The reception at the Farnese Palace was most brilliant last night. We got there too late to see the King and Queen and President receiving; there was such a crowd in the streets, which were all illuminated, that we couldn't get across the Corso, and were obliged to make a long détour. The Farnese Palace looked beautiful as we came up, the rows of lights throwing out the splendid façade, the big doors open, quantities of handsome carriages, people in uniform and ladies in full dress and jewels who had got out of their carriages, crowding into the grand old court. The royal carriages were all drawn up inside the court, and the group of footmen in their bright red liveries made a fine effect of colour at the foot of the stairs. It was an interesting assemblage, all Rome (White) there, and all most curious to see the President. I didn't see either King or Queen. They were already making their progress through the rooms, which were so crowded that it was impossible to pass. The famous Carracci Gallery looked magnificent lighted. The Ambassador and Madame Barrère received their numerous guests most courteously, and didn't look tired, but I fancy it was a relief to them when the fêtes and their responsibility were over.
We have had to put off our journey until Saturday. They wouldn't undertake to keep us reserved compartments, not even sleeping, until Saturday, there would be such a crowd. I don't exactly know why, for the President left this morning, going south, and we, of course, are coming north, but every one told me not to go, so we have telegraphed to the Ruspolis to say we would go out and breakfast with them at Nemi.
There were quantities of affiches posted everywhere this morning which I shouldn't think would please either the King of Italy or the French President: "Viva Loubet—Viva Combes—Viva la France anticléricale."
Josephine and I went for a drive. It had rained all the morning, and was grey and damp, but we didn't mind. We both of us love the Campagna in all its varying aspects. We walked about for some time, but had difficulty in choosing our ground, on account of the shepherds' dogs, which are very fierce sometimes, and the troops of buffaloes. Josephine had a disagreeable experience one day with the buffaloes. She was walking on the Campagna with her small children and her Italian footman, when suddenly a troop of these wild creatures charged down upon her at a headlong pace. There was no refuge of any kind near; the footman, frightened to death, promptly ran away. She was terrified, but didn't lose her head. She stood quite still, the children clinging to her skirts, and the herd divided, passing by on either side; but she might have been trampled to death. Naturally she has given them a wide berth since.
Friday, April 29th.
I will finish to-night dear, as we have come upstairs early after a long day in the country. The trunks are all ready, some of them downstairs, and we start early to-morrow morning. They say the confusion yesterday at the station, when the President departed, was awful, people—ladies—rushing about distractedly trying to find places, no footmen allowed inside, not enough porters to carry the heavy dressing-bags and rouleaux. Some people couldn't get any places, could only start last night.
We had a pleasant day at Nemi. We went out by train. There were a good many people, evidently starting for the regular round of Castelli Romani, principally English and Americans, and principally women, very few men, but large parties, six and seven, of women and girls. It is a pretty road across the Campagna and up the steep hill to Albano, and as our speed was not terrifying we had ample time to see everything. The Ruspoli carriage was waiting for us, and we had a beautiful drive to Nemi. It is really a lovely little place—the deep blue lake at the foot of the hills, and all the country about us green. Our hosts were waiting for us in one of the numerous salons, and we had time to go over the castle a little before breakfast, which we had in a charming old-fashioned room, with wonderful frescoes on the walls. They have already done wonders in the old feudal castle, and I should think it would be a charming summer residence, as no heat could penetrate these thick walls. The view from the balcony was divine, over green slopes and little woods to the lake.
We missed our train at Albano, so drove on to Castel Gandolfo and waited there for the next one. We had goûter in a lovely little pergola overlooking the lake of Albano, with the great papal villa opposite. It is not very interesting as to architecture, a large square pile. No Pope has lived there since Pio Nono. I believe some French nuns are settled there now.
It was very warm walking about the little old town, which looked as if it had been asleep for years—no one in the streets, no beggars even, no movement of any kind. Just as we were starting for the station three or four carriages filled with tourists rattled through. It is curious to see how life seems to go on in just the same grooves in all these little towns. Rome has so changed—changes so all the time—is getting cosmopolitan, a great capital; but all these little mountain villages seem quite the same as in the old days of Savellis, Colonnas, and Orsinis, when most of the great feudal chiefs were at daggers drawn and all the country fought over, and changing hands after each fierce encounter. The few people one meets look peaceful enough, but on the smallest provocation eyes flash, tones and gestures get loud and threatening, but apparently they calm down at once and are on the whole, I fancy, a lazy, peaceable population.
It is warm to-night, the windows are open and the Marseillaise still has the honours of the night—one hears it everywhere.