Mary Boyle, her book

by Mary Louisa Boyle

We had had apartments taken for us in the Via della Croce leading out of the Via Babuino, where on our arrival my mother found a letter from her old friend Madame de Bunsen, begging her to come to tea that very evening at the Prussian Legation, situated on the Campidoglio or Capitoline Hill. Accordingly, having divested ourselves of our dusty garments, we proceeded thither in all haste. That was a red-letter day in my calendar, and one that while my life lasts can never be forgotten.

Our repast over, Madame de Bunsen said: “It is a most beautiful night, and I think you and your girl would like to take your first impression of Rome from the window of our balcony.”

So saying she led us out, and lo! in all the silver radiance of a southern moonlight, Rome lay sleeping before us—Rome with its classical ruins, the Coliseum, the Forums of Campo Vaccino and that of Trajan, the Tarpeian Rock, with gorgeous palaces of the Middle Ages, and the towers of manifold periods, while St Peter’s and the Vatican, with the Castle of St Angelo, were visible on the further bank of the yellow Tiber, now, glittering in the moonlight, transmuted into silver; and that was our first sight of Rome the eternal, Rome the beautiful, Rome the sublime—the pilgrims to whose shrine never failed to drink of the magic waters of the fountain of Trevi, in the fond hope that this charm will insure their return.

FIRST IMPRESSION OF ROME

I shall say very little about my Roman experiences on this occasion, as, making allowances for the different degrees of enthusiasm, the same story would be more or less told by every traveller; suffice it to say, that my cup of happiness seemed overflowing, when I drove with my mother, and walked or rode in the Campagna with my brother and numerous friends, when each day our eyes were gladdened, and our intellects brightened, by some new revelation of beauty in art or nature.

Very shortly after our arrival we went with a large party to see the principal statues in the Vatican by torchlight, an expensive amusement which is generally accomplished by collecting many friends together, each of whom pays a torch-bearer. The effect is most wonderful, for the men who carry the torches are instructed to make the light travel over the marble features until they assume a living aspect, with all the change and expression of breathing humanity.

We mixed frequently this winter in artistic circles, visiting both at the homes and studios of the principal painters and sculptors of the day. To Horace Vernet, in particular, we often paid our respects; at his house one of the most prominent and interesting figures was the venerable Thorwaldsen, whose magnificent work of our Lord and the Twelve Apostles was then on exhibition in his studio, the same which now forms one of the glories of his native city of Copenhagen. He himself was of a commanding presence, with long locks of silver lying on his shoulders, and of the gentlest and most genial countenance I ever beheld.

One evening the French painter invited his guests to come in costume, and I remember the characteristic appearance which he made as a Bedouin, and very like one of his own equestrian pictures, while his lovely daughter, in a splendid dress of gold and coloured brocade, looked as if she had walked out of a Paul Veronese frame. I thought then of the verse in the Psalms of the description of the King’s daughter—“All glorious within, her clothing of wrought gold, brought unto the King in raiment of needlework.” She was indeed, on that evening especially, a vision of delight. No wonder she drove poor Leopold Robert to madness, and captivated the heart of her noble countryman, Paul de la Roche.

With Overbeck we also made acquaintance, and the fine work on which he was then engaged, the “Life of Our Lord,” with regard to which he told us that he had changed the Protestant religion for that of Rome, as he believed none but a Catholic could paint sacred subjects.

Pinelli was also still alive, and we found him at work on one of those terra-cotta groups of Roman peasantry, which were even more admirable than his drawings. He was very handsome, a typical Roman, with gold earrings in his ears, and his hair in small ringlets, such as in old days might commonly be seen among our English sailors. I think he admired himself as much as we did, and it was easy to see that he had taken himself as the model for most of the principal figures in his charming groups.