THE MANIFOLD LIFE OF THE CAFÉ NUOVO, AND HOW THEY RECEIVED THE NEWS
ABOUT MAGENTA.--EXCITEMENT.--ENTHUSIASM.--TEARS.--EMBRACES.
All modern Rome lives in the Café Nuovo. It was once a palace. Lofty
ceilings, glittering walls, marble pavements, countless tables,
luxurious couches, immense mirrors, all dazzle the eye. The hubbub is
immense, the confusion overpowering.
The European mode of life is not bad. Lodgings in roomy apartments,
where one sleeps and attends to one's private affairs; meals
altogether at the café. There one invites one's friends. No delay with
dinner; no badly-cooked dishes; no stale or sour bread; no timid,
overworn wife trembling for the result of new experiments in
housekeeping. On the contrary, one has: prompt meals; exquisite food;
delicious bread; polite waiters; and happy wife, with plenty of
leisure at home to improve mind and adorn body.
The first visit which the Club paid to the Café Nuovo was an eventful
one. News had just been received of the great strife at Magenta. Every
one was wild. The two _Galignani's_ had been appropriated by two
Italians, who were surrounded by forty-seven frenzied Englishmen, all
eager to get hold of the papers. The Italians obligingly tried to read
the news. The wretched mangle which they made of the language, the
impatience, the excitement, and the perplexity of the audience,
combined with the splendid self-complacency of the readers, formed a
striking scene.
The Italians gathered in a vast crowd in one of the billiard-rooms,
where one of their number, mounted on a table, was reading with
terrific volubility, and still more terrific gesticulations, a
private letter from a friend at Milan.
"Bravo!" cried all present.
In pronouncing which word the Italians rolled the "r" so tumultuously
that the only audible sound was--
B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-f-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ah! Like the letter B
in a railway train.
The best of all was to see the French. They were packed in a dense
mass at the furthest extremity of the Grand Saloon. Every one was
talking. Every one was describing to his neighbor the minute
particulars of the tremendous contest. Old soldiers, hoarse with
excitement, emulated the volubility of younger ones. A thousand arms
waved energetically in the air. Every one was too much interested in
his own description to heed his neighbor. They were all talkers, no
listeners.
A few Germans were there, but they sat forsaken and neglected. Even
the waiters forsook them. So they smoked the cigars of sweet and
bitter fancy, occasionally conversing in thick gutturals. It was
evident that they considered the present occasion as a combined crow
of the whole Latin race over the German. So they looked on with
impassive faces.
[Illustration: News Of Magenta!]
Perhaps the most stolid of all was Meinheer Schatt, who smoked and
sipped coffee alternately, stopping after each sip to look around
with mild surprise, to stroke his forked beard, and to ejaculate--
"Gr-r-r-r-r-r-acious me!"
Him the Senator saw and accosted, who, making room for the Senator,
conversed with much animation. After a time the others took seats near
them, and formed a neutral party. At this moment a small-sized
gentleman with black twinkling eyes came rushing past, and burst into
the thick of the crowd of Frenchmen. At the sight of him Buttons
leaped up, and cried:
"There's Francia! I'll catch him now!"
Francia shouted a few words which set the Frenchmen wild.
"The Allies have entered Milan! A dispatch has just arrived!"
There burst a shrill yell of triumph from the insane Frenchmen. There
was a wild rushing to and fro, and the crowd swayed backward and
forward. The Italians came pouring in from the other room. One word
was sufficient to tell them all. It was a great sight to see. On each
individual the news produced a different effect. Some stood still as
though petrified; others flung up their arms and yelled; others
cheered; others upset tables, not knowing what they were doing;
others threw themselves into one another's arms, and embraced and
kissed; others wept for joy:--these last were Milanese.
Buttons was trying to find Francia. The rush of the excited crowd
bore him away, and his efforts were fruitless. In fact, when he
arrived at the place where that gentleman had been, he was gone. The
Germans began to look more uncomfortable than ever. At length Meinheer
Schatt proposed that they should all go in a body to the Café Scacchi.
So they all left.