Friedrich Bodenstedt
XXVII
MENTONE AND VENICE
The news of the Crown Prince’s death · Sojourn in Mentone · Octave Mirbeau · A winter in Venice · Old acquaintances · Princess Tamara and Marietta Saibante · Visit of Felix Moscheles to the widow “Tillings” · Moscheles as a peace propagandist · Formation of a section in Venice through Marquis Pandolfi · Grelix · The Princess of Montenegro · Princess Hatzfeld, born Von Buch · A memory of Cosima Wagner
In the beginning of the year 1889 (my novel was then still a manuscript in Pierson’s hesitating hands) we once more gave ourselves the treat of a little pleasure trip. And this time our course took us to the Riviera—our destination Mentone. We were caught on the way by the news of Crown Prince Rudolf’s death. The first report spoke of it as a hunting accident; only a little at a time did we learn the terrible contradictory details. The tragedy affected us deeply.
From Mentone, our headquarters, we made excursions to Monte Carlo, Nice, Cannes. Naturally My Own was fascinated with the beauties of the Riviera. To one who loves nature so passionately as he did the sight of this blooming, paradisal corner of the world must afford an intense enjoyment; and the combination there of the charm of artificial luxury with the charm of nature was a double attraction to him, with his receptivity for every kind of elegance. But we did not participate in this social life; our vacation budget would not have permitted it, nor had we any inclination to do so.
We made a very interesting acquaintance a few days after our arrival at Mentone,—that of Octave Mirbeau. The young writer had even then become famous through his novel Le Calvaire. I knew the novel, and a chapter in it that describes a marvelous scene from the Franco-German War—describes it in a way that expresses a hearty condemnation of war. The chapter had captivated me, and it was a pleasure to me to be able to shake hands with the author.
Octave Mirbeau with his pretty young wife lived in a tiny villa which he had bought in Garavent, and there they invited us to dinner. The young writer looked more like an Englishman than like a Frenchman. He reminded me a little of Achille Murat. Very tall, broad-shouldered, with a fine blond mustache. But, if his exterior had an English air, his manner and conversation were genuinely French, that is to say, full of piquant wit. Yet he talked also of very serious things. Social problems seemed to be what he had most at heart. There need be no misery in the world, was his fixed belief; that there nevertheless was, was the occasion of his wrath.
On our way home from the Riviera we spent a week in Venice. The beautiful dead city of the doges was like a revelation to My Own. He fell in love with it. It filled him with jubilant admiration. And so we made up our minds that sometime we would spend a whole winter in Venice.
This plan we carried out in the year 1890–1891. We took rooms in a small palazzo on the Grand Canal. A delectable little palace, on the outside gilded and gayly colored—the Palazzo Dario; we rejoiced in the view of it every time we saw it from the gondola. The interior also pleased us immensely, for the rooms were wholly in old Venetian style. We had taken a gondola by the month. One of the two gondoliers was likewise our valet. The landlady furnished us with good Italian cooking, and I had engaged a pretty girl as my waiting maid. You are not to suppose that we had discontinued our work. The forenoon hours were regularly appropriated to writing. We were happy as happy could be. Die Waffen nieder had been out now for a year, and I was still receiving critical articles from the periodicals and letters from the public regarding it.
How round the world really is, and how small! Wherever one goes one always meets friends and acquaintances from the remotest regions. So it was here. We were introduced into society by our consul general, Baron Kraus, and quite unexpectedly we met dear old friends.
Princess Tamara of Georgia, in whose house in Tiflis, and again four years before in Paris, we had spent so much time, was now settled in Venice and was there introducing her two daughters into society. I even found a friend of my girlhood days—Marietta Saibante—in the Marchesa Pandolfi, whose salons in the Palazzo Bianca Capello were a meeting-place for Venetian society. We had not seen each other in nearly twenty-five years, and had quite lost track of each other; so it was a delightful surprise to both of us to meet again so unexpectedly. Her husband, a member of the Italian parliament for Sicily, had just come from Rome. He is the same Marchese Benjamino Pandolfi who afterwards took a prominent part in the peace movement.