Lugano, and, tearing themselves from the dear brigand, were taken
possession of by a shadowy being, who fed them in a marble hall with
statues ten feet high glaring at them as they ate, then led them to a
bower which had pale green doors, a red carpet, blue walls, and yellow
bed covers,--all so gay it was like sleeping in a rainbow.
As if another lovely lake under the windows, and moonlight _ad libitum_,
was not enough, they had music also. Lavinia scorned the idea of sleep,
and went prowling about the rooms, hanging over the balconies, and doing
the romantic in a style that was a disgrace to her years. She it was who
made the superb discovery that the music they heard came from across the
way, and that by opening a closet window they could look into a theatre
and see the stage.
All rushed at once and beheld an opera in full blast, heartily enjoying
the unusual advantages of their position; for not only could they hear
the warblers, but see them when the curtain was down. What a thing it
was to see Donna Anna do up her black hair, Don Giovanni dance a jig,
and stately Ottavio imbibe refreshment out of a black bottle, and the
ghostly Commander prance like a Punchinello as they got him into
position.
The others soon succumbed to sleep; but, till long after midnight, old
Livy wandered like a ghost from the front balcony, with the lovely lake,
to the closet window and its dramatic joys, feeling that no moment of
that memorable night should be lost, for what other traveller could
boast that she ever went to the opera wrapped in a yellow bedquilt?
On the morrow a few pictures of Luini before breakfast, and then more
sailing over lakes, and more driving in festive diligences to Menaggio,
where a boat like a market waggon without wheels bore them genteelly to
Cadenabbia, and a week of repose on the banks of Lago Como.
Their palace did not 'lift its marble walls to eternal summer' by any
means; for it rained much, and was so cold that some took to their beds
for warmth, stone floors looking like castile-soap not being just the
thing for rheumatism. Hand-organs, dancing-bears, two hotels, one
villa, no road but the lake, and an insinuating boatman with one eye who
lay in wait among the willows, and popped out to grab a passenger when
anyone ventured forth, are all that remains in the memory regarding
Cadenabbia.
A few extracts from Lavinia's note-book may be found useful at this
point, both as a speedy way of getting our travellers to Rome, and for
the bold criticisms on famous places and pictures which they contain:--
'Milan.--Cathedral like a big wedding-cake. "Last Supper" in the
barracks--did not "thrill;" tried to, but couldn't, as the picture is so
dim it can hardly be seen. Ambrosian Library.--Lock of L. Borgia's hair;
tea-coloured and coarse. Don't believe in it a bit. Jolly old books, but
couldn't touch 'em. Fine window to Dante. Saw cathedral illuminated;
very theatrical, and much howling of people over the deputies from Rome.
Don't know why they illuminated or why they howled; didn't ask. Men here
handsome, but rude. Women wear veils and no bonnets,--fat and ugly.
Gloves very good.--Arch of Peace.--More peace and less arch would be
better for Italy.
'Raphael's Marriage of the Virgin.--Stiff and stupid. Can't like
Raphael. Dear, pious, simple, old Fra Angelico suits me better.
'To the Public Garden with A.; saw a black ostrich with long pink legs,
who pranced and looked so like an opera dancer that we sat on the fence
and shrieked with laughter.
'Pavia.--To the Certosa to see the old Carthusian Convent founded in
1396; cloisters, gardens, and twenty-four little dwellings, with chapel,
bedroom, parlour, and yard for each monk, who is never to speak, and
comes out but once a week. A nice way for lazy men to spend their lives
when there is so much work to be done for the Lord and his poor! Wanted
to shake them all round, though they did look well in their gowns and
cowls gliding about the dim cloisters and church. Perhaps they are kept
for that purpose.
'Parma.--Dome of church frescoed by Correggio. All heaven upsidedown;
fat angels turning somersaults, saints like butchers, and martyrs
simpering feebly. Like C.'s babies much better. Heaven can't be painted,
and they'd better not try. Madonna, by Girolamo, was lovely. Room of the
Abbess, with rosy children peeping through the lattice, very charming.
Madonna della Scodella--the boy Christ very charming. The old Farnese
Theatre most interesting; got a scrap of canvas from a mouldy scene.
Dead old place is Parma.
'Bologna.--Drove in a pelting rain to the Academy, and saw many
pictures. A Pietà, by Guido, was very striking. The desolate mother,
with her dead son on her knees, haunted me long afterwards. St. Jerome
and the infant Christ, by Elizabeth Sirani, I liked. Raphael won't suit
yet. Sad for me, but I cannot admire Madonnas with faces like
fashion-plates, or dropsical babies with no baby sweetness about them.
'Florence.--Bought furs. Nice climate to bring invalids into. Always did
think Italy a humbug, and I begin to see I was right. Acres of pictures.
Like about six out of the lot. Can't bear the Venus, or Titian's famous
hussy hanging over it. Like his portraits much. Busts of Roman emperors
great fun. Such bad heads! The Julias, Faustinas, and Agrippinas, with
hair dressed like a big sponge on the brow, were so comical I was never
tired of looking at them. I see now where the present bedlamite style of
coiffure comes from.
'The philosophers, &c., were very interesting. Cicero so like Wendell
Phillips that I could hardly help clapping my hands and saying, "Hear!
hear!"
'Gave A. a sad blow by saying the Campanile looked like an inlaid
work-box. Did not admire it half so much as I did a magnificent stone
pine. Best of all, saw in the old Monastery of St. Marco many works of
Fra Angelico. I love his pictures, for he put his pious heart into them,
and one sees and feels it, and I don't care if his saints do have six
joints to their fingers and impossible noses. A very dear picture of
"Providenza,"--poor monks at an empty table and angels bringing bread.
'Angelico's picture of heaven was more to my mind than any I have seen.
No stern, avenging God, no silly Madonna, but happy souls playing like
children, or singing and piping with devout energy.
'Relics of Savonarola,--his cell, bust, beads, hair-cloth shirt, and a
bit of wood from the pile on which they burnt him. I like relics of one
man who really lived, worked, and suffered, better than armies of
angels, or acres of gods and goddesses.
'Pleasant drives. Saw artists, Casa Guidi windows, and a model baby
house with dolly's name on the door, and steps modelled by hands that
have made famous statues. "Papa's baby house" was best of all his works
to me. A nice little earthquake and a trifle of snow to enhance the
charms of this sweet spot.
'Visited Parker's grave, and was afflicted to find it in such an
unlovely, crowded cemetery. It does not matter after all: his best
monument is in the hearts that love him and the souls he fed. As I stood
there a little brown bird hopped among the vines that covered the grave,
pecked its breakfast from a dry seed-pod, perched on the head-stone with
a grateful twitter, as grace after meat, and flew away, leaving me
comforted by the little sermon it had preached.'
'I don't wish to hurt your feelings, dear, but if this is Rome I must
say it is a very nasty place,' began Lavinia, as they went stumbling
through the mud and confusion of a big, unfinished station on their
arrival at the eternal city.
'People of sense don't judge a place at ten o'clock of a pitch-dark,
rainy night, especially if they are hungry, tired, and, excuse me, love,
rather cross,' returned Amanda, severely, as they piled into a carriage
and drove to Piazzi di Spagna.
'I see a divine fountain! A splendid palace! Now it's a statue of some
sort! I do believe that dark figure was a monk! I know I shall like it
in spite of everything,' cried Matilda excitedly, flattening her nose
against the window.
She had been much disappointed at not being able to enter Rome by
daylight, so that she might clasp her hands and cry aloud, half-stifled
with the overpowering emotions of the moment, 'Roma! Roma! the eternal
city, bursts upon my view!' That was the proper thing to do, and it was
a blow to make so commonplace and ignoble an entry into the city of her
dreams.
Early next morning, Livy was roused from slumber by cries of delight,
and, starting up, beheld her artist sister wrapped in a dressing-gown,
with dishevelled hair, staring out of the window, and murmuring
incoherently,--
'Spanish Steps, that's where the models sit. Propaganda, famous Jesuit
school. Hope I shall see the little students in their funny hats and
gowns. That's the great monument thing put up to settle the Immaculate
Conception fuss. Very fine, but the apostles look desperately tired of
holding it up. Dear old houses! Heavens! there's a _trattoria_ man with
somebody's breakfast on his head! Don't see any costumes. Where are the
sheepskin suits? the red skirts and white head-cloths? Girl with
flowers. Oh, how lovely! Mercy on us, there's an officer staring up
here, and I never saw him!'
In came the blond head, and the blue dressing-gown vanished from the
eyes of the handsome soldier who had been attitudinizing with his high
boots, gray and scarlet cloak, jingling sword, and becoming _barrette_
cap, for the especial benefit of the enraptured stranger.
'Livy, it is just superb! Get up and come out at once. It is clouding
up, and I must have one look or lose my mind,' said Matilda, flying
about with unusual energy.
'You will have to get used to rain if you stay here long, my child,'
returned the Raven.
And she was right. It poured steadily for two months, with occasional
flurries of snow, also thunder, likewise hurricanes, the tramontàna, the
sirocco, and all the other charming features of an Italian winter. That
nothing might be wanting, a nice little inundation was got up for their
benefit, December 28th.
Sitting peacefully at breakfast on the morning of that day, in their
cosey apartment, with a fire of cones and olive-wood cheerily burning on
the hearth, Jokerella, the big cat, purring on the rug, the little
coffee-pot proudly perched among bread and butter, eggs and fruit, while
the ladies, in dressing-gowns and slippers, lounged luxuriously in
arm-chairs, one red, one blue, one yellow; they (the ladies, not the
chairs) were started by Agrippina, the maid, who burst into the room
like a bomb-shell, announcing, all in one breath, that the Tiber had
risen, inundated the whole city, and instant death was to be the doom of
all.
Rushing to the window to see if the flood had quite covered the steps,
and cut off all retreat, the friends were comforted to observe no signs
of water, except that half-frozen in the basin of the fountain above
which leaned their favourite old Triton, with an icicle on the end of
his nose.
'I must go and attend to this. The poor will suffer; we may be able to
help,' said Livy, forgetting her bones, and beginning to scramble on her
fur boots as if the safety of the city depended on her.
The others followed suit, and leaving Jokerella to ravage the table,
they hurried forth to see what Father Tiber was up to. A most
reprehensible prank, apparently, for the lower parts of the city were
under water, and many of the great streets already as full of boats as
Venice.
The Corso was a deep and rapid stream, and the shopkeepers were
disconsolately paddling about, trying to rescue their property.
'Our dresses, our beautiful new dresses, where are they now!' wailed
the girls, surveying Mazzoni's grand store, with water up to the
balcony, where many milliners wrung their hands, lamenting.
The Piazza del Popolo was a lake, with the four stone lions just
visible, and still spouting water, though it was a drug in the market.
In at the open gate rolled a muddy stream, bearing hay-stacks,
brushwood, and drowned animals along the Corso. People stood on their
balconies wondering what they should do, many breakfastless; for how
could the _trattoria_ boys safely waft their coffee-pots across such
canals of water? Carriages splashed about in shallower parts with
agitated loads, hurrying to drier quarters; many were coming down
ladders into boats, and crowds stood waiting their turn with bundles of
valuables in their hands.
The soldiers were out in full force, working gallantly to save life and
property; making rafts, carrying people on their backs, and going
through the inundated streets with boat-loads of food for the hungry,
shut up in their ill-provided houses. Usually at such times the priests
did this work; but now they stood idly looking on, and saying it was a
judgment on the people for their treatment of the Pope. The people were
troubled because the priests refused to pray for them: but otherwise
they snapped their fingers at the sullen old gentlemen in the Vatican;
and the brisk, brave troops worked for the city quite as well (the
heretics thought better) than the snuffy priests.
In the Ghetto the disaster was truly terrible, for the flood came so
suddenly that the whole quarter was under water in an hour. The scene
was pitiful; for here the Jews live packed like sardines in a box, and
being washed out with no warning, were utterly destitute. In one street
a man and woman were seen wading up to their waists in water, pushing an
old mattress before them, on which were three little children, all they
had saved.
Later in the day, as boats of provisions came along, women and children
swarmed at the windows, crying, 'Bread! bread!' and their wants could
not be supplied in spite of the care of the city authorities. One old
woman who had lost everything besought the rescuers to bring her a
little snuff for the love of heaven; which was very characteristic of
the race. One poor man, in trying to save a sick wife and his little
ones in a cart, upset them, and the babies were drowned at their own
door. Comedy and tragedy side by side.
Outside the city, houses were carried off, people lost, and bridges
swept away, so sudden and violent was the flood. The heavy rains and
warm winds melted the snow on the mountains, and swelled the river till
it rose higher than at any time since 1805.
Many strangers, who came to Rome for the Christmas holidays, sat in
their fine apartments without food, fire, light, or company, till taken
off in boats or supplied by hoisting stores in at the windows.
'We can hold out some time, as we live on a hill, and Pina has laid in
provisions for several days. But if the flood lasts, we shall come to
want; for the wood-yards are under water, the railroads down, and the
peasants can't get into the city to bring supplies, unless the donkeys
swim,' said Amanda, reviewing the situation.
'Never mind; it's so exciting; only we must not forget that we engaged
to go and see the Roastpig Aurora to-day,' answered Matilda, who
insisted on pronouncing Rospigliosi in that improper manner.
'I like this infinitely better than any of your picturesque
refrigerators, and it thrills me more to watch one of those dear, dirty
soldiers save women and babies than to see a dozen "Dying Gladiators"
gasping for centuries in immortal marble,' added Lavinia, who had
shocked her artistic friends by sniffing at the famous statue, and
wishing the man would die and done with it, and not lie squirming there.
'Come away, Mat: she has no soul for art, and it is all in vain to try
and breathe one into her,' said Amanda, with the calm pity of one who
had read up every great picture, studied up every famous statue, and
knew what to admire, when to thrill, and just where the various emotions
should come in.
So they left the outcast perched on a wall, waving her muff at them,
and calling out, 'Nater for ever!' to the great horror of an English
lady, who would have seen all Rome upset without any unseemly
excitement.
That night the gas gave out, and mysterious orders were left at houses
for lamps to be kept burning till morning. Thieves abounded, and the
ladies prepared their arms--one pistol, one dagger, and a large
umbrella--then slept peacefully, undisturbed by the commotion in the
kitchen, where cats, live chickens, and Pina's five grandmothers, all
lived together, rent free.
Amanda's last prediction was, that they would find themselves gently
floating out at the Porta Pia about midnight. Mat wailed for a submerged
gallery in which she had hoped to ice herself on the morrow, and Livy
indulged the sinful hope that the Pope would get his pontifical
petticoats very wet, be a little drowned, and terribly scared by the
flood, because he spoilt the Christmas festivities, and shut up all the
cardinals' red coaches.
Next day the water began to abate, and people made up their minds that
the end of the world was not yet. Gentlemen paid visits on the backs of
stout soldiers, ladies went shopping in boats, and family dinners were
handed in at two-story windows without causing any remark, so quickly do
people adapt themselves to the inevitable.
Hardly had the watery excitement subsided when a new event set the city
in an uproar.
The King was not expected till the tenth of January; but the kind soul
could not wait, and, as soon as the road was passable, he came with
300,000 francs in his hands to see what he could do for his poor Romans.
He arrived at 4 A.M., and though unexpected, the news flew through the
city, and a crowd turned out with torches to escort him to the Quirinal.
Again did the explosive Pina burst in upon her mistresses with the news,
this time in tears of joy, for the people began to think the King would
never come, and therefore were especially touched by this prompt visit
in the midst of their trouble. The handsome damsel was a spectacle
herself, so dramatic was she as she shook her fist at the Pope, and
cheered for the King, with a ladle in one hand, an artichoke in the
other, her fine eyes flashing, and her mellow voice trembling, while she
talked regardless of the _polenta_ going to destruction in the
frying-pan.
On went the bonnets, out flew the ladies, and rushed up to the Quirinal,
where stood a great crowd waiting eagerly for a sight of the King.
There was a great bustle among the officials, and splendid creatures,
in new uniforms, ran about in all directions. Grand carriages arrived,
bringing the high and mighty, gaping but loyal, to greet their lord.
General Marmora--a thin, shabby, energetic man--was everywhere; for the
new order of things seemed a little hitchy. Dorias and Colonnas
gladdened plebeian eyes, and the people cheered every thing, from the
Commander-in-Chief to somebody's breakfast, borne through the crowd by a
stately 'Jeames' in livery, who graciously acknowledged the homage.
For one mortal hour our ladies stood in a pelting rain, and then
retired, feeling that the sacrifice of their best hats was all that
could reasonably be expected of free-born Americans. They consoled
themselves by putting out Pina's fine Italian banner (made in secret,
and kept ready for her King, for the _padrona_ was _papalino_), and
supporting it by two little American flags, the stars and stripes of
which much perplexed the boys and donkeys disporting themselves in the
Piazza Barberini.
But the excitement was so infectious that the girls could not resist
another run after royalty; so, while Livy consoled herself with the fire
and the cat, they took a carriage and chased the King till they caught
him at the Capitol. They had a fine view of him as he came down the long
steps, almost alone, and at the peril of his life, through a mass of
people cheering frantically, and whitening the streets with waving
handkerchiefs.
The enthusiastic damsels mounted up beside the driver, and hurrahed with
all their hearts and voices, as well they might, for it certainly was a
sight to see. The courage of the King, in trusting himself in a city
full of enemies, touched the people quite as much as the kindly motive
that brought him there, and kept him sacred in their eyes.
The girls had a second view of him on the balcony of the Quirinal; for
the populace clamoured so for another sight of 'Il Rè,' that the Pope's
best velvet hangings were hastily spread, and Victor Emmanuel came out
and bowed to his people, 'who stood on their heads with joy,' as Amanda
expressed it.
He was in citizen's dress, and looked like a stout, brown, soldierly
man, not so ugly as the pictures of him, but not an Apollo by any means.
Hating ceremony and splendour, he would not have the fine apartments
prepared for him, but chose a plain room, saying, 'Keep the finery for
my son, if you like; I prefer this.'
He drove through the Ghetto, and all the desolated parts of the city,
to see with his own eyes the ruin made; and then desired the city
fathers to give to the poor the money they had set apart to make a
splendid welcome for him.
He only spent one day, and returned to Florence at night. All Rome was
at the station to see him off: ladies with carriages full of flowers,
troops of soldiers, and throngs of poor people blessing him like a
saint; for this kingly sympathy of his had won all hearts.
'When he does make his grand entry, we will decorate our balcony, and
have our six windows packed with loyal Yankees who will hurrah their
best for "the honest man," as they call Victor Emmanuel--and that is
high praise for a king.'
So said the three, and while waiting for the event (which did not occur
in their day, however,) they indulged in all the pastimes modern Rome
afforded. They shivered through endless galleries, getting 'cricks' in
their necks staring at frescoes, and injuring their optic nerves poring
over pictures so old that often nothing was visible but a
mahogany-coloured leg, an oily face, or the dim outline of a green saint
in a whirlwind of pink angels.
They grubbed in catacombs and came up mouldy. They picnicked in the tomb
of Cæcelia Metella, flirted in the palace of the Cæsars--not in the
classical manner, however,--got cold by moonlight in the Colosseum, and
went sketching in the Baths of Caracalla, which last amusement generally
ended in the gentlemen and ladies drawing each other, and returning
delighted with the study of art in 'dear Rome.'
They went to fancy parties, where artists got themselves up like their
own statues and pictures, and set mediæval fashions which it was a pity
the rest of the world did not follow. They drank much social tea with
titled beings, as thick as blackberries, and, better still, men and
women who had earned noble names for themselves with pencil, pen, or
chisel. They paid visits in palaces where the horses lived in the
basement, rich foreigners on the first floor, artists next, and princes
in the attic.
They went to the hunt, and saw scarlet coats, fine horses, bad riding,
many hounds, and no foxes.
As a change they got up game parties _à la_ Little Athens in their own
small _salon_, introduced the Potatoe Pantomime, had charades, and
enacted the immortal Jarley's waxworks on one of the Seven Hills.
A true Yankee breakfast of fish-balls, johnny-cake, and dip-toast, was
given in their honour, and its delights much enhanced by its being
eaten in a lovely room with reeds and rushes on the pale-green walls,
shell-shaped chairs, and coral mirror-frames. What a thing it was to
consume those familiar viands in a famous palace, with Guido's Cenci
downstairs, a great sculptor next door, three lovely boys as waiters,
and 'Titian T.' to head the feast, and follow it up with dates from the
Nile, and Egyptian sketches that caused the company to vote a speedy
adjournment to the land 'of corkendills' and pyramids.
These and many other joys they tasted, and when all else palled upon
them they drove on the Campagna and were happy.
It is sad to be obliged to record that these quiet drives were the
especial delight of the unsocial Lavinia, whose ill-regulated mind soon
wearied of swell society, classical remains, and artistic revelry.
Ancient Rome would have suited her excellently, she thought; but modern
Rome was such a chaos of frivolity and fanaticism, poverty and
splendour, dirt and devilry, dead grandeur and living ignorance, that
she felt as if shut up in a magnificent tomb, the bad air of which was
poisoning both body and soul.