Monday, April 25th.
We have quaffed our last draught from the Fountain of Trevi, thrown a penny into the pool to ensure our return to Rome, and taken a farewell look at Neptune and his floundering steeds. Our trunks are packed, as we had planned to leave Rome this morning, but the men did not come for our boxes, which are to go by petite vitesse to Florence while we loiter by the way in several hill towns. We set forth to discover the reason of the delay, and found the express office closed, all business being suspended during the grand review which is being held on the Piazza d'Armi in honor of the French President. It is evident that we shall have to adapt our movements to those of this worthy gentleman; but after all, this detention cannot be looked upon as an unmixed evil, as it gave us a few hours more in Rome which we spent in the Vatican. After taking a last lingering look at the Apollo and the Laocoon, we had an hour in the Sistine Chapel for the ceiling frescoes of Michael Angelo. To-day being brilliantly clear, the faces and figures stood out as we had never seen them before, and we ended by feeling grateful to M. Loubet, for had he not detained us we might never have so truly appreciated the magnificent Prophets and Sybils, which are difficult to see properly in cloudy weather such as we had during Holy Week.
En Route for Viterbo.
Ludovico and the Marquis de B. were at the station this afternoon to see us off, although they had spent a part of the morning with us. They both brought offerings of flowers, which was certainly a graceful attention on the part of the Marquis, whom we only know casually; but here they offer flowers with almost as little thought as one says good morning in America. Zelphine and I have the dark red ones that we love; Angela's are white and pink. The Marquis paid our youngest and fairest some compliments about the roses matching the color in her cheeks, which served to spread a pink glow all over her face and to make Ludovico angry. It is quite evident that we are not leaving Rome too soon, as these good friends might quarrel if we should stay longer, and my duties as a chaperon would certainly become more arduous. We shall miss Ludovico at every turn, and I flatter myself that he will miss us. We have all so enjoyed our Roman days together, and he and Angela were simply bons camarades, after the comfortable, unsentimental fashion of the modern boy and girl, until the Marquis came into our little circle with his too evident admiration and florid, Continental compliments.
XI
SHORT JOURNEYS
Orvieto, April 27th.
We have been travelling so fast, in the last days, that there has been no time for writing, which is my excuse for not sending you a letter from Viterbo, whose middle-age charms might fill many pages. Now I am writing with the brilliant colors of the façade of Orvieto's great cathedral still dazzling my eyes. We saw it first at sunset, when its exquisite colors were intensified, and glowed in harmony with the delicate rose and rich golden glory of the sky. With its vast mosaic front and exquisite Gothic arches and spires, the Cathedral of Orvieto is the central point of shining light in the old gray-brown town which it crowns. This evening it was like a jewel with a thousand facets gleaming in the sunset light, and, as many travellers have asserted, its immense rose-window above the cathedral portal is in itself worth a journey to Orvieto. This window with the lovely mosaic above it of Christ and the Virgin Mary enthroned and surrounded by angels, all in the softest blue, crimson, and gold, quite enthralled us, and we lingered so long before the cathedral that the sunset colors faded, the delicate hues of the mosaic grew dim, and darkness fell upon the huge mass, wrapping it about as with a garment. "We shall never again see anything so beautiful in this world," said Zelphine, solemnly, as we walked back to our hotel through the narrow, dark streets. And indeed I doubt if we ever shall; to behold a sunset of such brilliancy illuminating a building of beauty so entrancing is something that one need not expect to have repeated in a lifetime.
We intended to come here directly from Rome, a journey of only a few hours; a detour to Montefiascone and Viterbo was decided upon, on the spur of the moment, just before leaving Rome. Zelphine came across some notes about Montefiascone in her Baedeker that reminded her of Mr. Longfellow's description of his visit to the tomb of Johannes Fugger of Augsburg, upon which she insisted that we linger a day and night on our journey hither, in order to visit the sacred city of the Etruscans.