“Anything interesting?” I asked, as J. folded the small sheet of lilac paper and put it back in the envelope. “It looks like an invitation.”
“It is,” said J., “one I shall accept.”
I must have looked incredulous, for he handed me the note. It was from one of the ladies of the Embassy, who wrote to say that volunteers were wanted for a relief ship the American Committee was fitting out. This was the first we either of us heard of the expedition of the “Bayern,” that a few days later thrilled all Italy and America. Ten minutes later we were in Napoleone’s cab, rattling through the Piazza San Bernardo. As we passed the Hotel Europa our friend, Mr. Samuel Parrish, came out of the door. Mr. Parrish, a distinguished New York lawyer, had come to Rome to pass a quiet winter, to improve his knowledge of the language and to study Italian “primitives.” It seemed rather early for him to be about, though I found a possible explanation for this as we passed the flower-stand of the Piazza Mignianelli, brave with deep purple violets and pale winter roses. The early birds get the best of everything; the sunny salon at the Europa, where our friend proposed spending the easy restful days of his “season off,” was always filled with lovely flowers—yes, that was it, Mr. Parrish had come out at this unearthly hour to buy his flowers.
In the Piazza Barberini, where a brisk wind blew the spray of the fountain of the Triton half across the square, we passed Mr. William Hooper of Boston, hurrying along; Mr. Hooper had arrived in Rome a few weeks before with his wife and was established for the winter in the Hotel Regina.
At the office of the American Embassy we were received by the smiling usher, who showed us into the waiting room, threw a lump of soft coal on the fire, and smiled himself out. Shortly after one of the habitues of the Embassy, a Roman American, came in and told us a meeting of the American Relief Committee was going on at the Palazzo del Drago; if we could wait, they were all sure to come round to the office when it was over.
“They have two or three meetings a day,” the Roman American said; “they were up half last night. What with sending and receiving cables from America, holding consultations with the King, Giolitti (the Prime Minister) and Nathan the Sindaco, those men don’t have time to eat or to sleep.”
At last Mr. Griscom came in, passing directly to his private office; a little later Mr. Parrish and Mr. Hooper followed him. Through the open door I caught a glimpse of the Ambassador at his desk, talking with Mr. Nelson Gay and Mr. George Page, both American residents of Rome. These five gentlemen were the Relief Committee, there was only one stranger to us in the group; the naval attaché of the Embassy, Lieutenant-Commander Reginald Rowan Belknap. As we waited in the reception room, most of the American men in Rome passed through; first one, then another of the committee or of the secretaries came in to speak to some visitor. We could not but hear scraps of their conversation as they passed to and fro.
“Griscom couldn’t have chosen his committee better: Parrish and Hooper to help him raise the money in America; Page and Gay to help him spend it; and Belknap—one sees with half an eye he’s a man for an emergency,” said a visitor.
“Of course we shall get the money; I am ready to guarantee it!” exclaimed the treasurer of the committee.
“Parrish is head of the Southampton Red Cross. He has cabled the President,” murmured another.