Carrara inhabited but two apartments in his stately mansion, besides his
elegant studio, and a large exhibition room of magnificent paintings.
All the other apartments were locked up, and left untenanted, although
the old domestic, who had been a household fixture for more than
twenty years, informed me they were all splendidly furnished; although
uninhabited, and seldom opened, except twice a year, to be cleaned; I
could not help wondering that any man, especially a bachelor artist,
should keep a large, vacant house to himself, of no use to him, without
letting it to some one, as an Englishman would have done; unless, indeed,
he were a man of rank and fortune, but this Carrara, I presumed, was not,
and I had seen enough of him to be convinced of his unassuming mind, and
simple mode of living. Perhaps he had accumulated a comfortable fortune
by his unwearied application, and economy, and having secured sufficient
means for the future years of his life, thought it unnecessary to make
money by his house. Of his private circumstances I knew nothing, and,
therefore, dismissed the subject from my mind.
“How many different faces, and what varieties of character you must see
in the course of a year,” I one day remarked to him, as he stood at his
easel, a large bunch of brushes in his hand, busily employed in painting
a naked nymph, bathing in a limpid stream.
“Yes,” he replied, “an artist has ample opportunity, if he is capable of
doing so, of observing characters, as well as faces.”
“Are you a physiognomist?”
“I make no pretensions to being one.”
“Can you tell an honest man from a rogue?”
“I think I can.”
“Then tell me, my friend, tell me truly, what do you think of my face?”
I pushed back my hair from my forehead, as I asked the kind old Italian
this odd question; and he looked at me rather quizzically for a second,
as if to ascertain whether I was in earnest, or seeking to make game of
him; being assured, I suppose, by the grave expression of my countenance,
that I was serious, he answered:
“You have a frank, talented, amorous expression of face, such as many of
your countrymen, whom I have seen, possessed.”
“Amorous, is it possible you have made such a dreadful mistake?—you, a
man of so much penetration, to say such a thing as that; why my dear
Signor, I am as cold as the eternal snows of Russia’s mountains. I follow
the fashionable plan, and invariably treat all womankind with polite
rudeness; in fact, I think I hate women: the sexes are, of course,
natural enemies to each other.”
“You cold, about as cold as the crater of Mount Etna; how can you sit
there, and presume to tell me such shocking stories?” Carrara laughed;
he seldom laughed, or even smiled, but when he did, his face lighted up
with a sunny glow. I was about to deny this accusation flatly, merely for
the sake of a laughing argument, when, in looking for a stray engraving I
was copying, which had fallen on the floor, I knocked down an unfinished
picture, which stood with its face to the wall; I glanced at it, and was
about to replace it in its original position, when Carrara observed,
glancing at it as he spoke,
“Talking of variety of character, that woman certainly was an oddity in
her way: I never saw a more singular person.”
“The original of this picture, do you mean?” I asked, as I set it back
again.
“Yes,” replied the artist; “she was the friend of Prince Monteolene.
I painted a half length portrait for her, and began this one, but the
prince parted from her, after having lived with her three or four years,
and she left the city, leaving this picture unfinished on my hands.”
“She was handsome,” I remarked, as I looked at the face more
attentively—“a voluptuous, not a pure, or spiritual beauty.”
“Such was her character; she possessed some fine traits of disposition,
however, which, had they been accompanied by a well balanced mind,
trained to virtue, she might have been an ornament to society. She took
an interesting little girl from one of the nunnery schools, had her well
educated, and taught the science of vocal music thoroughly, then placed
her on the stage, through the influence of some of the professors of
music, who felt interested in the child; where she now is, a brilliant
star in the musical world. That action, certainly showed a kind, generous
disposition.”
“Such incidents of character, are extraordinary, even among the best of
human beings, leaving the immoral out of the question,” and, I added,
“you artists have every facility, here in Italy, in regard to obtaining
models.”
“We have more applications from poor girls, some reputable, some
disreputable, than we wish or require; many have offered themselves to me
as models, without price, and the very prettiest can be had for a small
sum.”
“Are any of these models virtuous?”
“I have known many who were correct in their behaviour, and, on the
contrary, many who were dissolute. A person, whether man or woman, reared
to all the comforts and elegancies of a luxurious life, can scarcely
conceive the many temptations to which these poor girls are exposed;
living in miserable huts, feeding upon the coarsest food; while men of
fashion and fortune, attracted by their pretty looks, frequently make
them liberal offers of protection, which they sometimes refuse, but
generally end by accepting. Besides, the standard of female virtue, does
not rank as high in our country as in yours; therefore, their departure
from the paths of virtue, is looked upon more in a philosophical point
of view, as a foible, incident to all humanity, and tolerated with more
leniency.”
“I sometimes think the Italian plan the best.”
“It may not be best, as regards the mass of the population, but
considered individually, I cannot but prefer it.”
“Do you never feel sad, Signor?”—I asked suddenly, after having been
silent some minutes, absorbed in thought—“do you never feel sad
sometimes, when you reflect upon the frailties and miseries of poor human
nature?”
“You are now, my young friend,” answered Carrara, “just on the dawn
of manhood, when, having indulged ideal dreams of what the world
_ought_ to be, you are gradually awakening to a perception of the vast
difference between the ideal and the actual; what now appears to you so
sentimentally sad, will gradually become a matter of course, and you
will grow fond of the world as it is; as your freshness of feeling,
and ideality of mind wears away, habit becomes a second nature; we
may dislike our habitation, but we dislike a change, because we are
accustomed to the old abode. Middle age and the decline of life, which
lessen our sense of enjoyment, increase our love of life for that reason;
and you will find, as you journey on, the longer you live, the more
tenaciously will you cling to life.”
“I presume you are right, and if I live long enough to realize your sage
prediction, then I will think of your words.”
I took my hat as I said this, considering that I had bored my kind friend
long enough, by a visit of three hours, and left the studio, with his
repeated invitation ringing in my ears, that I should come very soon
again, and pass every morning, if it pleased me, at his house. I directed
my steps toward modern Rome, and the Piazza del populo; as I passed along
the principal streets, I saw the shops adorned with every description of
masquerade dresses, and immense quantities of bonbons, in anticipation of
the approaching carnival; many of the giddy throng were already attired
in masquerade, passing each other; and all unlucky foot passengers, with
the “corfette” the Italians make such liberal use of during the carnival,
their animated gestures, and sprightly looks, forming a picturesque
scene. While above my head shone the cerulean sky, dotted with golden
clouds, and the horizon’s verge reflected the brilliant red of the
setting sun’s declining fires.
The happy dispositions and buoyant temperaments of these Italians, enable
them to bear misfortunes, and even the squalid poverty, to which they are
frequently subjected, with a serenity of temper, and happy confidence
in the future, unknown to the colder inhabitants of northern climes. A
proud Englishman would put an end to his existence, were he obliged to
encounter half what an Italian would endure with philosophic indifference.
I found the Piazza del populo crowded with equestrians, pedestrians, and
every description of equipages, giving a brilliant, showy effect, to this
classic and beautiful square. How many recollections of happy hours and
days, are connected in my memory, with the name of Rome; of weeks and
months, that sped like hours, borne only too rapidly away upon the wings
of Time.
The ladies talked, laughed, and flirted with the gentlemen, as they
promenaded up and down, just as we do in England, or any other civilized
land; the liveried footmen stood together in groups, and chatted, perhaps
of scandal transpiring in their little world of action; monks glided past
me, their heads bowed down, telling their rosarys while they stealthily
eyed the women; the peasant girls in their tasteful costume, the red or
blue woollen petticoat, ornamented with black horizontal bands, exchanged
love tokens with their lovers; the military rode through the square, with
much display; the nobility bowed and smiled to each other, as they drove
swiftly by in their stately carriages; all nature, and almost every face
wore a smile.
Leaving the gay scene, I passed out at the gate opposite to that through
which I had entered, and was standing gazing upon the lofty dome, and
magnificent colonnade of Saint Peter’s, which rose towering above all
other objects in the distance, when I felt my arm suddenly grasped, and
a stentorian voice exclaimed, “Why, good heavens, Clarence, is this you?
where in the name of wonder have you been all day? I’ve been wanting you
to accompany me to a hundred and one places, and here you are dreaming
about the Persian invasion, perhaps in the Piazza del populo. I’ve met
some very fine people here,” he continued, as he linked his arm in mine,
and gently turned me in the direction of our hotel. “Among others,
there’s a Countess Dettore, who having heard what a fine, agreeable
fellow you are, sends you an invitation, through me, to her grand party,
to-morrow night; come now, do be civil, and say you’ll go; I am going;
really, you have grown so desperately sentimental since your arrival
here, there’s no doing anything with you; you should go into society, be
gay, and enjoy yourself.”
“All people don’t have the same mode of enjoyment,” I replied. “I enjoy
myself in my way, and you in yours; but who is this Countess of whom you
speak; how came she to hear of me, and send me an invitation to her ball?”
“Oh, I knew her when I was here before, four years ago; she’s a pleasant,
chatty kind of person, gives nice balls, and that, you know, is the
principal thing; I dare say you’ll be pleased with her, however, when
you get acquainted; she’s often heard me speak of you since my arrival,
and so, being about to give a ball, took the liberty of sending you an
invitation, both verbal and written,” and he handed me a delicate little
note, superscribed in a small, feminine handwriting.
“You’ve been with Carrara, I suppose, the principal part of the day?
you seem to have become great friends in a very short space of time.
Carrara’s a kind-hearted, eccentric creature: I never knew him to take
so sudden a fancy to any one, as he has to you. I went to Tivoli again
this morning, after you left me,” added my rattling friend, without
waiting for an answer. “I was charmed; such pure air, delightful scenery;
met Coningsby, he’s just from home, says he’s coming down to see you
to-morrow; he’ll return before we do, so we can send letters by him, if
you like, to your parents.”
We passed the magnificent arch of Constantine, and I paused to admire
the exquisite fluting of the corinthian columns, and the statues of
Dacian warriors, with which its front is adorned; while Morton strolled
on ahead, picking wild flowers from the turf at his feet, and commenting
upon the absurdity of old ruined arches, and sentimentalizing on ancient
times.
We found, on reaching our hotel, that my valet Henri, had been passing
away the time during my absence, by getting up a slight row with another
fellow of his own stamp, in which he seemed to have got the worst of it,
for he made his appearance with a black eye, and numerous other small
wounds, in the shape of sundry scratches and knocks in the face from his
assailant’s fists. He had a long and grievous complaint to make me, of
the ill usage he had received, and finished his speech by cursing Rome
and everything Roman, wishing himself safe back again in the land of his
nativity, the green mountains of the Tyrol. I interrupted him, however,
by my stern commands and solemn adjurations, not to implicate himself in
another such a fracas, hinting the fact, that upon a second repetition of
the same thing, he would be obliged to enter the service of some other
individual than myself, as I could not tolerate such disgraceful conduct
in a personal attendant. The poor fellow looked remarkably foolish on
hearing my stern rebuke, and promised obedience for the future, adding in
extenuation of his behavior, “that he had not sought the row: Gustave had
provoked him beyond himself; when others let him alone, he let everybody
else alone.”
I afterward discovered, to my great amusement, that the whole affair
had originated from Gustave’s having taken a fancy to the same girl,
of whom my valet Henri was also desperately enamored; the result was,
Henri in a fit of jealous rage at her manifest preference for his rival,
said some insulting things to Gustave, which the latter would not take,
and they ended the matter by a personal encounter; not after the style
of the renowned knight of La Mancha, but in the genuine old fashion
of pummelling each other with their fists. Gustave possessing a more
athletic form and stronger muscles than my unfortunate valet, succeeded
in gaining a complete triumph over his rival in the courts of love.
The whole affair was vastly ridiculous, and Morton and myself laughed
vehemently at the discomfiture of poor Henri.
“After all,” laughed Morton, “isn’t it ridiculous to see what a devilish
fool a man will make of himself for love of woman: it’s all the same
thing from a king to a beggar; the feeling is the same, the manner of
showing it alone, is different. Now I really do wonder if any woman could
excite me to the pitch I’ve seen this poor fellow wound up to, to-day?”
“I dare say,” was my reply, “you and I are both human, and possess
passions and feelings in common with every one else.”
“Well, I haven’t lost _my_ heart since I’ve been here; that’s to say, if
I really possessed any when I made my advent into this confounded old
ruined place; as for you, I believe you’re in love with an inanimate
picture. I prefer the real Simon pure flesh and blood myself; this
falling in love with senseless canvass I consider quite absurd.”
“You need not take the trouble to tell me that, Morton,” I ejaculated,
bursting into a fit of uproarious laughter; “one need only look at
your face, to be assured that your feelings are not by any means _too
Platonic_.”
He laughed most heartily, although the jest was at _his_ expense; and
chancing to turn our eyes toward the door, we saw Peppo, who stood there
bowing with all his might, like a chinese mandarin, and he informed
us, after many demonstrations of respect and divers flourishes, that
dinner awaited us in the new saloon, which had just been completed a few
days previous. The saloon, which poor Peppo considered such a perfect
chef-d’œuvre of architecture, proved to be a large, barn-like room, built
of rough beams, stuccoed over with a coarse, inferior sort of plaster,
very cold and comfortless looking, destitute of carpeting, and furnished
with a long dining table, chairs set round it, and an iron lamp suspended
from the ceiling, on this grand occasion of inaugurating us into our new
dining-room; the dinner was extraordinarily fine, although everything was
covered with oil and cayenne pepper in abundance, and Peppo officiated
with becoming dignity.
This was Friday; the next day, Saturday, began the carnival, the great
annual fête of Rome. We breakfasted earlier than usual, and Augustus
joined the gay throng which crowded the streets in the direction of the
Corso, where I agreed to join him, after having paid a morning call on
Signor Carrara. Augustus declined accompanying me, as he said he wished
to observe the populace and the different costumes before the sport
began, and I, therefore, proceeded to Carrara’s house alone.
At the street door, I learned from his old attendant Guiseppe, that the
Signor had not yet risen, being somewhat indisposed from a slight cold
and sore throat; I sent in my card, and was about leaving to rejoin my
friend, when Guiseppe came running back, saying the Signor “would be
happy to see me in his room, if I would honor him.”
I followed the old man up the lofty stair-case, through the long
galleries past the studio, when he turned down a short passage and
ushered me into a small elegantly furnished room, where lay Carrara in a
black velvet gown and cap, reclining upon a sofa.
“So you are too sick to accompany us to the gay Corso to-day, my kind
friend?” I asked, after having cordially shaken hands with him and drawn
my chair close to his sofa.
“I do not feel well enough to venture out,” he replied; “nevertheless,
I thank you most sincerely for your politeness in calling for me; this
is a mere transient attack of sore throat, I presume; I have had many
such before, I shall be recovered from it in a day or two; I regret
not being able to see the horse races and the ball to-night, as I have
been an annual spectator for the last twenty years. You will attend the
masquerade ball this evening? of course, I need not ask, every one goes
to the carnival ball.”
“I have not yet made up my mind, perhaps I may: it will be a gay affair I
suppose?”
“Very: one sees such variety of costume, and variety of faces, it forms
altogether an interesting sight, especially to a stranger.”
“I should think,” I remarked, glancing around the quiet room, “I should
think, my dear Signor, that you would sometimes feel lonesome, shut up
alone in this spacious house of yours, especially when sick, with no
female relative or friend to nurse you?”
“Guiseppe generally answers all my purposes as nurse and attendant; he is
faithful and constant; when very ill I sometimes employ a hired nurse;
but as for other higher attentions, what is there about my person, a
poor, ugly old man, already tottering on the brink of the grave, what is
there about me to attract beauty’s gentle care? No, no, my dear young
friend, myself has sufficed thus far, and myself will suffice to the end;
my own thoughts and recollections of the past, are society enough for me.”
I had never heard Carrara speak so sadly before, for although philosophic
in his tone of mind, he was generally cheerful, sometimes even gay. I
attributed it to his slight indisposition and his solitude, and took my
leave, promising to call on the morrow, and bring an entertaining English
novel to read aloud to him.
As I mechanically traversed the long distance which intervened between
his house and the Corso, I soliloquized upon the lonely life a man
leads without wife or children. He seems to hang, as it were, a loose
disjointed member upon society, disconnected from the rest of his fellow
beings, by all those household ties, which seem to form the connecting
links of life. I thought of myself, and then my thoughts reverted to the
beautiful portrait in Carrara’s studio, and I ardently wished that I
might see the original of that picture. “Suppose you should see her this
day,” reason said, “will not time have changed her? where would be the
rosy hue of health and beauty’s bloom?” I suddenly remembered, Carrara
had told me she was dead. “She receives naught now, then, but the clammy
embraces of death; better that, however, than live to become a withered
hag, after having being so gloriously beautiful.”
I reached the Corso, and sought diligently for Augustus, amid the dense
crowd there; but nothing could I see of him in that multitude, moving
to and fro like the gigantic waves of the ocean. I tried several times
to pass over to the other side of the street, but was pushed back at
every movement I made; I gave up the attempt at last, in despair, and
was about fixing my temporary abode upon a large sign post, commanding
an extensive view of the street and the course where the horses were to
race, when I felt myself gently plucked by the sleeve, and turning, saw
a young peasant, who quietly requested me to follow him; he had spoken
to me in broken English, supposing, I presume, that I did not understand
Italian, but I boldly demanded in his native tongue, what he wanted of
me. Some recollections flashed through my mind of stories I had heard,
about strangers in Rome being entrapped at carnival time by brigands in
masquerade; but a single glance at the face of this unsophisticated child
of nature reassured me, and I felt that my suspicions in this instance
were absurd. He uttered a joyful exclamation at hearing me speak Italian,
and said that my friend, seeing me in the crowd, had sent him to find
me, and requested me to come to him on the balcony of one of the old
Palazzo’s fronting the Corso.
My peasant elbowed his way through the multitude to the steps of the
Palazzo; he then conducted me up stairs, through a splendid suite of
rooms, and out upon a balcony, where I was received by Augustus, who
anxiously inquired about the good old artist; and hearing that he was
too sick to accompany me, we mutually turned our attention upon the
gay scene at our feet. The Corso was already filled with coaches, and
persons on foot of every nation under the sun; but I saw but few masks.
A ceremony of some kind or other took place, I heard, at the Capitol,
which we did not see; in which a deputation of Jews formally petition
the governor of the city for permission to remain in it another year,
which he grants them upon condition of their paying the expenses of the
races. The military swept through the streets in their showy uniform; and
presently came the governor and senator (Rome’s fallen grandeur boasts
but one now) in a grand procession of gilded coaches, while behind them
came a great number of men, showily dressed, on horseback, bearing in
their hands beautiful banners, some of them elegantly embroidered and
presented by the ladies of Rome; after these had passed, the fun and
merriment began.
A general pelting commenced from the windows of showers of sugar nuts,
which were exchanged by those in coaches as they passed. The whole
street presented a scene of childish gayety and confusion, perfectly
indescribable, and, absurd as it appeared to me at first, I became much
interested in the sport, and filling my pockets with “corfette,” began
pelting as manfully as the silliest among them.
The windows and balconies were hung with rich silks and velvets, which,
waving in a gentle breeze beneath that glorious sunny sky, mingled with
the rich dresses, and often lovely faces beaming with smiles, as they
surveyed the animated multitude from the windows and balconies of their
homes. The loud laughter and sprightly movements of the crowd, all
combined to present a brilliant scene.
The amusements of the day concluded with the horse race; a trumpet was
sounded, and fifteen or sixteen ponies made their appearance, led by
grooms very gayly dressed; who, after some difficulty, arranged the fiery
little steeds behind a rope stretched across the street. At a given
signal the rope was dropped, and away they flew down the Corso, as if the
evil one was at their heels; at their sides were suspended leaden balls,
filled with needles, which lashed them as they spurred forward, and the
wild shouts of the crowd as they closed in behind them, sent them on with
the fleetness of the wind; they ran furiously for about a mile, to the
end of the street, where they were stopped by a large canvass, suspended
across the way; not more than half reached the goal, and three or four,
I noticed, who seemed to dislike these kinds of operations, ran off,
knocking down everything and everybody who obstructed their progress. The
races are repeated every evening near sunset, during the carnival.
The day’s sport being over, gradually this odd medly of human beings
left the Corso. I watched the different faces and forms as they slowly
disappeared; the women looking tired and languid, like drooping water
lilies; the robust peasant, and languid nobleman in his carriage; the
horse jockeys, and confused assortment of all sorts of vehicles, in the
course of a few moments had vacated the square.
Augustus and I also left our position on the balcony, he, rather
reluctantly, for he seemed to have been quite enchanted by a young
beauty, stationed upon the balcony of a large house next door to the
Palazzo, who had been making love to him with her lovely dark eyes
during the morning; he said he should like to know who she was sighed,
and seemed to feel the premonitory symptoms of one of those attacks of
sentiment he had so often deprecated in me.
A grand masquerade ball was to be given in the evening at one of the
theatres, for this purpose the pit was covered over, and the whole
establishment thrown open. One could wear costume or not, as they chose;
we preferred the civilian dress, and notwithstanding our preconceived
notions of its absurdity, and determined to be mere lookers on, we had
not been long there, before we became involved in the giddy whirl of fun
and nonsense, and talked and laughed as foolishly as any there; almost
all wore costume, but there were but few masks, many of the costumes
were tasteful and costly, others were wretched, and would have disgraced
the wardrobe of one of our strolling circus companys. I saw his satanic
majesty sipping ices with a Polish lady, while close behind them stood
a beautiful Aspasia, in another part of the room Achilles was savagely
flourishing his sword, and Venus sat at the feet of her Mars. Brother
Jonathan knocked against me, trying to make a first rate bargain; and
Paul Pry was there, attending to everybody’s business but his own. I was
deserted by Morton, who dashed after a blue domino, whom he took to be
his beauty of the balcony; he was disappointed, however, for although
the lady’s face was beautiful, it was not she. I saw many long-bearded
Turks, fops of a hundred years ago, and exquisites of the present day,
mad poets, quack doctors; and lastly, I saw what recalled to mind many
early associations—two handsome young persons, evidently lovers, in the
costume of Petrarch and his Laura; the girl’s face was fair and sweet
in its expression, she was a fine impersonation of that interesting
character, the records of whose life have been so blended with romance,
that we can with difficulty distinguish the real from the fictitious;
certain it is, however, that such a being as Laura once existed, and
that Petrarch, enamored of her real or fancied beauty, addressed to her
those eloquent sonnets, which are an ornament to the literature of his
time. I remembered to have read them when a boy, by a favorite sister’s
side, beneath the linden trees in the park of my father’s country seat;
now that sister slept the dreamless sleep of death, under the shade of
those very trees where in childhood she had played. The costume of these
lovers, and the recollection of the sonnets, and my companion in their
perusal, revived many a forgotten reminiscence of by-gone years.
Aurora had already begun to display her golden banner in the East, when,
fagged out, and nearly stupified by our potations of champagne, we left
the ball-room; daylight had begun to force its way into the salon de
dance, displaying to no very fine effect, the tinsel finery, glazed
muslins and pasteboards, of which the generality of the costumes were
composed.
“A ball is a stupid thing anyhow,” said Morton, yawning, “particularly
when its all over, and one has talked and danced one’s self nearly to
death.”
I felt too stupid myself to make any reply to this philosophical
observation, as I followed my friend into our carriage.
In such scenes passed off the gay carnival during eight days. Punch’s
performance, the gay masquerading, the odd tricks performed by itinerant
mountebanks, and divers absurdities of the populace themselves, formed
the daily routine, usually concluded at night by a ball. On the last
day, at night, after the races, the Corso appeared illuminated as if by
magic, with thousands of lights carried by those on foot, in carriages,
and displayed at all the windows; those are indeed unfortunate who
cannot afford a light on the occasion. It is every one’s business to
extinguish his neighbor’s light and preserve his own as long as he can;
it is impossible to give an idea of the effect produced by such an odd
scene, the glitter and confusion as they each endeavor to extinguish each
other’s torches and preserve their own, when viewed from the commanding
position we occupied on the balcony of the Palazzo, the effect was
singular and beautiful; gradually the lights became fewer and fewer,
until at last they disappeared, the noise of the multitude died away, and
the carnival was over.
The next morning, after breakfast, Augustus absolutely persisted
in making me promise to accompany him to Tivoli, to pay a visit to
Coningsby, who had hired a villa there; and although I cared little about
going, yet to oblige him I consented. I sent the novel I had promised
Carrara by my valet, with my compliments and inquiries about his health,
but we had started for Tivoli before Henri returned with an answer.
We remained a week with our friend, who, delighted to see us, entertained
us with noble hospitality. The tasteful arrangement of his villa, the
salubrious air and charming scenery of the surrounded country, over which
was scattered many an ancient ruin, successively claimed our attention
and admiration. Time spent agreeably flies rapidly away, on the contrary
moments passed in pain or sorrow, are anxiously numbered. When our
stanhope again stopped before the door of our hotel, it seemed but a few
hours since we had left it.