“A hundred years from now who will know or care that the King went hunting?” I said to Villegas; “and how many people will be glad that you stayed at home and worked on his picture?”
He went back to his work, comforted as a child who has been coaxed into good humor. Villegas has an itch for work as compelling as that of Brother Harry or any other over-nerved Yankee. He is never satisfied with what he paints, always falling short of his ideal and agonizing at the failure all the world applauds as a success. He greatly enjoys his position as Director of the Prado Museum and Court Painter.
Naples, June 16, 1906. Steamship Schleswig. The outline of Vesuvius is sadly altered; instead of the one great peak you remember there are two gentler ones, twins as it were. This startling change took place at the time of the late eruption, when ships in the Bay of Naples were covered with fine dust like that which destroyed Pompeii, and the splendid peak of the mountain simply crumpled up and disappeared.
Rome, August 24, 1906. Here is a petal of the great Egyptian lotus that has for days past bloomed in the salon and delighted our eyes. It grew in the lake of the Villa Doria and was brought to me by our old gardener, Ignazio. He is the same lean brown faun you remember. He welcomed us back to Rome so prettily and hoped we would have a terrace or a garden and that he might minister to it. He confessed that in all his days no terrace like the Rusticucci had he ever seen.
To-day J. had a great pleasure. Enrico Coleman has been doing some of his finest work this summer, but has had no luck, has not sold a picture for a long time and is in the worst way for money. J. got him to send us his summer sketches—a wonderful showing—twenty landscapes, each handsomer than the other. J. knew that the fellows at the British Embassy had just made up a purse to buy one of their colleagues a wedding gift. He got them over here, showed them the pictures, and it ended by settling the question of the wedding present,—it won’t be silver or furniture but a lovely painting of the Roman campagna with a bit of the aqueduct. Then one of the young secretaries wanted a picture for himself, and there were two sold. A third may be bought by a young spark named Paliaret, or as we call him, Pantelet! J. went to Coleman with the news. The old fellow was rather torn at hearing it, said there was no money in the house, and had not been for days. He felt insulted at the word “subscription”, thought there had been one to buy his picture, whereas it was made to buy the wedding present and, as one of the young men expressed it, “collared the bood” for him.
Yesterday to hear a lecture and see an amazing chart of the Italian telegraph system, prepared by an American company that is trying to induce the Government to accept its system of telegraphy, the quadruplex, the best yet, according to my friend who has the matter in hand. When he asked the Italian Government for a map of its wires, he was told such a thing did not exist and could not be made. My Yankee friend promptly made the map and presented it to the Government. The occasion was instructive though I found my friend’s lecture dry. It now looks as if the Italians would adopt this new American telegraph system. How pleasant it is to find every day the American genius reaching out farther and farther. Mr. Vickers, an English diplomat, told me a curious thing; in a remote Greek country town he found American dollar bills circulated as currency; all the inhabitants have relations in the United States who send them money!
I am rather cross with the President for sending the Harry Whites to Paris. They have gone to great trouble and expense to fit up an Embassy magnificently, and before they have time to turn round in it, they are whisked off to France. I hear the Whites are much put out by this treatment. The man who is coming as next Ambassador, young Lloyd Griscom, is a nice fellow, I believe, with a young handsome wife.
Rome, Via Maria Adelaide, October 27, 1906. You see a new address on this letter, did I tell you we had taken a nice little apartment with a terrace? Not a patch on the Rusticucci, of course, but with some improvements,—an elevator in the house, an up-to-date bathroom, tiled floors, instead of brick, consequently no fleas. I have but to turn my head to see out of the window my great friend, St. Peter’s dome, with a pink morning flush upon it. I have counted the wash, must see the cook, and be off to the Classical School where I am taking a course of lectures on Roman History, or rather the history of Rome—not quite the same thing.
Rome, November 16, 1907. The most important thing since our return has been the improvement of the terrace. The long summer had not hurt the beginnings of our roof garden and now we are much excited over our bulbs. The flowers “lap”, you know, in this blessed country. There are seven fine chrysanthemums in bloom and two cyclamens; we have high hopes of jonquils and hyacinths. The most interesting fact I have to tell you after the flower news is that the new American Ambassadress, Mrs. Lloyd Griscom, née Elsa Bronson, is a diamond of the first water. She is a lovely young woman full of ardor and charm.
Rome, November 28, 1907. To-day to Thanksgiving dinner at the American School. We sat down forty-one at table. Lloyd Griscom, the new Ambassador, was there, just back from a flying trip to America. It took him seven and one half days to get from Washington to Rome. He calls it the record trip. So we aren’t so far apart, are we?