BEATA

*j

WE

Gift of

REV. WILLL^M H. OWEN

ROMA BEATA

Terrace of the Palazzo Rusticucci
From a pencil diuwiug iu the Collectiou of Misa Mabel Norman

ROMA BEATA
Letters from the Eternal City

BY
MAUD HOWE
AUTHOR OP "A JTEWPORT AaUARELtE," " THE SAN ROSARIO RANCH,"
"MAMMON," "PHILLIDA," "LAURA BRIDGMAN," ETC.

With Illustrations from Drawings by John Elliott
and from Photographs

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1909

Copyright, 1903, 1904,
By j. B. Lippincott & Company.
Copyright, 1904,
By The Century Co.
Copyright, 1904,
By America Company.
Copyright, 1904,
By The Outlook Company.
Copyright, 1904,
By Little, Brown, and Company.

AU rights reserved

S. J. Pakehill & Co., Boston, U. S. A«

To My Sister
LAURA E. RICHARDS

CONTENTS

Page
I. Looking for a Home  1
II. Cadenabbia — Woerishoven — Pfarrer Se
bastian Kneipp  31
III. A Visit to Queen Margaret  50
IV. A Presentation to Leo the Thirteenth . 76
V. In the Abruzzi Mountains  97
VI. Scanno  119
VII. Viareggio — Lucca — Return to Rome . . 142
^'III. Roman Codgers and Solitaries .... 163
IX. Black Magic and White — Wrrcrfs Night 187
X. Ischia  215
XI. Old and New Rome — Palestrina . . . 239
XII. The Anno Santo  264
XIII. The Queen's Visit  292
XIV. Strawberries of Nemi  314
XV. The King is Dead. Long live the King 338

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Page
Terrace of the Palazzo Rusticucci  Frontispiece
From a pencil drawing in the CoUection of Miss Mabel Norman
The Appian Way  30
From a photograph
The Madonna of St. Agostino  72
From a photograph
The Pincian Gate and Wall of Rome  76
From a photograph
Roccaraso  98
From a pencil drawing
Marta, a Vestal of the Abruzzi  107
From a pencil drawing in the Collection of Mrs. Whitman
The Tiber, at the Ponte Nomantana  158
From a photograph
A Lost Love  202
From a red challi drawing in the Collection of Mr. Thomas W. LawBon
Ischia  216
From a photograph
The Lady K  250
From a red chalk drawing in the Collection of Mr. Thomas W. Lawson
Dante  311
From a pastel drawing in the Collection of Mrs. David Kimball
The Palace ofthe Orsini at Nemi  318
From a photograph

ROMA BEATA

LOOKING FOR A HOME
Rome, January 20, 1894.
Rome, which we reached Thursday, is very much
changed since I last saw it ; imagine the Foun
tain of Trevi, all the principal streets, even many
of the smaller ones, gleaming with electric lights 1
We at once engaged an apartment bathed
with sun in the Piazza di Spagna, sun from
early morning till late afternoon. But when
we moved into it, the day was overcast. The
apartment which had been tropical with the sun
when we hired it was arctic without it !
We interviewed our padrona (landlady), an
immense woman, and demanded a fire.
" But, Excellency, it is not good for the
health." We told her we understood our health better
than she, and reminded her that fires had been
promised.

ROMA BEATA
" Excellency, yes, if it makes cold ; but to-day
it makes an immense heat. Diamine! this saloon
is a furnace."
The thermometer could not have stood above
forty-two degrees, but she was not to be bul
lied or cajoled. Then J. went out and bought
wood " unbeknownst " to her and lighted a fire
in the parlor grate. All the smoke poured
into the room. The padrona charged with fixed
bayonets. "Gentry, we are ruined! Not is possible to
make fire here."
" Why did you not say so before ? "
" Who could figure to himself that gentry so
instructed would do a thing so strange ? "
These people are so polite that this was an
insult, meant as such, taken as such. In the
end J. prevailed. A small fireplace was un
earthed from behind the wardrobe in our bed
room. He worked like a stoker, but the badly
constructed chimney swallowed all the heat.
For three days I was never warm, save M'^hen
in bed. Monday we forfeited three months'
rent, paid in advance, and went, tame and
crestfallen, to a pension, a sadder and a wiser
pair.

LOOKING FOR A HOME
Palazzo Sasto Croce, March 10, 1894.
The warm weather has come, bright and
beautiful, and here we ai-e again, in a furnished
apartment, but with what a difference I These
pleasant rooms belong to Marion Crawford.
That princely soul, having let his lower suite
to the William Henry Hurlburts, lends us the
pretty little suite he fitted up for the " four-in-
hand," as he calls his quartette of splendid
babes. We are to remain here till our own
apai-tment is found. We have bought our linen,
blankets, hatterie de cuisine, and other beginnings
of housekeeping, and yesterday — am I not my
mother's own child ? — I gave a tea-party for
two American girls. They wanted to see some
artists, so I asked the few I know, ApoUoni
(well named the big ApoUo), Sartorio, and Mr.
Ross, he who spoke of the cherubs in a certain
Fra Angehco picture as " dose dear leetle angles
bimbling round in de comer." I invited also
Mr. and Mrs. Muirhead ; he is the author of the
American Baedeker, the editor of all English
Baedekers. I expected to see him bound in scar
let instead of dressed in hodden-gray. We had
much tea, more talk, and most panettone — half
bread, half cake, with pignoli and currants ; when
3

ROMA BEATA
fresh, it seems the best thing to eat in the world,
until you get it the next day toasted for break
fast, when it is better.
My rooms are still ablaze with yestctday's
flowers. I bought for two francs in the Piazza
di Spagna what I thought a very extravagant
bunch of white and purple flags and white and
purple lilacs, like those in our old garden at
Green Peace. Helen came in a httle later with
a bunch twice as big and a glow of pink peonies
added ; in the middle of the tea-drinking Sartorio
arrived with a gigantic armful of yellow gorse.
Spring is really here ! The trees are all green
now. When we first came the stone pines were
the chief glory ; now the, Pincio is gay with
snow-white maple trees and flowering shrubs,
mostly white and purple. Is there any rotation
of color in flowers ? It has often struck me
there must be ! Sometimes everything in blos
som seems to be lilac, another season it is all
yeUow, then all red. I notice the reds come
last, in midsummer chiefly, — has this to do vsdth
the heat ? Max Nordau — cheerful person that,
by the way — says that red is hysterical peoples'
favorite color ; violet, melancholiacs'. There is
a boy who sits all day under my window selling

LOOKING FOR A HOME
bird whistles, on which he warbles pleasantly.
He is never without a red rosebud worn over
his left ear. I wonder if he is hysterical I
Now that the good weather has come, I often
go to the churches to hear the music. At the
festa of Our Lady of Good Counsel the scholars
of the Bhnd Institution furnished the music —
a good band, though not equal to that of the
Perkins Institution, in Boston. The church was
crammed with very dirty people and many chil
dren. One mother carried a strapping yearling,
a splendid angel of a child ; three toddlers clung
to her skirts, and a newborn baby howled in the
grandam's arms. After a time the two women
exchanged babies, the grandam took the heavy
youngster, the mother t6ok the new-born, and,
squatting down, calmly suckled it. The music
was marred by the waihng of this and other
infants, but no one seemed to mind. After all,
it was the only way the women could have heard
mass ; the httle ones were too young to be left
alone at home.
The Romans are devoted to their children,
although their ways are not our ways ; no
woman of the upper class nurses her child,
baby carriages are unknown, and swaddhng is

ROMA BEATA
still in vogue, at least with the lower classes.
I know a young American lady, married to a
Roman, who imported a perambulator for her
first baby. The balia (wet-nurse), a superb
cow of a woman, refused to trundle it, saying
she was not strong enough, although I saw her
carry a heavy trunk upstairs on her head while I
was calling at the house ! The baby is now a
big eighteen-months-old boy ; every day the
balia goes out to give him an airing, carrying
him in her arms 1 Here, leading-strings are
facts, not symbols. In Trastavere, where I
went sightseeing yesterday with Helen — peer
ing, as she calls it, — the best sight we saw was
a darling red-haired baby in leading-strings
stumbling along in front of its grandmother.
In the division of labor, the care of the chil
dren falls upon the grandmother ; the mother's
time is too valuable ; if she is not actually em
ployed in earning money, there is the heavier
work of the household to do. To use the pet
phrase of the boarders, " things are different here
from what they are at home."

LOOKING FOR A HOME
Palazzo Rusticucci, July 10, 1894.
Here we are in a home of our own ! One
moonlight night J. came in with the news that
he had found the very apartment he had been
looking for ; if I did n't mind, we would go and
see it at once. Naturally, I did n't " mind."
We took a botte and threaded the network of
narrow streets that lead down to the Tiber.
We crossed the river, a huge brown flood, silver
where it swirled about the piers ; drove past the
Castle of St. Angelo to the dingy old palace at
the junction of the Borgo Nuovo and the Piazza
San Pietro. He would not let me stop to look
at anything, but hurried me through the en
trance, along the corridor, past a courtyard with
orange trees and a fountain where the nightin
gales were singing, up a high, wide stairway
guarded by recumbent statues of terra-cotta
Etruscan ladies, to a rusty old green door. We
puUed a beU-rope and set a bell jangling inside.
The door was opened by the esattore (agent),
a brisk young man, who carried a three-beaked
brass lamp by whose hght we explored the
apartment. They hurried me so that I could
only see that the high ceUings were of carved
wood, that the windows were large, and that
7

ROMA BEATA
I hked the shape of the rooms. J. kept saying,
"Wait tiU you see the terrace." The terrace,
or house-top, is a flat roof; it covers the whole
length and breadth of the apartment, and belongs
exclusively to it. A parapet three feet high runs
around it ; at one end is a small room with a
second smaller terrace on its roof, reached by a
flight of stone steps ; at the other end is a high
waU with a httle, open belfry on top. The view
is sublime ; ^ou look down into the Square of
St. Peter's with the Egyptian obelisk in the
middle, Bernini's great colonnades on either side,
the Church of St. Peter's at the end, with the
Vatican, a big, awkward mass of a building,
behind it, and in the foreground the twin foun
tains sending up their columns of powdered spray.
On the left loomed the Castle of St. Angelo ; it
was hght enough to see the time by the clock.
You can imagine aU the rest, — the city spread
out like a map, the dark masses of trees mark
ing the Pincio and the ViUa Borghese, the
Campagna, the Sabine and the Alban hiUs be
yond, Mt. Soracte, our familiar friend, on the
left, over and under all the soft deep notes of
the big beU of St. Peter's throbbing out the
Angelus.

LOOKING FOR A HOME
The bargain was struck that very night 1 But
when we went over the next day J. let the
cat out of the bag by saying, " I was afraid if
you went by dayhght, and saw what an old
ruin it was, you would never consent to our
taking it ! "
It did look discouraging. The last tenant, a
monsignore, who hved here thirty years, never
allowed the owners to make any repairs ; he said
he could not be bothered with workmen. He
died a short time ago, leaving a red rose growing
in a wooden half-barrel on the terrace. The
owner of the palace, Signor Mazzocchi, armorer
to the Pope, waited tUl the new tenant should
tum up before maldng any changes. The pal
ace was buUt in 1661. It has gone to wrack
and ruin, but it is a magnificent old wreck. It
stands on the site of the house the great archi
tect Bramante buUt for Raphael, one pier of
which is stUl standing, buUt into our waUs. It
once belonged to a Cardinal Rusticucci, whose
arms are cut in stone over one of the doors ;
he was of the same family as the gentleman
Dante met in one of the lower circles of the
Inferno. " Ed io, che posto son con loro in croce, Jacopo
9

ROMA BEATA
Rusticucci fui ; e certo la fier a moglie piu cK altro
mi nuoce."
" And I who am placed on the cross with these
was Jacob Rusticucci. It is certain my proud
wife harmed me more than another ! "
The palace seems to be caUed indifferently
Rusticucci, Accoramboni, and Mazzocchi. We
hesitated for some time between the three names ;
finaUy the Dantesque name carried the day, and
I have had Palazzo Rusticucci engraved upon
our cards. It is considered very plebeian here
to have your address on your cards, but I chng
to my American ideas.
The monsignore's red rose on the terrace
looked so lonely that I went last Wednesday
to Rag Fair in the Campo dei Fiori and bought
a pink ivy geranium, some pansies, and a white
carnation to keep it company ; they were ab
surdly cheap ; flowers are a necessity here, not
a luxury. I also bought a sack of earth, some
flower-pots, and a watering-can. I got up at
dawn the next morning and potted my plants ;
hard work I When J. came up at seven o'clock
for coffee, there they stood in a row at the
end of the terrace. It was a real surprise ; I
was very proud, till I found that he had to
10

LOOKING FOR A HOME
do the work aU over again, just because I had
not put anything in the bottom of the flower
pots to keep the earth from running out when
they are watered ! J. says we must have more,
many more, plants. Simday he was pottering
about aU day with the plumber. We are to
have another quarto of water laid on, the pipes
carried to the upper terrace, and a vast Flor
entine flower-pot — you know the kind, terra
cotta — for the receiver. Some day we mean to
have a marble sarcophagus in its place. They
took the beautiful long zinc bath-tub for the
tank ; this was a blow, but PompUia and FUo-
mena found it too convenient ! Every one who
has seen it on the upper terrace says, " Do you
take your bath up here ? " It is not easy to
laugh at this inevitable joke ; I wait for it now
from each new visitor, and feel reheved to get it
over. The terrace is our poetry, and we have parlous
good prose downstairs. The walls are three feet
thick, buUt to keep out both heat and cold ; the
whole house is paved with red, white, and black
tUes in geometrical designs. The old green door
opens into a vestibule leading to the anticamera,
which has two big windows. The salotto opens
11

ROMA BEATA
from this; it has a splendid sei cento carved
wood ceUing, and pale nUe-green doors with
gilt mouldings and handles. The dining-room,
square and high, leads from the salotto ; beyond
is a charming room with a fresco of Apollo driv
ing the horses of the sun. This will be our
guest-room when we have a guest ; it is now my
den. On the other side of the salotto is our yel
low bedroom : the nicest room I have ever hved
in ; it has a vaulted stone ceihng. Do you re
member Tennyson's poem ?
" 6 darling room, my heart's delight,
Dear room, the apple of my sight.
With thy two couches soft and white.
There is no room so exquisite,
No little room so warm and bright.
Wherein to read, wherein to write."
Well, ours is just like that, only it is not
"httle" but very large. These rooms are in
the front of the palace, looking down into the
Piazza San Pietro and facing mezzo giorno, due
south. They aU have fireplaces (J. put them in
himself with the aid of Lorenzo), the sun pours
into them, and if one can be warm in Rome, in
winter, we shall be. From the passage outside
the kitchen a smaU stone stairway leads up past
a tiny oratory to the terrace. The oratory is
12

LOOKING FOR A HOME
charming in shape, not quite round, more Uke
an elhpse with two marble seats. The floor
slopes to the middle, where there is a grating to
let the rain out, for it is open to the sky ; its
dome is a minute rephca of the Pantheon's.
The monsignore must have sat here to read his
" hours " ; there is nothing to distract the mind,
no sound save the bells of St. Peter's, nothing
to see but the sky and clouds overhead and the
low-flying rondinelle swooping across and across
at sunset.
In the salotto (FUomena sometimes caUs it
the salottino, to my rage) there is a handsome
sofa and pair of armchairs, a fine black oak table,
and niy Benares tray and stand for tea. The
rest of the furniture is very meek and cane-
bottomed. We have in this room a lovely land
scape of the Campagna by Sartorio, a sUver-point
drawing by Hughes, the Enghsh artist, and a
cast from the Alhambra.
July 28, 1894.
Thirty-six degrees centigrade for the last three
days ! Those clever chUdren of yours wUl know
how hot that reaUy is. I don't know, but people
mop their brows a good deal, and say that the
13

ROMA BEATA
heat of this summer is " unprecedented and in
credible." It troubles me very httle; once or
twice only I have felt rather tired by it, and I
fancy it is sharpening up my temper a httle ; but
I eat and sleep hke several tops, only I can't do
much of anything out of doors. Yesterday I
went to see the friendly Countess C, who has a
small city garden with shade-trees, under which
we sat and consumed iced wine and cakes, and
talked about the Pope. She is an American
and very Black in her pohtics, though her
husband is a White and fought for Victor
Emmanuel. At the suggestion of Mr. Richard Greenough
I have adopted the Roman scheme of hfe and
divide every day into two. I am up at five,
have my coffee, and read my paper on the
terrace. At eight the rooms are hermetically
sealed ; outside shutters, windows, and inside
blinds are closed. A melancholy twUight per
vades everywhere, except in my den, where I
keep one eye of the house open to read, write,
cipher, and catch fleas by. I go out early, do my
errands, make my visits, and try to be at home
by ten ; sometimes I am delayed tiU twelve.
Luncheon is at one ; after this the whole house-
14.

LOOKING FOR A HOME
hold, the whole city, takes its siesta. From two
tUl four Rome sleeps ! Down in the piazza the
workmen lie at fuU length on the pavement,
their arms under their heads. Cabmen curl up
inside their cabs, horses sleep between the shafts,
even smaU boys sleep ! At first I would none
of it. I only yielded when I found that the sol
diers in the barracks opposite are obhged by the
mUitary regulations to take a daUy siesta.
" And does it not seem hard to you.
When all the sky is clear and blue.
And I should like so much to play.
To have to go to bed by day ? "
Soon after four o'clock the sea-breeze comes
up and hfe begins again. By five I am ready
for tea on the terrace. Sometimes we go instead
to Ronzi and Singer's for granite, a sort of sher
bet made of snow from the mountains flavored
with coffee or lemon, very dehcious and cooling
to the blood. By this time the streets are fUled
with people. The Roman girls look charming
in their pretty hght summer dresses ; pink mus
lin seems to be the fashion this season. Dinner
gets pushed back later and later ; we really must
reform. Last night we did not sit down tiU
quarter to nine. The nights are divinely cool;
15

ROMA BEATA
we go to the terrace from the dinner-table, and
sit there tUl bedtime under the friendly stars.
To-day I have been driving in the Villa Pam-
fih Doria ; for proof accept this pink petal from
the Egyptian lotus in the lake. I never saw
them growing before. They are wonderful ; the
pads immense, with a green velvety surface on
which the water rolls up into crystal baUs ; the
flower, when it is closed, large and pointed like a
classic flame, does not lie on the water, as I sup
posed, but stands erect, some eight or ten inches
above it. My uncle and a few other privUeged
people are allowed to drive here even when the
villa is closed to the public. We always meet
a modest-looking old couple in a coupd ; he is
bhnd and has a long white beard ; she wears a
bonnet like a bat and carries a green fan with
which she screens her eyes. Cardinal A., his
secretary walking beside him, two attendants
following, is always there, and several other
priests ; except for these, an occasional gardener,
and the peacocks, we have the glorious old place
aU to ourselves. There are deer and Jersey
cows and the lake and the pretty formal garden
in front of the house; it has the feeling of
16

LOOKING FOR A HOME
being private property — a gentleman's place.
The name " Maiy," chpped in box on the hiU
side in memory of a beloved wife, an Enghsh
Princess Doria, gives me the same sort of satis
faction as the Taj INIahal and the tomb of
Cseciha IMeteUa.
Your last letter clamors for detaUs of our
housekeeping. In certain respects it is idyUic.
For comfort I have never known its equal. We
have two women, FUomena, the Umbrian house
maid and waitress, and PompUia, my black-
browed Tuscan cook (Romans do not make good
servants). These two do the work easily with
the help of old Nena, the fifth wheel to our
coach. Helen calls her the footman ; she does
aU our errands, carries my notes, and when I am
hard pressed for time leaves our cards. PompUia
brings me her accounts every morning, so much
for beef, bread, butter, spaghetti, wine, oU, and
salt. I buy my fruit and groceries myself. So
much custom allows. It is more signorile, how
ever, to leave aU buying to your servants, but a
certain latitude, of which I have availed myself,
is aUowed to artists. Store-rooms and ice-chests
are unknown ; we hve from hand to mouth, buy
ing each day's provisions " fresh and fresh." The
2 17

ROMA BEATA
butchers shut up shop at eleven in the morning
and do not open again tiU six in the evening.
Business begins at the shriek of dawn ; the first
sound I hear in the early gray is the sharpening
of the butcher's knife in the shop opposite.
They keep the meat in cool "grottos" under
ground. How they manage without ice is a
mystery !
The Borgo, our quarter, — Leonine City is its
best name, — is not fashionable, and the street-
cries are stUl in full force here. The earliest
is the Acetosa water, " Fiasche fresche aqua
^Cetosa!'" I hear it in my dreams, plaintive,
melodious. "Flasks of fresh Acetosa water!"
Then comes the rumbling of the cart, the hee-
hawing of the donkey, and the remarks of the
man to the donkey. This is what he said to
day : " I call all the apostles to observe this
infamous beast of a donkey : may he die
squashed, this son of a hangman ! " I do assure
you he is the dearest donkey, pretty and veiling,
but rather restive about stopping. The Acetosa
Spring is a mile and a half from the city, out
Viale Parioli way. It has been in use since the
days of the Cassars, perhaps since the days of
the Tarquins. The Romans take a course of
18

LOOKING FOR A HOME
Aqua 'Cetosa every summer ; six weeks is
the orthodox time ; it is " cooling to the blood."
It costs two cents a flask.
Signor Augusto Rotoh has ^vTitten out for me
the notes of several of the cries. In the Acetosa
score he has indicated the blows of the driver,
the kicks of the donkey, and finally the patter-
patter of the poor httle beastie's hoofs over the
rough pa^'ing-stones of the Borgo Nuovo :
VENDITORE DELL' AQUA ACETOSA.
Nel silenzio del mattino, all' alba, in distanza, e poi piu
presso alia residenza — questo e un effetto molto caratteristico.^

i

Tenoble.
 i2_

r^- r

1=t

iE

Fre - sea.

Fre

sea,

I'a - qua - Ace - to - sa

i

kaaaaa .

Dando una bastoiuita al povero asinello che alza

la grappa, e cammina cosi. Moderalo. I passi delV asinello. ^
¦ 1^ I |-

]^J.FSJ'1

f!=t

Sifema e poi D. C,

tirando calcL

1 In the stillness of the moming at dawn, in the distance, and then
nearer to the residence — this has a very characteristic effect.
19

ROMA BEATA
At seven o'clock a herd of twenty goats is
driven into the piazza by two dark satyrs with
shaggy thighs and flashing eyes, peasants in
goat-skin trousers they are from the Campagna.
The children crowding round them in the piazza,
and I looking down from my terrace, watch
them as the^ milk their yeUow-eyed beasts.
Goats' milk, Pompiha says, is good for con
sumptives and delicate babies; I have not yet
learned whether she considers it heating or cool
ing to the blood. We are not aUowed to have
broccoli, carrots, or mutton at this season because
they are heating, and are obliged to have more
rennet than we like because it is cooling !
After the goats are gone the blackberry man
comes. I hke his cry best of all, it is in a
melancholy minor, " More, more, chi vuol maniar
le more ? — more fate ! " " Moors, moors, who
wishes to eat moors ? — ripe moors ! " Moors,
if you please, because they are black !
IL VENDITORE DI MORE.

Se suppone una voce di Tenore aperta, ^__^ lunga assai.

H«-^

H^r^i^^m

-o \o\

=«:

E li brugno-U fat - ti e chi ma-gna . . . . le mo-re .
20

LOOKING FOR A HOME
"Buy a broom" is fai- prettier in Italian —
Romanesque, I should say — than in English.
At first we coiUd not make out the words, the
man seemed to be singing " O ! so far away 1 "
The notes, long drawn out, pensive, fascinating,
like a sailor's chantey, haunted us. " O ! scopare,
cacd aragni! " " O brooms, chase the spiders 1 "
The latter are Turks' heads on the ends of long
sticks, necessaiy for ceUings twenty feet high like
ours. LO SCOPARO.
Nella foUa del giorno nel frastuono di carrozze e veicoli
questo tone minore 6 molto rimarchevole.*

i

^

^

f

:^=t

Lo scopa-ro a - ja - re,

Scac-cia ra-gno .

VENDITORE DI PESCE.
Con quest' altro, ^

i

X

^

Pe see vi - vo

ca la - ma - ret ti ,

" Pesce vivo, calamaretti ! " " Live fish, httle
inkstands ! " The calamaretti, small cuttle-fish, are

^ In the crowd of the day, in the tumult of carriages and carts, this
minor air is very noticeable. 21

ROMA BEATA
caUed httle inkstands because of the black Uquid
— sepia, isn't it? — which they eject when at
tacked. Fried a golden brown and served with
fresh soles as a garnishing they are too good for
common people.
The umbreUa mender is a bit of a poet, he
makes his cry rhyme. " Ombrellare. Chi ha
ombrelle per raccomodare ? " " The umbreUa
man. Who has umbreUas to mend?"
" O ricotta, ricotta ! " When I hear this I run
to the window, wave my handkerchief, and the
ricotta man brings up a fresh goat's-mUk cheese
in a green wicker basket ; it is a sort of spirit
ualized cottage cheese. When quite new, eaten
with maritozzi warm from the bakery downstairs,
it makes a better luncheon than I can get at the
Cafe di Roma.
"Alice!" (pronounced a-lee-chee) "ancho
vies," is a strident cry which we hear at intervals
all day. Anchovies are a staple food with the
lower classes. At home I only remember them
as an appetizer at some brutally long dinner
parties. The people eat anchovies with bread
or with macaroni ; they are cheap, strong of
flavor, and a little of them goes a long way.
We have them with crostine and provatura for
22

LOOKING FOR A HOME
luncheon sometimes. Provatura is cheese made
of buffalo's milk. Little crusts of bread with al
ternate layers of provatura and anchovies skew
ered together hke chickens' hvers and toasted
make a pleasant dish.
One cry I do not like, ''aqua vita!" short
and sharp in the early moming, as soon as the
newsboys begin to shout "Don Quichotte,"
" Popolo Roinano," " Corriere," this cry comes
like an antiphony. "Aqua vita!" " Water of
life ? " Water of death ! brandy.
We sent all the way to the English bakery in
Via Babuino for om- bread tiU the day I met
Count Luigi Primoh in the baker's shop on the
groimd floor of our palace ; he was tucking a
brown paper parcel into his pocket. There had
been a function at the Vatican. He had been to
pay his respects to Leo XIII., and on his way
home had stopped to buy what he told me were
the best maritozzi in Rome. The baker is an
important person ; he owns his shop and fiour
caged nightingales, which sing divinely. We
now buy our bread, flour, macaroni, and oU from
him, and he changes aU the neat fifty-franc notes
we get from the banker's ; he can always be
trusted to give honest money.
23

ROMA BEATA
I soon found out that in aU domestic affairs I
must learn Itahan methods ; it was useless to try
and teach Pompiha and FUomena our ways.
After the tussle over the washing I gave it
up. Set tubs, wash-boards, wringing-machines ?
Nothing of that sort. On Sunday evening the
clothes are put in a large copper vessel, a basket-
work cover is laid on top, over which a layer of
wood-ashes is spread. Boiling water is then
poured on slowly, percolating a httle at a time
through the clothes, which are bleached by the
lye of the ashes ; this is the bucato. When
they have stood long enough in this witch's
cauldron the clothes are carried down to the
basement and washed with cold water in the
V^ast stone fountains of the palace, which we
\iave the right to use one day in the week.
The women employ a stiff brush and the queer
est green soap to scrub the linen ; if we have any
table-cloths left at the end of six months, we
shaU be lucky. The American clothes-pins and
line I sent for are neatly displayed in the kitchen
as curiosities. We " hang out " on an iron
clothes-line to which the linen is tied by small
pieces of twine, as it was in the days of the
Empress Faustina. We are no better than our
24

LOOKING FOR A HOME
mothers ! The clothes are sent out to a stiratrice
to be ironed.
Our cookuig fuel costs us one doUar a week.
Saturday morning the carbonaro arrives, carrying
on his back a huge sack of charcoal, for which I
pay five francs. I am told it is ten cents too
much, but one must pay something for being
"foresticri." The cooking is done over four
httle square holes fiUed with charcoal, set in a
table of blue and white tUes ; a big hood over
head carries off the fumes ; quite the prettiest
kitchen range I ever saw ! The charcoal is
kindled by means of paper, little fagots, and a
turkey-feather fan phed by old Nena. I hke
my kitchen, it is fuU of such queer, nice pots and
pans ; a row of deceitful copper saucepans hang
along the waU, always bright, never used, but
brushed over with white of egg, which acts like
a varnish to protect the polish; a big white
marble mortar, a long copper kettle for the fish,
and the green and yeUow bowls and mixing
dishes are my favorite utensUs. I foresee that
the old brass scaldino J. picked up at the junk
shop wUl some day serve as an ornament to the
front haU at home. We have a brace of warm
ing-pans and the queerest metal box for live
25

ROMA BEATA
charcoal. When you want a warm bath you
fiU your tub with cold water, put hot coals in
this box, screw it up tight, and put it into the
water, which it fmaUy heats. Prehistoric ?
Fortunately, we prefer our baths cold ! Pom
piha begged some shps from our geraniums,
planted them in empty kerosene cans, and now
the kitchen window is bright with flowers.
Everything grows so quickly here that it is
easier to have plants than not.
August 16, 1894.
The parroco (parish priest) has caUed. FUo
mena came aU of a flutter to summon me. The
visit has raised us in our servants' eyes ; they
have never before lived with pagans or Protes
tants. I like the parroco. He is a fine man of
forty-five, evidently a peasant, but possessing
that assured, courteous manner the priests all
have ; it is wonderful, the bearing and polish the
Church gives them. The parroco was rather dis
turbed at being offered a cup of tea at five in
the afternoon, — it was stupid of me to have it
brought in ; the Anglo-Saxon association of eat
ing and drinking with sociability is hard to get
rid of, — but he made a long visit and gave me
26

LOOKING FOR A HOME
good ad\dce about the local charities. The
gnawing poverty all about us is the drop of
gall in our honeypot. Our door is hteraUy
besieged by our poor neighbors and by begging
monks and nuns. At the parroco s suggestion
Ave now divide what we can afford to give be
tween the benevolent society which looks after
the sick and old, the Trinitarian order of monks,
and the Little Sisters of the Poor. Besides
these a man caUs on Saturday morning from the
" Holy FamUy " and carries away a big bag fiUed
with robacdo, — trash, — things that at home
would go into the ash-barrel.
General Booth must have got his idea of the
Household Brigade from some such institution,
and I am learning new lessons in economy every
day! Nothing is wasted here, not the tiniest
scrap of food nor the most disreputable cast-
off garment. My servants watch for my old
shoes ; three pairs of eyes are fastened on them
daUy. You know how much more precious
old shoes are than new, — especiaUy Appleton's,
which come aU the way from Boston ? WeU,
yesterday I was shamed into giving away my
most cherished old boots and am wearing to-day
a horrid stiff new pair. Every night a bundle is
27

ROMA BEATA
smuggled out of the house full of odds and ends
of food which support a certain poor famUy
whose grandmother has attached herself to us.
Her perquisites are the old newspapers, empty
bottles, stale cake and bread, sour milk, the very
orange and lemon peels, and the leavings from
the servants' table. I am so thankful there is
enough to fill the poor old blue market handker
chief, but it would never do for me to show
knowledge of its existence ; that would spoU the
sport. You ask about the comparative expense of hfe
here. People who would be called well off at
home are rich in Rome ; people we should con
sider poor can live here with much comfort and
some luxury. For instance, cabs cost sixteen
cents a course for two people, or forty cents an
hour. I pay my seamstress fifty cents a day,
and my cook seven dollars a month ; a clever
young Italian doctor, modern, up-to-date, weU
educated, is quite satisfied with a doUar a visit.
Good hotels (not the two or three most extrava
gant) charge twelve francs (about two dollars and
forty cents) a day. Meat, chicken, eggs, fish,
fruit, and vegetables are cheap ; but all imported
groceries are horribly dear by reason of the fifty

LOOKING FOR A HOME
per cent, duty they must pay. Coffee costs
fifty cents a povmd, sugar twenty, American
kerosene oU is sold m five-gaUon cans for three
doUars — fancy ! we pay more for petroleum
than for ohve oU or for mne. Postage stamps,
salt, and tobacco — aU government monopolies
— are sold only at tobacconists'. JSlilk is not
cheap ; tlie best in Rome comes from Prince
Doria's herd of Jerseys. Unfortunately, we are
not on his milkman's route ; our mUk comes
from the VUla Ada, which belongs to an Ameri
can lady, a daughter of Rogers, the sciUptor. It
is very good mUk, quite different from that we
get at a pinch from the vaccaria round the
corner, where in a dark, dreadful dungeon stable
pale cows, with long untrimmed hoofs, pass their
melancholy hves. Pompiha is in despair because
we will drink our milk unboUed ; when I saw
the prisoner cows I understood why. Italy is a
poor country, and poor people can live comforta
bly here. Rents, service, and food are aU cheap ;
it may be a paltry reason for abandoning one's
country that one can get more pork for one's
shilling elsewhere, but it is a potent reason.
Here in Rome prices are aU scaled to the differ
ent pockets. I pay less at the same shops for
29

ROMA BEATA
the same things than my rich friends pay, but
some things even the rich cannot secure ; certain
conveniences — rapid transit, steam heat, "rapid
deh very," express service — cannot be purchased,
and, what is reaUy serious, good schooling is not
to be had at any price, so few Americans vdth
children to educate settle in Rome. But for
men and women there is no school like Rome.
WiUy niUy, I learn something every time I go
out of doors, whether it be to the Appian Way,
the Via Sacra, the Forum, or to the Corso.
The yeUow Tiber, the fountains, the nightingales
of the ViUa Medici, the ilex trees of the Bor
ghese, seem to whisper the secrets of the city
with the mighty past, the mother and law-giver
of nations.

so

The Appian Way
From a photograph

II
CADENABBIA — WOERISHOVEN — PFARRER
SEBASTIAN KNEIPP
Cadenabbia, Lake of Como, August 29, 1894.
I FEAR the vagabond instinct is the strongest
one I have, for I was glad to leave Rome a week
ago — to leave my Rome, think of it ! with its
gaUeries aU to myself, and its churches, and no
tourists ; stiU, the fleas had become too vicious,
and aU the " lame ducks " were upon me —
shabby gentlemen attached to the Vatican, seedy
artists with portfohos of unsold .sketches, decayed
gentlewomen professing Dante and lacking pupils
— for the foreign colony, by which they live, has
dissolved, and we were the last Anglo-Saxons
left in town except some young secretaries of the
British Embassy.
Unless one has seen the Sistine Chapel at noon
on a blazing August day one has not reaUy seen
it. The figure of Adam receiving the touch of
Life from the Creator is, for me, the highest
expression of the art of painting. The hours I
81

ROMA BEATA
spent across the way at the Vatican and St.
Peter's made up for any smaU inconveniences of
the heat I may have suffered. If one is to pass
a summer in a city instead of in your green
Maine woods, many-fountained Rome is the
city of all others ! There are no mosquitoes,
— literaUy, we have neither a bar nor a netting
in the house — the nights are cool, the citizens
are too poor to go away in any appreciable num
ber, so there is none of that desolate feehng
which makes London a Desert of Sahara in
August, and Paris worse. But the heat of the
last week of August drove us to the Itahan lake
country, and here we are at Cadenabbia — from
Ca' di Nabbia, house of Nabby, an old woman
who once lived in a little hut, or ca\ on the shore.
It is one of the most beautiful places on earth.
I am writing before breakfast. Outside my
window is the Lake of Como with its mountains.
On one side there is deep purple shadow, the
other palpitates with light. Soon we shaU have
coffee and green figs in the pergola below, under
the canopy of grape-leaves. Cadenabbia is aU
viUas and hotels ; behind, half way up the hill, is
the village of Griente, to reach which we climb
steep streets of steps paved with round cobbles.
32

CADENABBIA — AVOERISHOVEN
Griente is aU gray stone, with delicious arches
spanning the nai-row ways. The syndic's house
stands apai-t ; his fat wife and pretty daughter
seem always to be sitting sewing before the door.
The padre, a dear old man, showed us his garden
and caUed our attention to the trellis he had con-
tiived for his gi-apes. We must taste his wine,
made from these Muscats — made, I warrant, by
his OAvn hands. W"e did taste it and found it
exceUent. " Sapete, Signori," he said, " un goccettino
di vino e" buona per lo stomaco (Know, Signors,
that a httle drop of wine is good for the
stomach)." St. Paul was of his way of thinking.
J. has been seized with a fury of sketching ;
he goes every day to Griente and draws and
draws ! The old women and the chUdren make
much of him. Yesterday he heard one boy say
to another, " It must be very hard to paint and
smoke a pipe at the same time."
"Ma che!'' said the other, "he only does it
fer bravado ! "
The other day he frescoed a lad's nose with
vermUion hke a Cherokee brave's ; since then all
the boys in the district torment him for the ends
of his pastels.
3 33

ROMA BEATA
This is one of the prosperous provinces of
Italy. The town of Como has silk manufac
tories, where the best Itahan silk stockings are
made and the nicest of the piece sUks. There is
a feehng of comparative bien Btre in all classes
which adds much to one's own comfort. The
flood of travellers that pours through here brings
a certain prosperity, though I incline to think it
a specious one. Everybody asks, " What would
Italy do without the tourists ? " Perhaps if the
people were not so busy making siUy knicknacks
to sell to tourists, they would pay more attention
to cultivating their land. Improved agricultural
methods are what Italy needs above all else ; she
has the finest soil and climate in Europe ; she
could supply half the continent with fruit, oU,
and wine if she had a little more common sense !
I have seen oranges and lemons rotting under the
trees at Sorrento, and in Calabria I have seen
grapes used to enrich the soU ! This is not be
cause the Italians are "lazy" — "lazy Italians !"
there never was a more unjust reproach borne by
any people — the Italian peasants are the hardest-
worked people I know. They tug and toil just
to put bread in their mouths ; they almost never
taste meat. Last Sunday afternoon at the rail-
34

CADENABBIA — WOERISHOVEN
road station in Rome the floor and platform were
covered with sleeping peasants waiting for the
train to take them to their work. Each man
carried round his neck se\'en loaves of coarse
bread strung on a piece of rope, his week's
rations, — dry bread, with a " finger " of wine to
moisten it if he is lucky ! It is evident that
they ai-e A\'iUing to work, and yet Italy is miser
ably poor ! Somebody is blundering somewhere,
I am too rank an outsider to know who. Some
foreign A\Titers lay every Ul Italy endures to the
heavy taxes the government has imposed. I am
not so sure that what Italy has got in the last
quarter century is not worth the price she has
paid for it. There are abuses, steals, a bureau
cracy, and a prodigious megalomania (sweUed
head), but the people are learning to read and
write !
That reminds me of what I heard Sir WiUiam
Vemon Harcourt say at a luncheon in Rome.
Some one asked where he was staying. " I am
stopping at the Hotel Royal opposite to the
Ministry of Finance," he said. "Strange that
Italy should have the largest finance buUding in
the world and the smaUest finances I " The foUy
of putting up these mammoth pubhc buUdings,
35

ROMA BEATA
these dreadful monuments to Victor Emmanuel,
Garibaldi, Cavour, and the other great men who
brought about the Risorgimento, is appalling;
but Italy is realizing her mistakes ; she is learn
ing at an astonishing rate.
Woerishoven, Bavaria, September 20, 1894.
I have been banished by bronchitis from the
Eden, Cadenabbia, and have come to Father
Kneipp's Water-Cure, near Munich, although it
is a httle late in the season to take the " cure."
It is de rigueur before seeing Father Kneipp to
consult a regular practitioner, who pronounces
whether or no you are a fit subject ; people with
weak hearts are not aUowed to take the cure.
I paid a small sum, became a member of the
Kneipp Verein, received a blank-book — in which
the medico wrote out a diagnosis — and a ticket
stating the hour of my appointment with " the
Pfarrer," as Father Kneipp is called. I arrived
a little before time at an immense barrack of a
place like the waiting-room at a railroad station.
The door to the consulting-room was guarded by
two functionaries who read aloud our numbers
as our turn came, looking carefully at the tickets
before letting any one enter.
" Einundzwanzig ! " (twenty-one), and I passed

CADENABBIA — WOERISHOVEN
into the long room and stood before Father
Kneipp, like a prisoner at the bar. He is
one of the most powerful-looking men I have
e\'er seen ; his eyes pierced me through and
through. I handed him the book with the diag
nosis. He read it, grmited, ruminated, bored
me with a second auger glance, then dictated my
course of treatment to one of his secretaries, a
callow cha'ico who sat beside him at a long table
with three or four other men.
I found out afterwards that they were young
doctors studying his methods. Father Kneipp
spoke to me rather sharply, going directly to the
point. Never mind what he said, I deserved it,
I shall not forget it, and, like Dr. Johnson, " I
think to mend ! " " Come again in a fortnight,"
he said suddenly. The consultation was over
and I was ushered out. I had not reached the
door when " Zweiundzwanzig," a crippled boy,
a far more interesting case than mine, came in.
Father Kneipp dislikes women, ladies espe
cially, me in particular, because no one had
warned me not to wear gloves, a veil, and a
good bonnet. If I had put an old shawl over
my head and looked generaUy forlorn, he would
have been kinder. Isn't that dear? His be-
37

ROMA BEATA
nevolence is of the aggressive type ; he grudges
time spent on rich people, — is only reconciled
to them, in fact, because they offer up gifts in
return for health, and in this way a great sanita
rium has grown up where the prince is nearly
as well treated as the peasant — but it is the
peasant folk, his own people, that the Pfarrer
loves ! This is the only truly democratic com
munity I have ever lived in, — a pure democracy
governed by a benevolent despot I The despot
is past seventy years old ; he has an aldermanic
figure, a rough peasant head, and extraordinary
bristhng white eyebrows, standing out a good
two inches from his pent-house brows. His
coloring is like an old English country squire's,
— brick-red skin, bright blue eyes, and silver hair.
He is a prelate ; so his rusty black cassock is
piped with purple silk, and he wears a tiny
purple skull-cap. His two inseparables were
with him, a long black cigar and a white Spitz
dog. . . .
The fortnight is almost up, the cough gone,
the vitality come. Yesterday I went to hear
one of the Father's health talks in the big, open
haU, free to aU. Good, practical common sense
38

CADENABBIA — WOERISHOVEN
was what he gave us, nothing new or startling,
— just the wholesome advice of a very wise old
man. Enthusiasm and common sense ai-e his
weapons. After it was over we waited to see
him come out. A group of bores hung on to
him ; one sentimentalist caught his hand and
tried to kiss it, which so enraged the Pfarrer
that he gave the feUow a slap !
Such people ! If you could only hear them
testify to their cures, like lepers and the halt in
the Bible ! TeU Anagnos that two blind men
say they have been cured here this summer.
The applications were general, not local, save
bathing the eyes in warm straw water. Sounds
simple, does n't it ? One had been bhnd four
years, the other longer. Atrophy of the nerves
of the eye was the trouble in both cases. The
younger man was going away in despair after a
few weeks' treatment. He drove to the station,
got into the train ; suddenly he saw something
moving, cars going in the other direction ! He
got out again, retumed to Woerishoven, per
severed with the treatment, and now sees 1
A South African couple sit at my table ; they
have come aU the way from Cape Town. For
seventeen long years the husband suffered with

ROMA BEATA
nervous dyspepsia, whatever that may be. One
summer at Woerishoven has cured him. Does
this sound like Paine's Celery Compound? I
learn as much from the other patients as in any
other way. Herr SchneU, a German New
Yorker, — a hardware man, — and his wife are
my best friends. She first spoke to me at table.
"Dot caffee is not good for Ihnen. Sie
miissen Wasser trinken."
"I am here for my throat," I told her; "I
only need hardening; besides, Father Kneipp
drinks coffee."
" Dot Pfarrer is not hranh — sick, how you
say?" My dear, she actuaUy sent the coffee away,
and forbade the kellner ever to bring it to me
again 1 The Schnells and I patronize the same
fruit-stand, and we 'vvalk up and down after
meals together, eating grapes out of brown paper
bags. A certain forlorn Pole at our table inter
ests me ; he is caUed Count Chopski, or some such
name. His nerves are shattered by too much
cigarette smoking. Frau SchneU and I came
upon him in the wood the other day, sitting be
hind a big tree smoking. Frau SchneU marched
up to him, took the cigarette out of his hand,
40

CADENABBIA — WOERISHOVEN
and gave him a scolding for smoking on the sly.
He begjm to cry I
I am at the best hotel, which is of a simphcity 1
Big people and httle people all sit down to the
half-past-twelve dinner ; only royalties (there
are always some of them here) are aUowed to
keep any state. At the table next mine a
bishop and a ballet-dancer sit side by side ; it
is an open joke to all of us, except the bishop,
Avho doesnt know, and nobody wUl teU him, —
I caU that nice feeling. In aU my life I have
never met with such simple kindhness as there
is here ; it's a sort of Kingdom-come place,
where everybody feels responsible for everybody
else. Nothing of the am-I-my-brother's-keeper
feehng here ! Of course, it is aU Pfarrer
Kneipp ; the whole atmosphere of place and
people is the expression of a great, ardent heart
which beats for sick humanity, which rages
against aU shams and cruelties. His spirit is like
my father's, the atmosphere here more like that
of the old Institution for the Blind in his day
than anything I have ever known.
When Sebastian Kiieipp was a young student
preparing for the priesthood (he was the son
of a poor weaver) his health broke down so
41

ROMA BEATA
completely that he was obliged to give up his
studies. One day in a convent library he
stumbled on a copy of Preissnitz's book on
water-cure. Impressed by the theory, he per
suaded a feUow-student in the same predicament
as himself to join him in putting it into practice.
It was midwinter. The two lads broke the ice
from a neighboring stream in which they took
their baths. Heroic treatment, but it saved
them ; both soon regained their health. Kneipp
finished his course of study, took orders, returned
to his native vUlage of Woerishoven as parish
priest, and has remained here ever since.
From the beginning he seems to have been
more interested in curing his parishioners' bodies
than in saving their souls. ' He teUs of being
called to administer the last sacrament to a dy
ing man. The moment he saw him he threw
away book and candle, caUed for a paU of water
and a hnen sheet, put the patient in a wet pack,
and saved his life. For many years the Pfarrer
only practised among his peasant neighbors.
GraduaUy his fame spread to the surrounding
viUages, to the city of Munich, to other cities.
People began to flock to Woerishoven from aU
over Germany, France, Europe, America, tiU
42

CADENABBIA— WOERISHOVEN
finaUy this obscure Bavju-ism hamlet has become
one of the world's gi-eat Meccas of health.
The only person who makes any effort for
society is an Austrian countess, a great court
lady. She has taken a tiny cottage, brought
her own cook, maid, and butler from Vienna,
and tries to give " at homes." I heard some
good music at her rooms the other day. Some
how she had managed to draw together half
a dozen people of the sort that can make
" society " in the prison of La Jacquerie, on
an ocean steamer, or even at a German cure, —
an Austrian officer, an Enghsh diplomat, a
French abbe, my Polish count, and the musi
cian, who is a real artist. We walked with the
gods for that hour; the pianist gave us what
ever we asked for — Beethoven, Schubert, Cho
pin, Grieg. It was a Kaffee-klatsch without the
coffee (all stimulants are forbidden, even tea
and coffee) ; the butler handed — scornfully, I
thought — mUk and grapes. The party broke
up rather hurriedly at sunset, everybody rushing
away to get their Wassertreten before dark.
Water treading is to wade up to one's knees
in one of the streams which run through the
fields. Very pleasant, very comic — fortunately,
43

ROMA BEATA
there is a male stream and a female stream;
such Chippendales ! such piano legs have I seen !
It is all so strange, so echt deutsch! The countess
does not harmonize with the rest, she is out of
key. I meet her at seven o'clock in the morning,
her feet, head, neck, and arms bare, strolling over
the wet grass, a lovely, incongruous vision; her
hair dressed and " ondulee" in the latest fashion ;
her parasol, rose-colored satin. Now, a rose-
colored satin parasol at Woerishoven is a false
note in a pastoral symphony. She worships
Father Kneipp ; they aU say she owes him her
life ; he cannot endure her, has attacked her
almost openly in his talks ; he wUl not tolerate
foUy, vanity, or worldhness ; she personifies —
oh, so charmingly — all three ! She wears the
prescribed dress of coarse Kneipp linen with such
a difference; the other women look hke meal-
sacks ; she has the lines of a Greek goddess.
In the early moming all the patients walk
barefoot through the wet grass. Those who have
been here longest go without shoes and stockings
all day. I am told it is delightful to walk bare
foot in the new-fallen snow. Women's skirts
reach only to the ankles; men wear knicker
bockers. The only foot-gear allowed at Woeris-
44

CADENABBIA — WOERISHO^'EN
hoven is the leather sandal, classic and comfortable.
Newcomers begin by Avearing the sandal over the
stocking, then the stocking is left off for half an
hour — an hour — finally for the whole day. An
hour and a half after breakfast and dinner a cold
douche is taken. The blitzguss (lightning douche)
is for people who have been taking the cure for
some time, the rM/wg/" (body) douche is commonly
prescribed for new arrivals. At the ladies' bath
attached to this hotel a rosy mddchen plays the
hose upon the patient with skUl and firmness.
That ordeal over, the dripping victim scrambles
hastUy into her clothes — drying and rubbing are
forbidden — and exercises vigorously untU she is
perfectly dry and warm. The exhUaration which
foUows is indescribable. In the exercise-room
attached to the largest bath I have seen a bishop
capering, a princess sawing wood, a fat American
miUionaire pirouetting with a balancing pole.
No one laughs; it is too grave a matter. You
dance or prance, box, saw wood, or do calis
thenics for your life — anything to get up the
circulation !
Bavaria is enchanting, Bavarians are delightful,
not at aU hke other Germans, more like the Tyr
olese, — simple, kind, deeply reUgious. I cannot
45

ROMA BEATA
imagine becoming a "convert" in Rome, but
here it would be easier. Why should the people
of Cathohc countries have better manners than
those of Protestant lands? I know you wiU
bring up some old saw about sincerity and truth
not always being compatible with suavity ! We
can't be all right and they all Avrong, " and yet
and yet" it is known that the Pope keeps his
own private account at the Bank of Protestant
England ! Does this mean that he, like the
Italians I meet every day, is readier to trust an
Enghshman or an American than his OAvn
countrymen ?
I keep thinking of him, my neighbor in Rome,
the Prisoner of the Vatican, shut up between the
waUs of his vast garden through all the long
summer. I used to look at his windows and
wonder if he felt the heat as much as I did in
those last August days before we came away on
our villeggiatura. No villeggiatura for him, he
is stUl there ! The " Black Pope " (as the power
of the Jesuit is caUed) is his gaoler, — not good
King Humbert, as you may have been led to
suppose, — but a prison is a prison, whoever the
gaoler may be.
I am learning aU I can about the German
46

CADENABBIA — WOERISHOVEN
Kaiser. I am inclined to think he plays the
strongest game at the European cai-d-table. The
Bavaiians I have talked with seem rather bored
by him ; they compare him unfavorably with poor,
dear, mad King Ludwig and his father, gi-eat art
patrons, both.
The Prussians think their Kaiser the greatest
man on earth. I gather fi-om one of their number
that the court people are harried by him beyond
behef ; he is forever interfering with their private
affairs. A young officer with an English wife
and Enghsh tastes set up a tandem in Berlin last
winter. He received a message from the Em
peror requesting him hot to drive one horse be
fore the other ! How can they bear it ? When
we first arrived the Kaiser had lately been at
Rome and people were stUl telling stories of
him. The Itahans are not over-fond of his visits ;
he costs a great deal to entertain and is too much
given to dropping in to tea ! He stayed at the
Quirinal Palace, the guest of the King. As
such, etiquette forbade his visiting the Pope.
You don't suppose he let a little thing like that
interfere ! On a certain day the German Ambas
sador to the Vatican (you understand there are
two Ambassadors, don't you, one to the King, one
¦47

ROMA BEATA
to the Pope ?) received notice that the Emperor
was to be his guest for the morrow. The Am
bassador, a bachelor of simple tastes, prepared
for the imperial visit as best he could. The
Emperor arrived with a portmanteau, made one
of his lightning changes, and came doAvn to
breakfast. The breakfast-table was a bright
spot, a friend having lent a fine service of silver
and some wonderful Venetian glass. When
the Kaiser saw the display he cried out, " Mein
Gott, A  , where did you steal all these ? "
Rather nice, was n't it ? After they had " eated
and drinked," as your chUdren say, a carriage,
come all the way from Berlin, with horses, har
nesses, and servants to match, drove up to the
door and carried the Emperor off to caU on the
Pope ! It would not have been etiquette to use
the Italian royal carriage to pay the papal \dsit !
Prince Doria's baU for the Kaiser at the splen
did Palazzo Doria — one ofthe finest ofthe Roman
palaces — must have been gorgeous ; the picture
gaUery was a blaze of glory, — you remember
there the great Velasquez portrait of Pope Inno
cent X. ? — all the jewels in Rome were present
except the emeralds of the Pope's tiara. When
he went away the Kaiser said to Prince Doria, —
48

CADENABBIA ~ WOERISHOVEN
" We shall be very glad to see you and the
Princess at Potsdam, but avc cannot show you
anythmg like this." Handsome of him, wasn't
it? When the Kaiser went sightseeing to St.
Peter's he admired my fountains. WeU he
might ! After Avatching them leap and play for
some time he said, " Turn them off now ; it 's a
pity to waste so much water." Thrifty, eh ?
Turn off Carlo Maderno's tireless fountains,
which haA'e danced in the sun and shimmered
in the moon nigh three hundred years!

Ill
A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, December 7, 1894.
Yesterday was sirocco. In consequence the
house was fuU of fine sand bloAvn up from the
African desert and everybody was out of humor ;
it is curious how this soft wind sets people's
nerves on edge. In spite of sirocco, I saw the
King and Queen going to open Parhament.
The King, Prince of Naples, and two officers
were in the first crystal and gUt coach, the Queen
her mother the Duchess of Genoa, and a gentle
man of the court in the next. The horses, trap
pings, coachmen, and footmen were magnificent.
There were three servants to each of the six royal
carriages — one on the box, two standing behind.
They wore scarlet coats, white wigs, three-cor
nered hats, and pink silk stockings. The King
and the Prince were in uniform, the Queen and
her mother in the latest French fashion. Little
Gwennie Story (the granddaughter of our dear
old friends the Wilham Storys) was dreadfully
disappointed when she found that the Queen did

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
not ahvays Avear a croAvn. I sympathize with
her. I had a place in the loggia of the Palazzo
Montecitorio — Avhere Piu-liament meets — and
saAv the royalties step out of their carriages and
enter tlie palace.
January 21, 1895.
Yesterday I went to the annual memorial
mass for Victor Emmanuel at the Pantheon.
The noble old temple — the only one of the
Roman buildings Avhich has been in continuous
use since it Avas erected in the first century —
AViis hung Avith black and cloth of gold. A huge
catafalque stood in the middle, directly under
the open dome ; the whole interior was lighted
by classic torches, urns, and tripods holding
blue fire. A tribune had been constructed for
the orchestra and singers. The music, a mass
of Cherubini's, was A^ery fuie. The catafalque
was surrounded by a double line of men who
stood facing one another through the long ser
Aice. The men of the outer circle were soldiers
of the King, the men of the inner ring were
priests of the Church, for Victor Emmanuel was
a good Cathohc and died in the faith.
I was m Rome for the fu-st time in 1878, the
last winter of his life. I often saw him driving
51

ROMA BEATA
on the Pincio or in the Corso. He was an ex
traordinary-looking man, fierce, powerful, bizarre,
every inch a king ; loved and hated accordingly.
I remember the intense excitement when the
two old enemies, Pius the Ninth and Victor
Emmanuel, both lay dying in the city for which
they had fought. Would the King be permitted
to receive the sacrament ? When it was known
that the Pope on his death-bed had sent his
blessing to the King in extremis all Rome drew
a long breath. We went to see // Re G-alan-
tuonio lying in state in the capella ardente at the
Quirinal. He was dressed in fuU uniform Avith
high riding-boots, the royal robe of red velvet
and ermine was spread over the inclined plane
on which he lay, the croAvn and sceptre at his
feet. The chapel blazed with candles ; in each
of the four corners knelt a brown Capuchin monk
telling his beads. Signor Simone Peruzzi, cham
berlain to the King, watched one night beside the
body. He was alone for the moment when he
heard a deep sigh, saw the King's breast heave.
The matter was explained by the physicians
afterwards. I remember to this day the thrill
in Peruzzi's voice when he spoke of the dead
King's sigh. 52

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
March 10, 189S.
Mrs. Potter Palmer and I have had a private
audience A\-ith the Queen. The visit went off
very AveU. We arrived at the Quu-inal Palace
at tAvo o'clock, and Avere receiAcd by the Mar-
chesa ViUamarina and two other court ladies,
with whom Ave talked for perhaps ten minutes.
A tiny old AA'oman dressed m mourning, looking
hke the Fairy Blackstick, came out from her
audience just as Ave entered the Queen's recep
tion-room for ours. She must have been a
privUeged person, for we had been warned not
to wear black and not to wear hats, bonnets
being de rigueur. As I do not OAvn a bonnet,
Mrs. Palmer kindly lent me a charming one,
fresh from Paris — a few days later, when she
was receiA'ed by the Pope, she wore my Span
ish mantiUa. The Queen, who was seated on
a sofa, rose as we entered and shook hands
cordially with us. She is stUl beautiful, her
hair magnificent, her eyes kind and keen. When
you Aasit royalty you must only speak when
you are spoken to ; the choice of the topic
of conversation thus remains Avith the royal
personage. You must always say "your Maj
esty," and you must make three reverences on
53

ROMA BEATA
entering and leaving the presence. In aU this, I
was tutored by Marion Crawford, who has often
been " received," and whose books the Queen is
said to read with pleasure. She speaks English
perfectly, by the way. She had seen an article
in a late magazine — The Century, I think — on
American country houses ; she spoke of those at
NcAvport, and said that, "judging from the iUus
trations, they must be very fine." She showed us
a grand piano at the end of the room, saying that
it was an American instrument, a Steinway, and
that " it had a very brilliant action." With Mrs.
Palmer the Queen spoke of the World's Fair.
Mr. MacVeagh had presented her with a copy of
the book I edited on the Woman's Department
of the Chicago Exposition. The audience lasted
about twenty minutes ; then the Queen rose, the
signal for us to withdraw. We made our three
courtesies and backed successfuUy from the room.
The Queen is much beloved ; she has rpal charm,
besides being good and clever.
Yesterday I went to Mr. WiUiam Story's
studio. The garden is lovelier than ever, the
climbing vines that mask the dead wall make a
rustling screen of cool green in which the birds
build their nests. I waited in the studio among
54

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
the statues — most of them old friends of mine —
and found my particular tassel on the fringed robe
of the marble Sardanapalus. One day, seven
teen years ago, when Mr. Story was working on the
clay, he let me take his modeUing tool and add a
few touches to the fi-inge. I have seen a copy
of this statue in Lord Battersea's fine house in
London opposite the Marble Arch of Hyde
Park. When Mr. Story came in — much as you
remember him, the same graceful, briUiant talker,
only with a new pensive note since his wife's death
— we talked of the old days at Dieppe, of the
meetings in the studio there, when he and my
mother read aloud from the books they were Avrit-
ing, and JNIrs. Story gave us tea and read us Mal-
lock's " New RepubUc," published that year ; it
must have been the summer of 1878. Mr. Story
remembered the mornings on the plage when we
sat on the warm sea sand under big red umbrel
las watching " the boys " tumbling in the surf,
and mamma's calling Waldo " the amber god,"
and JuUan " a young leopard," as he swam and
dove through the waves like a merman. I re
minded him of the httle poem he wrote in our
autograph book, and showed him the locket Mrs.
Story gave me Avith a picture of herself and
55

ROMA BEATA
Pippa, the funny little pug dog she took with her
wherever she went. We both remembered how
Pippa behaved the day they left Dieppe when
she saw the handbag in which she always trav
elled. She bit and scratched the bag, whined
and generally remonstrated. Once inside the
satchel, however, she was perfectly quiet and
never betrayed her presence by barking ^ti route.
Mr. Story showed me the monument he is
modelling for Mrs. Story's grave — a kneehng
figure of an angel leaning over a classic altar.
The face, every line of the figure, every finger of
the hand, each feather of the drooping wings
seems to weep. He caUs it the Genius of Grief.
This last expression of a great hfe love gripped
me by the heart. It is to be placed in the
Protestant cemetery here (where lovely Jennie
CraAvford is buried) not far from the corner
where the ashes of SheUey were interred, and
near the tombstone of Keats Avith its famUiar
inscription, —
" Here Ues one whose name is writ in water."
St. Agneixo di Sorrento, March 18, 189S.
Last Monday we left Rome in a rain-storm
and came here to break up a pair of obstinate
colds. We are delightfuUy estabhshed at the
56

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
Cocumella, an old Jesuit monastery turned into
a hotel. There is less of Avhat Hawthorne calls
the odor of sanctity — a peculiar mUdcAved smell
the monks leave behind them — than is usual in
such places. Our Avindows command an aston
ishing view of the Bay of Naples and Mt. Vesu-
Aius. To the right, about a quarter of a mile
away, is VUla Crawford, where we are most
kindly welcomed by the ladies ; the man of the
house is away. The chUdren are charming ; the
viUa ideal ; it stands on the edge of a high cliff
leaning OA'cr the sea. The grounds, filled AAdth
flowers and fruit-trees, are seamed with quaintly
paved walks. On the left of the house is a ter
race, where they dine in summer. Here a flam
ing heart in gray and white paving-stones took
my fancy. The house is large and luxurious ;
there are roses everywhere inside and out.
To-day is Palm Sunday. The chambermaid
who brings my morning coffee brought me a bit
of olive-branch, instead of palm, from early ser-
Adce. Later we went to high mass at the cathe
dral in Sorrento. The procession was headed
by the bishop, his acolytes, and some smart
young canons in rose-colored satin capes. After
the mass the procession marched through the
57

ROMA BEATA
town, led by a group of bronzed fishermen and
boys dressed in white robes, Avith bright blue
moire capes, and loose oriental white hoods
over their heads. They all carried yellow palm
branches in their hands. It was the most perfect
contrast of color imaginable.
Yesterday I saw the nets hauled in. The men
and women, old and young, form a line upon
the beach, take hold upon the rope, and Avith a
graceful, swinging motion puU in the seine inch
by inch, as they did in the days of St. Peter.
The Sorrentines are a handsome and seem a
kindly people ; there are comparatively few beg
gars here.
Throughout the Piano di Sorrento thousands
of men and women are employed in the manu
facture of silk stockings, scarfs, carved and in
laid wood, coral ornaments, tortoise-sheU combs,
and jewelry. I dare not enter a shop for fear of
temptation. The Itahan spoken is far pleasanter
than the nasal Neapolitan ; the chief pecuharity
is the dropping of the final vowel. Maria, the
dark-eyed chambermaid, asks if she shaU make
the lett, for letto (bed), and speaks of Sorrent,
doman, and Sabad, meaning Sorrento, domani
(to-morrow), and Sabato (Saturday).
58

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
The trees in the garden are laden with oranges
and lemons, the feast of the roses is beginning,
the bu-ds ai-e singing. The service of the hotel is
exceUent, the table quite good enough, our room
has a fireplace and afternoon sun ; for all this,
food and Avine included, we pay six francs — one
doUar and tAventy cents — a day, Avith permission
to roam in the garden and pick as many oranges
and roses as we like. I am reminded of Hugh
Norman's saying, "When I have only a doUar
and a half a day left to live on, I shall retire to
the CocumeUa and pass the rest of my hfe there."
We have uva secca for luncheon, grapes dipped
in Avine and spices, rolled up with bits of citron
in grape-leaves, tied in little bundles, and roasted.
They may be kept half the year, and are among
the dainties of the world. The miniature Italian
count Avho married Mrs. Tom Thumb, veuve, said
when he came to take tea at our house, "In
Italia si mangia bene (In Italy one eats weU)."
He was right ; we hear less about Itahan than
about French cookery, but it is quite as good —
the range of dishes is wider and shows more
imagination. There is a great deal about cook
ing in my letters ; so there is in hfe. Fire, cook
ery, and civilization seem to be inseparable.
59

ROMA BEATA
Speaking of fire, the women about here say that
Vesuvius, across the bay there, sets a bad ex
ample smoking his eternal pipe. The men sit
watching him, presently they imitate him, and
try and see how big a cloud of smoke they can
make. Vesuvius dominates the whole landscape. He
finally got the better of us, drew us like a magnet ;
so, finding that the ascent can be made from here
as weU as anywhere, we gave a day to it. The
road, an ascending spiral, embraces the great
black rhountain hke the coils of a serpent. At
first it leads through pleasant vineyards ; when
these are left behind the dreadful lava fields begin.
The weird forms of the petrified rivers of lava,
once red and molten, now grim and black, sug
gest human bodies Avrithing in the clutch of horrid
monsters. Here a huge trunk madly wrenches
itself from the toils, there a vast body lies supine
and agonized, the last resistance passed. When
we left our carriage at the foot of the funicular
railway, I felt I had passed through several circles
of the Inferno. Dante must have received many
of the impressions he transmits to us from
VesuA'ius. At the summit, when I looked down
into the crater, at the shppery, slimy sides, with
60

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
their velvet bloom of sulphur, I saw where the
fathers of the Church and the early painters, Fra
Angehco among them, got their ideas of heU.
Marcus Am-elius, my guide, bibulous, muscular,
with a gi-ip of u'on, found a point fi-om which,
when the Avind lifted the Aeil of thick white
smoke, I could, by leaning weU over the crater,
see the flood at the bottom surge, seethe, toss up
from its depth big, red-hot stones, which dropped
back again AA'hUe the mountain roared and
scolded. It was an awesome day. Vesuvius has
giA'^en me not only a new understanding of the
poetry and rehgion of Italy, but of the volcanic
Itahan character, which it surely has had a share
in forming. On our way doAATi we ran over a
soldier, the front wheel of our carriage passing
across his leg. As we were three people in the
carriage, it must have hurt him, but he got up
and walked nimbly off, cursing us vehemently.
I wish the Abyssinians might find the Italian
soldiers equaUy invincible in Africa.
Sr. AoKEiio DI SoEHENTo, Eastcr Sunday, 1895.
I find the services of Holy Week more im
pressive here than in Rome. Thursday afternoon,
on a lonely road by the sea, we heard a strange,
61

ROMA BEATA
primitive chanting, — the music might have been
Palestrina's, — and came suddenly upon a pro
cession led by children carrying the usual emblems
of the Passion, and some I have never seen before.
The story of the betrayal and the crucifixion was
told by symbols, the basin of PUate, the cock and
sword of Peter, the bag of Judas, the scourge, the
piUar, the spear, the sponge, the cross, the ham
mer and nails, the crown of thorns, and the
Avinding-sheet. The washing of the apostles'
feet at the cathedral Holy Thursday was reaUy
moving. , A dozen poor old fishermen, scrubbed
as clean as possible, represented the twelve ; they
were each rewarded by a loaf of bread and a franc
at the end of the service. Early Good Friday
morning, before the sun was up, a band of peasants
passed through the town bearing a life-sized image
of the Madonna dressed aU in white, going out
to look for her son. After sundoAvn they re
turned, bringing back the mother from her search,
clad in mourning robes. She had found her son ;
behind her the figure of the dead Christ was
carried on a bier. The people stood gravely
watching the bearers as they passed through the
dark, torch-ht streets. On Saturday, as we were
driving, a cannon sounded at twelve o'clock in
62

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
token of the resurrection. Our driver thrcAv him
self from the cab and, touching his head to the
ground three times, remained kneeling long
enough to repeat several ttves,
Pai-vzzo Rusticucci, Rome, March 27, 1895.
We were glad to get back to Rome, and to
the terrace, A\'here the waU-flowers are out, and
daffodils, pansies, primroses, forget-me-nots, and
lihes-of-the-A'aUey. Two large lilac-bushes and
three spiraea AviU be in bloom by Sunday. There
is snow on the Leonessa ; it is a trifle chUly up
here on the terrace where I write, but it is near
" peaks and stars " and very near peace. I weed
the flowers, and coUect the snails that prey upon
our pansies and threaten our roses. The aAvful
gardens where Nero's living torches flamed lay
just below my windows, where the Piazza of St.
Peter's is now. Soracte, the Leonessa, with all
the rest of the purple Alban hills, looked down on
that sight as calmly as they look on my lilies and
me. There is no place in the world where one
feels so small as in Rome. The sunflowers come
up, each Avith his little burst sheU of seed on his
head, which he soon throws away ; so the lesson
of the new life springing from the old is studied
in the shadow of Angelo's dome. The great
63

ROMA BEATA
church greeted me like a friend. Tourists criticise
the architecture : I do not deny faults, I only do
not see them.
We have a nightingale of our own at last.
His name is Pan. He sings gloriously. What
a thrill his voice has ! We feed him on bul
lock's heart. Jeremy Bentham, the tortoise,
knew me ; he never was so friendly before ; he
now snaps fresh lettuce-leaves out of my hand
without trying to nip my fingers. Our great
Thomas cat threatened Pan, and my life was a con
stant struggle to keep them apart, so I have sent
Pan to the studio, where J. has a falcon and two
pigeons. He threatens to buy a jackdaw, and
was with difficulty restrained from purchasing a
baby fox. It was such an engaging little animal
that I confess to have wanted it myself The
happy family at the studio is cared for by Vin-
cenzo, a young painter, a scholar of J.'s. In the
old days, when J. was a pupil of ViUegas, Vincenzo
was the studio boy who washed their brushes.
J. thinks he has some talent and has given him
a whole floor in his great barrack of a studio.
Pompiha and FUomena had swept and gar
nished the house with flowers in honor of our
retum. All our friends and our smaU world of
64

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
hangers-on (the ancient Romans called them
clients) Avelcomed us kindly, Avith the single
exception of the porter.
Porters seem to be natural enemies, like
mothers-m-laAv. We all know shining excep
tions, but the rule commonly holds good of both.
None of om- friends are on speaking terms with
their porters. Our old porter was dreadful —
db-ty, di-unk, disreputable. At first the new one
seemed a treasure. J. had recommended him
for the place chiefly on account of his lovely
tenor A'oice. The man — we caU him Ercole
"because it is his name" — used to sit at work
(he is a mender of leather) on the sidewalk
opposite the studio singing airs from the latest
operas, Boheme, Paghacci, Iris, but singing
them hke an artist. It helped J., shut up at
his work in the big studio, to hear him, and in a
reckless moment he spoke to Signor Mazzocchi
about the singing saddler. Behold him installed
Avith his big, white-haired wife, Maria, his little
daughter, Lucrezia, broAvn and bonnie, in a
grim room without light or air (you would not
put a cat in such a hole) — stUl, an improvement
on their former quarters. The landlord is re
sponsible for the porter's wages. We give him
S 65

ROMA BEATA
a manda of ten francs a month, extras for extra
service, and a present at Christmas and at
Easter. His duty towards us is to receive our
cards and letters and bring them up the three
long flights of stairs. Our mail grew staler and
staler. The Paris New York Herald (read by
all Americans in Europe), instead of being
served with breakfast, arrived barely in time for
luncheon. J. had built on the first landing a
little open stall, light and airy, where Ercole
could stitch his old saddles and harnesses and
sing his jolly songs. Alas and alas 1 there is a
wine-shop opposite the palace, there is a trattoria
on the ground floor next the baker's ; both pro
prietors are generous and soft-hearted. Some
how the fat wife, the slim daughter, are fed, but
Ercole stitches no longer, sings no more. Sober
and poor, a rival to Pan. Rich and drunk, he is
sourly silent. It is a dangerous thing to play at
being providence ! The postino now brings up
the maU and delivers it at our door, ultimo piano
(top floor).
February, 1896.
Last week I took Isabel to a baU at the
Princess del Drago's. We have kept Ercole up
at night a good deal lately, so I took the key of
66

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
the big portone and told him that he need not
Avait for us. Isabel's maid, Franceline, was to sit
up and open the old green door of our apartment
the key of which weighs two pounds and will not
go into my pocket. We wore our very best
gowns and trinkets, and Isabel had a pretty tinsel
ribbon in her hair Avhich sparkled like diamonds.
It was a great dance ; the drive home at three in
the morning under a fuU sUver moon, past Hilda's
tower, the fountain of the Triton, and the
hospital of Santo Spirito was as far as I was
concerned not the least of the fun. We met a
few empty cabs returning to their stables, and
just as we entered the Borgo Nuovo we passed a
pair of graA'e carabinieri (mUitary police) pacing
their beat, Avrapped in long black cloaks, their
three-cornered hats draAvn over their eyes. Our
good coachman Cesare opened the portone, found
and hghted the candle left on the lower step, as
had been arranged, and bade us good-night.
We picked up our skirts and went up the two
easy flights chattering about the party. At the
second landing we stopped beside the Etruscan
ladies to rest before breasting the third short,
steep flight. I rang softly, not to disturb the
sleepers, and waited. I rang loudly, and waited.
67

ROMA BEATA
Through the door came a gentle, familiar mur
mur. Then the cracked bell rang out a tocsin
that should have roused the whole palace ; stiU
no sound from Avithin save that rhythmical mur
mur ; we beat and kicked upon the door till
hands and feet were tired ; we called, bellowed,
screamed, shrieked for a matter of five minutes,
until the terrified Franceline, guilty yet denying
sleep, threw open the door. I was just dropping
off into dreamland when I heard the portone shut
heavily. As the stairway belongs exclusively to
us, I sat up and listened. There was a hubbub
on the stairs. I heard Ercole's voice protesting,
calling upon the Trinity first as a whole, then
severaUy, upon aU the saints, last and loudest
upon the Madonna, to Avitness his innocence. A
stern, accusing voice drowned Ercole's. I threw
on a Avrapper, ran to the door, and listened.
" Where are they, then ? Make me to see
them, those ladies, aU festive with jewels.
Did we not ourselves behold them enter this
portone, laughing and talking gaily ? this portone,
brute beast, of which one knows that thou, and
thou only, hast the key. Did we not hear, we
out in the street, feminine yells horrible, to make
one tremble, and thou sayest thou heardst noth-

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
ing ? Animal, where are they, then ? What
haA^e j-^ou done Avith them, those ladies so bright,
so beautiful? Robbed, murdered, dying, per
haps — possibly dead."
" By the mass, by Peter and Paul, I was asleep
in my bed at ten o'clock. Ask Maria, ask Lu
crezia, ask the padrone of the wine-shop, who
turned me out at that hour. I knew nothing till
you came, illustrissimi, you tore me from my bed.
What do I know of the ladies ? I saw them go
at quarter before elcA^en with Cesare in a coup^.
Is it sensible to ask me ? Ask that fat pig, Cesare.
If they are dead, he is responsible."
" Might it not be well to ring the bell and
ask the signore ? " said a third voice, that of
the elder carabiniere. Explanations, apologies,
thanks, " e buona notte ! "
February 4, 1897.
The ball at the embassy last night (given by
Mr. MacVeagh, the retiring American Ambassa
dor, for the King and Queen) went off very well.
Her Majesty looked charming and danced the
quadrUle with great spirit. Some of the dancers
forgot the figures, she put them all straight, and
was so Avinning, so fascinating that the Americans
were enthusiastic about her.
69

ROMA BEATA
The King, who does not dance, seemed bored.
He is first and above aU else a soldier, a man of
action. I watched him as he stood puUing his
big mustachios, talking to an ancient ambassa
dress ; by his expression it was easy to see he
would be glad when it was over and time to go
home. He was in uniform as usual, carrying his
white-plumed helmet under his arm. His honest
face had that puzzled look it so often wears ; no
wonder 1 Of all the monarchs in the world, his
riddles are the hardest to read. The Queen wore
a superb dress of pale blue satin with point lace
and her famous pearls. The King gave her a
string of pearls on each anniversary of their mar
riage, it is said, tUl at their sUver wedding she
protested she could not bear the weight of an
other rope. The finest jewels after the royal
pearls were Mrs. Potter Palmer's. She wore the
croAvn of pearls and diamonds I remember her
wearing at her reception for the Spanish Infanta
Eulalia at the time of the World's Fair at Chicago.
The supper was served in an immense room, the
handsomest in the apartment, which occupies the
piano nobile of the Palazzo Ludovisi. Nothing
could be better arranged for entertaining in the
grand manner than the present American Em-
70

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
bassy. You enter an enormous anticamera,
where the servants take your wraps, pass on
through a second waiting-room into a long cor
ridor which runs the whole length of the palace.
The state rooms all lead from this corridor ; they
have communicating doors, so that standing in
the doorway ofthe supper-room one looks through
the two draAving-rooms to the baUroom, where
on a stage the musicians are seated. The diplo
mats aU wore court dress. A ball where the
men as weU as the women are splendid is natur
aUy far more briUiant than one of our baUs, where
the girls monopohze the finery. The most strik
ing figure there was the mihtary attach^ of the
Russian embassy. He wore the dress of a Cos
sack colonel, cartridge belt, jeweUed weapons,
and aU, and — as if to heighten the warlike look
— a black patch over one eye. The tender
hearted regarded him Avith sympathy : " poor
man, in what dreadful encounter Avith savage
tribesmen had he lost the missing eye ? " Worse
luck yet ! It was knocked out by the point of an
umbreUa carelessly handled by a lady in getting
out of the traveUing compartment of a train 1
I never saw such a crowd around a supper-
table. Refreshments at most entertainments
71

ROMA BEATA
here are simpler than would be believed at home.
In this the Italians are more civilized than the
English or ourselves. The supper last night was
of the generous American order. The Romans
seemed to enjoy it and did not limit themselves
to biscuits and lemonade. The army officers in
especial took kindly to the good things.
To-day I looked into St. Agostino and saw
the beautiful miracle-working Madonna. She is
a lovely marble woman with a less lovely bambino.
The mother is literally covered AAdth gems ; she
has strings upon strings of pearls about her neck,
her fingers are laden to the very tips with rings ;
the chUd is hung with scores of watches. Both
heads are deformed Avith ugly crowns. The
Madonna is by Jacopo Sansovino, a Florentine
sculptor of the fifteenth century. She is much
adored and quite adorable. She is very rich, has
a good income of her own from the various lega
cies she has received. On the pedestal below her
silver foot — the marble one was long since kissed
out of existence — an inscription states that " on
the assurance of Pius the Seventh an indulgence
of two hundred days will be granted to whoever
shall devoutly touch the foot of this holy image
and recite an ave." 72

The Madonna of St. Agostino
From a photograph

~,- ~ f*

/^

is^^fc if #

¦ ' 1 '

r^

ipl^i^i

;«#.'

*t

- --'4L

^^KmJt}»m

\

VK... ,1

- -. -^ 1

1 /k

? '-i^^ ^ •&*;
» 1
1 -'^
¦^^^%
'7 i^
"Wgi
,
r IMV !iS^.«J
^^^ *r''S
i^'^ -'i
HLtoJllffir^»n
3.- ¦ • ¦ ,'
^
"- ' ^.^-^..^-^-rr??-
ia„::,^^:.;;:,;..^>u4ijWiaiMea
¦*• J^l ^
SIi^^--
Mi:'^SOi§^
&
•¦•^-f-^ ^"
^L^'C^T
"'?^ '•'
^¦
¦' :-^
A VISIT TO QUEEN INIARGARET
I also went to see the appartamcnto Borgia,
ncAvly opened at the Vatican. It contains one of
the most splendid pieces of decoration I have ever
seen — three rooms painted by Pinturicchio ;
they have been closed for twenty years, having
been used as libraries ; the waUs were covered
AAdth books. The Pope has gone to great ex
pense to put them in order, and has throAvn them
open to the pubhc. Artistic Rome has gone mad
about them. They surpass everything in the
way of decoration here save the Sistine Chapel
and the Stanze of Raphael. June 29 and 30, 1897.
To-night the Feast of St. Peter is to be cele
brated by a dinner-party on the terrace. That
old statue of Jupiter in the great church across
the way, — now held venerable as a portrait of
St. Peter — is dressed in his best vestments,
his finest tiara, and wears his most sumptuous
sapphire ring on his stiff forefinger. As the
whole Borgo is under the protection of St. Peter,
I always make a little feast on his day. There
are many sermons preached about him ; I heard
an excellent one in a neighboring church. The
object of the saints' days is to keep alive the
memory of noble lives. Just as on Washington's
73

ROMA BEATA
Birthday the old stories of VaUey Forge and
YorktoAvn are recited year after year, so the story
of Peter is told on the 29th of June every year.
I was surprised to hear Signor Rodolfo Lanciani
say he thought it possible St. Peter had actually
been in Rome, and that in his opinion the great
church may cover his last resting-place as weU
as perpetuate his name.
Ripe figs are supposed to be eaten first on St.
John's Day, the 24th of June. Tradition says
that the first plate of figs was always presented
on that day to Pope Pius the Ninth. Either
figs are late this season or Pompiha has been
slow about finding them, for the purple figs
which were served with cold boiled ham for our
luncheon to-day are the first we have seen this
season. NaturaUy there was no second course
to such a superlative first. The terrace dinner
was a great success. The table was set under
the pergola covered thick with the second crop
of roses. We hung lucerne (brass lamps for
burning ohve oU) from the yellow canes of the
crossed bamboos and hghted the farther end of
our airy dining-room with colored lanterns.
Among the guests were Monsignor WiUiam
O'ConneU, director of the American CoUege, a
74

A VISIT TO QUEEN MARGARET
genial Irish- American priest, and Dr. William
BuU, physician to the American Embassy, guide,
phUosopher, and fidend of all wandering Ameri
cans. He is beloved of artists, a collector of
antiquities, a genial, not a melancholy Dane, a
Avise physician, and one of the most picturesque
figures in our Roman world. The sun was stiU
staining the sky when we sat doAvn. By the
time old Nena brought the ices from the trattoria
below, the fuU yeUow moon came up over the
Sabine HUls, flooding every corner A\dth its yeUow
hght. Below, in the baker's shop, the nightin
gale sang to the roses. Our best rose, il Capitano
Christi, is a very large, flat, pink rose, growing
on a stiff stalk Avith long, fierce thorns. It opens
wide as a saucer, and is of the most rapturous,
tender color. It is grafted on an excellent
commonplace red rose-tree, a generous and pro
lific bloomer, which yields a brave harvest, the
first to blossom, the last to Avither, always to be
depended on if I want roses in a hurry. The
Captain gives a rare rose, never more than one
at a time, but I know that it is to the Captain's
rose that the baker's nightingale sings.

75

IV
A PRESENTATION TO LEO THE THIRTEENTH
Palazzo Rusticucci, November 20, 1897.
Our mother, comfortably established in the
guest-room under the protection of ApoUo,
already feels at home in Rome. In the morning
she sits on the terrace in a gi-and hooded chair
we had made for her in that haunt of basket-
makers, the Vicolo dei Canestrari — the little
street of the basket-makers — are not the names
of the Roman streets delightful? After luncheon
we drive on the Pincio when the band plays,
in the Doria or the Borghese Villa, or, best of
all, on the Campagna. She shaU have enough
out-of-doors this winter! For a hundred years
English doctors have sent elderly people to
Rome, " where the effect of the air on the heart's
action tends to increase longevity." The old
here are uncommonly frisky. Mr. Greenough,
an octogenarian, trots up our stairs as if he were
twenty. On stormy days the mother drives to
76

The Pincian Gate and Wall of Rome
From a photograph

A PRESENT.VTION TO LEO XHI
St. Peter's and takes her Avalk inside the church.
It is so vast that it has a climate of its own, vary
ing only ten degrees in temperature during the
entire year, consequently it is warm in winter
and cool in summer. In August I put on a wrap
Avhen I go OAer there ; in January I take off my
furs ! SociaUy as weU as chmaticaUy Rome is an
ideal place for the old ; that horrid topic, age, is
properly ignored. I have seen a gentleman of
scA'enty-nine waltzing at a baU Avith a partner not
twenty years his junior. The example of the Pope
— always an old man — may have something to
do Avith this admirable energy of the elders ; the
age of the civilization probably counts for more.
Do not beheve what the papers say about
the Pope ; he is hkely to hve for years. Eighty-
scA'cn is the prime of life for pontiffs. Leo the
Thirteenth serves the Italian newspaper men
and foreign correspondents as the sea-serpent
serves ours. When news is scarce, when the
rich and great are veiled from the public eye
by reason of summer seclusion or wandering,
that blessed serpent, saUing into the sea of ink,
saves the situation. The reports of Sua Santita's
faUing health used to rouse my sympathy ; now
they only make me angry, because they hurt his
77

ROMA BEATA
poor old feehngs. He once said, on reading an
account of his approaching end in a Roman
paper, "Why do they wish me dead?"
Was not that pathetic? In spite of being
White in my politics, I feel a personal sympathy
for the Pope. We are such near neighbors, I
see the windows of his private apartment from
the terrace ; we both look down upon the piazza
of St. Peter's ; we have the same surgeon (Dr.
Bull took me to consult Mazzoni about a bicycle
ankle) ; I know several of his chamberlains ; we
both are left behind when the hot weather drives
the beau monde out of Rome for the summer :
you see, we have much in common; his not
knoAving it does not alter my feelings ; it 's one
sided, like a book friendship. I was in Rome
when Pius the Ninth died and Leo the Thirteenth
was elected. I remember how handsome Pius
looked lying in state, Avith his foot in such a
position that his red shpper (it had a cross
embroidered on it) could be kissed. I do not
remember much about the coronation ceremonies,
but I have a very clear impression of my pres
entation to Pope Leo in the winter of 1878,
very soon after he became Pope. The mother
refused to go : those stubborn Protestant knees
78

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XIII
would not bow down to Baal or to the Pope.
Our generation takes things differently, not half
so picturesquely. ^Ve say, " An old man's bless
ing is a good thing to have, whether he be a
lama fi-om Thibet or a priest of Rome." Two
other young American girls went with me ; there
were, aU told, perhaps twenty people presented
that day. We wore black, with such diamonds
as our mothers wovUd lend us, and Spanish
mantiUas. A few minutes before the Pope
entered a chamberlain made us aU kneel; then
Leo, dressed in white, Avdth a heavy gold chain
around his neck, from AA-hich hung a cross set with
emeralds, made the tour of the room, stopping
to speak to every one. The chamberlain men
tioned our names and nationality, the Pope asked
each of us to what church we belonged. My
place was next an emotional convert ; he hardly
noticed her, merely giving her his blessing and
passing on. He asked me where I came from,
said Boston was a famous city, inquired how
long I had been in Rome, wished me a pleasant
journey, and a safe return to my people. He
spoke longest to a httle Jewess who was at my
left — on the principle, I suppose, that we already
have our fidends, and should make friends of our
79

ROMA BEATA
enemies. We kissed his ring — a large iamethyst
— as we had been told, not his hand. I am not
sure whether it was Pope Leo or Pius the Ninth
who always asked strangers how long they had
been in Rome. When the answer indicated that
the stay had been for days or weeks, he said in
parting " Addio," when it had been months, "A
riverderd," — au revoir, — " because if you have
been here only a short time, you may not return,
but if you have been here for months, you are
sure to come back." I have heard it told of
both ; it very likely dates back to Gregory the
Sixteenth. Stories are immortal in Rome,
those from the " Gesta Romanorum " being stUl
current.
December 27, 1897.
Oh ! the terrace, the terrace ! Avith the white
hyacinths ablow, little starry bunches of narcissi,
pansies, a rare rose, and the yellow gourds of the
passion-flower hanging down through the crossed
bamboos of the trellis. Our mother feels the
fascination of the terrace life more ¦ and more.
Yesterday she asked me to buy her a small
watering-can, — ours are huge, — and to-day she
helped water the plants and weed the tulips. I
put the pots up on the wall for her where she
80

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XIII
could easily reach them, and she pulled out the
tender Aveeds Avith her beautiful hands. Bulbs
do not thidA'e so Avell the second year as the first.
The deludum of tlie hyacinths is gone with that
precious burst of youth. This season they bloom
soberly ; no more passionate, lavish giving, they
have left that behind, — hke some other flowers,
— but they do their httle, middle-aged best.
We had a merry Christmas. The .weather was
perfect : a gift, the first and best of all, of a clear,
bracing morning. " Give me health and a day,
and I AvUl make the pomp of emperors ridicu
lous."' Xo emperor being at hand, we went to
St. Peter's, walked up and down the side aisles,
had just a whiff of the high mass. Cardinal Ram-
poUa officiating, the Pope's angel singing the
soprano part phenomenally. His voice has a
pecuUar soaring quahty ; it seems to scale the
heights and knock at the door of heaven.
We met Boston society, as we always do when
we go to St. Peter's, — an old friend and his bride,
and a pair of pleasant Beacon Street neighbors.
February 11, 1898.
J. says "Rome is always festering {festa-mg)."
Between saints' days, national holidays, and our
6 81

ROMA BEATA
OAvn private celebrations there are rather too many
festivities. It is a pretty custom they have here
of celebrating the feast of the patron saint rather
than the birthday. The embarrassing question,
" How old ? " is thus avoided. It is also con
venient. On the feast of Santa Lucia I am re
minded to go and see Lucia di ViUegas and carry
her a bunch of flowers. I am sure to find Vilhno
ViUegas swept and garnished, the signora dressed
in her best, all smUes and sweetness. She has
been to mass and is ready to receive friends and
relatives. Anglo-Saxons are fond of saying that
the home does not exist in Latin lands. This is
not quite true. In Italy the home is less asocial
centre and more a famUy stronghold than Avith
us. An outsider is admitted to it only as the
last test of friendship. It has stUl a touch of
oriental feeling. It is the place where the women
belong, where they mostly stay ; it is jealously
guarded from strangers — from strange men
especially ; " chi va piano va sano ! "
Wednesday, the anniversary of our wedding-
day, was one long frolic. At nine we went up
to our play-house and played Avith our flower
doUs. In the evening we had a little dinner
of intimates. FUomena arranged a large horse-
82

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XIII
shoe in double violets and pansies between J.'s
place and mine at table " for good luck." In the
morning she brought me a basket of fresh eggs
from her people in the country and wished me
" cento di questi giorni (a hundred of these
days)." Even Pompiha, the cook, Avho has been
rather cross lately, gave us tAvo paper fans. In
the kitchen a fiascone of AAdne and a huge pane
ttone were on tap ; everybody who passed that
way drank our health. After dinner we sat over
the fire tiU past midnight teUing ghost stories or
hstening to J. C. (the Muse of Via Gregoriana),
Avho played divinely to us. It was a good day.
We do not have much music worth hearing in
Rome, so we doubly enjoy what the gods send
us. Sgambati's concert last week began with
that adorable overture to Fingal's Cave. Cotogni,
an old singer (sixty-eight is old to sing in con
certs), sang weU Avith the remains of a glorious
bass voice which he handled like a delicate so
prano. He is just back from St. Petersburg,
where he has been the director of the Conser
vatory for twenty years. I heard him again at
Mme. Patti's concert. They sang " la d dar em
la mano" from " Don Giovanni," which they had
last sung together in their early youth. The
83

ROMA BEATA
gaUant manner in which the old singer handed
out the diva was very nice. Mme. Patti is here
on a wedding-tour with her husband, — Baron
Cedarstrom, — a young Swede twenty-eight
years old, who used to take care of her throat.
She wore a pretty lilac dress which smelt of
Paris and the Rue de la Paix.
Signor Sgambati is responsible for the best
music we have. He is a true musician, a de
lightful composer, and the most enchanting per
son. Of course you know his compositions ; the
Boston Orchestra lately gave his symphony.
Some time ago he was on the point of leaving
Rome for London, where they were on their
knees for him to come : the musical people and
critics were waiting with open arms to receive
him. He went to the station, weighed his
luggage, bought his ticket, was just about to get
on the train, when he realized that he was leav
ing Rome ! That was more than he had bar
gained for ! It was one thing to go to London,
another to leave Rome ! He calmly returned to
his quiet house and his piano in the Via della
Croce, and has remained there ever since, the
friend of the Queen, of all true artists, of every
starving musical genius brought to his notice.
84

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XIII
That such a man should endure the drudgery of
giving music lessons is a fearful waste of fine
material ; the musical Avorld should make him
independent, as it made \Vagner.
If you only stay long enough in Rome you
meet everybody you ever heard of : all the world
comes here sooner or later. The best thing about
the social hfe is its cosmopohtan quality. Among
the people avc see most are a Greek woman (I had
almost AATitten goddess), a Dutchman, a Swede,
a Dane, a Turk, an Irish priest, and a French
Protestant pastor. American Protestant houses
are no-man's-land, neutral ground : we have
visitors of CA^ery faith and of aU parties. One
Sunday afternoon Mrs. Agassiz, the President of
Radcliffe CoUege, Mr. Peabody, the Master of
Groton School, and Mgr. O'ConneU, the Director
of the American CoUege for young priests in
Rome, chanced to meet at tea in my salon. There
are a dozen different chques, aU more or less linked
together — artistic, musical, political, sporting.
The people who form " smart " society seem to
me more cultivated than is usual Avith that class.
We have lately returned from an old-furniture
hunt at Viterbo. We found no furniture, but
the most picturesque Roman Gothic town I
85

ROMA BEATA
have seen. When I first knew Italy Viterbo
had a bad name for brigands. The railroad has
been open only four years ; I hear no more of
brigands, though I suspect several of my Viterbo
acquaintances once belonged to the band. The
place is not yet tourist stricken. We slept in a
grim caravansary and went to a viUanous trat
toria for our meals, where we were poisoned by
the food. A twenty-four-hour fast brought us
again into condition. Viterbo is a gray four
teenth-century town with massive stone waUs and
turrets. It has many handsome buildings, some
fair pictures, good Etruscan and Roman antiqui
ties, but the most admirable thing about it is its
wonderful completeness. Everything hangs to
gether architecturaUy, the parts are subservient to
the whole, the result — grace, harmony, repose I
Shall we ever learn the trick ?
From Viterbo we drove to the estate of the
Duke of Lante, one of the most famous Itahan
villas. The present duke has an American
mother and wife. We had a letter of introduc
tion from a mutual friend. AU the groAVTi-up
people of the family were absent. We were re
ceived by two tiny fairies in pink calico, who
took us each by a hand and led us through the
86

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XIII
garden to see the oaks, the famous bronze foun
tain, and the interesting house. I never have
had so lovely an escort or a kinder welcome than
the httle ladies of the ViUa Lante gave us.
February 26, 1898.
You AvUl hke to hear about a day of pure de
hght. I left home, duty, and famUy, and went
off Avith Donna Prima vera for an outing at Ostia.
We started at ten in the morning, returned at
six at night. I had been there before on my
bicycle — it is a capital road — but on that occa
sion I saw nothing except the Adew. Ostia is an
ancient Roman commercial tOAATi founded by
Ancus Martins, the fourth of the Roman kings ;
that takes it back to the sixth century b. c. The
ruins of Ostia are on the banks of the Tiber.
From here the fleets of merchant gaUeys saUed
away to Greece and Africa. I felt that I was
penetrating into the business life of the Romans
as never before. Of course, I knew vaguely that
there was a great commerce underlying the whole
vast scheme, supporting the army and the art,
but I was not prepared for the illumination I re
ceived in wandering through the old warehouses,
where we found rows of vast amphorae (earthen-
87

ROMA BEATA
ware jars) which had contained Avine, oil, and
grain. Trade was as important in the time of
Augustus as in the days of McKinley. The
fleets that saUed into the harbor of Ostia brought
nothing more precious than the marbles from
Paros and Africa. It is said of Augustus that
he found Rome a city of brick and left it a city
of marble. The threshold of the temple at Ostia
is a single slab of qfricano sixteen feet long, de
hcious in color — rose, gray, and black blended
in the most adorable motthngs. Signor Lanciani
teUs me they have lately discovered a large cargo
of precious marbles at or near Ostia which has
been Ijdng waiting perhaps two thousand years
for the hand of the buUder. I should hke to
have a piece of it. In Rome one learns to ap
preciate marbles. I point out the different
varieties to aU the friends from home whom I
pilot about the city (there are plenty of them),
and it is a rare thing to find one who knows the
difference between dpolUno and serpentina. TeU
that to the Kindergartnerins 1
April 16, 1898.
Waked up at daAvn this moming by the
rattling of cabs and carriages and the footsteps
of sixty thousand people going to St. Peter's to
88

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XIII
celebrate the tAventy-first anniversary of the
Pope's coronation. I had not meant to go, —
these functions ai-e such lui old story to me, —
but I could not resist the magnetism of the
crowd. The Borgo and the Piazza were black
A\dth people. Before the obelisk a double cordon
of ti-oops stretched across the whole Piazza —
gOA-ernment troops, you understand ; the gov
emment keeps order Avhen the Pope goes to
St. Peter's and is responsible for his safety. The
Borgo is perhaps the safest place to hve in that
exists ; I haA^e ncA er heard of any other so care
fuUy guarded. Inside the Vatican the Papal
troops keep order. At a certain point behind
the church two sentinels pace their beat, the
spot where they meet marking the line of the
exterritorial hmits of the Vatican. One sentinel
wears the King's uniform, the other wears the
Pope's ; they appear to be on friendly terms.
My ticket admitted me to the bronze door.
The crush going up the steps was terrific ; once in
side the church, aU was well. I never have knoAATi
a panic or a stampede in aU the many crowds I
have seen gather in the great church across the
way. In the days of the Caesars the Romans
leamed how to behave at a great pageant ; they
89

ROMA BEATA
have never forgotten the lesson. The Roman
crowd is the best behaved and most good-natured
in the world. Of course, there are always people
who feel the effects of being in such a crush ; I saw
three women faint and one man " tumble in a fit "
to-day. They were immediately carried to one of
the hospitals fitted up in various parts ofthe build
ing on all such occasions. It happened once that
a child was born in St. Peter's while a great func
tion was going on — I think it was a beatification.
An aisle was kept open, by means of movable
benches, leading from the Chapel of the Sacra
ment, which communicates with the Vatican, to
the papal throne, placed to-day for the first time
since 1870 under the chair of St. Peter at the
end of the basilica. The waUs were hung Avith
miles of crimson velvet and brocade. I like the
church better plain, but it made a " soomptuous
melee " of color. I saw the CroAvn Princess of
Sweden and the Countess of Trani, sister of the
Empress of Austria, in the tribune reserved for
royal guests. The costumes of the papal court
are simply enchanting. The red and yeUow
uniform of the Swiss Guard never palls ; it was
designed by Michael Angelo, who had some
taste. The chamberlains, some of whom we
90

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XHI
know, looked so handsome in black \'eh'et doub
lets and knee breeches, Avith stiff A\hite ruffs
and thick gold chains of office that it was hurd
to recognize them. The ambassadors wore their
best togs, the noble ladies (they are obliged to
go in black) aU their jewels. The plebs m their
AA'ay were quite as decorative as the patricians,
— peasants Avith goatskin trousers and doce,
monks and nuns of cA^ery order, flocks of students
fi-om the theological seminaries in the dress
Dante wore. The German students in ver-
mihon habits — the scarlet tanagers of the Roman
landscape — are the finest. The Pope Avas due
at ten ; at a quarter before eleven the cardinals
began to andve. Their dress is admirable ; it
never looks so weU as AA^hen they are marching
doAvn the aisle at St. Peter's. At eleven the
Pope appeared in the gestatorial chair carried
by eight lackeys in crimson brocade : Michael
Angelo, they say, designed this liAxry too. The
taU white feather fans carried in the procession
reminded me of a bas-relief on the walls of the
ruins at Karnak in Egypt representing the
Pharaoh going in triumph to the temple.
Pharaoh's chair was not unhke the sedia gestato-
ria, the feather fans seem identical, the triple
91

ROMA BEATA
croAvn of the Pope is very like the crown of
Upper and Lower Egypt worn by Rameses.
In the midst of aU this swirl of color imagine
Leo's alabaster face with the eyes of brown fire.
When he rose feebly to give the benediction
his hands looked transparent. There was even
more shouting " Viva il papa re ! " than usual.
The Pope is as exquisitely soigne as a young
beUe ; his valet, Pio Centra, — one of whose
duties is to taste everything his master eats or
drinks, — certainly knows his business. Centra
is a great personage and is koAvtowed to by the
people about the Vatican.
The Pope safely on his throne, I did not care
to wait for the service and watched my chance
of getting out. I edged my way to the vicin
ity of one of the exits and waited. I soon saw
a gigantic German student — he must have been
six feet six inches taU — who was evidently of
the same mind about going. I managed to
slip in behind him and follow in his wake.
When we were close to the door the press
was so great that I reaUy was frightened;
in another moment I should have been separated
from my giant. In desperation I seized the
streamers of red broadcloth that hung from
92

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XIII
his shoulders. He looked behind him, saw a
woman, fancied the de'U was after him, and
fled for his life, cleaving the solid wall of people
AAdth his mighty elbows. The faster he ran
the tighter I held on, tUl at last he brought us
both through that awful pressure — I thought
it would break my ribs — down the steps and
out into the piazza, where I let him go. I am
not sure which of us was the most frightened !
One of the Gnardia Nobile (the Pope's Noble
Guard) told me that in the year 1889 he was
on duty in the Pope's antechamber the night
after the dedication of the statue of Giordano
Bruno — a renegade Dominican or a great re
former, according to your politics — on the very
spot where in 1600 Bruno was burned at the stake
for heresy. The Pope was much offended, he
felt that the Church had been insulted ; there was
even talk of remoAdng the seat of the papacy
from Rome. That plan, if it ever was seriously
considered, was soon given up. The whole
matter had agitated the Pope tremendously,
and the people about him felt anxious about
his health. When the usual hour passed for his
hght to be put out they grew more and more
nervous. Eleven, twelve, one o'clock, stiU that
9S

ROMA BEATA
thin line of light under the door. Finally they
knocked. No answer. They gently opened the
door and saw the old man kneeling weeping at
his priedieu. Our friend, a man of the world,
had been deeply moved by that glimpse through
the open door. As for me, " 't is as if I 'd seen
it all." Like Pius the Ninth, Leo began by trying for a
liberal policy. The power behind the throne —
the faction of intransigentes — was too strong for
him. When he was elected Pope he wished to
give his benediction to the vast throng of people
in the Piazza from the window over the door of
St. Peter's, as his predecessors had done. This
was opposed, but a rumor spread through the
city that the new Pope stood firmly to his in
tention. The Piazza was crammed with waiting
people ; at the Quirinal the royal carriage stood
ready to bring the Queen to the Piazza to receive
the blessing. After a long delay those who
watched with glasses saw a small white figure
hurrying down the passage which leads to the
AvindoAv. The Pope was coming 1 Suddenly the
white figure hesitated, paused, turned back, re
treated. The way had been barricaded Avith
benches I 94

A PRESENTATION TO LEO XIII
Sovereign Pontiff, indeed I This was forcible
coercion !
AMien you stop to think about it, nobody is
quite free. The freest man I know is Scipione,
the travelling kiiife-gi-inder. He carries his tools
on his back, the open street is his shop, the people
he meets his customers. As I sat at Avork this
morning I heard the Avelcome sound of his cracked
bell. INIy knife being duller than even I can en
dure, I haUed him from the Avindow. He came
slowly up the long stair to the landing outside the
old green door, and bade me a civU good morning.
" We have not seen you for a long time, I was
afraid I should have to buy a new knife," I said.
Scipione let a few drops of water trickle from
the tap of the smaU can fixed above his wheel,
ran his finger along the edge of my penknife,
held the blade to the emeiy wheel, and began to
work the treadle Avith his foot.
" It is quite true, I have not passed this way
lately. You did weU, however, to wait for me.
Another might have ruined this reaUy desirable
knife, Avhose beauty and value the first comer
might not realize. " Under my admiring eyes, the
sparks began to fly from the wheel — who does
not work better when watched by admiruig eyes ?
95

ROMA BEATA
" That is a good trade of yours, is it not, Sci
pione ? " I said.
" E un arte civile, Signora. Non c'e ' boss ' ;
quando si vuole lavorare, si lavora, quando si
vuole reposare, si riposa (It is a civU art ; there is
no ' boss ' ; when one feels like working, one
works, when one wishes to rest, one rests)."
" You have not told me what kept you so long
away." " My grandmother has been Ul. Poverella,
there is nobody but myself to look after her."
Scipione is not so free as I had supposed !
" Where does the nonna live ? "
" At Carpineto, the paese of // Gran Ciociaro
over there," he nodded towards the Vatican.
" Nonna remembers his Holiness when he was a
lad. She was among those pilgrims from his
native toAvn to whom he gave an audience
the other day. What do you think he said to
her ? He asked her about the big chestnut tree
under Avhose shade he used to walk when he was
studying his lessons. Do you suppose that
pleased her ? There is no tree in the world that
receives such attention as the old chestnut tree
of // Gran Ciodaro at Carpineto."

96

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
RoccABASo, September 8, 1898.
We left Rome, the heat ah-eady somewhat abat
ing, on the 2d of September. Though we had
been so anxious to get away, it took an effort of
AvUl at the last. Action of any kind was abhor
rent, the dolce far niente had us in thraU. We
finaUy got off at nine o'clock one morning, and
arriAed here at seven the same evening, having
changed cars at Solmona, the home of OAdd,
where we had an hour and a half to see the sights.
Solmona is a good-sized town AAdth paved streets,
interesting churches, several inns, — at any of
which one might risk putting up, — and a market
place. Piazza Ovidio, where we bought a basket of
pears and a flask of wine : one or the other made
us very Ul ; it is much safer to bring along provi
sions for such a joumey. The train next passed
through a wide vaUey, one vast orchard, red
Avith apples " ripe and ready to drop " ; then the
engine began to tug, tug, up into the mountains.
7 97

ROMA BEATA
The road is a strategical railway, built not to
meet any demand of traffic or travel, but for the
transportation of troops.
"Roccaraso is the highest railroad station in
Europe," said the proud person in uniform
who took our tickets. Government OAvns and
operates all railroads ; the employes are gold-
laced, red-tape government officials ; this one
controls telegraph, mail, express — aU intercourse
with the outer world. We therefore forbore
to mention Brenner, the station in the Alps
between the Austrian Tyrol and Italy, which
I beheved to be even higher.
The toAvn of Roccaraso is above the station, a
castello perched aloft on a spur of one of the
upper Abruzzi. Below us is a wide, flat valley, aU
around us are crowding blue mountains, head
rising above head, like inquisitive giants peeping
over one another's shoulders. The air is like rare
fied electricity ; the water has been tested and
guaranteed absolutely pure — you know bad water
is the danger of these remote, primitive viUages.
Our friend, the Marchesa di V., asked the engi
neer who laid out the railroad (it has been open
only a few months) to find her a healthy place
for the summer. He recommended this un-
98

Roccarcuw
From a pencil drawing

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
knoAATi mountain fiistness. Here she retired
AAdth her bambini early in June. Having made
herself comfortable, she prepared to make us so :
hired a pleasant apartment for us, — it belongs
to the AvidoAV of the ex-mayor, lately defunct, —
ordered the landlady to give it three coats of
whitewash, engaged Elena, a .stout wench, to
scrub, do the hea\y Avork, and fetch water from
the viUage fountain, and bade us " come on."
V\^e caine, bringing our guardian angel Vittoria,
the taU seamsti-ess, to cook and take care of us.
Corneha, mother of the Gracchi, must have looked
hke our Vittoria — calm, gentle, AAdth rare sweet
ness and remarkable beauty. We sent up from
Rome oU, Avine, vinegar, and groceries enough to
last out our stay. The Marchesa has a loaf of
bread come by maU every day from Rome for
the babes ; she is a woman of resource, she does
the impossible, the only thing worth doing !
Elena's mother makes bread for us ; it is coarse
and rather hard, but it suits us weU enough.
This is the most primitive Italy we have yet seen.
Neither butter, meat, nor Parmesan cheese (quite
as important) can be had here. The wine is
detestable, vino cotto (cooked wine), brought up
in goatskins from the vaUey below on muleback.
99

ROMA BEATA
We are above the grape and ohve belt ; our
meat comes twice a week from Castel di Sangro,
four miles off ; our butter, every other day, from
Pesco Costanzi, two miles away, via the girls
express established by the Marchesa.
Our apartment (it costs fifteen doUars a month)
is over the viUage school ; it has its own separate
entrance, through a grim paved court-yard,
where Vittoria keeps the turkey or chicken she
is fattening for us. You ring a bell ; whoever
is within pulls a string which lifts the latch.
You go up two flights of massive stone stairs
to reach the living part, where we have a decent
bedroom, a fair, formal salon, dining-room, and
a kitchen — such a kitchen ! The ex-mayor's
family must have lived in this room, except on
high days and holidays, when they perhaps sat
upon the deceitful parlor chairs and sofas —
which had all been pasted together for our
benefit and broke doAvn at the first trial. The
kitchen is an immense, smoke-broAAmed room,
with a big fireplace at one end, where all the
cooking is done. Copper pots and kettles hang
from the iron crane, a spit stands on the hearth,
strings of red peppers swing from the rafters.
There are no bellows ; to coax the blaze, Elena,
100

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
the vestal, kneels and bloAvs through a long iron
tube, her breath coming out through the mouth
of the snake's head at the end. It is cold to
night ; the kitchen is the only warm place ; I
am AA-riting close to Elena's rousing brushwood
fire. Outside there is a howling Avind, inside
a leg of mutton revolves slowly on the spit.
Every moment I expect to see the King of the
Golden River bloAv down the chimney and beg
for a shce of that savory roast.
Roccaraso, September 16, 1898.
We are hving in the pastoral age ! Each
famUy in Roccaraso supphes its OAvn needs, asks
httle of its neighbors and of the outside world
— nothing but salt, AAdne, and oU. Life is set to
the tune of " The Poor Little SwaUow." We
wake in the early morning to " ptyvera rondinella,
O povera rondinella ! " sung by the women and
girls trudging up from the vaUey with bundles of
fagots on their heads for the winter woodpiles.
They are busy preparing for the long, cold season,
Avhich faUs early hereabouts. Acorns for the
pigs, fodder for the cows, goats, and sheep, dried
peas, beans, and com for the humans must all be
carefuUy stored away. For several davs we have
101

ROMA BEATA
watched the women AAdnnoAving the chaff from the
wheat. At sunrise yesterday half a dozen girls
started, each with a heavy sack of grain on her
head, to walk to the nearest grist-mill, seven miles
away. At sunset they came back carrying the
precious flour, which must be preserved with
extreme care. Good or bad, it is their mainstay
through the severe winter ; if it should mildew,
they would eat it all the same, wdth the fear of
the dreadful pellagra in their hearts.
The government doctor, who goes periodicaUy
about the country to visit the sick and is an
intelhgent man, — standing rather too much on
his dignity for comfortable intercourse, but a
perfect mine of information, — says that pella
gra, endemic in some parts of Italy, comes
from the poor food the people eat, chiefly
from the mUdewed flour. It is a skin disease,
which produces a painful red eruption, and all
sorts of nervous and other horrors. From the
autumn when the few green vegetables they
raise are consumed tiU they are again ripe the
fbUoAAdng summer, the people hve on polenta,
made of cornmeal, macaroni, potatoes, dried
peas, and sheep's-milk cheese. In case of ill
ness a little meat to make broth is procured,
102

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
otherwise the diet is A^egetaidan, except on Christ
mas and Easter, Avhen several families club to
gether to make a feast, and one peasant kills a
sheep or a goat, having agreed with his neighbors
which part of the animal shall be allotted to
each. We have made friends AAdth our opposite neigh
bor the beUe of Roccaraso, a modern Penelope.
We found her at her loom as usual, in a tiny stone
cottage, the floor plain, trddden earth, the waUs
roughly plastered inside. She is even prettier
seen close at hand than through the window ; she
wears the Roccaraso dress — you know each
vUlage has its OAvn special costume. This is
plainer than many of them, but good and appro
priate. OA^er her head she wears a square of
linen edged Avith lace, folded to cover the neck
and lower part of the face (older women are
particular to hide the mouth), a full skirt of dark
homespun, a black apron, and a bright jacket,
shoAving a colored kerchief and a fuU white
shirt. "WiU the gentry do me the favor of enter
ing?" she gently invited us.
" We would not interrupt your work."
"Enter, enter!" 103

ROMA BEATA
" If you wiU go on with your weaving."
She sat doAvn at her loom before a web of
rough hnsey-woolsey and shot the shuttle
threaded Avith red linen across the woof of
black wool. We ordered a dress pattern of the
same stuff as that she was weaving, and some
heavy white flannel striped with corn-flower
blue, delicious in color and fabric.
" The signori are North Americans, yes ?
They come from Pittsbourgo ? " Penelope began.
" North Americans, yes, not from Pittsburg."
She was disappointed, but a visiting-card partly
consoled her.
" How do you call yourself? " J. asked.
" Mariuccia, per servirla."
" This yarn you weave AAdth, Mariuccia, teU us
where it came from ? " She seemed astonished
at the question, took a distaff from a nail, and
showed us how she used it.
" 'Gnor, I made the yam with this rocca ; so,
how else ? "
" And the wool, where did you get that ? "
" 'Gnor, from my OAvn sheep."
" Can you spin flax also, and weave hnen ? "
" Altro ! " She lifted the cover of an old mar
riage-chest — it smelt of lavender.
104

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
"Behold my corredo." The chest held the
linen she had aaovcu for her marriage, — towels,
sheets, table-cloths, and napkins, enough to last
her hfetime.
"See what Andrea sent me for Natale"
(Cliidstmas). She took out of the cassone a pair
of high-heeled, pointed-toed boots — they would
haA'e crippled her in a Aveek — and a pair of
American storm rubbers.
" The accursed ones of the Dogana forced me
to pay three francs duty upon these original
shoes ; in confidence between us two, I cannot
wear them."
"The doce are better for you. Where did
these come from ? "
" My husband, he sent them to me."
" From Pittsbourgo ? "
" 'Grnor, si, he is a cutter of stone at that
place." " Why are you not Avith him ? "
" 'Gnor, the great fear of the sea. Besides,
Andrea is a good husband, he sends me money
every month from Pittsbourgo."
There you have the secret of Mariuccia's
superiority : Andrea is a good husband and sends
her money from Pittsburg, therefore she alone
105

ROMA BEATA
of aU the women is exempt from work in the
fields. She is personally neat and keeps her two
rooms clean. Her cousin, a slatternly creature,
liAdng next door, and evidently the beauty's
guardian, — asked us into her house. In spite
of our curiosity to see interiors we quaUed at the
threshold of that hovel inhabited by the village
naturale (simpleton), who is brother to Mariuc
cia's cousin, a large turkey gobbler, and several
hens. As we took leave, Mariuccia shyly pulled my
sleeve. " When the signori return to America
they will take a passeggiata one day to Pitts
bourgo to see my Andrea, yes ? " she whispered.
"Figlia mia, from our paese it would take
twelve hours' traveUing, even by the raUroad, to
reach Pittsbourgo." Mariuccia smiled incredu
lously, she did not believe us but was too polite
to say so.
J. says that when Mariuccia goes to mass she
carries the American shoes on her head (I think
when he met her she must have been taking
them to show to some friend) and wears doce on
her feet. To fit the doce to the foot of the
wearer, a square of cowhide, with the hair stiU
on, is soaked in water till it becomes soft and pli-
106

Marta. a Vestal of the Abruzzi
From a pencil drawing in the CoUection of Mre. Whitman

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTiVINS
able ; a hole is then made in each of the four cor
ners of the hide ; the foot is placed on the damp
leather, leathern thongs are passed through the
holes and wound round and round the leg and
tied at the knee, so that the ciociari, as the
Avearers of the cioce are called, go cross-gartered
like Mah^olio. AVhen the coAvhide is dry it has
taken the shape of the foot, and this simplest of
aU footgear is ready to wear.
The flat pad worn on the head to support the
water-jar is Mariuccia's pocket. It is the obvious
place to carry things. When there is no heavier
burden of wood or water, her knitting or door
key takes its place. I sent Elena with a packet to
the Marchesa to-day — of course, she put it on
her head. As it contained nothing but chiffon,
the wind sent it whirhng, and Elena said " Sfortu-
nata ! " Her httle sister, Tina, three years old,
balances a block of wood on her head and toddles
alongside Avhen Elena goes to draw water at the
fountain ; she is learning the art of burthen-bear
ing. Marta, who is six, — the age at which the
A'estals were admitted to the novitiate, — has
sole charge of the household fire. When her
mother and grandmother toil up from the vaUey
with their mighty loads of fagots, Marta trots
107

ROMA BEATA
gaUantly beside them under her small load of
brush for kindling.
" Why does not your brother, Francesco, help
to carry up wood ? " we asked Marta. She shook
her firm little head :
"'Gnor, questo non elavoro da uomo (That is
not man's work)." Francesco is eight ; his hair
is a golden fleece, his cheeks are red apples.
I notice that no man carries weights on his
head ; if by a rare chance he has a load to carry,
he takes it on his back. We asked the doctor if
the splendid port of the women came from the
caryatid act. He said it was possible, but that
the price was high. " So many of the poor crea
tures die of consumption. Only the strongest
resist." Here is the survival of the fittest with
a vengeance !
We are good friends Avith the sindaco of Roc
caraso, a social soul pleased AAdth an opportunity
of enlightening the stranger. His viUage has a
population of seventeen hundred, mostly old
men, women, and children. Four hundred of the
young men are in " Pittsbourgo," most of them,
like Andrea, stone-masons. Others are stable-
strappers at Rome or Naples. The only able-
bodied men we have seen at work are the barber
108

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
and the blacksmith. The women do practically
aU the work of the community ; they dig, plough,
sow, and reap. The free, proud beaidng this gives
them is wonderful ; their beauty surpasses belief.
IMichael Angelo's sibyls spin at every street cor
ner, Raphael's INIadonnas suckle their children at
CA'^ery doorway. The old women are either strong
and upright, hke Elena's grandmother, or, if they
go to pieces and crouch into withered crones, it
is Avith an admirable sombre dignity. We have
only once been begged from : a very old woman,
— she looked hke Vedder's Cumeean sibyl, —
evidently iU and suffering, and distinctly not a
professional beggar, after looking furtively about
to see if any one were in sight, laid hold of
the hem of my dress and asked for money. She
touched her hand to her hps before and after re
ceiving it, as they do in the orient. We fancy we
come across other traces of Saracen influence (they
overran this part in the Dark Ages) in three-
year-old Tina's tiny frock covering her doAvn to
the feet, and the way the women hide their
mouths when a stranger passes. In a toAvn to
the southward the women wear veUs, which they
draw half over their faces when out of doors.

109

ROMA BEATA
Roccaraso, September 25, 1898.
Still in this sublime place, keyed up and braced
famously by the fine air. No, the name is not
Roccarasa, though the mistake is perfectly natural.
Roccaraso is an abbrcAdation of Rocca del Rasino,
rock ofthe Rasino, the name ofthe stream running
through the valley. The walled, fortified town
was founded in the fifth century ; it has changed
very httle since. Late this afternoon we stumbled
up the badly paved street, passed out under the
ancient gateway between the two ruined towers,
down the steep, stony way to the sheepfolds at
the foot of the hiU. The girls were waiting to
milk the flocks driven up from the vaUeys and
down from the hiUs by the shepherds and their
dogs. From the distance came the song of the
" Little SwaUow " played on a pipe by Francesco,
who tends a composite flock of sheep and goats.
In the early morning Francesco passes through
the toAvn calhng his herd together. At the
sound of his voice four brown sheep fUe doAvn
the steps from the house opposite, a black goat
and five white sheep patter out from Mariuccia's
spare chamber — the very sheep whose wool is
being spun and woven for my cream-colored
flannel. This evening Francesco and his flock
110

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
reached the folds before all the others. Mariuc
cia's shaggy black goat made an odd grunting
noise as it Avalked.
" Do aU the goats here haAe such strange
voices ?" Ave asked Francesco.
" 'Gnor, no, this animal Avas brought up AAdth a
htter of pigs ; in this manner he learned their
language." Elena's grandfather, Giacomo, the chief of the
shepherds, came in next, leading his bhnd cosset
lamb and knitting as he walked : a taU, stern,
gnarled old man, AAdth white hair and keen eyes,
over six feet taU, past seventy years old. His
dress is handsome and substantial : dark blue
homespun knee breeches, jacket and leggings,
Avith sUver buttons ; a wide felt hat, and a long
black cloak lined AAdth green baize. He has two
dogs, lean and fierce, with wiry white hair,
pointed noses, and careworn faces. They have
heaAy coUars studded with sharp iron spikes.
" Good-evening, Sor' Giacomo, how goes it ? "
" 'Gnor, badly. Last night the wolves carried
off the calf I was fattening for Christmas."
" Where were the dogs ? "
" They keep watch at the folds ; the calf was at
my cottage." He counted the sheep as they fUed
111

ROMA BEATA
through the wicket into the pen. " Vent' uno,
venti due; it is early for wolves, but — one under
stands it — yesterday I met the padre of Pesco
Costanzi." " What has that to do with your calf or the
wolves ? "
Sor' Giacomo shrugged his shoulders and went
on counting his sheep. We understood: the
priest of Pesco Costanzi has the " malocchio "
(evil eye).
" How many are your sheep, Sor' Giacomo ? "
" Trenta (thirty), as you see."
"It was not always so; formerly there were
more ? "
" 'Gnor, si. When I was Francesco's age my
father had five thousand sheep in his care. In
those days we of the Abruzzi raised wool for
the whole kingdom, for the world, if you AviU,
Now it is finished : these poor, miserable ones
scarcely suffice to clothe Roccaraso."
" Why is this thing so ? "
"Why? because of an infamy. Understand,
since that castello was built, — who knows how
long ago ? — since that time at the season when
the white (snow) comes, when the earth sleeps, we
of the Abruzzi have always had the right to drive
118

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
our sheep down to the plains of Apulia, there to
graze through the Avinter. In a moment the
thing is changed, the old right is taken away, we
are forbidden to drive doAvn our sheep. But is
the Avinter chiuiged ? are the wohes banished ?
does the gi-ass grow all the year in these moun
tains ? I tell you it is finished."
Giacomo is right, it is finished ; he is one of
the last pastoii Abritzzcsi. It is a pity; fourteen
centuries of herding sheep have produced a pur
sang I haA'e not often seen. The people here
abouts haA'e that proud look of race that the
Bishereen of Egypt and some of the American
Indians have. " 3Ioglie e buoi ai paese suoi
(AviA'cs and cattle from your oAvn country) " is a
rule rarely broken. The old shepherd-kings of
the Abruzzi married only hUl women, scorning the
effete race of the plain, the vitiated blood of the
cities. Giacomo cannot understand a people
particular q,bout the breeding of horses and dogs
careless about the breeding of men. He said to
his granddaughter Elena:
" What ! you wish to marry that poor, sickly
feUow, Paolo ? Do you think more of yourself
than of your famUy? Lucky for you your
parents were not so selfish and imprudent."
8 113

ROMA BEATA
Elena has given up Paolo. She wants to go
to Rome with us, to earn a little money to add
to her dote, so that she may have pretensions to
make as good a marriage as Mariuccia! The
mariage de convenances, you see, is as much
the rule among the Italian peasants as among
the aristocrats.
We walked to Pesco Costanzi yesterday
through the green valley, where the hobbled don
keys were grazing, and OA^er a golden pasture
infested with talkative geese. All the able-
bodied women were at work in the glorious fields,
threshing oats, shelling corn, di-ying beans. In
the village, humpbacked, crippled, invalid women
sat at the doors of their dark cottages making
lace. The Marchesa first discovered the survival
of an ancient lace industry in this hamlet. In
the days of the Medici, girls from Pesco Costanzi
found their way to Florence, on some sort of
scholarship, and brought back the art of lace-
making, and the fine renaissance patterns of that
time which the women make to this day. We
like it better than any peasant lace we have seen,
and have ordered several patterns of it, the doctor ^
undertaking to remit the money and deliver the
goods. 114

IN THE ABRUZZI JMOUNTAINS
On the way back to Roccaraso Ave passed by the
tiny hamlet of Pietro xVnzieri, Avhere we saw a
man ploughmg a desolate patch of land with the
forked bnuich of a tree shod Avith a long iron point,
a primitiA'e kind of plough I remember to have
seen represented in an Etruscan wall painting.
We loitered by the Avay, Avatching the lone man
at work, Avhereat he stopped, leaned on his plough,
and haUed us with the best Bowery accent.
" Say, are youse from the Yernited States ? "
" Oh, yes, we are North Americans."
" Of course ; I see that. I come from New York
myself. How you like Pietro Anzieri ? Too
slow for me ; I only come to see my old mother ;
go back next month ; got a job at Pittsbourgo."
He was a hearty feUow, twenty- two or -three
years old, a good type of the Abruzzi peasant,
plus the American expression.
" How long haA'e you lived over there ? "
" Since I was a leetle boy — eleven or twelve,
I dunno." The doctor says that most of those who go out
to America imder the age of twenty take root in
our country and stay there. Men of thirty only
remain long enough to " make their pUe," coming
back to Italy to grow old and spend it.
115

ROMA BEATA
Roccaraso, September 28, 1898.
To Castel di Sangro this morning: a gay
market-town set in a flowery meadow beside a
small river widening below the bridge into a
pond where the women were washing clothes. I
thought I recognized a pink shirt being beaten
between two stones as one of J.'s, which Elena
ought to have herself washed. Her aunt hves
here. Perhaps she is a washerwoman ! We were
puzzled by the name, Castel di Sangro, — the
castelli are all hiU toAvns, — till we learned that
the inhabitants several hundred years ago de
serted the original Castel di Sangro, perched
on a hiU even harder to climb than Roccaraso's,
and moved, bag and baggage, doAAm to the plain
and founded the present toAvn. The fibre of the
race had softened since the founders built that
cxwaibYmg castello ! We climbed to the top ; the
Adew was well worth the stiff walk. The old
toAvn is now a city of the dead. Long lines
of black numbered crosses mark the graves.
Where they stopped a wide, deep open trench
began. An old fellow, a sort of rustic sacristan,
who had come up to clean the church, was the
only person in sight.
" What is that trench for? " we asked him.
116

IN THE ABRUZZI MOUNTAINS
" 'Gnor, who can teU which of us it may serve
as a bed ? In summer we prepai-e for winter ;
when the earth is fi-ozen hai-d we cannot break
her crust to bury the dead." He went back to
the church and began to toU the beU.
Looking doAvn, we saw a funeral procession
hke that in Siegfried climbing slowly up the
narrow, steep mountain path. We went down
by a steep track on the other side to avoid
meeting it.
AVe limched at the inn ; J. ordered trout (the
stream is ahA-e AA-ith them), which were served
pickled ! Everything else was very good. It
was a market day, and the toAAm was fuU of
people ; one dealer Avished to sell us a horse,
another offered a cow Avith a crumpled horn.
Everywhere the women were busy making
conserva di pomodoro ; outside the Asdndows of
nearly every house were wooden bowls fuU
of mashed tomatoes evaporatuig in the sun.
This conserve is the staple condiment of Itahan
cooking, as necessary as butter or Parmesan
cheese. The tomatoes are reduced to a stiff
red paste, which keeps indefinitely and is used
to make tomato sauce, to dress risotto, spaghetti,
cardofi, served in every conceivable way. Being
117

ROMA BEATA
so concentrated it makes a much richer sauce
than you can get from canned tomatoes. When
we got back to Roccaraso we found that Vittoria
had begun to prepare our Avinter supply of
conserva — it takes days to make it. This gives
the house a pervasive fragrance of "golden apples"
and produces a comfortable sense of household
thrift. There is a fuU moon to-night: a white mist
marks the line of the Rasino ; it is too late in the
year for nightingales : from the valley comes a faint
snatch of music, played on a shepherd's pipe,
"povera rondinella, O povera rondinella!"

118

VI
SCANNO
Roccaraso, October 1, 1898.
Last Monday morning, having decided quite
suddenly to go to Scanno, we applied to the
sindaco for horses and a guide.
" For to-morrow, yes, I wiU arrange every
thing ; for to-day it is not possible."
" Why ? The weather is fine, it is only nine
o'clock. If we start at noon we shaU be in
time." " Pazienza, Signori ! I teU you it is not pos
sible. The horses are at Pietro Anzieri thresh
ing oats. The guide has gone to seU a pig at
Castel di Sangro ; it is market day."
" There must be other horses. Do you mean
to say there is but one man in Roccaraso who
knows the road to Scanno? Even Mariuccia
has been there."
" Doubtless ! many of our women went there
last year on a pUgrimage. It is not easy to find
119

ROMA BEATA
a man who knows the way: it is a horrible
mountain traU. I myself, Signors, born in Roc
caraso, have not seen Scanno."
" We shall start at twelve to-day, if we have
to walk and take Mariuccia for a guide."
I was sorry for the sindaco, a progressive man,
with a dim sense at the back of his head of a fu
ture for Roccaraso if the mad forestieri take a
fancy to it. He puUed his long ginger whiskers
and considered.
" There is Fra Diavolo, brother of him I would
send AAdth you ; possibly he knows the way, but
I take no responsibUity."
" Send Fra Diavolo and the horses at noon,
and the responsiblhty shaU be upon our own
heads." He shook his head, pained but indul
gent. The Avays of the forestieri are becoming
knoAAm to him, and their lack of that virtue of old
people and old peoples, pazienza !
At quarter to twelve Fra Diavolo was at our
door, with a vicious mule and pack-saddle for
me, a weak-kneed, blind horse vpith prehistoric
trappings and saddle-bags for J. We soon left
the dazzling white road, struck across a grassy
valley, and entered a wild, stony gorge, which
reminded us of the Colorado Canyon. The path
120

SCANNO
is the worst I have seen outside of Palestine.
We soon dismomited and let Fra Diavolo lead
our beasts. He had to be \ery careful, lest they
should break theu- legs. The Avails of the ravine
towered on either side of us ; to the left the
granite rocks, Avhich form the summit, seemed to
have been shaped into Gothic battlements, tow
ers, and buttresses. I could hardly believe that
nature, and not one of the Sangallo family (the
famous arcliitects), had been the designer. The
trees are of primeval groAArth. The gorge is
crossed by open plateaus and glens covered with
ancient oaks and beeches. At three o'clock we
halted in a fairy deU beside a spring. The
water ran through a trough made from the hol
lowed trunk of a tree. A pink-nosed sheep was
drinking — the only brave sheep I ever saw, — I
had a hand-to-hand battle AAdth him to get my
share of the water. Afterwards J. and I sat
doAvn to rest and contemplated the traU, which
here divided into two.
" Which is the way to Scanno ? " we asked
our guide.
" Who knows, Signori ? " said Fra Diavolo.
" Do not you ? "
"No more than yourselves." 121

ROMA BEATA
"Why did you say you could show us the
way :
" With the tongue one may go to Sardinia."
" But we have been walking three hours ; for
the last two we have met no living creature ex
cept these sheep."
" Where there are sheep there AAdll be a shep
herd," said Fra Diavolo.
" Povera rondinella, povera rondinella ! " The
familiar air was played on a shepherd's pipe.
" What did I say ? " growled Fra Diavolo, a
really cross person.
We came upon the shepherd a minute later.
He sat with his back against an oak playing on
a pipe ; near him a goat Avith one hind leg in
splint cropped the grass. They both seemed as
tounded at seeing us.
" The way to Scanno, ^^/20 mio ?"
" This is not the path. Where have the Sig
nori come from ? Roccaraso ? it is not possible !
You have come by a trail only fit for goats and
asses. Why did you not take the mule-path?
That is easy enough."
" WeU, for certain excellent reasons we did
not take the mule-path, but we are going to
Scanno aU the same." 122

SCANNO
" Truly ? Then take the loAver path — of an
unimaginable badness ! AVith good luck you
may reach Scanno by Avc Maria."
Ave Maria is a little puzzling till you learn
that it vaides AAdth the season of the year, and is
ahvays celebrated fifteen minutes after sunset.
By this time the gorge Avas in shadow, and
though it is one of the most beautiful places on
earth, and aa'c knew we should never see it again,
we pushed on as fast as we could. At sunset
we toiled up the high hUl on which Scanno is
perched. It is an old, gray, waUed toAvn ; the
gates stood open. At the fountain just outside
the gateway a dozen women and girls were draw
ing water. The moment I saw them I cried
out, " They look like Greeks." I can hardly tell
what gave the impression. J. says it was the
head-dress ; I think it was their expression.
Their bearing was as free and noble as the Roc-
carasans', but less friendly. They took no notice
of us, showed nothing of that kindly animation
and curiosity we usually find, though travellers
are scarce in these parts. I only know one per
son who has been here — Enrico Coleman, the
painter. I question if either Mr. Baedeker or
Mr. Hare have seen Scanno. Edward Lear was
123

ROMA BEATA
here in 1856 ; his visit is the last I have found
described in guide-bookery. Here, I believe, he
met that old person of Abruzzi, " so blind that
he could not his foot see. When they said,
' That 's your toe,' he replied, ' Is that so ? ' that
doubtful old man of Abruzzi."
He had a certain stoicism, you see, like our
silent women at the fountain. Before going to
the inn we stopped at a delicious gray stone
church near the gate, pushed aside the heavy
leathern curtain, and looked in. The church,
decorated for a festa, blazing with candles, was
full of kneeling people ; three priests in superb
vestments were officiating at the altar. The air
was gray with the smoke of incense ; the cracked
organ and harsh-voiced choristers were in fuU
blast. Somehow, the sumptuousness of this ves
pers service was extraordinarily moving. Coming
suddenly upon it after our pilgrimage over that
lonely trail made it doubly impressive.
The inn was filthier than we should have be
lieved possible ; our rooms had not been made up
since the last occupants departed. The food was
incredibly bad ; even the spaghetti, dressed with
rancid oil, was uneatable. The poor landlady
was so mortified at our not eatuig things, and
124

SCANNO
brought in the spaghetti with such an air of
triumph, that Ave waited until her back was
turned before we threw it out of the window
into a httle, dark back street, where the dogs de-
A-oured it. VA^'e supped on the ends of bread and
cheese from our saddle-bags, and raw eggs, — the
cooked ones, hke the spaghetti, tasted of rancid
oU. One of the first things to learn, if you mean
to travel in the byAA-ays of the world, is how to
take raw eggs. If you are sure of your glass,
break your egg into it, put a pinch of salt on the
tongue, and swallow white and yolk whole. If
the glass is doubtful, you must go back to first
principles, and suck your eggs as the rats do ; if
they are fresh, like the Scanno eggs, there is no
better way of taking them.
AA^e were so tired Avith our six hours' tramp
that we went to bed at half-past nine — and got
up again at ten ! Sleep was impossible ; the
pleasures of the chase only were ours that night.
We made ourselves as comfortable as we could
on chairs, wrapped up in the rugs without which
we have learned never to travel. In the dim
watches of the night J. invented a portable bed,
draAAdng the design AAdth a burnt match in the
back of Baedeker the faithless, who only says
125

ROMA BEATA
that Scanno is the most interesting point in the
Abruzzi, and makes foolish remarks about how
high it is, the circumference of its lake, and such
dry details. While J. was designing the portable
bed, I planned a foot-note to Baedeker, about
Scanno. We made out better at breakfast than at sup
per. Remembering the saying, " An egg, an
apple, and a nut, you may take from any slut,"
we ordered boiled eggs, potatoes roasted in the
ashes, and some raw apples. Afterwards we
walked about the toAATi and visited the market
place, where we had a good chance to see the
strange costume of the women. The head-dress
is a curious black turban covering the whole
head ; the hair shoAAdng behind the ears and be
low the turban is tightly braided with bright-
colored wool — red, green, yellow. I fancy each
color has its significance ; perhaps one is for maids,
one for matrons, one for AAddows. The short skirt
of heavy green cloth plaited at the waist is very
full, the bodice of dark blue cloth has large leg-
of-mutton sleeves and fastens with pretty silver
buttons. The high linen chemise shoAving at the
neck is edged AAdth handsome lace {real, of
course, they quite properly scorn the machine-
126

SCANNO
made variety). Nobody offered to make friends
with us ; the Avomen held themsehes proudly
aloof: this Avas fine, but not encouraging. The
whole place is graAe, gi'ay, dignified ; there are
some important-looking houses, one belonging to
a rich merchant has an air of solid well-being and
thrift. Next time aa^c shaUtake the advice ofthe
sindaco and haAe pazienza ! If we had given
him twenty-four hom-s' notice, he would have
sent word to the JNIayor of Scanno that we were
coming, and we should not have found things
as we did at the inn. We also should have had
"to pay through the nose," so perhaps it was
just as weU to see Scanno for once au naturei.
We walked to the lake of Scanno, a mile from
the toAvn, an irregular sheet of water with misty
reflections of the bare gray mountains towering
above it and the tender wUlows on its banks. In
the little chapel of " L'Annunziata," on the edge
of the lake, we found hundreds of votive offerings,
sUver hearts on one side of the shrine, on the
other discarded crutches and trusses, hung up by
grateful sufferers miraculously cured of their aU-
ments. These reminded us of the temple of
Juno at Veii. A^ou know the great Etruscan
town near Rome, where we saw and bought
127

ROMA BEATA
those lovely Etruscan terra-cotta heads, votive
offerings which the priests of Juno buried in a
trench behind the temple when the walls were too
full to hold more. I wonder what the priests
of Scanno do with the overplus of crutches ?
Outside the chapel we found raspberries, just
hke our red raspberries, only black ; they are deli
cious. The lake and the raspberries refreshed us
somewhat. The spell of the place — far from the
beaten track of travel, where we were neither
wanted nor expected — was very strong, but we
were so worn that we shrank fi'om the terrors of
another night at the inn, and our boots were so
knocked up by yesterday's climb that we could
not face the hardships of the trail. We consulted
Fra Diavolo ; he was gloomier than ever.
" If the forestieri are so fastidious, they might
go to Naples, the giornaliere — diligence — avUI
start in an hour for Anversa, where they can get
the train."
" Ma come si fa ? What will become of you,
the horse, and the mule ? "
" Yesterday I brought these abominable ani
mals as well as yourselves safely over that in
famous devU's road. To-day I return by the
proper road, fit for a Christian, not merely for
128

SCANNO
goats and asses," he began angrily ; then a thought
struck him and he changed his tune :
" It is true there ;u-e greater dangers in going
by a strange road than by one, however poor,
that one is acquainted Avith. The animals are
the sindaco'.s, and more valuable than the fore
stieri realize. A\''ould they abandon me in this
strange pacsc, AAdiere I lune no relatives, not
CA'cn a friend ? Hearts of stone ! At least they
must pay a man to help lead back these poor,
abandoned ones, which they may despise, but
AA'hich the sindaco doubtless finds useful."
To see Fra DiaA'olo work himself into this
state of righteous indignation was well worth
the price we paid a man to help convey the
blind horse and the lame mule back to Roccaraso.
As the dihgence did not leave for an hour, we
saw the caravan start, Fra DiaA'olo riding the
horse, the Scannan foUoAving upon the mule.
The carriage road leading down from the town
is quite as steep, if a trifle smoother, than the
trail ; on one side there is a sheer drop of a
hundred feet to a stony gorge below. The
driA'er of the giornaliere was very drunk ; the
harness of one horse, a restive gray, was ma^f
almost entirely of an old clothes-line. As soon
9 129

ROMA BEATA
as we started the gray sat down like a circus
horse, his front feet firmly planted in the road be
fore him, whereupon the clothes-line traces broke.
" What did I say, Manfredo ? " cried the driver
to the guard. " Would it not have been a sin
to put a good harness on this cavallacdo male-
detto ? I tell you he has never been driven
before. Would it be sensible to waste good
leather traces upon this brutta bestia ? "
" Zitto, Orlando ! " said the guard, who was
sober. I am afraid I screamed to be let doAvn from
the box seat.
"Neither horse, harness, nor driver is fit for
the road if the voyagers wish to reach Anversa
alive," J. said firmly ; " send them back immedi
ately and proAdde others, or I AviU appeal to the
sindaco." A little, dried-up man scrambled out from the
stuffy interior of the giornaliere and joined the
fray. " The Signor Marchese is right, Manfredo ;
send Orlando back with that hangman's brute.
The return diligence will be here in ten min
utes ; we will take one of their animals, and you
yourself must drive." We waited a fuU half
130

SCANNO
hour for the incoming stage. In the crowd of
loiterers that quickly gathered we recognized
the man avc had paid to help Fra Diavolo lead
the aniinals back to Roccaraso. " What have
you done AAdth the mule of his Excellency ? "
J. asked. The feUoAV pointed to the trail. " He
is on his way home. Fra Diavolo found he
could manage both beasts A-ery well alone."
AA^hen the other stage arrived, Manfredo per
suaded its driver to exchange one of his horses
AAdth us, and Orlando Furioso to change places
with him. A fat arch-priest put doAAm the
Avindow and looked out.
" AA^'hat in the name of all the saints is the
matter AAdth that caoI horse ? "
" Illustrissimo, the animal is like one of your
selves, — he does not like to work," said the thin
little man, a laAAyer from Scanno.
" Grazie, grazie (thank you)," said the arch-
priest, taking the chaff in good part.
Once we had started, everything went like
magic. The driAC from Scanno to Anversa is
as fine as the Cornice or the Sorrento drives. It
is mostly down hill, and took us just three hours ;
the return trip takes five. I had been almost
afraid to sit outside lest, after our sleepless night,
131

ROMA BEATA
1 should go to sleep and fall off, but the great
gray mountains and the grim gray gorges kept
me awake. The road runs nearly aU the way
beside the riA^er Saggittario, which has more
moods than one would have imagined possible
in a single thread of water. Sometimes it
dashes, white and angry, over a rough bottom
between rocky sides ; then it spreads out into
clear pools, " alive AAdth trout," the laAAyer said.
Sometimes it is green and fuU of fight, some
times brown, still, and lazy. We saw an eagle
light on a crag far over our heads. We were
really dazed with the wonders we had, seen by
the time we reached Anversa, where we took the
train. We had to go all around Robin Hood's
barn, so that we did not get home to Roccaraso
tiU after dark.
On our way from the station we were over
taken by Mariuccia, who was eager to hear how
we had fared.
"Aime, 'Gnor', when I saw Fra Diavolo re
tum with the animals and without your illus
trious selves I was much afflicted ! The inhabi
tants of Scanno sono gente mai educata, e di
nessuna fede (people without breeding or good
faith). The sindaco himself was much alarmed,
132

SCANNO
good man ; I must take the news to his house
that you haA'e returned safely."
-' What is that you are can-ying on your head,
Maiduccia ? "
" 'Gnor a, it is a little chest." It was the most
fascinating little cinque cento chest I ever saw,
half the usual size, finely carved, and looking as
if it might be meant to hold jewels or treasure, as
indeed it was.
" To whom does it belong ? Where are you
taking it ? " I touched it with my bare hand :
it was encrusted AAdth earth.
" It belongs to one who is forgotten. I am
taking it to the house next yours. It is for una
povera creatura morta (a poor dead child). The
mother AviU give the cassetta a thorough cleaning,
and it avUI be as good as when it was first put in
the ground."
" Good-night, Mariuccia ! it is cold, we must
hurry." " A ndiamo presto : Let us hasten; I too am
in fretta (a hurry) ; we must carry the infant to
the church to-night."
There was no getting rid of Mariuccia ; the lid
of the chest clap-clapped AAdth every step she
took ; the thing smelt of mortahty.
133

ROMA BEATA
" Where did the chest come from ? "
" 'Gnor a, a few years ago when they buUt the
raUway an ancient cemetery was disturbed. The
bones of those who had been buried were all put
into the new graveyard, and such of the coffins
as were whole were stored in that old ruined
church. AVhen the very poor have need, they
help themselves. I am taking this to my cousin,
but I would not have it known by the neighbors,
so I waited till dark, and, as you see, I am tak
ing it home by the quietest way."
We were at last at our own door.
" Buona notte, Mariuccia."
" FeUdssima notte, 'Gnora."
J. says things have changed very httle since
he made his first trip through the Abruzzi in the
early eighties. He AAdth two other artists went
first to Saracinesco, where they stayed at the
house of Belisario, the son of an old model of
Fortuny's (the great Spanish painter). They
had heard about the place from another Roman
model called Fagiolo or the Bean. When Fagiolo
was a boy, his father gave him a large bag of
beans one morning and sent him out to plant a
field. It was a fine, bright day, and the boy,
meeting other boys, decided to put off his work
134

SCANNO
till afternoon and went off birds'-nesting. Sud
denly the sun began to set and he realized that
he had done nothing Avith the beans. He hurried
to the field, and digging one deep hole buried aU
the beans ; then he went home.
"You are late, my son. Where have you
been ? " asked the father.
" There were many beans ; I have planted
them all," said the boy. By and by, when it was
time for vegetables to come up, the father was
very much troubled that nothing came up in the
bean-field. One day he discovered in the farth
est corner a perfect thicket of tangled, spindly
beans. From that day the boy was known as
Fagiolo. The three artists were invited by Fagiolo to a
feast, which J. describes as the most primitive he
has ever shared. They found the family aU
gathered in the large living-room of a rather
superior peasant's house. The floor was of
mother earth, otherwise the room resembled our
own glorious kitchen at Roccaraso ; there were
golden-broAATi bladders of lard and strings of garhc
hanging from the ceUing ; in front of the open
hearth were hand-Avrought andirons with little
cages at the top in which the pipkins of food were
135

ROMA BEATA
kept hot. Fagiolo made them welcome, and his
AAdfe having announced that the polenta was ready,
the husband literally laid the board. The guests
and the family seated themselves, the children
on wooden stools, the groAvn-up people on rush-
bottomed chairs, and Fagiolo took a large board
from the corner. With a knife he scraped off
the dried meal sticking to it out at the door, the
fowls gathering to feed upon the scrapings. Then
he passed his hand across the board and, finding
it comparatively smooth, laid it upon the knees
of the company, who were sitting in a circle.
Next he took from the crane, where it hung over
the fire, a large three-legged iron pot of polenta
(hasty pudding) and emptied it upon the board.
His wife with a long pudding-stick spread out
the mush to the proper thickness, then each
person staked out his claim by drawing a circle
in the polenta with a leaden spoon. The small
est child, they noticed, drew the biggest circle,
and J. confesses to having drawn the smallest.
Next Fagiolo took from the cage in the andiron,
where it had been keeping warm, a saucepan
filled with snails stewed in brown gravy, and
helped each person to a share of the snaUs, put
ting it doAvn carefuUy within the hmits of the
136

SCANNO
circle. That was all the feast, except the inevi
table vino di paese. Avhich reaUy takes the place of
meat with these people.
By the advice of their host, Belisario, the ar
tists had given their money to Fagiolo to keep,
as he Avas knoAvn to be honest, and would be less
hkely to be suspected of having it than Belisario,
in whose house they were staying. After the
snaU feast Fagiolo went off to the inn. Flattered
by the honor the strangers had done him, he
drank more than was good for him, and began
to boast of the money, several hundred francs,
the painters had confided to him. The sum
grew in teUing to several thousand, and the news
getting to Behsario that Fagiolo had boasted at
the irm, he begged the artists to depart without
delay, saying that he could no longer be respon
sible for their safety.
"The signori must depart, but to-day, at
once ; and yet they must appear not to depart."
"Explain yourself. How is it possible to
depart and to appear not to depart ? "
" Ma, e semplidssimo ! The illustrious ones go
out to sketch every day, is it not so ? Well,
to-day they go as usual, but they do not return,
and these dggs will believe that they of Olevano
137

ROMA BEATA
have robbed them. The signori must make
haste to reach Tivoli before dark ; there are
brigands about ; the carabinieri are on the look
out for them."
" Nobody ever troubles artists."
" For a good reason, they are not usuaUy worth
meddling with. If it had not been for that
cabbage-headed imbecile, Fagiolo ! Ask him if
I teU you the truth."
Fagiolo was even more frightened than Beh
sario. He actuaUy wept.
" Per carita, my Signors, depart ! depart ! If
you hope to see another day, if you would not
see your poor Fagiolo, who has served you faith
fuUy, put in prison for your murder."
The three artists started, carrying their sketch
ing kits, wearing their red berrettas (flat red
caps, something like Tam o' Shanters). They
took the precaution to tuck their soft felt hats
inside their waistcoats, and, leaAdng the rest of
their traps to be sent after them, set out merrily
on their sixteen-mile tramp to Tivoli. The road
was most beguiling ; it leads through Vicovaro
along the river Anio — doAvn which floated the
mother of Romulus AAdth her immortal twins —
past " Cold Digentia," where the winter birding
138

SCANNO
nets were set on Horace's Sabine farm. Is it
AA'onderful that they loitered ? that they even
delayed to make un leggero bozzetto (just a note)
of a smaU gray castello perched like an eagle's
nest on the top of a high hill ? A white path
zigzagged up to the gate, an ohve-grove clustered
at the foot of the hiU, a row of stone pines ran
along the sky line. The mere " bozzetti " grew
into serious sketches. All at once they saw out
lined against the sky a long procession of peas
ants coming back from their work in the fields
below. The women — riding in pairs upon the
patient mules and asses, hung Avith beUs that
jingled at every step — were singing the litany,
the men made the responses in their gruff voices.
"Ave 3Iaria, gratia plena."
" Ora pro nobis ! " then came the guttural
" angk, angk ! " ofthe men, and the blows of their
heavy sticks upon the backs of the poor beasts.
" They are singing the Ave Maria, which means
that it must be late," said the eldest of the three
artists, the Spaniard, Catherez. " We must be
going." It was nearly sunset, and they were not half
way to Tivoh. They exchanged their berrettas
for their felt hats, and began to walk in good
139

ROMA BEATA
earnest. Soon after dark they met a band of
carabinieri, who brought them to a halt.
" Where do you come from ? "
" Saracinesco."
" That is so likely ! From what inn ? "
" It should be knoAATi to you that there is
no inn there where one may sleep. We stayed
at the house of Belisario."
" Where are you going ? "
"To Tivoli."
It began to rain. They thought they had
answered enough questions and were impatient
to be off. J. was the first to move. A guard
caught him by the coat and began to feel of
him suspiciously.
" What have you got there ? " He puUed
out the innocent berretta. " A disguise ? What
do honest men want with disguises ? Have you
any papers to prove that what you say is true ? "
They had all taken out sportsmen's licenses
before leaving Rome, but, unfortunately, they
had mixed the papers up. Ricardo ViUegas
loftily presented a license describing J.
" How is this ? English ? fiA^e foot eleven ? fair
complexion? By the mass, these papers are
stolen! This man is no Inglese. He is not
140

SCANNO
above five feet scA'en, and he is as dark as a
JNIoor. In the name of the King, I arrest you."
They were mai-ched off to Tivoli, to spend
the night in the vast, biu-e guard-room, where
every hour the grave carabinieri came and
went in squads, as the guards were changed.
In the morning they were aUowed to send tele
grams to their respective consuls in Rome, and
by ten o'clock they AA'^ere set at liberty, AAdth a
warning to be more careful in future.
The artists suspected, justly or unjustly, that
the weather had much to do with their arrest.
It was a miserable evening, when three possible
brigands in the hand might be reckoned as
worth more than a whole band in the bush !

141

vn
VIAREGGIO— LUCCA — RETURN TO ROME
Viareggio, October IS, 1898.
The long mole runs far out into the sea, the
light-house stands at the extreme end ; here we
watch the fishing-boats come in every evening,
the sailors poling them along the mole to their
harborage in the river. They buUd boats at
Viareggio ; the real interest of the toAATi, quite
apart from the watering-place life, centres in the
weatherbeaten sailors, the cumbrous craft AAdth
their rich colored saUs, the smeU of tar, oakum,
and fish. This morning we watched a pair of old
salts calking the seams of a dory ; they had a
fire and a pot full of black bubbhng stuff, "pitch,
pine, and turpentine." It is late in the season
for sea-bathing ; this morning we were the only
people who braved the pleasant cool water.
There is a fine beach with a gradual slope and, as
far as I have discovered, no undertow. Last night
we walked hi the pineta, the wonderful old pine
forest that embraces Viareggio, spreading out in a
142

VIAREGGIO — RETURN TO ROME
half cu-cle, sheltering it from the north winds and
leaving it open to the kindly influences of the sea.
Viareggio is fuU of memories of Shelley; we
saw the place where his body was washed ashore,
where TrelaAATiey found and burned it in the old
classic fashion. AA-^e heard the question discussed
whether the yacht Don Juan was lost by accident
(she was a crank boat) or had been run down
by a felucca, whose piratical saUors believed Lord
Byron to be on board Avith a chest of treasure. I
suppose we shall never know the truth, so as I
am loath to think Ul of any saUor, I shaU go on
beUcAdng it Avas an accident.
It is strange to find ourselves again on the
high road of travel, after the loneliness of the
Abruzzi. Since the days of the Phoenicians, in
vading armies of Huns, Goths, Longbeards,
palmers, pUgrims, and their descendants, tourists
and tramps have patroUed every step of the road
we are now travelling.
We drove from Viareggio to Lucca, two and
a half hours, through the beautiful Tuscan coun-
-fcy in its gloAving harvest colors, — every farm a
glory, Avith heaped barrels of grapes waiting to be
trodden into AAdne, strings of yeUow, yeUow Indian
com and scarlet peppers hanging over the fronts
143

ROMA BEATA
of the houses. The way led through an olive
grove : all about us were twisty witch trees, a misty
gray wood in which one looked right and left for
Merlin and Vivian. Then came a chestnut for
est, the great bursting burs fUled with big shiny
Italian chestnuts. We stopped at the house of a
vine grower known to our driver, and asked
leave to visit the vineyard. The proprietor, a
taU lean man, AAdth a touch of the faun about him
(J. wants to paint him as the god Pan) welcomed
us cordiaUy. The large Tuscan speech strikes
sweetly on our ears after the clipped Italian of the
Abruzzi. Even the working people in Tuscany
have a certain elegance in turning a phrase which
southern Italians of far greater culture lack.
Nothing could be more up to date than this
Tuscan vineyard, almost as tidy and progressive
as the German vineyards. That, after all, is the
great thing about traveUing ; you Adsit not only
different countries, but different ages. A thou
sand years lie between my friend " Pittsbourgo 's "
Etruscan method of ploughing, at Pietro Anzieri,
and the system on which this neat thrifty Tuscan
vineyard is run.
"Those look like American IsabeUa grapes!"
we exclaimed. 144

VIAREGGIO — RETURN TO ROME
" They are what they appear to be," said the
vignajuolo; "behold an experiment I Many of
my best vines were destroyed by the phyUoxera,
an obnoxious insect Avhich girdles the roots so
that the vines die ! Do you think I would aUow
myself to be A'anquished by a mere insect? I
send to North America for these hardy vines
which have so bitter a root that the vile insect
touches them not. I graft the native Italian
grape upon the American vine and wait. Mean
whUe, untU I am sure of my grafting, not to lose
all profit, I allow the American vines to bear
grapes from which I make wine of some sort. I
teU you in confidence, it is only fit for contadini
to drink, I woxUd not offend you by offering
it to you. Ma, pazienza ! by and by, I shall
cut back the vine to the grafting, and the native
Adne wiU flourish upon the American root !
Then I shall have a Avine worthy to offer vostra
signoria ! "
Here is progress for you ; here is a man not
satisfied to do as his fathers did ; here is a country
of to-day, a people with a future !
Having made the^Vo of the vineyard, we came
back to the large stuccoed farmhouse which had
originaUy been painted a violent pink ; now the
10 145

ROMA BEATA
color, softened by sun, rain, and time, is a rich
variegated yeUow. With a gracious gesture, our
host threw open the door, and stood smihng in
the sun, the matchless human sunshine of Italy in
his dark shy face. When he talked about his
vines he had been aU animation ; the ceremony
of inviting a lady into his dweUing was rather
irksome to him.
" The signori will do me the honor of entering
my poor abode ? " He showed us into an apart
ment only a shade less austere than the waiting-
room of a convent. It was clean, cold, and of
a frightful bareness. Let us hope there was an en
chanting kitchen — like our never-to-be-forgotten
kitchen at Roccaraso — somewhere in the offing,
where our handsome Pan might take his ease.
"The signori Avill do me the honor to try a
glass of my wine ? "
J. asked if he had any wine of Chianti. He
laughed. " Eccellenza, shaU I teU you the truth ? I
have tuns of wine which I shaU seU for Chianti.
AU JOM forestieri know that name and demand
that wine. The real wine of Chianti would not
supply the toAvn of Lucca. Chianti is a small
paese ; its wine is good, who shaU deny it ? but
146

VIAREGGIO — RETURN TO ROME
not so good as that which you will honor me
by ti-ying ! "
I held out for a glass of the " Americano " ;
it tastes rather like the unfermented grape juice
we have at home.
Lucca at last ! a dear, queer, delightful old
town Avith ramparts and fortifications in fine
preservation. It has a delicious slumberous
quality : its glorious days are in the past ; its
mediseval AvaUs effectuaUy shut out the rustle
and bustle of to-day. My earhest chUdish im
pressions concemmg Lucca centre about certain
long thin glass bottles bearing the words " Sub
lime Oil of Lucca," always in evidence at home
when there was to be a dinner party. Cross Ger
man Mary, the SAvarthy culinary goddess of our
youth, used to hold one of those deceitful bottles
gingerly in a clawhke hand, letting the sublime
liquid trickle drop by drop into the yeUow
mixing-bowl wherein she compounded salad
dressing such as I have not since tasted. Later
in life I was once delayed by a crowd on State
Street, Chicago, outside a wholesale warehouse
on which was written in large letters " Cotton
Seed Oil." I had to wait for a moment whUe
147

ROMA BEATA
a crate fuU of spick and span new empty bottles
with fresh gold labels bearing the famUiar legend
"Subhme OU of Lucca" was carried into the
warehouse ! Can you solve me that mystery ?
During our first dinner in Lucca, I inevitably
demanded " un poco di quest 'olio sublimo."
" Ecco lo qua, Signora (behold it here, lady),"
said the fat waiter, offering a famihar straw-
covered flask of oil, just like those we have in
Rome. Sublime Oil of Lucca in long, thin, de
ceitful bottles is not to be had in Lucca !
My second impression of the toAvn is con
nected with another cook, the excellent PompUia :
she was born here and first went out to service
AAdth a great lady who lived in Florence in the
AAdnter, and at Bagni di Lucca in the summer.
I have often been made to feel my inferiority to
that lady, and enjoyed a certain revenge in refus
ing to drive out to see Bagni di Lucca, whose
fine hotels and bath establishment do not tempt
us. We prefer Lucca and the "Universe," a
queer old caravansary, whose limitations we en
dure in that transcendental spirit with AA'hich
Margaret FuUer accepted the larger universe.
The hotel has been a palace of some importance :
our bedroom is of the size and character of the
148

VIAREGGIO— RETURN TO ROME
stage of Covent Garden Theatre, when set for
the last act of OtheUo. The gloomy majesty
of the frirniture is quite appalling; the tAvo stu
pendous beds could easily accommodate the
whole family of children at Orton House.
The first day we drove out into the neighboring
country, where we found the same joyous harvest
atmosphere we left in the Abruzzi. The town of
Lucca is meUow A\'ith another harvest, the great
art harvest of the renaissance ; pictures and
marbles that strike us fresh and strong fi-om the
dead hands that made them, not too familiar
like the more famous works of Florence and
A'^enice. We never before knew much of Matteo
CiAdtahs, the statuary; he is now our loving
fidend for hfe. Fra Bartolomeo, the Lucca
painter, we already knew, though not so inti
mately as now. We have put in some days of
hard sightseeing. Did I say hard? no, splendid,
soul inspiring. I feel as if I had put my lips
to the fountain of life, and dravpn deep draughts
of inspiration. There are great churches, grim
St. Romano and San Michele, the cathedral
with its precious jewel, the tomb of Ilaria del
Carretto, one of the most lovely monuments of
the renaissance. As we lingered near the tomb
149

ROMA BEATA
the old sacristan approached; he eyed us anx
iously before speaking.
"The signori are interested in sculpture?"
We said that we were. " If their exceUences
have time, I wiU gladly show them what the
church contains of interest to the amateur."
How often he must have been snubbed and
hurried by breathless tourists !
"A thousand thanks. We have come to
Lucca partly to see the cathedral of St. Mar
tino ; figure to yourself if we have time ! "
The withered old face broke up into the
tenderest smile ; it went to one's heart that he
should offer so timidly a service so precious.
We spent the morning mousing about the
church seeing all its treasures in the meUow
glow of the old man's enthusiasm.
" The illustrious ones have heard, perhaps, of
a certain English Avriter who calls himself
Ruskino?" We said that we knew Ruskin's books. He
flushed Avith pleasure. " He was my friend ;
more than thirty times he visited Lucca, and
he never came AAdthout making a sketch of the
tomb of Ilaria."
We go into the cathedral every day to look
150

VIAREGGIO— RETURN TO ROME
at Ilaria, where she sleeps in marble effigy,
flower crowned, immortally young and lovely,
just as Jacopo della Querela, the sculptor, saw
her, nearly Ua'c centuries ago. The tombs of
Lucca remind one of the memorial tablets of
the Street of Tombs in Athens. It is hard to
say just where the resemblance hes ; in form and
manner there is httle in common, the resem
blance is of the subtler, deeper sort ; a spiritual
not a material likeness !
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, October 16, 1898.
We found our dear old palace very much as
we had left it, save that Ignazio, the gardener,
had suddenly, and Avithout orders, added one
hundred pots of flowers to the terrace. The
difficulty and fatigue of watering this hanging
garden of Babylon sometimes seems more than
J. and I and Pompiha, our horticultural cook,
can manage. Yet I cannot regret the addition
which promises many new delights. — chrysan
themums among them. Pompiha asked many
questions about what we had seen in our wander
ings ; she cannot forgive us for not having driven
out to Bagni di Lucca ! She tells me that she too
is a great traveller. 151

ROMA BEATA
" Sa, Signora mia, ho viaggiato per tutto il
mondo. Da Lucca a Firenze, da Firenze a
Lucca, da Lucca a Firenze, e poi a Roma!
Know, mistress, that I have traveUed aU over the
world, from Lucca to Florence " (the distance is
about fifty mUes), "from Florence to Lucca," etc.
Our first visitor after our return to Rome was
Sora Giulia, the dark-eyed Jewess who keeps
an antiquarian's shop in the Borgo Nuovo, a
few doors away.
" Welcome home, Signora. I have brought
you a few occasioni (bargains) ; a piece of lace,
well, wait tiU you see it, un oggetto unico!"
Nena took Sora GiuUa's baby whUe the anti
quarian untied her green damask bundle of old
lace and hnen.
"Behold, Signora mia, this priceless flounce.
How weU it would become you on a vesture of
ceremony ! "
She spread out with a caressing touch a deep
lace flounce of Milan point. It was indeed " an
unique object." The sacred letters IHS and aU
the emblems of the Passion were Avrought into it
AAdth wonderful freedom of design, — the ladder,
the cross, the mallet, and so on. It had CAddently
been made for an ecclesiastic. 152

VIAREGGIO — RETURN TO ROME
" It is truly a splendid piece of lace, Sora
Giuha, but is it not knoAvn to you that such a
flounce may only be worn by a sacerdote?"
" I preti sono poveri! "
"Not all priests are poor. Show it to Don
INIarceUo." " Ma chi — , he buys no longer, he has to
seU. But you, Signora, you are not like these
others. Eh dica, lei e veramente Christiana ?
(Say, are you reaUy a Christian ?) "
Was not her eagerness not to have me a Chris
tian patheticaUy significant ? My mother remem
bers her Hebrew master, a scholarly Jew, taking
hurried farewells of her in order to get back to
the ghetto before the gates were shut at eight !
" I cannot buy this flounce. I could not wear
it if I did."
"Per carita, then look at this reticella."
(LiteraUy " smaU net," a coarse white netting
with designs worked in by hand.) " The for
estieri are mad about reticelle, they are buying
them aU up to make table-cloths and piUow
covers. Soon it AAdU be impossible to find them.
I never saw a better piece, you shaU have it
at your oaati price. In confidence, the padrone
di casa says if he is not paid his rent to-day he
153

ROMA BEATA
wUl turn us out. What a bad season we have
had I No traveUers since June. Those Floren
tine antiquarians put lies in the papers about
there being plague or cholera, or some such
porcheria in Rome, just to keep the voyagers
away from us. We rnake nothing ; but Ave
must eat and pay our rent all the same ! The
padrone. ..."
" With respect, he is an infamous beast, they
aU are. Madonna mia ! " Nena broke in. When
she took Sora Giulia's part I knew that the
antiquarian was reaUy in straits. We bought
the reticella for the sum due the landlord, and
Nena went doAATistairs to the baker's shop to
change the biU.
" Sora Nena will tell you that I speak the
truth. That brute of a padrone extorted her
rent yesterday, took her last centedmo. What
is the result? I tell you, this morning Nena's
daughter had nothing to eat for her breakfast
but one raw lemon. In consequence, the child
at the breast has colic, which is riot strange."
"What about the child's father ? "
" He is a muratore (mason), but he gets no
work. Sora Nena gives him to eat as weU as
his AAdfe." 154

VIAREGGIO — RETURN TO ROME
Nena is a Venetian, and she takes snuff. She
has other faults but I hear oftenest of these from
the other servants. Before we went to Roccaraso
I asked her if she had ever owned a silk dress.
She laughed at the question ; " silks were not
for the likes of her," etc. In parting I gave her
a cast-off black satin, AAdth rather peculiar wide
stripes. The first Sunday after our return
PompUia went to mass in the satin dress, and
poor pathetic little Nena in her old snuff-stained
cotton goAvn. When I asked an explanation,
she said that she had sold the satin to the cook:
" PompUia can afford to wear sUk ; I ask you,
whom has she in the world belonging to her ?
Some cousins, who send her a basket of flowers
on her festa ! She puts every soldo she can
scrape together on her back. Well, let that
console her for being a zitella ! " If you could
haA'e heard the spiteful hiss of her zitella (old
maid). Nena has a daughter, an idle son-in-law,
and seven grandchildren to support, but she pities
PompUia, who has only herself to think of !
" When the forestieri come, you wiU recom
mend me to them ? " said Sora Giulia in parting.
I can do so AAdth a good conscience. If she
guarantees a candlestick to be silver, you may
155

ROMA BEATA
be sure it is not merely plated. If a bargain is
struck she will keep her side of it ; as much can
not be said of aU her Christian confreres among
antiquarians. It is strange how the antichita mania attacks
people in Italy. Every one we know collects
some manner of junk. A friend of J.'s who goes
in for old coins was driving near Girgente, in
Sicily, through the wildest, most primitive coun
try. A peasant digging in a field offered him a
handful of coins, moist AAdth mud, just tumed up
AAdth the spade.
They were aU ancient Roman coins, copper or
silver, familiar and not particularly valuable, with
the exception of one rare Greek goldpiece which
he bought for a large price. Afraid of being
robbed, he took the next boat for Naples, pushed
on to Rome, where he had been passing the
winter, showed his treasure trove to an expert,
and learned that there were but three others
known to be in existence : one in Berlin, another
in the British Museum, a third in a private col
lection. When he reached London, he showed
his coin to the gentleman in charge of the col
lection at the British Museum. They compared
it with the specimen in the case. The Girgente
156

VIAREGGIO— RETURN TO ROME
coin seemed as good a specimen ; as a last test it
was put under a powerful lens, which showed it
to be a brand new imitation !
The Muse of A^ia Gregoriana, J. C, has a
catholic taste and buys all manner of things from
empire furniture to sUver lamps. Her last craze
is for peasant jewelry. She " acquires " — one
does not buy antiquita — every piece she can lay
her hands on. Some of the designs are excellent ;
the jewels are mostly flat rose diamonds, garnets,
and misshapen pearls set in sUver. Out of half
a dozen odd earrings she AAdU construct you a
charming ornament, necklace, pendant, what not,
and seU it to you at a smaU profit, which she de
votes to helping young Roman musicians, several
of whom owe their education to her. I call that
a pleasant combination, to make your hobby carry
your charity.
I beUeve Rome is the best place in Europe to
buy jewels, because princes as weU as peasants
are continuaUy throwing them on the market.
One day our jeweUer, Signor Poce (he lives in a
httle shop in the Corso, near the Piazza del Po
polo), showed us a set of the finest emeralds I
have seen in years. He said they belonged to
some great lady who was obhged to part with
157

ROMA BEATA
them. That night we met those emeralds at a
ball ! they were in the shop again the next morn
ing ! Don't be too sorry for the lady : she is a
sensible English woman ; and we happened to
hear that she has lately redeemed a long-neglected
estate belonging to her Roman husband, and is
putting in modern improvements in the way of
oU and wine presses. It is the same with the
poorer people. What you read about the peas
ants parting AAdth their precious possessions, furni
ture, laces, jewels, is true, but it is only part of
the truth ; they are seUing them to buy better
things — health and education ! When you read
about the heavy taxes, remember what they pay
for ! What Italy has done since 1870 is as
wonderful as what France did in paying off the
war debt to Germany out of the farmers' stock
ings. Reading and AArriting are better than pearl
earrings. The Tiber embankment, alone, cost
the Romans a pretty penny. It spoUed the
picturesqueness of the river — the sloping banks
covered with trees and flowers must have been
wonderful — and it did away with the Roman
fever ! The river used to overflow its banks
every spring and to flood whole districts of the
city. J. remembers boats rowed by saUors going
158

The Tiber, at the Ponte Nomantana
fwom a pbotograph

VIAREGGIO — RETURN TO ROME
about the Piazza Rotonda and jflong the \da di
Ripetta, carrying bread to the people in the sub
merged houses. A^^hen the riAcr receded, " came
the famine, came the fever." When I was in
Rome for the fu-st time, as a girl, I had a bad case
of old-fashioned Roman fever. Since my return,
I haA'e seen Suora Gabriella, the dear nun who
nursed me so faithfuUy (she really saved my life)
through that long dreadful iUness. In speaking
of the character of the work done by the nursing
sisterhood to which she belongs, she said, " Since
there is no more fever, the character of our work has
changed somewhat ; we now take surgical cases ! "
The doctors and hotel-keepers claim that Rome
-is the second healthiest city in Europe, having the
lowest death rate after London. If this is true,
we owe it to Garibaldi, for he it was who urged
the Romans to buUd the Tiber embankment, —
their best monument to his memory.
October 25, 1898.
This morning, Maria, the porter's wife, was
announced. She had come on " ambasdata "
from the AAdfe of the wine merchant opposite.
"You remember the poor httle gobbetto (hunch
back), Signora ? the one who has brought you so
159

ROMA BEATA
much luck, since that day when you rubbed his
hump ? "
" I remember him, yes ; what of him ? "
" He is very iU ; he suffers much, cannot sleep,
cannot eat. One sees aU his bones ! His mother,
poor woman, prays that you will ask the Ameri
can Marchesa who lives at the Palazzo Giraud
Torlonia to lend her carriage for the transporta
tion of the santo bambino (the holy child) from
the church of Santa Maria in Aracieh, to her
house." "But why does she want the santo bambino
at her house ? "
"After that blessed image visits his bedside,
the poor gobbetto AAdU either recover or find re
pose in death. It is too terrible tp see him
suffer ! "
" Is this thing which you teU me true ? "
" It is most true, as you will see."
I knew the poor crippled child, had one day
taken him up in my arms. Maria, seeing me,
had supposed I knew the superstition that it is
lucky to touch the back of a gobbo.
" Will it be permitted to bring the bambino to
the house ? "
" If a carriage can be sent of the proper style
160

VIAREGGIO — RETURN TO ROME
— there must be one servant on the box and
one to walk beside, there must be two horses ;
an ordinary hu-ed cai-riage fi-om the piazza will
not do."
" If the JNIarchesa consents ? "
" The bambino, attended by two priests, Avill
be brought to the gobbctto's bedside. Then the
thing wUl soon be over for the poor child — one
way or the other ! "
I went on the errand to my neighbor, Mrs.
Haywood. (The Haywoods having a title from
the Vatican, she is caUed Marchesa by the poor
people of our quarter, but among her American
fidends she remains Mrs. Haywood.) She is a
kind woman and an excellent neighbor. I found
her at home in that splendid old Palazzo Giraud,
built in 1503 (some say by the great architect
Bramante), occupied by Cardinal Wolsey when
he was papal legate. J.'s studio, by the way, is
in one wing of this palace. Mrs. Haywood gave
me tea in the hbrary, one of the finest rooms in
Rome. It has a balcony running around it,
fUled with rare books and manuscripts, for Mr.
Haywood is a great bibliophile.
I told her my " ambasdata." Though she was
kindly sympathetic, she said " no " firmly, then
n i6i

ROMA BEATA
explained. The Haywoods are the only people
in the Borgo (outside the Vatican) who keep a
carriage. When they first came to live here,
they began by lending it Avhenever it was asked
for, to bring the santo bambino to the sick.
They soon found that, if they ever wished to use
their carriage themselves, they must make a hard
and fast rule to refuse all such requests. Know
ing this, Maria and the gobbetto' s mother induced
me to make the petition, on the chance that the
Marchesa might grant to a compatriot what she
would deny them. When it was found that my
mission had faUed, Maria, of the kind heart,
opened a subscription to pay for the hire of a
suitable carriage. EA'ery member of our house
hold, including Nena, has contributed to the
fund. " Bisogna viver e a Roma eoi costumi di
Roma," says the Italian proverb, " When you
are in Rome do as Rome does ! "

162

VIII
ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
Palazzo Rusticucci, November 28, 1898.
To-day being the last Saturday in the month,
Fra Antonio, the begging friar, caUed for his
obolo. I surprised him in the act of offering a
shabby horn snuff-box to Filomena. She had
taken a pinch daintUy between a finger and
thumb, and was folding it in a sheet of my best
Irish hnen note paper.
" Una presa di tabaco per Sora Nena (A
pinch of snuff for Mrs. Nena)," she explained.
Poor Nena, httle AAdthered old woman, the ser
vants' drudge, it does n't matter about her habits !
FUomena, eighteen, rosy as Aurora, — so pretty
that young men make excuses to call at our old
gi-een door to see her open it, — feared the shadow
of suspicion that the snuff was for her oaati use !
Snuff is stiU taken in Italy by the old and the
old fashioned : it has the sanction of the clergy.
In Rome, it is thought hardly seemly for a
priest to smoke, they nearly all use snuff ; indeed
163

ROMA BEATA
I have seen a priest take a sly pinch while offici
ating at the altar. Snuff is the only luxury our
monk Antonio knows. Do you blame J. for some
times keeping back a little of the money which
Ave ought to give the frate for the general fund
of the brotherhood, and investing it in a packet
of snuff for the old feUow's particular comfort ?
I do not.
" Frate," I said, " why did you become a
monk ? "
" Signora, the Madonna herself bade me take
the vows."
" You lead a happy life at the monastery ? "
" Like others I have my troubles, mainly
rheumatism." (His poor old veined feet looked
cold in their sandals.)
" About those vows, now, how many are
there ? "
" They are three," he counted them off on the
knots of his rope girdle, "poverty, obedience,
chastity. Circumstances might conceivably re
lease me from the first and the second, but
beheve me, Signora," he fixed an earnest, rheumy
eye upon me as he said it, " not even the Holy
Father himself could absolve me from the third
vow." 164

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
"S'intende (One understands)," Filomena
assented. J. says Ave women folk all make a great fuss
over the frate ; during the time old Santi (for
merly the A'alet of CraAvford pere, ever since
more or less dependent on the family) was with
us the frate Avas rather snubbed. Santi, for
many years the majordomo of a rich monsignore,
scorned our dear Fra Antonio. He always
forgot to serA'c the modest gift the old monk
brought us cA'ery month, a head of barba di cap-
pv£-im (capuchin's beard) a sort of curly lettuce
the monks raise in their garden. Santi was a
character for you : he had an unctuous ecclesi
astical manner suggestive of sacerdotal ceremo
nial. When he passed a plate of steaming
fettucde fatf in casa (ribbons made in the house,
home-made macaroni) one was reminded of an
acolyte handling a smoking censer. He was
not Avith us long ; though he was as handsome
as a king, Avith the most distinguished manners,
we were reheved to be rid of him ; he who had
served cardinals and princes of the Church
seemed out of place waiting on our small
table. I have recognized Santi's sacerdotal
manner in Cardinal RampoUa's servants and in
165

ROMA BEATA
the attendants of other churchmen we have
visited. Cardinal RampoUa lives over there at the
Vatican. The day we called on him we merely
had to walk across the Square of St. Peter
and knock at his door, as it were ! We were
astonished at being taken up to his apartment
in an elevator — an elevator at the Vatican
seems an anachronism ! Living not a stone's
throw from the Vatican we are strangely aware
of the mighty heart of the Catholic Church, and
have grown sensitive to its pulsations, whether
stirred by events at the Philippines or in the
New York elections ! Cardinal RampoUa is in
constant attendance upon the Pope. A friend
of ours once invited him to his vUla outside
Rome. " It would rest your Eminence to get away
for a few hours ! " he urged.
" Aime, magari potessi (If I only could) ! "
sighed the cardinal. Our friend says the sigh
and look showed a depth of weariness he had
never suspected in the dark energetic man at the
helm. They say the cardinal has only slept
outside the Vatican once since the day the Pope
appointed him secretary of state years ago !
166

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
That AA-^as on the night of his mother's death ; the
next day he came back to the cold palace AAdth its
hundreds of rooms inhabited by four thousand
men and not one woman or child. I often
wonder about the dusting of those endless halls,
chapels, and suites of apartments !
Do you suppose that vast hive of celibates is
the magnet that draws to Rome its hoards of
codgers and solitaries ? I assure you their habits
may be studied better here than anywhere in the
world. Though many of the Roman codgers
are more or less connected Avith the Vatican,
there are scores who have no relations with
it, Protestants, Greek Orthodox, Hebrews, and
the like.
Rome must have been more picturesque when
the Pope took his airing on the Pincio, instead of
walking and driving inside the waUs of the
Vatican garden, as he does now. In those days
the whole populace went doAvn on their knees
whenever he appeared. Then the cardinals wore
their splendid vermUion robes every day : they
must have made a joyful note of color in the
landscape ! Now they wear sad black gowns,
save at a festa or some special function. Driv
ing out into the Campagna on a fine afternoon,
167

ROMA BEATA
one is almost sure to pass a sober, closed carriage
drawn by a pair of fat black horses, waiting by
the roadside ; a httle farther on, one meets
some cardinal walking Avith his secretary. It
is not etiquette for a cardinal to walk in the
streets of Rome while their head remains the
Prisoner of the Vatican ; they must drive about
to do their errands, and get their airing outside
the walls. Isn't that fascinating? But in
society the cardinals often wear their pretty
bright robes.
At the Haywoods' the other day, a cardinal
came to tea ; our host and hostess met him at
the entrance, each carrying a lighted waxen
torch. AU the guests (except heretics like our
selves) courtesied, kotowed, and kissed his ring.
It is not etiquette for a lady to be decoUetee
when a churchman is to be of the party. It is
just these endless traditions — " links AAdth the
past " — which make Roman society to us shad-
owless-moneyed-above-board republicans so ab
sorbingly interesting ! Social life here is rich
in shadows and lights, full of color and imagina
tion ; no wonder the novelists never tire of using
it for a background.
Cardinal Hohenlohe, a true prince of the
168

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
Church, keeps high state in the historic Villa
d'Este, among his wonderful cypresses, fountains,
terraces, and frescoed casinos. He surrounds
himself Avith artists and musicians, pays little
heed to any gentle hint from the Vatican, and is
one of the most interesting persons one can see :
his independence — he is said to be a Rosminian —
is due to his position as weU as to his character ;
he is of the Prussian royal family, cousin to the
Emperor AA'^Uliam, and is possessed of a free and
hberal spirit not easy to control. The Hohen-
lohes are older than the HohenzoUerns, and a
friend of the cardmal's once said to a friend of
mine, that his Eminence in a moment of wrath,
for some reason or other, cried out : " Ugh !
HohenzoUern ! They once were considered
highly honored with the post of holding the
stirrup for the head of my house." Was not
that nice and spiteful?
The cardinal's banishment from Tivoli was
extremely diverting. Two Enghsh noblewomen
of high rank, in Rome for the Avinter, wished to
meet aU the distinguished personages possible.
A dinner was arranged for them by Baron Blanc,
to which Cardinal Hohenlohe was invited. After
aU the other guests had assembled, the company
169

ROMA BEATA
was throAvn into a flutter by the arrival of Crispi.
Instead of Hohenlohe's withdrawing (the usual
etiquette when exalted Black and White person
ages meet by chance in society) they all went
merrily in to dinner together. There were no end
of toasts, Prince and Patriot pledged each other
in Baron Blanc's best wine. Mr. StiUman, who
was of the company, remarked that it was pleas
ant to see Eminences and " Eccellenzas " drinking
each .other's health. A neighbor at table whis
pered to the dauntless StiUman, " How imprudent
you are ! " (As if he was ever anything else ! )
Other people were proved to have been im
prudent. The next day the great prince cardi
nal was summoned to an interview with the Pope.
What passed between them gossip does not say,
but the cardinal packed his bag and left that
afternoon for Perugia, where he passed three
months in exile. Another imprudence of the
cardinal's was his lending the ViUa d'Este for a
political meeting in the campaign of Guido
BacceUi (son of the famous physician) who was
at that time running for parliament. The story
of the poisoned figs used by Zola in his novel
"Rome" was founded on a sad incident at the ViUa
d'Este. Some poisoned food meant for the
170

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
cai-dinal Avas eaten by his steward, who died, I
have been told, before his very eyes. *
Codgers, both clerical and lay, are usually shy ;
you must not let them know they are under ob-
serA'ation if you hope to learn anything of their
habits. In spite of this, they are distinctly social
and gregarious, while the solitary lives and often
dies alone. I asked one old gentleman codger —
an American — AA'ho often drops in on his way to
his browsing ground, the Vatican Library — what
road first led him to Rome.
" The via vegetaria," he said ; " Rome has the
finest vegetable market in the world." He may
be right, I certainly know no city where vegeta
bles are so cheap, various, and good, but it seemed
an odd reason for settling here.
" Artichokes," he went on, " are no dearer than
potatoes ; as to finocchio, it is cheaper than bread."
" AVhy could we not raise finocchio at home ? "
I asked. " Wait tiU we grow poor and thrifty," he said,
" tiU we drink sheep's milk, eat capretto (kid) and
1 Cardinal Hohenlohe, since dead, left what remained of his fortune
to the son of the man who in this way was the means of saving his
life. At the sale of the cardinal's eifects Monsignor O'ConneU, of the
American College, bought the grand piano on which Liszt has so often
played. 171

ROMA BEATA
miscellaneous fungi ; then we shaU find the way
to turn wUd American fennel into domestic
Itahan finoccM. "
Finocchi is a root something Uke celery; it
has the same crisp crunchiness, though it tastes
rather hke aniseed; the Romans eat it raw, we
prefer it braised and served with black butter.
Why not try to raise it in your garden ? If you
succeed in introducing a new vegetable, you AviU
acquire merit in the eyes of every dinner-ordering
Avretch in the land. Fennel and kid. Two new
dishes ! There is a chance for you to reach every
heart between Maine and Alaska !
Poor old Mr. X  died the other day ; I shaU
miss him dreadfully. He was the only snob va
riety of the genus codger in Rome ; they are rare
anywhere, the codger's social aspect being gener
ally mild and mildewed. I once asked him what
had brought him to Rome (he came here twenty-
five years ago with two marriageable daughters).
" The fact that it is respectable to be idle here,
and that one finds the best society." He said
" the best society " in the sort of voice vidth which
raw and crude converts mention the Madonna
or one of what the Romans call i soliti santi (the
same old saints). His daughter — she married
172

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
Prince Q  , is a particularly nice woman ; the
comfort the old gentleman took in his grand-
chUdren's titles was pleasing to behold. At fifty
he sat solidly doAATi to enjoy the pleasures of
" good society," and the occupation of coUecting
engraved gems. That old law of compensation,
you know, which makes some men after an idle
youth leap Avith fiery ardor to embrace hard work,
was reversed for him. Having grubbed all his
youth he had the luck (it is rare) to find out how
much fun there may be in play, after aU !
I went to see the Princess Q  soon after the
old gentleman's death. She told me something of
his last days. " The night before my father died
he made me promise for the twentieth time that
I would send his body home. I asked him why
he was so set on the idea. He rose right up in
bed and said in a loud voice, ' I can't bear to
think that on the last day I might rise from the
dead along Avith these damned Italians ! ' "
Was n't that a death-bed revelation for you ?
The old man had been a New York newsboy,
had gone West, made his pUe in rum ; then sunk
the shop for good and aU. He never talked
about his early Ufe, or where he came from ; he
bragged of his daughter's fine acquaintances, of
173

ROMA BEATA
his son-in-law's manners — but when his hour
was come, he wished to lie in the consecrated
ground of his native land !
Never shaU I forget the only visit I ever re
ceived from the prince of solitaries, poor old GaUi,
the mad painter. He came in Avith his dauntless,
threadbare air, made a sweeping bow, and paid
me an elaborate compliment. His business,
however, was plainly not Avith me.
" I have come, Signorino Jacca, to ask the
favor of a few old clothes." .
He said it in such a spirited fashion that we
felt the favor was conferred rather than asked.
I wish I could make you see Galli ! He has
the hall mark of genius stamped upon him.
Eyes like live coals, hair — when J. first remem
bers him blue-gray, now a rich silver — worn
long, growing in masses with big waves, like the
head of Zeus at the Vatican. He tries in every
way to keep up the pace of his youth ; instead
of walking he shambles along at a funny bear's
trot; "having less time than I once had," he
said to J., "I cannot afford to %valk slowly like
some people of my age, so I am obliged to run."
Galli is a MUanese, a descendant of those
blond barbarians from the North, the Lunghe
174

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
Barbe. There is somethmg ardent and free
about him, a starriness of the eyes, a breezy, un-
trammeUed quality of mind which suggests some
far-off Teutonic ancestor. Among the dead
level of the people one meets, GaUi stands out a
marked man. As to the madness — ^was Lud-
Avig of Bavaria reaUy mad, or a poet born in the
Avrong place ? Mad or sane, GaUi is interesting :
once you recognize that a man cannot be both
ordinary and extraordinary, cannot possess com
mon sense and uncommon sense, the vagaries of
genius cease to annoy !
Whenever I hear the artists talking of Galli, I
hsten and try to remember what they say : some
day his history must be written ; the material
AAdU be found in the memories of people who
knew him, not " in the files " ; he is not one the
journalists delight to honor.
No one seems to know GaUi's age. He might
ha\'e been bom in 1819 — so many remarkable
people were born that year that I often wonder
if there is not something in astrology, after all.
When he was young, Galh went to England
with good letters of introduction. He was soon
spoken of as a painter " with the right stuff in
him — imagination, ideality, the artistic tempera-
175

ROMA BEATA
ment," all the rest of it. As he was a weU-bred
man, he had a social as well as an artistic success,
and became a fashionable portrait painter. He
played his little part in the fascinating drama of
the London life of his day. It must have been
a wonderful time, when aU that was best in the
English race came to the surface. Sympathy
for Italy was at its height, the great scheme for
the unification was groAAdng sUently and strongly.
England, the mighty ally, was helping Italy pre
pare for the struggle. Looking back at the
England of that day, one seems to see a whole
army of Raleighs spreading their cloaks before
the feet of the young Queen Victoria. All
England seems to have shared in the youth, the
hope, the courage of the Queen. With Galli,
the romantic Italian, the universal enthusiasm
became personal ; he feU in love, not AAdth
the sovereign, but AAdth the woman, which makes
aU the difference.
He began to neglect his work, to spend all
his time and money in hansom cabs, pursuing
her whenever she went abroad. The police in
vestigated his case, found him to be harmless
and respectable, were content to keep an eye
upon him, untU that day when he tried to drive
176

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
up to the private entrance of Buckingham
Palace where the Queen Avas living. That was
going too fai- even for the patience of Scotland
Yard. Galli Avas arrested and given twenty-four
hours to get out of England or into Bedlam.
He left for the continent the same day, came to
Rome, hired for his studio an old building, once
the orange house of the Palazzo Borghese. It is
buUt under a cliff, from the top of which iAy and
madre selva (mother of the wood — we caU it
clematis) hang over in trailing masses. One day
a large snail from the iAy crawled through a
broken pane of the window to the studio wall,
doAATi the'- waU, and up again, leaving a damp,
shmy track which formed something like the
letter V. A fidend coming in surprised Galli
standing staring at the wall with open mouth
and eyes.
" Why, man, what are you looking at ? "
" At the letter."
" What letter ? "
" The royal letter V."
" What an odd chance ! "
" You caU it chance " — he smiled mysteri
ously. " What do you call it ? "
12 177

ROMA BEATA
" It is the sign."
" Che pazzia ( What madness) 1 what do you
believe that little animal to be ? "
" I beheve what I believe, amico mio. The
eyes of affection see what other eyes cannot see.
It is a miracle, if you wiU, not more wonderful
than others. The spirit of my august lady, the
sovereign of England, has taken the shape of
quella lumaca benedetta (that blessed snaU) ! "
GaUi tamed the royal snaU, kept it in cotton
wool and rose-leaves, fed it on tender green leaves
tUl it died, — when he forgot the whole matter.
Soon after J. came to Rome as an art student
Galli was " discovered " by some of the Spanish
artists, then the most powerful group of painters
in Rome. For the moment GaUi's only home
was a large tree outside the Porta Salaria. Some
boards laid between the branches made his bed ;
he shared the tree with a flock of friendly tur
keys. He had been fairly comfortable through
the summer and autumn ; with December came
the fierce tramontana, blowing away the leafy
walls of his house. The artists — they are the
most charitable people in the world — clubbed
together, hired a room for GaUi in the Via Fla
minia — fancy the real old Flaminian way — and
178

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
fitted it up nicely as a bedroom and studio.
One bitter winter evening J. and ViUegas —
they also had studios in the A-'ia Flaminia —
on their way home chanced to look up at his
AvindoAv. Outside on an iron balcony stood Galli,
with nothing on but a thin cotton nightshirt.
" In the name of Bacchus, what are you do
ing ? " roared the gi-eat A^iUegas, who had borne a
large share of the expense of rescuing Galli from
the turkey roost. GaUi nodded, and smiled
doA\Ti upon them.
" Ombre vivo," cried the fiery Spaniard, "go in,
or you AvUl take your death." Galli only smiled
the more and shook his head. The two below
rushed upstairs and dragged him indoors.
" Don't disturb yourselves, amici mid," GaUi
explained, " my room, as you perceive, is cold,
my bed has no blankets ; I find if I stand out on
the balcony in my shirt for a few moments, my
room seems warm afterwards by comparison."
Not long after this, Galli came up to J.'s table
one night at the Cafe Greco (the haunt of ar
tists). " Caro Signorino Jacca, you see many
Americani ; they are all immensely rich, as is
knoAATi to you. For charity's sake, seU a picture
of mine to one of them." 179

ROMA BEATA
The hint was taken, a charming picture of
GaUi's was unearthed (a small Madonna) ; the.
purchaser, an American girl, found. The day
after the sale J. went to the Caf^ Greco, where
he knew he should find GaUi, and with the inex
perience of youth handed him the price of the
picture, one hundred and fifty francs. If ever a
poor painter-man needed one hundred and fifty
francs, J. says that it was GaUi at that moment.
His boots were so broken that as he walked his
toes came in view between the uppers and the
lowers with every step ; his trousers were deeply
fringed about the ankle ; his shirt was without a
collar, he wore his inevitable long overcoat —
buttoned up to conceal what was not under it —
and a shabby silk hat ; whatever his fortunes he
was never seen in any but a top hat ; J. thinks it
was the last trace of the coxcombry of his Lon
don youth.
" Ecco il denar 0 (Here is the money) ! " said J.
GaUi took it with a ga-y, swaggering air :
" Grazie tante sai ? Ci vedremo, caro Jacca
(So many thanks, till we meet again). " With that
he plunged across the street to the shop of the
King's hatter opposite in the Corso, where he
bought a sUk hat of the latest Enghsh model.
180

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
He next ti-otted up to the Piazza di Spagna, got
into the first cab on the stand, and engaged all
the other cabbies to foUow him : " Drive to the
tomba di Ncrone ; you others, do me the favor
to foUow."
The tomba di Ner one is a ruin outside the
walls of Rome which the ai-chaeologists say has
nothing to do with Nero and never was a tomb.
After they had gone a short distance GaUi cried,
"Halt." The procession stopped short, GaUi
got out.
" What has happened, padrone mio 1 " asked
the cabman.
" Nothing at aU ; you may now take your place
at the end of the cue ! " He dismissed the man
Avith a wave of the hand and got into the second
cab. Riding in this progressive fashion, by the
time they reached the tomba di Nerone, GaUi
had ridden by tum in aU the carriages.
" With your help, my friends," he said to the
cabbies, " I AviU climb to the top of the tomb ; "
two of them boosted him up. " If you wiU listen,
I AviU teU you some things about the great Nero
you never heard before. He was, after all, an
artist ; the historians have been too hard upon
him, as we artists ought not to forget."
181

ROMA BEATA
Perhaps GaUi's long speech glorifying Nero
set the present fashion for the whitewashing of
Caesars generally ! The cabmen squatted round
on their hunkers, smoked their pipes and listened,
for the enlightenment of future forestieri — till
GaUi scrambled doAAOi from the rostrum, and
jumped into the first cab, crying, —
" Andiamo! to the Piazza di Spagna, as we
came ! "
At the Cafe Greco that evening Galli, penni
less but proud of his adventure, borrowed of
Signorino Jacca twenty centesimi (four cents)
to buy a piece of bread and a few pickled gher
kins, which he brought back in a piece of paper
and munched contentedly for his supper.
Remembering GaUi's talent for likenesses, J.
once persuaded a pretty young American girl
to sit to him for her portrait. When they arrived
at the studio for the first sitting, the room was so
littered AAdth rubbish that there was hardly space to
turn round ; tiers of vile-smelling old petroleum
cases were piled against the wall. " What on
earth have you got in those boxes, GaUi ? " J.
demanded. " They contain my invention," said GaUi.
" May one ask its nature ? "
182

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
" Altro ! it is the model of a bridge to cross
the Atlantic from Italy to the United States."
It was a cold day ; to warm the room for his
sitter, GaUi had picked up a few bits of charcoal,
which smouldered in a frying-pan without a
handle (his only stove) in the middle of the
studio. While GaUi was finding a chair for the
lady, J. discovered seven rat traps, each inhabited
by a large famUy of mice.
" They disturbed me so much, scrabbUng about
and gnaAving things," Galh explained, "that I
was obhged to catch them."
" If the mice disturb you, why do you keep
them ? You have not the heart to kUl them ?
TeU the janitor to put the traps in a pail of
water; it AvUl be over in a minute," said the
practical American girl.
" DroAATi them — my only companions ? See
— their beautiful httle ears are veined like the
petal of a flower, look at their bright eyes, their
dear httle feet." He held the cage up to the light.
" They know me, they depend upon me for their
food!" He took half a roU — J. says it was half of
GaUi's OAvn breakfast — from his pocket and began
crumbling it into one of the traps.
183

ROMA BEATA
" Show us what you have been painting lately,
Signor GaUi," said the young lady. The old
man moved his easel into the light.
"This is my latest picture."
J. says that American girl showed real breed
ing ; she neither laughed nor cried at the
thing Galli uncovered. If it was not a picture
it was the work of a man of rare imagination.
The divine spark had kindled at a moment when
no tools were at hand. His credit on that
almost inexhaustible fund, the generosity of his
brother artists, had long been overdrawn. His
friends were tired of supplying canvas, paints,
brushes. GaUi lacking everything, possessed
only of the idea, could not rest till it was ex
pressed. He had cut off the tail of his gray
flannel shirt, stretched it for a canvas, found a
piece of old blue cardboard, pasted it on for the
sky ; he had dried lettuce leaves and apphed
them for the middle distance, and used for the
detail of the foreground bits of dried water
melon rind and other such rubbish. The "pic
ture " was a thing to draw tears from a stone !
The rumor of the invention in the petroleum
boxes suggested to some of the younger artists
a plan by which fresh interest might be aroused.
184

ROMAN CODGERS AND SOLITARIES
for GalU's benefit. They asked him to prepare
a lecture explaining the theory of his bridge.
Tickets Avere sold and quite a large audience
gathered at the Artists' Club to hear him. AVhen
he appeared some of the more boisterous spirits
began to guy him ; this nettled the old fellow :
" You perhaps think this invention of mine an
impossibUity," he began. " To show you how
simple it is to get to America without going
on one of those abominable steamers, I wUl
explain to you how to get to the moon. You
all know that the moon is una femina (a
female) ? AA^eU, aU females are- devoured by
curiosity. Only let all the people upon the
earth assemble together in one place, and
the moon wdU observe that something out of
the common is going on doAAOi here : she will
approach nearer and nearer to see what it is
aU about, until she gets so near that all we
shaU have to do is to jump over on her and
then she avUI not be able to get away."

[GaUi's last commission was to decorate one
of the cheap Roman cafes. ViUegas says that
it was a wonderful piece of work, fuU of power
185

ROMA BEATA
and originality. Not long after it was finished
some smug swine of a painter (one of those
poor craftsmen who have cheapened the name
of Itahan art) persuaded the proprietor to let
him paint out GaUi's work and redecorate the
caf^ with his own vulgar trash. This broke the
old man's heart ; soon after he was found dead in
his studio Ijdng between two chairs. It was inevi
table that he should come to some such end, and a
thousand times better for him to drop in harness
than to wear out the years in idleness. Unlike
my friend, the newsboy-rumseller-grandfather of
princes, his only joy Avas in labor, in striAdng to
express to others the beauty that possessed his
soul. Is it not by this sign that the elect are
known ? ]

186

IX
BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE — WITCH'S NIGHT
Palazza Rusticucci, Rome, March 16, 1899.
Letters from Maine and New Hampshire give
accounts of dreadful freshets and blizzards. We
read them AAdth some surprise, and then go up to
the terrace and pick our pansies and violets.
AVe have some fine spirea and lilacs coming on
fast ! The wall flowers are already in bloom, and
the roses make occasional httle gifts, but it is far
too early for these dear ones to give their per
fect blossoms. Rose week — rose madness — in
Rome comes at the end of AprU.
The strangest thing about life in Rome is that
you not only do as the Romans do, but end by
thinking as the Romans think, feeling as the
Romans feel ! Take, for example, the feeling most
of the foreign residents have about the evil eye,
the malocchio or jettatura, as it is indifferently
caUed. I never kncAV an Italian who did not hold
to this superstition more or less. Americans who
187

ROMA BEATA
have lived long in Rome either reluctantly admit
that " there does seem to be something in it," or if
they are Roman born, quietly accept it as one of
those things in heaven and earth that philosophy
fails to take account of In some things the
Italian is free from superstition compared with
the Celt or the Scot : for instance, the fear of
ghosts or spirits is so rare that I have never met
with it ; on the other hand, the belief in the
value of dreams as guides to action is deep rooted
and widespread. The dreambook in some fami
lies is hardly second in importance to the book
of prayer. The Italian's eminently practical
nature makes him utilize his dreams in " playing
the lotto," as the buying of lottery tickets is
caUed. To dream of certain things indicates that
you will be lucky and should play. The choice
of the number is the chief preoccupation of the
hardened lottery player. It is decided by the
oddest chance, — the number on a banknote which
one has lost and found again, the number of a
cab which has brought one home from some de
lightful festivity. The number must always be
associated with something lucky. I remember
in Venice once calling on a friend who lives in a
noble old palace on the Canale Grande. The
188

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
pali, the dark posts rising out of the green water
for the mooring of gondolas, bear the heraldic
colors of the owner of the palace, and the doge's
cap, showing that the family gave a doge to
A'enice. Stepping fi-om my gondola to the
water- AA-^orn marble stair, I was helped by one of
the servants, an old man AAdth the suave, sympa
thetic manners that make the Italians the best
servants in the world. I put him down as a
majordomo of the old school whom my friends
probably had taken over with the palace, the
hbrary, and the historic murder that goes with
them. I had brought some flowers, which he
insisted upon carrying. He led the way across
a square courtyard to an outer stairway with a
wonderful carved marble balustrade, lions ram
pant at the top and bottom. Suddenly he stopped
and whispered to me :
" Signora, — a thousand excuses for the hberty,
— but AAdU you have the inexpressible gentility
to teU me your age ? "
The question was so startling that he got the
right answer before my inevitable counter-ques
tion, " Why do you wish to know ? " which he
pretended not to hear, drowned in a flood of
gratitude. 189

ROMA BEATA
"¦ 'y. ou have conferred an immense benefit on
me. The signora is expecting you."
He had my wrap off and the drawing-room
door open in a tAAdnkling. That was not fair
play ; he had his. answer : I would have mine. I
put my question to his mistress. She laughed
indulgently. " Beppino is up to his old tricks. I told him
this morning I was expecting a lady he did not
know ; he was on the lookout for you. When a
stranger comes to the house for the first time it
is the greatest possible luck to play in the lotto
the figures which make up his age."
Our servants all play regularly, sometimes
Avinning small sums, always imagining that they
will win the quaterno. The lottery and the
Monte di pieta — somehow one associates them
together — are now under government control,
as they were formerly under the control of the
Church. It is assumed as a foregone conclusion
that men will gamble, that men wiU pawn their
goods ; therefore it is expedient that these inevi
table concomitants of city life should be adminis
tered by the government, in order that the accru
ing profits should return to the people by helping
to pay the expenses of their government. The
190

BLACK JNIAGIC AND WHITE
lottery always appears to me like a tax offered
to the citizens in the form of a gilded piU.
The 3Ionte di picta seems to be a really be
neficent institution ; it is well administered, the
percentage charged on the inoney loaned being
as loAv as is practicable. Poor old Nena's
coral earrings and gold beads live there chron-
icaUy, only appearing upon her smaU person
periodicaUy on " feast " days. Several times webs
of fine hnen, silverware, and other household
furnishings have been offered me at so low a
price by one of our chents (we use the old Roman
term for the army of hangers-on which has grown
up about us) that I feared to buy them lest I
should be purchasing stolen goods. On investi
gation I found the Avoman's business was to buy
unredeemed pledges at the regular sales of the
Monte, and to hawk them about to private cus
tomers. After that I had not the heart to buy
anything she offered, it seemed like building our
house of the driftwood of despair. The Monte
is a huge gray palace occupying a whole square
behind the Palazzo Santacroce. Over the main
entrance hangs a life-sized crucifix. The institu
tion was founded in the year 1539 and has been
in operation ever since. 191

ROMA BEATA
The evolution of Christian out of pagan Rome
is not more interesting than the evolution stiU
going on of Rome the modern capital out of
that picturesque, mediaeval Rome of the " for
ties," which my mother has described to me so
vividly that it is as if I myself had seen it.
Since we have been here, the old meek horse-
cars have been taken off, and horrible " electrics "
whiz by our door and stop at the corner of the
Piazza of St. Peter's. And — even worse, I am
almost afraid to write it to you — we have a
telephone !
A telephone in the Eternal City ! In the be
ginning I was as much shocked by the idea as
you can be. The first conversation over the
wire consoled me. Ice-chests, electric cars, and
telephones only bring home more strongly the
feeling that life in Rome is modern, mediae
val, and pagan, aU at the same time ; it is all
here in strata, like the rubbish Signor Boni is ex
cavating from the Roman Forum. When you
first come here you assume that you must bur
row about in ruins and prowl in museums to get
back to the days of Numa Pompilius or Mark
Antony. It is not necessaiy ; you only have to
hve, and the common happenings of daily life —
192

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
yes, even the ti-oUey car mid your bicycle —
carry you back in turn to the Dark Ages, to the
eai-ly Christians, even to prehistoric Rome !
The day our telephone Avas installed I was
caUed by the ding-a-ling of the beU, and " cen
trale " put me hi comm-anication, not only with
our friend, ]Mrs. Z  , but with the Rome of
Horace and the Avitch Canidia as weU.
" Can you come to dinner next Monday ? "
Mrs. Z  began.
" AA"e AvdU come Avdth leaps and shrieks of
joy-" " Wait ; do not accept tUl you hear who else
is coming. AVe are giving the dinner in honor
of M. de Gooch."
" So much the better. We hke to meet dis
tinguished Frenchmen."
" You are sure you do not mind meeting this
particular Frenchman ? "
" V/hy in the name of common sense should
we mind ? "
" WeU, you know what they say about him ? "
"Yes."" And you are not afraid ? I am positively
grateful to you. We are liaving the hardest
time to fUl the eight places at the table."
13 193

ROMA BEATA
" What particular variety of heathen are you
inviting ? "
" American."
That afternoon we had a visit from an American
gentleman, a friend of ours and of the Z  's.
" Shall we meet next Monday at the Z  's
dinner ? " I asked in the com-se of couA'crsation.
"No, they were good enough to invite me,
but I got out of it."
I stared at him — he is one of the Z  's
greatest friends.
" Yes, the fact is I wiU not go where I have
to meet that man."
" You ? you believe that M. de Gooch has the
evU eye ? "
" It is aU very weU for you to look scornful !
Just wait a little. I used to take your point of
view, but so many uncomfortable things happened
that I now avoid the man like the plague."
" What sort of uncomfortable things ? "
" We were once at a hotel in Naples. The first
time that person — it is not weU to mention
his name — came into the dining-room, a waiter
stumbled and dropped a tray full of valuable
Venetian glass ; every piece was smashed : the
second time, the big chandeher fell down from
194

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
the ceiling. That evening the proprietor begged
this person to leave the hotel, said all the other
guests would go if he did not, as it was evident
he had the maloccMo. Basta ! let us speak of
other things."
After the visitor left I went up to the terrace
to feed the goldfish. Pompiha was on her knees
digging around the roots of the big honeysuckle.
I looked at Soracte, beloved of Horace. Soracte
looked at me.
" Pompiha, do you know any one who has the
malocchio ? " She turned pale, scrambled to her
feet, and made the sign against AAdtchcraft AAdth
the first and fourth finger.
" Signora mi^t, che pavra mi ha fatto (What a
fright you gave me) ! " She reflected a moment :
" You remember the carbonaro who used to
bring the charcoal every Saturday ? I told you
he cheated us ; you discharged him. It was not
true, he gave good measure. I do not wish to
harm him, but every time he came into the
kitchen some disgrazia happened. The soup
was burned, the milk curdled, or the salt got
into the ice-cream."
" Do you believe the carbonaro AAdshed to in
jure us ? Did he desire to bring misfortune ? "
195

ROMA BEATA
"It is his misfortune to bring misfortune,"
Pompiha reluctantly explained ; " one may even
be sorry for him, but one spits as one passes him,
and makes the corni (horns) Avith the hand be
hind the back to avert the jettatura. Ma, Si
gnora mia, per carita, parliamo d' altre cose (For
charity's sake, let us talk of other things) ! Ob
serve this noble tulip, the first to bloom of those
HoUandish bulbs we set out in the autumn."
She feels the flowers to be hers quite as much as
ours, as indeed they are, she is so faithful in car
ing for them.
We put on aU our war-paint for the Z  's
party ; so did the other guests. It was one of the
best dinners I have seen in Rome. Everybody
seemed on their mettle to make it go off well. It
was put through with unlimited conversational
fireworks and champagne. De Gooch thawed out
as I have never knoAATi him to do before ; he is usu
ally congealed by the chilly atmosphere which he,
poor man, brings with him. I asked Mr. Z 
how he accounted for the evil stories. He said :
" Some enemy, who spreads the reports,
takes this dreadful way to destroy him ! "
The dinner was so merry that the coming of
the coffee instead of being a relief was a surprise.
196

BLACK MxVGIC AND WHITE
M. de Gooch after a moment's hesitation re
fused the cup offered him.
" I am rather proud of my coffee, change your
mind and try a httle, ' said Mrs. Z  .
I Avas sitting on the other side of De Gooch,
and heard him say m a low voice, —
" Are you sure of your cook ? "
" Perfectly ; he is a Piedmontese, he has been
with us ten years, his coffee may be trusted."
Do you knoAv Avhat that meant? It meant
that De Gooch is afraid of being poisoned, that
poison is most commonly administered in coffee
or chocolate, vide the Roman idiom, " Ha bevuto
una tazza di doccolata (He has drunk a cup of
chocolate)." I asked Mr. Z  if he believed
anybody Avanted to murder De Gooch. He said :
" I do not believe him in more danger of poi
son than of a hghtning stroke. It is not won
derful, however, that he thinks he is."
" Is not the malocchio very hke the voodoo ? "
I asked. " It is a horse of the same color. Both came
out of darkest Africa, whose shadows faU across
the broad earth."
I take back every word I ever said against
missionaries ! 197

ROMA BEATA
Poisoning, like other sins, has two degrees, the
mortal and the venial. If M. de Gooch is in no
danger from the mortal, we, according to Nena
and Pompiha, were in danger of the venial not
so long ago. During a short absence of Pom
pilia's we had a foreign cook, and parted with
her not on the best terms. The day after she
left Pompiha returned, coming to me in the
course of the morning AAdth a long hst of grocer
ies ; those staples, farina, Parmegiano, and ccffe,
headed the memorandum.
" But we cannot have used up five kUos of
coffee. It is impossible that we are out of flour
and Parmesan cheese ; we bought them only
three days ago."
You see I am getting on, I now manage —
though it is highly disapproved of by the powers
that be — to lay in a few groceries, which I buy
at the Unione Militare — government stores
like the Army and NaAy Stores in London.
"When I returned this morning, there was
not a crumb in the house," said Pompiha. Nena
was appealed to.
" Nena, what about the Parmegiano, the
farina, and the caffe you bought the other
day ? " 198

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
" Signora, I was obliged to throw them all
into the immondczza (garbage)."
" But why ? "
" Signora ! I say nothing. That black Te-
desca, when she left, did not Avish us others weU,
nor CA'cn your signorial sehes. I did what I
did for the best." She looked at Pompiha for
confirmation. The cook shook her handsome
head. " With respect, Nena has done right. I would
neither have served on your table, nor aUowed
another to touch any food that black German
had in her hands. What bad thing may she not
have mixed with it ? "
I suppose I looked annoyed at the thought of
the good food wasted ; they both eyed me judi-
ciaUy, but firmly.
" Remember, Madama, that you commanded
me three times before I would take that blessed
order to the Unione," Nena urged. " I myself
knew it was a waste of money to buy those gro
ceries when the German was leaving so soon.
You asked me the first time Monday, on the
stairs ; I told you that the shop shut early on
account of a festa ; you asked me again Tuesday,
upon the terrace (you were potting the large
199

ROMA BEATA
acanthus at the time) if I had been to the Unione ;
I told you that my rheumatism was too bad for
me to walk so far. You told me for the third
time Wednesday, in this very room, in the
presence of the Tedesca, to buy those things ! I
ask you, Avas it possible for me to longer disobey,
especially as the Tedesca heard you give the
order ? "
Nena is perfectly honest in deed, if not in
word ; I would trust her Avith uncounted money.
This was no comedy, such as they often play
for my benefit; I felt the reality of it.
"What sort of bad thing do you mean?
Poison ? " I blurted out Avith the coarse Anglo-
Saxon instinct of calling a spade a spade. Such
brusqueness hurts the subtler Latin nature.
" Signora ! I make no charges. I would not
say poison, no, but something that might make
one very ill for a day or for an hour ; how do
I know ? "
They got away as soon as they could ; we
have not spoken of the matter since. The next
time I was at the Vatican I dropped into the
Sala Borgia, and took a good look at the charm
ing portrait of Lucrezia Borgia, by Pinturicchio,
filled with a realizing sense that the Rome of
200

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
the Borgias Avas not so far aAvay from my Rome
as I had formerly supposed.
It is hai-d for us to realize the deadly signifi
cance to an Itahan of the suggestion that one
may have the CAdl eye. I Avas walking one' day
AA'ith a young American girl to whom I had been
unfolding some of the tragedies I have known
connected AAdth the superstition. She took it all
lightly and joyously, after the manner of her
kind ; and later during our walk, when a saucy,
tormenting beggar pursued us, she made the
sign of the corni as I had described it to her,
shaking the hand slightly, with the first and
fourth finger extended. Then the beggar became
convxUsed A\dth anger and seemed almost beside
herself, shrieking out such a torrent of abuse
that we were glad to jump into a cab and fly
from the Avrath to come. The poor creature was
not to be blamed : she knew that once the
shadow of suspicion faUs, it means social excom
munication, banishment outside the pale of what-
eyer society one belongs to — a thing, like iUness
or death, as much to be dreaded by the pauper as
by the Pope. Many people, by the way, believed
that Pius IX had the evil eye, and made the sign
of the corni behind hat or fan as they received
201

ROMA BEATA
his benediction in front of St. Peter's. The
Romans generaUy are not supposed to be as su
perstitious as the Neapolitans. In Naples most
people wear, as a charm, a little hand of gold,
coral, or mother of pearl, with the fingers in the
attitude to avert evil. Even the horses wear
horns upon their harnesses ! Some of our Roman
friends are not without faith in the efficacy of
horns. One day, when my painter had occasion
to go behind the big canvases in his studio, he
found that an artist who had dropped in during
his absence had drawn horns with a bit of char
coal all over the backs of his pictures. Later,
when the work was finished and the Queen came
to the studio to see it, the friend claimed some
of the credit for the royal visit.
" You owe all your luck to my horns," he said,
half in fun, half in earnest.
June 24, 1899.
Last night was St. John's eve. I gave Pom
piha and Filomena a holiday, meaning to take
the opportunity to get rid, Avith Nena's aid, of
some of the year's accumulation of worn-out
kitchen utensUs. Pompiha is very obstinate
about giving up such things ; she must have had
202

A Lost Love
From a red chalk drawing iu the Colleotion of Mr. Thomas W. Lawaon

Copyright, 1900, by John Elliott.
From a Copley Print. Copyright, xgoi, by Curtis & Cameron, Publishers, Boston.

BLACK ISIAGIC AND WHITE
a rag-and-bottle man for an ancestor. Nena,
who seUs every conceivable bit of trash I give
her, aids and abets me in these acts of insubordi
nation. She was not in her usual spirits. I heard
her scolding the httle Jew boy who brought home
an old terra-cotta cinerary urn we had bought in
the morning from his mother Sora Giulia.
"AVhat dirty robacda do you bring into this
clean house ? " she demanded in her gruff saUor's
voice. " Cosa ne so io ? the signori bought it to-day.
I heard my father say it once contained the
ashes of a soldier of the Pretorian guard."
" What guard ? "
" Of the old time, a hundred years ago, maybe ;
they were hke the carabinieri."
Nena took the urn, grumbling under her breath,
" Li mortacd tuoi (Your miserable dead) ! "
" Hein ? what did you say ? "
" Va a mo7i ammazzato (Go and die kUled) ! "
She slammed the door upon him.
A minute later she brought the urn into the
den and put it carefuUy doAvn on the table
where I was writing. " That rascally boy of
Sora Giuha's brought this home."
" You formerly were fidendly AAdth Sora Giuha."
203

ROMA BEATA
She wiped her eyes with a little red Avrinkled
hand that trembled ; something troubled her
seriously. " What has happened ? tell me frankly."
She began to cry openly: " Miche (the cat)
has been gone three days ; he AAdU never return.
I shaU not again see that dear animal! "
"Miche wUl come back; perhaps he has had
a fight, as he did once before."
" No, no, Signora ! then he was only absent
one night, after the manner of cats. No, era
troppo bello, era troppo bello (he was too beauti
ful)," she wailed. I suppose I looked as puzzled
as I felt, for she broke into impassioned expla
nations. " He was too beautiful, he Avas fat
and tender as well ; quelli maladetti Ebrei (those
cursed Jews) have killed him to make one of their
accursed feasts ; they have doubtless already
eaten him; povera bestia, era troppo bello!"
To console her I proposed that we get to work
on the business before us. In a closet on the
stairs, of which Nena has a duplicate key, Pom
piha had locked up empty green wicker ricotta
baskets, marmalade bottles, petroleum cans, a
pair of discarded brooms, and other such rubbish.
" Can you seU the petroleum cans?"
204

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
" Ma certo, I get a paulo (ten cents apiece)
for them. The poor use them for flower pots
and for many other things."
" And these old brooms, can you get anything
for them ? "
" The brooms I shaU not seU. It would
offend the scoparo, who is my friend and has
;: family to support ; but as we happen to be
in need of them, I AAdU, with your permission,
take these brooms home."
" All the articles in this closet are yours, and
welcome, on condition you take them away this
evening. It is knoAvn to you that if Pompiha
were here she would never let them go."
" You have reason, Signora ; I AAdU go imme
diately, taking with me aU I can carry and re
turning for the rest."
After she left I went up to the terrace for
the sunset. The swaUows were swooping low
overhead ; the smeU of the gardenias would have
been overpowering indoors; the passion flower
vine was in fuU bloom, the oleanders ablaze with
tender pink blossoms the same color as the sky.
As I was mooning about, leaning on the parapet
and watching the blue fade out of Peter's dome,
I became aware of a hubbub in the street below.
205

ROMA BEATA
There were cries of " Una strega, una strega (A
witch, a witch)," "Scacdala, scacdala (Chase her,
chase her)," hoots of derision, screams of laughter.
" How she runs ! Brava vecchiarella (Good for
you, old woman) ! "
" Viliacchi (Cowards) ! "
The noise grew nearer, the crowd seemed to
be stopping at our portone.
"Che te possono scanna (May you be slaugh
tered)!" The deep bass voice was famUiar. I
leaned over the parapet just in time to see Nena,
a tiny figure, with two brooms over her shoulder,
turn and hurl defiance at her tormentors, in
the front rank of whom I recognized the little
Jew boy.
" Guastate (May you waste away) ! " With
this true witch's curse Nena managed to shut
the door of the big portone in the faces of her
pursuers. I ran and opened the old green door
of the apartment to let her in.
"What in the name of the apostles has
happened ? "
Nena was trembling AAdth passion.
" Ah, that Hebrew Jew ! I wiU punish him
yet. He led the others on, saying I was a witch.
Truly, Signora, it was not a happy chance that
206

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
made you give me those brooms to take home
this particular evening, the night on which the
ignorant and superstitious believe that the witches
ride. In every other house in the Borgo a dish
of salt and a broom are placed outside the win
dow, that the AAdtches may be averted from enter
ing and fly away on the broomstick. Doubtless
PompUia saAcd these brooms for that object —
but, as you know, I am not superstitious, I don't
beheve such stuff. To take me for a AAdtch, me ! "
Nena cannot be more than four feet seven
inches high ; she has a rough gray head, sharp
black eyes, and a long nose. She wears a queer,
old-fashioned three-cornered shawl over her
stooping shoulders, her feet swim about in a pair
of my old boots. There was, I confess, some
excuse for the jest !
St. John's eve ! Witch's night ! In order
that no harm may befall one, it is safest to sit
up aU night. To sit up aU night alone, or in
the company of one's famUy, is rather cold com
fort ; so the sociable Romans spend the night
in one vast nocturnal picnic. We left home
at ten o'clock ; in the Piazza S cossa Cavalli we
found every cab gone except the gobbo' s (hunch
back's). This was great luck, to be driven by
207

ROMA BEATA
the gobbo, all the more as it was by chance ; if
we had engaged him beforehand, it would not
have counted. As soon as we started J. sneezed.
"Salute, Signore (Your health, sir, — the
equivalent of ' Bless you')," said the gobbo. This
meant more luck. By the time we reached the
Via Merulana the gobbo' s white horse — a white
horse is lucky — dropped into a walk. The
crowd of cabs was so great that from there on
to the Piazza San Giovanni we were obliged to
move at a snail's pace.
" Volete spigo, Signori ? " cried a vendor, thrust
ing a bunch of lavender into the cab.
" Bisogna prenderla, Signori," said the gobbo ;
"you must buy lavender for yourself, for me,
even for my poor beast. It is the rule to wear
lavender on St. John's eve." We bought laven
der for the party, the white horse included.
A little farther on another vendor stopped us.
" How is this ? " he said gravely ; " you are
without red carnations ; that is not well."
" He is right, Signori," said the gobbo ; " we
must wear red carnations as weU as lavender."
We bought enough red carnations for an army.
" What do the lavender and the carnations
signify ? " 208

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
" Who knows, Signora ? it is the custom to
wear them. One says it brings buona fortuna,
another that it keeps the witches away ; it is well
to be on the safe side."
As the cab came to a dead stop for a moment
outside a trattoria, a saucy boy sprang on the
step and asked for a soldo to buy a dish of
snails. " Do not refuse," said the gobbo; " he is a
good boy ; it is the custom on the eve of San
Giovanni to eat snails and polenta, as you may
see for yourselves."
Over the door of the trattoria hung an illumi
nated transparency : on one side was a picture
of a large snaU, on the other a witch riding a
broomstick. " Agio, Agio (Garlic). Who wants agio ?
There is nothing so good against the fasdno
(fascination) as agio!"
We bought a pair of long-stemmed garlic
blossoms, in shape not unlike the classic thyrsus.
" Campanelle, campanelle, who wants the cam-
panelle 1 The Avitches fly away at the sound of
these marveUous campanelle."
Everybody but ourselves had apparently al
ready bought campanelle ; aU the people in the
14 209

ROMA BEATA
carriages and on the sidewalk carried these
smaU terra-cotta beUs, which they rang violently
at each other and at the witches. The bells
were of two sizes.
" Buy a large one for yourself, Signore, and a
small one for the lady," counselled the gobbo.
" And one for you and one for the mare ? "
" Naturally. The animal cannot weU spare a
hand to ring her campanello, so we AAdU tie it
about her neck."
Peacock feathers were next offered ; the gobbo
was prejudiced against them and advised us not
to buy them. There seems to be a divided feel
ing about peacocks' feathers ; some people hold
that they bring bad luck, others that they avert
it. We left the carriage at the piazza, which was
lined with booths, illuminated with flaring
torches. These staUs extend quite a distance
doAATi the Via Appia Nuova, outside Porta San
Giovanni. Some displayed the classic bush, from
the earliest time the sign of the wine shop. Out
side one of the most important booths hung a
large painted head of the wine god crowned with
leaves, bearing the words, " A Baccho." At
some stalls fried pancakes and gnocchi di patate
210

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
were sold. Gnocchi is one of the delicious
Roman dishes. It is made of potatoes and corn
meal, bewitched together into miniature oval
croquettes, and served Avith a rich sauce of to
mato conserve and Pai-mesan cheese ; truly a
dish fit for the gods. Near the gnocchi booth
was a stall hung AAdth evergreens, where a man
in white linen clothes and cap stood beside an
enormous roasted hog, brandishing a huge knife.
" Majale arosto — ah che bel majale (Roast pig
— oh, what a beautiful pig)- '
xVt some of the stands toys and doUs were
sold. I was kept away from certain of these, as
J. said the toys were shockingly indecent ; those
I saw were ordinary every-day toys which the
elders bought for the children. When one goes
to the festa of San Giovanni one takes the whole
famUy along, — grandmothers, grandfathers,
babies, and aU. The noisy people were all gath
ered together in the piazza and the Via Appia
Nuova ; the quieter sort were scattered about in
groups on the outskirts of the crowd. On the
right-hand side, at a httle distance from the Church
of St. .John Lateran, there is a hillside with an
cient Uex trees. This dark hillside was dotted
with torches and candles, each the centre of a
211

ROMA BEATA
knot of people. We soon left the turmoil in the
neighborhood of the booths, and strayed about
among the quieter folks. Under a dark gnarled
tree a group of people had made themselves
comfortable. On the trunk above their heads
two long garlic stalks were nailed crosswise to
avert evU. Directly below the cross sat a lovely
young woman suckling a large baby ; it must
have been eighteen months old. Beside her an
aged woman held in her lap a four-year-old child
whose chubby hands were stretched out to touch
the nursling ; in the shadow behind stood a
grave bearded man. The huckster's cart that
had brought, them was drawn up near by, the
donkey could be dimly seen munching a bundle
of hay.
"Behold Mary and the Child, St. Elizabeth
and St. John, Avith the good St. Joseph taking
care of them all," said Vincenzo, who had seen us
and followed us up from the piazza. As we
stood entranced before this living Holy Family
the moon rose full and yellow over the dark hill
side ; for a moment we saw it behind the head
of that young mother like a halo. It was a
group worthy the pencil of Raphael.
" Che belli fandulli (What beautiful children),"
212

BLACK MAGIC AND WHITE
I said to Vincenzo. St. Elizabeth, hearing the
innocent words, caught the little St. John behind
her, scowling and muttering angi-ily at me.
" Come away, quickly," said Vincenzo, urging
me doAvn the hill ; " don't you know that you
must never praise a chUd in that way ? of all
times on the night of San Giovanni ! "
" It is time to go home," said J. I begged a
few minutes' grace, for just at that moment a
heavy car hung with laurel garlands drawn by
mUk-white oxen Avith gilded horns creaked into
the piazza. The car was fiUed AAdth young men
in costume singing to the music of guitar and
mandolin. They were all masked ; from the
trappings of the car and their cultivated voices we
fancied them to be persons of some distinction.
A high tenor voice pierced the babel of sound :
" Sd la Rosa piu bella che c'e (Thou art the
most beautiful rose that is) ! "
It was near midnight : the fun was growing
fast and furious. J., who from the first had
objected to the expedition, backed up by Vin
cenzo, now declared that it was impossible for
me to stay longer. An unwiUing Cinderella, I
was torn away on the stroke of twelve. " It is
not a seemly revel," I was told ; " dreadful things
213

ROMA BEATA
happen, respectable people do not stay after mid
night." To me it was aU a wonderful revelation ;
I was in pagan Rome, where Bacchus and Vesta
were worshipped, where Italy's spoiled children,
the Roman populace, took their pleasure, as they
haA'^e done with httle change ever since Rome
was, since " step bread " was distributed gratis on
the steps of the Capitol, and the costly games of
the Colosseum kept them amused and pacific !
TiU broad daylight I heard the people coming
home ringing their little terra-cotta beUs, singing
snatches of the song of the evening : " Sei la Rosa
piu bella che c'e." As I look back at that riot of
youth and age, where the faces of faun and satyr
leered at nymph and dryad, the whole pagan
scene is sweetened and purified by that vision of
the Holy FamUy.

214

X
ISCHIA
Casamicciola, Island of Ischia, July 10, 1899.
Our coming to this volcanic islet — tossed up
out of the sea an ason ago, still warm with the
earth's Adtal heat — was due to chance, hke most
things that are worth whUe. We had driven
over that morning from Sorrento to CasteUamare
through odorous orange and lemon groves, and
were so fUled with the beauty of land and sea,
that going to any city, even to our Rome, seemed
a waste of life. We reluctantly boarded the
crowded train for Naples. In the same carriage
were a mercante di campagna and his daughter,
the most lovely Italian girl I ever saw. Her hair
clustered in purple shadowed masses like bunches
of grapes about her perfect face ; her complexion
was golden and red — no pink and white pretti-
ness, but a rich and memorable beauty. They
had left home early ; to have more time in the
city, they partook of their breakfast, Bologna
sausage, bread, garlic, and wine on the train.
215

ROMA BEATA
They were so friendly that we forgave them every
thing — even their fourteen bundles which en
tirely fUled the luggage rack — even their garlic !
The father opened the conversation.
" My son, he is in America ; he worked on the
Brooklyner Bridger. You have seen it, yes ? "
" We have seen it many times, we have even
crossed it."
This brought us aU very near together. Put
ting his hand into his pocket the mercante di
campagna brought out a fistful of rice, which he
presented to me.
" Behold a sample of the rice I am taking to
Naples to sell."
Not knowing exactly what else to do with it,
I tied the rice in a corner of my pocket hand
kerchief. He next handed me the Corriere
di Napoli, two days old. The first thing in the
newspaper that caught my eye was an advertise
ment of the Sodeta Napoletana di Navigazione
a Vapore. "The steamer for Ischia sails at
eleven o'clock ; return tickets eight francs."
We were due in Naples at ten, the train for
Rome left at three ! Five hours in Naples, which
has for us but three resources : the museum, the
aquarium, the antiquarians ! It was the day
216

Ischta
From a photograph

ISCHIA
of Sts. Peter and Paul, a national holiday — that
meant the museum Avould be closed ; we know
every fish in the great aquarium, the finest in
the world. Do we not ahvays go there ? did we
not spend tAA-^o hours there on our way doAATi, pay
to see the aAvful octopus fed, and to receive a
shock fi-om the electric fish ? A visit to the
antiquarians for some Aarieties of junk even
more enticing than our Roman haunts would
cost us more than eight francs.
Ischia ! The name set vibrating a deep chord
of memory. O Edward Lear, Edward Lear,
you are responsible for many vagarious wander
ings ! I could think of nothing but the picture
in the Nonsense Book of the old person of Ischia.
Is he stiU groAAdng friskier and friskier ? stiU danc
ing jigs, eating figs ?
" Have you ever been to Ischia ? " I asked the
Tnercante di campagna.
"Frankly, the sea incommodes me too much
to make the voyage ; but I have a brother who
drives a cab at Casamicciola. The signori should
not faU to visit the island," he said.
The girl smUed encouragement. " This is just
the season for the baths," she said; "they are
miraculous for rheumatism, gout, every kind of
217

ROMA BEATA
lameness. When they went there Olivetta, the
wife of my uncle Ercole, could not walk at all
— adesso, corre com'un diavolo (now she runs hke
a devU)." "Pur troppo (Altogether too much)!" grum
bled the mercante, just like any other brother-
in-law. " The signori will employ my uncle Ercole ?
he drives a piebald horse. They will give the
uncle and aunt tanti saluti from me ? " the
beauty persisted.
Her influence, combined with Edward Lear's,
was too strong to resist. Rome is always there ;
it was now or never for Ischia !
We caught the little steamer which carried us
steadily enough across the Bay of Naples. The
shores were a liAdng panorama done in sapphire
and emerald. Fishing smacks with slanting la
teen saUs colored, discolored, one with a picture
of Maria SteUa del Mare painted upon it, flitted
by us before the light breeze. The steamer had
once been a private yacht ; though her brasses are
neglected and her deck less like polished satin
than it must have been in her palmy days, she
stiU has a sporting, rakish air, in keeping AAdth our
escapade. We passed Procida, a shining isle of
218

ISCHIA
beauty, where I was half tempted to land and
seai-ch for the enchanted princess who must
inhabit it !
AA'^e landed at Casamicciola in a small boat.
The patient women Avaiting on the quay took
om- trunks on their heads, the cabmen mobbed
us politely, trying to Avrest our hand-bags from us.
'- Ercole ! " cried J. " Is Ercole, he who drives
a piebald horse, among you ? "
" Ecco mi qua, Signor Marchese (Behold
me here. Lord INIarquis) ! " Ercole (Hercules)
scarcely looks his part. He is smaU and wizened,
but he has the merry eyes of his brother, the mer
cante di campagna, while his laugh oddly recalls his
lovely niece's. From the beginning Ercole took
and stUl keeps possession of us. " First to the
Piccola SentineUa," he announced. The piebald
breasted the steep hiU at a sharp pace. Ten
minutes' climb brought us to the Hotel of the
SmaU Sentinel, a low building with a roof of
hght corrugated iron. Most of the hotels in
southern Italy are old palaces or monasteries,
heavily buUt of stone or stucco. Madam Dombrd,
the proprietress (she is an Englishwoman and
makes us exceedingly comfortable), says that aU
the buUdings put up on the island since the
219

ROMA BEATA
earthquake have been constructed under govern
ment supervision and are lightly built like the
hotel. Everything here dates from the earth
quake. Ercole says such a thing took place
before the terremoto, or so many years after it.
Mme. Dombre, whose daughter was killed by it,
speaks as if it happened yesterday.
" There was a concert in the dining-room of
our hotel at the time, it was on the 28th of July,
1883, mid-season, you know ; the house was full.
There came a dreadful rumbling noise. The
house shook once, twice, sideways, and then
came crashing doAATi in a ruined heap. The
pianist at the piano, the singer with the song on
her lips, were dashed into Purgatory without an
instant's warning ! Out of a population of
thirty-five hundred, seventeen hundred of our
people perished in the earthquake."
Since that time Casamicciola has been almost
deserted by foreigners who are now oiUy just
beginning to return; a few more come each
year. The morning after our arrival Ercole drove me
willy-nilly to the stabilimento , as they call the
baths. Somehow he had divined the heel of
AchiUes, — my bicycle ankle. The smihng
220

ISCHIA
medico agreed AAdth him that the treatment
was "indicated," and forthAvith delivered me
over into the hands of Olivetta — she who
once was lame and now runs Uke a dcAdl. The
baths are large, not so smartly appointed as
some of the German establishments, such as
Homburg or Ems, yet they have a certain classical
flavor of architecture, pleasantly suggestive of
the old Greek inhabitants who were driven away
from the island (they called it Pithecusa) in the
fifth century B.C. by the fearful eruptions of
Mt. Epomeo. Ohvetta led me to a smaU marble
room, put me in a comfortable chair, placed the
offending ankle on a bench, and bade me " abbia
pazienza (have patience)," whUe she went to get
the "fango." In five minutes she retumed,
bringing a jar fuU of hquid gray clay very like
what sculptors use.
" Guardi, questo fango viene proprio caldo dalle
viscere della terra (Observe, this mud comes hot
from the entraUs of the earth)." The giant
Typhoeus, transfixed by Zeus's thunderbolt, lies
chained under the island ; the roar of the earth
quake is his voice, the lava flood his tears. You
may beheve it or not : I do not find it difficult
to accept. Poor old giant, I feel sorry for him,
221

ROMA BEATA
reduced to tending hospital fires, to warming
up poultices for the gouty !
Olivetta built a sort of mould of hot clay
wherein the foot was comfortably coddled for
thirty minutes. She next gave it a hot douche
for five minutes, then left me to meditate for
another thirty minutes in a warm mineral bath
which smelt of hot flat-irons.
The serious business of the day over, we were
free to explore the country. Ercole and the
piebald took us for a nineteen-mUe drive around
the island, which rises sharply from the sea to its
highest point, Mt. Epomeo. The vineyards
AATrap Ischia from seashore to mountain peak
in a shimmering screen of green. The Adnes hang
from tree to tree, making a leafy roof over
head and green sun- pierced walls to the long
alleys, where innumerable classic bunches are
slowly ripening. The grapes are stUl smaU and
immature, but exquisite in form and color. In
October, the season of the vintage, this must be
the most beautiful place on earth. Here one
understands why the Roman soldiers in Britain,
when they first saw the Kentish hop vines,
thought they had found the nearest thing to the
grape that savage northland produced. In their
222

ISCHIA
efforts to make Avine from hops they produced
the first beer made in England.
On our Avay home we met a pair of boys
driving a donkey laden with the coarse gray
pottery which has been made here since the
days of the Romans. The crcta (gray clay) from
which it is made, looks very like the mud used
at the stabilimento. We stopped to examine
the mugs, the jugs, the donkey, and his aston
ishing garments.
" Behold, Madama, I'adno del colonello ! " said
Ercole. " Who is the colonel ? "
" Un gran signore, un Inglese. He comes
here every year for the baths."
"What can a gran signore do AAdth this
poor httle animal ? "
" He protects it. When he first saw this
donkey, the poor beast being much afflicted with
sores, was sadly tormented by flies. The colo
nello taking pity upon it provided pantaloons —
two pair ; a pair for the hind legs, a pair for the
fore legs, as you perceive. He also pays the boys
two francs a month to treat the creature weU ;
he provides petroleum to bathe its sores, and
now and again orders it a sea bath. It is his
223

ROMA BEATA
idea. He may be right. How do I know ?
With respect, the soul of his grandmother may
have entered the body of that ass."
A little further on Ercole drew up the piebald
again. " Behold other of the colonello' s beneficiaries,"
he said. Two tiny dwarfs saluted us, asking
Avith Ischian gentleness for alms. There was
no whine to their voices, no consciousness of
degradation, nothing of that brazen effrontery
of the Neapolitan beggar, which makes one
despair of the regeneration of the Neapolitan
" submerged tenth " !
"Sono buoni ed onesti (They are good and
honest)," said Ercole, adding a soldo from his oAvn
pocket to what J. gave them.
" They are called Pasquale and Restituta. It
is only a few years that they have been obliged
to beg. They worked at their trades — he at
brick making, she at straw braiding ; they are
past working now. They are not A^ery old, but
such people have little vigor. I remember their
wedding. All the toAAm was there, the dndaco
and the schoolmaster as well. We all gave
something for their housekeeping, one a goat,
one a pair of fowls, one a piece of furniture. If
224

ISCHIA
you could have seen their httle marriage-bed,
Signora mia, it was like a doU's bed."
We drove along for another mile or two,
passed the straw factory, where we were obliged
to buy some ugly fans, out of respect to Ercole's
views. On the Marina he stopped again to let
us see " II Fungo," a big mushroom-shaped rock
in the sea. The setting sun touched Procida
into an unearthly beauty, it shone like the golden
city of Jerusalem.
" There is Teodora ! " said Ercole, pointing
with his whip to a group of sailors sitting on
the bottom of an overturned boat. In their
midst sat a strange figure mending a net.
" You see that old woman scAAdng ? She is a
deaf-mute, and she believes that she is a man. If
it were true it would be miraculous, jaercAe ha fatto
una figlia (because she has " made " a daughter).
She avoids aU women, spends aU her time Avith
the fishermen. As she cannot talk and mends
their nets for them — they do not object."
Teodora laid doAAm the long black cigar she
was smoking and took off her hat to us. Save
for a short dark skirt she was dressed like a man.
"It is against the law for a woman to wear
pantaloons," Ercole explained.
IS 225

ROMA BEATA
" But not for asses or men ? "
Ercole laughed immoderately — part of his
pleasant flattery.
We made the ascent of Mt. Epomeo; after
completing the course of eleven baths, we
wished to put to the test what they had done
for me. We drove to Fontana, taking our
luncheon with us — why do things taste best
out of a basket ? We left Ercole and the pie
bald at the inn and climbed to the summit of
the extinct volcano where there is a curious
hermitage dedicated to St. Nicola cut out of the
volcanic tufa rock. The view from here is not
so fine as it is half way up the mountain. It is
rather too much like looking doAvn upon a dis
sected map, but it does give one a wonderful
geographical sensation, fixes the relations be
tween the Sorrentine peninsula, Vesuvius, the
islands of the Sirens, Capri, the promontory of
Circeo (where Circe lived), Procida the golden,
and the other points of this earthly paradise,
between Terracina on the north and the Punta
di Campanella on the south. We were helped
to orient ourselves by Lucia, a "lady guide,"
who joined us half way up the mountain. She
is a handsome old woman with wUd white hair,
226

ISCHIA
bright blue eyes, and a shrewd peasant face.
She hailed me at sight as an American.
•' How do you knoAv that I am not English ? "
I asked. " I can always recognize the Americani, Si
gnora mia."
" By what sign do you know us ? " I asked.
" By the expression of the countenance."
AA^hen I first came to Italy I should have
scoffed at this ; now I have lived away from home
so long that I too recognize the American ex
pression, — nervous, sensitive, masterful, — the
Look Dominant !
" Si vede Prodda, La Spagna, io veggio a te ! "
Lucia crooned a stave of the old Neapolitan
song, Funicuh Funicula, in a cracked voice.
" Yes, yes, I know both Americani ed Inglesi ;
my daughter's husband is an Inglese."
" Where did she meet him ? "
" Here on Mt. Epomeo, where else ? Una
bella ragazza (She was a pretty girl) ! You may
not beheve it, Signori, but there is no difference
between my daughter and me save a matter of
fifteen years. At fifty she is just what I was, —
at sixteen she was her mother over again. You
would not think it, eh ? WeU, one can speak
227

ROMA BEATA
about it, now that one is so old. She was caUed
the most beautiful girl in aU Ischia. How do I
know if it was true ? I could not think so, you
see, because she was myself over again, and I
never saw any difference between myself and the
other girls."
" I hope your daughter has a good husband."
" Grazie a Dio, a good husband, yes, yes, a
good husband."
" Who was that pretty girl at the inn doAATi at
Fontana ? " J. asked.
"Bella? quella ragazza? facda di patate
(Pretty ? that girl ? a potato face) ! Ai ! if you
could have seen my Eva ! The Madonna her
self was not more beautiful. That girl, the inn
keeper's daughter, is as awkward as a cow, and she
squints besides, as her mother did before her."
" No, no," J. protested ; " e un beV pezzo di
donna (she is a fine piece of a woman)."
Lucia gave him a keen look. " The signore
should not laugh at the poor girl. // buon Dio
does not give a handsome face to every woman."
" Fortunately, for the peace of the world, that
is true." " But the signore is an artist ? one sees that
from his manner of looking at things. WeU, if
228

ISCHIA
the innkeeper's Anna is a pretty girl, call me a
bruttona (big ugly thing). If my daughter had
not been out of the common, do you think a rich
gentleman would have married her ? Yes, yes,
I am telhng you the truth. She does no work,
they liA^e in a palazzo, my daughter has servants
to wait on her, do you belicA^e it ? she does not
even comb her OAvn hair ! And she has jewels,
such diamonds ! For every child she gives him,
he gives her a great pearl, each bigger than the
last." " How many children have they ? "
" Ha fatto quattro maschi e tre femmine (She
has borne four males and three females), all
straight and weU formed. The youngest is Lucia,
for the poor old nonna (grandmother) at Ischia."
" Where do they hve ? "
She pointed across the sea. " What do I know
of foreign countries ? I am of the island. Here
I was born, here I shaU die."
" You must be very proud of your grand
children." This is always a safe remark.
"Ha ragione, eccellenza, guardi (You are
right, exceUency, observe), I am only a poor igno-
rante, but I made the great matrimonio for my
daughter. Eva was always here with me, upon
229

ROMA BEATA
the flanks of Epomeo, guiding the foreigners, but
for me she would be here still, as my mother and
her mother before her were here. In those days
before the terremoto many strangers came to
Epomeo. From the first moment the young In
glese saw the girl he was innamorato. He came
every day, he pretended to sketch the mountain.
I knew he was no artist ; why, any one could see
he was un gran dgnore by the way he spent his
money. One day he asked leave to paint my
daughter. I said, ' Scuse, Signore, you are a rich
gentleman, I am only a beggar, ma io sono pa
drona della miafiglivola (I am the mistress of my
little daughter). The day Eva takes a husband
he wUl he padrone ; till that time, scud, Signore,
ma sono padrona io ! ' Would you believe it ?
a week from that day Eva and the Inglese were
married by the priest who married her father
and mother and who gave her the holy rite of
baptism." Sing me a song of the AAdsdom of old women !
I was bent upon exploring the hermitage, in
spite of Lucia. The hermit has departed the
way of hermits and others. In his stead reigns
Orlando, a cross old man, between whom and
Lucia there is war to the knife.
230

ISCHIA
" Their exceUencies ai-e not going down with
out seeing the hermitage ? " he whined.
" Certainly not," J. assured him.
" Do not go in ; it is a dirty hole, and there is
nothing to see," whispered Lucia, catching me
by the sleeve.
" That sUly old woman is tu-ing out the lady,"
said Orlando to J. ; " drive her away, she is a pest."
As I put my foot on the lowest step of the rough-
hewn rock stairway leading to the hermitage,
Lucia feU back and said no more. I was evi
dently out of her domain and in the enemy's ter
ritory. As she had said, there was little to see
in the two rooms cut out of the living rock.
Orlando's bed, a pUe of straw, occupied the outer
room, the inner ceU served as his kitchen and
larder. He offered bread and AAdne ; we were
firm in refusing refreshment ; his feelings were
soothed by a manda, and by telhng him we
should come again and take his photograph (our
kodak had been forgotten).
" The next time their exceUencies come they
must not let that old chiacchierone (gossip) hang
on to them. She pesters the traveUers so with
her talk that she fidghtens them away. Truly
you wUl find it set doAATi in the red book of the
231

ROMA BEATA
strangers (Baedeker) that a guide is unnecessary,
though a few soldi are due to the person living
in the hermitage, who is ready and able to ex
plain inteUigently the view and the locality."
At the foot of the steps Lucia again took us
in charge, after an exchange of malevolent glances
Avith Orlando.
" Stregona (Big old AAdtch)," Orlando muttered.
"Birbacaione (Big rogue)," mumbled Lucia.
She came doAAm Avith us as far as the cab.
"Addio, eccellenza, e mille grazie."
"Addio, Lucia, and thanks to you." At
the turn of the road we looked back and saw
the strong, bent little woman leaning against the
wall, waiting to guide the next forestieri who
might turn up.
"Is it true what Lucia teUs us about her
daughter ? " I asked Ercole.
" Who knows ? these old women gossip to
amuse strangers. There is a new story for every
day in the week. We must not beheve every
thing that we hear."
Was Ercole jealous, too ?
The next time I saw Olivetta she began to
chatter about Lucia.
" She told you about her daughter ? Yes ? It
232

ISCHIA
is quite true. The girl caught the fancy of a rich
mUord, and he married her. One thing I am
sure Lucia did not teU you. Her son-in-law has
bought her a nice cottage, the best house in Fon
tana, he gives her a handsome income; truly,
Lucia is rich, but she is avaricious. I ask you,
does she not look like a beggar ? That is all a
comedy ; she has good clothes and shoes. Truly,
I should not be surprised if, when she dies, we
should find that Lucia is the richest woman in
Ischia ; it is a shame that she should ask money
from the strangers."
" Perhaps it is not the money so much as the
occupation Lucia hkes," I suggested.
"Ma che, she is robbing others who would
gladly take her place. There is the excellent
Orlando, he is my relation. Poor man, he is
lame and cannot work. As long as Lucia re
mains there is no chance for another guide; e fina
quella donna (she is a sharp one, that woman).
Ask the colonello, — he can teU you all about
Lucia and her daughter."
The colonello, protector of the poor and pur
veyor of pantaloons to suffering donkeys, is at
this hotel. He is a delightful, warm-blooded
creature, who cannot be quite comfortable unless
233

ROMA BEATA
everybody else in sight — - even an ass — is com
fortable too. Like the others, he had a great
deal to say about Lucia ; of all the personages
we have met — the place is full of personages —
she seems to have the most marked character.
" Gad, sir, the old woman is right," said the
colonel. " The day she goes out of the guide
business she will go to pieces. Why should she
give up her job because her daughter has married
into another sphere ? I 'm d — d if I don't like
her spirit ! "
"What is the daughter hke ? " I asked.
" She is a good sort," said the colonel.
" When her husband took her to his mother's
house, what do you suppose they did Avith her ?
sent her to school, had her taught hke a chUd.
She learned many things, hoAV to talk small talk,
how to behave at table, how to dress and aU the
rest of it. When they thought she had learned
enough she came home to her husband. He
gave a great dinner to introduce her to his family
— oh, they aU aqted sensibly. The bride be
haved very nicely and quietly, they all liked her
for her pretty manners (you knoAv the people
hereabouts have excellent manners, better than
half the aristocracy at home, I teU them) as
234

ISCHIA
weU as for her remarkable beauty ; she must have
been worth seeing in those days. After the din
ner was over and the guests had left the dining-
room, the husband coming back for something
found his wife going round the table collecting
the ends of the cigars the men had left on their
plates. " ' AVhat on earth do you want with those nasty
things ? ' he asked.
-*' I shall send them to my poor old father at
Ischia ! '
" She had been in the habit of picking up the
ends of the travellers' cigars for the old man.
Do you wonder that she has made a good wife
and mother ? I tell you she has a good heart ;
if a woman has that, what else matters ? "
When we made our second trip to Epomeo to
keep faith with Orlando, Lucia was nowhere
visible ; we made the ascent AAdthout her. Or
lando held undisputed possession of Epomeo.
" Where is your friend Lucia ? " we asked.
He fairly spluttered, " Una vecchiarella stupida
senza edu,cazione (A stupid old woman without
education) ! Do you know what I beheve ? I
beheve that her daughter and son-in-law are in
Ischia. When they are on the island, Lucia sits
235

ROMA BEATA
all day at her AAdndow dressed in her Sunday
clothes. To see her you would never fancy that
she was the guide to Mt. Epomeo — not that
there is any need of a guide, as you yourselves
perceive." On our way through Fontana we passed a neat
cottage, caught a whiff of fragrance of oleanders
in the garden, a glimpse of an old woman sitting
bolt upright in an armchair, a flash from her
sharp blue eyes. It was Lucia, our little old
guide, her wild hair neatly coifed by a peasant
cap ; she sat up .as if she were sitting for her pho
tograph, stiff, uncomfortable, Avretched in her
finery. That night at the hotel an interesting couple
who had arrived since the morning sat opposite
to us at dinner ; a tall, silent man who looked as
if he might have been in the army, and a grave,
handsome woman of fifty. She has a certain
noble amphtude of brow, a width between the
eyes, a calm quality of face and figure, very
restful in contrast to certain giddy young ladies
of her age who enhven the table d'hote. She
speaks Enghsh with a slight accent. We made
acquaintance over the mustard, which we both
prefer a F Anglaise. The gentleman spoke of Is-
236

ISCHIA
chia and the neighboring parts of the country
with such famiharity that I asked him about my
enchanted island, Procida.
" It is such an ideal looking place that it ought
only to be inhabited by beautiful rose-colored
maidens," I said.
He looked at his wife as he answered me.
" Ischia is the island for handsome women,"
he said. " Procida is best seen as you have seen
it, from a distance. It is the place where the
Italian conAdcts are sent."
Was not that a sad pricking of a rainbow bub
ble ? His next words atoned for that shattered
iUusion ; they were addressed to his wife.
"Eva, my dear," he said, "let me give you a
little of this vino di paese (AAdne of the country).
It comes from the vigna on Mt. Epomeo, it is
the kind you used to hke when you were a girl."
At the name Eva I looked at the colonello,
who was devouring green figs at the end of the
table. He answered my questioning look by
one of acquiesence.
Orlando was right ! Lucia's daughter and
the husband of Lucia's daughter had come to
Ischia to see Lucia !
" May I trouble you to hand me that other plate
237

ROMA BEATA
of figs ? " said the colonello. " The figs of Ischia
are the finest in the world. I sometimes wonder
how many figs a man may eat and hve."
Suddenly hght daAvned ! The colonello is un
doubtedly the " Old Person of Ischia." On the
flanks of Epomeo we had looked for him, in the
sun-pierced aUeys of Ischian vineyards, among
the saUors on the Marina, even in the halls of
the stabilimento — our quest, the magnet that
drew us out of the path of duty {that led back to
Rome and the studio), the hero of Lear's verse.
He was here, sleeping under the same roof with
us, sitting at the same table ! Have not we our
selves seen him eat scores, possibly hundreds of
figs ? If we could postpone our return to Rome
we should doubtless get up into the thousands,
for, —
" There was an old person of Ischia,
AVhose conduct grew friskier and friskier.
He danced hornpipes and jigs,
And ate thousands of figs,
This lively old person of Ischia."

238

XI
OLD AND NEW ROME — PALESTRINA
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, 1899.
Sunday afternoon we went over to hear ves
pers at St. Peter's (the music was Palestrina's).
The service was celebrated in the gorgeous Cap-
peUa del Coro. It must have been some especial
festa, for the chapel was even more magnificent
than usual, the priests wore extra fine flowered
brocade robes, the air was bluer and heavier with
incense, there were more candles. The slumbrous
canons, in purple goAAOis and gray squirrel-skin
capes, dozed in their fretted stalls. Over their
heads, in the carved and gilded gallery, stood
the choristers, two by two, each pair holding be
tween them a quaint, black-lettered music book ;
behind the choir was the organ, in front, the
leader, baton in hand. They all wore white lace-
trimmed cottas over black gowns. Their voices,
dominated by the piercing sweetness of the Pope's
angel, a male soprano, filled the chapel with an
239

ROMA BEATA
almost overpowering melody, that flowed through
the gilded gates and floated out into the distant
aisles and transepts of the great church.
Wandering about after service, we came upon
the tomb of Palestrina, in the transept near the
chapel where his magnificat had rung out so
gloriously. " The Church has a long memory for its saints,
sinners, and master-workmen. If I thought it
would remember me, now, I would take the
vows to-morrow," somebody said in my ear. It
was Patsy.
" Jolly to think," he went on, " of the old boy
who led that choir and composed that music
for 'em — he died, you know, in 1594, — lying
here within the smell of the incense, within the
sound of his own harmonics." Patsy's only in
strument is the guitar.
" I hke incense," he went on ; " the Roman
populace smells no sweeter than in the days
Shakespeare AATote about them ; but the real
value of incense, of course, hes in its being a
germ destroyer, a safeguard to the priest.
In the old days, when people did not know so
much about health as they do now, they used to
come to church to give thanks for recovery from
240

OLD AND NEW ROME
smallpox whUe still in a state to give it to
others." Here Helen came up. We had scarcely fin
ished asking her news when Mr. Z  joined us.
" Looking at the tomb of Palestrina ? " he
said. " That reminds me, would you ladies like
to go and see the town from which he took
his name ? It is an opportunity, the greatest
hAdng authority on polygonal waUs is going
Avith us."
" I never heard of a polygonal wall," Helen
began. ("You'd not give a hoot to see one,"
murmured Patsy. ) " But I would go anywhere
for a day in the country this divine weather, pro-
Added the company was good."
" And the luncheon," Patsy put in.
Mr. Z  smUed : "I think the ladies may
trust me for that," he said. Then he gave Helen
and me directions for meeting at the station and
left us.
" Z  is a siUy old gloat, but there is no
mahce in him," Patsy said. " His Antonio is the
best cook in Rome. It is part of the law of
compensation that the biggest bores always have
the best chefs."
We had perfect weather for the trip to Pales-
16 241

ROMA BEATA
trina. All the women, like Helen, had come
for the day's outing in the country, the men were
grimly intent upon polygonal waUs — aU but
one — Patsy, the uninvited, who turned up at
the station and said he " would go along to have
a try at the vino di paese and to see if the girls of
Palestrina were as pretty as the girls of Pree-
neste." As we did not feel responsible for him
(he is a relation ofthe Z  's) we were thankful
to see his handsome face. Express trains do not
stop at Palestrina, so we had to take a local,
which crawled. One does not mind crawling
across the Campagna, in sight of the trees and
tombs of the Via Appia, beside the long lines of
broAvn aqueducts, broken here and there into
picturesque groups of arches. As we approached
the Alban hills we found a hazy scarf of pink
gauze spread about their feet and half way up
to their knees ; on nearer Adew this proved to
be fruit trees in blossom.
At the dull little station of Monte Compatri
Colonna there was a delay. Patsy, in search of
diversion, tried to get out of the carriage. The
door was locked. He put a long leg out of the
window and made as if he would chjnb out.
Excitement among the peasants on the platform.
242

OLD AND NEW ROME
Everybody talked at once. Four women and
three men rushed to the Avindow.
" Eccellenza, for charity's sake, have patience !
The door is capable of being opened ! " urged the
vendor of passa tempi (salted melon seeds).
An old woman, with a basket of assorted fi-uits,
threw herself passionately in the breach.
" For the love of the IMadonna, illustrissimo,
haA'e a care, you wUl do yourself an injury. The
door opens, I assure you it is true. That ignorante
of a guard. Where has he gone ? The capo
stazione himself should interest himself in your
signoria." Patsy put out his head and one arm. The
vendor of the straw-covered flasks of red and
white wine joined the group.
" This is a serious affair, aviid mid," he said.
" Signori, restrain the gentleman ! Between our
selves now, is he mad ? If so, my brother, who
is of the carabinieri, can easily be summoned."
Patsy by this time had got one shoulder out
and was franticaUy waving an arm and a leg.
That was too much for the immemorial beggar
AAdth the head and beard of Jove, who for forty
years has sat upon that platform and begged.
He laid doAvn his tray of matches and hurried
243

ROMA BEATA
off on one leg and a crutch to the office of the
capo stazione. Meanwhile, the guard came out
of the restaurant furtively wiping his moustache.
He rushed at the carriage with his key. Only
one person on the platform had maintained his
equilibrium, — the waiter from the restaurant, a
man of the world, continued to walk calmly up
and down the platform, offering his atrocious
chiccory brew — he called it coffee — to the
other passengers. He rather superciliously let
us alone.
The guard hurried to the window. " I asked
the signori before I allowed myself to attend to
my duties at Colonna if any of the illustrious
ones desired to descend. You yourself, excellency,
assured me you desired nothing ! " He fitted the
key to the door as he spoke.
" Behold, did I not speak the truth ? " said
the fruit seUer ; " am I not right? the door opens."
Patsy leaned comfortably back in the cor
ner and lighted a cigarette. The capo stazione
arrived, hastily buttoning his gold-laced coat.
He looked daggers at the guard.
" What is wrong ? If there has been any in
attention it shall be reported. How is this ?
One of the traveUers obliged to get out of the
244

OLD AND NEW ROME
window, and now that the door is open nobody
ahghts ? "
" That gentleman," said Patsy, nodding towards
Mr. Z  , " wished to see if he could climb out
of the window. Do not trouble yourselves, he is
not mad, merely an original. So sorry you should
have been disturbed." The capo bowed politely
to Patsy, fixed poor Z  with a freezing stare,
and returned AAdth olympian dignity to that stuffy
seat of authority, his office. The Jove-like beg
gar, leaning on his crutch, in his curiosity to see
us forgot to beg.
" Un fiasco di vino ! " said the wine seller,
thrusting a flask into the carriage.
" PortugalU ! " shrUled the old fruit woman.
" Caffe due soldi la tazza (Coffee two cents a
cup) ! " cried the waiter.
" Pronti (Ready) ! " roared the guard.
" Taratara!" screamed the station master's horn.
" Partenza ! " and that was the last we saw of
Monte Compatri Colonna.
Between Colonna and Palestrina Patsy allowed
us to enjoy the view, reaUy weU worth seeing.
We had enchanting glimpses of the Alban, Sabine,
and Volscian mountains ; the vaUeys between
blazed with AAdld-flowers. At the station the
245

ROMA BEATA
party divided, Mr. Z  , the expert on polygonal
walls, and the rest going in the stage, Patsy,
Helen, and ourselves crowding into a botte.
" The trouble with those fellows is, " said
Patsy, " that they know too much of one thing
and too little of anything else. You 'd be talked
to death and sick of the subject if I had not
come along to save your lives."
" I should like to know what we have come to
see," I feebly protested.
" Nonsense," said Helen, " they have crammed
it aU out of books, you can cram a great deal
better afterwards. It takes the edge off to read
too much about a thing before you see it. Don't
read the guide-book till you have seen the thing
and got your own impression neat."
The road from the station leads up a sharp in
cline, winding through the steep and dirty streets
of Palestrina, a hillside town, which stands upon
the ruins of the Colonna's mediseval stronghold,
which again stands upon the ancient town of
Prgeneste, extolled by the Latin poets. That
Praeneste, with its magnificent Templeof Fortune,
the resort of the fashionable Romans of the days
of Meecenas, seems modern compared to the
ancient Prasneste, whose ruins are found beneath
246

OLD AND NEW ROME
it, and whose arx was the spot chosen for the
picnic limcheon. It was a stiff climb. We left
the carriage at Castel San Pietro and scrambled
to the summit where that magnificent and in
domitable race — CasteUane caUs them the Itali-
otti — buUt their citadel. Here we saw the ruins
of the polygonal (we used to caU them cyclopean)
walls. Astonishing structures, making the walls
of the three later periods — the latest, exquisite
brick- work of the Empire — seem by compari
son like the work of children ! The huge rocks are
fitted together Avdthout cement of any sort, and in
some places the waUs look as sohd as the day they
were buUt, long before Rome was ! To make
room for our table-cloth, an old shepherd oblig
ingly drove his sheep a little lower doAATi the
mountain. He was knitting stockings for one of
his grandchUdren ; he has four to bring up. Their
mother is dead, their father — he went years ago
to Buenos Ayres — has ceased to AArrite or to
send them money.
A pretty girl spinning Avith a distaff asked
shyly if she could help us. Patsy sent her for
water whUe he set the table.
" We could not have her handling the food,
you know," he said ; " but she is so decorative
247

ROMA BEATA
that we want to look at her while we eat and
drink. Antonio has outdone himself (he knew
I was coming), this ham reaUy has been boUed
in vino di Montefiascone, as I suggested. The
girls of Palestrina are as handsome as the girls
of Praeneste." Armida, our girl, had come back,
a dripping conca poised on her head.
" How do you know so much about the girls
of Praeneste ? " I asked.
" Go to the Kircheriano Museum and look at
the Ficoronian Cista and you wiU know as
much as I do," Patsy confessed. " It was found
near here in the necropolis. It is a green bronze
toUet casket, with the most corking pictures
from the story of the Argonauts engraved upon
it you ever saw ! PoUux has just hcked Amycus,
you knoAV, for interfering with the Greeks pre
empting the spring of water, and tied him up
to a tree, as he deserved. Then you have the
Greeks drinking out of the spring. In the harbor
lies the good ship Argo ; on shore you see Jason
and Hercules, one of the Argonauts in the
attitude of boxing, a fat old Silenus mimicking
him. Female beauty is represented by Athena
and Nik^, who seem to be offering a victor's
crown to the lucky PoUux. It's up to date, I
248

OLD AND NEW ROME
can teU you. The girls are no prettier than
Armida there ; but find me the man who can
'do' her hke the feUow who engraved that
Cista, and I wiU pay him to make her portrait ! "
" How long ago was the casket made ? " Helen
asked. " If you must have a date, 700 B.C. is as good
as another. Heigh ho ! The world 's grown
lazy ! AU this talk about modern energy
makes me tired ! AVhere 's the energy in any
race on earth to-day to build an arx hke this ?
to hve on the top of a steep hiU like this ? to
trundle itself and its chattels up and doAAn ?
Our civihzation compared to Prgeneste's is
barbarism by every standard I know."
"You don't know much," said Helen. "/
know you have waited too long for your luncheon.
Your Adews vsdU improve directly."
As we ate our luncheon, Armida awkwardly
weaving a garland of oak leaves after a' pattern
Patsy made her, watched us Avith shy, hungry
eyes. She and I exchanged glances (not a word
was spoken) which said, —
" Signora, I have rarely tasted white bread —
never such a pasticdo as the signorino is giving
to the shepherd's dog ! "
249

ROMA BEATA
"Figlia mia, all that remains of the feast shall
be for you and the shepherd; you wUl divide
AAdth him ? "
" Stia dcura (Rest assured) ! " said Armida's
honest eyes.
There was wine in an amphora — how had
Patsy managed it ? — he poured the first glass on
the ground in libation.
Looking at Armida and raising his glass,
" Alle belle r agaze di Palestrina ! " he said. The
shepherd's dog sniffed the spUt wine scornfuUy.
" Tutti gli Ingled sono matti ! (The Enghsh
are all mad) ! " muttered the shepherd.
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, 1899.
June in Italy is heaven. The weather is
delicious. Life is pleasant and calm. J. has
found a smaU American ice-chest, the only one
in Rome ; we are as proud as peacocks about it ;
Pompiha shows it off as if it were the great
kohinoor. It is an economy in ice, which has
only lately been introduced, and is fabulously
dear. Nena fetches a tiny slab of artificial ice
every afternoon, it is AArrapped in thick felt, put
into the American ice-chest, where it keeps the
mUk and A\dne cool. Green nuts are part of the
250

The Lady K,
From a red ohalk drawing in the CoUection ot Ur. Thonuu W. Lawson

Copyright, 1900, by John Elliott. From a Copley Print. Copyright, 1901, by Curtis & Cameron, Publishers, Boston.

OLD AND NEW ROME
summer biU of fare, fi-esh filberts in their jackets,
green almonds and English walnuts as much
nicer fresh than dried as fresh figs are better
than dry, or grapes than raisins.
Ignazio, our gardener, handsome, sympathetic,
AAdth a timid laugh, a hesitating manner, a real
passion for his caUing, was recommended to us
as knoAvdng more about roses than any man
in Rome. The burthen of caring for our beloved
flowers had become too great. The improvement
since the expert took hold and properly grafted
our roses is astonishing. Ignazio has to be re
strained from quite ruining us. To him the
natural order would be to spend the greater
part of one's income upon one's flowers — I am
not so sure he is not right ! For weeks he has
been talking about a new rare flower — just the
thing for the terrace — whose name he could not
remember. When I asked him he took off his
old cap, rubbed his head in a puzzled way, and
complained that the English names were " too
difficult." I caught his enthusiasm, ordered
some of these rare exotics, though the price
was high. To-day arrived six fine specimens of
the wild American purple aster, which overruns
the fields and roadsides at home !
251

ROMA BEATA
Signor Giacomo Boni, the architect in charge
of the public buildings of ancient .Rome, hg,s a
rival terrace on the roof of his house : we went
to see his Japanese lilies the other day. Fancy,
he has a cherry tree with ripe cherries on it, a
peach tree with peaches, a tame starling in a
cage, and quite the most wonderful coUection of
plants and flowers I ever saw in so smaU a space.
Signor Boni has planted on the Palatine, in the
Forum, and in the Baths of Caracalla, the flowers
and shrubs mentioned in the classics as growing
in those places. The good work is beginnuig to
tell already ; now there are roses and fleur-de-
hs groAAdng in the Forum. The vandahsm which
stripped the Colosseum of its glorious robe of
flowered green and exposed its gaunt skeleton to
view, is at an end, but the havoc it Avrought is
irreparable — at least in my lifetime. Fancy,
there were five hundred different varieties of
wUd-flowers growing on that splendid old ruin.
Many of these are unknown in other parts of
Europe and are supposed to have sprung from
seeds that were mixed in the various kinds
of fodder imported from Africa to feed the
wild beasts which fought in the old blood-
soaked arena. 252

OLD AND NEW ROME
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, August 3, 1899.
It was too hot for sleep last night, a rare thing
in Rome. At half-past four this morning, when
I went out on the terrace to water the plants,
the smooth red tiles were stiU warm to bare feet.
The Piazza of St. Peter's was a sea of fog, out of
Avhich loomed the lantern of Angelo's dome ; no
other part of the great church was visible. A
white mist from the Tiber rose like a waU
between us and Mt. Soracte ; the river and
the mountain Horace loved are stiU the dearest
things in the Avdde view of the Roman landscape.
When the plants had been watered it was half-
past five, just the right time for bicycling, so we
set out. At this hour few people are about, save
the drivers of the heavy wains of hay — draAvn by
big, soft-eyed gray oxen with magnificent branch
ing horns. These wagons of fragrant hay are not
allowed in the streets after eight o'clock in the
morning. Though the Forum was reached be
fore six, Signor Boni and his aids were already
hard at work. Swarms of men, hke so many busy
ants, were passing to and from the excavations,
wheeling barrows fuU of earth, retuming a httle
later Avith empty barrows. 253

ROMA BEATA
" Where do you put the rubbish that you take
out ? " I asked. The capo smiled indulgently.
" Every particle of the earth of the Forum is sa
cred," he said. " We skim it off carefully in
layers, keeping each layer quite separate from
the others. Then we sift it layer by layer, sort
whatever it contains, examine each bit of broken
glass, metal, pottery, and, where it is possible,
piece the fragments together."
In a sacrificial layer, composed chiefly of
thp ashes and bones of victims offered at the
altars of the gods, the capo lately found the
jaw bones of several large dogs. These did
not properly belong here, among the bones of
beeves, sheep, and goats, the regulation sacrificial
animals. The layer in which they were found
proved to be of the time of MarceUus. Now,
what were the bones of these big dogs doing
there ?
One dark night — it was in the days of Mar
cellus — the Goths descended for the first time
upon Rome, the citadel came within an ace of
being taken — would have been, but for the
cackhng of the siUy geese which roused the sleep
ing guards. The sUly geese became sacred geese,
and the faithless watch-dogs, who had faUed to
254

OLD AND NEW ROME
bark and giv^e the alarm, Avere slaughtered at the
altar, — and that is how the big canine jaw bones
turn up to-day in the sacrificial layer of Marcel
lus ! The capo's dreamy blue eyes, the eyes of
an enthusiast, glowed with an inner light as he
unfolded this theory. Imagination, you see, is
as important to the successful archaeologist as it
is to any other discoverer. He must have other
things as weU — a thorough knowledge of the
classics, for instance. Did not Mme. Schlieman
learn the whole of Homer by heart, to aid
her husband in his search for the tomb of
Agamemnon ?
If in reading Tacitus or Livy the capo finds
mention of a missing buUding or statue, he goes
and looks for it in the place where accord
ing to the historians it ought to be — and
where, nine times out of ten, he finds it ! While
he talked to us his eyes never left the skilful hands
of a workman patiently matching together pieces
of broAvn terra-cotta fi-om a large pile of shards.
" If we could only make up one complete
tile!" he sighed.
We were in the temporary museum where the
latest " fimds " of the Forum are kept. The man
at the next table was putting together a reaUy
255

ROMA BEATA
beautiful vessel of dark-blue glass. It might
have been the Myrrhene goblet of Petronius !
" The tiles are so ugly, so monotonous — why
should you care ? I could understand, now, if a
piece of that enchanting blue glass were miss
ing ! " I said.
" The cup is only a cup, — beautiful if you will,
— but what does it teach us ? nothing new. If we
could find a whole tile, now, it would fix the date
of a building we are in doubt about."
Scientific methods, you see ; even in Rome we
cannot escape them ! Then we went and looked
at the spot where the Jewish citizens of Rome
piously burned the body of Julius Ceesar, and
at what remains of the house where Ceesar hved,
a corner of the dining-room, Avith the white mo
saic pavement, and a piece of wall painted with
a decoration of fruit, flowers, green trees, and a
pointed bamboo trellis, in the same style as
the ViUa Livia, built by the widow of Augustus,
who, perhaps, had admired Aunt Calpurnia's
dining-room, and when her time came to buUd
imitated it !
In the house of the Vestal Virgins we saw
some fine pavements lately uncovered. Vesta is
by far the most interesting of the Roman divini-
256

OLD AND NEW ROME
ties. Is there a shrine to her at Radcliffe ? There
should be ; we owe Rome the " higher education,"
as Ave owe her the 1:vav avc live by, the army we
conquer by. Close to the Temple of Vesta we
saAv the place where earthquakes were foretold by
the simplest contrivance. On a white marble
platform finely adjusted Aveights were placed so
as to oscUlate AAdth the first, otherwise impercep
tible, tremors of the earth ; in this way the know
ing ones were enabled to foreteU the earthquakes
to the populace. Not far from here is the point
where hghtning once struck, making a hole ever
after held sacred. It was turned into a sacred
well, wherein jewels, cups, and other precious
offerings Avere throAATi by the devout or the su
perstitious. Both these shrines are very near the ,
Temple of Vesta. Was it by chance that the
fanes of the three things primitive man fears most,
fire, earthquake, and lightning, should be so near
together ? The capo thinks not.
" Noav come and see the Republican well I
haA'e just found," he said, leading the way to a
deep pit in the form of an amphora, with smooth
rounded sides lined AAdth cement.
" Notice the work they did in the days of the
Repubhc ; it is far better than the work of the
17 257

ROMA BEATA
Empire. See this cement, as perfect as the day
it was laid."
" What did you find in this weU ? " we asked.
" Come and see. Here are a great number of
styluses — the Roman pens used for writing on
wax tablets " (do you suppose some poor devil of
a literary man threw them in in a moment of
despair ? ) " and the entire contents of a Republi
can butcher's shop. See, there is the great cleaver,
these are the knives — even the wooden handles
are intact. These round stones are the weights,
here is the thigh bone of the last ox slaughtered
before the shop came to grief, and here — take it
carefuUy, it is of terra-cotta — is the butcher's
lamp. Do you make out the design ? It is in
the shape of an inflated oxhide."
I never saw the like of that lamp ! Of all the
precious things the capo has unearthed, I most
covet the Republican butcher's squat little earth
enware lamp with the neck of the skin pursed to
gether to hold the wick.
" Now come and look at the true Via Sacra ;
you see it lies several feet below the road we
used to call the Sacred Way. Do you observe
how much finer this early pavement is than the
later paving ? But wait, I shall show you better
258

OLD AND NEW ROME
yet, — the earlier the work, the better the work
manship." As we stood on the large squares of smooth
gi-ay stone, a cloud veUed the hot August sun, a
shadow crossed the pavement. Might it not
have been just here that Horace tacked to avoid
meeting that bore Crispinus ? When midsum
mer comes and everybody goes away, and there
remains only Rome, ourselves, and the mighty
ghosts, — these grow so real that I wonder if I
dreamed the tea-party-picnicking Rome of winter
and spring.
" Here is the BasUica Emilia. We should not
have been able to excavate this if it had not been
for JMr. St. Clair Baddeley, who raised the money
in England to buy the land and indemnify the
OAATiers of the houses we were obliged to pull
doAvn. Look at these two delightful bas-reliefs ;
have you ever seen such a treatment of the
acanthus ? "
The rehefs are the most florid — one might
almost say " baroque" — acanthus designs I have
ever seen. In one the flower in the centre of the
" curly cue" ends in a prancing horse ; the other
terminates in some apochrjrphal beast, like a
dragon. 259

ROMA BEATA
" Wait, wait tiU I make a copy of this adorable
white and green pavement," I cried. It was a
geometrical design in Emilia's Basilica. A design
that I have never seen either in Egypt or Greece.
" For that you will not need me," said the
capo ; "it is growing late and hot ; now for
the Lapis Niger!" Like a chUd he had kept
the best of the feast for the last. As we went,
I picked up a smaU piece of iridescent glass,
opal, rose, and pearl, a bit of heaven's rainbow
dug from the " sacred earth."
" What might this have been ? " I asked.
" That we shall see, perhaps part of a tear
bottle, perhaps a fragment of the vessel in which
the vestals daUy brought lustral water for the
altars from the Fountain of Egeria ! " Was he
laughing at me ?
I shaU not forget the sensation produced by
the first sight of the Lapis Niger, the black stone
of the so-caUed tomb of Romulus. Whether
the smooth slab of black marble actually covered
the ashes of Romulus, or was a later monument
put up to his memory, has not yet, I believe,
been established. They do know that the in
scription on the cippus beneath the stone is
AATfitten in the most ancient Latin which has yet
260

OLD AND NEW ROME
come to light — the epigraphists are still cracking
their brains trying to read it. Is it not pleasant
to have the sceptical (ierman historians routed ?
To have our Romulus and Remus given back
to us, om- Tai-quins, our Numa Pompilius,
and Egeria ? To teU the truth, I never gave
them up, I ahvays kept a sneaking belief in
demigods and heroes, took Hawthorne's word
against the Teutons. Now I am being justified
right and left. Boni finds the Tomb of Romulus
in the Roman Forum, Dr. Evans finds the palace
of ISIinos, and the labyrinth of the Minotaur in
Crete. To comfort-loving persons Rome is the most
satisfactory place in the world for the study of
man — from the savage of thirty centuries ago
in his tree coffin, fished up from the bottom of
Lake Trasimeno (now at the Museum Papa
Giuho), to Victor Emmanuel in his tomb at the
Pantheon. Think of it, the first king of Young
Italy sleeping in a temple of Ancient Rome
which has been in use ever since it was built
in the year 27 B.C. Athens is a thousand times
more beautiful than Rome, but to the ultra
modem Greece seems on the outskirts of
"to-day." Here, here in Rome, we fancy we
261

ROMA BEATA
are in the midst of things, and creature comforts
are still to be had, as in the days of LucuUus
(I recommend you an omelette soufflee aux sur
prises a la Grand Hotel! Outside an ordinary
hot soufflee — the surprise is the heart, cold
sublimated chocolate ice-cream) !
Not long since, while lunching at that lux
urious restaurant, we became aware of a person
age at the next table. Everybody looked at
him ; it was impossible not to look at him. He
was a large, masterful man AAdth a high color,
young gray hair, and a look of power I have not
often met. We began to guess his nationaUty.
I immediately claimed him. " He is an American,
a Western senator, from Montana or Washington
State." There was something large and dauntless
about him, the free look of one coming from a
young country.
" Please find out who that gentleman at the
next table is ? " our host said to the waiter.
The man seemed surprised at the question.
" That is Cecil Rhodes, sir," he answered.
After that we could not help catching some of
his talk — perhaps we did not try very hard — it
was briUiant, exhilarating, and cordial. His guests
262

OLD AND NEW ROME
were hardly more en rapport with him than
the rest of us in the room. He was not uncon
scious that the people who sat near, the waiters,
even the sphinx-hke manager, hovering in the
offing AAdth impassiA'c face, were thrilled by being
in his company : nor could his attitude be caUed
conscious. He merely seemed aware of us,
could no more help dominating the chance
crowd in a fashionable restaurant than his feUows
in the Transvaal.
It happened that after lunch we took our
fidends " sightseeing" to the Kircheriano Museum,
where we found one of the earhest Roman
citizens and his Avife, stiU lying side by side in
the very earth the mourners threw over them,
his rude stone weapons, her primitive household
utensils close to their hands. There, you see,
are the two ends of your chain of interest (there
is not a missing hnk between), — the pre-historic
man at the Kircheriano Museum and the man
who is making history, Cecil Rhodes, on his
way to South Africa, lunching at the Grand
Hotel!

263

XII
THE ANNO SANTO
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, February 7, 1900.
" If I am ever a rich man, — " Patsy began.
" Which heaven forfend — you have not the
gift ! " said the monsignore.
" Wait and see ! — I shall build a great church."
" Like St. Peter's there ? "
We were on the terrace. The sun was setting
behind the chapel of the Vatican. There was
StiU light enough for the yellow of the sun-
soaked fa9ade, the pale blue of the dome, to tell
against the gray and rosy sky.
" Oh, make it the Parthenon ! They both give
a fellow the same sort of feeling as being in love
does, or seeing Niagara."
" It is not a bad use to put a fortune to," the
monsignore agreed.
"It is about time the artists had their innings ! "
Patsy declared. " I should like to be referee.
Gladiators, prize-fighters would n't be in it.
264

THE ANNO SANTO
What fun can there be in backing such creatures,
or even a horse ? I would rather stake my
fortune on an architect like Bramante — trust
my future reputation to a painter like Pinturric-
chio than to a Flying Childers or a Goldsmith
Maid." " First catch your hare," said the monsignore.
" The woods are full of 'em. Give the artists
a chance, and you 'U see the trouble is not with
them ! The opportunity must come first. A
country has the art it deserA'^es. When we
Americans want beauty as much as we want
rapid transit we shall get it."
" There are .wme signs," said the monsignore.
" We have art patrons who pay enormous sums
for old masters."
" Our art patrons lack imagination," said
Patsy. " It is so easy, so obvious, to buy * old
masters,' to patronize Leonardo da Vinci and
BotticeUi ! I should pick my men, give 'em
the track, and let 'em show their paces. Wait
tiU I build my cathedral : you wiU see an archi
tect, a painter, and a sculptor or two."
" ' The hand that rounded Peter's dome,
Avrought Avith a sad sincerity,'" quoted the
monsignore. He had come to tell us about the
265

ROMA BEATA
Pope's opening the Porta Santa on Christmas
eve, — the first of the many functions of this
Anno Santo.
Finally we " muzzled " Patsy, and the mon
signore seized his chance to speak.
"As the ceremony was in the portico of St.
Peter's," he said, " a comparatively smaU place,
A^ery few invitations were issued. The papal
throne was erected near the Porta Santa, — the
Jubilee door, — it is the one on the extreme
right of the portico, you will remember it by the
cross upon it. The Pope knocked three times
upon the Porta Santa with a mallet, saying as
he did so, " Aperite mihi portas justitiae (Open to
me the door of justice)." At the words the door
(which was last opened by Leo the Twelfth, in
1825) fell away as if by magic, and His Holiness
walked alone into the vast empty church, where
there was no other hving being but himself
He tottered doAATi the aisle, past the splendid
tombs of his predecessors, beneath that unmarked
sepulchre over the door, where Pius the Ninth
lies waiting the day when he must make room
for him in his tomb as he made room for him
on his throne. At the shrine of St. Peter the
Pope knelt and said a prayer. For me that
9166

THE ANNO SANTO
was the great moment in the whole gorgeous
ceremony." " It all comes back to the simple human situa
tion of an old man passing the tomb where he
soon must Ue I " was Patsy's comment.
"It is just the simple human situation that
the Church always comes back to," said the
monsignore. " Oh, I say ! simple, you know ! That 's put
ting it a httle strong. The scene you describe
is simple and touching, but, as a rule, the services
over there are more gorgeous and theatrical than
rehgious ! "
" Granted, — • St. Peter's is the stage on which
the dramas of the church are played. Why not ?
Why not use every art to the glory of God —
music, the drama, aU the rest ? There are a
himdred quiet parish churches where one can go
for devotion and aspiration."
Patsy's company is always stimulating, but
he rather interfered Avith my getting aU the
information I wanted from the monsignore. I
did manage to extract the facts that the Anno
Santo was instituted by Boniface VIII., in 1300,
that it was originaUy meant to celebrate it
every hundred years ; that the Romans peti'
267

ROMA BEATA
tioned to have the time shortened to every fifty
years, then to thirty-three years (the supposed
earthly life of Christ), and finaUy to every twenty-
five years; that at the five other Basilicas in
Rome ceremonies like those at St. Peter's were
celebrated on the same day — a cardinal opening
the Porta Santa in each, and that during the
Anno Santo plenary indulgence is obtainable by
aU Catholics who pass a certain number of times
in a given number of days, through the holy
doors of St. Peter's, and the five other Basihcas,
repeating the appointed prayers.
" Every twenty-five years, you say ? " Patsy in
sisted, and the last Jubilee was in 1825 — how is
that ? "
" In 1850 and again in 1875 Rome was so un
settled that the observance of the Anno Santo
was not expedient," said the monsignore, shortly.
" Let me see," mused Patsy; "in 1850 Pius
the Ninth was at Gaeta, trying a change of air
for his health, and Mazzini was at the head
of the Roman Republic. In 1875, Pius stiU
thought that the Dukes of Savoy were only cas
ual visitors and had not yet realized that they
had come to Rome to stay. Isn't that about
the size of it ? " 268

THE ANNO SANTO
" My dear boy," said the monsignore imper-
turbably, " now you are talking about things you
do not understand." He talked of other things
for a few moments and then went away.
On Christmas Eve the pilgrims began to ar
rive in torrents, and have been pouring in and
out of the city ever since. They wiU not be
aUowed to come in July and August — supposed
to be the least healthy months. They have
gathered from the uttermost parts of the earth
hordes of strangers invading Rome as I beheve
it has not been invaded since the days of AttUa
and his Huns. From the terrace we see pUgrims
from aU the Cathohc nations of the earth pass
to bow the knee and drop the obolo at the feet
of the Prisoner of the Vatican. These vast pil
grimages, sometimes several thousand strong —
are admirably managed. A dearth of cabs is the
first sign we notice of their arrival. The piazza
is deserted, not a cab in sight. A httle later
a procession of cabs, crowded Avith pilgrims ( six
to a carriage ) and their belongings — the queer
est boxes, bales, bundles begin to rattle across
the piazza to the vast buUdings in the rear of
the Vatican where the pilgrims lodge. They
usuaUy stay three days ; during that time they
269

ROMA BEATA
are received by the Pope, visit aU the Basilicas,
see the sights, and depart richer in experience
and plenary indulgence, leaving the Pope, the
shop keepers, hotel keepers, and cabmen richer
in money. Each flood gilds ( or silver plates )
poor old Rome tiU it shines as it has not shone
in years.
I did not suppose there were so many splen
did costumes left in the world as have passed
through the Piazza of St. Peter's and under my
eyes during these few months ! Hungarians in
tight-fitting black breeches, jackets trimmed
AAdth black astrakhan and long high boots. Her-
zegovinians with wonderful garments of white
sheepskin, embroidered in red silk outhned de
signs ( the wooUy side of the sheepskin is worn
next the person, the outside looks like parch
ment ) fur-trimmed boots, hair cut square across
the shoulders, faces of rapt devotion. The Poles
were a superb group, the women wore costumes
of striped vermihon and emerald green, the men,
scarlet breeches, green jackets, and picturesque
woollen caps. There were Cossacks from the
river Don, with long, gray wooUen caftans down
to their heels, high pointed caps, and cartridge
belts over their shoulders, they would be ugly
270

THE ANNO SANTO
customers to come up against on a less peaceful
excursion. While driving, we passed one Don
Cossack who reminded us so vividly of Taras
Bulba, the hero of Gogol's Iliad of the North,
that we foUowed him for half an hour, as he
stalked about the city, looking at the sights as
if they were all perfectly familiar to him. He
was a giant vsdth a mane of bronzed hair, dark
eyes, high cheek bones, and a look of indomitable
power, of sUent reserved strength, that made the
careless casual passer-by seem an effete, over-
civUized being. He wore jewel-handled daggers
stuck in a waist belt, fastened with turquoises
" as big as my two thumbs." He must be
" somebody " at home.
The other evening J. brought home the news
that there were a lot of pilgrims lodged in the
\Adng ofthe Palazzo Torlonia, opposite his studio.
The next moming R. and I hurried over to the
Borgo St. Angelo to see what was to be seen.
The Palazzo Giraud Torlonia, which has a splen
did front on the Borgo Nuovo, only a block
away from the Rusticucci — has two long AAdngs
in the rear, AAdth a courtyard between them, the
entrance to both AAdngs being on the Borgo St.
Angelo, rather a squahd back street. The
271

ROMA BEATA
studio is a vast room as big as a church on
the second floor. When my mother was in
Rome, on her wedding journey, she danced in
this room at one of the famous balls, giA'^en by
old Torlonia, the banker prince, the founder of
the family, and grandfather of the present in
cumbent, J. 's landlord. The studio — at the time
J. took it the only available one in Rome large
enough for his purpose — could only be had by
hiring the whole AAdng, with its three stories, the
right to re-let being refused. This makes him
master of aU he surveys, as the grim, stone-
paved courtyard, with its ever-floAAdng fountain
fringed with maidenhair fern, goes AAdth his wing.
I received a shock on entering the studio, and
looking at the big picture for the first time in
days. The httle bhndfold Love who led the
procession of the centuries in The Flight of
Time, has been painted out ! He now exists
only in my memory, and in the cartoon, a red
chalk drawing hanging in our hall. Though the
composition is better AAdthout him, it gave me a
pang to find him gone. To console me, I found
three portrait studies of the beautiful Lady K.
From the studio windows we could see into
the vast high rooms of the opposite eU, which is
272

THE ANNO SANTO
hired for the pUgrims, when, as on this occasion,
they cannot all be accoinmodated in the huge
lazzaretto the Pope buUt during the last cholera
summer. That Avas in 1884. Naples was deci
mated by the disease ; everybody believed that
the cholera would come to Rome (everybody
except J., who calmly passed the summer here).
The Pope built the great lazzaretto against the
cholera's coming ; King Humbert, of the high
courage, AA^ent to meet the cholera, went to pest-
stricken Naples, walked through the hospital
Avards AAhere the cholera patients lay, spoke
comfortably to them, won new glory for the
brave house of Savoy, a fresh hold on his peo
ple's hearts. As the lazzaretto — it has never
been used as such — was not big enough to hold
the French pUgrimage, some of it spiUed over
into the empty Aving Qf the Torlonia Giraud
Palace, across the courtyard from the studio.
When R. and I arrived on the scene it was
the hour of bedmaking. We could see the neat.
hght figures of the nuns (to whose care the en
tertainment of the pUgrims is entrusted ) tucking
in the sheets, smoothing out the pillows of the
long lines of white cots that fUled the rooms.
On the sidewalk, outside the green door — aU
18 273

ROMA BEATA
our doors in the Borgo seem to' be green — sat
a group of old men smoking the solemn, after-
breakfast pipe. Feeling that we must see the
pilgrims at nearer view, we went down to the
street and out of our door just in time to meet
a rosy young sister as she came out of the oppo
site door with a little old peasant woman, whose
face was Avrinkled and brown as an English wal
nut. The old peasant wore over a full white
linen shirt a dark cloth jacket cut square at the
bosom, with straps going over the shoulders.
The double-breasted jacket was fastened with
silver buttons and heavUy embroidered in a
charming pattern with variegated sUks. On her
head was a plain white cap of sheer muslin
turned back over the ears, and hanging to the
shoulders. Under the muslin cap was a sort of
gilt skull-cap. She wore a heavy plaited skirt
of dark blue broadcloth, sabots painted black,
long earrings of filigree gold inset with seed
pearls. Even beside the pure hnen of the sister,
she positively shone AAdth cleanliness.
" Look well at that jacket," I said to R., "did
you ever see one like it before ? "
" Why, it is our Breton jacket ! "
You perhaps remember that at the old yeUow
274

THE ANNO SANTO
house where R. hves there is a trunk full of
" dressing up things," the theatrical wardrobe of
the children, largely made up of the old finery
of three preceding generations !
" Did you ever see that cap before ? " I
asked R.
" Why it 's grandmama's cap I "
" Long ago, when you were only a baby,
grandmother and I passed a summer in Brittany.
At Quimper, where we spent some happy weeks,
a jacket like that was made for me, and we
found the one and only model for grandmama's
cap. The little old peasant woman carried a large
blue cotton umbreUa, Avdth time-yeUowed ivory
handle and points, a perfect ark, under which
three even four generations might take refuge
from a deluge. I looked at her so intently, AAdth
such a passion of longing memory, that she must
have seen something more than common curi
osity in my glance, for she gaA^e me a second
look less preoccupied, more gentle than the first,
and then paused. I grasped the opportunity, and
going up to her asked in French how things were
at Quimper ? She Ustened patiently, politely,
imderstanding nothing of what I said tiU I pro-
275

ROMA BEATA
nounced the magic word " Quimper." Then the
old eyes grew keen and intent. She put out a
hand and answered me in a flood of kindly
Breton, whose sound only was famUiar to me.
For some minutes Ave stood there in the middle
of the Borgo St. Angelo, shaking hands, looking
intently at each other, first one, then the other
repeating the word " Quimper ! " To her it
meant home ; to me, the one thing dearer !
Then AAdth a last tightening of the hands we
parted. We recognized other of the Breton cos
tumes, from St. -Pol-de-Leon, Douarnenez, the
Morbihan, we remembered having seen some of
them at the great pardon of Ploermel. The caps
of Quimper are quite distinct from the caps of
Quimperle, you understand, though the towns
are not far apart !
That afternoon, AAdth a roU of thunder drums
and a flash of lightning, the deluge descended
upon the Borgo. I rushed to the watch-tower
— our upper terrace, to see the storm. From
the four quarters of the sky the lightning swords
smote at each other ; from the soft white clouds
above the Castle St. Angelo came rose-colored
lightning with a growl ; from a purple rack over
St. Peter's a piercing yellow zigzag, like a Saracen
276

THE ANNO SANTO
blade, foUowed by the crack of cannon. Veils
of rain feU, mixed Avith the white spray of the
fountains, and were driA^en in smoky sheets across
the squtire. The piazza was alive with pilgrims
coming away from St. Peter's, where service was
just over, the steps were black with people.
The pUgrims scattered like leaves ' before the
storm ; the sku-ts of women and priests were
bloAvn about, like the bewitched draperies of the
Bernini statues on the facade of the church. In
the midst of the hurrjdng, scurrying crowd I made
out the blue umbreUa ark of Quimper, valiantly
held up by a taU young peasant ; my little old
woman — perhaps his mother — paddled along
on one side, a stout wench — perhaps his wife
— on the other. The cabs were aU snatched up
in a moment. DoAvn in the Borgo I could see
the gobbo waiting for me at our door. I had to
keep a pressing engagement and dared not delay
tUl the tempest passed, lest the gobbo and his
cab be ravished from my sight. As we rattled
along the Borgo Nuovo, I recognized the par
roco ; he was without an umbreUa and was
getting soaked to the skin. As we would pass
his door it seemed the part of friendship to give
him a lift. 277

ROMA BEATA
" Stop ! " I cried to the gobbo ; " the parroco
is going our way, we wUl take him home."
" There is no use in stopping," said the gobbo.
I insisted. Sulky and grumbhng he drew up
just outside the hospital of the Santo Spirito.
The water was rushing through the gutter Uke
a smaU miUstream.
" Jump in, padre, we will take you home."
" No, no. Thank you — it is impossible ! "
I persisted.
" Drive on ! " he cried impatiently to the
gobbo. To me more gently, " It would not do
for me to be seen driving with a lady."
As the gobbo whipped up the old white
horse, a crowded carriage containing four women
and two foreign-looking priests passed us. I
looked back at the parroco; he shrugged his
shoulders, his lips formed the words, " What
can you expect ? They are French ! "
"What did I tell you, Signora mia? " murmured
the gobbo. " It would have been a scandal for
the poor parroco to be seen driving with you ! "
Was n't that slap at the French nice ? The
parroco served his two years in the army when
he was young ; he is a good Italian, a son of the
soil, a son of the Church. The passions of his
278

THE ANNO SANTO
race are strong in him, imd in spite of his
cassock he hates a Frenchman !
Coming home late that evening we found
behind our door a small wallet lined Avith coarse
red morocco. It contained nothing but memo
randa of modest expenditures :
Cab, one franc.
Candles, six sous.
Tobacco, fifty centimes.
Rosary of amethyst beads (for Berthe), four
francs. Souvenirs of Rome, scA'^en francs, etc.
Crabbedly Avritten on the flyleaf was the ad
dress of a priest of Vaucluse. Vaucluse ! Is n't
that a name to conjure with ? We read the poor
priest's case as easUy as his simple record of ex
penses. No people are quite so attentive to the
pUgrims as the " hght-fingered gentry." The
thief who stole the pocket-book, after taking out
whatever of value it contained, threw it into our
doorway to be rid of it. J. has sent it by post
to the priest at Vaucluse ; it wiU at least help
him to make up his accounts.
" Souvenirs," always a staple of Roman trade,
are more in evidence in the shop windows
than ever. The French pilgrims buy a great
279

ROMA BEATA
many souvenirs. We saw our old friend from
Quimper in a shop in the Borgo. To get another
look at her, and to show her to Patsy, who was
with me, we went in and looked at souvenirs.
Besides the " articles of reUgion " there were
semi-rehgious articles ; spoons, pens, pins, a
thousand useless nothings bearing the triple
croAATi, the keys of Peter, the sacred initials.
The shop-keeper laid a tray full before Patsy,
who turned them over indifferently. "Fancy
keeping stamps in this," he held up a box with
the white dove of the Spirito Santo inlaid upon
the cover, " or cutting Punch AAdth that 1 " he
displayed a paper knife AAdth the figure of the
Lamb. " I say, you know, the common use
the shop-keepers put these sacred symbols to is
more than I can stand ! "
The shop-keeper thought he understood ; we
caught his Avhisper to his wife, " They are not
Christians, they are Saracens ! " to us he said,
" Have patience, sir, here is your affair ! "
He opened a drawer under the counter. It con
tained the same souvenirs, the same boxes, spoons,
pens, paper-knives, what-nots, with Mahomedan
symbols, instead of Christian — the crescent, the
star, the scimitar, the monogram of the prophet.
280

THE ANNO SANTO
" No, not quite our affair," said Patsy. " We
are not Mahomedans."
The shop in which we were chaffering is in
the very shadow of Peter's dome ; the beUs in
the clock tower were ringing the Ave.
The cry is, StUl they come ! Pilgrims, pilgrims,
pilgrims. By just sitting tight on our terrace and
using our eyes, the uttermost parts of Christen
dom have been brought to us. Sardinians, for
instance. When Patsy came back from his
moufflon hunting trip in Sardinia, and talked
famUiarly about " Sards," we were devoured Avdth
curiosity to see them for ourselves. A week
after, the " Sards " arrived in force. They are
more Uke Corsicans, or even Spaniards, than
Uke ItaUans ; they have grave, dark, impassive
faces, and an expression of sombre reserve. The
men's dress is in keeping AAdth their character ;
a black wooUen, knitted bonnet, hke a saUor's
cap, hangs on one side to the shoulder, close-
fitting jacket, leggings, and sash, aU black. Their
coarse homespun linen shirts, made very fuU in
the bosom and sleeves, and worn without starch,
are a great improvement on the dreadful stiff,
white armor in which our men encase them
selves for their sins ! The " Sards' " only orna-
281

ROMA BEATA
ments were silver buckles worn at the knees ^nd
on the shoes.
One morning J., who had started early for
the studio, came back to tell me that a group of
FUipinos had just gone over to St. Peter's.
" How do you know they are Filipinos ? "
"I don't know ; they look like two Filipino
art students who used to be in Rome. One
of them was named Luna. He was the best
draughtsman in the studio ; he beat everybody
at drawing ; seemed to have a dash of the Jap
anese dexterity."
" Was he any relation to General Luna ? "
"Only his brother," said J. Now that is
Rome, and that is J. !
I hurried over to St. Peter's and caught up
with the Filipinos before they had made the
third chapel of prayer. They are small, swarthy
men ; their faces show a strange mingling of
races, something of the Malay, the Mongol, the
Latin, with a fourth element I did not recog
nize, — rather deadly looking folk, I thought, but
very devout in their behavior at church.
When royalty comes to the Vatican there is
a deal of pother. The morning of the King of
Siam's visit to the Pope, we were waked at
282

THE ANNO SANTO
dawn by the carts fetching the royal yeUow sand,
and the men spreading it thick over the streets
where the Avheels of royalty were to pass. The
King, whom Ave saAv perfectly, is a fierce-looking
httle feUoAv ; he was dressed in quite the most
lovely uniform I have ever seen ; white broad
cloth, embroidered in gold. Do you suppose their
good clothes are any mitigation to the ennui of
sovereigns ? I should think they might be.
Easter Sunday, 1900.
We thought we had seen Rome crowded be
fore, but we had not ! During the past week,
the crowds have been almost inconceivable. By
Wednesday aU the bathrooms at the Grand Hotel
that could be spared had been turned into bed
rooms. Last night a pair of travellers slept in
the red plush cushioned elevator, and two in the
big comfortable hotel omnibus. Cabs are a rare
commodity — even the gobbo has deserted us
and hired himself out by the week to the pU
grims. The electric cars (did I tell you they had
put these pests in under our very windows ? )
are so jammed that we go for the most part
" shanks' mare." Many of our fidends have let
their apartments, and gone away for the rest of
283

ROMA BEATA
the season. We could have got a good price for
ours ; but in spite of the undeniable inconven
ience (the cost of provisions has almost doubled),
we would not have missed the experience. The
city has been a Babel of foreign tongues, a kalei-
descope of foreign faces and costumes. One
tastes life as from a goblet fUled and brimming
over with sparkling, heady wine. That old gog-
pate, Z  , has let his villa, carriage, servants,
even his precious Antonio, the best cook in
Rome. He said to J., "I cannot afford to stay
in Rome when the price of filet has doubled
and I can get my whole year's rent by letting the
Adlla for three months."
" We cannot afford not to stay in Rome when
it is so interesting," said J. There you have
the two ways of looking at life — the Philistine's
and the artist's !
We have taken part in a canonization — there
remained but that — of aU the ceremonials on
" that stage of the Church " incomparably the
most sumptuous we have seen. When I heard
that the new saint's name Avas La SaUe, stirred by
memories of Parkman's " Discovery of the Great
West," I insisted upon having tickets to one
of the private tribunes. I confess it was a
284

THE ANNO SANTO
disappointment to find that we were making a
saint of the wrong Lasalle, not our own Rend
Robert Caveher, Sieur de La Salle, but another
doubtless exceUent person described as " a dis
tinguished educator priest." You have heard
about so many ceremonies that I will only
speak of the river of bishops 1 I did not
suppose there were so many bishops in the
Avorld. They passed doAATi the vast church in
a line of seething white and gold, stretching from
the entrance doAvn the nave to the very chair of
Peter behind the high altar. Every bishop
carried a tall white wax torch, whose yellow
flame hghted up his white and gold vestments,
his gold-tipped mitre and crozier. I shall never
forget that dazzling splendor ! I have seen so
many of these great pageants that I am rather
blasee about them, but those gorgeous bishops
in their immaculate white and gold robes out
shone even the arrogant vermilion cardinals,
the purple canons with their gray fur capes —
even that man of ivory and iron, Leo XIIL,
carried aloft in the Sedia Gestatoria, on the
shoulders of six crimson lackeys, the triple
crown blazing on his head.
On the Slst of May I happened in to Santa
285

ROMA BEATA
Maria Sopra Minerva, a dear church, built on
the ruins of an ancient temple of Minerva. Fra
Angelico is buried here (how can his native
Fiesole spare his bones) ? There is an ancient
Greek sarcophagus, with Hercules taming the
Nemean lion in relief; there is a picture of
Torquemada, the terrible confessor of IsabeUa ;
there is an adorable flower-bespattered tomb
carved by that sweetest of statuaries, Mino da
Fiesole, and a hundred other " features " ! In
the piazza outside stands an engaging marble
elephant, AAdth the smaUest of Egjrptian obelisks
on his back ; altogether the place is a good
example of what one is forever harking back
to, — Rome's golden blending of things Greek,
Egyptian, classic, pagan, early Christian, re
naissance, and rococo !
In the pulpit who should be thundering away,
whacking the dusty crimson cushions till the
beautiful old carved pulpit shook, but our friend
the parroco! He seemed so much in earnest
that I paid two cents for a chair and sat down to
listen to him. His subject was the erudition of
Mary, " the most learned woman," he said, " who
has ever lived. Her knowledge of languages —
she spoke at least twenty — proves this. She is
286

THE ANNO SANTO
knoAvn to haAe talked with IMoabites, Samaritans,
Egyptians, and other persons, to the number of
twenty different nationalities." The hypothesis
that some of these persons may have spoken
Aramaic, Mary's own language, was not admitted
by the preacher.
Coming out after church, I overheard one well-
dressed contadina — senza cappello (AAdthout a
hat), a social grade is marked by the wearing of
a hat — say to another peasant woman, —
" JNIy son has preached a new sermon on the
Madonna on each of the thirty-one days of her
month. He has done well." I thought he had I
It was the parroco's mother. She had the
same soft dark eyes, the same mouth, the same
smUe ^— the mother for whose sake, as he him
self told us, he became a priest. " Poverella," he
said, " it was her wish ; I am all that she has ;
how could I disappoint her ? and she believes
that one day I shall receive the cardinal's hat ! "
He had come as he always does, the Saturday
before Easter, to bless the house. Pompiha and
Filomena had been on their marrow-bones for
a week, rubbing, scrubbing, polishing, setting the
house in order for the rite. On the kitchen
dresser the prescribed food to be eaten on Easter
287

ROMA BEATA
Sunday was neatly arranged: eggs and morta-
della for breakfast ; lamb, green peas, a certain
broth made with lemon and eggs, served only on
this day of the year, and the sweet dish already
prepared, ^ — what the Italians call zuppa Inglese,
and we caU Italian cream ! In a vase were
carefully preserved the blossoms of waU flowers,
stocks, and violets, from the sepulchre of Holy
Thursday at the church near by in the Piazza
Scossa Cavalli ; these, according to tradition, must
deck our Easter dinner table. It was four o'clock
when the parroco reached our house. He was
very smart in his neat beretta, — a high, square,
black silk cap, — his best white linen cotta trimmed
with handsome lace, freshly starched and ironed.
It was " done up," I '11 be bound, by that good
brown mother of his. He was foUowed by an
imp of a boy AAdth the oddest snub nose, and
hair growing almost down to his eyebrows,
who made the responses and carried the silver
holy -water vessel by a pair of enchanting wrought
handles. We formed a procession, headed by the
parroco and the imp ; next came the padrona di
casa (myself) ; behind me walked PompUia the
cook in the time-honored striped black silk which
I had given to Nena, and she, "per miseria," had
288

THE ANNO SANTO
sold to the cook ; after her, Filomena, the pret
tiest girl in the Borgo, in her best blue frock and
a rose in her hair ; the procession was brought up
in the rear by Nena, — the Avitch, the snuff-taker,
the footman, the mainstay and comfort of the
whole household. She had borrowed a clean
apron, smoothed her rough, gray hair, and
redeemed her coral beads and gold earrings
from pawn at the INlonte di Pieta. There were
flowers CA'crywhere in the house, the terrace had
been rifled, roses, roses, roses, red, pink, saffron.
In the very best vase were a single white rose
from my mother's favorite tree, the Catherine
Cook, and one mammoth pink one from Captain
Christy. We marched first to the salon, the
most honorable room. The parroco dipped a
sUver sprinkler in the lustral water, which he
sprinkled in four directions, north, south, east,
west, saying as he did so, " Bless, O Lord, this
place, that in it may be health, chastity, victory,
virtue, humihty, goodness, sweetness, the fulness
of law and thanksgiving, and may this blessing
abide in this place and upon aU those who dwell
herein." Whether by chance or intention, a few drops
fell upon a group of famUy portraits hanging on
19 289

ROMA BEATA
the wall. Our dear sunny chamber was next
blessed, then the dining-room, the den, finaUy
the servants' quarters and the kitchen. In each
room the prayer was repeated, the water sprin
kled. The parroco was in a hurry, he could
not wait to taste a gocdatino di vino or a bit of the
pizze Filomena's mother had sent us from her
home in Umbria, — there were many more houses
to be blessed before nightfall. We went with him
to the door, shook hands, slipping into his palm
a smaU envelope — the imp carried openly the
silver plate in which I dropped his share of the
modest offering, then with hasty bows and smiles
and " buona pasqua (happy Easter) " the pair of
them clattered down the long travertina staircase,
past the recumbent Etruscan ladies, with their
button-like eyes, who guard our stair, leaving
me to enjoy our clean, sweet-smelling house. On
the terrace an hour later, drinking in the glory
of the sunset, came an odd sense of the fitness
and familiarity of it all. This blessing the house,
the food, the penates, the tools, the effigies of
ancestors is the Little Ambervalia Pater de
scribes so deliciously in Marius, the Epicurean ;
there is, too, an echo in it of the Vestalia, the fes
tival in honor of Vesta, held at the house of the
290

THE ANNO SANTO
\"estal Virgins on the 9th of June, " after which
the temple was closed for five days for ceremonial
cleansing ! " At home, in God's own countiy,
the ceremony sui-AdA^es under the name of spring
cleaning. It Avas a wonderful stormy sunset ;
St. Peter's and the piazza seen in this ferment
of hght and shadow recaUed a curious allegorical
design of Bernini's, in Avhich the two curving
Avings of his colonnade are made to suggest the
arms of Christ's Vicar, spread out to enfold the
AVorld, Angelo's dome being worked in as a sort
of papal tiara floating over the whole.

291

XIII
THE QUEEN'S VISIT
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, Easter, 1900.
" Buona Pasqua ! " said Filomena, when we
came into breakfast this morning. Her Easter
offering lay on the table, two hard-boiled eggs
in a little basket of tAAdsted bread at each plate.
Soon after, Pompiha brought her inevitable re-
galo, a pair of lilac tissue paper fans (she has a
relative who works in the paper factory). As I
passed the door Pompilia's annual basket of
flowers, sent by her cousins every Easter, was
brought in. Ignazio, the gardener, met us on the
terrace AAdth a pot of the biggest violets I have
ever seen.
" Only yourself, Signora, and the Princess
Doria, in aU Rome, have these magnificent Ado-
lets, the last noA^elty from Londra. The Prince
has just introduced them. His gardener is my
friend ; co^ I am able to offer this bel' vasino
di fiori ! "
A little later, Lorenzo, ViUegas' factotum,
292

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
arrived with a basket of lemons from the ViUino
garden, covered with their own glossy green
leaves and intoxicating blossoms ; the petals are
thick, pink outside, Avhite inside, like orange
flowers, only larger, and with a less cloying
perfume. We were up on the terrace in time to see the
Host carried through the street ; that was not
aUowed when we first came to live in the Borgo
Nuovo. Little by little the old picturesque
ceremonies of the Church are creeping back.
It is a pretty sight. First march lovely httle
girls in white, scattering flowers ; then come
acolytes, deacons, young clerics — I am hazy
about their titles — sAAdnging censers, carrying
the crucifix and banner ; the arch-priest bearing
the Sacrament in a golden monstrance, over
which he holds protectingly the sides of his long,
stiff, embroidered vestment, above his head a
Avhite and gold baldacchino supported by four
young priests. The whole procession, children,
acolytes, priests, attendant women in black veils,
went singing across the piazza of St. Peter's and
doAvn our street under a rain of pink and green
disks of tissue paper thrown from the windows
in lieu of flowers. Across the street Giuseppe,
293

• ROMA BEATA
the baker, in white cap and drawers, naked to
the waist, stood at his shop door cooling his
heated body. Behind him in the dark shop as
the boy opened the oven door and fed the flame
with armfuls of brushwood, we caught the roar
and blaze of fagots in a fiery cavern.
Giuseppe, a radical (the parroco says a Free
mason, that means sure damnation) stood at his
door as the procession passed and nodded to his
little girl, the prettiest of the attendant cherubim,
dropping rosebuds. It is pleasant to see one's
daughter chosen before others, and religion is an
exceUent thing in woman, according to Giu
seppe's philosophy. The crisp, appetizing smeU
of his hot bread suggested luncheon, which, in
honor of the festa, was served on the terrace.
The atmosphere has been ecstaticaUy clear and
golden all day, the view subUme, snow-clad
peaks in the distance, the foreground purple,
hazy, delicious. The bells of St. Peter's (silent
since Holy Thursday) have made constant music
in the air. A fine day, AAdth a trifle too much
breeze for dignity ; it blows the girls' curls and
draperies, even the scant skirts of the young
priest pacing back and forth on the monastery
terrace across the way, breviary in hand. He
294

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
always ignores our presence, looks through us
as if we were made of glass ; but I catch him
gazing Avith longing eyes at our roses and lilies
that nod and gossip behind their screen of iAy ;
at the passion flowers and honeysuckles, haunts
of the bee and butterfly. He knows as weU as
we do every stage of our roof garden's history
since that day six years ago when we potted the
pink ivy geranium and the white carnation from
the Campo di Fiori, the beginning of this earthly
paradise. We have had a great deal of rain
lately, which has been good for the yeUow and
orange-colored hchens that enamel the tiled
roofs aU about us, and alas ! very good for slugs
and snaUs. As to waU flowers, they simply ramp
from every crack and cranny of the gorgeous
dnque cento cornice, with its sharp-cut egg and
dart (symbols of life and death), fragments of
which stUl cling to the inner walls of our court
yard. The AvUd flowers run riot over the Corri-
dojo di CasteUo, the quaint old fortified passage
leading from the Vatican to the Castel Sant'
Angelo. The Corridojo, buUt of tufa stone, is
two stories high ; the upper story is open like a
loggia, the lower closed, with httle slits to let
in the hght. Just behind our Palazzo the Cor-
995

ROMA BEATA
ridojo crosses a back street by an enchanting
arch, with the arms of the Pope who buUt or
restored it carved on a stone escutcheon. In the
old days the passage was used in time of danger
as an escape from the Vatican to the fortress of
Sant' Angelo ; the Pope himself always kept the
keys, according to Patsy, who dropped in for tea
and maritozzi and gave us a discourse on the
subject. " Who keeps the keys now ? " I asked.
" Chi lo sa ? Since 1870 the Corridojo has
been walled up. I once got a peep into it. 'T is
going to wrack and ruin, which is a shame and
disgrace." "Whose fault is it?"
" Chi lo sa ? Lay it to the municipaUty, —
they deserve a few extra curses thrown in for
luck, on account of the artificial rockwork with
which they are defacing the Pincio and the
Janiculum." " Perhaps the Corridojo is no-man's-land, now
that the Vatican belongs to the Pope and the
fortress to the King ? "
" Chi lo sa ? " said Patsy again. " When the
Italians came to Rome they meant to leave the
Borgo under the temporal control of the papacy.
296

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
Consequently at the first plebiscite (October 2,
1870) no urn was provided for the Borgo's vote.
You don't suppose a feUow like that," he pointed
to the baker, " would let such a little thing keep
him out of United Italy ? The first returns of the
day were brought in from this, the fourteenth,
rione (ward), by two strapping fellows, who
marched up to the Capitol carrying between them
a big urn Avdth the votes from the Borgo. I have
heard that your friend the baker's father was one
of them."
" And this morning that man's granddaughter
walked in the procession of the Sacrament ! "
" For the matter of that, here comes Prince
Nero's grandson wearing the King's uniform.
Both Blacks and Whites, Dio grazie, are fast
fading into Grays."
Beppino, very stiff in his military togs, was
shoAATi up on the terrace by Nena the shabby,
who always manages to open the door to fashion
able visitors.
" How do you Uke your service, Beppino ?
Your uniform is very becoming," I began.
" I don't hke it at aU ! Fancy being obliged
to clean one's own horse, to polish one's own
boots — it 's not to be endured 1 "
297

ROMA BEATA
It has to be endured ; and, moreover, Beppino
is enormously improved by his six months' en
durance of the obligatory military service. Those
fiery broAATi eyes of his have grown serious.
"Is it true that you voted at the last
election?" asked Patsy.
" It is true," said Beppino.
" How did your grandfather take it ? " Patsy
persisted. " I asked the Prince's leave," Beppino rephed.
"He said that for thirty years he had obeyed
the Pope and abstained from voting, that he was
too old to change his politics, but that I was free
to do as I liked."
" How do you account for such an extraor
dinary change of heart?"
" It 's all the Queen's doing ; she is so good ;
she is so clever. We Italians owe more to her
than to any one ahve to-day ! "
Beppino is the son of the son of one of the
stoutest pillars of the Church.
"Avanti la cacda (On with the chase)!"
Patsy and I had been snail hunting when
Beppino came up.
" Here is a sharp stick ; if you run it round
under the edge of the flower-pot you wUl get
298

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
them quicker. Snail, I condemn you to the
parabolic death ! " Beppino threw a large fat
snaU out over the terrace wall. " That 's the
easiest way ; it spares our feelings and gives
the snail a chance for his life. He disappears
in a parabolic curve ; he may fall upon a passing
load of hay and be carried away to batten upon
other rose-leaves."
Suddenly, hke thunder out of a clear sky,
there appeared upon the peaceful terrace the
parroco, Avith two black-a-vised French priests,
preceded and announced by Nena. The par
roco apologized ; he said the gentlemen were
anxious to see our view. The elder Frenchman
never looked at the view at all, but examined
the waUs of the palace in a way I did not like.
The parroco is always a welcome, if scarcely an
easy guest. I hated his friends ; they glanced
Avith so indifferent an eye at the flowers and
seemed so much more interested in the chimneys
that J. and Lorenzo had cleverly contrived to
keep me warm. When at last the three black
figures disappeared doAAm the terrace stairs, we
other three drew a long breath.
" Good riddance," said Patsy.
" You have not seen the last of their cassocks
299

ROMA BEATA
nor them," said Beppino (he had an EngUsh
nurse and governess, and speaks rather better
English than most people). " I beUeve they
mean to buy the palazzo over your heads.
When will your lease be up?"
" In September ; but we have the right to
renew." " No Roman lease holds in case of sale," said
Beppino. "You will find that clause in your
contract. You will see I am right. Some time
ago Sua Santita requested such religious orders
as had no house in Rome to establish one here.
During the Anno Santo many have acted on the
hint and bought property in Rome. I heard my
grandfather say there were some French monks
looking out for a place near the Vatican. This
is just the sort of thing that would suit them."
Was not that a thunder clap ? Characteristic
too that Beppino, the astute Roman, should first
suspect it. When J. came home from the
studio and heard of the priests' visit, he said :
" Beppino is right ; the Palazzo Rusticucci will
be transformed into a monastery. They have
already turned Mr. Vedder out of his studio after
twenty years ; we shall be the next to go."
I can't and won't believe that this may be our
300

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
last Easter here. Just as terrace and house
have grown to fit us like soul and body, to be
turned out into the bare, ugly world of hotels, —
impossible !
The other day when I was at the studio J.
told me that in consequence of the disappear
ance of ten francs he had finally decided to
part AAdth Pietro. He has often arrived at this
decision before, but the creature, with a sort of
uncanny second sight, always disarms him just
in time by some act of faithfulness, some pretty
attention ; for Pietro is one of those Itahans
AAdth a real genius for serAdce. I happened to be
at the studio when he applied to J. for the place
and overheard their conversation.
" Signorino," Pietro began, " you are my
unique hope ; do not abandon me, the poor dis-
graziato you have befriended so long : I regard
you as my father." (Pietro is at least twenty
years older than J.)
"Where have you been all this time?" J.
asked. " Signorino, it is necessary for me to teU you
the truth, or some unsympathetic person might
do so : I have been in prison, though I am quite
innocent." 301

ROMA BEATA
" What were you charged with ? "
" It was that affair with Fagiolo the model ;
you perhaps remember."
" The time you bit Fagiolo in the leg and
gave him such a coltellata (stab) that he had to
be sent to San Giacomo (the hospital)? I
remember." " La storia era molto esaggerata, perd non po-
tevo mai vedere quelFuomo (The story was much
exaggerated, but I never could bear the sight of
that man)."
J. remembered the affair, and thought Pietro
had been rather hardly dealt with.
" Since I was discharged it is impossible to
find employment ; nobody wants a man, however
innocent, who has been in prison."
" Where is your wife ? "
" Aime ! was there ever so unfortunate a man?
Zenobia, who, as you know, is a good seamstress
and my sole means of support, broke her leg
yesterday ; this morning they carried her to the
hospital of the Santo Spirito."
J. engaged him on the spot, and Pietro has
been in charge of the studio ever since. He has
done very well ; the only trouble has been that
small sums of money, cigarettes, and boxes of
302

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
matches are always disappearing. J. has spoken
several times to Pietro about it. He always
denies having taken anything. J. feels very half
hearted about sending him away ; he says that it
AviU be impossible for the man to get another sit
uation if he dismisses him for stealing. Besides,
except for the pilfering, Pietro is the very man
for the place ; he takes good care of the studio,
knows aU about cleaning palettes and washing
brushes, keeps the courtyard neat and fuU of
such groAving things as can exist with the little
sun that penetrates to it, and is devoted to J.'s
happy family, which just now consists of Checca,
the lame jackdaw, bought from some boys in the
street who were tormenting her, a pair of ducks, a
stray black dog, and the prettiest maltese kitten
you ever saw.
The jackdaw, a most diverting bird, is as cu
rious as a coon. The other day she flew up on
the easel from behind and pecked a hole in the
picture on which J. was working. She put her
closed biU through the canvas, then opened it
Avide, which made a straight up and doAvn tear,
to which the creature put her ridiculous eye and
peeped through to see what J. was doing.
" Do you reaUy think Pietro is the thief ? " I
303

ROMA BEATA
asked. " It would be too suicidal in him to throw
away his last chance ! "
"Just what Pietro says," answered J., "but
who else can it be ? There is a Yale lock to the
door AAdth two keys ; I keep one, Pietro the
other." WhUe we were talking about him, Pietro
came in to move an old stove which had stood
in the comer of the studio aU winter without
being lighted. J. is sending it Avith other house
hold stuff to the auction room. As Pietro
moved the stove its door swung open and out
rolled a quantity of cigarettes, matches, silver and
copper coin, paint rags, orange peel, and among
the rubbish a brand new ten-franc note.
" Caw, Caw ! " screamed Checca, flapping across
the floor and scolding at Pietro.
"Ah! Madonna dei setti dolori!" Pietro,
swearing horribly, fell upon his knees, clasped his
hands, invoked every holy thing he knew.
" Santa Maria, eccomi vindicato ! Ah ladrone!
Ah birborne (Behold me vindicated. O thief! O
vUlain) ! "
" Caw, Caw ! " screamed Checca, pecking at
Pietro's legs. He was at first ready to wring her
neck ; then he grew lachrymose and tender.
304

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
"Ah ! Ah ! Pietro sfortunato ! Guardi, Signora
mia, was I not born unlucky ? First I am sent
to prison on the false oath of a rascally man.
Adesso, anche la gazza minganna, mi perseguita,
(Now even the jackdaw deceives me, persecutes
me) ! "
Plumped doAvn on his knees there in the middle
of the studio, poor Pietro began to cry like a baby.
It ended in his getting the ten-franc note as a
manda, and Checca's being so stuffed with good
things that she is in a state of coma and on the
verge of apoplexy. Truth really is stranger than
fiction. I never before had much faith in the
Jackdaw of Rheims.
June 10, 1900.
As we sat at dinner last night a messenger
from the Casa Reale Avas announced. J. went
out to receive him in person. He had brought
a letter from a great personage at court to
say that the Queen would come to the studio
the next day to see J.'s decoration for the
Boston Public Library. That was rather short
notice for such an honor, but we did aU we could
to make the old barrack of a studio fit to receive
the dear and lovely lady. We were up at daAAOi.
20 305

ROMA BEATA
Pietro had already turned the hose on the brick
paved floors and stone steps. The first thing in
the morning we were Avarned by the police that
no one, not even our servants, must know of the
visit beforehand, so we gave it out that Lord
Curry, the British Ambassador, was coming to
the studio, which was quite true. J. had called
up the Embassy, and Lord Curry had promised,
by telephone, to be on hand.
We telephoned the Signora ViUegas asking
if she could spare Lorenzo, who turned up at
eleven with, I should think, every flower the
ViUino garden contained. The bouquet for the
Queen I made myself of flowers from the terrace,
gardenias, passion flowers, and maidenhair fern.
We sent over to the studio from the house the
fine old Portuguese leather armchair in which
my mother sat to ViUegas for her portrait, some
rugs, and the gold screens Isabel and Larz
brought us from Japan.
You never saw a more squalid street than the
Borgo Sant' Angelo. I very much doubt if the
Queen had ever entered so queer a door as
the little antique green studio door with the
modern Yale lock. The studio is up two long
flights of stairs, Avith an iron raUing, quite like
306

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
a prison stair. If we had been given longer
notice we could have done more to make things
presentable ; but that Avas a mere detail. The
mam thing was that the afternoon Avas fine, the
hght perfect. The days here are so much longer
than at home that the hour named, six o'clock,
was the veiy best in the twenty -four to see the
pictures. We had never really believed that the
Queen would come to the studio, though we
had heard of her interest in seeing the work.
There is a sort of tradition that the royal family
A^ery rarely come over to the Borgo, out of regard
for the feeUngs of the Pope. During the day
one and another secret service man in plain
clothes arrived in the Borgo on their bicycles,
and lounged about the street corners or in
the cafes. At five several guardie in uniform
arrived. We went over to the studio at half-
past five in order to be in time to receive Lord
Curry. J. went by the Borgo Nuovo and
stopped at the front of the Palazzo Giraud
Torlonia (the studio, you remember, is in the
rear of the palace, with an entrance on the back
street, Borgo Sant' Angelo) to ask the proud
young porter of the Torlonia to open the studio
door, and generaUy stand by us. The Hay wards,
307

ROMA BEATA
who live on the piano nobile, are the swells of
the Borgo ; they pay the proud young porter his
wages, and they are in close relation Avith the
Vatican. Fortunately they were out of town
and never knew that we borrowed their porter
to open the door to the Queen.
"' The A mbasdatore Inglese and other per-
sonnaggi of importance are to visit my studio
presently ; do me the favor to open the door for
them," said J.
" Volontiere, Signore mio, un momento ; I wiU
change my coat and be with you instantly ! "
The nearest way from the front of the Torlonia
to the back is by the Vicolo dell' Erba, a narrow
little aUey which runs beside the palace. We
never use it — 't is so evU smeUing, badly paved,
and generally poverty stricken — unless we are
in a great hurry. J. being pressed for time natu
rally took the vicolo. He happened to be wear
ing a red cravat, — in Italy, especiaUy in Rome,
supposed to be the badge of the anarchists and
avoided by the Romans, and, one would fancy,
by the anarchists accordingly. Of course all the
guardie of our quarter know the pittore Inglese
by sight, but the extra ones detailed for the
day did not. Hurrying through the vicolo,
308

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
J. ran round the corner into the Borgo Sant'
Angelo, and into the arms of one of these ex
traneous guardie, ordered to be on the lookout
for suspicious characters. His eye caught the
red cravat.
" Scusi, Signore; where might you be going
in such a hurry ? "
" I am going to No. 125, Borgo Sant' Angelo."
"You have business of importance there, or
you would not be in so much haste ? "
" Yes ; I am late for an appointment."
" With whom ? "
" That is a private matter and one which does
not concern  "
At this hectic moment the proud young porter
came hurrying along the vicolo, buttoning his
gold-laced coat as he ran. He took in the
situation at a glance, and with the exquisite
tact of his people went bail for the pittore
Inglese Avithout seeming to do so.
" Is there anything I can do for you in the
studio, Signore, before their exceUencies arrive?"
he asked.
" You know this gentleman ? " demanded the
guardia suspiciously.
" Know him ! I have known him all my life !
309

ROMA BEATA
It is the gentleman who occupies the studio in
the rear of the palace."
" A thousand pardons, Signore," said the guar
dia, AAdth a magnificent military salute. J. had
to thank the porter for not having been detained
as " a suspicious person " during the time of the
Queen's visit to his studio.
A minute or two before the appointed hour
we all went down into the vestibule. There was
an odd hushed feehng in the street : a watering
cart had just passed, the square gray cobble-stones
were still wet, the air moist. Pietro had found
time to pull up the weeds and grass from the
pavement (worn into ruts by centuries of cart
wheels) in front of our door, and to clear away the
bits of water-melon rind which the boys of the
Borgo use as roller skates, in a game that I believe
is indigenous to our quarter. Just as the bells of
the Castle Sant' Angelo were ringing six, we heard
the jingling of chains and the sound of tramping
horses. We were all on the sidewalk as the car
riage with the scarlet liveries drew up before the
studio. The proud young porter, his hand on
the knob of the studio door, made the most sump
tuous bow as the footman opened the door of the
landeau. Lord Curry handed out the Queen,
310

Dante
From a paste} dnwing in the Collection of Hra. David KimbaU

ViwM&'A\

From a Copley Print. Copyright, 1899, by Curtis 4 Cameron, Publishers, Boston.

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
presented J., then gave her his arm and led her
up the dreadful long stair. Her lady in waiting,
the Duchess Massimo, and the gentleman of the
court in attendance, foUowed, looking aghast and
rather scornful at the queer steps ; but the royal
lady never fhnched ; she walked up the stairway
Avith as gay and hght a step as if she were treading
the red carpet of the Qmrinale. Once in the studio
one lost sight of the royal personage in the con
noisseur, the lover and patron of art. It is no
wonder that the artists look upon her as their
fidend. To her art is one of the serious concerns
of life, one of the matters which it is her duty as
a sovereign, as the mother of her people, to foster
by every means in her power.
She looked at the decoration from every point
of Adew, asked many questions about its desti
nation. She knew of the Boston Pubhc Library,
and said many pleasant things of it, and of J.'s
ceUing for it. She liked the funny old studio,
Avith its big fireplace, its enormous Avindow, and
explored it Avith the fresh curiosity of a young
girl. She asked what this and what that picture
was, insisted on being shoAvn canvases that stood
Avdth their faces to the waU. J.'s draAving of
Dante and the death mask from which it was
311

ROMA BEATA
made interested her deeply ; she is evidently a
student of the divme poet. The portrait of the
Duke of Cambridge which J. made last spring
was standing on an easel. She laughed heartily
when she saw it, and said, " It is so exactly hke
the old man that it makes me laugh."
They stayed half an hour. Part of that time
the Queen sat in the old Portuguese leather chair
which our oaati dear mother queen always sat
in when she was vsdth us. As they went away,
the Duchess Massimo said to me, " I assure you
the Queen has been much interested and much
pleased." We all went down to the carriage ; the Borgo
was one compact mass of people. We watched
the carriage drive away, caught the sweet parting
smile of our lovely visitor, and then went back
to the studio to talk it all over. In a few minutes
two of our best friends turned up. They had
come over by chance to have tea at the studio,
and had received quite a sensation at seeing the
royal carriage Avith the scarlet Uveries standing
before the shabby old green door and the Borgo
crammed with the Roman populace.

312

THE QUEEN'S VISIT
July 16, 1900.
Satm-day evening as we sat at dinner another
messenger from the Casa Reale was announced.
He brought a letter from the Countess VU-
lamarina, the Queen's maid of honor, to J., in
AA'hich she begged to send him, in the name of
her " august soA'creign," the accompanying jewel
for his AAdfe, in memory of her visit to the studio.
The jewel is a medaUion of dark blue enamel,
vsdth IVI., the Queen's initial, in diamonds, with a
royal croAVTi above it. On the reverse are the
arms of Savoy, the red cross on the white field,
the whole surrounded by a hoop of diamonds
hanging from a bar of diamonds, set as a brooch,
and very elegant.
J. says that we cannot afford to stay in the
Borgo if we remain in Rome, we must move to
a new quarter. Ever since the Queen's visit, the
gobbo, our favorite cabby, has caUed him Signor
Marchese, and expects a larger manda than he
can afford to give.

313

XIV
STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
Lake of Nemi, July 8, 1900.
The fruttajola of the Piazza San Lorenzo in
Lucina, and the waiter of the Caf^ di Roma are
responsible for our coming to Nemi. I hke to
linger chaffering in the fruttajola' s shop (at this
season it smells of strawberries and apricots) not
only because she has the best fruit in Rome but
because she has three of the prettiest daughters
— the youngest looks as the Fornarina, the
baker's daughter beloved of Raphael, might have
looked. When the fruttajola was young she
must have been even handsomer than her
daughters, though their cheeks seem like
duplicates of the peaches and nectarines they
handle so daintily ; she has an intensity of ex
pression, a look of power that none of her girls
have. " You teU me these strawberries are from
Nemi," I said ; " how is that possible ? For the
past month you have sold me strawberries from
314

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
Nemi, always from Nemi ! All over Rome I see
the strawberries of Nemi advertised. Is it hkely
now that a little toAvn like Nemi can supply such
a great city as Rome with strawberries all these
many weeks ? "
You see I remembered what the Tuscan Avine
grower said to us about the wine of Chianti.
Thefruttajola tossed her handsome head. " Sig
nora, you haA'e but to see Nemi to understand ! "
she said, laying on the counter a little blue paper
box she had been making and Uning AAdth grape
leaves as she talked and which she now filled
vsdth purple figs and yeUow nespole. That night,
AAdshing to give our servants " an evening off,"
we dined at the Caf^ di Roma. Of course we
had the inevitable dishes of this season, chicken,
hunter's fashion (braised, with green peppers), salad
of tomato and endive, finishing off Avith straw
berries from Nemi, and of course the cream was
too thin. J. asked Leandro, the waiter who
always serves us, if it was not possible to get
better cream. He has often asked the same
question before.
" Signore, " said Leandro, " this cream comes
from the dairy next door. We always order the
best for you, and this is what they send us.
315

ROMA BEATA
Why do you not yourself step in and speak to
the proprietor? He wUl take more pains for
you than for me." Pricked by memories of Jer
sey cream which those ravishing strawberries
evoked, J. sought the padrone of the dairy.
" Is it not possible to have thicker cream than
that you send to the restaurant ? " he asked.
The man looked surprised. " The Signore de
sires thicker cream ? Why, of course, it is pos
sible to have the cream as thick as he wishes,
only have a moment's patience." As he spoke
the padrone took up a fine hair sieve, put into it
a lump of some soft white stuff which he mashed
with a big spoon into a paste ; this he passed
through the sieve, every now and then letting a
few drops faU out of the spoon to show how
thick the cream had become.
" Is that thick enough, Signore ? " he finally
asked. " Quite thick enough, thank you," said poor J.
grimly. " Will you do me the favor of telling
me what you use to thicken the cream ? "
" But surely ! Various things are used ; the
best is this that you see, the brains of a young
calf nicely boUed."
When J. came back to the restaurant he said
316

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
that, on the whole, he preferred his strawberries
AAdth wine and sugar, as the Romans eat them.
The waiter pushed a flask hung on a swivel
towards him ; J. drowned his plate in a flood
of red Genzano. Isn't it odd that in Roman
restaurants wine is sold by weight ? Leandro
weighed the flask before putting it on the table,
and again when he took it off after dinner.
In order to make conversation I said, " Lean
dro, do you know where these strawberries really
come from ? "
" Do I know ? They are from my own town,
it may be from our oAvn land ! the proprietor of
this restaurant buys oU, firuit, and AAdne of my
uncle, who lives at Nemi. I myself have a Uttle
property at Nemi. The oil the Signora had of me
came from there. Ah ! you should see Nemi, you
should eat the strawberries fresh from the vines."
That settled it ; we had been promising our
selves a httle Fourth of July outing somewhere
in the country, so the next day we took the train
for Albano and drove over to Nemi, where we
are decently settled at the Trattoria Desanctis.
Nemi is an enchanting httle mediaeval tOAATi
perched high above the edge of the Lake of
Nemi caUed by the ancients the Mirror of Diana.
317

ROMA BEATA
Sitting in the terraced garden of the old castle of
the Orsini, near our inn, you look down the steep
sides of the crater of an extinct volcano, over
three hundred feet, to the lake, a big sparkhng
sapphire, three mUes in circumference, lying at the
bottom of a green enameUed cup. There is no
soil in the world, the landlord says, quite as rich
as this volcanic soU. Every inch of the land is
highly cultivated, and here, here on the sloping
sides ofthe old volcano grow the wild and the tame
strawberries of Nemi. I trust it is not necessary
to teU you that the wUd ones are by far the best.
We clambered doAvn a steep path jeweUed Avith
wUd flowers to the very edge of Diana's mirror.
I dipped my hand in the clear cold water. It is
hard to realize that where this gemlike lake now
sparkles in the sunlight there was once a pit of
fire, that the sides where the pleasant straw
berries grow were once coated with a velvet
bloom of sulphur like the crater of Vesuvius.
We turned and looked up the slope ; a breeze
ruffled the green leaves and exposed the vines
beneath, laden with myriads of strawberries, red
as rubies. As the fruttajola foretold, I now
understand how the little town of Nemi supplies
the big city of Rome with strawberries.
318

The Palace ofthe Orsini at Nemi
From a photograph

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
The lake is more than one hundred feet deep
and is drained by an artificial emissarium —
ancient Roman, of course. The peasants say
that the lake has no bottom. As there is a sort
of whirlpool in the middle fi-om the suction of
the Avater into the emissarium, it is considered
unsafe for boating or bathing. There is a story
of a mad Enghshman who tried to swim across
and was ncA'cr seen again, his body having been
sucked doAvn into the bowels of the earth — not
a bad way of disposing of it. A few years ago
they found the remains of a Roman state barge
at the bottom of the lake. The bronze orna
ments and even part of the wooden walls were
intact. The barge was presumably used as a
float in some imperial pageant of old Rome.
At sunset the women and girls who had been
busy aU day gathering fruit began to pass by
our inn, bearing vast loads of fragrant straw
berries on their heads. The berries are picked
into flat Avide baskets AAdth handles, through
which a long stick is passed, joining together the
ten or twelve baskets that constitute a load. As
each sun-broAvned wench trudged past, our eyes
were rejoiced Avith a superb flare of scarlet, and
our noses — ah! nothing in this world has ever
319

ROMA BEATA
tasted so good as the strawberries of Nemi
smell. Just where the white highroad, following the
line of the old crater, curves and is hidden by a
group of dark Uex trees, the women halted be
side the line of gay painted carts waiting to
carry the strawberries to Rome. We discovered
the carretta of Leandro's uncle, a fine affair
painted blue and yeUow, with long shafts and a
comfortable seat beneath a red and white striped
aAvning. Oreste, the driver, a shrewd peasant, in
spite of his loutish, grumpy manner, has a cer
tain family resemblance to his cousin the waiter,
but how contact with the world has sharpened
Leandro's wits, polished his manners ! Oreste
and Leandro ! Don't you love the classic
names ? They linger here in the country and
help to bring back to you Theocritus and the
golden age of Magna Grecia.
" At what hour do you start ? " J. asked
Oreste. " At ten o'clock."
" It must be a very long drive ; do you not get
dreadfully tired ? what time do you reach Rome ?"
Oreste answered my remarks in the order they
were put. 320

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
" The distance is twenty miles ; when I am
tired I sleep ; Avith luck I shaU reach the gates of
Rome by four o'clock in the mornmg."
" Who minds the cai-t whUe you sleep ? "
" Lupetto here ; '" he patted the dearest little
dog on the seat beside him. Lupetto looks like
a young fox, he has the brightest eyes, the
smaUest pointed ears, and a soft furry tan coat
chpped like a Uon's.
" As long as Lupetto is quiet and I hear this
music," he touched AAdth his long carter's whip
the string of bells round the horse's neck, " I doze
in peace. When the beUs stop jingling or Lu
petto barks I rouse myself to find out what is
the matter."
" Have you ever been robbed ? "
" That sometimes happens with a load of AAdne,
but with fi-uit, no. EAcrybody knows that I never
carry money and that I have a good knife ! " he
drew the knife from his boot and ran his thumb
along the blade, testing the sharpness of the edge.
The moon, a golden sickle, hung low in the sky,
the big soft stars seemed nearer to the earth than
usual. Lupetto gave an impatient little bark,
the horse stirred uneasily, jinghng his beUs. The
last basket of strawberries had been loaded on
21 321

ROMA BEATA
the cart ; it was clearly time to be off. Oreste
gathered up his reins and whistled to his horse.
" Felice notte (A happy night)." He grunted
the pretty greeting to us over his shoulder
awkwardly. After watching Oreste with his
two best friends, his horse and his dog, start on
the long night journey to Rome, we went back
to the castle garden, where our landlord treated
us to anecdotes touching that interesting family,
the Orsini.
Everything comes to him who knows how to
wait ! Ever since we first went to live at the Pa
lazzo Rusticucci I have longed to climb to the top
of Monte Cavo, the highest of the Alban hiUs.
From our terrace you can see the front of the old
Passionist monastery on its summit glinting
white in the sun. Yesterday the long waiting
came to an end and I have seen my Carcas
sonne ! We reached the summit after a two
hours' walk up the old Via Triumphalis — the
steep paved way along which the Roman generals
once passed to celebrate the military triumphs
at the temple of Jupiter Latiaris, which stood
at the top of Monte Cavo. It is a wonderful
road ; in some places the old basalt pavement is
as good as on the day when it was laid, some time
322

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
" before tlie year one " ! Truly a glorious Avalk,
Avith sudden splendid Adstas over plain and moun
tains, and cool odorous groA'es Avhere we found
the wild heartsease, sensitive ethereal flowers,
poor relations of our fat, stall-fed purple and gold
ten-ace pansies. A good bath of nature, such
as we had climbing the flanks of Monte Cavo,
makes man and aU his AA'orks — even the higher
cultivation of floAvers — seem a vain thing. We
passed the vast crater of another extinct volcano
caUed the Camp of Hannibal, who according
to local tradition once bivouacked here. In a
few days the garrison Asdll come from Rome for
its annual summer camping out, and Beppino,
our fascinating young friend Avith the burning
broAvn eyes, A\dU pitch his tent possibly on the
very spot where Hannibal slept.
The temple of Jupiter is gone ; its ruins were
destroyed by Cardinal York, one of the last
of the Stuarts, in 1777, when he buUt the mon
astery. Was not that trying of him ? and so in
appropriate too, for whatever their faults may
have been the Stuarts have always been protec
tors of the arts. Half of the monastery is now a
govemment meteorological station, the other half
an inn, which concemed us more. We ordered
323

ROMA BEATA
supper and whUe waiting for it moused about
in the old garden till we found the little that
remains of the temple, a few fragments of the
foundation and some pieces of marble roughly
buUt into the garden waU. " Sic trandt gloria
mundi," the temple is gone, the monastery too ;
meanwhile remain eggs in black butter for hun
gry traveUers, and the imperishable beauty of
the view. The vsdse old monks always chose
the most magnificent sites for their monasteries.
Good air and a fine outlook were what they held
to be essential; they found the ideal site, and
somehow screwed up the real to fit it. Do you
know a better rule for building one's house ? I
do not.
How do you suppose it felt after haAdng been
grUled alive on the stones of Rome for a month,
to borrow a shawl from the landlady, in order
to sit out after sunset and enjoy the wonderful
prospect? Below, at the foot of Monte Cavo,
lay the lakes of Albano and Nemi, darkly blue
where they were not silver, and far, far off, a pale
bme bubble on the horizon, gleamed the dome
of St. Peter's. If we could have borrowed a spy
glass from the meteorological bureau, I am sure
we could have made out the white columns of
324

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
our terrace in the shadow of the great dome.
^Vhen it grew too cold to sit out, the landlady
showed us to a pair of tiny stone cells. In
the Avatches of the night I knocked on the thick
AvaU that separated us, "for company," as some
lonely Passionist monk may have rapped a greet
ing to a brother in the dark Avinter nights of long
ago. In spite of the odor of sanctity ( stronger
here than I haA-ecA'cr knoAvn it), hardness of bed,
flabbiness of pUlow, m spite of the keen chiU be
fore daAMi, that one cool night in the old Pas
sionist monastery wUl remain a deUcious memory
when the hot pavements of a Roman July are
forgotten !
Early the next morning we made the descent
by a short cut, a steep path that brought us out
on the highAA'ay not far from Nemi.
Near the toAAm we overtook Oreste on his way
back from Rome. He had draAvn up his cart in an
oliA'e groA^e and was examining the fruit on the
trees. Lupetto, whose turn it was to sleep, lay
snugly curled up on the seat. We sat doAATi to rest
in the pleasant shade of the gray green leaves.
There are twelve aged olive trees in the grove,
and another larger and more picturesque than
the rest originaUy belonging to the same group,
325

ROMA BEATA
standing alone, on the other side of the white
high road. The trunk of this old tree is almost
hollow, a mere sheU of shaggy bark. The knotted
roots reach out an amazing distance from the
stem before they grip the earth. The tAAdsted
trunk and limbs look like a tortured human be
ing with uplifted arms, and suggest the men
turned to trees of the Inferno.
" This is the finest olive tree I have seen in
Italy," J. said. Oreste gloomUy assented.
" It is a noble tree worth any three of the oth
ers. See how many oUves it has. Leandro AviU
come soon to gather them."
" Your cousin, Leandro ? "
" Yes ; this is his tree. My grandfather of
blessed memory who OAvned these thirteen trees
had thirteen children. When he died he left one
olive tree to each child. The mother of Leandro
was his favorite daughter, there is no denying that,
and to her he left this tree, though by good rights
it should have come to the eldest son, my father.
They quarrelled at the time, but my uncle the
priest patched things up between them, he said
it was a disgrace for kindred to quarrel over an
inheritance. AU very weU for him to preach, —
priests are obliged to, that is how they earn their
326

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
hving. I was a mere child, or the matter would
not have been so easily settled, I can tell you. It
is too late now ; this famous tree is Leandro's,
I must content myself AAdth that blighted one
yonder, plainly the poorest of the lot."
" Your tree has not been so well cared for as
the others," J. said. "Look how wisely these
branches have been pruned. The sun reaches
every part." The branches in the middle of the
big ohve had been neatly cut away leaving an
open space the shape of a cup in the centre.
" There may be something in what you say,"
grumbled Oreste, " indeed I have little time to
care for my property. I must always be on the
road, now Avdth Avine, now AAdth ohves, now with
strawberries. Besides, I have not Leandro's op
portunities ; he seUs to the strangers ! "
" We vsdU try your oU ; bring the first you
make to the Palazzo Rusticucci." On this we
parted. We shaU see Oreste in Rome before
long and ascertain if the oU from his tree is as
good as that ofthe famous old patriarch tree which
we have had in other years from Leandro. To
know the Adnes that bear your grapes and the trees
that give your ohves and oU is the next best thing
to ovming them, don't you think ?
327

ROMA BEATA
The most interesting person we have met in
Nemi is an old soldier of Garibaldi's. We were
watching the sunset from the terrace of the inn
one evening, when we fell into talk with him. He
is a grave, thoughtful man ; stem of expression,
slow of speech, not quite hke any other Italian I
have ever known. He walks with a cane, and
stoops badly ; I am sure if he could stand up
right he would measure six feet two inches in
height. His face is a network of Avrinkles, he
has an ugly red scar across one cheek.
The conversation beginning with the weather
soon changed to pohtics. At first he spoke in
Enghsh, of which he has a small stock of words.
Something was said about the Pope and the
temporal power. He bristled aU over, growing
red as a turkey cock as he said, —
" The Popay as a Popay, very welley ; the
Popay as a Kingay, not at aUey ! "
After this he relapsed into Itahan and would
not be induced to speak more English. Cruel,
was it not ? He is gloomy enough about the
present political situation ; pessimistic about the
future. He spoke vsdth slow cold anger of a recent act
ofthe Itahan parliament, which he cannot forgive.
328

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
" They to pass a A'ote of censure on Francesco
Crispi ! The whole lot of them are not Avorth
one finger of his hand I " he said.
" EAerybody knoAvs that it was the result of a
political cabal against Crispi."
" No, not everybody ; some are wholly ignorant
and others forget ! We who were with him in
SicUy, Avhere he was as the right hand of Gari
baldi, know the man for what he is. He has
been insulted, and his fidends wUl be slow to for
get the insult."
" You also were in SicUy AAdth Garibaldi ? "
" I am one of the Thousand."
It was as if he had said " I am one of the
Three Hundred of Thermopylae," or the " Six
Hundred of Balaclava ! " It was electrifying to
find oneself in the company of one of those " few
and good men " who sailed with Garibaldi from
Quarto, on the Sth of May, 1860, landed six days
later at Marsala under the protection of the Brit
ish gunboats Intrepid and Argus, made the glo
rious march to Palermo, and freed Sicily and
Naples from the hatefiil yoke of the Bourbons.
" I have heard that you of the Thousand
loved your chief as if he had been your father ;
is this tme?" 329

ROMA BEATA
" Our acts, not merely our words, proved it to
be true. We would have died for him to the
last man. Even the women and priests wanted
to take up arms and foUow Garibaldi. You
know the story of the nuns ? A whole convent
of nuns, from the old mother abbess to the
youngest novice, gave him the kiss of peace,
they would not be denied ! " He grew visibly
younger as he talked, there was fire in the man ;
it took but the breath of our sympathy to blow
the embers to a flame.
" Was that scar on your cheek made by an
Austrian or a French bayonet ? " He rubbed
the old wound Avith a stiff hand smiling grimly to
himself " By neither — worse yet ! At Cala-
tafini, when the royal troops — they were Nea
politans — had exhausted their cartridges, they
threw stones at us. Have you not heard what
Garibaldi said of that action? 'The old mis
fortune, a fight between Italians, but it proves
to me what can be done with this family united.'
One day while the chief was watering his horse
at a spring a Franciscan friar suddenly appeared
among us. Some of the men tried to arrest him,
but he forced his way to the chiefs side, threw
himself on his knees, and begged to be taken
330

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
along with us. There were some who believed
him an enemy in disguise, but the man, his
name was Fra Pantaleo, did good service and
proved true as steel!"
As long as the talk is of the old time our ancient
soldier is a hero ; when it touches to-day he de
generates into a grumbler. He seems less dissat
isfied AAdth the army than AAdth most things modern.
" INly grandson is serving his four years. Where
do you suppose his regiment is quartered ? In
MUan ; that is as it should be, the North and the
South must know each other. It is well to send
the men of SicUy to Piedmont and the Piedmon
tese to Sicily. In this manner they may learn that
they are before all things Itahans."
The veterans who fought for the Unification of
Italy are treated very much as we treat the veter
ans who fought for the preservation of our Union ;
they are scolded, laughed at, loved, and forgiven
many things that would be unpardonable in others.
On national holidays the old Garibaldians turn
out in their red shirts, white kerchiefs, and
peaked caps. They are fewer now, their blouses
have faded to a softer red than when I first
saw them in the year 1878, mustered to meet
Garibaldi, already mortaUy Ul, when he came up
331 *

ROMA BEATA
from rocky Caprera to Rome for the funeral of
Victor Emanuel, the man he had made King of
Italy. I remember it as if it had all happened
yesterday. We were in the square outside the
raikoad station when he arrived. The Piazza di
Termini was packed AAdth sUent people waiting
patiently hour after hour. At last we heard the
whistle of an engine ; the crowd was shaken by a
murmur, " Garibaldi has come ! "
A landeau was driven across the piazza at a
footpace, Garibaldi lay across the carriage, his
head raised on a pUlow. He wore the classic
gray felt hat and the red blouse. At first
his eyes were closed as if he were in pain. His
face reminded one that God made man in His
own image. The features were fine and firm,
the hair and beard were a rich silver, the com
plexion white and rose, like a chUd's. He was
always described as " bronzed " ; the delicacy came
from his long illness. Once he opened his eyes,
those who stood near caught an eagle's glance.
A taU woman lifted her chUd high over her head,
whispering to it, " Never, never, never forget that
thou hast seen the face of Garibaldi." There
was no applause ; many women, some men were
weeping. As the carriage passed, the guard of
332

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
honor, his old companions in arms, closed around
it. F., who was near us in the crowd, was singing
under his breath the words of the old Carbonari
song, " Zitto ! dlenzio, chi passa la ronda ? evviva la
republica, ei^viva liberta (Hush, silence ! Who
passes the patrol ? Long hve the repubhc, and
long hA'e Uberty) ! "
I wonder if F. remembers ! He is a Pope's
man now and denies the virtue of republics.
I described this scene to our old soldier ; his
bloodshot eyes grew redder yet as he said gruf-
fly,- " I too was there ! "
To-morrow we go back to Rome. We have
ordered a basket of strawberries to take Avith
us. I have Avodtten to the gobbo to meet us
at the station ; as we pass the fruttajola' s shop I
shall stop and teU her that I now understand aU
about the strawberries of Nemi.
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, July 14, 1900.
This summer I am again trying the Roman
method of supineness ; I eat very little, sleep a
great deal, and keep mostly indoors. Last year
I exhausted myself with bicycling and other vio-

ROMA BEATA
lent exercise. The EngUsh and German residents
recommend this energetic course, but I find that
the Romans are right. The terrace is too lovely,
ablaze AAdth marigolds, cannas, cockscombs, bal
sams, oleanders, and portulacas. Our only fail
ure has been the dahUas, which aU died. The
vines are all doing famously ; the red honeysuckle
which J. dug up (in the very face of the white
buU) at the VUla Madama, has groAAm to an
astonishing size. Our large passion-flower vine
covered half the terrace pergola ; it had out-
groAATi the largest flower-pot that is made, so to
save its life J. gave it to Signor Boni for the
Roman forum. Four men carried it doAAmstairs.
It was tragic to see the beautiful branches broken
and trailing as they put it in a cart and drove it
away. This is the beginning ofthe end ! Beppino was
right, the Palazzo Rusticucci is sold to a brother
hood of French monks, and we must dehver up
the apartment and the terrace to them on the first
day of September. Many of our beloved plants
will be bought by friends, others we shall give
away. The honeysuckles and some of the roses
follow the passion-flower to the forum ; others
go to the garden of the American School of
334

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
Archaeology, where the dear Noi;tons will care
for them, and some to the Spanish Academy,
where the Signora VUlegas wiU have an eye to
them. Camphoring goes on to-day ; the general
wretchedness of " things in the saddle " is in the
air. How stupidly we complicate life by ac
quiring fleeces of Miletus and other perishable
objects. How to dispose of the accumulations
of all these years ? Diogenes had the right of it.
In future a tub and the sunlight wiU suffice me.
This afternoon as we were sitting comfortably
together in the big old studio (the coolest place
in Rome) enjoying our tea, Signor Boni threw a
bombsheU into our camp.
" I notice," he said, " that those cracks in the
waU have AAddened perceptibly since I was last
here." The studio is forty feet high, sixty feet long.
Among the jocose charcoal sketches scrawled on
the waUs certain CAdl-looking cracks zigzag from
the high-pitched wooden roof to the red brick
paA'^ement. When we first came they were no
more than mere cracks in the whitewash ; now
they gape Avide enough to hold my finger. As
we were examining the cracks we aU started at a
335

ROMA BEATA
sound like the snapping of a pistol over our
heads. " What was that noise ? " I cried.
" Only the creaking of the ceiling beams, it
happens every now and again," said J.
" Before we restored the Ducal Palace in
Venice, and saved it from tumbling down, the
same thing went on," said Signor Boni ; " but,
amid mid, do you not see what aU this means ? "
" It means that this old barrack is going to
pieces," said J. ; " some day they wiU either have
to shore it up or tear it down."
" Listen," said the Venetian, impressively.
" Last Sunday morning the Palazzo Piombino, in
the Via della Scrofa, not half a mUe from here, feU
in a heap of ruins, aU in a second, AAdth no more
warning than you have had. If it had not been
festa, and a fine day, there would have been a
great loss of life. As it was the people were aU
out gadding about the town."
Pietro, who had been Ustening, now chimed in.
" Scuse Signore, there was the cook, a friend of
mine, who was obliged to remain at home in order
to freeze the ice cream, — thirsty work on a hot
day. Magari, that cook's thirst saved his life.
He had just climbed through the grating into
336

STRAWBERRIES OF NEMI
the A\dne cellar to get afiasclietta of the wine of
OrAdeto, Avhen piff, paff, pifferty I doAvn came the
house crashing about his ears. The wine cellar
had a vaulted stone roof so strong that it re
sisted all the bricks, mortar, and rubbish that fell
upon it. They heard that cook shrieking like a
smaU dcAdl, and dug him out ; the flask of Or
Adeto was stUl in his hand, though he had not
drunk a drop ; he believed that the catastrophe
was a judgment upon him for taking the wine."
" The Palazzo Rusticucci to be sold over our
heads, the studio threatening to faU down upon
them — our Roman world is crumbhng about
us ! " I cried.
To which Pietro's " What are you going to
do about it ? " was cold comfort.

337

XV
THE KING IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE KING!
Palazzo Rusticucci, Rome, July 29, 1900.
I WAS awakened at six o'clock this morning by a
loud knocking and the shrUl voices of my maids
caUing to me. Huriying out to the hall I found
the three pale, shivering women huddled together
near our door.
" What is the matter ? " I asked.
Old Nena could only Uft her withered hands to
heaven and cry aloud to the Madonna. Filo
mena stood staring dully, saying over and over
again, 
" Murdered, murdered, murdered ! "
Pompiha the Tuscan seemed less distraught*
than the others.
" Tell me quickly what has happened ? '" I said
to her.
" They have killed our King ! " waUed PompiUa.
" It is true," Filomena sobbed ; " I heard it
when I went to mass." 338

LAST DAYS IN ROME
We dressed immediately and went out into the
street, to find that it was only too true. Giu
seppe the baker standing at his shop door, white
as his linen clothes, read aloud the dreadful news
fi-om his morning paper. In the dark shop be
hind, his boy fed the crackhng fire with brush
wood as if nothing out of the common had
happened. The loaves Avere ready for the oven ;
it was his business to keep up the fire.
" Last night, at half-past ten o'clock, as the
King was getting into his carriage at Monza, he
was shot and almost instantly kiUed. As he fell,
those nearest caught him in their arms imploring
him to say if he were seriously hurt. His Majesty
answered, • Non e niente { It is nothing).' These
were his last words, he died almost immediately
after." Ignazio our gardener who had just come up, a
damp newspaper crumpled in his hand, echoed
the words :
" It is nothing ! It is nothing ! Was not that
hke him ? Ah ! he was a brave man."
" The assassin was with difficulty saved from
the mob ; " Giuseppe continued to read.
"Why did they save him?" interrupted Ig
nazio. " They shoidd have let the people tear the
339

ROMA BEATA
wretch to pieces, and that would have been too
good for him ! "
" Tt is nothing ! " Giuseppe repeated. " Ah !
you may well say he was a brave man. Do you
remember the last time they tried to murder our
good King ? He was on his way to the races.
The officer in the carriage with him was
wounded ; Re Umberto sent the injured man
back to Rome while he himself drove on to Tor
di Quinto as if nothing had happened. In the
royal box he said to one of his suite that being
shot at was one of ' gl'incerti del mestier e (the
risks of the profession).' Ah ! he was a brave
man; he deserved a better trade."
" WeU they have kiUed him at last," said Ig
nazio. " What do you suppose will be done to
the murderer ? Will they hang him ? No, in
deed ; nothing so sensible ! We tax-payers must
support that vile assassin for the rest of his life.
I ask you, is there any sense in that? They
should let the people have him ; we AAdU give him
justice. Ah ! if I had only been there ! "
Ignazio, perhaps the gentlest man I have ever
knoAvn, was quite transported with rage. Curs
ing and crying he dashed the tears from his eyes
with his clenched fist. 340

LAST DAYS IN ROME
Old Nena took Ignazio by the sleeve : " Come
away, man," she said gruffly ; " wiU it help matter,?
for you to have a fit of apoplexy ? "
Filomena, the soft hearted, took his other arm ;
between them they led him into the house.
Pompiha, made of sterner stuff, remained to hsten
to the baker.
" We haA'e no capital punishment in Italy,"
Giuseppe explained to me. " The King's assassin
AvUl be sentenced to solitary confinement for life."
" Was the man an anarchist ? " I asked.
" An anarchist, yes ; and an Italian — more
shame to him. But, Signora mia, he comes from
your country ; read for yourself." The regicide
has liA'cd in Paterson, New Jersey. It is said
that two Itahan anarchist newspapers published
in that toAvn have advocated the murder of sov
ereigns in general, of King Umberto in particular.
The paper Giuseppe handed me attacks our Gov
emment sharply for aUowing the publication of
these incendiary sheets.
Rome is A'cry quiet ; the grief seems to be gen
uine and universal. The Prince and Princess of
Naples are cruising in the Mediterranean. It is
believed that a message from a semaphore was
miderstood upon the royal yacht, and hoped that
341

ROMA BEATA
the young King wiU soon land and make his proc
lamation. The evening papers speak of him
already as King Victor Emanuel III. and of
our dear Queen Margaret as the Queen Mother !
As soon as Pope Leo heard of the murder he
celebrated mass for the repose of the King's soul
The twenty-two years of King Umberto's reign
seem to me like a dream. I am haunted by a
song of my mother's ; I hear the tragic pathos of
her voice singing the words which when I was a
little child and could not understand their mean
ing always sent me shamefaced into the corner
to hide my tears :
" Kingdoms have passed away since last we met :
See from their thrones of pride monarchs like spectres glide,
Love's law doth still abide, Love reigneth yet ! "
I was in Rome when this dead King's father,
Victor Emanuel, died ; I strewed roses before his
sumptuous funeral car AAdth its eight black horses ;
I saw King Umberto receive the oath of aUegiance
from his troops, take the vow to support the con
stitution. Again I am in Rome ; if I Uve so
long I shaU see his funeral pageant, and yet I
feel as young as ever I did in my life, and my
feelings are hurt when people treat me as if I
342

LAST DAYS IN ROME
were not so. Read me this riddle if you can :
mystery of mysteries !
This morning Patsy, sent back to Rome as a
special correspondent of the " Daily  " sur
prised us at breakfast. You may imagine if we
were glad to see him. People here are so tense,
so overstrained and excited, that his presence
is hke a fresh north wind after days of sirocco.
He brought us the latest buUetins from the
Press Club.
" Yesterday," he said, " the young King and
Queen landed from their yacht somewhere on
the coast of Calabria and went directly to Monza
by way of Naples, where Crispi, old, broken, and
nearly bhnd, met them at the station. The son
of the murdered King hurrying to his father's
body stops to embrace the old Minister. Can't
you imagine it ? Though Crispi is out of office
and out of pubhc favor, the young man re
members the time when he was a child and
Crispi was his father's right hand. That was
a meeting worth seeing. I Avish I had been
there." History AAdU judge both King and Minister
more fairly than contemporaries have done ; it
wUl find the King worthy of the great name he
343

ROMA BEATA
bore. I gather from Patsy's talk that the re
action is beginning already.
" The Italians are finding out," he said, " that
the King inherited more than his name from
Humbert of the White Hand ; he had the same
colossal loyalty, courage, and honesty. It sounds
brutal to say it, but I believe his tragic death has
done more to secure the throne to the dynasty
than any act of his life could have done. Sym
pathy is already wiping out the memory of his
mistakes. There could not be a more propitious
opening for the new reign."
August 8.
Rome is crowded. It is strange to see the
hotels open, the Corso alive AAdth people, the
Pincio and ViUa Borghese fUled AAdth carriages
at this usually dead season. The Court, the
people of the embassies, special envoys from all
the countries of Europe, and I should think
nearly every distinguished personage in Italy, are
here for the King's funeral to-morroAV. All these
people augment rather than lessen the universal
gloom ; after six months of jubilation Rome is a
mourning city. This afternoon we drove to the
Quirinal Palace to inscribe our names in the
344

LAST DAYS IN ROME
Queen's book. A dozen large fohos lie on as
many tables in the entrance haU ; here all who
wish to express their sympathy may AAO-ite their
names. I recognized among those waiting to
sign, the French Ambassador, Beppino (Prince
Nero's grandson), and our Ignazio. One table
was smTounded by poorly dressed lads, — they
looked hke newsboys, messengers, and the Uke=
They are the best witnesses of the progress made
in the last twenty years ; when King Umberto
came to the throne, the street boys of Rome did
not AATite their names. To-night the walls are
coA'ered with manifestoes from the various trades,
guUds, and associations, expressing horror at the
crime, sympathy for the royal famUy, grief for
the murdered King, loyalty to his house.
August 9.
The King's funeral was to-day. The weather
was fair and very cool for the season. We left
home at half-past five in the morning and drove
to the Corso, where we were obUged to leave our
carriage. We had a pass which took us through
the lines of cavalry stretched across the Piazza
Venezia. We reached the balcony we had
secured (thanks to kind Mr. Iddings, of our
345

ROMA BEATA
embassy) in the Via Nazionale, half an hour be
fore the funeral procession started. We kept a
place for Patsy, who soon joined us, looking, for
him, rather jaded. He had been up all night,
having come down from Monza on the special
train which brought the King's body.
"It was a wonderful journey," Patsysaid. "The
bells were tolled in every town we passed through ;
all the stations were hung with crape ; every
where, even at the poorest villages, we were met
by citizens bringing flowers. When we arrived,
the traui was half buried in laurel and roses."
" Were you late in reaching Rome ? "
" That was the best of it : there was no confu
sion, no delay, we were exactly on time. It was
half-past six when the Duke of Aosta stepped
from the train, — he was in command of the
guard Avhich escorted the body from Monza —
and saluted King Victor, who was waiting on the
platform. The cousins — they are about of an
age, I fancy — looked hard at each other, shook
hands, then embraced."
Patsy had evidently been a good deal moved
by the scene, which is not surprising. You
know Aosta is the heir presumptive and has a
son, whUe the young King is stiU childless.
346

LAST DAYS IN ROME
" How did King Victor look ? "
" Soldierly ; as the coffin touched the soil of
Rome, his lip ti-embled ; it seemed for a moment
as if he would give way ; but he controlled him
self, — that was the only sign of weakness."
The procession opened AAdth a troop of lancers,
dashing feUows, weU mounted and well set up.
Then foUowed artUlery, infantry, engineers, sail
ors, marines, and in the place of honor nearest
to the cortege, the trim, smart bersaglieri, a crack
regiment of riflemen. Their dress is very pictur
esque : dark blue imiforms, crimson facings, and
large round hats with cocks' feathers worn on
one side. The crowd in the streets was extraor-
dinaidly quiet ; the only sounds were the tramp,
tramp of the soldiers' feet, the muffled drums of
the dead march. Many of the people had waited
aU night to secure their places. The civic officers
of Rome marched in fine mediseval costumes,
the dresses of the gonfalonieri, red and yellow
cloth, were among the best.
" Have you ever seen such a well-driUed proces
sion, or such a weU-behaved crowd ? " said Patsy.
I confessed that I had never seen better. Just
as we were commenting on the fine gravity and
self-control of those who marched, and of those
347

ROMA BEATA
who waited and watched, the sUence — which tiU
then really had been remarkable — was broken
by a sound like the buzzing of thousands of
insects. " Who can these be ? " I asked.
"The lawyers are coming," said Patsy.
The members of the court of cassation, and
other legal lights, dressed in crimson and black
velvet robes, with large square velvet hats to
match, and thick gold chains about their necks,
went chattering by ; they could not be sUent !
Siena sent a dozen pretty pages in fifteenth-
century dress : puffed satin doublets and jerkins,
long sUk hose, and golden lovelocks on their
shoulders. The gondoliers of Venice (famous
loyalists) were a fine group ; two of the taUest
carried between them an enormous Avreath of
laurel, the gift of their guUd.
There was a sudden stir in the crowd ; then a
deep sigh, as a gun carriage drawn by two lean
artillery horses came in sight, driven by a grizzled
gunner, the coffin strapped behind in the place
of the gun. An officer carrying King Umberto's
sword walked before, another foUowed, bearing
on a cushion the iron crown of Sa\'oy ; an orderly
led his favorite horse, the saddle draped in crape,
348

LAST DAYS IN ROME
the empty boots turned backwards in the stir
rups. King ^^ictor foUowed close behind the coffin
on foot, Avith the Princes of Savoy, the Russian
Grand Duke Alexis, the Duke of Argyle, and
other special envoys and guests of honor ; among
them Avere Lord Currie, Mr. Iddings, and Colonel
Needham, looking like a pale-brown ghost.
Just as the gun carriage had passed, at a
sudden imexplained noise — I beheve it was
merely the knocking over of a chair — the
panic-stricken crowd surged into the street, broke
up the procession, and nearly swept King Victor
off his feet.
There was a moment of sickening suspense ;
the gun carriage halted ; the King drew his
sword, his kinsmen pressed close about him as if
to protect him. Then ki the opposite balcony a
taU handsome woman dressed in mourning rose
to her feet, and leaning weU over the balcony
waved her handkerchief Avith a majestic gesture
that queUed the panic. The crowd understood
the signal to mean " No danger ! " The women
in the neighboring AAdndows began to clap their
hands. Meanwhile the gun carriage waited, the
young King stood at bay, startled, but ready
for whatever might happen. At the clapping of
349

ROMA BEATA
hands, the groans, the cries of " Anarchists ! "
" A bomb ! " " Traitors ! " ceased, the insensate
pushing and jostling stopped, and before one could
believe it possible order was restored, and the
procession took up its Une of march. I never
saw a finer example of one individual of nerve
and presence of mind controUing the blind panic
of a crowd.
Late, late in the procession marched a smaU
band of old Garibaldians. We recognized our
friend from Nemi hobbling among them.
" They should not have been put off at the end
of the procession, along Avith the taUors and shoe
makers of Rome. If it had not been for them
there would be no United Kingdom of Italy
to-day," J. said.
"Policy, my friend, pohcy!" said Patsy, his
eyes a little dim at the sight of the faded red
shirts and the broken men who wore them.
" Nobody," Patsy confessed, " feels the charm
of gold lace more than I, but did you notice how
weU the plain black coat of the American
Charge d' Affaires looked among aU those glitter
ing hveries of kings ? The sight of it made me
feel rather proud of being an American citizen ! "
We waited in our balcony to see the return to
350

LAST DAYS IN ROME
ihe palace. Patsy, who went to the Pantheon,
where the funeral services were held, reported
them as admirably short and impressive.
" Throughout the ceremony," he said, " Queen
Margaret was given the place of honor. At the
end, just as they were about to leave the church,
she made a deep courtesy to her son, and stood
back whUe the young King and his wife went out
before her. Think what that means ! Queen
INIargaret, from her fifteenth year the fu-st lady in
the land, entered the church Queen of Italy and
left it Queen Dowager. With that courtesy she
stepped from the first to the second place in the
kingdom." " As long as she Uves she wUl be first in every
true ItaUan heart ! "
" There 's the rub ! She should not be."
" That may be true ; she vsdU be aU the same ! "
There was a sudden sound of bugles, the clat
ter of horses' feet. The King's guard, picked
men, every one of them over six feet taU, came
dashing up the street to the crisp music of the
royal march. In their midst we caught a ghmpse
of Kmg Victor, in a closed carriage, on his way
to take possession of the Quirinal Palace.
The King is dead. Long Uve the King I
351

ROMA BEATA
August 14.
It is Avritten that our last days in Rome shall
not hang heavy on our hands ; emotion foUows
emotion ! Last evening J. went to the station to
see Patsy off on the special train provided for
Queen Elena's sister ( married to the Russian
Grand Duke) and the other royal and distin
guished personages who came to the funeral.
They had aU stayed on to hear King Victor's
maiden speech to his Parhament — which, by the
way, was capital ; he spoke of his mother in a man
ner that went to the hearts of all good sons and
daughters. Patsy told us, Avith the young news
paper man's air of supreme knowledge, that he had
it on the best authority that the King wrote his
OAm speech. I believe this, more from internal than
external evidence ; it rings true, not like an address
prepared by a minister for a monarch to deliver.
Patsy being gone, we thought to set about
closing up our affairs in earnest, when this morn
ing arrives a note AArritten on the back of an old
envelope in his hand.
" Send me some soup ! I can't stand this hos
pital diet. I am a bit shaken up by the coUision
at Castel Giubileo last night. Nothing serious
in my condition, except the appetite."
352

LAST DAYS IN ROME
The scrawl Avas dated from the hospital of San
Giacomo, where Filomena's brother has been a
patient for a month past. I packed a basket
Avith proAdsions and drove directly to the hospital,
taking Filomena Avith me. We stopped on our
Avay to see Dr. Massimo, who gave us a letter of
introduction to the house surgeon. The porter
of the hospital took in my card and note of intro
duction AvhUe we waited in the lodge. As we
got out of the cab FUomena behaved rather
strangely ; she asked the gobbo, our cabman, to
bring in the basket, and when he set it down on
the not too clean pavement, she let it remain
AA'here he put it.
" Please to take the basket off the pavement,"
I said. " Excuse me, Signora, it wUl be better to wait
tiU the porter returns and ask him either to carry
the basket himself or to send another Avith it.
These people are very suspicious ; they might
think that / was trying to smuggle something
into the hospital. The idea is, of course, ridicu
lous, but these hospital employes are strangely
suspicious people."
At that moment an enormous red-haired
woman wearing a checked apron came towards
33 353

ROMA BEATA
us ; she spoke pleasantly to Filomena. " Well,
my girl, I hear that your brother is getting better
fast. Ah ! he has a good sister." As she spoke
the giantess enveloped Filomena in a capacious
embrace. Beginning at the girl's slender throat
she passed her great arms and hands down her
body to the very feet, feeling her aU over, press
ing the hght cotton skirts so close about hei- that
she looked like a Tanagra figurine. Though
Filomena endured the searching embrace with
composure, I saw her glance at me, and there is
no denying that she turned scarlet.
" Nothing contraband this morning, eh ? " said
the good-natured giantess.
" This is my mistress," Filomena interposed,
anxious to shield herself under my eegis. " She
has brought some refreshments to a gentleman
who was hurt in the railroad accident last night.
She has a letter from Dr. Massimo."
The giantess bowed to me pohtely. "There
will be no difficulty, that will arrange itself," she
said. " Won't you be seated, Madam, tiU the
doctor comes ? It is against the rule to aUow any
provisions to pass without a special permission
from the house physician. This pretty one does
not see the use of that rule, do you, my dear ? "
354

LAST DAYS IN ROME
If looks could kill, the giantess would have
died, slain by the rage in Filomena's beautiful
eyes. I found Patsy, smelUng horribly of carbolic
acid, in a smaU iron bed, a chart of his injuries —
slight but numerous — fixed at the head of
the cot. His powers of speech had not been
impaired. " I knew you would come. Have you brought
the soup, and some decent wine ? There 's the
joUiest sister who takes care of me — that tall
one Avith the red cheeks — isn't she a corker ?
She AvUl heat the broth and cool the wine."
I asked the sister how long she would be
obhged to keep her troublesome patient. She
said, " Only a few days ; he might possibly be
moved to-morrow." That was a hint for us to
take him home, which I offered to do. Patsy
would not hear of this.
" Thuik of the copy 1 am getting," he said.
" I know more about the Itahan medical profes
sion, nurses, and hospitals than I could have
learned in a year's study outside. I have notes
for three articles already."
" What are your views ? "
" The doctors are clever feUows, the nurses
355

ROMA BEATA
angels, the hospital one hundred years behind
the times."
When he had finished his soup Patsy told me
about the accident.
"At Castel GiubUeo, about eight mUes out
from Rome, another train ran into ours and the
two telescoped. Fortunately I was in the last of
the AATCcked carriages — that was bad enough. I
can't talk about the other people yet, the news
papers will give you all the dreadful details. In
our carriage there was only a fat deputy, the
Honorable Somebody, and myself. After the
crash I found that I was pinned to the floor by
a beam and could not stir hand or foot. Pres
ently a guard came along ; he said we were in no
danger, and that we must lie stiU tUl they could
dig us out. I fancy I fainted or went to sleep
then, for quite suddenly it was dawn, and the
deputy was crying out that he was dying and
should never see his Amelia again. Then I saw
a man come clambering over the wrecked smok
ing ruins of the cars towards us. Somehow he
managed to reach down through the debris
and get the deputy by the hand.
" ' Courage, courage, Onorevole, thou art
saved ! ' he said in the joUiest voice. A little
356

LAST DAYS IN ROME
later we heard his voice again, giAdng orders to
the men he had brought to dig us out ; we were
buried deep under the splintered car ahead of us.
As soon as I found myself in the blessed cool air,
I looked to see Avhat sort of man had saved me
fi-om that pit of heU ; it was the King."
" The King ? are you sure ? "
" Oh, you AAdU find it aU in the papers if you
don't beheve me. The Grand Duchess sent one
of her suite directly to the palace to tell her sister.
Queen Elena, that she was not hurt, before she
should hear of the accident from any other
source. " The messenger waked the King and Queen
— it was one o'clock in the morning, they were
asleep — told them what had happened and that
a rehef train was being made up. Those young
people dressed, and ran aU the way from the
Quirinal to the railroad station — it must be
close on a mUe — hoping to catch the relief train ;
they were too late ; it had already gone when
they arrived. Outside the station they took the
first cab they met, and started to drive the eight
mUes to Castel GiubUeo. At the Porta Salaria
the cab was overtaken by one of the royal car
riages from the Quirinal stables, which brought
357

ROMA BEATA
them the rest of the way. As the Deputy and
I were in the last of the AATecked carriages, we
were less hurt than anybody else, I fancy ; we
certainly were the last attended to ; and I saw
the dreadful business through. The Queen
worked over the wounded women, trotting fi-om
one to the other, doing everything she could to
make them comfortable. At nine o'clock in the
morning the Mayor of Rome and some other
old fogies came lumbering up in a landeau.
They met the King, black with smoke and
grime, just starting to drive back to town."
" A man of action, like his father and grand
father before him," I said.
" A chip of the old block," cried Patsy. " She
is admirable ; if ever I saw a pair of lovers, it is
those two — that must be the best of it aU."
The taU sister cAddently thought that Patsy
was talking too much, so I took my leave. If I
had stayed ten minutes I too should have seen
the young King and Queen as Filomena saw
them. At three o'clock they visited the wounded
at San Giacomo's.
FUomena told me about it with flashing eyes.
" Ah, Signora, it is a pity you were in such
a hurry. While I was talking with my brother,
358

LAST DAYS IN ROME
who should come into the ward but the King
and Queen I They spoke to all the people who
had been hurt in the accident. The Queen is
taU — oh, very tall ! AAdth great dark eyes and
such hair, twice as much as I haA'e. I wish you
had seen her dress, Signora, it was of white silk
and lace, and her hat ! It was in the last fash
ion, and quite the prettiest hat I ever saw.
When the sick people saw who had come to
Adsit them, what do you think they did ? In
spite of the doctors and the sisters, those patients
sat up in theu- beds and cheered and clapped
their hands. I think they were perfectly right to
do so ; even the very sick must have been made
better by the sight of those royal spouses, and
the sound of the evvivas!"
August 31.
Our last day in Rome ! The trunks were sent
to the station this mornuig; they have been
forwarded direct to Genoa, where we take ship
for home on the 10th of September. We
mtend making a sUght detour, gomg by way
of Oberammergau (where our seats and lodgings
are engaged) to see the Passion Play. The
few pieces of furniture that remam — our beds,
some chairs, the dinner table and service — AviU be
359

ROMA BEATA
taken away to-morrow morning. We consider
it quite a feat to break up housekeeping after
nearly seven years in the Palazzo Rusticucci, and
to sleep the last night in Rome under our oaati
roof. Very busy aU day saying good-by. In
the morning Ignazio carried away the last load
of our beloved plants. Before he came I gathered
aU the flowers, and took an armful of roses,
oleanders, and jessamine to the cemetery in mem
ory of the dear one who made this Eternal City
a second home to me — who shaU say to how
many others ?
Sora Giulia came in just after the trunks had
gone, Avith some ravishing old lace and embroid
ery. She is genuinely sorry we are going ; we
have been good customers. As to Nena, tough
old Spartan, she is nearer weeping than she
likes. Patsy, discharged from the hospital this mom
ing, came in to report himself. He had talked
so much with nurses, doctors, and patients, been
so busy getting his notes together, that a fever
set in which kept him at San Giacomo's ten
days after his bruises were healed. He confesses
that it was his OAvn fault! Patsy stayed on
to dine, so we had a little feast, and, thanks
360

LAST DAYS IN ROME
to him, were able to make merry to the last
— just what I AAdshed!
" Do you know," Patsy said, " that you made a
great mistake in the name of your palace ? It
has always been knoAAm to the initiated as the
Palazzo Accoramboni. Whoever told you the
name was Rusticucci was no better than a
fool." " He was a very AAdse man. To-morrow, when
we shall have gone, the palace AAdU return to
its old name ; consequently we shaU be the only
people who have ever hved in the Palazzo Rusti
cucci ! " Don't you think my argument a good
one? After Patsy left we took our last look at
the terrace. It was fuU moon, as on that first
night ; the piazza, the fountains, the colonnade,
the obelisk were aU there, just as we found
them. The terrace, which J. made as fragrant and
lovely for me as the hanging gardens of Babylon,
is again as bare as my hand. Even the red rose
of the monsignore which we found here has
been sent Avith other favorite flowers to a friend.
I do not think that black-a-vised French priest,
the head of the fraternity, would have cared for
it, and it was the beginning of aU our joy I In
361

ROMA BEATA
the farthest comer of the terrace I saw a smaU
dark object moving slowly across the floor.
" It is Jeremy Bentham ! " said J. We had
almost forgotten our poor tortoise, the least
demonstrative of aU our pets. We shaU leave
him and the nightingale at the Spanish Academy
to-morrow before going to the station. The beUs
of St. Peter's rang twelve before we came doAAOi.
We looked at all the familiar points, Soracte,
Monte Cavo, the Castle of Sant' Angelo, and
last and longest at St. Peter's before we said
" Addio, Roma Beata ! "
This is my last letter from Rome. There are
many more things I want to say to you, but
I must leave you and say good-night. Pan the
nightingale wants to go to sleep, and is piping
piteous appeals to me to go away and leave him
at peace in the pleasant darkness. Another httle
pipe. Good-night 1

363

3 9002