As I never made a good bargain in my life--except once, when, on going
abroad, I let my house on excellent terms to an admirable tenant, who
never paid anything--I sent Edward into the Casa Dies yesterday morning,
while I invested the premises from the outside, and carefully surveyed
them. It is a very clean, large, bright-looking house at the corner of
the Via Gregoriana; not exactly in a part of Rome I should pick out for
living in, and on what I should be disposed to call the wrong side of
the street. However, this is not to the purpose. Signor Dies has no idea
of letting an apartment for a short time--scouted the idea of a
month--signified that he could not be brought to the contemplation of
two months--was by no means clear that he could come down to the
consideration of three. This of course settled the business speedily.
This hotel is no longer kept by the Melloni I spoke of, but is even
better kept than in his time, and is a very admirable house. I have
engaged a small apartment for you to be ready on Thursday afternoon (at
two piastres and a half--two-and-a-half per day--sitting-room and three
bedrooms, one double-bedded and two not). If you would like to change to
ours, which is a very good one, on Friday morning, you can of course do
so. As our dining-room is large, and there is no table d'hote here, I
will order dinner in it for our united parties at six on Thursday. You
will be able to decide how to arrange for the remainder of your stay,
after being here and looking about you--two really necessary
considerations in Rome.
Pray make my kind regards to Lady Tennent, and Miss Tennent, and your
good son, who became homeless for my sake. Mr. Egg and Mr. Collins
desire to be also remembered.
It has been beautiful weather since we left Naples, until to-day, when
it rains in a very dogged, sullen, downcast, and determined manner. We
have been speculating at breakfast on the possibility of its raining in
a similar manner at Naples, and of your wandering about the hotel,
refusing consolation.
I grieve to report the Orvieto considerably damaged by the general vine
failure, but still far from despicable. Montefiascone (the Est wine you
know) is to be had here; and we have had one bottle in the very finest
condition, and one in a second-rate state.
The Coliseum, in its magnificent old decay, is as grand as ever; and
with the electric telegraph darting through one of its ruined arches
like a sunbeam and piercing direct through its cruel old heart, is even
grander.
Believe me always, very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Charles Dickens.]