"Twenty-four! Dear me! Do you know them all?"
"I must confess that I do not, but I will look them up in the Gotha and write them out for you."
"Twenty-four," I repeated. "How out of breath the priest who baptized you must have been!"
"Oh," cried the Prince, "he did not mind; he got a louis [twenty-franc piece] for each name."
ROME, PALAZZO SFORZA-CESARINI, January, 1887.
My dear Aunt,—After the reception of the Diplomats on the 1st of January we moved from Palazzo Tittoni to this, our new home.
We have in the largest salon an enormous and gorgeously sculptured chimneypiece which has a tiny fire-place that, when crammed full of wood, and after we have puffed our lungs out blowing on it and prodded it with tongs, etc., consents to smile and warm the chair nearest to it, but nothing else.
The ceiling (a work of art of some old master) is way up in the clouds; I am almost obliged to use an opera-glass to see which are angels' or cherubs' legs up there in the blue.
The figures in the corners, I suppose, represent Faith, Hope, and Charity; the fourth must be the Goddess of Plenty. She is emptying an enormous cornucopia over our heads of the most tempting fruit, which makes my mouth water and makes me wish she would drop some of it in my lap.
This palace used to belong to that nice hospitable family you've heard about—the Borgias. I dare say they did a good deal of their poisoning in these very salons.