I have been wondering why I have not heard from Ludovico Baldini. We went to the bank on the Piazza di Spagna this morning, and found my Naples letter lying unopened. To-day I had decided to go to French, Lemon &Co., thinking I had made a mistake about the bank, when as we were walking along the Via Nazionale on our way to the Rospigliosi Palace, I saw a young man on the other side of the way take off his hat and wave it as he dashed across the street. Of course it was Ludovico, just returned from Florence, as bright and cordial as ever, but very indignant over not having had my letter forwarded to him.
I think you must have met young Mr. Baldini, of whom I speak so unceremoniously as Ludovico, as he was often at our common friends', the W.'s, last year. I met him first at Jamestown, in the summer, and he gave me so many valuable suggestions about Italian travel that I feel greatly indebted to him. He is young, not much over twenty-one, but in some respects seems older, and, being American on one side, he combines considerable practical ability with the Italian charm of manner which we all realize, even if we are not always happy in describing it.
We had intended to go somewhere this afternoon with Mrs. Robins and Bertha Linn, and when Ludovico suggested our driving out to the meet near the Tomb of Cæcilia Metella, we concluded that this was the thing of all others that we wished to do, more especially as this was the last meet of the season. We arrayed ourselves in our best, as all the smart people go to the meets here. Ludovico secured the most presentable hacks that he could find, and we set forth, following a gay procession of carriages along the street of tombs to a sporting scene; but for such incongruities as this, commend me to the sympathetic Italian!
The meet was worth seeing—fine horses, good riding, life, motion, and color. There were many handsome, well-dressed women in the carriages and walking about; all this gayety brought out in strong relief by the sombre background of the old aqueduct and the great circular tomb of the beloved wife of Crassus.
As the carriages were crowded together, we left ours, and attempted to walk over the field, as many persons were doing. The horses and dogs turned suddenly in our direction, and Mrs. Robins, in trying to get out of their way, slipped, fell, and would have been trampled by one of the horses had not his rider been a most expert horseman. Ludovico was in a rage such as these hot-blooded Latins alone are capable of, and was ready to call out the young horseman, who had done all that man could do to prevent an accident, dismounting at once and most courteously apologizing. "It is entirely our fault for being on foot where horses and dogs had the right of way," I said to the cavaliere, who bowed with the gravity of a Don Quixote, evidently quite agreeing with me. Ludovico, somewhat appeased, asked me to allow him to present the gentleman, who was an acquaintance of his, and this ceremony being accomplished satisfactorily they both handed us to our carriages in fine style. As Mrs. Robins fortunately was not hurt, we were all able to enjoy the spirited scene from our coign of vantage. The dogs broke covert over on the Campagna, and then the rush and scamper of the gay cavalcade across the plain was most exciting, horsemen and hounds in full cry.
As it was still early in the afternoon, we decided to drive to the Janiculum Hill to see the fine equestrian statue of Garibaldi and the magnificent view from what seems here quite a height, because it rises abruptly from the plain, but is really less than three hundred feet. The air was perfectly clear, and we could literally behold all Rome, old and new, spread out before us. Between the hill and the Tiber lies that large quarter known as Trastevere, where are some of the most interesting churches, as Santa Maria and Santa Cecilia. Here beautiful villas once stood, but Trastevere is now almost exclusively inhabited by the working classes. A fine and handsome race, differing in dialect from the citizens of other quarters of Rome, the Trasteverians seem to have some right to the distinction which they claim of being the direct descendants of the ancient Romans.
On our return from the Janiculum we stopped at St. Peter's in Montorio, which is on one of the slopes of the Janiculum. Although the crowning glory of this church, Raphael's Transfiguration, has been taken from the high altar and carried to the Vatican, a few good pictures still remain. What we desired to see the most, though, was the little temple in the court said to mark the spot where the cross of St. Peter stood. The chapel contains a statue of the saint, and below, down some steps, is a grewsome place where he is said to have been crucified in a manner so horrible that I really cannot undertake to describe it to you. The impression made upon one by this spot is somewhat the less thrilling because several other places are shown as the scene of the martyrdom of this great apostle. The woman who opened the temple for us scratched up some of the earth and gave it to us with great solemnity. Angela's face was a study as she received her portion. She is not, as you may believe, much of a relic-hunter.