We were all delighted with the Baths at Lucca, and the picturesque environs. The surrounding hills were covered with Spanish chestnut trees, which retained their fresh spring green during the whole of the summer, and the cool, refreshing river Lima, which runs through the valley, tempered and mitigated the heat of those months, that to some of our compatriots appeared excessive. My brother and I hired ponies, and in the company of two Englishmen, his friends, we rode every day, making excursions into all the beautiful little towns which crowned the neighbouring mountains, a pleasure which was heightened by the fact that our dear mother was sometimes able to join us in these pilgrimages, being carried in a chair by the sure-footed peasants of the country, who made no difficulty in ascending the hill-sides, however steep.
As the spring came on, the wild-flowers were a constant source of delight to us, although our botany was of no scientific nature. There is a thistle there which grew by the roadside and in the fields, that I have never seen elsewhere, though perhaps I prove my ignorance in thinking it to be a rare specimen; in shape it resembles a small sunflower, but the centre is violet, and the small and numerous petals shine like mother-of-pearl or glistening opal. I was very fond of wearing it in my hair, in those days when it was the fashion to dress the head with natural flowers, in a country where even men, especially fishermen, were frequently seen with a rose, a carnation, or some sweet flower fixed behind one ear.
One day as we were riding along, about five miles from the Baths, my brother and I were surprised at being accosted by a peasant in very good English. We slackened our pace and entered into conversation with him, enquiring how it was that he spoke our language so well. He told us that he had been many years in England, carrying about a tray of plaster-casts on his head through the streets. This is a custom which has become less frequent, but when I was a child, nothing tempted my scanty store of pocket-money more than one of what I called those “white images,” and I well remember the delight I felt in the possession of a young Apollo. When I saw the original in after years I hailed it as an old acquaintance. The man told us that most of the people in that line of trade came from the village through which we were at that moment riding, and that those who were successful in their business usually returned to end their days, small blame to them, in their beautiful country.
THE BODDINGTONS
We occupied the ground floor in our house at the Villa, while the primo piano was inhabited by an English family, consisting of a middle-aged lady, a gentleman, and two daughters. My mother, as a rule, kept aloof from the companionship of her compatriots while on the continent, unless they were old friends, and preferred the society of the natives; but I had a secret hankering after the acquaintance of the English girls above us. The eldest in particular took my fancy; she was tall and well formed, with a profusion of dark brown hair, and although her face could not be called beautiful, it was wonderfully expressive. I had heard of her proficiency in drawing, and had often passed her as she sat sketching under her large umbrella, and I knew she was a charming musician, for I could hear her beautiful touch on the pianoforte, and her melodious singing in many languages, as clearly as if we had been in the same room; but time wore on, and we did not become acquainted.
One day I was busy reading in our little sitting-room when I heard the most piercing shrieks, accompanied with a stamping of feet and other signs of distress. Without a moment’s hesitation, I flung down my book and, heedless of les convenances, rushed upstairs, and dashed into the room, where I found the two girls ministering to their mother’s maid, who for some unreasonable reason or other had gone off into violent hysterics. That was the strange fashion in which we made the acquaintance of the excellent Boddingtons, whose companionship and friendship cheered many years of the lives of both generations. From that moment the two mothers became inseparable, and both the girls endeared themselves to my heart, so much so that the elder and I were subsequently known amongst our friends at Rome and Florence as “Rosalind and Celia.”
While we were at the baths of Lucca, a ball was given by the couriers and upper servants of the families passing the summer there, which was to take place in the little theatre where dramatic performances were occasionally given. To this ball the “quality” were bidden, and places assigned to them in the boxes, while the pit and stage were boarded over for the dancers.
We spent a most amusing evening in watching the arrival of the guests, who were received at the entrance by the stewards, according to the rank of their masters and mistresses. Thus the lady’s maid to the Duchess of Lucca was received with royal honours, everybody curtseying and bowing as she passed along, and great clapping of hands as she made her way to the principal seat. I cannot say her temporary Highness looked very royal, or her toilette very well chosen, but she was determined, as it appeared to me, to do honour to her high position by putting on a small portion of every “chiffon” she possessed. Her gown was of as many colours as Joseph’s coat. Filigree trinkets from Genoa, and, I should imagine, from several bijoutiers en faux in the Palais Royal adorned her neck, ears, and hands, while on her head she wore flowers, feathers, and more false hair than was then consistent with the fashion even of that day. Her airs and graces were in keeping with her attire, and I could not help contrasting her whole appearance with that of her Royal mistress.
HIGH LIFE BELOW STAIRS
It was easy to detect the nationality of the different households: the severe simplicity of the English, the light and airy ball-dresses of the French, and the different modes of dancing which characterised the different countries. The little flirtations that passed, the extreme galanterie of the men, especially the couriers, the awkward “footing it” of some, and the very graceful dancing of others, were all most amusing to witness. It was High Life Below Stairs acted on a real stage by real characters, and far less exaggerated than the famous droll old farce.