In the investigation of matters such as these a woman is in many ways handicapped. A man can go hither and thither in search of truth, and act in a manner for which a woman can find no excuse.
At the Goldoni, an enormous theatre, rather dingy with age, but nevertheless comfortable, Verdi's Aida was being performed, and when we entered the box occupied by our party, Ulrica greeted me with enthusiasm.
"You were quite right, Carmela, dear. The music is really wonderful. I had no idea that they had opera of such high quality in a small Italian town. The tenor is a great artist."
"Ah!" I laughed. "I was sneered at when I dared to say that there was anything of interest in Leghorn. You have at least found an evening's amusement equal to any you'll find in London. Pretty toilettes you won't find, as at Covent Garden, but good opera you can always hear."
"I quite agree with Miss Rosselli," declared Gerald, as he rose to give me his seat. "Leghorn is a charming place. And what lovely women! I've never in all my life seen such a galaxy of beauty."
"Oh, then you have noticed them already!" I said, smiling at his enthusiasm.
Every Englishman who goes to Leghorn is enthusiastic over the beauty of the Livornese women, the well-cut, regular features, the dark flashing eyes, the artistically-dressed hair, the great gold-loop ear-rings, and the soft santuzza, or silken scarf, with embroidered ends, wound about the head and secured by great pins, the finishing touch to a thoroughly artistic adornment.
As the Englishman walks down the Via Grande, they, promenading in couples or threes, arm in arm, turn and laugh saucily at him as he passes. Yes, they are a light-hearted, careless people, the Livornesi, even though the poverty is terrible. Hundreds would die of sheer starvation yearly were it not for those kind Capuchins, Fra Antonio, Padre Sisto, Padre Antonino, and the others, who daily distribute bread to all who ask for it at the convent gate. The good friars have no funds, but Fra Orazio, a lay brother, and the youngest of them, goes daily from house to house of the middle classes and the wealthy, begging a trifle here and a trifle there with which to buy the bread and the necessaries for soup for the starving. And who does not know Fra Orazio in Leghorn? In his brown habit, a dark-haired, black-bearded man of forty, with a round, jovial face tanned by the sun, his rotund figure is as well known as the equestrian statue of Vittorio Emanuele in the Piazza.
The theatre was crowded, the cheaper parts being packed by men and women of the poorer classes, who had made that day one of semi-fasting in order to be able to pay the ingresso, and hear the music of their beloved maestro. The audience was an enthusiastic one, as it generally is in Italy—as quick to praise as it is to condemn—and that night the principal singers were recalled time after time. In the Italian theatre there is a lack of luxury; sometimes even the floor is unswept, and there is dust in the boxes; nevertheless, all these drawbacks are counterbalanced by the excellence of the performance.
To the millionaire's guests that performance was a revelation, and when we left on the conclusion of the opera to return to the port and go on board, Leghorn was voted by all to be quite an interesting place. Indeed, when our host stated that he intended to remain there a few days owing to the necessities of his business, no one demurred.