[Illustration: STAIRCASE, PALAZZO DELL’ UNIVERSITA, GENOA][73]
“When we parted, I gave her my card. Some Americans in the carriage saw
it and almost flew into my arms. ‘Oh, the “Quiet Life”--too great
happiness,’ &c. Afterwards I had a warning to be careful what subjects
one touched upon with strangers, for I said something about the loss of
the _Ville de Havre_. The lady (Mrs. Colt) burst into tears, and her
daughter said, ‘Mother’s brother was the judge who was lost; he would
not leave his wife, and went down with her in his arms, saying, “Let us
die bravely!”’ Afterwards at Genoa I met a young lady (Miss Bulkeley)
who went down with her mother. The mother was lost. As the daughter
rose, something hurt her head; she put her hand to it and caught a
chain, and finding her head above water, called, ‘A woman! help!’ She
heard men say, ‘American sailors are saving you,’ but became unconscious
and knew nothing for long afterwards. She said it was quite a mistake to
say drowning was painless--the oppression on the lungs was agony.
[Illustration: CLOISTER OF S. MATTEO, GENOA.][74]
“I enjoyed Genoa and my work there, and made several pleasant Italian
acquaintances, the Genoese are so hospitable. The Marchese Spinola
showed me all the treasures and pictures of his old palace himself. I
suppose I must take this as a great compliment, for I was amused the
other day by an anecdote of the Marchesa Spinola, who made herself most
agreeable to an Englishman she met at the Baths of Monte Catini. On
taking leave, he politely expressed a hope that, as they were both going
to Rome in the winter, they might meet there. ‘Mais non, Monsieur,’ she
replied; ‘à Monte Catini je suis charmée de vous voir, mais à Rome c’est
toute autre chose.’ Yesterday I spent in correcting my account of
Piacenza--bitterly cold, children sliding all over the streets, which
were one mass of ice.... I had forgotten the intense interest of Parma
and its glorious pictures, especially what a grand master Pordenone
was.”
* * * * *
“_59 B. Mario de’ Fiori, Rome, Feb. 22._--Rome is fearfully modernised,
such quantities of new houses built, such quantities of old buildings
swept away--the old shell fountain in the Felice, the lion of the
Apostoli, the Vintner’s fountain at Palazzo Simonetti, the ruins of the
Ponte Salara, and ... all the shrines in the Coliseum, even the famous
cross on the wall. The last nearly caused a Revolution. On the Pincio a
Swiss cottage is put up, strangely out of place amongst the old statues,
and a clock which goes by water. Even the most ardent Protestants too
are a little shocked that the famous Quirinal Chapel, so redolent of
Church history, should be turned into a cloak-room for balls, and the
cloak-tickets kept in the holy water basins. The poverty and suffering
amongst the Romans is dreadful, the great influx of Torinese taking the
bread out of their mouths.
“You would be amused with the economy of my servants Ambrogio and Maria.
They think it most extravagant if I have both vegetables and a pudding,
and quite sinful to have soup the same day; and the first day, after I
had seen the kitchen fire blazing away all afternoon, and ‘Il Signorino
è servito’ was announced very magnificently, behold the dinner
was--three larks! But what a pleasure it is to hear again from
servants--‘Felicissima notte,’--that sweetest bidding of repose, as
Palgrave calls it.”
* * * * *
“_March 1._--I know, as usual, far too many people here for comfort,
nearly three hundred. But I have enjoyed constant drives with Lady
Castletown and her most sweet and charming daughter, Mrs. Lewis
Wingfield. The Miss Seymours also are here, and very agreeable, with
their very handsome sister, married to the Austrian Count von Lutzow.
The Duchesse S. Arpino and her mother and engaging little daughter make
their house as pleasant as ever. Mr. Adolphus Trollope has a pretty
little daughter who sings most enchantingly.[75] I also like Lady Paget,
the Minister’s wife, who is a clever artist in her own way.
“The spoliation of Rome continues every day. Its picturesque beauty is
_gone_. Nothing can exceed the tastelessness of all that is being
done--the Coliseum, Baths of Caracalla, and the temples are scraped
quite clean, and look like sham ruins built yesterday: all the pretty
trees are cut down: the outsides of the mediæval churches (Prassede,
Pudentiana, &c.) are washed yellow or painted over: the old fountains
are stripped of their ferns and polished: the Via Crucis and other
processions are forbidden: and the Government has even sent out the
‘pompieri’ to cut down all the ivy from the aqueducts. I have, however,
got back one thing--the Lion of the Apostoli! I went round to a number
of people living in that neighbourhood, and engaged them to go in the
morning to the Senators in the Capitol and demand its restoration: and a
message was sent that the lion should be restored at once. So the little
hideous beast goes back this week to his little vacant sofa, where he
has sat for more than six hundred years.
[Illustration: COLONNA CASTLE, PALESTRINA.][76]
“The cardinals have been dying off a good deal lately, and a curious
relic of old times was the lying in state of Cardinal Bernabo in the
Propaganda Fide--the chapel hung with black, the catafalque with cloth
of gold, a chain of old abbots and cardinals standing and kneeling round
with tapers, and all the students singing. Pius IX. is well, and
Antonelli has never been the least ill, except in the _Times_, in which
he has received the last sacraments.”
[Illustration: GENAZZANO.][77]
[Illustration: SUBIACO.][78]
“_Tivoli, March 22._--I have been greatly enjoying a little mountain
tour with Lady Castletown and Mrs. Lewis Wingfield. On Wednesday we
spent the day in the villas Aldobrandini and Mondragone at Frascati, and
the next morning had the most charming drive by Monte Porzio and Monte
Compatri, chiefly through the desolate chestnut forests, to Palestrina.
It was the fair of Genazzano, and the whole road was most animated, such
crowds of peasants in their gayest costumes and prettiest ornaments. At
beautiful Olevano we had just time to go to the little inn and visit my
friend of last year, Peppina Baldi. It was a tiring journey thence to
Subiaco after such a long day, and we only passed the worst precipices
by daylight, so it was quite dark when we reached Subiaco, where we
found rooms with difficulty, as, quite unwittingly, we had arrived on
the eve of the great festa of S. Benedetto. Most delighted we were,
however, of course, and most picturesque and beautiful was the early
pilgrimage, with bands of music and singing, up the stony mountain
paths. Lady Castletown travels with a second carriage for her maids, so
prices naturally rise at first sight of so grand a princess.... On the
way here we diverged to the farm of Horace in the Licenza valley, all
marvellously unaltered--the brook, the meadows, the vines, the
surrounding hills and villages, still just as he described them eighteen
hundred years ago. It is a wonderful country, one lives so entirely in
the past.”
I have seldom enjoyed Tivoli more than in this spring of 1874. It was
then that, sitting in the scene I describe, I wrote the paragraph of
“Days near Rome” which I insert here.
[Illustration: SACRO SPECO, SUBIACO.][79]
* * * * *
“Nothing can exceed the loveliness of the views from the road which
leads from Tivoli by the chapel of S. Antonio to the Madonna di
Quintiliolo. On the opposite height rises the town with its temples,
its old houses and churches clinging to the edge of the cliffs, which
are overhung with such a wealth of luxuriant vegetation as is almost
indescribable; and beyond, beneath the huge pile of building known as
the Villa of Maecenas, the thousand noisy cataracts of the Cascatelle
leap forth beneath the old masonry, and sparkle and dance and foam
through the green--and all this is only the foreground to vast distances
of dreamy campagna, seen through the gnarled hoary stems of grand old
olive-trees--rainbow-hued with every delicate tint of emerald and
amethyst, and melting into sapphire, where the solitary dome of St.
Peter’s rises, invincible by distance, over the level line of the
horizon.
[Illustration: S. MARIA DI COLLEMAGGIO, AQUILA.][80]
[Illustration: SOLMONA.][81]
“And the beauty is not confined to the views alone. Each turn of the
winding road is a picture; deep ravines of solemn dark-green olives
which waken into silver light as the wind shakes their leaves--old
convents and chapels buried in shady nooks on the
mountain-side--thickets of laurustinus, roses, genista, and
jessamine--banks of lilies and hyacinths, anemones and violets--grand
masses of grey rock, up which white-bearded goats are scrambling to
nibble the myrtle and rosemary, and knocking down showers of the red
tufa on their way;--and a road, with stone seats and parapets, twisting
along the edge of the hill through a constant diorama of loveliness, and
peopled by groups of peasants in their gay dresses returning from their
work, singing in parts wild canzonetti which echo amid the silent hills,
or by women washing at the wayside fountains, or returning with brazen
_conche_ poised upon their heads, like stately statues of
water-goddesses wakened into life.”
* * * * *
Great was the difficulty of securing any companion for the desolate
excursion to the Abruzzi, but at length I found a clever artist, Mr.
Donne, who agreed to go with me.
[Illustration: HERMITAGE OF PIETRO MURRONE.][82]
* * * * *
_To_ MISS LEYCESTER.
[Illustration: CASTLE OF AVEZZANO.][83]
[Illustration: GATE OF ARPINUM.][84]
“_Sora in the Marsica, April 2._--Mr. Donne and I left the train at
Terni, taking diligence to Rieti, the capital of the Sabina. Next day we
had a long dreary drive to Aquila, a dismal place, but full of curious
remains, surrounded by tremendous snow mountains. Thence we crossed a
fearful pass in ghastly barren mountains to Solmona, a wonderful
mediæval city seldom visited. On Sunday we clambered up the mountains
above the town to the hermitage of Pietro Murrone, afterwards
Cœlestine V., and then, as the snow was too deep to make it possible
to cross the mountain, returned by night to Aquila. On Tuesday our
journey of a whole day was through perfectly Lapland scenery, the road a
mere track in the deep snow, which covered hedges and fields alike.
Fortunately the weather was lovely, but it was a relief to come down
again to even partial civilisation at Avezzano, on the borders of what
was once the Lago Fucino, now dried up and spoilt by Prince Torlonia.
Here I had an introduction to Count and Countess Restà, to whom I paid
a most curious visit. On Wednesday we drew at S. Maria di Luco, a
picturesque church on the site of a temple above the lake, and in the
evening came on here, arriving at 2 A.M.--glorious moonlight and grand
scenery, but the diligence unspeakably wretched. We have just been
spending a charming day, partly at Arpino, the birthplace of Cicero,
where there are wonderful Pelasgic remains, and a gateway which is the
oldest architectural monument in Europe, and partly at Cicero’s island
home on the Liris, a lovely place, all primroses and violets as in
England, but with a background of snow mountains.”
[Illustration: TRIUMPHAL ARCH, AQUINO.][85]
[Illustration: PORTO S. LORENZO, AQUINO.][86]
“_Easter Sunday, 1874._--The Count and Countess de Lützow, the two Miss
Seymours, and Miss Ellis[87] met me at S. Germano, and we have been
spending to-day in the monastery of Monte Cassino, gloriously beautiful
always, with its palatial buildings on a mountain-top, and all around
billows of purple hill tipped with snow. An introduction from the Duke
of Sermoneta caused the gentle-looking Abbot to receive us, and then the
great bent figure of the great Tosti came forward, his deep-set eyes
excessively striking. After the service in the church they entertained
us to an excellent dinner, finishing with delicious Aleatico wine. They
were ‘_spogliati_,’ they said, but ‘_La Providenza_’ still watched over
them.”
* * * * *
“_April 7._--In the second-class carriage of the train on our way to
Velletri sat a venerable and beautiful old man, to whom we talked of
Aquino, the birthplace of St. Thomas Aquinas, where we spent yesterday.
Gradually we found out that he was the Abbot of Monte Vergine, and he
told us much that was interesting about that wonderful place--of the
intense love and veneration of the Neapolitan people for the sanctuary,
which is connected with the different events of their domestic life;
that no betrothal or marriage or birth was considered entirely
consecrated without receiving a benediction at the sanctuary; that
peasant women had it entered in their marriage contracts that they
should be allowed to make the pilgrimage from time to time, and after
the birth of each child; that because, on account of the suppression,
two miles of the road to the sanctuary still remained unfinished, the
peasants voluntarily undertook to finish it themselves, 30,000 persons
subscribing one soldo apiece; that when, at the same time, he, the
Abbot, was obliged to give up keeping a carriage, five Neapolitan
families insisted upon undertaking to keep one for him, one paying the
horses, another the coachman, &c. The Abbot gave us his benediction on
taking leave, and invited us to Monte Vergine.”[88]
* * * * *
“_April 14._--I met Mademoiselle von Raasloff at Mrs. Terry’s. She
narrated to me some facts which had been told to her by the well-known
Dr. Pereira.
“An acquaintance of his, a lady, was travelling with some friends in an
out-of-the-way part of Poland. Suddenly, late at night, their carriage
broke down and they were obliged to get out, and as they knew of no
shelter near, they were in great difficulties. At this juncture a
gentleman appeared, who said to the lady that if she would take the
trouble to walk a few steps farther, she would come to the gate of his
house; that he was unable to accompany her, but that if she would
mention his name she would be received, and would find all she required.
She thanked him and followed his directions. The servant to whom she
spoke at the house seemed very much surprised, but seeing her plight,
brought her in, left her in a library, and went to get some refreshment.
When she was alone, a door in the panelling opened and the unknown
master of the house came in and sat down by her. As he said nothing, she
felt rather awkward, and more so when the servant, coming in with a
tray, seemed to brush up close to him in a very odd way as he set it
down. When the servant left the room, the unknown said, ‘Ne vous étonnez
pas, Mademoiselle, c’est que je suis mort;’ and he proceeded to say that
he was most thankful she had come, and that he wished her to make him a
solemn promise; that the people who were now in possession of the
property were not the rightful heirs, but that he had left a will,
deposited with a certain lawyer in a certain place, the name of which he
made her write down. She listened as in a trance, but did as she was
bid. The servant, coming in again about this time, walked straight
_through_ the unknown. Presently the carriage, being mended, was
announced to be at the door, upon which the unknown walked with her to
the porch, bowed, and disappeared.
“When the lady got to Warsaw, she had an _attaque des nerfs_, was very
ill, and sent for Dr. Pereira. She told him all she had seen, and also
gave him the paper with the directions she had written down. Dr.
Pereira, finding that the person and place mentioned really existed,
inquired into the matter, and the result was that the will was found,
the wrongful possessors ejected, and the rightful owners set up in their
place.”
“One evening at the Palazzo Odescalchi, when everybody had been telling
stories, and nothing very interesting, Mademoiselle von Raasloff
suddenly astonished us by saying, ‘Now I will tell you something.’ Then
she said--
“There was a young lady in Denmark, whose family, from circumstances,
had lived very much before the Danish world, and with whom, in so small
a society as that of Copenhagen, almost every one was acquainted.
Consequently it was a subject of interest, almost of universal interest,
at Copenhagen, when it became known that this young lady, with the full
approval of her parents and joyful consent of every one concerned, had
become engaged to a young Danish officer of good family and position.
“‘Now in Danish society a betrothal is considered to be almost the same
thing as a marriage: new relationships date from that time, and if
either the affianced bride or bridegroom die, the family of the other
side mourn as for a son or brother, as if the marriage had actually
taken place.
“‘While this young lady of whom I have spoken was only engaged, her
betrothed husband was summoned to join his regiment in a war which was
going on; and very soon to the house of his betrothed came the terrible
news that he was dead, that he was killed in battle. And the way in
which the news came was this. A soldier of his regiment was wounded and
was taken prisoner; and as he was lying in his cot in the hospital, he
said to his companion who was in the next bed, “I saw the young
Colonel--I saw the young Colonel on his white horse, and he rode into
the ranks of the enemy and he never came back again.” And the man who
said that died, but the man to whom he said it recovered, and, in
process of time, he was ransomed, and came back to Copenhagen and told
his story with additions. “My comrade, who is dead, said that he saw the
young Colonel on his white horse, and that he saw him ride into the
ranks of the enemy and the soldiers of the enemy drag him from his horse
and kill him, so that he never came back again.” This was the form in
which the story reached the family of the affianced wife of the young
Colonel, and they mourned him most truly; for they loved him much, and
they put on all the outward signs of deepest grief. There was only one
person who would not put on the outward signs of mourning, and that was
his affianced bride herself. She said, and persisted in saying, that she
_could_ not believe that, where two persons had been as entirely united
as she and her betrothed had been, one could pass entirely out of life
without the other knowing it. That her lover was sick, in prison, in
trouble, she could believe, but that he was dead--_never_, without her
having an inner conviction of it; and she would not put on the outward
signs of mourning, which to her sense implied an impression of ill omen.
Her parents urged her greatly, not only because their own reality of
grief was very great, but because, according to the feeling of things in
Copenhagen, it cast a very great slur upon their daughter that she
should appear without the usual signs of grief. They urged her
ceaselessly, and the tension of mind in which she lived, and the
perpetual struggle with her own family, added to her own deep grief, had
a very serious effect upon her.
“‘It was while things were in this state that one day she dreamt--she
dreamt that she received a letter from her betrothed, and in her dream
she felt that it was of the most vital importance that she should see
the date of that letter; and she struggled and laboured to see it, but
she could not make it out; and she laboured on with the utmost intensity
of effort, but she could not decipher it; and it seemed to her the most
wearisome night she had ever spent, so incessant was her effort, but she
could not read it: still she would not give it up, and at last, just as
the dawn was breaking, she saw the date of the letter, and it was May
the 10th. The effort was so great that she woke; but the date remained
with her still--it was May the 10th.
“‘Now she knew that if such a letter had been really written on the 10th
of May, by the 1st of June she must receive that letter.
“‘The next morning, when her father came in to see her before she was
up, as he had always done since their great sorrow, he was surprised to
find her not only calm and serene, but almost radiant. She said, “You
have often blamed me for not wearing the outward signs of mourning for
my betrothed: grant me now only till the 1st of June, and _then_, if I
receive no letter from him, I will promise to resign myself to believe
the worst, and I will do as you desire.” Three weeks of terrible tension
ensued, and the 1st of June arrived. She said then that she felt as if
her whole future life hung upon the postman’s knock. It came--and there
was the letter! Her lover had been taken prisoner, communication with
him had been cut off--in fact, till then it was impossible she should
hear. Soon afterwards he was exchanged, came home, and they were
married.
“‘Now,’ said Mademoiselle von Raasloff, as she finished her narrative,
‘that is no story which I have heard. The young lady was my dear mother;
she is here to testify to it: the young officer was my dear father,
General von Raasloff; he is here to confirm it.’ And they were both
present.”
* * * * *
“_April 15._--There is a pretty young American lady at the
_table-d’hôte_--most amusing. Here are some snatches from her lips:--
“‘I wonder if the old masters who painted such absurd figures of saints
and angels _meant_ to be funny, or if they were only funny by mistake.’
“‘Pity is like eating mustard without beef, and you wouldn’t like that,
would you?’
“‘I was at a pension at Castellamare--Miss Baker’s. Avoid it. There
were places for fifty at dinner, and forty-nine of them were old maids.
No gentleman stayed--of course he couldn’t: they would have gobbled him
up alive.’
“‘I went to the Trinità to hear the nuns sing. The nun who opened the
door said, “You’re too late!”--“Well,” I said, “you declared I was too
early yesterday. When _am_ I to come?”--“Well, I don’t know,” she said;
“we’re always changing.”--“Well, you _are_ a civil old party, _you_
are,” I said--and the old tigress actually slammed the door in my face.’
“‘Somebody said to me about a nigger I was abusing that I shouldn’t,
because he was a man and a brother. “Well, sir, he may be your brother,”
I said, “but most certainly he is not mine.” I should think not indeed,
with a leg that comes down in the middle of his foot.’
“‘I shall be burnt, I hope, when I die. I feel like the old lady I heard
of the other day who knew she was getting immensely old and could not
live long, so paid down three thousand dollars to have a good big stove
made right off at once.’
“‘I hope when I’m dying my people won’t be able to go on pegging away at
their dinner just as if nothing was happening: I should not like that at
all.’”
* * * * *
_To_ MISS LEYCESTER.
[Illustration: FARFA.][89]
[Illustration: GATE OF CASAMARI.][90]