“Out of the egg of Columbus was hatched the American Eagle!”
Novelli, the actor, who was the guest of honor, congratulated her on her beautiful enunciation. Years before Tommaso Salvini spoke to me of her rare gift of oratory; and Adelaide Ristori, who twice acted with her in private theatricals in Rome, praised her acting. It is not wonderful perhaps that my love for Italy is second only to that for my own country, for I have been privileged in knowing some of the great Italians of my time.
The first decade of the new century was nearly over before I found myself in America with the prospect of remaining there. An artist’s wife, like a soldier’s, must be ready to march at the tap of the drum and follow her husband wherever his work calls him. I remember saying this to Marion Crawford, and his whimsical summing-up of the whole duty of wives:
“My dear, no matter where your husband’s affairs take you, the most important thing you can do for him is to remind him to put on his rubbers when it rains.”
While thankful for all I had enjoyed in Italy, I rejoiced to be at home again among my own people. During the winter of 1910 we were much in Washington, for the installation of “Diana of the Tides.” This creation of my husband’s brush was given by our friends, Isabel and Larz Anderson, to the New National Museum, where it now occupies a place in the hall of the totems. We missed our friend, Czar Langley, who had been much interested in Diana.
Mr. Langley, for years secretary of the Smithsonian Institute and leading spirit of its manifold undertakings, died in 1906. It has been said that his useful life was shortened by disappointment at the failure of his flying machine and the cruel ridicule he received when the airplane, after rising from the ground, came to grief in the Potomac River.
One bright winter day, two years after Mr. Langley’s death, the notables of Rome were assembled on the russet plain of the Roman Campagna to witness America’s latest victory, the conquest of the air. King Victor was there, surrounded by a group of officers and representatives of the great powers. The Americans were led by the Ambassador’s wife, lovely Elsa Griscom, who seemed, with her eager upturned face, her slight figure a-thrill with expectation, the living embodiment of American genius. It was a proud moment for us when the white-winged airship appeared from its hangar, ran along the ground for a few rods, and rose, circling like a gigantic bird, up and up till it looked no bigger than an eagle.
“Hurrah for Wilbur Wright!” The words burst from an excited Westerner.
“Hurrah for U. S. us!” shouted another compatriot.
I could only murmur under my breath, “Oh, Langley, Langley!”