As I have mentioned in my letter to Georgy (written last night but
posted with this), I received her letter without yours, to my unbounded
astonishment. This morning, on sending again to the post-office, I at
last got yours, and most welcome it is with all its contents.
I found Layard at Naples, who went up Vesuvius with us, and was very
merry and agreeable. He is travelling with Lord and Lady Somers, and
Lord Somers being laid up with an attack of malaria fever, Layard had a
day to spare. Craven, who was Lord Normanby's Secretary of Legation in
Paris, now lives at Naples, and is married to a French lady. He is very
hospitable and hearty, and seemed to have vague ideas that something
might be done in a pretty little private theatre he has in his house. He
told me of Fanny Kemble and the Sartoris's being here. I have also heard
of Thackeray's being here--I don't know how truly. Lockhart is here,
and, I fear, very ill. I mean to go and see him.
We are living in the old hotel, which is not now kept by Meloni, who has
retired. I don't know whether you recollect an apartment at the top of
the house, to which we once ran up with poor Roche to see the horses
start in the race at the Carnival time? That is ours, in which I at
present write. We have a large back dining-room, a handsome front
drawing-room, looking into the Piazza del Popolo, and three front
bedrooms, all on a floor. The whole costs us about four shillings a day
each. The hotel is better kept than ever. There is a little kitchen to
each apartment where the dinner is kept hot. There is no house
comparable to it in Paris, and it is better than Mivart's. We start for
Florence, post, on Friday morning, and I am bargaining for a carriage to
take us on to Venice.
Edward is an excellent servant, and always cheerful and ready for his
work. He knows no Italian, except the names of a few things, but French
is far more widely known here now than in our time. Neither is he an
experienced courier as to roads and so forth; but he picks up all that I
want to know, here and there, somehow or other. I am perfectly pleased
with him, and would rather have him than an older hand. Poor dear Roche
comes back to my mind though, often.
I have written to engage the courier from Turin into France, from
_Tuesday, the 6th December_. This will bring us home some two days after
the tenth, probably. I wrote to Charley from Naples, giving him his
choice of meeting me at Lyons, in Paris, or at Boulogne. I gave him full
instructions what to do if he arrived before me, and he will write to me
at Turin saying where I shall find him. I shall be a day or so later
than I supposed as the nearest calculation I could make when I wrote to
him; but his waiting for me at an hotel will not matter.
We have had delightful weather, with one day's exception, until to-day,
when it rained very heavily and suddenly. Egg and Collins have gone to
the Vatican, and I am "going" to try whether I can hit out anything for
the Christmas number. Give my love to Forster, and tell him I won't
write to him until I hear from him.
I have not come across any English whom I know except Layard and the
Emerson Tennents, who will be here on Thursday from Civita Vecchia, and
are to dine with us. The losses up to this point have been two pairs of
shoes (one mine and one Egg's), Collins's snuff-box, and Egg's
dressing-gown.
We observe the managerial punctuality in all our arrangements, and have
not had any difference whatever.
I have been reserving this side all through my letter, in the conviction
that I had something else to tell you. If I had, I cannot remember what
it is. I introduced myself to Salvatore at Vesuvius, and reminded him of
the night when poor Le Gros fell down the mountains. He was full of
interest directly, remembered the very hole, put on his gold-banded
cap, and went up with us himself. He did not know that Le Gros was dead,
and was very sorry to hear it. He asked after the ladies, and hoped they
were very happy, to which I answered, "Very." The cone is completely
changed since our visit, is not at all recognisable as the same place;
and there is no fire from the mountain, though there is a great deal of
smoke. Its last demonstration was in 1850.
I shall be glad to think of your all being at home again, as I suppose
you will be soon after the receipt of this. Will you see to the
invitations for Christmas Day, and write to Laetitia? I shall be very
happy to be at home again myself, and to embrace you; for of course I
miss you _very much_, though I feel that I could not have done a better
thing to clear my mind and freshen it up again, than make this
expedition. If I find Charley much ahead of me, I shall start on through
a night or so to meet him, and leave the others to catch us up. I look
upon the journey as almost closed at Turin. My best love to Mamey, and
Katey, and Sydney, and Harry, and the darling Plornishghenter. We often
talk about them, and both my companions do so with interest. They always
send all sorts of messages to you, which I never deliver. God bless you!
Take care of yourself.
Ever most affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]