The room was large and luxuriously furnished with windows looking out on the Quirinal garden. The Queen seated herself and motioned us to sit. She had beside her a little table with silver smelling bottle and writing materials. She opened the conversation by telling Mrs. Palmer that she had seen her mother-in-law some years ago. Mrs. Palmer thinks she meant Mrs. Bryan, who came to Rome to arrange for the loan of the Queen’s collection of laces for the Chicago World’s Fair. The Queen then turned to me and asked if I had written the book about the Woman’s Department of the Fair, presented to her by our Ambassador, Mr. MacVeagh. When I pleaded guilty, she said, with the prettiest accent:
“Thank you for the book. It is very interesting. I hear the Fair was a great success; many Italians went to Chicago and I have heard much about it. They tell me that the Woman’s Building was beautiful and the Italian exhibit well arranged and much admired.”
When we had threshed out the subject of the Fair, there was a pause. In the presence of royalty you must not speak till you are spoken to; this leaves the choice of the topic of conversation to the royal personage. After a moment’s silence the Queen turned to me and asked:
“Are you fond of music?” adding, “It is my greatest pleasure. I had a Steinway piano that I bought in Germany. When Mr. Steinway heard of this he asked me to send it to him and sent me in exchange a piano he thought better. The tone is admirable. The Chickering pianos are also good.” She was evidently aware of the rivalry of the two famous firms.
The Queen had obviously been prepared for our visit, for she spoke to me chiefly on matters of art.
“Your artists in America are doing very good work,” she said, “and what excellent architects you have. I know that from the pictures of your fine houses I see in the illustrated magazines. I enjoy reading them, the literature is so fresh. We see a great many American ladies here, but few gentlemen. Your men, I hear, are too busy to travel. Two of my ladies in waiting are Americans, so I learn many things about your country.”
She rose, shook hands, “hoped to see us again,” and the audience was over. Taking pains not to turn our backs (it wasn’t easy) we courtesied out of the room with three genuflections as on entering.
When she was young, the Queen was a great beauty; she is still handsome, graceful, charming, and took as much pains to be agreeable as if the whole business of holding audiences with strangers was a pleasure and not the unmitigated grind it must be; still she doubtless calls it part of the day’s work and likes to do it well.
June, 1894. We have taken an apartment close to J.’s studio in an old palace built by Sixtus the Fifth. It looks out upon the Square of St. Peter’s and it has a divine terrace. What a view! The whole of Rome and the Alban Hills, St. Peter’s and the fountains, the Vatican and the windows of the Pope’s private apartments just opposite! At the studio J.’s happy family, a pair of pigeons and a falcon, has an addition in the shape of two pretty kittens.
Queen Margherita is a brave woman. She drives about the town constantly, passing this house twice a day with only a lady in waiting beside her. The scarlet liveries of her coachman and footman make the landau a fine target for the anarchist’s knife or pistol, but the Queen is quite fearless. Crispi laughs at the attempts to kill him, and they have begun to say he has a charmed life. The King looks as if he would like to be in anybody’s boots but his own. Some of Crispi’s acts would have brought about a revolution in any other country; the King alone has prevented this, and the unconscious triumph of his simple, honest character is most impressive. He is not a brilliant man, but he loves his people and Italy better than his own dynasty, which he has not scrupled to jeopardize. Crispi is perfectly sincere in the belief that for the country’s sake his government must continue. Whether he is right is another question. No matter what happens, have no fear for us. The Romans are the peaceablest people in the world. At Milan, Naples, Turin, Florence, there may be some excitement, but the Romans do not interest themselves in what is happening in the world to-day and won’t do so for another generation. You can’t make people free in twenty-five years; it takes at least fifty.