“You are now, my young friend,” answered Carrara, “just on the dawn of manhood, when, having indulged ideal dreams of what the world ought to be, you are gradually awakening to a perception of the vast difference between the ideal and the actual; what now appears to you so sentimentally sad, will gradually become a matter of course, and you will grow fond of the world as it is; as your freshness of feeling, and ideality of mind wears away, habit becomes a second nature; we may dislike our habitation, but we dislike a change, because we are accustomed to the old abode. Middle age and the decline of life, which lessen our sense of enjoyment, increase our love of life for that reason; and you will find, as you journey on, the longer you live, the more tenaciously will you cling to life.”
“I presume you are right, and if I live long enough to realize your sage prediction, then I will think of your words.”
I took my hat as I said this, considering that I had bored my kind friend long enough, by a visit of three hours, and left the studio, with his repeated invitation ringing in my ears, that I should come very soon again, and pass every morning, if it pleased me, at his house. I directed my steps toward modern Rome, and the Piazza del populo; as I passed along the principal streets, I saw the shops adorned with every description of masquerade dresses, and immense quantities of bonbons, in anticipation of the approaching carnival; many of the giddy throng were already attired in masquerade, passing each other; and all unlucky foot passengers, with the “corfette” the Italians make such liberal use of during the carnival, their animated gestures, and sprightly looks, forming a picturesque scene. While above my head shone the cerulean sky, dotted with golden clouds, and the horizon’s verge reflected the brilliant red of the setting sun’s declining fires.
The happy dispositions and buoyant temperaments of these Italians, enable them to bear misfortunes, and even the squalid poverty, to which they are frequently subjected, with a serenity of temper, and happy confidence in the future, unknown to the colder inhabitants of northern climes. A proud Englishman would put an end to his existence, were he obliged to encounter half what an Italian would endure with philosophic indifference.
I found the Piazza del populo crowded with equestrians, pedestrians, and every description of equipages, giving a brilliant, showy effect, to this classic and beautiful square. How many recollections of happy hours and days, are connected in my memory, with the name of Rome; of weeks and months, that sped like hours, borne only too rapidly away upon the wings of Time.
The ladies talked, laughed, and flirted with the gentlemen, as they promenaded up and down, just as we do in England, or any other civilized land; the liveried footmen stood together in groups, and chatted, perhaps of scandal transpiring in their little world of action; monks glided past me, their heads bowed down, telling their rosarys while they stealthily eyed the women; the peasant girls in their tasteful costume, the red or blue woollen petticoat, ornamented with black horizontal bands, exchanged love tokens with their lovers; the military rode through the square, with much display; the nobility bowed and smiled to each other, as they drove swiftly by in their stately carriages; all nature, and almost every face wore a smile.
Leaving the gay scene, I passed out at the gate opposite to that through which I had entered, and was standing gazing upon the lofty dome, and magnificent colonnade of Saint Peter’s, which rose towering above all other objects in the distance, when I felt my arm suddenly grasped, and a stentorian voice exclaimed, “Why, good heavens, Clarence, is this you? where in the name of wonder have you been all day? I’ve been wanting you to accompany me to a hundred and one places, and here you are dreaming about the Persian invasion, perhaps in the Piazza del populo. I’ve met some very fine people here,” he continued, as he linked his arm in mine, and gently turned me in the direction of our hotel. “Among others, there’s a Countess Dettore, who having heard what a fine, agreeable fellow you are, sends you an invitation, through me, to her grand party, to-morrow night; come now, do be civil, and say you’ll go; I am going; really, you have grown so desperately sentimental since your arrival here, there’s no doing anything with you; you should go into society, be gay, and enjoy yourself.”
“All people don’t have the same mode of enjoyment,” I replied. “I enjoy myself in my way, and you in yours; but who is this Countess of whom you speak; how came she to hear of me, and send me an invitation to her ball?”
“Oh, I knew her when I was here before, four years ago; she’s a pleasant, chatty kind of person, gives nice balls, and that, you know, is the principal thing; I dare say you’ll be pleased with her, however, when you get acquainted; she’s often heard me speak of you since my arrival, and so, being about to give a ball, took the liberty of sending you an invitation, both verbal and written,” and he handed me a delicate little note, superscribed in a small, feminine handwriting.