We had a mild reception in the evening. Various friends came to say good-bye—Maquays, Peruzzis, Miss Forbes and one or two men. A scientific German—I forget his name—who told W. it would take weeks to see all the coins and interesting things of all kinds at the Milan Museum. We are very comfortable here; the hotel is old-fashioned with a nice open court, and the rooms good. We have a pretty apartment on the front, and as it is on the main thoroughfare, Corso Vittorio Emanuele, we see all that goes on. There is a church opposite—San Carlo, I believe—and we are not far from the Piazza del Duomo.
We went for a little stroll last night after dinner, just for W. to smoke his cigar. The Cathedral looked splendid—a gigantic white mass in the midst of the busy square, quantities of people in the streets and sitting at all the cafes, of which there are hundreds—quite like the Paris boulevards on a summer night—everybody talking and laughing and a cheerful sound of clinking glasses. I think they were almost all drinking beer—a great many uniforms—I suppose there is a large garrison. There seemed very few foreigners—we heard nothing but Italian spoken—so unlike Rome and even Florence where one heard always so much English in the streets and the shops. They told me in Florence that there was a large English colony there, living quite apart from the fashionable world—children learning music, or some of the family delicate, needing a mild climate and sunshine—more perhaps in the villas close to the gates than in the town itself. I should think the cutting wind that sweeps the Lungarno would be mortal to weak chests; but up in the hills sheltered by the high walls and olive groves one would be quite protected. Certainly the other day on the terrace of Castello the sun was divine and the air soft and balmy, not a sign of chill or damp—but it was the month of May—the month for Florence.
This morning I have been unpacking—or rather Madame Hubert has—and settling myself in my salon, making the two corners—feminine and masculine—as I did in Rome. I have no convenient Palazzo Altemps to help me out with cushions, screens, etc., but I found lovely flowers which the landlord (who received us in dress clothes and his hat in his hand) put there, and as he was very civil and pleased to have the "Excellenza" and hoped I would ask for anything I wanted, I have asked for and obtained an arm-chair, and suggested he should give me a simple table-cover instead of the beautiful green velvet one, embroidered with pink roses, which now ornaments my salon. With my careless way of writing and facility for putting ink all over myself, even in my hair, I am afraid that work of art would be seriously deteriorated. He sent up this morning to know if I wanted my breakfast upstairs—if I would come down he would reserve me a small table in the window. I shall go down—I hate meals in a sitting-room and I should like to see what sort of people there are in the hotel.
I will go on to-night while W. is putting his papers in order. I breakfasted alone downstairs about 12. The dining-room is a large, handsome room across the court. There were very few people—not more than four tables occupied—a large English family with troops of fair-haired children—girls in white frocks and long black stockings and boys in Eton coats. They all looked about the same age, but I suppose they weren't. They were very quiet and well-behaved, quite unlike any of our small relations. I have vivid recollections of travelling with some of them—all talking at once at the top of their lungs, "Pa, give me a penny," "Pa, give me a cake," "Pa, what's that for?" etc.
The reading-room opened out of the dining-room, so I went in to have a look at the papers—found a "Débats" and the "Times," and read up all that was going on in the fashionable and political world. W. came in about 4—he had ordered a carriage for 4.30, and as it was a lovely afternoon we thought we would drive about the streets a little and out into the country. He had had a delightful morning—says the Museum is most interesting—the cabinet de médailles a marvel. He has arranged to go there every day at 10 o'clock—will work there until 3, then come back for me and we shall have our afternoon. He is much pleased with this arrangement but he doesn't think the employees of the cabinet de médailles will find it quite so satisfactory, as some one must always be with him. They never leave any one alone in these rooms. He thinks there are only two people for this service, and they will naturally hate spending a long day doing nothing while he studies and copies.
The Directeur received him to-day most enthusiastically—knew all about his collection of coins.
We started out about 5 and went first to have a cup of tea at the café the padrone recommended—Cova, I think—and then told the man to drive about the streets and pass the principal buildings. We saw the Duomo again, the Scala (theatre)—if it is open we shall go one night; the great Galerie Victor Emmanuel, full of shops; and quantities of churches, Santa Maria delle Grazie, of course, where is the famous "Cenacolo" of Leonardo da Vinci, but the outside merely. The fresco is only visible until 4—so we shall see the inside of the church another day. We made a turn in the public gardens or promenade where there were quite a number of handsome carriages and saddle horses—many officers riding. It was rather late to attempt a country drive (we had said we would dine downstairs at 7.30), for the turning and twisting about in the streets and stopping every now and then had taken up a good deal of time. We had a nice little victoria with a pair of horses, not unlike the carriage Tomba gave us in Rome.
We went down about a quarter to eight. The padrone in his dress clothes was waiting at the foot of the stairs and conducted us with much pomp into the dining-room, where we found a nice round table in the window. The room was quite full—many more people than in the morning, and I should think almost all Italians. They looked at us naturally with much curiosity, as such a fuss was made with us. W. smoked a cigar in the court after dinner and talked to the man of the house who told him about all the distinguished people he had had in his hotel. I found papers and a "Graphic" in the reading-room and was quite surprised when they said it was 10 o'clock.