My dear Aunt,--Leo XIII.'s jubilee has been the means of bringing the
world to Rome. Every day during these last weeks we have watched the
carts passing our house piled with huge cases which contained the
presents destined for the Holy Father.
The streets are filled with pilgrims from everywhere. One cannot look
in any direction without seeing processions of nuns, priests, and monks
of all nations and denominations, from the dingy brown Franciscans, the
Capucines with their white mantles displaying their bare legs, to the
youthful disciples of the Propaganda in their brilliant scarlet
cassocks, not to speak of the _forestiere_ armed with their red
Baedekers, who are doing Rome and at the same time _doing_ the Pope's
Jubilee.
Everything and every one on the way to the Vatican.
We went to see the gifts, which are exposed in many rooms on the ground
floor of the Vatican. There was an enormous quantity of things of every
description, useful, ornamental, and superfluous. The windmills, bells,
every sort of vehicle, rowboats, sailboats, and every modern invention
had been put out in the Vatican gardens.
You can have no idea of the incredible amount of slippers sent
(thousands of them); church _vêtements_ by the hundreds, embroidered by
millions of women who must have worked themselves blind; the most
exquisite articles of needlework, incrusted with pearls and precious
stones which have probably cost a mint of money.
The Princess del Drago's gift was a large diamond cross with an
enormous emerald in the center, an heirloom from her mother, the Queen
of Spain. There were many other private gifts which were equally
valuable. Almost a ship-load of canned fruits and vegetables sent from
America; these were arranged in a gigantic pyramid. Just to look at
them made my mouth water and me homesick.
Ridiculous objects from _naïf_ donors, such as babies' socks and
jackets, and silver things for a lady's toilet-table, and other equally
inappropriate things, must have surprised the Pope when he saw them. I
have not mentioned the millions of francs the Pope received in money;
he can easily dispose of that; and he intends, I believe, to make
presents to every church in Italy of the different objects which can be
useful. But what can he do with the babies' socks?
On last Thursday the Pope said mass in St. Peter's. It was the great
event of the year.
As we are accredited to the Quirinal, of course I never can have the
opportunity to be received by his Holiness; therefore I was very glad
when the monsignore who is still _Dantefying_ us offered to give me a
_carte d'entrée_.
I was obliged to be at St. Peter's at a very early hour, and succeeded,
owing to having a "friend at court" (the Swedish chamberlain to the
Pope, Marquis de Lagergren), in getting an excellent place where I had
a good view of the Pope and the whole ceremony. Ladies are dressed
entirely in black, with black veils instead of hats, on these
occasions.
There was a great deal of noise in the church--much scraping of chairs,
rather loud talking, people being shown to their seats, and, above all
other noises, _the organ_.
I cannot honestly say that the music was beautiful. With the exception
of the days when the best singers of the Pope's choir sing, the music
in St. Peter's is not good. The organ is as antiquated as the organist,
who plays with all the stops pulled out.
The center of the church was filled with wooden benches and chairs. The
altar was brilliantly lighted with hundreds of wax candles; the columns
around it were hung with tawdry red damask curtains, which, in my
opinion, rather took from the dignity of this magnificent church.
The Swiss Guards ushered people to their seats. They looked very
picturesque in their costumes of bright red and yellow, slashed
sleeves, and brass helmets.
In due time the serious and somber chamberlains, in their black satin
and velvet costumes, appeared; next came the bishops, in their purple
robes; and directly preceding his Holiness the Pope were the cardinals,
in red. Then came the twelve men carrying the gold pontifical chair in
which the Pope was seated; they walked very solemnly and slowly.
Every one dropped on his knees, and the Pope raised his thin white hand
to bless the kneeling crowd.
He mounted the steps of the high altar and began reading mass. His
voice was very feeble and scarcely audible.
It was very impressive. It would be impossible to give you an idea of
the intense solemnity of this scene, especially for me, as I have no
talent for description. Women wept and waved their wet handkerchiefs;
the sterner sex would have done the same, I dare say, if they had not
been ashamed to show so much emotion.
_March 10, 1888_.
The Emperor Wilhelm of Germany died yesterday. Though he was so very
old, the news of his death was unexpected and cast a gloom over Rome.
Of course, all gaieties are ended, and court mourning ordered for three
weeks. King Umberto left directly for Genoa to meet the new Emperor,
who started from San Remo on his way to Berlin. The dinner for King
Umberto's birthday, which was to have been on the 14th, has been
_décommandé_.
The Prince of Naples has already left for Berlin to represent the King
at the Emperor's funeral--his first official act since he has become of
age.
_May 1, 1888._
My dear Aunt,--My letters are very uninteresting. I cannot help it.
There is nothing going on in society. In fact, many of the Italians
have left Rome, and the colleagues are resting on their oars--those who
have any to rest on. I am resting on my "Pinafore" oars. How lucky we
had it when we did!
Taking advantage of this moment of inactivity, the Roman ladies
arranged a charity performance, for which Marquise Del Grillo (Madame
Ristori) promised to give her services. She chose the famous play
"Marie Antoinette," which is supposed to be one of her best. The tickets
were to be procured only from the ladies of the committee (of which I
was one), and, though they cost a fabulous price, the theater was
crammed to suffocation.
Madame Ristori's acting was, of course, perfect, her voice musical, her
Italian delicious, and her gestures were faultless. If one might dare
criticize such an artist, one could say that her movements might have
been a little more queenly, but a queen's grace and dignity must be
very difficult to acquire from sheer imagination. Also her dress was
far from what it ought to have been. I am sure no French dressmaker had
the making of _that_ gown. In the first act Marie Antoinette, in the
_apothéose_ of her glory, wore voluminous skirts and crinoline,
according to the famous picture. Madame Ristori wore a crinoline, to be
sure; but her dress was too short in front and showed her low-heeled
shoes of white satin, and when she moved about her gown of heavy
brocade swayed from side to side like a pendulum.
One recognized the great artist in the scene in the prison, where she
bade the king and her children adieu. This was very touching, and there
was not a dry eye in the audience. I know that _I_ sniffed and wept and
blew my nose, and was quite ashamed of showing my feelings so
explosively.
I went to see her on her reception-day (the next Friday) and found her
in her every-day surroundings, her pretty daughter hovering about with
teacups and cakes, everything looking very home-like and prosaic, and
Marie Antoinette eating sandwiches with a healthy appetite and talking
of the latest gossip. I could hardly believe that I had shed so many
tears over her sad fate a few nights ago.
* * * * *
The sad news of the death of Emperor Frederick came day before
yesterday from San Remo. Every one had been expecting his death for
months. The Italians loved him, and mourn him as if he had been their
own. There is court mourning for three weeks.
MONZA, _October 1, 1888_.
My dear Aunt,--You ought to have a map of Europe continually under your
eyes, and little pins to stick in the places where we last were. Space
and distance are nothing to your "wandering jew(el)s." Going from Italy
to Denmark and back again twice a year, we are obliged to traverse the
whole of Europe, and, as "all roads lead to Rome," we can choose the
one we like best.
Wherever we go we are enigmas to our fellow-travelers, who can never
decide what nation we belong to. Johan talks Danish to me; we talk
French to the governess, German to the valet, Italian to my maid, and
English alternately. I think we would have puzzled the builders of the
tower of Babel at that confusing moment when they all burst forth in
unknown tongues.
ROME, _October 15, 1888_.
My dear Aunt,--We are having a series of entertainments in honor of the
new Kaiser. This is his first official visit since he has become
Emperor. He arrived here on the 11th at four o'clock.
We were invited by M. and Mme. Huffer to see the _entrée_. They being
Germans, their decorations surpassed all others. Carpets out of every
window, flags flying, and the German coat of arms placed in every
available spot on their beautiful palace in the Via Nazionale. The
King, accompanied by the Prince of Naples, followed by the Duke of
Genoa, Duc d'Aosta, M. Crispi, Marquis Gravina, and Marquis Guiccioli,
and other notabilities, drove to the station through a double line of
troops on both sides of the street.
The usually dirty waiting-room in the station was hung with tapestries
taken from the Quirinal and the splendid Louis XV. furniture taken from
the beautiful Palace of Caserta.
The train which preceded the Emperor's, decked out with garlands and
flags, came in sight, the traditional red carpet was laid down, the
final orders shouted, and the Imperial train appeared. The soldiers
presented arms, and the military bands struck up the German national
hymn. The King wore the uniform of a general. He advanced to meet his
Imperial guest. They embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks,
then they presented the princes and the different members of their
suites.
The Emperor was in the red uniform of the Hussars and looked very young
and handsome.
In the first _berline_ (as they call the demi-gala blue landaus) were
the Emperor and the King; in the second were the Prince of Naples and
Prince Henry of Prussia (the Emperor's brother); in the third the Duc
d'Aosta and the Duke of Genoa; in the fourth, Count Herbert Bismarck
and the German Ambassador (Count Solms). The other carriages, of which
there must have been ten, contained the military and civil members of
both the sovereigns.
There was a great demonstration in front of the Quirinal Palace. The
Emperor and the King came out on the balcony amid screams of "_Eh!
viva!_" One old man--a German, I suppose--who was covered with medals
shouted at the top of his lungs. "_Hoch!_" hoping to make a sensation,
but the Emperor made no sign that he heard it.
The next day (Friday), as had been arranged long beforehand, the
Emperor made his visit to the Pope; the carriage from the Quirinal
brought him to the residence of Herr von Schlözer (the German Minister
to the Vatican), where the Emperor lunched and changed his uniform.
Schlözer's account of the luncheon was very amusing. His household was
apparently not arranged for the reception of emperors. He and his
secretary were in great straits to provide the proper luxuries for
their august guest. Schlözer possessed nothing so frivolous as a
mirror, therefore he sent to borrow ours. We sent him the one we
thought best suited to the occasion. It was so different from
Schlözer's modest belongings that the Emperor's quick eye guessed
instantly that it was a stranger, and said, "Where did this come from?"