The warm weather hangs on; last night at dinner my table was covered with roses from the terrace. Heard the “Barber of Seville” this week splendidly given. How I thought of your singing “Guarda Don Bartolo” and “Pace gioja sia con voi.” I like your singing better than the new soprano Tetrazzini, who has a flute-like exquisite voice.
December 4, 1899. To-day I begin my Christmas letter. May it find you as it leaves me, hopeful and in good spirits. The magnum opus (J.’s Public Library ceiling) is getting finished. Paul Sabatier saw it the other day and wants photographs to illustrate an article he will write about it.
If you should be in New York be sure and see Marion Crawford. His address is always the Macmillans. I wish you could write him and ask him to spend Christmas with you. He is very near to you and is better worth while than the silly intrusive strangers who gobble up so much of your time and strength. Do you remember the man who wrote you asking you to send him your “thoughts on the personality of God, by return mail?” Make good resolutions this new year to keep yourself aloof from mere curiosity seekers and lion hunters! A lecture, my little dear, from your wise old grandmother in Rome!
Did I write you how delightful Henry James was? We saw him constantly while he was here preparing the material for the life he is to write of Mr. Story. He is now old bacheloresque, but so dear though a wee thought cranky. I saw Apolloni and told him about your letter in re Mme. Papa (a lady who had been attacking the Italian Government). He said you were quite right in contradicting her, also in your view that the best hope for Italy is still in the dynasty. I feel pretty sure di Viti di Marco would say so too. They both deplore the suicidal policy of the government but A. say á propos of Mme. Papa’s attacks in America, “Let us wash our dirty linen at home.”
Villegas has been made Director of the Spanish Academy of Art in Rome and is much pleased with the appointment. Miss Leigh Smith and all your Roman friends are very sad not to have you among them again this winter as they had hoped. Miss L. S. reports that the recovery of the manuscript poems you left with Florence Nightingale cannot be hoped for.
Rome, April 26, 1899. Yesterday being the three hundredth anniversary of the birth of Oliver Cromwell, I had a tea party to honor the event. The “proceedings” opened by my reading a brief sketch I had prepared; this was followed by Reverend Leverett Bradley, who was the chief speaker. Then Paul Loyson in a masterly spirit took up certain points in Bradley’s address and poured forth a fine flow of eloquence.
To-day Lady Kenmare brought Henry James to tea. He was perfectly darling about your “Reminiscences”, saying the only fault with the book is that it is far too brief. He felt that on almost every topic touched you had not set down all you had to say. In spite of this he said,
“I find the volume perfectly delightful.”