May 11th.
We are really leaving to-morrow morning, get to Turin for dinner. As we telegraphed yesterday the address I hope we shall find letters. It has been lovely again all day, so our last impressions are good. I have quite forgotten the rain and dark of the other day. The padrone has just informed us, with much pride, that the Crown Princess of Germany arrives to-night in this hotel from Vienna. I wish she had come yesterday—I should have liked to see her again. I have been out shopping this morning, but it is difficult; there is not much to buy, at least not in the nice big shops of the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, and I am a little afraid of the antiquities—I know so little about bric-à-brac (au fond like modern things just as well, but other people don't, and would much rather have a really ugly, queer-shaped old cup or glass than the most graceful modern creation).
The padrone gave me the address of a good antiquity shop, and said I could be perfectly sure in taking anything they said was old, and I need only say he had recommended me to go there. I found beautiful things, but all large, cassoni, high-backed, carved arm-chairs and Venetian mirrors, but the prices were awful and the things much too big. I wanted something smaller that I could put into my trunk. We went back to the Piazza dei Mercanti and, after looking about at many of the little shops, I did find some rather curious silver spoons and boxes. The spoons have quaint, long handles ending in a head, not apostles, but soldiers and women with veils and crowns. The boxes are most elaborately carved—on the cover of one there are 21 figures—a sort of vintage with bunches of grapes. As usual there were many people lounging about and stopping at all the shops—some of them wildly interested in my purchases. One funny little old man with a yellow face and bright eyes was apparently much pleased with the box I chose—nodded and smiled at me, saying: "Una bellezza questa" (this is a beauty). On our way back we went into the great court-yard of the Ospedale Maggiore, an enormous brick building with fine façade and high pointed windows; the walls covered with medallions and ornaments in terra-cotta. I believe it is one of the largest hospitals that exist and certainly once inside those great courts one would feel absolutely cut off from the outside world. There seemed to be gardens and good trees at the back—we saw the green through the cloisters, and there was a fine loggia overlooking the court. It was as sleepy and quiet as possible to-day—no sign of life, no concierge nor porter, nor patient of any kind visible. If we had had time and wanted to go over the hospital I don't know whom we could have applied to.
It was very warm walking home. Happily our way lay through narrow streets, with high houses on each side, so we had shade. I found cards and a note from the Murrays (English friends we had met in Rome). They are staying at the Cavour, but will come and dine at our hotel to-night. They are off to the Lakes to-morrow, and as we leave too early it will be our only chance of meeting. It will seem quite strange to see any one we know—we have lived so entirely alone these few days in Milan. I told W. last night I found him a most agreeable companion. We haven't talked so much to each other for years. He is always so busy all day in Paris that except for the ride in the morning, I don't see much of him—and of course in Rome and Florence we were never alone.
It is rather late but I will write a few lines and send them off to-morrow morning. W. came home about 4, fussed a little over trunks and interviewed the porter about our tickets, places, etc., and then we started off for the Duomo. There was a party going up just as we got to the door, so we joined forces—about 8 people. The ascent was very fatiguing, quite 500 steps, I should think, mostly inside the tower, with openings giving fine views over the city and Lombard plains. We all halted every now and then—I was the only lady. There were two Englishmen with whom we fraternized. They were making a walking tour through the North of Italy—Piedmont and Lombardy. They addressed W. by name, which surprised him extremely, so much so that he said: "I don't remember, but I suppose we must have met before." "Not at all," they said, "we recognised you from all the pictures we had seen of you in the illustrated papers." What it is to be a celebrity!
We did finally, with many stops, get up on the roof, and were well repaid, for the view was enchanting—Milan so far below us we could hardly believe it was a big city, but the mountains quite beautiful. There was a man with a telescope on top, and he pointed out the principal peaks. Monte Rosa was magnificent—stood out splendidly, a round snow peak; Mt. Cervin, Mt. Cenis, the Bernese far away, disappearing in the clouds; and various others whose names I forget, nearer. I couldn't see the Chartreuse of Pavia, though they said it was quite visible, and just the Superga of Turin. Nearer these were various churches and monasteries standing high on hills nearer the town, but I couldn't look at anything but the snow mountains. You can't imagine how divine they were, with the beautiful, soft afternoon sun on them. One couldn't really tell which was cloud and which was mountain—they seemed to be part of the sky.
I found the going down more disagreeable than coming up. It was darker, the steps were a little broken at the edge and decidedly slippery; however, we arrived without any adventures. Just as we got to the hotel we saw three or four carriages drive up, and as we went in the porter told us the German Crown Princess with her daughters and a large suite was arriving. We stood in the court to see them pass—but the Princess was not there, only her daughters (3). They were tall, fair, very German-looking, each one with a large bouquet. There seemed any number of ladies and gentlemen in attendance, and a great deal of bowing and deferential manners.
We went downstairs about a quarter to eight. We had given the Murrays rendezvous in the reading-room, but they came in just as we crossed the court, and we went straight to the dining-room. They told us the Crown Princess only comes to-morrow. They had gone to the station to meet her (they had seen her in Venice), but there were only the young Princesses. We had a pleasant dinner. They are a nice couple (Scotch). He is very clever, a literary man, rather delicate, can't stand the English winter, and always comes abroad. He knows Italy well and is mad about Venice. She is clever, too, but is rather silent—however, we didn't either of us have a chance to-night, for the two gentlemen talked hard, politics, which Mr. Murray was very keen about. He had a decided thirst for information, and asked W. so many questions about France, the state of politics, the influence of the clergy, etc., that I was rather anxious, as in general there is nothing W. hates like being questioned. However, he was very gracious to-night, and disposed to talk. When he doesn't feel like it wild horses couldn't drag anything out of him.
They stayed till ten o'clock, and now I have been putting the last things in my small trunk. The big trunks go straight through from here, and we will pick them up at the Gare de Lyon. The padrone has just been up to ask if we were satisfied with the hotel, and would we recommend him.