenting the
house, to judge by the free-and-easy manner in which they comported
themselves. They were fortunately too far off for us to be annoyed
by overhearing their conversation, except when they raised their
voices to abuse the waiters, which they did in execrable Italian,
but with a surprising volubility of expletives. These remarks were
generally prefaced with, “_Voi pestia d'Italiano_,” or something
equally remarkable for good taste and feeling. But this was nothing
to what occurred about the middle of the repast, when a party of
Italians, two ladies and a gentleman, evidently of the upper class, our
fellow-travellers at the mountain-inn, entered the hall, and sat down
opposite to us, waiting till their dinner should be brought; for each
party was separately served.
Though they spoke low, with an evident desire to avoid notice, the
Austrians speedily discovered to what nation they belonged, as I
perceived by their whispering and laughing amongst themselves, and
frequent bold glances towards the new-comers. After a little time their
mirth grew more offensive, and reached an unwarrantable height, when
one of the party, loudly apostrophizing the unfortunate waiter on whom
their wrath so frequently descended, asked him if he could tell him in
what light he and all other Austrians regarded the Italians. The man's
sallow cheek grew a shade paler, but he made no reply, as he busied
himself in changing their plates and knives, making as much clatter as
possible—so it seemed to me—to drown the voice of his interrogator. “Do
you not know, _pestia_?” reiterated the officer, stamping as he spoke;
“then I will tell you: we all of us look upon you Italians as the dust
under our feet—as the little creeping beasts we crush every moment of
our lives, at every step we take—ha! ha! ha!” And then they all roared
in chorus, and swore, and twirled their moustaches, and called for
coffee and cigars.
I cannot describe what I felt during this scene, for the cruel outrage
on the feelings of the family who sat opposite to us. When the insult
was too palpably proclaimed to admit of a doubt, the brow of the
gentleman grew dark and lowering, and I saw by the strong heavings
of his chest, and firmly-compressed lips, what bitter, unavailing
struggles were at work. The ladies exchanged glances; and the younger
of the two who sat beside him, and whom I afterwards discovered to be
his wife, laid her hand upon his arm, and looked up imploringly into
his face. I never shall forget the look—indignation, sorrow, entreaty,
were all so blended there. He shrank from her touch, as if irritated
at a movement that might call further attention to his position; but
the moment afterwards, seeming to recollect himself, he whispered a
few words into her ear, accompanying them with a slight movement of
the shoulders, with which an Italian always indicates helplessness or
despair.
We left Forli as early as half-past one, although Cesena, our
halting-place for the night, was only thirteen miles off; but the
vetturino told us he was anxious to reach it long before sunset, as the
neighbourhood bore a very bad name, and carriages were often stopped
and robbed at dusk or early morning. In the mountains, where we had
been the night before, he told us there was no fear—nothing unpleasant,
in fact, ever being known to take place till beyond the Tuscan
frontier. These precautions made us rather uneasy, and it was some
comfort to perceive that the Italian family set out at the same time as
ourselves, and that the two carriages always kept within sight of each
other; but no evil befell us—though, in less than a week afterwards, a
carriage was stopped on the same road in open daylight—and we jingled
gallantly into Cesena, in the mellow sunlight of the October afternoon.
As I am not going to give a journal of our route, but have merely
attempted a sketch that might convey some idea of the state of the
country which we traversed, I shall hasten over the two following days.
We passed through Rimini, La Cattolica, Pesaro, Fano, Sinigaglia—all
names which once belonged to history, but now may be briefly classed
in the same category of ruin and debasement—and found ourselves,
at the close of the fourth day, in sight of the place of our
destination—Ancona, the third city in the Roman States.
It is approached by a beautiful road which follows the curve of the bay
from the opposite point of Capo Pesaro, and built upon a promontory
that runs boldly into the sea, can be descried from a considerable
distance. The first impression the aspect of Ancona produces upon the
traveller is favourable in the extreme. It had been visible to us for
the last twenty miles of our road, and looked exceedingly picturesque,
rising from the very edge of the water in terrace-like succession, till
it reached the summit of the mountain, crowned by an old cathedral,
whose quaint semi-Byzantine architecture, gilded by the setting sun,
stood out in admirable relief against the glorious sky.
The shipping in the harbour lay calmly at anchor, every detail of
mast and cordage reflected as in a mirror in the azure sea, which, in
the distance, verging on the horizon, appeared suffused with the same
golden light as the illuminated heavens. It was a beautiful scene, one
of which I thought I should never weary; and although, from what I had
seen upon the way, I had schooled myself into a considerable abatement
of the anticipations with which I had quitted Florence, I now permitted
my hopes to revive, and drew good auguries from the prepossessing
exterior of Ancona.
As we drew near, we saw more indications of employment than we had yet
encountered: heavy wagons, laden with bales of merchandise, proceeding
slowly in the direction from which we came; and carts of a most
primitive construction, painted with rude figures of saints, and drawn
by white oxen or cows, conveying the produce of the recent vintage
into the town. Leading to the gates was an avenue of trees, planted on
either hand of the post-road, and under whose shade the population were
wont to disport themselves for their Sunday's promenade; but the finest
had been all cut down a few years before, to make barricades against
the Austrians when they were advancing to besiege the town, and their
stumps alone remained. On the side nearest the sea appeared some little
square patches of shrubs and flowers, interspersed with a few benches,
and four terra-cotta urns on pedestals, dignified by the name of the
Public Gardens; and on the opposite part of the road was a long row of
very miserable houses, with arcades, beneath which venders of fruit,
salt-fish, and coarse pottery held their stalls.
On we went through a handsome gate, where the usual formalities of
passports had to be endured; and then along a sunny sort of esplanade,
with the sea on one side and dirty houses on the other; and through a
low narrow archway in a huge blank wall, and we were fairly in Ancona,
the Doric city, as it is admiringly called by its inhabitants. The
vetturino cracked his whip, the horses did their best to gallop, the
dog barked, and we plunged and jolted through the steep, narrow streets
in right good style, till we drew up in front of the hotel of La Pace,
the Meurice's of Ancona.