Italian Days and Ways

by Anne Hollingsworth Wharton

"The keys of the rooms that you have seen are in the charge of a gentleman who lends them to me. When I return them, I should be glad to hand him something to repay him for his kindness. If you feel like giving him a trifle, he and his friends will sit down at a table in some garden, with a bottle of wine before them, and drink to Father A.'s hat." His own hat, of course! Was it not deliciously frank and foreign? Mrs. Coxe glanced triumphantly at us, and Angela was so much amused at the idea of contributing to the convivial pleasures of several unknown gentlemen in return for our privileges at the Vatican that I thought it wise to make our compliments and adieus to the Monsignor as quickly as possible, before she should disgrace the party by unseemly hilarity.

Thursday, April 21st.

This has been a full week, in which there has been little time for letter-writing. Zelphine and I have been driving about making calls and leaving cards upon people who have invited us to their days. Angela flatly refuses to join us, declaring that she did not come to Rome to do the self-same things that she has to do at home. Instead of which, she has been having a gay time with the W.'s from Philadelphia, driving to the "Doria-Pamfili" and going to the races at the Campanelle, for this is the height of the racing season. To-day she went to the Grand Steeplechase of Rome, and had the pleasure of seeing the King and Queen driving in an open carriage drawn by four horses. The Queen gave her own prize, the Queen Elena prize offered to gentlemen riders, and who of all people should get it but the young Roman who nearly ran over Mrs. Robins at the meet! He is a titled personage, the Marquis de B., but as we could not remember his long, unpronounceable name, we have dubbed him the Marquis de Carabas, being more familiar with titles in fairy lore than in real life. Angela says that when Ludovico brought the Marquis de B. to the carriage to speak to her, she was in such terror lest she should call him by our nickname that she was afraid to open her mouth. Fancy Angela afraid to open her mouth under any circumstances! She must have overcome her hesitation, for she afterwards had a long talk with the young Marquis, who took her and Mrs. W. to have tea.

Zelphine and I find that our social duties have their compensations, as we meet such interesting people. I had a long talk with your friend Dr. White at a reception the other evening. He told me that he was publishing his reminiscences of diplomatic life in Russia and Germany. Madame Waddington is here now, and much fêted of course. Mrs. Coxe, who has known her for years, says that she is the same Mary King whom she knew as a school-girl, and is quite as unspoiled by the success of her book as by her diplomatic successes.

One day this week an American friend, who lives here in a beautiful old palace, sent us her box for "Les Huguenots." The box was in the centre of what we call the balcony, near the royal box. We were hoping that the King and Queen would appear, but we have learned since that they seldom go to any plays except those given in their own royal theatre. Otherwise the house was as brilliant as we had expected, and the singing very fine, the choruses unusually strong.

Ludovico brought the Marquis de B. to our box. He has charming manners; indeed, so much manner that one does not get beyond it. I prefer our American heartiness to this studied politeness. Ludovico has asked permission to bring the young Marquis to call on us, assuring us that he belongs to one of the oldest families in Italy. I told him that as a gentleman and his friend the Marquis de B. would be welcome without the glory of an ancient lineage. Ludovico laughed, and said, "Oh, you Americans are so proud—as proud of your democracy as if you were all nobles!"

President Loubet is coming to Rome next Sunday, and the whole city has begun to put on yards of bunting to receive him. These people possess a genius for decoration, and have a clever fashion of hanging bright-colored shawls and bits of carpet out of their windows; the effect is really very good.

Sunday, April 24th.

Rome is en fête to-day, a brilliantly gay city! We were invited to see the reception of M. Loubet from a balcony overlooking the Esedra di Termine, from which we had a fine view of the great concourse of people—a wonderful sight! All the school-children of Rome were seated on stands surrounding the piazza; there were lines and lines of soldiers, cavalry and infantry, and people were standing everywhere except in the space reserved for the carriages; those of the nobility were like gilded Cinderella coaches, their coachmen and footmen in gorgeous livery. The carriage of the Mayor, Prince Prosper Colonna, was especially fine.

The band played the Marcia Reale, a curious little quickstep air, which announced the approach of the expected guest. A troop of cuirassiers opened the way; then came the royal carriage with the red liveries of the house of Savoy, the King and President Loubet seated side by side. Prince Colonna received the distinguished guest with much grace and dignity; the band then struck up the Marseillaise; the applause was wild, vivas, bravos on all sides. These Italians are not, I fancy, devotedly attached to the French Republic or to its President; but like all Latin peoples they delight in a celebration, a general hurrah, martial music, flying banners, and tumultuous applause.