brilliant spectacle, and asking him rapid, eager questions about this
official and that--questions that Ludovico was only too glad to answer,
while he drew her to the other side of the piazza where a German grand
duchess and two lesser duchesses were stepping into their coaches. We
also had the honor of seeing the Earl and Countess of Denbigh enter
their carriage.
"It has all been perfectly delightful; I shall never forget it!"
exclaimed Angela, and then turning to me with frankest inconsequence,
she said, "Pray let us do something quite different this afternoon!"
Ludovico fortunately did not hear her aside; but Dr. M. did, and, with
his ready sense of humor, was vastly entertained, and will never cease
to tease Angela about the effect upon her mind of a solemn service in
the greatest cathedral in the world.
X
VALE ROMA
Tuesday, April 12th.
The "something quite different" that Zelphine and I consented to do
with Angela yesterday afternoon was to go to the Villa Madama. The
drive was pleasant, and the villa itself is charmingly situated on one
of the precipitous sides of Monte Mario, but alas! when we reached the
entrance gate we found it barred and bolted, which shows how important
it is to consult guide-books and local itineraries before making these
expeditions.
Rosalie, who was with us, spied a man in the grounds, to whom our
_vetturino_ called, "Ecco, ecco!"--the ejaculation which corresponds to
our "hello," although it is more universal, as it seems to be suited to
all occasions, grave or gay. This man proved to be the custodian of the
villa. He stated emphatically that the villa was closed and could not
be exhibited to-day; but when he caught the gleam of silver in Angela's
outstretched hand, he swung the gate open hospitably.
This Medici villa, which was named after a daughter of Charles V.
who married Alessandro de' Medici, is not spacious and imposing
like the Villa d'Este or the Borghese; but it is an ideal patrician
country-seat. We had been reading Marion Crawford's novel in which he
describes this villa, restored by the Contessina Cecilia Palladio. So
perfect is the _vraisemblance_ of the novelist's picture that when we
entered the half-ruinous, deserted house, from whose damp walls the
beautiful frescoes are fast fading, we felt a shock of disappointment.
Mr. Crawford's glowing description is of the Villa Madama as it should
be rather than as it is.
If I were only a multi-millionaire, I would buy this lovely old place
and make it the thing of beauty that Mr. Crawford describes. In fact,
Rosalie and I sat in the "court of honor" by the old fountain basin,
and planned a restoration which we thought even superior to Cecilia
Palladio's, with plate-glass sashes in the loggias and steam heat to
dry out the dampness and preserve Giulio Romano's wonderful frescoes;
comfort as well as beauty would reign in the old villa! When this
great work is completed, we four are to meet here every spring in the
rose-time; would you like to come, Allan, as our first guest to this
_château en Espagne_?
Angela, in whom the instincts for castle-building and for home-making
are sadly wanting, interrupted our day-dreams by reminding us that we
were due at a tea, and had barely time to get to the Via Ludovisi by
five o'clock. As we passed by the barracks near the Ponte Margherita,
our driver motioned toward an approaching carriage--a handsome carriage
with liveries and a fine span of horses but no outriders. In the
flash of the rapid passing we could only catch a glimpse of two ladies
inside; one with fine dark eyes, animated and gracious, attracted us
especially.
"The good Queen Mother," said the _vetturino_, turning to us. "We all
love her."
We were glad to have even this fleeting view of the Queen so beloved
by the Italians. It is charming to hear them speak of her as they do,
not as the Queen Dowager, or the old Queen, but affectionately, as the
Queen Mother.
Friday, April 15th.
Mrs. Coxe, with whom we made the excursion to Pæstum, called to see us
yesterday morning. We came near losing her visit altogether in this
curious, rambling pension, where the drawing-rooms are on the third
floor, the dining-room on the fourth, and the bedrooms are scattered
over all of the floors. The bell-boy escorted our visitor, in truly
foreign fashion, to Zelphine's bedroom on the fourth _piano_, and as
she happened to be in the salon, and there was no boy or bell in sight,
Mrs. Coxe set forth on a voyage of discovery, exploring the dining-room
and then going down to the smoking-rooms and library until she found
the salon, in which we were comfortably seated enjoying our morning
mail.
She laughed heartily over our detached way of living, but said she
was determined to find us even if she followed us to the cellar, as
she was the bearer of an invitation to join a party to be conducted by
Monsignor A. through some of the rooms of the Vatican not usually open
to visitors. Mrs. Coxe had brought a letter to this gentleman from her
parish priest, which was the reason for this courteous invitation in
which we were so generously included.
We met the Monsignor and his party near the steps leading to the
Sistine Chapel, and were taken through the rooms in which the finest
tapestries are kept--immense pieces representing Scripture scenes.
These tapestries, which are beautiful, with all the delicacy of
painting and the richness of needlework, are only used behind the
altar when the Pope celebrates. Monsignor A. told us that the Holy
Father never celebrates before a painting, always before tapestry. In
another room we saw a man at work upon a large altar-piece, weaving in
the colors by hand--a slow process, as you may imagine, but they count
years here as we count days.
We were allowed to enter the grand banquet-hall hung with tapestries,
in which preparations were being made for a great dinner; handsome
glass and plate were on the buffet, looking very secular for _il
Vaticano_. We saw the rooms of one of the old popes, and Monsignor A.
showed us the low, broad steps over which the popes used to ride on
their white mules from one part of the Vatican to the other. We did
not wonder that they were glad to ride through this vast building, as
we were tired after we had seen only a small part of it and a few of
the eleven thousand rooms. Fancy the extent of this palace, with its
museums, libraries, chapels, and suites of apartments, of which we
gained some idea from the inner court and galleries.
Monsignor A. proved to be a genial old gentleman who enlivened his
discourse with occasional anecdotes, which, delicious as they were in
his broken English, would lose something of their flavor if I should
undertake to repeat them in less picturesque language. He took us out
on the balcony overlooking the piazza, from which the Pope used to give
his blessing to the populace on Easter Sunday. The Monsignor said,
with some sadness, that this custom belonged to the old régime. We
could imagine what the great piazza must have been, filled with devout
kneeling figures, and, like the good father, we regretted the passing
of this impressive ceremony.
As we were going through one of the large audience-halls, an American
lady drew Mrs. Coxe and me aside.
"What shall we do about tipping?" she whispered. "These men," pointing
to some attendants, "have been opening doors for us ever since we
started. We must fee them, and yet how can we do it without attracting
the attention of the Monsignor? Do you think there will be an
opportunity to give them something?"
"If there is not," said Mrs. Coxe, promptly, "it will be the first time
such a thing ever happened in Italy! I, for one, am quite willing to
take my chances on it."
A few minutes later the Monsignor signified that we had completed our
tour with him. He courteously hoped that we had been repaid for the
fatigue of the many steps we had taken. Then, motioning toward the
attendants, he said that we might give them a few soldi for their
trouble, adding, simply and naturally, as if the words cost him no
effort:
"The keys of the rooms that you have seen are in the charge of a
gentleman who lends them to me. When I return them, I should be glad
to hand him something to repay him for his kindness. If you feel like
giving him a trifle, he and his friends will sit down at a table in
some garden, with a bottle of wine before them, and drink to Father
A.'s hat." His own hat, of course! Was it not deliciously frank and
foreign? Mrs. Coxe glanced triumphantly at us, and Angela was so
much amused at the idea of contributing to the convivial pleasures of
several unknown gentlemen in return for our privileges at the Vatican
that I thought it wise to make our compliments and adieus to the
Monsignor as quickly as possible, before she should disgrace the party
by unseemly hilarity.
Thursday, April 21st.
This has been a full week, in which there has been little time for
letter-writing. Zelphine and I have been driving about making calls
and leaving cards upon people who have invited us to their days. Angela
flatly refuses to join us, declaring that she did not come to Rome to
do the self-same things that she has to do at home. Instead of which,
she has been having a gay time with the W.'s from Philadelphia, driving
to the "Doria-Pamfili" and going to the races at the Campanelle, for
this is the height of the racing season. To-day she went to the Grand
Steeplechase of Rome, and had the pleasure of seeing the King and
Queen driving in an open carriage drawn by four horses. The Queen gave
her own prize, the Queen Elena prize offered to gentlemen riders, and
who of all people should get it but the young Roman who nearly ran
over Mrs. Robins at the meet! He is a titled personage, the Marquis
de B., but as we could not remember his long, unpronounceable name,
we have dubbed him the Marquis de Carabas, being more familiar with
titles in fairy lore than in real life. Angela says that when Ludovico
brought the Marquis de B. to the carriage to speak to her, she was
in such terror lest she should call him by our nickname that she was
afraid to open her mouth. Fancy Angela afraid to open her mouth under
any circumstances! She must have overcome her hesitation, for she
afterwards had a long talk with the young Marquis, who took her and
Mrs. W. to have tea.
Zelphine and I find that our social duties have their compensations,
as we meet such interesting people. I had a long talk with your friend
Dr. White at a reception the other evening. He told me that he was
publishing his reminiscences of diplomatic life in Russia and Germany.
Madame Waddington is here now, and much fêted of course. Mrs. Coxe, who
has known her for years, says that she is the same Mary King whom she
knew as a school-girl, and is quite as unspoiled by the success of her
book as by her diplomatic successes.
One day this week an American friend, who lives here in a beautiful old
palace, sent us her box for "Les Huguenots." The box was in the centre
of what we call the balcony, near the royal box. We were hoping that
the King and Queen would appear, but we have learned since that they
seldom go to any plays except those given in their own royal theatre.
Otherwise the house was as brilliant as we had expected, and the
singing very fine, the choruses unusually strong.
Ludovico brought the Marquis de B. to our box. He has charming manners;
indeed, so much manner that one does not get beyond it. I prefer our
American heartiness to this studied politeness. Ludovico has asked
permission to bring the young Marquis to call on us, assuring us that
he belongs to one of the oldest families in Italy. I told him that as
a gentleman and his friend the Marquis de B. would be welcome without
the glory of an ancient lineage. Ludovico laughed, and said, "Oh, you
Americans are so proud--as proud of your democracy as if you were all
nobles!"
President Loubet is coming to Rome next Sunday, and the whole city
has begun to put on yards of bunting to receive him. These people
possess a genius for decoration, and have a clever fashion of hanging
bright-colored shawls and bits of carpet out of their windows; the
effect is really very good.
Sunday, April 24th.
Rome is _en fête_ to-day, a brilliantly gay city! We were invited to
see the reception of M. Loubet from a balcony overlooking the Esedra
di Termine, from which we had a fine view of the great concourse
of people--a wonderful sight! All the school-children of Rome were
seated on stands surrounding the piazza; there were lines and lines
of soldiers, cavalry and infantry, and people were standing everywhere
except in the space reserved for the carriages; those of the nobility
were like gilded Cinderella coaches, their coachmen and footmen in
gorgeous livery. The carriage of the Mayor, Prince Prosper Colonna, was
especially fine.
The band played the Marcia Reale, a curious little quickstep air, which
announced the approach of the expected guest. A troop of cuirassiers
opened the way; then came the royal carriage with the red liveries of
the house of Savoy, the King and President Loubet seated side by side.
Prince Colonna received the distinguished guest with much grace and
dignity; the band then struck up the Marseillaise; the applause was
wild, vivas, bravos on all sides. These Italians are not, I fancy,
devotedly attached to the French Republic or to its President; but
like all Latin peoples they delight in a celebration, a general hurrah,
martial music, flying banners, and tumultuous applause.
Monday, April 25th.
We have quaffed our last draught from the Fountain of Trevi, thrown a
penny into the pool to ensure our return to Rome, and taken a farewell
look at Neptune and his floundering steeds. Our trunks are packed, as
we had planned to leave Rome this morning, but the men did not come
for our boxes, which are to go by _petite vitesse_ to Florence while we
loiter by the way in several hill towns. We set forth to discover the
reason of the delay, and found the express office closed, all business
being suspended during the grand review which is being held on the
Piazza d'Armi in honor of the French President. It is evident that we
shall have to adapt our movements to those of this worthy gentleman;
but after all, this detention cannot be looked upon as an unmixed evil,
as it gave us a few hours more in Rome which we spent in the Vatican.
After taking a last lingering look at the Apollo and the Laocoon, we
had an hour in the Sistine Chapel for the ceiling frescoes of Michael
Angelo. To-day being brilliantly clear, the faces and figures stood
out as we had never seen them before, and we ended by feeling grateful
to M. Loubet, for had he not detained us we might never have so truly
appreciated the magnificent Prophets and Sybils, which are difficult to
see properly in cloudy weather such as we had during Holy Week.
EN ROUTE FOR VITERBO.
Ludovico and the Marquis de B. were at the station this afternoon to
see us off, although they had spent a part of the morning with us.
They both brought offerings of flowers, which was certainly a graceful
attention on the part of the Marquis, whom we only know casually; but
here they offer flowers with almost as little thought as one says good
morning in America. Zelphine and I have the dark red ones that we love;
Angela's are white and pink. The Marquis paid our youngest and fairest
some compliments about the roses matching the color in her cheeks,
which served to spread a pink glow all over her face and to make
Ludovico angry. It is quite evident that we are not leaving Rome too
soon, as these good friends might quarrel if we should stay longer, and
my duties as a chaperon would certainly become more arduous. We shall
miss Ludovico at every turn, and I flatter myself that he will miss
us. We have all so enjoyed our Roman days together, and he and Angela
were simply _bons camarades_, after the comfortable, unsentimental
fashion of the modern boy and girl, until the Marquis came into our
little circle with his too evident admiration and florid, Continental
compliments.
XI
SHORT JOURNEYS
ORVIETO, April 27th.
We have been travelling so fast, in the last days, that there has been
no time for writing, which is my excuse for not sending you a letter
from Viterbo, whose middle-age charms might fill many pages. Now I am
writing with the brilliant colors of the façade of Orvieto's great
cathedral still dazzling my eyes. We saw it first at sunset, when
its exquisite colors were intensified, and glowed in harmony with the
delicate rose and rich golden glory of the sky. With its vast mosaic
front and exquisite Gothic arches and spires, the Cathedral of Orvieto
is the central point of shining light in the old gray-brown town which
it crowns. This evening it was like a jewel with a thousand facets
gleaming in the sunset light, and, as many travellers have asserted,
its immense rose-window above the cathedral portal is in itself worth
a journey to Orvieto. This window with the lovely mosaic above it of
Christ and the Virgin Mary enthroned and surrounded by angels, all
in the softest blue, crimson, and gold, quite enthralled us, and we
lingered so long before the cathedral that the sunset colors faded,
the delicate hues of the mosaic grew dim, and darkness fell upon the
huge mass, wrapping it about as with a garment. "We shall never again
see anything so beautiful in this world," said Zelphine, solemnly,
as we walked back to our hotel through the narrow, dark streets. And
indeed I doubt if we ever shall; to behold a sunset of such brilliancy
illuminating a building of beauty so entrancing is something that one
need not expect to have repeated in a lifetime.
We intended to come here directly from Rome, a journey of only a few
hours; a detour to Montefiascone and Viterbo was decided upon, on the
spur of the moment, just before leaving Rome. Zelphine came across
some notes about Montefiascone in her Baedeker that reminded her of Mr.
Longfellow's description of his visit to the tomb of Johannes Fugger of
Augsburg, upon which she insisted that we linger a day and night on our
journey hither, in order to visit the sacred city of the Etruscans.
You probably recall the story in "Outre-Mer," and will be laughing at
us for going many miles to do honor to the memory of a wine-loving
old bishop; but I was glad that we had listened to Zelphine's words
of wisdom, as the place itself, quite aside from the strange tomb,
is so interesting--a little gray town towering above the green plain,
with narrow streets and high stone houses, plastered, to be sure, but
still ancient and impressive. Just outside the gate is a small inn,
the Aquila Nera, which is said to occupy the site of the shrine of
Voltumna, the tutelary goddess of the Etruscans, where the princes
of the nation once gathered in council. Here we discharged our
_vetturino_, as this hill town is not adapted to the luxuries of modern
transportation, and made our way on foot to the Church of San Flaviano.
We did not, like Mr. Longfellow, make a midnight pilgrimage to Bishop
Fugger's tomb; our visit was at high noon. The eleventh-century Church
of San Flaviano is unique and imposing, with its huge Romanesque
columns, Gothic doorways, and upper and lower buildings. Here before
the high altar is a well-worn gravestone with a relief of a bishop
in his robes, a goblet on each side of his head, and at his feet the
cabalistic words "Est, Est, Est." The remainder of the inscription we
could not decipher, but we afterwards learned that it ran thus:
"EST. EST. EST. PR(OPTER) NIM(IUM)--EST. HIC
IO(ANNES) DE VC DO(MINUS)--MEUS MORTUUS EST."
The strange inscription and the two goblets confirmed the story of the
convivial bishop, who, in order to secure good wine at each inn, while
travelling through Etruria, sent his servant a day's journey in advance
of him, instructing him to write "Est" in some agreed place if he found
the wine good. When the taster came to Montefiascone, he was so charmed
with the native wine that he wrote "Est, Est, Est," on the wall. Bishop
Fugger arrived in due time, thoroughly endorsed the opinion of his
servant, and drank of the "Est" wine so freely that in a short time he
himself was _non est_. With his last breath the bishop dictated a will,
by which he bequeathed a considerable sum of money to the town upon
condition that a cask of the "Est" wine be annually poured over his
grave. This, they tell us, was actually done until within a few years,
when the wine became too precious to be poured forth in libations so
generous. Now you will surely come to Montefiascone--"mountain of the
flask," as everything has a vinous association here--and drink to the
peace of his soul who drank "not wisely but too well."
From San Flaviano we strolled back to the Aquila Nera, where, if the
bread was of the color and consistency of leather, the eggs were fresh
and the fried artichokes delicious, while the wine--well, the wine,
like dear Charles Lamb's sublimated roast pig and many other delectable
things, must be tasted to be understood. No words of mine can convey to
you any idea of its sweetness and fragrance and general deliciousness,
cooled as it is with snow from the surrounding mountains, after the
fashion of the ancient Romans. After tasting of the "Est, Est, Est,"
we were more ready to shed a tear over the tomb of the bishop than we
had been before luncheon, and we can also better understand how the
peasants of this region live on their poor fare when it is accompanied
by nectar of the gods--a wine which does not seem to intoxicate, as
they drink it, but is an article of diet like coffee or tea or cocoa or
oil. Another characteristic of the "Est, Est, Est," is that it must be
drunk here, as it will not bear transportation even to Rome.
After luncheon we climbed up the steep street which leads to the
cathedral. This great building, with its gigantic dome, richly colored
marbles, and its many statues and frescoes, in a little out-of-the-way
town whose history is all over and done with, affords one of the
striking contrasts that add so much to the charm of Italy. A brilliant
gem in a dull setting is this old church, and yet with its many points
of light the jewel irradiates the sombre setting, instead of making it
seem darker by contrast. We left the beautiful cathedral reluctantly to
take an afternoon train to Viterbo, where we were told that we should
find a much more comfortable inn than at Montefiascone.
Zelphine, living over again the glorious past of the great Etruscan
city which we were about to visit, scorned all thought of creature
comfort, yet Angela and I noticed that she seemed to enjoy the
unexpected luxuries of the really good hotel in Viterbo as much as we
more mundane beings. Angela was in her element in a brilliantly lighted
hotel, with a large, bright dining-room and well-appointed tables, and
began at once to wish that we had better gowns in which to grace the
festive scene than the light silk waists which we had brought with us
to wear with our travelling-skirts. And yet, this very morning, we had
all been congratulating ourselves upon our small amount of luggage,
declaring that we were only free women when we had sent our trunks
in advance of us and could hold our worldly goods in our two hands.
Zelphine and I still rejoice in our freedom; but we are not Angelas,
with youth and all its possibilities.