Tuscany. I very soon found that for me the trial of the tour would be
his hatred of fresh air. He never would have the carriage window
opened, even on the hottest day and with steaming hot-water pans.
Otherwise all was luxury, kindness, and comfort. We arrived at Perugia
on the most glorious evening I ever remember: violet mists were rolling
through the valleys, the snow mountains were rosy in the sunset. It was
such a scene as can only be enjoyed in Italy, and in Italy can only be
found in Umbria, perhaps only at Perugia. But the Prince was much more
interested in an illuminated church where there was a function in honour
of S. Mauro. Next day we drove to Assisi, where he was far more
delighted at buying a little old silver box in a sidestreet than with
all the old churches and monasteries. He travelled under the name of the
Comte de Tullgarn, and at Perugia no one found out who he was, which
made him very happy. At Florence, however, he was unfortunately
discovered, and we found great preparations--two smart carriages waiting
at the station, twenty-six candles and three lamps burning in our rooms,
with prices in proportion, and a serenade of music outside the windows.
[Illustration: ASSISI.][295]
“Therefore, as soon as we arrived, I began to look up Florentine
acquaintance, and called on the charming Marchesa Elisabetta Torrigiani,
who lives with her four sons, three of them married, in the greatest
harmony, in the fine old Torrigiani palace. We dined with them, and were
greatly delighted with the three beautiful daughters-in-law, especially
the Marchesa Cristina, wife of Don Filippo, a member of the
once-sovereign house of Malaspina. The Marchese Pietro placed his
carriage at our disposal. The family of Corsini were also most civil to
us, and their head, the Marchesa Lajatico, gave a great ball in honour
of the Prince. Other parties were given to us by the Marchesa Cavoni,
Baron de Talleyrand, Sir Digby and Lady Murray, and the Fenzis. One
evening we spent with the C. de Bunsens, who asked many interesting
people, including Sir James Lacaita, Villari the historian, and the old
Duc de Dino, to meet us. One beautiful day we drove out to Castagnuolo,
where we were entertained in the ancient hill-set villa by the Marchese
della Stufa and Mrs. Ross, and the Prince fed all the rare birds, and
visited the farm and the wine-making.
“On leaving Florence, the Prince and I had a really happy day together
at Pisa. M. de Printzsköld was then sickening with Arno fever, and when
we were at Siena was unable to go out with us: with the others we drove
to the mediaeval castle of Belcaro, whose owner, the Marchese Camajori,
had long been slightly known to me, and wandered much about the old
streets and into the shops of the antiquaries.”
* * * * *
We returned to Rome on the 25th. My regular lectures were over then, but
as the Prince missed our little parties, I had some for him to the
villas and galleries. At this time, as often afterwards, those who
surrounded the Prince gave me the opportunity of testing the truth of
Lord Chesterfield’s observation, that “courts are the best key to
characters; there every passion is busy, every character analysed,” as
well as the dictum of La Bruyère, that at court “les joies sont visibles
mais fausses, et les chagrins cachés mais réels.”
* * * * *
_To_ MISS LEYCESTER.
“_Rome, Feb. 3, 1879._--I feel as if it must be dull reading letters
only about the Prince, but as I have not even the possibility of seeing
much of any one else, what else can I say? I am obliged to give up
everything to his lessons, his invitations, and to trying to help him to
make the most of all he sees. He enjoyed Pisa, where I saw the
Limosins,[296] and we drove through the forest of San Rossore to the
Gombo, where the Prince and I sat long in the warm afternoon upon the
little pier above the sea waves, which the dear Mother enjoyed so much
there in 1857. I often wonder if she knows what I am doing now, but I
feel sure she would be glad and satisfied that so much time should be
given up to one who must one day influence tens of thousands. I have
many struggles now and much to contend with in the _position_, but with
the Prince himself have nothing but satisfaction. I tumbled downstairs
on Saturday night, and was so much hurt as to be all yesterday without
seeing him: so to-day at eleven the donna announced--‘Un signorino.’ I
was sitting for my picture and was afraid of moving, so waited for the
visitor to come round from behind my chair, when behold the Prince, who
had escaped from his gentlemen, seized a little carriage in the street,
and come off to me. I mention this as an example of the ever-pleasant
terms I am on with him, and which make it impossible not to be fond of
him.
“I am glad you like the Bunsen Memoirs on the whole. I knew you would
not agree with details. She always wondered, as I have always done,
_how_ those who really love their Saviour, and wish to follow His
precepts, can reconcile themselves to setting up the great idol of
Sabbatarianism, _the_ sin against which He was most eager and earnest in
warning His disciples, and against which more of His teaching was
directed than any other single offence. She also thought, as I have
always done, that, next to churches (often misused), theatres (also
often misused) were instruments which could be made most widely useful
in leavening great numbers of people at once; and therefore she
considered that an immaculate company and a play of high principles
ought always to be encouraged.”
* * * * *
“_Feb. 13._--I have had a series of lectures for the Prince in the
Vatican galleries and St. Peter’s, and at the latter, by kindness of
Monsignor Théodoli, had all the chapels of the crypt illuminated, and
the precious plate and vestments (Charlemagne’s robes, &c.) exhibited.
We climbed up to the cross, but the ladies of our little party succumbed
on the different roofs, except Lady Dunraven, who went with us to the
ball.
“On the 4th I was with the Prince at a ball at the Palazzo Caffarelli,
the German embassy, which is much done up since Bunsen’s days and
exceedingly magnificent. The great hall was entirely surrounded with
palm-trees, under one of which I stood, with the Swedish Countess
Barnekow, to watch the procession come in and the state quadrille--which
Queen Marguerite danced with M. de Keudel, and my Prince with Mme. de
Keudel--alone on the long sides of the room, with a perfect tourbillon
of ambassadors and ambassadresses at the narrow ends. A much prettier
ball was that at Palazzo Caëtani. This the Prince had to open with the
Queen, so we had to be there by eleven, but _because_ the King and Queen
were to be there, all the great nobles stayed away, so for once Palazzo
Caëtani did not shine. The Queen looked lovely, but, ever since the
attack on the King, has been more nervous than ever, perpetually picking
at her gloves, twisting her fan, and shaking out the folds of her dress.
Her beautiful hair was full of marguerites in diamonds. The King looked
glaring and demoniacal, yet really is going on very well, and does all
he can to sweep away the abuses and immoralities of his father’s court,
unpopular as it makes him with his father’s sycophants. Yesterday I was
with the Prince at a great ball at Prince Altieri’s--the blackest of the
‘black’ houses--where I had the great pleasure of seeing again my
sister’s dear friend the Duchess Sora, who has lived in a sort of exile
hitherto, ever since the Sardinian occupation of Rome.
“Yesterday morning I went with the Prince to the antiquity market in the
Campo de’ Fiore. We left the carriage in the courtyard of the
Cancelleria, and made a raid upon the old bookstalls, till our arms
were quite full, and then we deposited our burthens and made another.
The Prince is getting on wonderfully with his English, and will talk
fluently by the time he reaches London. I see him ceaselessly. He has
been twice to my lodgings to-day, and I have been out with him besides.
He dances till 4 A.M. every night now (it is Carnival), but is never
tired, and up at eight.”
* * * * *
“_Feb. 24._--My present work is likely to end for a time on Thursday,
when my dear Prince goes to Naples and Sorrento. On looking back, I have
unmixed satisfaction that I came. He leaves Rome quite a different
person from the Prince I found here--much strengthened, and I am sure
much improved in character, as well as speaking and reading English and
French (which he did not know before), and being able to take a lively
animated part in a society in which he was previously a cypher. Of
course, I personally have been able to do very little more than
introduce him and constantly throw him with those who have influenced
him, and I have been most ably seconded and helped in everything I
wished for him by Lady Morton, the Sermonetas, Princess Teano, and--in
her own way--by Lady Paget. To me he has been unfailingly pleasant. I
have never had a difficulty with him.
“We have been together several times in the Vatican, with Monsignor
Pericoli, at the sale of Pius IX.’s things--quantities of things, from
valuable pictures and sculptures to empty jam-pots; but touching in many
ways, especially the boxes of the well-worn Papal slippers. All is
obliged to be sold, as the produce is divided into three parts--one to
the family, one to the cardinals-in-waiting, and the third to the
Church. The Prince bought some valuable amethysts, and I have the Papal
despatch-box engraved with his arms, a picture which hung in his room,
and a pair of the Papal slippers.
“For the last ten days we have been in all the dirt and squalor of the
silly, filthy Carnival, which is more _mesquin_ and contemptible than
ever; but the Prince is only twenty, and it has amused him. I have only
been obliged to go with him to the Corso one day, when we went to
one-o’clock luncheon with the Dutch Minister, and were astonished to
find every shutter closed, chandeliers and candles lighted, ladies in
white satin and diamonds, gentlemen in evening dress; in fact, midnight
at midday! so that the Prince and I felt rather shy. However, Mrs. Bruce
cheered us by appearing in a bonnet.”
* * * * *
I saw much at this time of Madame Minghetti, the wife of the senator,
still wonderfully beautiful and captivating, though a grandmother. Her
rooms were draped with every possible nuance of colour which can
harmonise together, great palm-trees and bananas shaded the sofas and
arm-chairs, and the heavy curtains only let in witching rays of half
light upon a gorgeous gloom. Here, in her receptions in the early Sunday
afternoon, she would sit upon the floor and sing, break off in the
middle of a line to receive or embrace some one, and, in an instant, be
again in her place, singing as before and taking up the line which was
left unfinished.
Another new friend was the pretty lively Princess of Salm Reifferscheid,
whom, with her husband, I invited to accompany us to Tivoli, when the
Prince gave me a carriage and told me to ask whom I liked. At Tivoli our
party had a charming day, riding on eleven donkeys, penetrating into the
depths of the cascades, having luncheon in front of the temple, and
sitting in the sun opposite the cascatelle. At sunset we were at the
Villa d’Este, and went down into the hollow to look up at the grand old
villa, golden through the dark cypresses.
I saw, however, comparatively little of those who usually make the
pleasure of my Roman winter, and devoted myself to the Prince. There is
no use--none--in trying to be, or to do, two things at once.
* * * * *
JOURNAL.
“Here is a story which I have heard lately:--
“Lady Vernon[297] dreamt. She dreamt that she saw the butler, with a
knife in one hand and a candle in the other, crossing the entrance hall,
and she woke with a great start. After a little she composed herself to
sleep again, and she dreamt--she dreamt that she saw the butler, with a
knife in one hand and a candle in the other, on the middle of the
staircase, and she woke with a great shock. She got up; she thought she
could not be quite well, and she took a little sal-volatile. At last she
fell asleep again, and she dreamt--she dreamt that she saw the butler,
with a knife in one hand and a candle in the other, standing at her
bedroom door; and she awoke in a great terror, and she jumped out of
bed, and she said: ‘I’ll have an end of this, I’ll have an end of these
foolish imaginations,’ and she rushed to the door, and she threw the
door wide open. And there at the door _stood_ the butler, with a knife
in one hand and a candle in the other. And when he suddenly saw Lady
Vernon in her white night-dress, with her hair streaming down her back,
_he_ was so dreadfully frightened that he dropped the candle on the
ground and rushed off down the staircase, and off to the stables where
there was a horse ready saddled and bridled, on which he meant to have
ridden away when he had murdered Lady Vernon; and he rode away without
ever having murdered her at all, and he was never, never, _never_ heard
of again.”
* * * * *
On the 3rd of March, a well-known partnership of upwards of sixty years
was closed at Rome by the death, in his little apartment at 55 Via
Sistina, of William Howitt the author leaving his sweet old Mary[298]
alone with her unmarried daughter Margaret. Though never very
remarkable, the many books of William and Mary Howitt were always
excellent, and the writers were deeply respected. I attended Mr.
Howitt’s funeral on the 5th, walking with Mrs. Terry, Baron Hoffmann,
and Prince George of Solms, immediately after the daughter and
son-in-law. The ceremony was a very touching one, and the coffin buried
in wreaths of camellias, lilies, and violets. As William Howitt was a
Quaker, the service was different from ours, but hymns were beautifully
sung over his coffin in the chapel and at the grave, where the American
clergyman, Dr. Nevin, gave a really touching and beautiful address, as
the daughter was pouring basket after basket of flowers into the open
grave.
I dined with the Prince on the day before that fixed for his departure
to Naples. When our last moment together came, he took me into his room
and parted from me there, with many most affectionate words, and gave
me the Order of St. Olaf, which the King of Sweden and Norway had
conferred upon me, begging me to wear it for his sake.[299] I left him
with the truest affection, and with, I think, unbounded confidence and
regard on both sides.
* * * * *
_From the_ COUNTESS ROSEN.
“_February 23._--As the Prince’s stay in Rome is now drawing to its
close, their Majesties charge me once more to express to you their most
heartfelt thanks for all your kindness to the Prince, all the good and
useful influence you have had over him, and all your arrangements to
combine the useful with the amusing in order to kindle his interest.
Their Majesties have always been so happy to know that you were at his
side and smoothed all his difficulties. In his own letters the Prince
shows that he has learnt to love and appreciate you, and is thankful for
all you have done for him.”
[Illustration: IN THE ENTRANCE HALL, HOLMHURST.]
* * * * *
_To_ MISS LEYCESTER.
“_Feb. 28, 1879._--You ask if I was alarmed over my lectures with the
Prince, and found them difficult. No, not very. From the first I thought
of what Johnson told Sir J. Reynolds, and I tried to do the same. He
told him that he had ‘early laid it down as a fixed rule to do his best
on every occasion, and in every company: to impart whatever he knew in
the most forcible language he could put it in, and that by constant
practice and by never suffering any careless expressions to escape him,
or attempting to deliver his thoughts without arranging them in the
clearest manner, it had become habitual to him.’ So you see that I have
been fortifying myself by wise advice! And I am sure that it is the
_way_ in which things are said that fixes them in the mind.”
* * * * *
JOURNAL.
“Fabj. Altini, the sculptor, says Thorwaldsen declared clay to be the
life of art, plaster its death, and marble its resurrection.
“Mrs. F. Walker told me how she went out one evening at Freshwater to
meet her brother-in-law and niece as they were returning from an
excursion along the cliffs. On her way she saw a lady in deep mourning,
with a little boy, emerge apparently from a side path to the one on
which she was, and walk on before her. She noticed the lady’s peculiarly
light step. Mother and son stopped at a little railed-in enclosure at
the top of the hill, and gazed over the railings; then they went on
again in front of her. At length, beyond them, Mrs. Walker saw Mr.
Palmes and his daughter coming to meet her. Between her and them she saw
the lady and boy suddenly disappear--apparently go down some side path
leading to the sands; but, when she came to the place, there was _no_
path, the cliff was perfectly precipitous. Miss Palmes equally saw the
lady and boy coming towards her, and was greatly agitated by their
sudden disappearance.
“Afterwards they found that the same sight was constantly seen there. It
was the little boy’s grave into which the two had gazed. He had fallen
over the cliff just there and been killed, and was buried by his
mother’s wish inside that little circular railing.”
* * * * *
The Prince was in Rome for one night on his way from Naples to Munich, I
went to him in the early morning, and was with him till 2 P.M., when he
left, spending the time in driving about with him, chiefly to the
antiquity shops, in which he always had the greatest delight. The very
day after he left I fell in with other royalties, of whom at first I
seemed likely to see a great deal. I was at the Princess Giustiniani
Bandini’s, when the Hereditary Grand Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Weimar
were announced--a very simple homely pair. The lady-in-waiting, hearing
my name, most cleverly recollected all about me, and I was presented,
and very cordially and kindly received. A few days after, Princess Teano
asked me to meet them at dinner. Only the Keudells of the German Embassy
and the Minghettis dined besides the family, but an immense party came
in the evening. The Hereditary Grand Duke is a weak-looking little man
with a very receding forehead. The Grand Duchess (who was his cousin) is
a fine big woman--“bel pezzo di carne”--with intense enjoyment and
good-humour in everything. “How can anybody be ill, how is it possible
that anybody can be unhappy in Rome!” Both talked English perfectly.
They arranged then that I should show them the Palatine. But a few days
afterwards I heard from the Duchess Sermoneta that the Grand Duchess
had said to her that, owing to the furious jealousy of the German
archaeologists, she was unable to go with me.
* * * * *
JOURNAL.
“_March 17, 1879._--At Mrs. Terry’s I have met again her sister, Mrs.
Julia Ward-Howe, the American poetess. When she wanted me to talk to her
and I did not, she said, ‘In your case, Mr. Hare, I must pervert a text
of Scripture--“to do good and to _communicate_ forget not.”’
“I have seen much, almost daily, of Lord Hylton’s young son, George
Jolliffe, for whom I have an affection ever increased by his confidence
in me, which makes me feel more of responsibility as an instrument of
possible good in his case than I have ever done in any other. He is a
delightful companion in Rome, so full of interest and enthusiasm in all
we see.... We went together yesterday to the Palazzo Massimo alle
Colonne, where the old blackened portico was hung with bright tapestry,
and the whole staircase and rooms strewn with box, because it was the
day on which S. Filippo Neri raised the Massimo child from the dead.
Most surprising were the masses of people--cobblers and contadini
elbowing cardinals up the long staircase, washerwomen on their knees
crowding princesses round the altar. Prince Massimo, in full evening
dress, received in the anteroom of the chapel, and the Princess
(daughter of the Duchesse de Berri) invited every one she knew to have
ices and coffee.
“I went afterwards to Miss Howitt, who talked cheerfully about her
father. ‘Rome might possibly not be the place to live in, but it
certainly was the place to die and be buried in.’ She spoke of the
extraordinary shots made at her father’s life by the English
newspapers--how one of them described her mother’s daily walk on the
Pincio by the side of a Bath-chair which ‘contained an ancient man,’
&c., the fact being that her mother never walked, that her father always
walked, and moreover that there was no Bath-chair in Rome.
“Last night I was at the British Embassy till 1 A.M. I conquered shyness
sufficiently to go and talk to the Grand Duchess, though she sat in a
row of princesses. The younger Marchesa Lajatico was there--most
graceful and charming.”
* * * * *
“_March 20._--A young American drove me to the meet at Centocelle. It
was a lovely day of soft scirocco, fleecy clouds floating over the pale
pink mountain distances and the Campagna bursting into its first green,
across which the long chains of aqueduct arches threw their deep
shadows. Crowds of people and carriages were out, but we followed
Princess Teano, who knew all the ups and downs of the ground, and drove
with young Lady Clarendon so cleverly, that we were in at the death in
the great ruins of Sette Basse.”
* * * * *
“_March 21._--Tea with Countess Primoli (Princess Charlotte Bonaparte)
in her little boudoir at the end of a long suite of quaint old-fashioned
rooms. She talked very pleasantly, but with too constant reference to
the Empress and Prince Imperial as ‘my family.’ I went afterwards to see
the Favarts at Ville Lante. It is a beautiful place, and the noble face
of Madame Favart is worthy of its setting. Consolo was there and played
marvellously on the violin, every nerve seeming to vibrate, every hair
to leap in unison with his chords.”
* * * * *
“_March 23._--Once more I am on the eve of leaving Rome, more sorry to
part with my little winter rooms than I ever expected to be; even my
ugly squinting donna, ‘Irene,’ having proved very good and faithful. The
time here has been full of interests, independent of royal ones--one of
them, the going out to India of Frank Marion Crawford, the son of my
dear friend Mrs. Terry. He would probably have done no work in Europe,
though he has evinced an ambitious perseverance by voluntarily pursuing
the study of Sanscrit--‘because it was so difficult,’ and this has
enabled him to accept a vacant professorship in the University at
Bombay.”[300]
* * * * *
“_Florence, March 27._--I left Rome on Tuesday--a lovely morning, and I
looked my last at the glorious view from the Medici Terrace with a heavy
heart.
“Now I am in the old Palazzo Mozzi at Florence, as the guest of the
Sermonetas. On the side towards the Via dei Bardi the palace rises up
gaunt and grim like a fortress, but at the back it looks into a
beautiful garden, with terraces climbing up the steep hillside to the
old city wall. The rooms are large and dreadfully cold, but the Duchess
has made them very picturesque with old hangings and furniture. The Duke
talks incessantly and cleverly. I asked him why his Duchess signed
‘Harriet Caëtani,’ not ‘Sermoneta,’ and he explained how all the
splendour of the family arose from the fact that they were Caëtani; that
many of the greatest of the old families, such as the Frangipani, had no
titles at all: that even the Orsini had no title of place, and that it
was only modern families, like the Braschi, who cared to air a title.
The oldest title in Italy was that of Marchese, which came in with the
French: Duke came with the Imperialists; but the title of Prince, for
which he had the utmost contempt, was merely the result of Papal
nepotism: Borghese was the first Prince created.
“The Duke declared that the word ‘antimonial’ was really ‘antimonacal.’
The alchemists who lived in the old convents used to throw out of the
windows the water which they had used in their search after the
philosopher’s stone: pigs drank the poisoned water and died: monks
(monaci) ate the pigs and died also: hence the expression.
“The Duke is very adverse to open windows: ‘If I want the air I can go
out into the piazza,’ he says. To his relations, for the most part, he
greatly objects--‘Questi sono i flagelli di questo mondo.’ A monk or
nun, he says, is ‘Un insétto chi puo vivere senza aria a senza acqua.’
“We have been at a large party at the Palazzo Torrigiani, and it has
been a great pleasure to see again the many members of the large,
pleasant, amiable Florentine society.”
* * * * *