The house is an old villa of the Italian style, with stuccoed walls, and on the floor the pretty Italian "terrazzi." In the hall, just when you enter, one is struck by four quaint old pictures of four men almost life-size; they are dressed in the peasant's costume of the country, of last century, and each holds a little money-bag in his hand. It seems that these worthy people were four farmers, who, when a former owner of the property (one of the Della Torre) was in financial difficulties and on the verge of ruin, came forward and paid off his debts. In gratitude to them he had their portraits painted and put in his entrance-hall. What a pity it is that people don't do this sort of thing nowadays! If any one feels inclined to follow the example of the four farmers and pay off my debts, I will faithfully promise to have his photograph taken and placed on my writing-table. I am only sorry I cannot rise to oil-paintings and entrance-halls.
From the pretty marble staircase you enter a charming drawing-room in the Italian Louis XVI. style. The walls are green marmorino, with ornaments of white stucco, and big mirrors let into them. There is a very large dining-hall of great height, with its walls and ceiling painted in fresco. No one lives in the villa at present.
The gardens must have been very pretty—all terraces and staircases—when they were kept in the style of the time. They are rather neglected now, and seem to be only inhabited by a perfect army of nightingales. A queer little red house is at the farther end of the garden, with a crypt under it and an imitation tomb. The walls are covered with mottoes—Greek, Latin, French, etc., and there is one in English: "Happiness is of a retired nature, and an enemy of pomp and noise." The individual who built the house must have been very much struck by this last motto, for it seems that he used to live in this little dismal-looking place all alone, in the one room over the crypt, leaving his smiling villa untenanted at the top of the hill.
We had tea in the park. It is a great mistake to wander about to find a suitable spot for tea—you are sure to pick out the worst possible place. It is much better to stop under the first shady tree one comes to, and to sit down there. On this occasion the ladies chose the situation, and when tea was about half over we found we were sitting on an ant-heap. It was hardly worth moving then, though, so we stayed where we were, and pretended to be very much interested in the movements of the ants. I made the tea. I have a way of my own for making it, which is, I believe, sometimes practised by homeless wanderers in foreign countries—it is very superior to civilised methods. I am not selfish, and I have not taken out a patent for it, so I have no objection to presenting my method to the world, free, gratis, and for nothing. This is my recipe. Boil the water in the kettle, and when fiercely boiling put in your tea (one teaspoonful for each person and one for the kettle) and stir up the mixture. Let it go on boiling for a few seconds, and then pour out and drink. You will find you have excellent tea in this way. N.B.—It is as well to have a strainer with you to get rid of the tea-leaves.
My collaborator had often stayed at the villa as a child, and had hosts of acquaintances. I was interested to know who the various ladies and gentlemen who kept addressing her were, but her explanations were so confusing that I soon gave up inquiring. I remember that one lady was "the sister-in-law of a gardener, who was the step-brother of a cousin of the late wife of the man with the wig, who was the old butler." I cannot grasp such involved relationships—they are too much for my intellect. I made the acquaintance of the "man with the wig" afterwards. We called to ask him to order supper to be ready for us at the little inn when we came back from Gradisca. Then we drove on to Gradisca. You cross the Isonzo to get there, and there is a lovely view from the bridge, of the blue river and the distant Alps. Gradisca is a nice little old-fashioned town. The inhabitants are evidently not accustomed to visitors, and we caused an immense sensation. The "Photographic Lady" took several photographs, and she was always the centre of an admiring crowd. They were rather disappointed, I fancy, not to see any results then and there. They caused the lady great annoyance by going and standing before the camera to get a better view of the performance—in fact, she got quite angry, and abused them in all the four languages of the country.
PALAZZO FINETTI
HOUSE AT GRADISCA