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 King Victor Emmanuel III 
 
 From a recent portrait by Ctpriano Cei, belonging to Queen Margherita 
 
THE LAND 
 OF THE LATINS 
 
 BY 
 
 ASHTON ROLLINS WILLARD 
 
 'Z^' 
 
 n< 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 
 
 91 AND 93 Fifth Avenue, New York 
 
 London & Bombay 
 
 1902 
 
Copyright, 1902, by Ashton Rollins Willard 
 
 THF LIBRARY OF 
 
 CONGRESS, 
 "'•w> CcipitB RecsivED 
 
 3fP. SU 1902 
 
 tttSS kV XXg No. 
 'cor^ a. 
 
 Composition and eleBrotyfe plates by 
 
 D. B. Updike, The Merrymount Press, Boston 
 
 Pressivork by The Uni-versity Press, Cambridge, U. S. A. 
 
 

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 I. 
 
 The Vatican 
 
 PAGE 
 
 3 
 
 
 II. 
 
 Palazzo Ruspoli 
 
 25 
 
 
 III. 
 
 The Races 
 
 51 
 
 
 IV. 
 
 Country Houses 
 
 77 
 
 
 V. 
 
 Royal Homes 
 
 III 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Theatres 
 
 137 
 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Studios 
 
 165 
 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Book-Shops 
 
 191 
 
 
 IX. 
 
 On the Heights 
 
 215 
 
 
 X. 
 
 By the Sea 
 
 243 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 King Victor Emmanuel III frontispiece 
 
 Queen Margherita facing page 28 ' 
 
 Queen Elena 61 
 
 Gardens of the Villa Lante 78 "^ 
 
 Grounds of the Villa Torlonia at 
 
 Frascati 106 
 
 Princes of the House of Savoy 124 
 
 Eleonora Duse as Francesca da 
 
 Rimini 150 
 
 One of the Studios 166 ' 
 
 Giovanni Verga 198 
 
 The Terrace 216 
 
 The Outer Point at Antignano 248 u 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
CHAPTER I 
 THE VATICAN 
 
 A THOUSAND peoplestoodshoulderto 
 shoulder in a contradled space not large 
 enough to hold comfortably half that 
 number. There were stairs ahead, — an intermi- 
 nable incline, barred off at the foot by a tempo- 
 rary gate. Behind was an interminable corridor, 
 dwindling like a railway tunnel to a distant out- 
 let or inlet. Above the heads of the crowd was 
 a colossal horse in sculpture, and on it was a 
 human effigy — a king or an emperor, perhaps. 
 What business had he in this place? 
 
 If we had been dropped down in these strange 
 surroundings by accident, we should haveguessed 
 with difficulty where we were. But we had ap- 
 proached the place — as others had — laboriously. 
 We had left a distant hotel and threaded narrow 
 streets and crossed squares and traversed bridges 
 and seen masses of memorable masonry which are 
 to be seen in only one spot in the world. Rome 
 was in the air. The atmosphere was saturated with 
 it, outside, as it was with the damp of an atro- 
 ciously damp and misty Roman March. And here 
 we were in the very heart of it — or just a step 
 removed. We were in the grand corridor of the 
 
 3 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 Vatican, at the foot of the scala regia^ waiting to 
 be admitted to a papal funftion which was about 
 to take place above. 
 
 The crowd had all nationalities in it, and all 
 social conditions. Near us was an Austrian noble 
 who had been prime minister and who wore the 
 broad red and green cordon of an imperial order. 
 Beside him and around him were infinitesimal 
 peasants from Bohemia, from Croatia, from Tran- 
 sylvania, and other obscure and little known re- 
 gions of eastern Europe. They wore the coarse 
 dress of their class and their faces showed the 
 brutalizing effedl of their half-servile existence. 
 
 The multitude had more women in it than 
 men. Some of them were worldly and some of 
 them had devout faces. Some of them were pre- 
 pared to take their turn in getting through the 
 little gate which pierced the barrier in front of 
 us, and some were determined to be first in the 
 procession at all costs. We had been standing 
 there for over an hour, and the best places up- 
 stairs would be at the disposal of the first comers. 
 
 Within audible and visible distance of us was 
 a tall Frenchwoman with a sharp face and hair 
 slightly gray. Her immediate neighbor in front 
 was another lady of the same nationality, broad- 
 shouldered and corpulent. 
 
 The taller of the two discussed her "taftics" 
 in audible tones with a priest by her side. When 
 4 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 the gate was opened she should push, — she said, 
 — with a concentration of all her force, in toward 
 the centre, and so get in the line of the wicket. 
 As she uttered the words she executed the ma- 
 noeuvre sketchily, in the diredion of the broad 
 lady in front, helping her imaginary advance with 
 the legs of a camp-stool which she carried. The 
 lady in front turned with an expression of indig- 
 nation on her countenance which was so marked 
 as to obviously call for some apology from the 
 offender. 
 
 "Pardon, madame," said the sharp-faced indi- 
 vidual. "I did not see you." 
 
 " Mais, mademoiselle," replied the injured 
 person, "your vision must be extremely short." 
 
 "I was pushed from behind, madame," said 
 the first speaker, with a slight trace of acid in 
 her tone. 
 
 "Excuse me, mademoiselle," said the stout 
 lady in accents of growing warmth, " but just now 
 you were speaking of your * tallies.'" 
 
 "My conversation was not addressed to you, 
 madame," returned the thin person in still more 
 acid tones. 
 
 " But we all have ears, mademoiselle," insisted 
 the corpulent individual, embracing the people 
 around her with a revolving look in which she 
 seemed to appeal to them for confirmation of her 
 statement. 
 
 5 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 Several persons in the vicinity of the two 
 speakers echoed her remark audibly. It was clear 
 where the general sympathy lay. 
 
 "I shall seek a more agreeable neighborhood, 
 madame," said the convided person, drawing 
 herself up with an air of injured innocence. 
 
 "Do by all means, mademoiselle," said the 
 broad lady in a satirical tone. " Ne tardez pas, je 
 vous en prie." 
 
 The tall woman worked her way around to 
 our left in a slightly advancing curve, and gained 
 a new position, still within our hearing. In some 
 extraordinary way, after she had been there for 
 a few minutes, her camp-stool came in contad: 
 with the back of a tall and courtly gentleman, 
 with a white mustache, who unfortunately hap- 
 pened to stand just in front of her. The gentle- 
 man turned. A fresh apology was demanded, and 
 the following dialogue took place: 
 
 "Pardon, monsieur. I did not see you." 
 "It is nothing, madame. Do not mention it." 
 "I was pushed from behind, monsieur." 
 "I assure you, madame, I noticed nothing. I 
 was turning to look for an acquaintance among 
 the people behind us." 
 
 "I am afraid to annoy you again, monsieur. 
 
 If I could pass you there would be no danger." 
 
 "Passez, passez, madame, je vous en prie." 
 
 The courtly gentleman yielded his place with 
 
 6 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 an expression of infinite politeness, and involun- 
 tarily passed his hand behind him to the irri- 
 tated spot in his back. The gesture was noticed 
 and occasioned a slight smile to those who had 
 understood the dialogue. 
 
 The tadlician was however in front. And she 
 had not only accomplished her own advance suc- 
 cessfully but had succeeded in keeping her sat- 
 ellite, the priest, at her heels. His suavity was 
 balm to the wounds which she caused. He made 
 his way after her like a healing lotion, scattering 
 his '■'■pardons" to right and to left, and maintain- 
 ing a blandness of expression which was proof 
 against all the frowns and all the hostile comments 
 aroused by his strenuous guide. 
 
 Most of the people in the crowd had risen 
 early to gain the utmost possible advantage of 
 position. We had breakfasted that morning an 
 hour in advance of the regular time. It had been 
 a unique experience, rising in the semi-darkness 
 of a gray March morning, and sitting down to 
 one's first repast in the same dress as the waiter. 
 There was nothing to do, however, — in the mat- 
 ter of dress, — but to conform to the indications 
 on the tickets which had been sent us for the 
 solemnity. They were in explicit terms. The 
 ladies were to be "in black with black veils" and 
 the men were to be in abito nero — which, accord- 
 ing to the rules of papal etiquette, is construed 
 
 7 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 to mean the conventional evening clothes of 
 polite society. 
 
 The period of waiting ended at last and there 
 was a rush upon the gate which carried us 
 through to the other side with a sudden and 
 memorable condensation of disagreeable sensa- 
 tions. It was something, however, to be beyond 
 it and alive. Willingly or unwillingly, there was 
 nothing to do but to become part and parcel of 
 the grotesque stampede which followed. 
 
 Violent and startling incongruities pressed 
 themselves upon one's notice, even in the midst 
 of the race. The Austrian prime minister was a 
 man of sober and sedate years, but the fever had 
 seized him with particular fury. The aged war- 
 horse was distancing the youngest colts. No one 
 seemed surely destined to arrive before him ex- 
 cept the lean and determined lady with the camp- 
 stool. She was of the conformation of a racer, 
 and her spiritual ardor was up to the level of 
 her fleetness of limb. Her ecclesiastical adviser 
 had been unable to keep pace with her and was 
 toiling up the ascent some distance behind. We 
 were ourselves rather in the rear of the company. 
 The stairs seemed interminable, and when we 
 had finally gained the top the journey proved 
 to be not even then at an end. There was still 
 a large anteroom to cross before the door of the 
 Sistine Chapel was finally reached. 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 At the entrance of this holy place we found 
 the multitude streaming in like the rabble at 
 the gate of a bull-ring. Apparently nothing could 
 hold them in check, now that the barricade at 
 which they had so long chafed was finally be- 
 hind them. Just over the threshold of the chapel 
 we were motioned to the right by one of the 
 uniformed guards, and after mounting a short 
 flight of steep steps, found ourselves above the 
 heads of the crowd in a temporary gallery which 
 was reserved for the few persons who had been 
 fortunate enough to obtain blue tickets. It was 
 the only place in the room which was raised 
 above the floor level and the only place where 
 there were any seats. 
 
 The people who had been admitted to this re- 
 served tribune were quite different, in externals 
 at least, from those who were swarming in be- 
 low. They had taken some pains to conform to 
 the dress rules, and were all in the sable habili- 
 ments which the etiquette of the Vatican re- 
 quires. From the feminine point of view the 
 arrangement of the veils would doubtless have 
 been an interesting study. They seemed to be 
 put on with all degrees of awkwardness. Ap- 
 parently it was necessary that the wearer should 
 have some Spanish blood in order to infallibly 
 reach a picturesque effed. In general the head- 
 gear seemed graceless and unbecoming. The bru- 
 
 9 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 nettes, in particular, suffered from a superfluity 
 of blaclc, which destroyed their color and turned 
 their faces into the semblance of parchment. 
 
 On the floor below us the dress rules were less 
 rigidly observed. Peasants who had come from 
 a distance were not expeded to comply with 
 them literally. It was sufficient if they showed 
 an intent to appear in modest and unobtrusive 
 raiment. Other individuals, who might perfeftly 
 well have observed the rules, allowed themselves 
 strange liberties. There was a certain red hat — 
 not a cardinal's — which stood out in flaming 
 scarlet against the generally sober coloring of 
 the crowd below. And one of the gentlemen in 
 this lower company appeared in a golfing suit 
 of tweed — and with a face which matched it — 
 a face which had Protestantism of the most rabid 
 type written upon it in terms which the blindest 
 could not have failed to read. 
 
 There was still some time to wait and plenty 
 of opportunity to study the surroundings. The 
 tribune in which we were seated was a rudely ex- 
 temporized affair, which had been put up just 
 for this ceremony and would be removed when 
 it was over. It was built of unsquared and un- 
 painted timbers, and the only attempt which had 
 been made to conceal its bareness and ugliness 
 consisted in the hanging of a valance of coarse 
 drapery over the parapet. Underneath this gal- 
 
 lO 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 lery was a dark pen into which people had been 
 crowded, as into every other portion of the chapel. 
 The sole advantage enjoyed by the occupants 
 of this gloomy enclosure was that they would be 
 close to His Holiness at his entrance and exit. 
 For the brief moment of his transit, in and out, 
 they would be nearer to him than any one else in 
 the place. 
 
 During the whole period of waiting no one 
 glanced at the frescos. Not a head was upturned. 
 People were occupied in studying each other and 
 in talking with their neighbors. The room buzzed 
 with gossip. The murmur of it came up from 
 below, and was supplemented by the surmises, 
 the discussions, and the debates of the persons 
 immediately around us. 
 
 In the midst of the inward push of the mis- 
 cellaneous crowd a company of sailors from an 
 American school-ship in one of the Italian ports 
 appeared at the doorway. They were led by a 
 chaplain and one of them carried a small Ameri- 
 can flag. It attracted the attention of two gentle- 
 men who sat beside us — Sicilians, if one could 
 presume to judge from their accent. They dis- 
 cussed in low tones the probable nationality of 
 this little band, their dialogue running somewhat 
 as follows: 
 
 " Who are those young men ? They are sailors 
 evidently." 
 
 II 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 "Evidently." 
 
 " But what is their nationality ? They carry a 
 flag." 
 
 "Yes. They carry a flag." 
 
 "But what flag is it?" 
 
 "I do not know. It is unfamiliar. The men 
 have the ugly English faces." 
 
 "But the flag is not English." 
 
 "No. The flag is not English." 
 
 "They are too young for ordinary sailors. They 
 are hardly more than boys. There is a Danish 
 school-ship in the harbor at Naples. They may 
 have come from that." 
 
 "It is true they may have come from that — 
 or some other. It is a chaplain who leads them. 
 He is a devout man. He has brought them up 
 to see the Pope." 
 
 At such times one breaks through the barrier 
 of one's natural reticence and speaks to strangers. 
 Our vicinity excused it. The gentlemen received 
 their instruction politely, with the natural good 
 breeding of Italians. It was evident that they 
 were of a superior caste. It was not merely their 
 dress but their whole manner which proclaimed 
 it. We judged them to be father and son. The 
 younger man was perhaps seeing a ceremony in 
 the Sistine for the first time. The elder of the 
 two had evidently been there before. 
 
 While they talked we watched the squad of 
 
 12 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 sailors file up the aisle and take the places to 
 which they were assigned, in the compartment 
 near the papal throne. The boys looked hearty 
 and strong. They were ranged, by their Irish 
 chaplain, beside a marble bench running along 
 the wall, and at a later stage of the proceedings 
 they stood upon it in a long row of tidy blue, 
 where they had a clear advantage for seeing — 
 and being seen — over every one else in their 
 neighborhood. 
 
 A consultation of our watches showed that the 
 moment for the commencement of the fundlion 
 must be close at hand. The people had surged 
 in below until every inch of space had become 
 filled with standing figures. No seats had been 
 provided, and there would have been room for 
 none. Even the camp-stool of the French demoi- 
 selle must have been useless — but it had served 
 its purpose. People leaned over the barrier along 
 the central aisle, and looked back, with expres- 
 sions of growing expedancy, toward the entrance 
 door. The upper half of the great portal remained 
 still closed — the lower half having been deemed 
 a sufficiently dignified entrance for the mere spec- 
 tators of the ceremony. 
 
 The guards took note of something, invisible 
 to us, which was happening outside, and closed 
 the doors entirely. The audience had a premoni- 
 tory tremor. In a moment more the great valves 
 
 13 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 were flung back to their full height, leaving the 
 opening clear and free to the very top. 
 
 Out in the anteroom the late comers had 
 dropped to their knees. We could see them, from 
 where we sat, but not at that instant the objed: 
 of their devotion. The next moment, however, 
 the swaying form, high up on its chair, appeared 
 in the doorway. The face was the pallid face which 
 everyone knew. Instind:ively we found ourselves 
 making mental comparisons with portraits and 
 photographs. Every detail was there. Every line 
 was in its place. The color was like parchment, 
 slightly tinged with something warmer on the 
 cheeks, brought there perhaps by the excitement 
 of the moment — the stimulus of the vivats and 
 the admiring outcries in half a dozen languages 
 which were flung at the pontiflF the moment he 
 appeared. Above this smiling mouth, and out of 
 this waxen face, the eyes twinkled and sparkled 
 and moved incessantly. They were keen and fox- 
 like — the windows of an acute intelligence. And 
 at the same time they had a benevolent expres- 
 sion which fitted into harmony with the historic 
 smile. 
 
 The ensemble which these diflferent elements 
 made up was one which would impress itself upon 
 an observer anywhere as something unusual. The 
 dominant idea which the face conveyed was one 
 of intense spirituality and intellediual force. The 
 14 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 physical side of the man seemed to be kept under, 
 and the mind and intelligence developed until 
 they had absorbed all the strength of his entire 
 nature. Perhaps I am dwelling too long upon this 
 analysis. There is a temptation to do so when 
 one is recalling one's first impressions of a face so 
 notable, belonging to a personality so unique. 
 
 The procession passed us in a few seconds, and 
 continued on its way to the altar at the farther 
 end of the room. In the rush of first impressions, 
 the face only remained distindand the accessories 
 left only a vague imprint of themselves on the 
 memory. One was conscious of a confusion of 
 lesser figures, and a conflagration of colors with 
 a predominance of red. When the procession had 
 reached the altar the chair was set down and some 
 sort of a religious fundion was commenced. I do 
 not dwell upon it. Such things call for no descrip- 
 tion. Whatever the liturgy of the moment may 
 have been, it was condudted by secondary persons 
 and consisted largely of the responsive chant- 
 ing with which the frequenters of Latin churches 
 soon become familiar and which possesses little 
 interest. It went on interminably. There seemed 
 to be no end of the monotonous rhythm. Our at- 
 tention wandered, and we studied the room again, 
 and the unique setting of the scene. 
 
 Suddenly the proceedings were interrupted by 
 a voice of such novel and peculiar character that 
 
 15 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 it arrested our vagrant attention instantly. We 
 looked in the diredlion from which it came and 
 saw His Holiness standing at the altar all in 
 white. The red cloak in which he had entered the 
 chapel had been laid aside and his slender figure 
 was clothed simply in the spotless soutane which 
 the Pope alone, of all the Latin clergy, is privi- 
 leged to wear. His voice had a commanding and 
 assertive quality in it which spoke of a life passed 
 in positions of authority. The words which he 
 was reciting may have been the ordinary Latin 
 syllables of the church ritual, but there was 
 something in his manner of uttering them which 
 made them seem widely different from the Pax 
 vobiscum and the Et cum spiritu tuo of the ordi- 
 nary priest. His bearing was also unusually dig- 
 nified. He was not a particularly tall man, but 
 where he stood on the summit of the altar steps 
 he dominated the crowd and seemed much taller 
 than he really was. His gestures and all his move- 
 ments were graceful and showed that, at some 
 time, he must have devoted considerable atten- 
 tion to details of carriage, bearing, and deport- 
 ment. Of course, in his extreme old age, as we 
 saw him, these things had become second nature 
 and there was no suggestion of affectation about 
 them or about him. After decades of posing be- 
 fore devout and adoring multitudes he had ar- 
 rived at a point where deportment took care of 
 i6 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 itself and where he was not obHged to give any 
 conscious attention to it. 
 
 When we could look away from the man who 
 was observed, and study the observers, a variety 
 of mental attitudes was discoverable. The psy- 
 chical state of the majority of the people in the 
 standing crowd below was one of simple, stupid 
 devoutness. They were looking at a fetich, some- 
 thing which had been consecrated with the quin- 
 tessence of all consecrations. He was a mere holy 
 thing, a sort of living relic, supremely precious, 
 that was all. His really remarkable force of char- 
 after, of will, and of intelledl was nothing to 
 them. 
 
 The moment of the benedidion approached 
 and every one present prepared to kneel — and 
 at the proper point did kneel — except a very 
 few curious spectators who did not wish to lose 
 any part of the spectacle and who were back near 
 the wall where their ad: of indecorum would not 
 be observed. When the culminating point of the 
 fundion had been passed, the attendants advanced 
 to cloak the papal figure — as a protedion against 
 possible chill after the exertion of standing and 
 speaking — and to condud him to a seat. It was 
 necessary that he should formally receive some of 
 the more important persons present, principally 
 the leaders of delegations of pilgrims, and the 
 fortunate individuals who were thus given an op- 
 
 17 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 portunity to approach him more closely were led 
 up to him in turn and allowed to kneel before him 
 while he said a word or two to them in a low tone. 
 We had rather hoped, as this part of the cere- 
 mony began, that they would — to use the formal 
 phrase of the clerical journals — "be admitted to 
 the honor of the foot-kissing." But this special 
 grace was not accorded to them ; and after they had 
 made their obeisance and listened for an instant 
 to the papal voice they withdrew and disappeared 
 in the crowd. 
 
 When the presentations were at an end the 
 porters in their gaudy liveries came forward to take 
 up the papal chair, and in a few seconds more 
 they had lifted it from the floor and raised it to 
 the height of their shoulders. The reappearance 
 of the benevolent face above the heads of the crowd 
 was the signal for a fresh outburst of enthusiasm. 
 Ladies waved their handkerchiefs and a chorus 
 of feminine voices shouted " Viva il Papa" The 
 handkerchief-waving and the shouts were taken 
 up by the men and the scene became quite ex- 
 citing. Caught by the general enthusiasm, one of 
 the sailors called upon his companions to give 
 three cheers, — and the cheers went off in trim, 
 sharp explosions like volleys of musketry. En- 
 couraged by this first success, three more cheers 
 were called for, and then a "tiger," which was 
 given with the full force of thirty pairs of lungs. 
 i8 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 We looked at the pontiff on his chair and ex- 
 ped;ed an immediate anathema. Some dreadful 
 thunderbolt of the Church would be exploded 
 upon them at once. Their sacrilege would receive 
 some sudden and righteous punishment. But 
 nothing of the kind occurred. His Holiness con- 
 tinued to smile. He extended a long right arm 
 toward the sailors and swayed it back and forth in 
 a descending curve above their heads. The first 
 two fingers were extended, and the others drawn 
 into the palm. It was the gesture of St. Peter — 
 the historic gesture of apostolic benedidion. 
 
 The papal chairwas carried along, in the midst 
 of growing enthusiasm, to the door, and set down 
 at a point where a covered sedan-chair had been 
 brought in and deposited, to save His Holiness 
 from the risk of a chill in his transit through the 
 outer corridors. This brought him diredtly under 
 our observation and close to the outer row of de- 
 vout women who were packed into the dark pen 
 beneath us. The moment of the change from the 
 open chair to the closed one was an important one 
 fortheselong-sufferingladiesbecauseitcompelled 
 the objed of their veneration to descend to the 
 chapel floor and brought him within reach of their 
 tadual homage. The momentwas onewhich they 
 did not fail to improve to the utmost. The instant 
 that the pontiff's hand came within their reach, 
 they seized it and covered it with kisses. Others 
 
 19 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 behind them who could see what was going on and 
 what precious opportunity was being lost strug- 
 gled to get to the front. There was somethinglike 
 a contention among them, bordering closely upon 
 the indecorous — if not upon the ridiculous. 
 
 His Holiness endured it for a few moments 
 with an expression of saintly resignation but with 
 certain unmistakable indications of inward re- 
 bellion. His hands were pulled away, gradually, 
 but with a sweet insistence. And when the last 
 tapering digit was free he stepped into his waiting 
 sedan-chair with a rapidity of movement which 
 left no possible doubts in the mind of any ob- 
 server as to what his real feelings were. The in- 
 stant that he had fairly taken his seat the door of 
 the chair was closed by the watchful attendants ; 
 and in another moment they had picked up the 
 carrying bars and were swinging away with their 
 precious burden toward the privacy and seclu- 
 sion of the papal apartments. 
 
 In the first moment of readion the public left 
 behind in the chapel suddenly remembered its 
 fatigues, which for an hour had been entirely for- 
 gotten. It proceeded to withdraw, at a slow pace, 
 across the outer hall and down the stairs. As we 
 thought of the insane rush of that first ascent, the 
 contrast offered by this super-languid recessional 
 impressed us as something particularly ludicrous. 
 Down at the exit from the lower corridor where 
 20 
 
THE VATICAN 
 
 we finally emerged into the open air we found 
 whole battalions of public carriages drawn up, 
 waiting to profit by the home-going of the weary 
 multitude. And we were glad enough, after the 
 exertions and the excitements of the forenoon, to 
 surrender ourselves to the custody of one of the 
 waiting drivers and be transferred without effort 
 back to our hotel. 
 
 21 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
CHAPTER II 
 PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 IT was several days after the incidents of the 
 Vatican, and the fatigues of that experience 
 had been forgotten. 
 
 We were mounting the stairs of another palace 
 — a palace of quite a different order. It was not 
 an ecclesiastical precind. Its occupants had not 
 been renowned for asceticism or aggressive spirit- 
 ual virtues. 
 
 At the Vatican we had been excessively early 
 and by a natural reaction we were now excessively 
 late. The last of the last comers had apparently 
 preceded us. The footmen were already out on 
 the stairs extinguishing the lights — fatal sign. 
 Roman economy suffers them to burn brilliantly 
 until the guests are all inside, and then it blows 
 them out, save for a glimmer or two, left to fur- 
 nish a kindling spark at the exit of the crowd. 
 The candles were too high up to be extinguished 
 by ordinary methods and the men were fanning 
 them out with newspapers pleated into long folds. 
 
 Ten paces beyond the head of the stairs there 
 was an anteroom where men's outer garments 
 had been stacked up into high piles; and there 
 was a vision of lighter-colored wraps towering 
 
 25 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 above tables in another room beyond. In the 
 first anteroom a belated ambassador had paused 
 a moment to enlarge on the perils of the check- 
 ing-process to a small man with two or three 
 stars and crosses on his coat. He was telling him 
 that at the sortie from the last crush he had ex- 
 hibited the coat check which he had received on 
 entering and had been presented by the indi- 
 vidual in charge with a garment which he had 
 never seen, which he was far from wishing to 
 own, but which, as it happened, bore conspicu- 
 ously the same number. 
 
 "Et le coquin insistait que c'etait le mien," 
 continued his excellency. "Comme si je ne re- 
 connaissais pas mes frocs. II fallut fouiller un 
 quart d'heure pour le trouver. Prenez garde, 
 due, car si par hasard pareille chose vous arri- 
 vait, vous pourriez perdre patience — et peut- 
 etre aussi perdre votre voiture." 
 
 "Et peut-etre aussi mon pardessus." 
 
 "Par-dessus le marche," supplemented the 
 ambassador. 
 
 "C'est une loterie, ces numeros. Voila tout." 
 
 "C'est cela meme." 
 
 The two men moved on together toward the 
 room beyond, contending politely with each 
 other as to which should go first. 
 
 "Apres vous, due," said the ambassador. 
 
 "Mais si votre excellence insiste — " 
 26 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 **J'insiste." 
 
 I followed after them with as much haste as 
 was seemly and found my companion already out 
 of her domino. She was dominantly conscious of 
 being late and had flung it, without waiting for 
 a check, on to the first resting-place. The foot- 
 men behind the improvised barricade of tables 
 were already hopelessly swamped. The waves of 
 iridescent fabrics had rolled in upon them be- 
 yond their power to stem the tide, and nothing 
 but their crimson faces remained visible above 
 the white foam of chiffon and lace which capped 
 the summit of the billows. 
 
 The room stood at an angle of the house, 
 and looking straight ahead through the sequence 
 of doors, which as usual clung to the window- 
 wall, one could see at the end of the suite a large 
 salon, where the lights burned brightest, and from 
 which the hoarse penetrating noise of many com- 
 bating conversations came back to us with dis- 
 tindness. 
 
 Over that distant threshold we finally made 
 our way, but were halted on the further verge 
 with a sense of being stunned. It was not the 
 room crowded full of people which gave one the 
 bewildering sensation, but the figureofone single 
 individual, who sat tranquilly and modestly near 
 the door. 
 
 Modestly, certainly, and yet not humbly. She 
 
 27 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 was up two steps, on a platform covered with 
 red cloth. There was a red canopy over her head, 
 and her white satin feet were supported on a red 
 and gilt cushion. She was garbed sumptuously, 
 perhaps, but not showily. The newspapers the 
 next morning, when interrogated as to the de- 
 tails of Her Majesty's appearance, informed the 
 public that she was habited in pearl-gray; but 
 under the gas-light the stuff was certainly white 
 — great masses of it laid about her in softly 
 glimmering folds. 
 
 One would say, if one might presume to know 
 anything about those minor matters which are 
 studied by the attendants of queens, that these 
 folds had been carefully arranged so as to ex- 
 trad: the maximum of elegance from the rich 
 stuffs. And at any rate, Majesty, so far as the 
 mere envelope was concerned, was completely 
 and satisfyingly there, with all the legendary in- 
 cidents of rich and precious stuffs, and softly 
 luminous jewels. About her bare throat these 
 permanent bits of lustre were coiled and knotted 
 in rows and pendants and festoons, and just be- 
 low them was something perishable and human, 
 a bunch of violets picked from some adual grow- 
 ing plant that day, — giving this armor of dead 
 elegance just the right touch of simple freshness 
 and life. 
 
 On either side of the central figure in the royal 
 28 
 
Queen Margherita 
 
 Fro7n a photograph by Brogi of Florence 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 raiment were other ladies attired only less sumpt- 
 uously. All those on the right leaned left, and 
 all those on the left leaned right, under the in- 
 fluence of a gravitation of which they were prob- 
 ably quite unconscious. On a low ottoman at the 
 royal elbow sat a beautiful marchioness who was 
 the originator and creator of this particular fete, 
 and other grandes dames, including some well- 
 known ambassadresses, were banked in masses 
 of orchidaceous color on the other brink of the 
 little aisle through which all who entered the 
 room were obliged to pass. 
 
 There was a brief moment of respite, during 
 which I could watch my companion curving in a 
 backward droop before the royal slippers, before 
 it became my turn to stand in the same spot and 
 make the corresponding bow. The head under 
 the diamonds — in those seconds in which I ob- 
 served it — remained immovable until the pre- 
 cise moment of the droop and then inclined 
 slightly forward, with the mouth softening into 
 the suggestion of a smile. When we were both 
 past the bowing point, and in the midst of the 
 crush beyond, one thing remained dominant in 
 the mingled emotions of the moment of transit. 
 It was the amiability of this queen. She had 
 learned perfedly the art of gracious condescen- 
 sion. She knew how to be human without ceas- 
 ing to be regal. 
 
 29 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 The body of the room was filled with chairs, 
 a solid mass of them, with only a thread of a 
 pathway in the middle to make coming and go- 
 ing a possibility. A slender girl, who had assumed 
 the duties of usher, was walking up and down this 
 pathway, trying to find seats for the late comers. 
 After some searching two vacant places were dis- 
 covered for us near the front, and we settled 
 down into them in contented eclipse. In the ef- 
 fort made to economize space not an inch had 
 been wasted. The alternating men were half 
 buried under the draperies which waved up on 
 either side of them. 
 
 The conversation of the people around us was 
 alarmingly audible. It was useless to try not to 
 hear it. Just in front of us sat a fledgling officer 
 in blue and silver, and beside him was a young 
 girl with a dog collar of portentous breadth around 
 her swan-like throat. The Adonis in uniform was 
 unmistakably Italian. Thegirl seemed to be Eng- 
 lish, though she might possibly have been Ameri- 
 can. They carried on an animated conversation 
 with each other during the whole evening — a 
 conversation couched in what passes in Rome 
 for French. The girl was attended on her other 
 side by a mother or aunt who had conversational 
 interests in another diredlion and paid very little 
 attention to her special charge. 
 
 Tableaux vivants were to be the staple of the 
 30 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 evening's entertainment, and it was for their more 
 convenient contemplation that the guests had 
 been squeezed into the ranks of chairs. Over the 
 heads in front of us we could see the improvised 
 stage and its accessories. It had the familiar look 
 of such things the world over. There was the 
 usual proscenium of painted canvas, broad and 
 low. There were the usual amateurish footlights. 
 And there was the usual expanse of ugly drapery 
 filling the awkward gap between the proscenium 
 and the walls. Down in front of the stage was a 
 company of black coats, with the cornet, flute, 
 harp, sackbut, and psaltery — or their modern 
 equivalents. The figure of a well-known conduc- 
 tor, frequently seen at the Teatro Costanzi on 
 opera nights, occasionally rose into sight among 
 the musicians, moved about for a moment, and 
 then eclipsed himself again in some invisible seat. 
 The opera, as we learned, had been suspended 
 on this particular evening so as not to conflid 
 with the fete. 
 
 After a few moments we noticed a significant 
 movement in the orchestra. The musicians were 
 bending over'their music, and the conductor was 
 mounting his little platform and about to com- 
 mence his harmless pantomime. As the first notes 
 of the overture floated out into the room, the 
 conversation rose perceptibly in pitch. There was 
 an audible consultation of programmes. Certain 
 
 31 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 persons well known in the Roman social world 
 were going to take part in the tableaux. It was 
 necessary to post one's self and see what was 
 coming. 
 
 The conversation of our neighbors made it 
 quite unnecessary for us to look at the cards 
 which the usher had furnished us. "Regardez le 
 menu, mademoiselle," came to us from the direc- 
 tion of the young officer in front. " Quel est le 
 premier plat?" 
 
 The swan-like throat in the zone of jewels 
 bent slightly forward. The eyes above it were 
 consulting the "menu." 
 
 " Pour le premier plat, monsieur, vous aurez" 
 — she hesitated for a moment — "vous aurez Una 
 Lettura d' OmeroT She had some difficulty in pro- 
 nouncing the Italian words. 
 
 "Un quoi?" queried the officer in a tone of 
 blank non-comprehension. 
 
 "A Reading from Homer," said the girl 
 frankly, not venturing to repeat the unpro- 
 nounceable syllables. "C'est a dire, — Une 
 Ledure d'Homere," she continued, with an ex- 
 pression of having finally got her answer into 
 comprehensible form. 
 
 " Let us hope they will make it short," re- 
 turned her companion, speaking in French. 
 "These readings from Homer bore me. Homer, 
 Virgil, Cicero — we have too much of them 
 32 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 here at Rome. For you foreigners they may be 
 a novelty, but for us they are the staple of our 
 daily diet." 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, captain," replied the girl, 
 speaking in the same language. "They will not 
 read anything." 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle, you relieve me. And who 
 are going to take part in this little scene?" 
 
 The girl held the programme up to her myopic 
 vision again, and proceeded to read the names 
 of the figurants. They were all of them taken 
 from the upper social stratum of the local or for- 
 eign colony. Two of them were incipient ambas- 
 sadors, at that moment performing secondary 
 roles in the diplomatic corps but doubtless des- 
 tined to advance to higher places later. There 
 was also a marquis who was not in diplomacy, 
 and a prince who had no other vocation than 
 supporting the dignity of his title. A graceful 
 girl, one of the younger beauties, was to take 
 the one solitary feminine part. 
 
 The music ran its course and came to a stop, 
 and the curtain after certain premonitory tremors 
 — calculated to stimulate the impatience of the 
 audience — gradually rose. It disclosed a group 
 of five persons, not oppressively self-conscious. 
 Their attitudes were fortunately easy to main- 
 tain. It was the well-known group of the well- 
 known pidure. All of the figures, except that 
 
 33 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 of the Reader, were in positions of repose. One 
 of them lay stretched out at full length upon 
 the floor. It was only the man with the scroll 
 who was placed in a trying attitude, and he main- 
 tained his pose with a fair degree of success. Even 
 the expression was appropriately rendered. The 
 face seemed to be warmed by the fervor of reci- 
 tation — though it is possible that the fervor of 
 paint was what really conveyed this impression 
 of emotional tension. 
 
 As the draperies slowly descended the general 
 verdid: was that the human elements in the pict- 
 ure were very well done. The finely chiselled faces 
 of the Latins who took part gave an adequate 
 parallel for the old Greek faces. They made one 
 realize the coarseness and earthy-ness of the 
 Saxon type. But the accessories fell far short of 
 Tademesque perfection. The lyre was palpably 
 pasteboard. The curved marble seat was pal- 
 pably wood. And the blue line of the iEgean, 
 which crosses the background of the picture with 
 its matchless zone of color, was simply lacking 
 altogether. 
 
 The occasion, however, was more social than 
 artistic and it was in bad taste to be too critical. 
 The queen was applauding gently, raising her 
 white gloves clearly into view as she brought 
 them together. And the rest of the company, 
 with this safe precedent before them, allowed 
 34 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 themselves to express their satisfadllon without 
 any restraint. The adors all had their admirers 
 — their special constituencies. There were loud 
 demands for repetitions, and the curtain had to 
 be rolled up a second, and even a third time, 
 before the importunities of the audience could 
 be satisfied. 
 
 A baritone from the opera sang an air from 
 Verdi in the interlude which followed — usurp- 
 ing the condudor's little platform and driving 
 the misplaced diredlor to a role of obscure utility 
 at the piano. Programmes were again consulted. 
 It was a religious pidure which was to follow — 
 perhaps a concession of the programme-makers to 
 the Lenten conscience (for we were in mid- Lent) 
 or to that fragment and remnant of it which still 
 subsists in the transformed Rome. 
 
 When the curtain rose what we saw was a pro- 
 cession of five figures, with three women in ad- 
 vance and two men following. The women were 
 the three Marys. The men were disciples. All 
 of them were garbed in sombre draperies and 
 were posed in attitudes intended to express in- 
 consolable grief. 
 
 The effediiveness of the pidlure, however, was 
 somewhat marred by certain incongruities. One 
 could perhaps accept the reverent figures of the 
 women, but the mustached companions who fol- 
 lowed them on their holy pilgrimage introduced 
 
 35 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 an element which sadly lowered the spiritual 
 tone of the ensemble. The St. John was a well- 
 known officer, famous for his feats of horseman- 
 ship, the possessor of a celebrated animal which 
 had won its own, and its owner's fame, by its 
 deerlike agility in getting over five-barred gates. 
 One divined the uniform under the sombre dra- 
 peries, and the sun-burned cheek underneath the 
 cadaverous paint. 
 
 "M go'" exclaimed the young man in 
 
 front of us, recognizing his companion in arms 
 the moment the curtain went up. "Isn't he 
 sublime! O holy man!" 
 
 The young woman to whom he had appealed 
 raised her lorgnon to her face and scrutinized the 
 saintly figure with sceptical eyes from head to foot. 
 
 "He is grotesque," she said, speaking slowly. 
 "He is not San Giovanni, he is Don Giovanni. 
 Every shred of him shrieks it." 
 
 The adors in the little scene seemed to have 
 some difficulty in maintaining their expressions, 
 and the curtain-raiser, perhaps noticing some 
 signs of embarrassment, suddenly lowered the 
 curtain. It was however promptly raised again. 
 The audience was insistent for a repetition. 
 
 "Who is the Madonna?" queried the girl. 
 
 " It is La Sambuy — the Countess of Sambuy." 
 
 "She is beautiful. She is almost good enough 
 to compensate for those atrocious officers." 
 36 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 " You are hard on us, mademoiselle. But I will 
 agree that the countess is better." 
 
 "You do not say enough for her, captain." 
 
 "She is divine," said the young man, rising 
 to the emergency. "One can almost see the halo 
 about her head. Compassion plays around her 
 mouth. The very folds of her draperies are an 
 expression of grief." 
 
 "You grow poetical, captain. I did not suspe6l 
 the vein. You should exchange your sword for 
 a lyre." 
 
 "I might do worse, mademoiselle. In poetry 
 I should not have wholly failed. I should have 
 risen to some rank — " 
 
 "Drum major, perhaps! An important role! 
 I think I see you in it!" 
 
 "You are sarcastic, mademoiselle. But do not 
 speak too lightly of majors — or of drums either." 
 
 " Pardon me, captain. I did not mean to hurt 
 your feelings." 
 
 "Even great men go about with a drum oc- 
 casionally," continued the officer, "to attrad at- 
 tention to themselves in a humble, modest way. 
 Battre la grosse caisse, c'est un exercice que se 
 permettent quelquefois les plus grands person- 
 nages — les ministres — les poetes meme." 
 
 "I will pardon it in ministers, captain," said 
 the girl, "but not in poets. The poet must stick 
 to his lyre." 
 
 37 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 "You are severe, mademoiselle. Without at 
 least a little advertising my poetry would hardly 
 support my family. I had better hold to my sword." 
 
 "Your family," returned the girl, measuring 
 the young man, what there was visible of him, 
 with an up-and-down look — "your family — of 
 the future!" 
 
 "Alas, yes, mademoiselle. Malheureusment je 
 n'y suis pas encore. I have not got to that para- 
 dise yet. I am still a solitary man, a celibate, an 
 ascetic, a recluse." 
 
 A liquid glance — well worth the seeing — was 
 directed toward her, but she refused to intercept 
 it. Through her ears, perhaps, she divined the 
 look, and declined to turn. The shaft missed its 
 mark. 
 
 While the little dialogue — which I have given 
 only in an imperfed: approximation — was in pro- 
 gress the countess and her companions had been 
 released from their trying positions and allowed 
 to withdraw to the retiring-room reserved for the 
 artists of the occasion. Somewhere behind the 
 scenes the St. John was probably solacing him- 
 self with a cigarette. His halo was laid aside. He 
 would not wear it again that evening. 
 
 The sequence of tableaux continued with al- 
 ternating interludes of music. It brought us, just 
 before the intermission, to another picture by 
 Alma Tadema, which was entitled on the pro- 
 38 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 gramme "At the Shrine of Venus." In the most 
 conspicuous role was a famous beauty of the 
 season — foreign, not Roman. She had no title 
 but was raised to a peerage by her exceptional 
 good looks. She had softly rounded features, a 
 pink and white complexion, and a forehead which 
 appeared never to have been contracted by a dis- 
 quieting thought. It was a form of beauty which 
 reaches the acme of physical perfe6tion and one to 
 which the Latin races are particularly susceptible. 
 
 Heightened by the charm of soft Greek dra- 
 peries it appealed on this occasion not only to 
 the susceptibilities of the Latins but to those of 
 the audience in general — and the gathering was 
 very cosmopolitan. The tributes of admiration 
 burst out in all languages the moment the cur- 
 tain rose. She was ausserordentlich hiibsch, she 
 was reizend, she was entziickend, she was per- 
 fedlly lovely, she was stunning, she was bewitch- 
 ing, as well as bella, simpatica, charmante, ravis- 
 sante — and the rest. 
 
 The chorus continued, and developed into 
 gossip, after the blank of the commonplace cur- 
 tain had shut out the vision of loveliness. She 
 had been seen here, there, everywhere, during 
 the season, and always with the inevitable nim- 
 bus of admirers about her. Her box at the opera 
 had been the scene of a continual levee. At the 
 tea rooms on the Corso she was so barricaded 
 
 39 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 with people who wished to see her that she could 
 hardly reach the door or cross the sidewalk to 
 her carriage. And as for walking in the streets, 
 the susceptible population of Rome, it was said, 
 would have made a step's advance impossible. 
 
 The conversation which raged on all sides of 
 us helped to fill up the gap of the intermission. 
 None of the people moved from their places — 
 no one could move. To have dissolved that mo- 
 saic and reset it again would have been the work 
 of hours. The queen had withdrawn. She was re- 
 freshing, or pretending to refresh herself, at the 
 buffet; but the lower strata of the company sat 
 with such contentment as was possible in their 
 places. 
 
 There was time to look about one and inspedl 
 the room, which was one of the famous meeting- 
 places of Roman society. Tutta Roma could get 
 in and dance there, or be seated, as the exigency 
 might require. It had faded old frescos covering 
 the whole wall and climbing up on to the ceil- 
 ing. Between the windows were marble busts sup- 
 ported on brackets, which on this occasion had 
 been utilized as supports for temporary eledlric 
 lights. The Edisonian bulbs hung from loops of 
 wire thrown around the necks of the dead worthies 
 and cast their faces into grotesque shadows. 
 
 We speculated as to whom these aged images 
 might represent and as to which of the several 
 40 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 Roman families, who had in turn occupied the 
 palace, had the right to claim them. The house 
 had passed through various different hands in 
 the three centuries of its history, before it had 
 come into the possession of the Ruspoli — its 
 present owners. The busts might be those of the 
 Rucellai, the original occupants ; or of the Caetani 
 who followed them. The Caetani had inhabited 
 the place when a certain tragedy occurred which 
 is still remembered at Rome. One of the dukes had 
 been murdered by an Orsini on his own thresh- 
 old, and the entrance had never been crossed 
 again by any member of the vidlim's family or 
 by the later tenants. They willingly endured the 
 inconvenience of coming in from the side street 
 rather than plant their superstitious feet on that 
 trace of blood. 
 
 As we mentally reviewed the history of the 
 place and listened to the talk around us, the mo- 
 ments of the intermission slipped by and another 
 tableau was brought on. By chance it introduced 
 a Caetani, one of the sons of the present duke. 
 The appearance of this young man gave a touch 
 of fresh interest to the mouldy old tragedy. Pos- 
 sibly there were also Orsini in the room looking 
 on at the descendant of their ancient enemy, for 
 there are still Orsini at Rome. There were other 
 notables in the little group upon the stage, — 
 social celebrities of the moment whose names 
 
 41 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 were sure to be brought before the public in some 
 connediion or other in every issue of the Garnet 
 Mondain. The tableau itself may not have been 
 quite so successful as some of the others, but 
 the hot and weary people who looked on from the 
 floor of the great room were glad to be amused 
 again after the long wait and accorded it a gener- 
 ous measure of applause. 
 
 The queen had returned to her place, during 
 the interval, and continued as before to furnish 
 the perfed: picture of gracious serenity and com- 
 posure. Beside her sat her mother, the Duchess 
 of Genoa — a striking figure, showing old age in 
 all its physical beauty with none of its external 
 signs of failure or decay. She was arrayed all in 
 white, and the unity of tone was sustained by the 
 abundant masses of her snow-white hair. Hercos- 
 tume was of moire, stiff as tapestry, and the har- 
 mony of tint was further carried out in a collar of 
 ermine which partially covered her neck. There 
 were no spots or blemishes on this immaculate 
 toilet, and no contrasts of any kind except the 
 points of black which set off the white of the er- 
 mine and the sprays of jet which accentuated the 
 beauty of her hair. She was a superb figure, hardly 
 less regal in appearance than the real occupant of 
 the throne. 
 
 Two sovereigns were introduced in the tableaux 
 which followed, but the young Romans who im- 
 42 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 personated them played their roles IndifFerently 
 well. With the real thing before one's eyes it was 
 easy to see the shortcomings of the imitation. Pos- 
 sibly one's sense of the hoUowness of the shams 
 was sharpened by the acute fatigue from which 
 every one was beginning to suffer. It was already 
 midnight. The air was oppressive. Not a breath 
 of fresh oxygen had been let into the room for 
 hours. 
 
 "I am suffocating," said the girl in front of us, 
 turning her head from right to left, as if seeking 
 some escape from the stifling atmosphere. "If I 
 could only get out!" 
 
 "I do not see any way," returned the young 
 man, taking a survey of the crowded room, "un- 
 less you try the window. There is a balcony just 
 outside. And there is the Corso below." 
 
 "Thank you, captain. I fear the role of Juliette 
 would not suit me." 
 
 "On the contrary, mademoiselle, if you will al- 
 low me to say so, it would suit you admirably." 
 
 "A Romeo would be necessary." 
 
 " Simply showyourself at the window, and there 
 would be no lack of them. I hear steps in the street. 
 If need be, I would jump down myself to receive 
 you. Je sauterais en bas moi-meme, pour vous re- 
 cevoir." 
 
 " Merci, monsieur. Pourles Romeos sautes — 
 de cette altitude — je n'ai point d'appetit." 
 
 43 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 "But the distance is a mere bagatelle, made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 *' Thirty feet at the very least, captain. Remem- 
 ber that staircase that we came up — a mountain 
 — a Mont Blanc." 
 
 "Ah! Those stairs!" 
 
 "Yes, captain, those stairs. They were inter- 
 minable. I thought we should never get to the top. 
 Fortunately the descent will be easier." 
 
 "The descent, mademoiselle, will be something 
 worth seeing. The people straggled up. They will 
 descend in a body. It is a sight — a famous one. 
 You must not miss it." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "People come here," continued the officer in 
 a tone which was not wholly serious, "simply to 
 go away — sometimes. I have known them to do 
 it. They arrive at the last moment and do not take 
 off their wraps. They come for the sortie^ 
 
 "You are jesting, monsieur." 
 
 "Parole d'honneur, mademoiselle." 
 
 "Then if it is so important as all that I think 
 I will stay to the end," continued the girl, "in- 
 asmuch as I cannot escape anyway. This air is 
 intolerable — but I will resign myself" She set- 
 tled back in her chair with an air of submitting 
 to the inevitable, and the conversation came, for 
 the moment, to a stop. 
 
 While the last sentences were being uttered a 
 44 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 prima donna had been making her way between 
 the music racks of the orchestra toward the con- 
 dudor's platform, and presently became visible 
 at two-thirds length as she stepped up on to the 
 little pedestal. It was one of the younger sopranos 
 who had been singing the leading role in " Saffo," 
 in " La Boheme," and in other recent productions 
 at the opera. Her vocalizing was to fill the last 
 intermezzo and it filled it acceptably. She executed 
 an air from Gounod and another from Boito with 
 exquisite grace. The favorable impression made 
 by her singing was heightened by the charm of 
 her personal appearance. Her face was fresh and 
 her figure girlish. The pale blue satin of her gown 
 suited her youthful look. The diamonds at her 
 throat sparkled softly. The audience exchanged 
 glances of approval in the pauses of her songs 
 and the whole room became vocal with murmurs 
 o^'-'-brava^' as she retired. 
 
 During the last tableau the queen had with- 
 drawn unobserved, attended only by the persons 
 of her immediate suite. And upon the final de- 
 scent of the curtain every one rose. It was an in- 
 finite relief to stand, to move, even though one 
 crawled at a snail's pace toward the door. In the 
 cloak-rooms the sleepy attendants were suddenly 
 plunged into a vortex of employment. The scene 
 was bewildering. It was like a run on a bank. Out 
 in the corridor a row of footmen had been drawn 
 
 45 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 up with ladies* wraps brought from carriages, and 
 the owners of these garments had the advantage 
 of cloaking themselves before the rest; but there 
 their advantage ceased. No lawofprecedence could 
 get their carriages out of the inextricable tangle 
 in the street below and bring them to the door 
 before their turn. 
 
 On the stairs the descent was languid. No one 
 seemed to be in a hurry. From the summit one 
 looked down upon a multi-colored stream, filling 
 the space from side to side and moving with glacial 
 deliberation. 
 
 There was much to be discussed. Acquaintances 
 who had seen each other dimly across a sea of heads 
 upstairs were now brought side by side and could 
 let loose the flood-gates of criticism and comment. 
 From the feminine point of view the epilogue 
 to the evening had a further advantage in that it 
 permitted a complete change of costume. The 
 elaborate confedions which issued from the cloak- 
 rooms in the way of wraps were, if anything, more 
 sumptuous than the costumes which they con- 
 cealed. They were not intended simply to proted: 
 their wearers during a hurried transit across a 
 sidewalk. They were meant for the slow descent 
 of stately stairs where the art of the costumer could 
 be deliberately studied and its minutest details 
 absorbed and appreciated. 
 
 Toward the foot of the long flight the pro- 
 46 
 
PALAZZO RUSPOLI 
 
 gress became slower. Down in the open portico, 
 below, we could see the people standing in a solid 
 masswaitingforcarriages. The inevitable cigarette 
 was produced. Ladies stood in the damp night air 
 and chatted complacently, regardless of the fad: 
 that only the flimsiest shield of lace and silk pro- 
 tedted their arms and shoulders from the mid- 
 night atmosphere. To-morrow they would per- 
 haps be shivering under furs. 
 
 Carriages were driven in through the porte- 
 cochere, single file, in an apparently unending se- 
 quence. As each one halted for a moment at the 
 door, a name would be called out like a number 
 in a lottery,and theclaimantsof thevehiclewould 
 struggle forward, climb into the dark interior,and 
 be hurried off to make room for the next. After 
 interminable waiting our turn finally came. The 
 door of the vehicle was banged behind us before 
 we were fairly seated, and the carriage was rattling 
 at a rapid pace over the rough pavement of the 
 courtyard toward the exit on the opposite side. 
 Once out in the street, the passing flare of a street 
 lamp made it possible to consult a watch. It was 
 twenty minutes of one. The fundion was what the 
 Romans would call early. They would go home 
 filled with regrets at not having had more to see 
 and protesting against the premature termination 
 of the evening's entertainment. 
 
 47 
 
THE RACES 
 
CHAPTER III 
 THE RACES 
 
 I 
 
 "^HE Romans have other resources for 
 amusement beside the fatiguing func- 
 tions of the salon. Various forms of rec- 
 reation in the open air have become popular in 
 recent years — forms of recreation which were 
 planted in the Roman soil in the first instance as 
 exotics but which have since then taken root and 
 become thoroughly acclimated. The fox-hunt- 
 ing on the Campagna is one of the examples of 
 a domesticated foreign sport, taken bodily from 
 the usages of another social world, and incorpo- 
 rated into the Roman social life with all its pid- 
 uresque accessories. And among the other out- 
 of-door sports, which at least refleft the influence 
 of foreign example, one must reckon the races 
 which come off at stated periods at the race- 
 courses near the city — old as the Roman life 
 itself in essentials, it may be, but still showing 
 the force of foreign precedents in their accesso- 
 ries and their little details. 
 
 It is perhaps beyond the truth to assert that 
 they come off at stated periods, for the races at 
 Rome are very movable feasts. The posting of 
 the large affiches which warn the public that they 
 
 51 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 are about to occur are received by this same 
 knowing public with many reservations. They 
 have learned by experience that racing dates are 
 very uncertain, and that the fixed day assigned 
 for the event can hardly be interpreted to mean 
 more than " quanto -prima " or " quando Dio vuole^ 
 A week of continuous rains between the posting 
 of the big placards and the race-day as therein 
 appointed, or a downpour on the morning of the 
 day itself, will be unquestioningly accepted as a 
 dispensation of Providence against the event, and 
 the awaited festival will be, as a matter of course, 
 postponed to some more propitious moment. 
 
 I have in mind a year when the spring rains 
 were particularly persistent and when the early 
 races at Tor di Quinto — which were to consti- 
 tute the lever de rideau of the racing season — 
 were moved along the calendar by successive 
 notches, until the public began to be somewhat 
 sceptical as to whether they would come off at 
 all. By a chance — which could be reckoned as 
 nothing more than a chance — one of the days 
 to which the little festival had been postponed 
 dawned at last with brilliant sunshine, and the 
 irrepressible enthusiasts of the turf prepared to 
 go out to Tor di Quinto and see what would 
 transpire. It was an opportunity not to be lost 
 for observing a charafteristic phase of modern 
 Roman life, and we joined with the rest in the 
 52 
 
THE RACES 
 
 procession which streamed out through the Porta 
 del Popolo and took its way northward over 
 the old Via Flaminia toward the grassy meadow 
 where the racing was to take place. 
 
 The escape from the town into the open coun- 
 try, and the exchanging of the vitiated air of 
 closed rooms for the bracing freshness of the 
 outer atmosphere, are after all the best features 
 of little expeditions like this. In the present in- 
 stance there was, for us, the slight additional 
 stimulus of being on horseback, which made it 
 possible to move more freely and gave us an 
 agreeable feeling of independence. The sense of 
 being in the country does not assail one imme- 
 diately as one issues from the Porta del Popolo 
 as there is a suburb just outside the gate with 
 high houses closely bordering the road for a 
 half-mile or more. But after that the space be- 
 comes more open and one gets glimpses, off to 
 the right, of the softly moulded heights of the 
 Monti Parioli, and to the left of Monte Mario 
 rising nobly into the serene Roman sky. At a cer- 
 tain point the Flaminian Way strikes the Tiber, 
 coming up to it at an abrupt right angle, and is 
 carried over it by a bridge of massive stonework 
 — the historic Pons Milvius. On this particular 
 day the bridge needed all the massiveness of its 
 masonry to resist the impetuous on-rush of the 
 current which battled against it. The Tiber was 
 
 53 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 in flood. The weeks of rains had swollen it to 
 twice its normal size. All that immense extent 
 of upland, waving up into hills and mountains, 
 which environs its distant source, had been con- 
 tributing rivulets and rills and lesser rivers to 
 increase its volume. And it was coming down, 
 now, with a flood of tawny water which threat- 
 ened to carry everything away before it. 
 
 On the farther side of the bridge the road 
 turned sharply to the right and brought us after 
 another half-mile to the entrance of the racing 
 enclosure. On this occasion we chose the oval 
 inside of the track as our point of observation, 
 rather than the pesage^ because it permitted 
 greater freedom of movement and a better view 
 of the pesage itself. The best part of the after- 
 noon's experience, as we looked at it in retro- 
 sped, was this opportunity to look at the scene 
 from different points of view and go where we 
 chose. The day had turned out nearly perfedt. 
 The sun was unclouded. The wide level, com- 
 mencing at the river bank, was green with the 
 first freshness of spring; and at the inner edge 
 of the plain it broke into gentle undulations, 
 covered with this same soft carpet of verdure. 
 On one of these lower hills was the site of the 
 old Tower of Quintus, the fragment of Roman 
 antiquity which gave its name to the spot. 
 
 After the usual period of impatient waiting 
 54 
 
THE RACES 
 
 the first race was brought on, — a contest for the 
 Ponte Milvio stakes, appropriately named from 
 the historic bridge which we had just crossed. 
 The purses, I should say, were not large, and the 
 occasionwas obviously onewhich depended more 
 for its importance on the social status of the par- 
 ticipants than on the value of the premiums or 
 the records of the horses. The horses in all the 
 races were to be ridden by their owners or by 
 some persons other than professional jockeys. 
 We discovered this fadl in scanning the pro- 
 gramme. The contests were for "gentlemen 
 riders." I quote these words because they were 
 printed in English on the piece of cardboard 
 which we held in our hands. The programme, 
 indeed, bristled with English words, — most of 
 them, probably, quite unpronounceable to the 
 persons who were responsible for their use, but 
 with few exceptions corredlly spelled. This latter 
 circumstance deserves to be noted, for the achiev- 
 ing of corred: spelling of English by Italians is 
 as rare as the corred: spelling of Italian by Eng- 
 lish. In justice to both sides, I feel obliged to 
 state this proposition with a double face, because 
 the errors of orthography are not, as we are in 
 the habit of thinking, wholly on the Italian side. 
 To cite a single instance, I may say that, after 
 decades of satisfactory digestion, we have not yet 
 achieved the corred: spelling of maccheroni ; and 
 
 55 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 this single example may teach us a lesson of 
 charity in our criticism. 
 
 The first race brought to the front a company 
 of military riders. All of the jockeys (pronounced 
 in Italy "yocky") were, or had been, officers, 
 and they rode remarkably well. The Italian offi- 
 cer is apt to pride himself on his horsemanship; 
 and the "military" as a class are apt to speak 
 slightingly of civilian riding. Their vanity in the 
 matter is, in the main, well founded. In their 
 preliminary training the most severe discipline 
 is brought to bear upon them, and when they 
 achieve a real mastery of their art their accom- 
 plishment is appreciated and brings them in a sat- 
 isfying amount of applause. The performances of 
 the best riders are shown to awider audience than 
 the public of the parade ground. They are held 
 up to public admiration in the shop-windows of 
 the Corso through the medium of instantaneous 
 photography. Lieutenant A. is caught in mid-air 
 as he vaults a high gate; Major B. is shown 
 sticking on the saddle while his mount stands 
 ered: on its hind legs ; and Captain C. is exhib- 
 ited in the adl of coasting down an incline of 
 forty-five degrees, with the four feet of his horse 
 bunched into a moving pivot beneath him. And 
 as a result of this diligent advertising the good 
 riders become almost as famous as the popular 
 dramatic artists of the day. 
 56 
 
THE RACES 
 
 In the first contest it was the young Marquis 
 Roccagiovine who carried off the prize — an ex- 
 officer who had been retired from the army after 
 his period of regular service with the rank of 
 captain. He was at this time the M. F. H. of 
 the Roman Hunt and one of the most daring 
 and expert of its riders. Roccagiovine was one 
 of the young Romans who enjoyed a certain 
 prominence because of a special family connec- 
 tion. He had the blood of the Bonapartes in his 
 veins — not of course any of the blood of the 
 great Napoleon because that ceased to flow in 
 any one's veins after the death of the Duke of 
 Reichstadt — but of two of his brothers, Lucien 
 and Joseph. What one could see of him on the 
 race-course was that he was not a decadent or 
 anemic offspring, burdened with the physical im- 
 perfections which sometimes go with blue blood. 
 He was an athletically built man with a bronzed 
 complexion and something of the conformation 
 of a race-horse himself. No superfluous flesh en- 
 cumbered his well-modelled limbs, and the dash 
 and fire and persistence which he put into his 
 riding helped to carry out the race-horse sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 Roccagiovine appeared in a number of races 
 and always with credit. In one of them he was 
 pitted against his cousin, Count Pompeo Cam- 
 pello, also a Bonaparte on his mother's side; 
 
 57 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 and the contest was given a particular spice from 
 the circumstance of its being narrowed down, 
 in the end, to a competition between these two 
 young men. Neither of them, it should be said, 
 spared the other. It was a struggle in which 
 every possible expedient to secure an advantage 
 was resorted to on each side. One of the other 
 riders, in the mad effort to keep up, was thrown 
 from his horse and left in solitude and disgrace 
 on the farther side of the course. In the end 
 Roccagiovine was again the vidor, though his 
 cousin succeeded several times in gaining the 
 lead and pressed closely upon him to the last. 
 
 In the intervals between the races we found 
 some amusement in studying the programme and 
 noting the strange vagaries of taste which had 
 dictated the choice of the names of the horses. 
 Foreign names predominated. One of the racers 
 was called North Sun and another Jersey, and still 
 others bore such designations as Adlress, Buddha, 
 Sportsman, Fisherman, Hawley, Dear Hope, 
 Dilemma, and Need's Must. It was Dilemma 
 which had left its rider sprawling upon the turf 
 in the race just described, with the alternative 
 of catching his flying mount or walking home 
 across the oval in disgrace; and it was Need's 
 Must which Count Campello had mounted in 
 this same contest when he had been apparently 
 so determined to win. The popularity of these 
 58 
 
THE RACES 
 
 English names Is one of the many proofs which 
 are continually coming to the front to show that 
 in horse matters the English race takes the lead 
 and the others follow. English words come as 
 naturally to the surface in matters of the turf as 
 French ones in matters of the cuisine; and in 
 both cases they simply indicate the nationality 
 which has produced the most acceptable ideas 
 and which sets the pace for the rest. 
 
 Another source of entertainment always open 
 to us in the intermezzos was the observation of 
 the people arrayed in the reserved enclosure op- 
 posite us. In the centre of this enclosure was the 
 royal pavilion, and on either side of it, though 
 not connected, were the seats for the other spec- 
 tators. These seats on the day to which I refer 
 were only partly filled, but down in front, drawn 
 up along the course, was a respedable number 
 of drags and other vehicles of would-be English 
 cut, in which a brilliant array of signori and 
 signore were seated enjoying the events. The 
 spring was far enough advanced to make light 
 toilets permissible and the bright tints of the 
 costumes and the parasols made the pidure one 
 of much vivacity and brilliancy. 
 
 There were none of the royal family at these 
 little races at Tor di Quinto, but their interest 
 in horsey matters — or perhaps one ought rather 
 to say, their conscientious sense of duty in such 
 
 59 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 matters — brought them into public view on an 
 occasion of somewhat similar nature a few days 
 later, when the members of the Roman Hunt 
 gave an exhibition of horsemanship in one of 
 the large theatres which was converted into a hip- 
 podrome for the occasion. The programme in- 
 cluded not only serious numbers, but, as is usual 
 on such occasions, also a certain amount of bur- 
 lesque and farce. The serious riding was very well 
 done, and more than endurable. The comedy ele- 
 ment in the performance one could not say so 
 much for. It was perhaps no worse than in simi- 
 lar performances elsewhere, but the level which 
 is usually reached on such occasions is never very 
 high, and the most charitable attitude which one 
 can take toward it is to pass it over in silence. 
 Amateur comedians seem to be the only artists 
 who really reach the superlative of dulness.They 
 acquire a mastery of the art of boring the public 
 to which the professional never attains. 
 
 The royalties made their appearance early on 
 this occasion and did not interrupt the perform- 
 ance by arriving after it had commenced. The 
 first signal of their advent was given by the 
 people in the proscenium box opposite them, 
 who rose at once, and whose rising brought the 
 whole audience to their feet. Queen Margherita 
 came into view at the left of the arched opening 
 and seated herself in an arm-chair there. Her 
 60 
 
THE RACES 
 
 son took a position next her with his wife at his 
 side, and the Duchess of Genoa, Margherita's 
 mother, stationed herself in Tifauteuil at the ex- 
 treme right. The opportunity was an excellent 
 one for comparing the different faces of this in- 
 teresting group. Queen Margherita and her son 
 had profiles which were strikingly similar. At 
 certain moments, when they both turned the 
 same way to see the same thing, the lines of the 
 faces seemed absolutely the same. The Duchess 
 of Genoa, too, showed somewhat of the same 
 physiognomy, particularly in the outline of the 
 nose — which seems therefore to be a trait brought 
 into the present Italian royal house through Ger- 
 man ancestors. Elena of Montenegro of course 
 showed no resemblance to the others, but one 
 would hardly assume to say that her features were 
 less refined. She may have Slavonic blood in her 
 veins, but if she does its rudenesses do not reveal 
 themselves unpleasantly in her physiognomy. 
 Her countenance is regular and finely moulded. 
 Few persons would guess her origin or imagine 
 that she had any kinship with the hardy race which 
 inhabits the mountains and peoples the scattered 
 towns of her native country. 
 
 Possibly this child of a warrior and nation- 
 builder showed the most resourcefulness in 
 emergency of any of the three women in the 
 little group — a valuable royal trait. When they 
 
 6i 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 first entered the box a low green screen, mounted 
 on a jointed arm and intended to shield the oc- 
 cupants of the box from the glare of the foot- 
 lights, stood up in such a way as to interfere 
 with the view of the arena. Margherita tugged at 
 it with feminine impetuosity, to dislodge it from 
 its position; but it refused to be dislodged. Elena 
 put a restraining hand on her arm, leaned forward 
 and removed a screw which released the brass 
 support. The offending screen came promptly 
 out of its place and was easily laid aside. There 
 was a momentary exchange of glances which 
 communicated thanks and appreciation. I do not 
 know that one person in twenty observed this lit- 
 tle manoeuvre by the sagacious Montenegrine, 
 but it must have struck those who did notice 
 it as telling its own little tale of temperament and 
 charadler. 
 
 As the evening wore on we occasionally 
 glanced at the occupants of the royal box to see 
 what impression the performance was making 
 upon them and how they endured the comedy 
 passages. Out of the group of four it appeared 
 to be the Duchess of Genoa who resisted the 
 ennui of the occasion the most successfully. She 
 was perhaps more hardened than the others to the 
 boredom of such entertainments by her longer 
 experience. At any rate, her lorgnon was kept in 
 constant employment, studying the performers 
 62 
 
Queen Elena 
 
 From a photograph by Brogi of Florence 
 
THE RACES 
 
 while the programme was moving, and the audi- 
 ence during its halts. The other three did not 
 exhibit a very lively interest in the proceedings. 
 Queen Margherita would occasionally smile at 
 some of the pleasantries, showing that her in- 
 exhaustible good-humor had a bright look or 
 two in store for even such occasions as this; but 
 her son and her daughter looked on with al- 
 most unbroken gravity. The former in particu- 
 lar seemed to be far away in his thoughts from 
 the scene which was transpiring immediately be- 
 fore his eyes and rarely spoke or changed his 
 expression during the whole evening. 
 
 As for the rest of the audience, — which was 
 what was called a particularly brilliant one, with 
 all the ambassadors and all the princes and all the 
 social figurants who go to make up the 'Tutta 
 Roma, — it simpered complacently at the buf- 
 fooneries of the clowns and accorded them and 
 the other adtors a proper amount of condescend- 
 ing applause when their efforts were concluded. 
 The performance went on interminably, after the 
 manner of amateur entertainments, and when we 
 left, at midnight, it was still in progress. For the 
 Roman world this extension of the programme 
 into the small hours was no drawback. The 
 Italians apparently never sleep when they can 
 find anything else to do. They keep at their 
 theatres and their receptions and their soirees 
 
 63 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 of every description until the foreigner is com- 
 pletely exhausted, and the next morning they 
 are up and about their daily affairs with un- 
 abated vitality while the non-Latin is still trying 
 to make up, by very late rising, for the unusual 
 fatigues of the previous day. 
 
 I hasten back from this digression to speak 
 of the more important occasion in the horse 
 calendar which occurred a few weeks later in the 
 form of certain races at the Capannelle. The 
 Capannelle is the name given to the eastern race- 
 course, four miles out of town, where the Roman 
 world goes en masse in Easter week to see the 
 best races of the year — the races which call out 
 the best horses and for which the largest purses 
 are offered. The concourse of varied humanity 
 which streams out to this event is something like 
 that which flocks to a great English race-course 
 on a great racing day, or as much like it as could 
 be expedled under the circumstances. Parties are 
 made up weeks in advance for the enjoyment of 
 this field-day, and it is well to speak in season 
 for carriages, as vehicles of every sort are at a 
 premium, and, if one delays one's preparations 
 too long, are not to be had at any price. The 
 drive to the Capannelle takes one out along the 
 Via Appia Nuova, emerging from the Lateran 
 Gate, and when the city is fairly left behind it 
 introduces one into the midst of a gently undu- 
 64 
 
THE RACES 
 
 lating plain which at the Easter season is covered 
 with a carpet of fresh green and is most refresh- 
 ing to the eye. 
 
 As for the adual racing, at this much looked- 
 forward-to field-day, — the adual running of the 
 horses around the course, — it did not seem to 
 be by any means what the upper stratum of the 
 public came out principally to see. They were 
 much more occupied with themselves, except 
 for a few of the ultra-enthusiasts in racing mat- 
 ters, than they were with the horses. And in- 
 deed I might go further and say that it was not 
 so much what happened at the race-course as 
 the return from it which seemed to be regarded 
 as the principal feature of the occasion. The re- 
 turn was a funftion in itself, an animated and 
 varied one, into which all the participants threw 
 themselves with fervor; and as I look back upon 
 the occasion as a whole it seems to have been 
 the streaming back of the company toward Rome 
 which marked the highest level of gaiety at- 
 tained during the day. 
 
 The racing programme, to tell the truth, was 
 rather fatiguing. The events were perhaps rea- 
 sonably numerous and reasonably important, — 
 measured by Italian standards, — but the pauses 
 between them were long at the beginning and 
 grew longer as the afternoon advanced. We 
 found some distradiion, as at Tor di Quinto, in 
 
 65 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 looking at the landscape which on this side of 
 Rome is particularly beautiful. From our places 
 on the raised seats we could look out southward 
 over the gently undulating greensward to the 
 uplift of the levels at Frascati and Marino. The 
 Campagna raised itself up in a sudden sweep, 
 there, and carried on its verdurous slopes a 
 dozen white-walled villages and hamlets which de- 
 tached themselves with cameo-like distindlness 
 from the sombre background. It was a pleas- 
 ure to pick out and name these places which the 
 sojourner in Rome so soon learns to know and 
 love, and to piece out the adual prosped with 
 one's memories of certain other things not at 
 that moment visible — such as the shaded pas- 
 sages of the road from Castel Gandolfo to Al- 
 bano, the viadud: spanning the deep-cut valley 
 beyond, and the Lake of Nemi settling down 
 into its volcanic basin behind the outer ridge of 
 hills. 
 
 When the distractions of the landscape failed 
 we could look at the people around us, or we 
 could descend from the seats and join the prom- 
 enaders who moved back and forth over the 
 grassy enclosure in front. The seats, fortunately, 
 were not placed close to the course, and there 
 was a broad open space of smooth turf running 
 along before them where it was always possible 
 to circulate without coming in contad with any 
 66 
 
THE RACES 
 
 of the disagreeable personal element in the race- 
 course public. Luncheon tables were spread in 
 the open air at one end of this pesage and at the 
 other end there was an enclosure where the 
 horses were kept and which the occupants of 
 the reserved seats were at liberty to visit when- 
 ever they chose. A sort of perpetual reception 
 went on in this horsey precind, in which the 
 owners of the animals conjointly with their four- 
 footed possessions adted as hosts. The quad- 
 rupeds were sumptuously attired. They wore 
 blankets in large checks or plaids, of the kind 
 which are manufactured in England exclusively 
 for exportation to the Continent, and these al- 
 ready sufficiently gaudy trappings were further 
 embellished with monograms and crests wher- 
 ever possible. The Romans, like the Parisians, 
 are quite innocent of the touch of caricature 
 which they introduce into their English horse- 
 effedls in translating them into a Latin expres- 
 sion, but those who know the originals appreciate 
 and enjoy this unconscious burlesque. 
 
 Ladies ventured fearlessly into the enclosure 
 where the horses were kept and dragged their 
 long gowns over the grass as if it had been the 
 carpet of a drawing-room. The conversation went 
 on at an animated pace and was not by any 
 means concerned exclusively with the events of 
 the racing programme. Once in awhile the buzz 
 
 67 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 of irrelevant talk would be diredted into a more 
 pertinent channel by the information that a race 
 was in progress, and upon this announcement 
 the centre of interest would change for the mo- 
 ment to the race-course, where perhaps five or 
 six black specks — each representing a horse and 
 a rider — would be seen moving along in con- 
 vulsive jumps, on the farther side of the vast 
 ellipse. Speculation then became rife as to which 
 was ahead. Was it Buddha — for Buddha was 
 among the entries; or was it Kitten — for there 
 was a kitten in the contest; or was it still another 
 of the animals with English or otherwise unpro- 
 nounceable names, which was at the moment in 
 the lead and bearing its rider to probable viftory ? 
 Generally the interest in the race, once aroused, 
 would remain alive until the result was decided; 
 and then the current of talk would turn back 
 again into its more permanent channels and cir- 
 culate around the events and personages of the 
 little Roman social world. 
 
 Another of the possible distractions of the 
 afternoon was a visit to the restaurant, which, 
 as I have said, had deployed its white-covered 
 tables and marshalled its waiters on the oblong 
 of turf just below the raised seats. The public 
 patronized this eating-place rather shyly at first, 
 but as the afternoon advanced it showed more 
 and more warmth in its attentions, and in the last 
 68 
 
THE RACES 
 
 intermezzo a veritable mob of well-dressed men 
 and women descended upon it and devoured 
 the last remnant of its supplies. The bill of fare 
 was semi-English, with tea put well to the fore. 
 Tartines de heiirre, which curiously happens to 
 be the Italian for thin slices of bread and butter, 
 were also a staple of the larder and were consumed 
 in considerable quantities as an accompaniment 
 to the tea. The Romans are, I believe, not fond 
 of either of these articles, but they ate them and 
 drank them manfully on this occasion, even after 
 the tea had become — as the result of too great 
 strain upon the original supply — not much more 
 than a shadow of its earlier self in strength and 
 warmth. It was our misfortune, personally, to en- 
 counter it in the last stages of its decadence, and 
 the only mitigation of the evil of being obliged 
 to drink it was the pleasure which we incident- 
 ally derived from seeing it laboriously and smil- 
 ingly swallowed by the consistent Anglo-maniacs 
 of Italian Rome. 
 
 The starting of the horses on the last race — 
 the Derby Reale, as it is called — broke up the 
 company at the tables and fastened the attention 
 of every one on the course — for the few mo- 
 ments which remained of the racing programme. 
 The race was, indeed, hotly contested by horses 
 of some consequence and was as well worth being 
 seen as any event of the afternoon. The purse 
 
 69 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 was a large one and it was won by a horse of 
 British pedigree owned by a gentleman who has 
 one of the best racing stables in Italy. When the 
 result was finally decided, the company broke up 
 instantly and there was a hurried progress toward 
 the exit and a hasty summoning of carnages to 
 get into the procession which was being formed 
 for the return to the distant town. 
 
 All roads lead to Rome, as the saying is, but 
 only one that day had all Rome upon it. I do 
 not say that the whole population of the city 
 joined in the procession, but I should be tempted 
 to say that every able-bodied citizen who was 
 not in the moving line came out to stare at the 
 column as it returned. The multitude who had 
 adually attended the races used every species of 
 conveyance, patrician and plebeian, ancient and 
 modern. Squadrons of bicycles, mounted by a 
 rather rough element, dashed by the slower vehi- 
 cles with a semi-savage exhibition of leg-power 
 and of lung-power. An occasional automobile 
 — although the automobile is not yet domesti- 
 cated in large numbers at Rome — showed itself 
 here and there in the moving cortege, getting 
 out of the line whenever a chance offered, chuf- 
 chuffing ahead with a sudden spurt, and insert- 
 ing itself in a new crevice farther ahead. Two 
 or three coaches — "steages" the Romans call 
 them — added eclat to the moving column and 
 70 
 
THE RACES 
 
 helped to intensify the EngHsh flavor which it 
 is, after all, the highest ambition of the Romans 
 to impress upon this crowning event of the 
 racing year. 
 
 As the turbid stream of vehicles got nearer 
 the town, it became necessary to reduce the four 
 files to two in order to enable it to pass through 
 the gate; and this naturally reduced the speed 
 of the advance very materially, and even at times 
 brought the procession to an entire stop. The 
 halts of the column gave the spectators by the 
 wayside the best chance of observation which 
 they had had, and they utilized it to the utmost, 
 pressing up to the carriages and examining their 
 occupants with a cold-blooded scrutiny which 
 was received by the ladies in these vehicles with 
 evident signs of discomfort and annoyance. One 
 of the few advantages of the occasional pauses 
 was that they gave us an opportunity to rid our 
 vehicles of the gamins who fastened themselves 
 like barnacles to the back irons. Thanks to their 
 ingenuity in keeping out of sight and their per- 
 sistency of attack, they had most of them suc- 
 ceeded in making the whole distance back to 
 Rome without being obliged more than once or 
 twice to touch their precious feet to terra firma. 
 
 Inside of the city gate the earlier arrivals drew 
 themselves up in convenient positions to observe 
 the entry of the rest, and the spectacle of this as- 
 
 71 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 sembled multitude which was unfolded to us when 
 we finally passed through the ancient barrier, fur- 
 nished the last and one of the most striking 
 tableaux in the succession of interesting pid;- 
 ures which the day had offered. The large piazza 
 at the Lateran Gate is amphitheatrical in form, 
 and could not have been better contrived to 
 bring every element in this exhibition of horses, 
 carriages, and pedestrians distin6lly into view. 
 The carriages were arranged by hundreds over 
 this great area, most of them stationary, with a 
 single narrow channel left open in the midst in 
 order not absolutely to block all further entries. 
 Here and there one caught a glimpse of bright 
 patches of color, in the gala liveries still used by 
 some of the old Roman families; and in nearly 
 all the open vehicles there were ladies in light 
 toilets with gay parasols to add brilliancy to the 
 striking scene. 
 
 The final break-up and dismemberment of 
 this motley mass marked the end of the gaieties 
 of the day. Slowly and reludantly the compo- 
 nent members of the great throng left their places 
 and turned into some one of the side streets 
 which led townward from the square. We real- 
 ized at a certain moment that it was better to 
 hurry away while the impression of a crowded 
 area was still vivid rather than to see it visibly 
 transformed into solitude and vacancy. And so 
 72 
 
THE RACES 
 
 at a signal our Roman driver, who was quite as 
 interested a spedlator of the scene as ourselves, 
 set his vehicle into motion again, and we trundled 
 slowly through deserted streets back to the hotel. 
 
 73 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 PERSONS who hibernate in Rome scatter 
 like homing pigeons at the first sugges- 
 tion of summer heat. 
 
 Even the Romans are not exempt from this 
 terror of the summer. When the Dog-star gains 
 the ascendant, they desert the Seven Hills and 
 fly to other heights — beside which those storied 
 summits seem like the merest undulations of the 
 Campagna. 
 
 Their homes seem to be perched on every 
 hilltop. The Baron della Maschera d'Oro had 
 one in the picturesque region of the Sabines. It 
 stood on the very summit of a peak, with a little 
 tributary village huddling around it. 
 
 The master of the place loved the spot with 
 an affedion which he was far from feeling for his 
 other house, mortised into the stonework of the 
 town — a solid, massive fragment of the old, old 
 Rome. If he had had his say the whole year would 
 have been summer. There would have been no 
 month of the twelve when he could not stay on 
 his Sabine farm, see that his crops were growing 
 properly, and look after the welfare of his tenants. 
 
 When he asked me, or rather permitted me, 
 
 n 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 to come out and explore his castle in the air, I 
 felt naturally much indebted to him for his cour- 
 tesy. It was an hour's ride to the nearest railway 
 station. He had sent in one of his domestics to 
 the hotel to give me minute instructions about 
 the route. For further assurance he had sent word 
 that his son would await me at the railway sta- 
 tion and drive me up to the house. 
 
 The last announcement was not a wholly grate- 
 ful one. I did not know the son — though that 
 in itself was a small matter. The disconcerting 
 side of this piece of additional courtesy was that it 
 was going to be necessary to make conversation 
 in a foreign language for five kilometres of coun- 
 try road. One naturally wished to meet one's host 
 with an unexhausted mind, and after such a weary- 
 ing exercise this would have been quite impos- 
 sible. I begged him by letter to keep his son at 
 home, and let me drive up to the house without 
 the honor or the burden of an escort. 
 
 As the train pulled out from the Roman sta- 
 tion on the morning set for the visit, I found 
 myself wondering whether I had been guilty of 
 unpardonable rudeness in rejeding his kind pro- 
 posal. We clattered and rattled across the switches 
 and got out into the suburbs. We hurried through 
 the suburbs and came into the Campagna. An 
 aquedu6l or two swung around toward us, as if 
 turning on an invisible pivot. The minutes passed 
 78 
 
w 
 
 h 
 
 Z 
 <, 
 
 < 
 
 > 
 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 by; and still the problem of manners confronted 
 me and remained unsolved. 
 
 We came to the Tiber and ran along beside it. 
 It was still swollen and still turbid with the sedi- 
 ment which never settles, which even makes a 
 yellow promontory in the sea where it comes out. 
 The broad current doubled back and forth in 
 large, generous curves. We were on the highway 
 to Florence and followed it for an hour. Suddenly 
 the train slowed down. By looking out ahead 
 one could see an infinitesimal station, standing 
 solitary and alone. The brakes were put on 
 with more force, and the convoy stopped. 
 
 The group on the station platform was made 
 up of the usual company of contadini and petty 
 officials, who constitute the personnel of these 
 little out-of-the-way halting-places. The capo- 
 stazione came and went in his red cap. A solitary 
 facchino in a blue blouse looked hopelessly at the 
 closed doors of the carriages. The peasants stared 
 stupidly. 
 
 In a second after the halt of the train an indi- 
 vidual of a different type came in through the 
 exit gate, and ran his eye along the train. He was 
 in riding-clothes with white breeches and high 
 boots. His face was well cut, and his manner 
 distindly superior. 
 
 To the praftised eye of the native the foreigner 
 is instantly deted:able. It is sometimes humiliat- 
 
 79 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 ing to be singled out so instantly and unerringly. 
 The young man in boots came diredly to the 
 door of the carriage from which I was descend- 
 ing and stretched out his hand. There was a 
 verbal exchange of visiting-cards. I could see 
 from the expression of his face that he was not 
 deeply offended by my effort — my evidently fu- 
 tile effbrt — to keep him at home. 
 
 "Pardon, monsieur," he began, "si je suis 
 venu vous chercher." 
 
 It was certainly a mitigation of the prospec- 
 tive evil to have him speak in the Gallic tongue. 
 As between the two evils, one naturally chooses 
 French in preference to Italian. There is at least 
 the greater certainty in the terms of address. One 
 is not talked to in the third person as if one 
 were an indeterminate, vague, and absent per- 
 sonality. The plain vous is more satisfadory and 
 more certainly intelligible, even if less courtly 
 and deferential. 
 
 "You will excuse me," he began again, "for 
 coming to meet you." We were walking rapidly 
 along the platform as he spoke. "But I have 
 really complied with your request, although I 
 may not have seemed to do so." 
 
 The little gate by which he had entered was 
 before us, and in a moment more we were leaving 
 the platform and approaching the open court on 
 the farther side of the station. 
 80 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 "I am prepared to offer you an alternative," 
 he went on in the most amiable of tones. "Here 
 is the carriage ready and waiting. Here is also my 
 horse. Now I will go up with you in the carriage, 
 or I will ride back on my horse and leave you to 
 yourself Which shall it be?" 
 
 The foreigner who was confronted with this 
 elaborate preparation of alternatives hesitated a 
 moment. 
 
 "You are at perfect liberty to do as you 
 choose," he persisted. "I shall be quite content 
 to go back on my horse. I will ride alongside, 
 occasionally, and see how you are getting along." 
 
 There was nothing to do but to yield to this 
 gentle urging. The door of the carriage was 
 opened, and I proceeded to inhabit its roomy 
 vacancy, not unreconciled to the period of pros- 
 pective tranquillity which it promised. 
 
 The road was one of the fine country roads of 
 Italy. The surface was hard and dustless. The 
 grades were easy. 
 
 We bowled along through an undulating coun- 
 try, going straight away from the Tiber toward 
 the hills. It was the region of the Sabines, which 
 had been used for villas and country estates since 
 the days of the ancient Latins. Centuries of plant- 
 ings and harvests had not exhausted the soil. The 
 microscopic husbandry of the patient modern 
 tenant still made it blossom and fruit. 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 The road crossed a level bridge over a shallow 
 stream. In a new country a rude structure of 
 planks would have been thought sufficient. Here 
 in this land of permanencies a broad construc- 
 tion of masonry, with firm parapets and a paved 
 roadway carried on massive arches, covered the 
 little watercourse. In five centuries more it will be 
 still in its place, doing as good work as it does 
 to-day. 
 
 We began to ascend the heights, the road 
 twisting and turning to save the grades. Looking 
 ahead, I caught, now and then, a glimpse of my 
 pilot. He was sitting in a nonchalant fashion on 
 his rather lively horse, with the security of a man 
 who has ridden horses from boyhood. 
 
 Occasionally he dropped back for a civil word 
 or two. At a sudden turn a little cluster of build- 
 ings came into sight far above us, perched on the 
 outer point of a long ridge. "That is the place," 
 he said. "We are going there." 
 
 The winding road took us easily though slowly 
 to the summit of the height. A wall with a high 
 gate barred the entrance to the village, and 
 through the gate a straight street became visible 
 ahead, leading to a little square. The place at that 
 moment seemed to be swarming with humanity. 
 The villagers stood in their doorways and bowed 
 at the carriage as it passed. Their salutations 
 would have been oppressive if one did not be- 
 82 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 come used to such things in Italy. Good man- 
 ners are in the blood. 
 
 The horseman had made a spurt forward at the 
 entrance of the hamlet and disappeared. When 
 the carriage drew up in the square, he was no- 
 where to be seen. A servant came out and opened 
 the door of the vehicle and led the way to the 
 entrance of the house. We were before a large 
 building, fronted by two tiers of open loggias in 
 the style of the early sixteenth century. Long 
 wings of plainer construction ran out from the 
 loggias on either side; and to the right theyjoined 
 with a church, so as to make the circuit of 
 buildings around the little piazza complete and 
 unbroken. 
 
 A long and dignified flight of stairs led up 
 through the interior of the loggia to the second 
 floor — the principal floor of the house. From 
 the landing I caught sight of the young man in 
 boots standing at the top of the staircase with 
 his father beside him. The older man had snow- 
 white hair and an expression of great benevo- 
 lence. He extended his hand at once, with a 
 warmth of manner which does not always char- 
 afterize his class. " Did you find your drive from 
 the station agreeable? " was his first remark. There 
 was perhaps a touch, just a touch, of gentle satire 
 in his tone, and a barely perceptible twinkle in 
 his eye. 
 
 83 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 The apologies and explanations which the visi- 
 tor was naturally moved to present, viva voce, 
 were listened to with remarkable patience. When 
 they were over, the same domestic who had come 
 out to the carriage was pressed into service again 
 to show the way to a room where hands could 
 be washed and the dust of travel brushed from 
 one's coat. When these operations were barely 
 completed, the man reappeared to announce that 
 luncheon was served. More time had been con- 
 sumed in the climb up the hills than I had real- 
 ized. It must have been quite noon when the 
 summit of the height was reached. 
 
 "You see us in undress," remarked the host 
 as we sat down to table. " This will be an informal 
 meal." 
 
 The table was garnished with flowers. It was 
 served by a butler and footman in proper clothes. 
 The meal itself was done in courses, five or six 
 of them. It was the cosmopolitan menu, and the 
 cosmopolitan service. Of the provincial, or even 
 of the Italian, there was hardly a trace. 
 
 " It is a simple existence which we lead here," 
 said the younger man, as he helped himself to 
 one of the elaborate French dishes then being 
 presented at his elbow. "We become peasants 
 in the summer." 
 
 " I am sorry to make you come down to our 
 humble fare," said the host as he watched one 
 84 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 of the men pour a seasoned vintage into my 
 glass. " But you will soon be back in civilization 
 and can make up, then, for the privations of this 
 little visit." 
 
 I listened to their exquisite apologies and 
 smiled. Would that we might all turn into peas- 
 ants in the Sabine hills in summer! The humble 
 fare would not drive one to a Roman pension 
 for something to tempt one's palate. 
 
 Through the open window, opposite us, a 
 breeze was blowing straight into the room with 
 the freshness of early June. There was a tonic 
 in every smallest breath of it. It was an appetizer 
 which no cleverest invention of chemists could 
 distantly approach. No wonder that the master 
 of the place loved to stay there, or wished to 
 have the whole year summer. Unlimited doses 
 of that pure atmosphere had made him the 
 vigorous veteran that he was. If the hospitals of 
 Rome could have been transported to the spot 
 on some magic carpet, the business of the phy- 
 sicians would have been lost. Their patients 
 would have taken up their beds and walked. The 
 institution would have lost its tenants. 
 
 The conversation, after wandering sufficiently 
 in the tiresome field of the traveller's experiences, 
 entered the more interesting domain of this rural 
 and "primitive" life. It became evident that the 
 lord of the manor was profoundly absorbed in 
 
 85 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 the affairs of his estate. He was evidently the 
 father of all his tenants, willing to listen to their 
 unending stories about their affairs, ready to sym- 
 pathize, to help, to dired,— sometimes to com- 
 mand, when the occasion called for it. 
 
 One could see the Old Regime perpetuated 
 here. There had been no French revolution in 
 this secluded region of the Sabines, and no call 
 for one. The peasants were still the children of 
 the feudal lord, and willingly subservient. 
 
 At the end of the dejeuner we moved off to 
 explore the house — which was a rambling struct- 
 ure with an orderly nucleus. The journey took 
 us first into a little cabinet near one of the front 
 windows where there was a colle6lion of small 
 objefts. Some coins were arranged there in cases. 
 On the walls were drawings in pencil or in pen 
 and ink. Among them was a small sketch-portrait 
 of the baron's father by Sir Thomas Lawrence. 
 
 The little drawing showed a handsome face 
 with regularly cut features. The hair was pushed 
 back around the face in disordered curls, like the 
 poetic locks of Byron. The man wore the high- 
 collared coat and enormous stock which were in 
 vogue in the early years of the century. 
 
 It was a privilege to possess such a thing. The 
 
 son of the portrait looked at it fondly, and with 
 
 good right. He was in the a6l of pointing out one 
 
 or two trivial defeats — something wrong in the 
 
 86 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 eyebrows — when a wave of brass came Into the 
 little room from the open window. Looking out, 
 we could see that a ring of musicians had gath- 
 ered in the square, twelve of them perhaps. They 
 had begun to execute one of the popular marches 
 just then in vogue in the larger towns. 
 
 "Where did they come from?" I naturally 
 asked. It turned out that they belonged to the 
 place. Out of that infinitesimal hamlet the whole 
 company had been mustered. And to the credit 
 of their diredor be it said that he had done won- 
 ders with his material. Their performance was 
 more than passable. The men were all in uniform 
 and presented a trim and tidy appearance. 
 
 The host and his son were disposed to pass 
 over the matter lightly. "It is the custom of the 
 place," said the younger man. "When we open 
 the house to entertain any one, they usually come 
 out and play." 
 
 The older man turned his back to the win- 
 dow and continued his discussion of the portrait. 
 When he had finished his criticism, he led the 
 way out of the cabinet into the rooms beyond. 
 One of the servants followed him and whispered 
 something in his ear. The baron turned. 
 
 "Se vogliono here dagli a here — if they wish 
 to drink, give thou them to drink." 
 
 It ended the incident; though the music con- 
 tinued audible for some time — rising into sud- 
 
 «7 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 den crescendos whenever a door was opened 
 behind us. 
 
 We had reached the orderly and systematic 
 part of the house where the rooms were large 
 and high, and symmetrically arranged. The tour 
 of inspedion began with a great central apart- 
 ment, which communicated with others on either 
 side. In a feudal castle it would have been called 
 the baronial hall. Here it was used as an armory. 
 Armor was arranged in cases and upon standing 
 frames on all sides. 
 
 Every species of death-dealing weapon was in 
 sight, from the battle-axe of the warrior to the 
 poniard of the assassin, and all epochs were rep- 
 resented, from the primitive cross-bow to the 
 repeating rifle. "This is his pet colledlion," said 
 the younger man to me, with a nod toward his 
 father. "He is devoted to these things. He is 
 always on the lookout for new specimens." 
 
 It was curious to look at the benevolent face 
 of the colledor and then at his colledion. Clearly 
 he would not have willingly injured a fly walk- 
 ing on the window-pane, and yet in this atmos- 
 phere of battle, murder, and sudden death, his 
 coUedor's heart enjoyed its fullest expansions. 
 
 He was leading the way toward some suits of 
 armor which were set up on lay figures as in a 
 museum. One of them was of queer design. "It 
 is Turkish," he explained as we stopped before 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 it. "It is a janissary's harness. It goes back to 
 the thirteenth century." 
 
 The Oriental thing made one think of Sche- 
 herazade and her tales. An Arabian knight seemed 
 to stare at one from the open head-piece. It sug- 
 gested visions of palace gardens with tanks and 
 rose trees, of veiled ladies peering through lat- 
 tices, and of a circle of terrible warriors, done up 
 in these suits of steel, ready to punish an in- 
 truder with instant death. 
 
 "You will notice the minuteness of the work- 
 manship," continued the speaker, his voice grow- 
 ing in warmth as he went on. "We had few 
 armorers in Italy at that epoch who could have 
 done better work. The janissaries were some- 
 times pitted against the best soldiers of Europe. 
 They were not merely a household corps. They 
 had to be well prote6led." 
 
 He stopped speaking foramomentand passed 
 his hand over the steel coat. "The difference be- 
 tween a good and a bad piece of work in those 
 days meant the difference between having a live 
 man in your service after a day's fight, or having 
 a dead man." 
 
 He spoke as if he had been there himself, so 
 vivid to his mind was this past which his treasures 
 represented. He went on, from piece to piece, 
 moving around the room irregularly, as first this 
 weapon and then that attraded him. It was a privi- 
 
 89 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 lege to hear him discourse of these deadly things 
 in that serene and peaceful voice of his. And his 
 erudition was remarkable — or seemed so to the 
 indifferent knowledge of the merely curious ob- 
 server. At some period of his long life he must 
 have devoted an appreciable portion of his time 
 to the accumulation of this multitude of curious 
 fads. 
 
 Among his treasures was a cannone a mano^ a 
 peculiar-looking gun which was arranged to be 
 loaded from the breech, with a curious contrivance 
 of wedges for closing the aperture. He dated it 
 back to the sixteenth century, at an epoch when 
 the breech-loading weapon is supposed to have 
 been entirely unknown. Some imperfedion in 
 its working — perhaps the imperfedlion of fir- 
 ing both ways — prevented the invention from 
 achieving the popularity as an instrument of de- 
 struction which it was destined to gain later. 
 At any rate, the strange thing, as it stood in his 
 collection, remained pradically unique, with no 
 pedigree of its own sort behind it, and no imme- 
 diate posterity. 
 
 The son had moved away from us as we stood 
 looking at the old piece of iron, and had walked 
 over to a large circular case in the middle of the 
 room whose contents I had not yet seen. "He is 
 looking at my small hand-arms," commented the 
 father, as he turned a fond eye toward the stal- 
 90 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 wart youth. "They are really among the choicest 
 things that I have." 
 
 We went over and looked at the choice things. 
 They were laid down flat under glass. Among 
 them were daggers of Oriental work, with handles 
 inlaid with silver and gold. There were other small 
 pieces with handles in niello, done in Italy by 
 some master of that form of decoration. And 
 beside these he had brought together a number 
 of elaborate specimens from difl^erent quarters, 
 with ornamentation of turquoises, coral, and other 
 precious substances. 
 
 "Arms like these," said the possessor of them 
 in an affedlionate tone, "were an indication of the 
 rank of the wearer. No common soldier ever 
 handled such things. If he had picked them up 
 as booty on the field of battle, he would prob- 
 ably have gone and sold them. He would not 
 have had the presumption to wear them." 
 
 It was interesting to follow him in his orbit 
 around the circular case and listen to the story 
 of the different pieces. Artistically they were the 
 gems of the collediion, and it was proper that 
 they should be enshrined as they were. When 
 we had regained the starting-point, the colledor 
 turned as if to leave the room, but changed his 
 mind and led the way over to a large balconied 
 window in the centre of the outer wall. 
 
 The casement was wide open, and the breeze 
 
 91 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 was blowing in with a gentle current. The sky- 
 was cloudless and intensely blue. We were high 
 up in the air. The hillside descended with a sud- 
 den sweep beneath us. Down, down below was 
 the valley, tilled and cared for with Dutch mi- 
 nuteness; and on the farther side of it a young 
 mountain swept up grandly. It was one of the 
 lesser heights of the Sabines. 
 
 What a place for defence, one instindlively felt. 
 The house was hung up like a Rhine castle on 
 a crag. In the Middle Ages some baronial eagle's 
 nest should have been rudely fashioned here. 
 
 " Down there," said the owner of the place as 
 if reading my thoughts, "you see the founda- 
 tions of the old castle." Following the diredion 
 of his eyes, I noticed some projefting masses of 
 rugged masonry, jutting forward on the hillside, 
 on which the towers of some ancient stronghold 
 might well have been supported. 
 
 "When this house was built," he went on, 
 "the old one was largely demolished. But the 
 foundations were left. They defined the shape 
 of the modern building. The archited: accommo- 
 dated himself to them." 
 
 "And who was the archited?" 
 
 "The archited was Vignola," said the chate- 
 
 lain. "According to the dates which appear in the 
 
 documents, he must have come up here the year 
 
 he died. We believe it to have been his last work." 
 
 92 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 I left the window reludlantly. The outlook was 
 superb. But there were other things still to be 
 seen inside. To right and left of the armory were 
 lofty rectangular rooms forming part of the state 
 suite. We explored their silent spaces as we would 
 have walked through the halls of a deserted tem- 
 ple. They were quite tenantless except for the 
 trophies of ancient furniture which they con- 
 tained. One of them was the state bedchamber. 
 It had a great bed like a catafalque in it, where 
 a long line of dead notables had slept. The host 
 recited some of their names and titles. A cardi- 
 nal was the last. 
 
 "We must go downstairs," he said finally, 
 when the upper floor had been made to yield up 
 all that it possessed of interest. "There are a few 
 things to see down there." 
 
 He led the way out into the hall and down 
 the long stone staircase. At the bottom of it we 
 entered a room corresponding to the armory. 
 And there were other rooms arranged around 
 it, substantially as above. The spaces were con- 
 trived like a seriesof treasury vaults. The ceilings 
 curved up from the walls in massive stonework. 
 The coin and the archives of a principality might 
 safely have been intrusted to their keeping. 
 
 The white-haired guide led the way through 
 a thick doorway into a room lined with docu- 
 ments in cases. It was the Archivio. The papers 
 
 93 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 went back to the Middle Ages. The correspond- 
 ence of the early lords of the manor was there 
 from 1400. For several centuries the feudal lord 
 was local governor, and the official records of 
 his administration, civil and criminal, were all 
 preserved there. 
 
 A number of other rooms were traversed, 
 among the last of them being the library — a 
 room close to the eastern wall with windows look- 
 ing out on the piduresque Sabine summits. The 
 shelves presented a solid array of well-bound vol- 
 umes, which one would have been glad, if time 
 had permitted, to examine in detail. What one 
 saw in the cursory glance, was that education and 
 even bookishness had gotten a foothold some- 
 where in the recent generations of the family, 
 which in earlier generations would have despised 
 such things as the proper province of priests and 
 clerks. 
 
 During all our peregrinations the son followed 
 us faithfully. He knew all the story by heart, 
 and at points where he suspeded that his father's 
 Italian was becoming obscure he supplemented 
 it in French. The role of a German would have 
 really fitted him better than the role of a French- 
 man. His appearance was Teutonic. He was blond 
 and of large stature. His system evidently de- 
 manded unlimited quantities of fresh air and out- 
 of-door exercise. He had the general aspedl of 
 94 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 rosy physical robustness which one, rightly or 
 wrongly, associates more with the Teutonic than 
 the Latin nature. 
 
 Although he cherished a fondness for Rome 
 in the winter, the son was clearly quite as much 
 interested in the management of the estate and in 
 the country life as his father. The little barony 
 was large enough to demand the attention of 
 more than one overseer for its proper care. It 
 seemed to include all the surrounding country, 
 within sight of the chateau. Off on another hill, 
 a mile away, another house was pointed out to 
 me where the family often resided during their 
 villeggiatura^ in preference to the house we were 
 in. It was more conveniently situated for look- 
 ing after things and more modern in its appoint- 
 ments than the large palazzo. The charm of the 
 old palace was its consistent antiquity. It was a 
 pi6lure of the past, perfe6lly preserved. Every de- 
 tail was in its place. Not an anachronism showed 
 itself. 
 
 Just here I ought to say that it is not only the 
 Italian past which has produced these harmo- 
 nious houses. The present is still creating them. 
 I have in mind one in the environs of Perugia 
 which was designed by an artist, now living, for 
 his own occupancy, and which is deserving of 
 some description because of the exceptional taste 
 brought to bear upon every detail of its construc- 
 
 95 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 tion.The builder happened to be born with a title 
 — which under some circumstances might have 
 efFeftuallv prevented anv serious studv of art or 
 any substantial achievement in any direction. But 
 he succeeded in surmounting the obstacles which 
 his caste put in his way, went through a system- 
 atic course of art instruction at Rome, and when 
 his talent was ripe yielded very naturally to the 
 temptation to construct for himself a home which 
 should be beautiful in every particular. He does 
 not talk very much about the past of his family 
 and I do not know whether his present villa is 
 built on an ancestral site or a new one. But it is 
 enough to say, so far as the mere situation is con- 
 cerned, that it is an exceptionally fine one — not 
 quite so high as Perugia, but still high up, and 
 far enough away from the town so that the city 
 itself does not materially obstrud; the view. 
 
 As one approaches the villa it seems to in- 
 clude, in its piduresque grouping of higher and 
 lower roofs, a chapel — or what one would judge 
 to be such from its peculiar contour. The roof is 
 hio-her than that of the other buildings and termi- 
 nates in an acute gable. It has, also, a very high 
 mullioned window of stronglv ecclesiastical char- 
 acter at one end, which would tend to emphasize 
 the chapel-look. This annex to the villa proves to 
 be, however, a studio — a place dedicated to the 
 cult of art and not ot religion. It is a very lofty 
 96 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 room, open up to the very apex of the roof, in- 
 side, without any flat ceiling to conceal its fine 
 constructive lines. The great muUioned window 
 gives the painter his light, and opposite it is a 
 huge fireplace designed on a scale large enough 
 to make it correspond with the rest of the room. 
 The same intelligence which controlled the gen- 
 eral form of the studio has shaped its lesser fit- 
 tings, and has made all the accessories, so far as 
 possible, mediaeval. I will not say that the chairs 
 look precisely like those which the people of the 
 Gothic age used to torture themselves with in 
 their moments of relaxation. They are somewhat 
 more comfortable — and the slight anachronism 
 which shows itself in this detail of the fittings is 
 readily pardoned on that account. Neither is the 
 lamp, supported on its twisted column, a medi- 
 aeval mechanism, but the pillar itself is old and 
 in keeping with the other appointments of the 
 place. Above the very high wainscot, on the flat 
 surface of the upper wall, the padrone di casa 
 has painted with his own hand some composi- 
 tions in the style of mediaeval tapestries which 
 one studies with interest. They are ingeniously 
 and successfully done. They are of course only 
 imitations, but the imitation is cleverly executed 
 and helps to sustain the mediaeval character which 
 it was the effort of the artist to impress upon the 
 place. 
 
 97 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 Adjoining the studio is another room which 
 presents a harmony in a different key. It is the 
 hbrary, all done in browns and yellows — the 
 tone of yellow, which is not exactly yellow, being 
 supplied by the vellum-backed books on the 
 shelves, and the brown by the dark wood of the 
 cases and of the furniture. Over the fireplace, 
 in order not to break the harmony of the general 
 color scheme, the inventor of the decoration has 
 placed the portrait of one of his ancestors, done 
 with a hot iron, as one ascertains on examining 
 it closely, though at a short distance the peculiar 
 way in which the pidure has been produced does 
 not declare itself, so soft are the tones and so 
 cleverly is the work executed. The place con- 
 tains a number of treasures of early printing — 
 particularly German books. The "librarian" has 
 felt a special interest in the early masters of cop- 
 per-plate engraving and has concentrated his col- 
 lecting fervor principally on the prints of that 
 period. 
 
 The house contains other interesting rooms 
 of which I will only mention one — and that is 
 the chapel which one reaches by a flight of stone 
 steps descending from the studio and leading to 
 a sort of crypt. This crypt, or chapel, is a heavily 
 vaulted room which suggests certain parts of the 
 lower church at Assisi. In the centre is an ar- 
 chaic altar, provided with archaic candelabra and 
 98 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 other Gothic accessories. Over the steps of the 
 altar has been thrown a piece of tapestry carpet, 
 done in the old flame-pattern, so called. Above 
 one's head is a heavy vault which is entirely cov- 
 ered, as are the lunettes of the upper wall, with 
 frescos in the style of Giotto and his school. 
 These decorations are not large, but they are in- 
 geniously done and are excellent pieces of mim- 
 icry. The artist-master of the house has made 
 himself a reputation for pidlures of quite a differ- 
 ent type — pictures which represent certain phases 
 of modern life painted in a purely modern spirit; 
 but in this reprodudtion of an old chapel he has 
 turned his hand not only to the old but to the 
 very oldest form of mediaeval art, and has ac- 
 quitted himself with the skill of an accomplished 
 ador. The saints have the wan and holy faces 
 of the primitive school. They have the same 
 disks of gold behind their heads. They are done 
 in colors in which one deteds the degeneration 
 of tones and the deadening of tints charadleristic 
 of extreme age. One rubs one's eyes for a sec- 
 ond after entering this holy place and wonders 
 whether a fragment of genuine antiquity has 
 not been transferred here bodily from Assisi 
 and worked into the foundations of this modern 
 house. 
 
 The man who has created all these things is 
 naturally a man with an interesting personality, 
 
 LofC. 99 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 which comes out in his discourse — a discourse 
 covering a wide range of subjeds but with a con- 
 tinuous gravitation toward the artistic. In the 
 explorations which we made together of the ob- 
 jefts of interest in Perugia, the town, this pref- 
 erence revealed itself. The artistic history of the 
 place was unfolded by him in successive instal- 
 ments, as it was called out by the successive 
 objeds of interest which were woven into the 
 round — commencing with the ancient church 
 of San Pietro on the south and ending with the 
 still more ancient church of Sant'Angelo on the 
 north. The permanent guides in these churches, 
 and in the museums, recognized him as an au- 
 thority, and although he occasionally appealed 
 to them for information it was apparent that he 
 did so from courtesy and not because they had 
 anything to tell him which he did not already 
 know. When I do not think of him in his ar- 
 tistic home, in the midst of the beautiful things 
 of his own creation, he comes back to me with 
 a background of some one of these Perugian 
 sights, helping the foreigner to a knowledge of 
 what is best worth seeing, and supplementing 
 the visible with the accessory fads which were 
 most essential to their full enjoyment. 
 
 The fascinating villa, of which I have given 
 such an imperfed description, proves, if one 
 needs proofs, that the art of building attractive 
 
 100 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 country houses is not a lost one in Italy. Per- 
 haps by force of contrast it stands associated in 
 my mind with another which belonged to the 
 real and not the simulated past and which had 
 a peculiar and unique charafter of its own. It 
 was the property of a Venetian gentleman of a 
 very old family and was situated in a fertile and 
 healthful distrid; in the province of Treviso. 
 Many of the Venetian patricians have villas in 
 that neighborhood and in the season ofvilleggia- 
 tm'a they betake themselves gladly to these in- 
 land resorts for the refreshment of not seeing 
 water everywhere, of not listening to the gondo- 
 liers' calls, and of not doing the narrow round 
 of fatiguing things which their urban life ties 
 them down to. 
 
 This place was not very far distant from 
 Asolo. One could indeed drive down to it in 
 the course of a half-hour or so, from that small 
 village on the hill which has been saved from 
 subsidence into nonentity by its connection with 
 a queen and a poet. The plain below Asolo is 
 watered by a shallow and narrow stream flow- 
 ing through a simple farming-country. And the 
 country place to which I refer may have been 
 originally only one of these farms or an aggre- 
 gation of them under one ownership. At some 
 time or other, however, the proprietor of the 
 place saw fit to build a rather commodious house 
 
 lOI 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 upon it, and to this house the descendants of 
 that proprietor still repair annually when Venice 
 becomes monotonous and a return to terra fir ma 
 offers the prospe6t of an agreeable change. 
 
 As one inquires one's way along the country 
 roads to this residence, the language which one 
 meets is invariably the Italian of the region, a not 
 absolutely incomprehensible dialed, but still 
 something which is local and savors of rusticity. 
 Once across the threshold of the mansion itself, 
 however, the speech which salutes one is French; 
 and the proffering of this super-civilized tongue 
 at this spot marks the important line which has 
 been crossed. The master of the house knows 
 Italian of course. It is his native tongue — his 
 everyday speech with nine out of ten of the per- 
 sons whom he meets. But when he wishes to 
 emphasize the fad; that it is not his world, — that 
 he belongs to something different, — he has only 
 to drop or rise into the international language to 
 effedually mark the distindion and define his 
 own proper place. 
 
 In the interior of this house there were many 
 things which suggested the palaces of Venice 
 proper, though with the modifications which 
 would be inevitable under the circumstances. 
 There was the same general redangular plan 
 and the same broad hall running through the 
 house from end to end, upon which all the rooms 
 
 102 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 opened. Just such an arrangement exists in the 
 well-known palace of the Albrizzi family, to cite 
 one among numerous Venetian examples of this 
 system of dividing up the Interior. What was 
 very different in this country house was that the 
 doors at either end of the hall — they were glass 
 doors — opened dire6lly upon the ground and 
 were separated from it by only a single step. 
 The idea was evidently to make the place as ap- 
 proachable and informal as possible. It was to 
 have the spirit of a garden house — a casino — 
 and the occupant of it was to feel that the out- 
 of-door life which he had come into the country 
 to seek, was to be gained by a single step from 
 the nominal confinement of "indoors." 
 
 As for the grounds themselves, they were as 
 flat as a floor and they perhaps suffered from 
 the monotony which was necessarily attendant 
 upon this unbroken horizontalism. Only such 
 variety of effed: was possible as could be secured 
 by the ingenious laying out of walks and the 
 skilful arrangement of shrubbery. One of the 
 ancestors of the present owner had taken, evi- 
 dently, considerable pains with these grounds, 
 but in the last two or three generations com- 
 paratively little had been done toward keeping 
 them up, and they had the same air of gentle 
 and poetic decadence which we notice in the old 
 patrician palaces of Venice itself. The same causes 
 
 103 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 had been at work in each place and had inevitably 
 brought about the same results. 
 
 The opportunities for diversifying the gardens 
 about an Italian villa are of course far greater 
 where the house is built upon rising ground, with 
 convenient hillsides to create the possibility of 
 terraces and hanging gardens and cascades. Not 
 far from Rome, at Viterbo, we found a fine old 
 villa belonging to the Lante family which had all 
 these elaborate features worked out in a uniquely 
 interesting manner. The villa stood upon a shelf 
 of a hillside and was curiously designed in two 
 separate blocks in order not to interfere with the 
 perfed: symmetry and effediveness of the water- 
 works which came down the slope between the 
 two divisions of the mansion. This breaking up 
 of the villa into two entirely detached cubes was 
 something which we had not observed elsewhere 
 and which showed how much more importance 
 was attached to the terraces and the cascades than 
 to the residence for which they were supposed 
 to form the setting. 
 
 Standing on the house-terrace and looking 
 down on the lower level toward the entrance, 
 one observed a peculiar eifed: of water-composi- 
 tion, suggesting an inundated garden. In the 
 centre rose a high circular basin with a jet of 
 water in the middle, surrounded by carved fig- 
 ures and surmounted by a sort of canopy. And 
 104 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 below this circular basin the central space of the 
 garden was converted into a large tank, filled 
 brimming full of opaque and rather yellow fluid, 
 entirely shutting off the approach to the middle 
 jet except by narrow, balustraded causeways. 
 Some little tufts of green resting on the surface 
 of the muddy tanks simulated islands, and there 
 was place for more greenery — which however 
 was not utilized — in the vases placed at regular 
 intervals upon the parapets. Outside of this was 
 a broad extent of terra firma^ with an elaborate 
 pattern of neatly trimmed box arranged in a 
 geometrical design on fine gravel. And still out- 
 side of this was a high hedge, flanking the en- 
 trance gate, and overtopped by the awkward 
 houses of the neighboring village which intru- 
 sively pushed themselves up to the very park 
 gates. 
 
 The waterworks in front of the villa were 
 arranged with reference to broad levels and re- 
 flecting surfaces, but on the higher land, behind, 
 everything was disposed with a view to more 
 sparkling and vivacious eff'eds. From an upper 
 terrace a stairway descended in a double flight, 
 and a broad basin, laid out in a fan-shaped curve, 
 swept from the base of the steps on one side to 
 the base on the other. Above this lower basin 
 were smaller ones, of the same form, dwindling 
 to a mere cup at the top. The whole composi- 
 
 105 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 tion was liberally supplied with water. It gushed 
 out everywhere. Even the parapet of the stairs 
 was converted into an open conduit, and the 
 vases, placed at intervals along it, were utilized 
 as cups for jets. I do not know who the designer 
 of this elaborate water-pidiure may have been, 
 but, whoever he was, he was a man with a fertile 
 brain. His inventive powers were not exhausted 
 by the portion of the complicated spedaclewhich 
 I have described, for there were still other feat- 
 ures, introduced at other points, and extending 
 through the upper gardens to regions quite out 
 of sight of the house. 
 
 The cascades of the Villa Lante are perhaps 
 outdone by those at Frascati, where the hillside 
 rises still more abruptly and where the landscape 
 gardener found conditions fairly unrivalled else- 
 where for the exhibition of his skill and taste. 
 In the grounds of the Villa Torlonia one moves 
 from level to level with the delight with which 
 one turns over leaf after leaf of a cleverly written 
 book. Some novelty always awaits one on the 
 next page — or the next terrace. These fountains 
 must have been superb in their prime, but they 
 are perhaps more touchingly beautiful in their 
 fern-overgrown decadence. They may have been 
 gorgeous when the masonry was fresh and sharp 
 and new, and when every pipe performed its 
 fundion, but they possess, now, a poetry in their 
 1 06 
 
Grounds of the Villa Torlonia at Frascati 
 
COUNTRY HOUSES 
 
 decline which is something better than the crude 
 magnificence of their earlier days. Let me leave 
 the reader at this point where he is certainly 
 at home — for all who know Italy know these 
 sumptuous gardens scarcely an hour from Rome 
 — and end these random recolledlions of Italian 
 villas at the spot where the art of villa-building 
 first made its timid beginnings and where it still 
 shows its ripest accomplishments. 
 
 107 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
CHAPTER V 
 ROYAL HOMES 
 
 ON a certain morning I found myself roll- 
 ing rapidly northward over the flat, but 
 not unattractive, country which extends 
 from Milan toward the Lakes. My companion 
 in the railway carriage was a Milanese acquaint- 
 ance who had given me some assistance in ar- 
 ranging the details of this particular expedition 
 and whose special knowledge of people and things 
 in this region would, I was sure, contribute to 
 the profit and enjoyment which I should derive 
 from it. The train was moving toward Como, 
 but our tickets did not read to that point. Our 
 destination was Monza, and it was to explore the 
 royal villa situated there that we had put aside 
 other occupations for the day and planned this 
 particular excursion into the country. 
 
 Monza is not a name which signifies much to 
 the tourist, but it has been for a number of years 
 — or was until the date of the late tragedy — 
 the Potsdam, the Versailles, and the Windsor of 
 the Italian Court. There is no royal family in the 
 world which is so profusely, so superabundantly, 
 provided with palaces as the Italian royal family. 
 In superseding all the numerous petty govern- 
 
 III 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 ments into which the peninsula of Italy was sub- 
 divided before the Unification, they succeeded to 
 all the palaces, villas, and castles of the dispos- 
 sessed kings, princes, and dukes. But out of all 
 this multitude of palatial residences the one which 
 was chosen by King Humbert and Queen Mar- 
 gherita for their especial home was not a royal 
 palace at all, but the large and roomy villa built 
 toward the close of the eighteenth century for 
 the Austrian governor of Lombardy. The other 
 palaces were abandoned or visited rarely. Monza 
 became the preferred retreat toward which the 
 royal mind turned with the most fondness and to 
 which the sovereigns hastily betook themselves 
 whenever the temporary suspension of govern- 
 mental duties at Rome permitted a flight from 
 the capital. 
 
 I have no photograph of the exterior of the 
 villa and do not know that it would look par- 
 ticularly well in a photograph. The building has 
 a large mass in the centre with two projecting 
 wings which come forward so as to form a sort 
 of court surrounded on three sides. All around 
 it is a great park, partly flat and partly undu- 
 lating, which is for the most part left like an 
 English park, without artificial gardening. The 
 trees are old and fine. The grass, at certain sea- 
 sons, has the verdure of English turf. There are 
 extensive walks and drives on the estate, which 
 
 112 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 the occupants of the house can enjoy without 
 crossing the confines of the park or encounter- 
 ing any hving person except the gardeners, for- 
 esters, and faithful serving folk who inhabit the 
 demesne. 
 
 Inside of the house there is a pervading air 
 of home comfort. It has the English aspeft, as 
 the park has. Indeed the whole establishment is 
 not very different from some of the larger Eng- 
 lish country houses. We were received at the en- 
 trance — not the great state entrance but one of 
 the minor entrances — by a certain cavalier e who 
 was in charge of the place in the absence of the 
 family. At that moment he was the head person 
 in the establishment. He was dressed in the plain 
 clothes of a gentleman and not in the red and 
 gold worn by the imposing funftionaries who 
 play the part of Cerberus at the gates of the royal 
 houses. Under his lead we traversed the rooms, 
 in a long sequence, and were given the oppor- 
 tunity which the traveller, who is pushed and 
 pulled through state apartments with the miscel- 
 laneous public of a show-day, does not have, to 
 observe works of art and other interesting objedls 
 in detail. 
 
 This villa at Monza was the home of Eugene 
 Beauharnais when he was Napoleon's viceroy 
 in Italy, and from the first was occupied by per- 
 sons of taste v/ho must have understood the art 
 
 113 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 — the somewhat difficult art — of dealing with 
 suites of great rooms in such a way as to make 
 them appear possible places to live in. But how- 
 ever much may have been done by the predeces- 
 sors of the Savoy family, those clever conquerors 
 of Italian territory and Italian hearts did, and 
 have done, more. It was particularly from Queen 
 Margherita, a person of exceptional taste, and 
 more than half an artist, that the house received 
 the precise shaping of attradliveness which it pos- 
 sessed while she continued to occupy it. Her own 
 judgment must have ordered matters in detail, 
 even to the disposition of the pidiures and the 
 placing of the furniture. In the resultant effefts 
 one could see what a person of rare taste and 
 refinement could do toward home-making on an 
 ample scale, and appreciate the possibility of 
 producing really homelike effeds under circum- 
 stances which might well seem to render it an 
 impossibility. 
 
 Our route took us through a large salon which 
 had been recently decorated in a style of some- 
 what cold sumptuousness, for the sake of mak- 
 ing a place for some great tapestries which had 
 lain long unused and which, it was felt, ought 
 to be utilized somewhere in the house; but just 
 beyond this slightly rigid drawing-room was the 
 library, wherein one inhaled quite a different at- 
 mosphere. It may be that there was a colledion 
 114 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 of books already installed in the house before it 
 passed into the hands of its recent occupants, 
 but if there were old books on the shelves there 
 were also many modern and recent ones dating 
 from the occupancy of the late sovereign. Queen 
 Margherita's patronage of both art and letters 
 was a matter, not simply of royal policy, but of 
 genuine personal interest. Books flowed in upon 
 her, in choice editions and in rich bindings, from 
 the writers who admired her and to whom she had 
 given encouragement and praise ; and others must 
 have been purchased in large numbers to supple- 
 ment and complete this interesting and valuable 
 colledion. A balcony had been built around the 
 room, — which was high enough to admit it, al- 
 though not one of those rather cheerless apart- 
 ments where the ceiHng is so high as to give the 
 effed; of a hall instead of a room, — and in this 
 way it had been possible to double the book- 
 storage space, and to tapestry the walls, clear to 
 the cornice, with that most satisfying and most 
 decorative of all tapestries — well-bound books. 
 As we went on through the succession of 
 rooms, we came into the so-called hall of paint- 
 ings, which might suggest one of the dreary, va- 
 cant apartments in the old palaces where a gilt 
 console table or two, with a gilt chair on either 
 side of it against the wall, constitutes the only 
 sign of human occupation. In this case, however, 
 
 115 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 the anticipations which one might form on the 
 strength of the name were not supported by the 
 fa6t. The room was not very large, nor very high, 
 and its furnishings were not of the cold and rigid 
 order at all. Moreover, on its walls, instead of the 
 expected canvases by the dead and the gone, — 
 which, beautiful as they may be, fail to chime in 
 with ideas of living, breathing modern existence, 
 — there were glimpses of Venice done in a match- 
 less manner by a certain painter whom Queen 
 Margherita had personally protefted and encour- 
 aged; and there were other squares of color which 
 belonged to the life of yesterday if not of to-day, 
 and which were fresh and palpitating, as well as 
 animated by incontestable elements of artistic 
 merit. 
 
 Another step or two took one into the salon 
 which was the queen's living-room and which 
 contained, naturally, more objeds of intimate 
 personal interest than any of the apartments 
 which we had traversed before. Her writing-desk 
 was here, with photographs of the persons who 
 stood nearest to her. The fine piano was close 
 to it, and in the hollow of the curving side was 
 a broad and low divan built on lines which sug- 
 gested luxurious comfort. In this room, too, was 
 one of the interesting memorials of the silver 
 wedding of 1893, ^^ ^^^ shape of a graceful statue 
 in silver, representing Italy holding the shield 
 116 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 of the House of Savoy, which was presented to 
 Humbert and Margherita by Emperor William. 
 Moving past a screen with a glass top, one came 
 to the doorof the king's personal den — a smaller 
 room, with simple, substantial, masculine fur- 
 nishings, and pidures on the walls which showed 
 his fondness for dogs, horses, and healthful out- 
 of-door sports; and through another door one 
 gained the queen's bedchamber, large, roomy, and 
 airy, hung with damask in a tone of subdued 
 green and commanding from its windows a wide 
 view over the sweeping levels of the park. 
 
 The flawless taste of the occupant of this 
 apartment was made apparent in every detail of 
 its decorations and appointments. The royal gilt 
 bedstead was conspicuously absent. In its stead 
 was a low, broad couch whose frame was entirely 
 covered with damask of the same tint as that on 
 the walls, and which was overhung by a canopy 
 with draperies of the same hue, pulled back and 
 fastened in such a way as not to cut off a breath 
 of the fresh air with which the room was bounti- 
 fully supplied from the great windows opening 
 on the park. On the wall opposite the windows 
 was the incomparable Madonna by Barabino, 
 which is perhaps the best known of any modern 
 Italian pidure. Queen Vi6loria also had at Os- 
 borne a Madonna by Barabino, but it was not 
 equal to this superb rendering of the old and ever 
 
 117 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 new subjedl belonging to Queen Margherita. 
 The pid;ure at Monza is the one which shows 
 the Madonna seated upon a marble bench with 
 the whole upper part of her figure swathed in 
 white draperies which are passed over the head 
 and drawn closely together under the chin. It 
 was, I think, the only painting — certainly the 
 only large painting — in the room, and its assign- 
 ment to this privileged spot showed very clearly 
 the value placed upon it by its fortunate owner. 
 Afterward we were shown through many other 
 rooms, where the personal note was less marked, 
 and on the upper floor we saw the suite where 
 the Emperor William had been lodged, and other 
 rooms where the princes of the Savoy family slept 
 when they were at Monza — all of them marked 
 with a small card on the wall beside the door — 
 a rather necessary precaution when the corridors 
 were so long, and the doors, as they succeeded 
 each other, so precisely alike. These rooms were 
 not occupied enough by the persons for whom 
 they were reserved to acquire any individuality. 
 Their appointments were simple and modern, 
 the walls being hung with some unobtrusive stuff 
 which was repeated in the bed draperies and at 
 the windows. One noted in every room a writing- 
 table and a portfolio, with the stamped paper of 
 the villa ready for use. And at the foot of each 
 bed were the invariable two chairs, facing like 
 ii8 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 silent sentinels toward the sleeper, which are as 
 necessary in every well-regulated state bedcham- 
 ber as the two carabinieri at a well-regulated 
 railway station. 
 
 I have selected this especial royal residence for 
 mention and description because it is not shown 
 to the public, and what may here have been 
 said of it is therefore not simply a recounting 
 of what every one sees and of what others have 
 described. I should not myself have been per- 
 mitted to cross its threshold if it had not been 
 that all its occupants were drawn away to Rome, 
 just at that time, by an important event, demand- 
 ing imperatively the presence of every member 
 of the royal family — the marriage of the present 
 king and queen, which took place in 1896. As 
 I left Rome to hurry by express northward, the 
 streets of the capital were even then being deco- 
 rated with banners and with arches of gas-lights, 
 for the reception of the bride who was momently 
 expeded from Bari. The announcement of the 
 betrothal which led to this marriage put an end 
 to many surmises as to who might be destined 
 to wear the robes of queen, in this third genera- 
 tion of the Savoy princes to ascend the Italian 
 throne. Newspapers and private rumors had con- 
 nected the youthful Vi6tor Emmanuel with a 
 long list of possible consorts — even with an 
 English one — before the much-discussed ques- 
 
 119 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 tion was finally set at rest by the announcement 
 of the prince's own decision in the matter. At 
 Rome the advent of the bride was preceded by 
 the exhibition of her photograph everywhere, 
 — a face well calculated to win the sympathies 
 of her prospective subjedls. It was virtually the 
 Princess Elena who brought the Montenegrine 
 family into the view of western Europe — so 
 little does that self-centred world concern Itself 
 in general with the persons and the events of 
 the remote Balkan states. But it is worth while 
 to note that hers was not the first important 
 marriage out of that house. Her eldest sister had 
 already married the Russian Grand Duke Peter, 
 and another sister, also older, had become the 
 wife of a very great nobleman allied to the Russian 
 imperial family, — the Duke of Leuchtenberg, 
 who is a descendant, if I am not mistaken, of 
 Prince Eugene Beauharnais. 
 
 The present king, as every one knows, was 
 born at Naples and his cradle is still preserved 
 at Capodimonte.The royal villa of Capodimonte 
 has been rarely inhabited by the royal family, 
 and its vast apartments furnish the very type of 
 that indescribable royal chilliness and vacancy 
 of which Monza was the complete antithesis. 
 Still its situation above the city of Naples is su- 
 perb, and its park is extensive and traversed by 
 carefully laid-out avenues where one may drive 
 1 20 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 for a long time without going over the same road 
 twice. Down in the town, only a step removed 
 from the congested region of the Toledo, is the 
 other Neapolitan palace, called the Reggia, where 
 the present king had his official residence during 
 his term of military service as colonel of the First 
 Regiment of Infantry in 1891-92. All visitors to 
 Naples know this huge pile, with its long, severe 
 front, with its red-garbed beadle at the entrance, 
 with its fatiguing suite of state apartments, and 
 with its general unhomelikeness of asped:. The 
 sumptuous staircase, leading up from the garden 
 entrance to the principal floor, is its one really 
 fine feature, as it climbs and turns, and doubles 
 on itself, with its solid, well-designed masses of 
 stately marble. Adjoining this palace, at one end, 
 is the famous Theatre of San Carlo ; and the story 
 is told that many years ago, one of the Neapoli- 
 tan kings having expressed a wish that he might 
 be able to get to his box in the theatre without 
 going out of doors, the court architect set a large 
 force of men at work and that same day and 
 evening constructed an approach through which 
 the surprised monarch walked diredly from his 
 dinner table to his seat at the opera without 
 descending to the street. 
 
 Tapestries are said to have been resorted to, 
 on this fabulous occasion, to conceal the gashes 
 and gaps which had necessarily marked the ad- 
 
 121 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 vance of this furious tunnelling. But now the 
 approach from the palace to the theatre can be 
 accomplished internally, without passing any 
 signs of temporary expedients, and is regularly 
 used by the princes on state occasions. Suddenly, 
 one night, when we were listening to the opera 
 at San Carlo, the orchestra ceased from its legiti- 
 mate business of playing the composer Puccini's 
 score, and struck into the blaring notes of the 
 Inno Reale — the Royal Anthem. The audience 
 rose, as it is wont to do on those summons, and 
 there presently appeared above us Vi6tor Em- 
 manuel and Elena of Montenegro, the former 
 in uniform, the latter in a white toilet with a 
 coronet of diamonds on her head. We had seen 
 her that morning, also in white, reviewing troops 
 from a carriage, while her husband did the same 
 from a horse. Her fortitude was brought into 
 view on this earlier occasion, by the quiet and un- 
 perturbed manner in which she endured the ruin- 
 ing of her parade costume. The rain descended in 
 torrents, and after the manner of royal person- 
 ages on such occasions, she was obliged to sit it 
 out, and allow the confection of her milliner and 
 her tailor to go to ruin. She was very attentive 
 to the music in the evening. For a few moments 
 after entering the box she turned her fine face 
 toward the audience and gave them a kindly glance 
 in response to their admiring plaudits. But after 
 
 122 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 that she persistently held her binocle to her eyes 
 and studied the movements of the people on the 
 stage. 
 
 After their marriage these two young people 
 went to Florence and lived for a while, quietly, 
 at the Pitti Palace. This fifteenth-century con- 
 struftion of a private citizen is perhaps the best- 
 known royal residence south of the Alps, and it 
 certainly has, for its permanent inhabitants, the 
 most unique population of any palace in Italy. 
 It is safe to say that no tourist ever entered and 
 left the gates of Florence without going at least 
 once to the Pitti, and staring for a few minutes, 
 if no longer, at the unique colledlion of canvases 
 disposed on the walls of its sumptuous rooms. 
 The very stateliness of the apartments has some- 
 thing to do with the effed: of the pi6lures, by 
 giving them surroundings which do not jar upon 
 one's sense of fitness. As in all palaces, the rooms 
 of the gallery are connected by a series of doors 
 which are placed next to the window wall, and 
 at the end of the suite there is still another door, 
 in the same line, which is kept closed. This door 
 goes into the royal apartments, which are con- 
 tinued as far again beyond. From the middle of 
 the long sequence of rooms one can take in the 
 whole building, at a glance, from end to end, and 
 from the same point a prospect is to be had, 
 through open doors and windows, out along the 
 
 123 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 principal axis of the Boboli gardens, which runs 
 at right angles to the long facade of the palace it- 
 self. There is something geometrically acute in 
 the plans which were drawn by these old Italian 
 palace-builders. Everything is centred. Every- 
 thing is balanced. What would they think of 
 some of the irregular and rambling construdtions 
 of which we of Saxon tastes are so fond — like 
 Windsor Castle, for example, where everything 
 has come to be where it is by haphazard and 
 where nothing is in line? 
 
 The rooms of the royal suite, at the Pitti, are 
 shown to the public when the princes are not 
 there; but they are not especially noteworthy. 
 The pidures in them are comparatively few in 
 number and of secondary importance, and there 
 are not signs enough of aftual occupancy to take 
 off the dreary and desolate air which always hangs 
 over these semi-used royal houses. The young 
 king and queen live there no more. Their official 
 residence, and their adual abiding-place during 
 the greater part of the year, is the Quirinal, origi- 
 nally as desolate — in its state apartments — as 
 the Pitti, but which has been converted into the 
 semblance of a home as the result of adual and 
 continual occupancy. 
 
 It is to this palace at the Capital that the Sa- 
 voy family is summoned, in its whole numerical 
 strength, for important occasions like the open- 
 124 
 
Princes of the House of Savoy 
 
 Frotn the lllustrazJone Itti/ituiti 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 ing of parliament; and from its rather common- 
 place gateway, they depart for the progress across 
 the town to the parliament-house, which is situ- 
 ated beyond the Corso. The opening of parlia- 
 ment is an important fundion and, in Italy as in 
 England, is made the excuse for a certain amount 
 of pageantry and parade. Troops line the streets 
 and at the palace toward which the royal pro- 
 cession takes its course all the official hierarchy 
 assembles to receive it. The king enters amid 
 hand-clapping and other manifestations of loyal 
 enthusiasm and seats himself upon the throne to 
 read his speech while the nearest of his blood take 
 standing positions on either side of him. 
 
 In the group of princes as shown in the illus- 
 tration here given one notices that the men all 
 have youthful faces and figures except the one 
 at the extreme right, who looks somewhat older 
 than the others. This is Prince Thomas, Duke 
 of Genoa, the brother of Queen Margherita, The 
 royal tree of Italy has interlaced branches, and 
 this particular prince does not depend solely upon 
 his connexion with Margherita for his nearness 
 to the throne. He is a nephew of Vidor Em- 
 manuel II (grandfather of the present king) and 
 is capable of succeeding to the throne himself in 
 default of nearer heirs. Prince Thomas possesses 
 a certain interest for English people because he 
 was in part educated at Harrow, and lived while 
 
 125 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 there in the family of Matthew Arnold. In Mat- 
 thew Arnold's letters there are interesting refer- 
 ences to him, showing that he had the amiable 
 temperament for which the house of Savoy-Genoa 
 is distinguished, and that he endeared himself to 
 every one — wearing his title without affedation. 
 The prince was two years at Harrow, from the 
 spring of 1 869 until the springofi 871, and while 
 he was there he had the crown of Spain offered 
 to him, which he seems to have regarded as a 
 terrible bugbear. The difficult diadem was sub- 
 sequently refused, for him, by his family, but it 
 was bound to settle down on a Savoy head some- 
 where, andfinally hunted out Humbert's brother, 
 Amedeo, who actually wore the contentious coro- 
 net for two years, before he arrived at a convic- 
 tion that the honor did not compensate for the 
 worry of it. 
 
 It was while Amedeo was still king of Spain 
 that his son Luigi was born, who is the youngest 
 of the princes in the group shown in the pidure, 
 standing in the background at the left. His com- 
 ing into the world in that place seems to have 
 been portentous and momentous for him. In that 
 old court of Ferdinand and Isabella the spirit of 
 discovery and of geographical conquest was in 
 the air and he caught it. Twice he has yielded to 
 this noble ambition of conquering the unknown 
 and winning new worlds. In the first instance, 
 126 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 not so very long ago, he appeared suddenly in 
 America with the announced purpose of scaling 
 an inaccessible peak on the Pacific coast. Another 
 competitor, in the race for primacy in the con- 
 quest of this particular mountain, had several 
 weeks the start of him, but in the final struggle 
 the prince was vidorious. A piduresque narra- 
 tive of this adventure was afterward put into print 
 in several languages, prefaced by a photograph 
 of the discoverer, a face which told at a glance 
 the whole story of his calm courage and daring. 
 The terrible force of Vidor Emmanuel the elder 
 has descended to these grandsons, but the bru- 
 tality of that fearful physiognomy has been cor- 
 rected into something far finer by the admixture 
 of other mother-bloods. After this conquest of 
 Mount St. Elias this same prince, who is offi- 
 cially known in Italy as the Duke of the Abruzzi 
 (a province on the Adriatic), attempted a much 
 more perilous venture. He set out in the Stella 
 Polare to break the Nansen record, and did break 
 it, outdistancing him in the race for the pole, as it 
 has been humorously said, "by twenty minutes." 
 The detailed narrative of this expedition has, I 
 believe, not yet been put into print, but the prince 
 recounted his experiences in a spoken address at 
 Rome, soon after his return, to an audience which 
 gathered to hear him in the old Jesuit institution 
 called the Collegio Romano — a precind: which 
 
 127 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 forty years ago would have thought itself safe 
 from any such invasion by any such ledurer. 
 
 The proper residence of this prince is at Turin, 
 as is also that of his two older brothers who stand 
 on either side of the king in the opening-of- 
 parliament group. One of them, the younger, 
 bears the great name, Victor Emmanuel, but the 
 name by which he is invariably known is his 
 brevet title of Count of Turin. Not long ago an 
 American illustrated journal published a cut of 
 "a titled athlete. Count Turin" fording a stream 
 on horseback. The pidure-editor of the journal 
 evidently had not the slightest idea who Count 
 Turin was, but the exploit which he was in the 
 adl of performing had been thought worthy of 
 submission to the newspaper's clientage. It was 
 indeed a daring venture. The prince was in the 
 middle of a river which swept onward with a 
 rapid current. Absolutely nothing was visible of 
 the horse except his head, and a small part of his 
 neck. Just behind the head of the struggling and 
 nearly submerged animal was the face of an ath- 
 letic man, holding on to the bridle with bare arms, 
 and with a bare neck, ruggedly moulded, joining 
 his head to his square shoulders. The pidure 
 gave a view of the prince which was thoroughly 
 in character. He is a powerful athlete, versed in 
 all manly sports, and has the temperament of a 
 soldier. H e was perhaps naturally the one to come 
 128 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 to the front in the famous duel which took place, 
 not so long ago as to be entirely forgotten, in de- 
 fence, as it was said, of the honor of the Italian 
 army, which had been verbally attacked by Prince 
 Henry of Orleans. In this duel, which was much 
 exploited by the newspapers at the time, the 
 Italian champion was the vi(5lor; and it need 
 hardly be said, in view of the well-known tempera- 
 ment of the Latin races and their special views on 
 the subjed: of the duel, that he was an immense 
 gainer in personal popularity as the result of this 
 experience. 
 
 Neither Prince Luigi nor the Count of Turin 
 is married, but their older brother, the Duke of 
 Aosta, who is at present the nearest heir to the 
 throne and stands on official occasions at the king's 
 right, married, in 1895, ^^^ Princess Helen of 
 Orleans, daughter of the late Count of Paris and 
 sister of the Queen of Portugal. The ceremony of 
 betrothal took place at the Chateau of Chantilly 
 in March, 1895, ^'"^^ ^^^ wedding itself in June 
 at Kingston-upon-Thames in the little church of 
 St. Raphael, not far away from Orleans House, 
 a residence which had sheltered the princess's 
 family in exile. The Princess Helen, who was 
 born at Twickenham and passed a part of her girl- 
 hood in England, is nearly as familiar with the 
 English language as with the French, but did not 
 immediately, on forming this Italian marriage, 
 
 129 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 know much of any Italian. She has the aristo- 
 cratic fibre of her race quite as pronouncedly as 
 any of her ancestors, perhaps more so than Louis 
 Philippe, and certainly more so than Philippe 
 Egalite. Her bearing is slightly chilly in its dig- 
 nity — rather aggressively royal. Her principal 
 Italian residence is the so-called Palazzo della 
 Cisterna at Turin, which came to her husband 
 from his mother, the Princess Dal Pozzo della 
 Cisterna, who left her whole personal fortune, 
 valued at twenty million lire, to this one son. The 
 red-garbed functionary stands in the doorway of 
 this spacious residence. There are wide gardens 
 behind. The precind: is worthy of royalty, and the 
 duchess — she is officially known as the Duchessa 
 d'Aosta — has her own court about her, quite 
 equal to that of a German reigning duke. She has 
 two children, both boys, and the family group is 
 admired by the loyal Turinese in photography 
 in the shop windows. The father is a man of 
 fine physique and military bearing, whose near- 
 ness to the throne makes him the proper repre- 
 sentative of the sovereign on occasions of great 
 importance, when a deputy of the very highest 
 rank is necessary. It was the Duke of Aosta who 
 rode with the corps of foreign sovereigns, in the 
 memorable funeral cortege which passed across 
 London on its way from Osborne to Windsor 
 in February, 1901. 
 130 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 After the present king's accession to the throne, 
 it became necessary to provide an appropriate 
 residence for his mother, Queen Margherita, and 
 it was then that the project was planned and car- 
 ried out of buying for her the sumptuous mod- 
 ern Palazzo Piombino which occupies a proud 
 position at the curve of the Via Veneto in one 
 of the most presentable of the newer quarters of 
 Rome. This palace was occupied for a number 
 of years by the American ambassador, and to 
 many Americans it is a matter of regret that it 
 was not purchased by the government as the per- 
 manent seat of the embassy — General Draper 
 having informed the home government that the 
 property was available for purchase, and at a 
 price by no means extravagantly large, consider- 
 ing the size and situation of the house. During 
 the occupancy of the ambassador, whose name 
 I have just mentioned, the palace was refitted 
 and refurnished in such a way as to make it rather 
 notable for its magnificence even among Roman 
 palaces, and the task of preparing it subsequently 
 for Queen Margherita's occupancy was much 
 lightened in consequence. The palace is shallow, 
 but it has a spacious state suite on the principal 
 front, running the whole length of the house — 
 in possibility, if not actually thrown together 
 — and rendering it a convenient establishment 
 in which to entertain on a large scale. 
 
 131 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 Queen Margherita was already established in 
 this house at the time of the birth of the latest 
 addition to the Savoy family in the person of 
 the little Princess Jolanda, who was born at the 
 Quirinal, June i, 1901. On the following festa 
 of San Giovanni the loyal Romans, after crowd- 
 ing in a great body around the Quirinal gates to 
 show their satisfadion at the important event 
 which had so recently transpired within its walls, 
 marched in a body to the palace of Queen Mar- 
 gherita to make another demonstration of loyal 
 enthusiasm at her doors. The movement was 
 spontaneous and showed the continuing aifedtion 
 which is felt at Rome, and indeed everywhere 
 throughout Italy, for this admirable woman who 
 has known so well, through twenty years and more, 
 how to fulfil the duties of wife, mother, and queen. 
 The cries of the crowd brought her to the bal- 
 cony which opens from the great room just over 
 the entrance, and gave the multitude the satis- 
 faction of looking at a face very familiar to them, 
 which at that moment could smile despite the 
 heavy draperies of black which covered her fig- 
 ure. A touch of the human nature which makes 
 the whole world kin, was injeded into this little 
 moment of solemn festivity, by the sudden ap- 
 pearance of the queen's pet cat on the balustrade. 
 This enormous creature, fed on royal cream and 
 coated with royal fur, had followed its mistress 
 132 
 
ROYAL HOMES 
 
 out through the glass door on to the balcony, 
 and had wished to satisfy its curiosity as to what 
 would be visible from the railing The queen, far 
 from resenting the creature's familiar intrusion, 
 stroked the soft fur and smiled, and the crowd 
 below broke out in fresh plaudits of amused ad- 
 miration which continued until the animal and 
 its mistress withdrew. 
 
 133 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 THE THEATRES 
 
 GOING to the theatre in Italy is not a 
 pastime in which foreigners are very apt 
 to indulge unless they are residents there, 
 or have made considerable progress with the lan- 
 guage. And if they have — or think they have — 
 made considerable progress with the language, the 
 sitting through a single play is apt to have a dis- 
 couraging and depressing effed in its revelation 
 of what there is yet to be learned. Italian adors 
 seem — it may be only seeming — to speak with 
 a rapidity which outdoes that of the adlors of any 
 other nation. They race along at an alarming pace. 
 Their words gush forth in a torrent which starts 
 rapidly and gathers velocity as it advances. And 
 in their furious and impetuous utterance of for- 
 eign syllables it is only the very pradised ear which 
 can infallibly catch every word and be sure that 
 not a shading of the meaning is lost. 
 
 The person who suffers from a sense of imper- 
 fect apprehension in a foreign theatre occasion- 
 ally derives some comfort from finding that even 
 in a playhouse where English is spoken it is not 
 always possible to understand every word. The 
 fad: that an ador's part is learned by rote and that 
 
 ^Z1 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 the words are not seledied as he proceeds, naturally 
 leads him to speak at a brisker pace than in ordi- 
 nary conversation. Once in a while, even when 
 we are listening to our own language, we are 
 likely to lose a word or two, and there has to be 
 some guessing to fill up the gap. But it is rarely 
 that an English auditor in an English theatre is 
 so completely left when the laugh comes — if the 
 play is one which permits one the refreshment of 
 laughing — as he sometimes is when he has to fol- 
 low the sparkling and brilliant dialogue of a com- 
 pany of Italian comedians. It is humiliating to 
 sit silent when all the rest of the house is enjoy- 
 ing an outburst of honest laughter — so humili- 
 ating that the silent foreigner usually practises 
 a little frank deception to hide his disgrace and 
 joins in the laugh himself. The pra6tice of fol- 
 lowing one of these racing Italian dialogues for 
 four or five ads is unquestionably a good one for 
 training the ear, but when one is a beginner at 
 it, it entails an appreciable amount of mental fa- 
 tigue. The play in such cases becomes a discipline 
 — good for one's faculties of apprehension, but 
 decidedly exhausting in its immediate effed. 
 
 The Italian theatres — especially the more 
 modest ones — frequently have something novel 
 to offer to the foreign eye. I am speaking at this 
 moment not of the ading but of the building it- 
 self. One finds, here and there, something which 
 138 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 seems like a diredt survival of the old Latin thea- 
 tre in the form of a roofless auditorium, difi^ering 
 but little from the theatres which the tourist sees 
 at Syracuse and Pompeii. There is one of these 
 theatres still standing at Leghorn, where accord- 
 ing to tradition Tommaso Salvini made his first 
 appearance. The walls are complete. The place is 
 entirely enclosed, so far as the vertical masonry 
 is concerned. But there is no roof. There are some 
 window openings in the naked wall, but from the 
 street outside one looks diredtly through them 
 to the sky. Inside the seats are arranged more 
 after the modern than the Latin system. They 
 are disposed in balconies. But in its other, and 
 more essential, particulars the place is still Latin 
 and Roman. 
 
 I have in mind another theatre at Leghorn, 
 where the same principle of constru6tion — the 
 principleof leavingthe roof open — is introduced 
 in a modified form. It is a theatre in which we 
 went to see a play given by a very clever Italian 
 company with an artist of considerable distindiion 
 at its head — Tina Di Lorenzo — a name still un- 
 known outside of Italy although familiar enough 
 to Italian playgoers. The company was what was 
 called, and was entitled to be called, first class. 
 And yet the theatre itself was primitive to a de- 
 gree. When we entered we found a huge pile of 
 cushions just inside the door which could be 
 
 139 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 rented for the evening. The seats themselves were 
 cushionless. The majority of those who entered 
 paid a few soldi to the man at the door, took a 
 cushion from the pile, and carried it along with 
 them to their seat. The orchestra in this theatre 
 was placed in one of the balconies at the back. 
 There may have been no place for it down in front, 
 as music is not an ordinary feature in theatres 
 devoted to the spoken drama; but whatever may 
 have been the motive for assigning it this pecul- 
 iar position the band was placed there, behind us, 
 and discoursed its inter-aft music to our backs. 
 The drop-curtain, which filled the proscenium 
 arch and which was lowered between the adts, was 
 divided into compartments of painted scrollwork, 
 and in each of these compartments was an ad- 
 vertisement of some local tradesman. Above our 
 heads what should have been the dome of the au- 
 ditorium was replaced by an immense skylight; 
 and this skylight during the evening which I have 
 in mind — an August evening — was all open to 
 the stars. The stars themselves were — I regret to 
 say for the poetry of the eflfed: — not visible. The 
 bright lights of the theatre inside put them into 
 complete eclipse, and all that we saw as we looked 
 up was a soft void ofvelvety blackness with not so 
 much as a twinkle or a spark to give it luminosity. 
 The play itself, which was presented on that 
 evening, was done with the utmost vivacity. The 
 140 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 whole company bubbled and sparkled and effer- 
 vesced from beginning to end. It was a perpetual 
 uncorking of ever fresh instalments of dramatic 
 champagne — or rather of the real article and not 
 the dramatic article. The spirits of the company- 
 were inexhaustible. They knew their parts, fortu- 
 nately, and they rendered them with an amount 
 of spontaneity and exuberance which was a reve- 
 lation to the foreigner — even to the foreigner 
 who knows Italy fairly well. At midnight the 
 comedy was doubtless still going on in the same 
 brilliant way. I say doubtless, for we did not stay 
 to the final descent of the grotesque curtain. The 
 foreigner could see enough by eleven o'clock to 
 reasonably satisfy himself, and, let me add, could 
 go home reasonably fatigued by the effort to un- 
 derstand the racing utterance of the speakers. To 
 follow them with perfed; satisfaction and perfect 
 success,something like an intelledual automobile 
 would have been necessary. The pedestrian mind 
 could not keep pace with them. 
 
 The spoken drama at Rome has one of its 
 principal homes in the little old Teatro Valle, 
 an ancient playhouse which seems shrunken and 
 wizened in its old age. The small auditorium is 
 surrounded by several tiers of microscopic boxes, 
 so low and narrow that the people who sit in 
 them look like veritable colossi — or like human 
 beings in a doll-house. Everything about the 
 
 141 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 place is cramped, contrad;ed, and primitive. The 
 decorations, which could never have been of 
 much account artistically, are faded and dilapi- 
 dated. The corridors and approaches are bare 
 and severe to a degree. At the box-office, as one 
 applies for places, one finds the practice of fill- 
 ing out the box-ticket in ink, still in vogue. The 
 ticket-seller is provided with a blank-book full 
 of coupons, and when one's proper place is se- 
 lefted or assigned the morsel of thin paper which 
 constitutes one's title to the box is filled out like 
 a bank-check and placed in the hands of the pro- 
 spedive occupant. The passport to an orchestra- 
 stall is often, and I presume regularly, filled out 
 in the same way — so economical is the manage- 
 ment of printer's ink, or so devoted to old tradi- 
 tions. And yet in this playhouse, as in the still 
 ruder one at Leghorn, one may find a quality of 
 dramatic artwhich rarely honors our best theatres. 
 The Valle has seen, in its day, all the great celeb- 
 rities of the Italian stage. Adelaide Ristori made 
 some of her early appearances there, and after 
 her came, in brilliant sequence, many other a6lors 
 whose names are familiar in Italy, and among 
 them those two or three stars of the first magni- 
 tude who have made the merits of the Italian 
 school of acting known abroad. 
 
 Italian theatre-goers have been provided with 
 many more attractive playhouses than the Valle 
 142 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 Theatre at Rome. The Teatro Manzoni at Milan 
 is one of these, a modern structure built into the 
 mass of buildings constructed around the great 
 arcade called the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele. It 
 is roomy and conveniently appointed and fur- 
 nishes a good illustration of the progressive spirit 
 of the Milanese. When I think of this particular 
 home of modern comedy, the brilliant ading of 
 Ermete Novelli presents itself to my mind as 
 inseparably linked with that interior. We know 
 very little, as yet, of this clever and versatile a6lor 
 in English-speaking countries. His is perhaps 
 not the sort of art which is adapted to a foreign, 
 or, let me say frankly, to a non-comprehending 
 audience. The pantomime andmimicry may count 
 for a good deal, it is true, in the clever interpre- 
 tation of his comedies, but the particular turn of 
 expression, the witty sallies which his author fur- 
 nishes him, are also a great deal. It is in his plays 
 in particular that the foreigner often finds him- 
 self left behind when the laugh comes; and with 
 an exclusively English audience half of the force 
 and significance of his acting would inevitably be 
 lost. 
 
 At Turin, to turn to one of the lesser capitals, 
 there are a number of theatres, but among them 
 the one which rises most distindlly before my 
 mental vision, is the Teatro Carignano, a play- 
 house which may possibly be quite as old as the 
 
 143 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 Valle, but which is infinitely superior to it in in- 
 terior beauty. The Carignano of course follows 
 the old pattern, with its box-fronts rising tier 
 above tier to the very dome, — the only pattern 
 of theatre which was known in Europe a century 
 ago. In this particular it resembles the Valle, but 
 where the Roman interior is dreary and bare this 
 is covered with elaborate decoration. The whole 
 surface of the box-fronts seems to be overlaid 
 with gold-leaf subdued to a dull lustre, and in this 
 series of gilt frames the occupants of the boxes 
 are set off in pidluresque relief against the deep 
 crimson hangings. Up on the ceiling some clever 
 hand has painted a flight of graceful figures in 
 soft colors, forming a suitable and harmonious 
 piece of decoration. The drop-curtain is not oc- 
 cupied with advertisements but is ornamented — 
 or was as I remember it — with a Venetian picture, 
 showing a high terrace in the foreground and a 
 stretch of lagoon under a sunset sky behind. 
 
 It was in this theatre that we first saw Eleo- 
 nora Duse — saw her in one of those pitiful plays 
 of modern social life of which Camille is the pro- 
 totype and which has had, alas, so many, many 
 after-types. As we went to the Carignano that 
 evening we found ourselves wondering what par- 
 ticular shape the unfortunate happenings of the 
 play would assume. Would the husband or the 
 wife be the criminal? And how would the wife 
 144 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 die in the last a6l? For that she would come to 
 a tragic end in one way or another, there was little 
 room to doubt. Our preconceptions of what the 
 stuff of the drama would be were, as it proved, 
 wholly justified. It happened to be the husband 
 who was unfaithful, — and the wife's suffering, 
 which commenced with the first rising of the 
 curtain at nine o'clock, was continued until mid- 
 night, and ended finally in suicide. A very large 
 and very representative audience, containing ele- 
 ments from every sedion of Turinese society, and 
 delegations of reporters from other cities, went 
 to listen to the unhappy tale and showed their 
 appreciation of it by frequent applause while the 
 scenes were in progress and by clamorous recalls 
 after each descent of the curtain. One of the nota- 
 ble features about the tragedienne's acknowledg- 
 ment of these noisy plaudits was that she never 
 for amoment issued from her role. If the applause 
 continued persistent after the descent of the cur- 
 tain, as it generally did, a door would open from 
 the subterranean recesses of the Venetian terrace 
 and the slight and frail-looking figure would come 
 into view. A few sad steps would be taken with 
 a melancholy smile before the footlights and the 
 sorrowful figure would disappear through the 
 other door. There were none of the grimaces by 
 which the "artist "in general seeks to compensate 
 the audience for the honor of its approbation. The 
 
 145 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 unity of the role was never once broken. The note 
 of tragedy was consistently maintained. 
 
 It was Flavio Ando who sustained the second 
 role on this particular evening, — an ungrateful 
 part which, used as he is to rendering such char- 
 a6lers, he must have disliked to assume. Possibly 
 this excused or explained his imperfe6l memo- 
 rizing of his lines, which at certain points rather 
 marred the effed; of his a6ling. The role of the 
 prompter has not become a wholly superfluous 
 one in Italian theatres, and on this particular even- 
 ing the invisible man in the hooded box had to 
 recite many passages of the second ador's part. 
 It was, to say the least, trying to the nerves of 
 the listeners to hear the words which Ando was 
 to utter, hissed out in a more than audible whisper, 
 before they were taken up by the ad;or himself; 
 and at certain points where this halting echo was 
 supposed to represent an impetuous and spon- 
 taneous outburst of passion the effed; bordered 
 on the ridiculous. 
 
 As to the ading of the heroine, the distindive 
 quality in it which impressed us at that time, and 
 which has re-impressed us on every occasion when 
 we have heard her since, was its poignant natu- 
 ralism. She seemed to be not so much putting 
 on agony as adually suffering. The absence of 
 conventional gestures was one of the incidents 
 of her art which contributed very much to this 
 146 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 general efFed;. Intonation was much. The perfed: 
 naturalness of the tone and the total suppression 
 of the declamatory and rhetorical counted for a 
 great deal. But the avoidance of "gestures" in 
 the technical sense, certainly had its share. Eleo- 
 nora Duse as we all know does not keep her hands 
 still. She does not walk about with them glued 
 to her side. But what she does with them is what 
 a natural woman does. She smooths out the folds 
 of her dress. She arranges her hair. She does a 
 thousand and one things which are feminine, which 
 are human, which are natural; and she does not 
 wave them and pose them in the flourishes and 
 the curves which have so long been favored by 
 the artificial persons of the stage. 
 
 All this is refreshing by way of contrast. I do 
 not say that the basis of our approval and enjoy- 
 m.ent of it necessarily goes any deeper. We may 
 have, in another decade, a readion, a violent re- 
 aftion, toward the stately and the classic type of 
 dramatic art of which the playgoers of two gen- 
 erations ago were so passionately and so genuinely 
 fond; but meanwhile the other method comes 
 upon us with its own freshness and its own pos- 
 sibility of arousing genuine interest. The Italian 
 public has learned to like Eleonora Duse's way 
 of doing things, but It did not always like it. Her 
 first efforts were by no means accepted as exhib- 
 iting unmistakable signs of genius. The time 
 
 147 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 was when she was regarded as good for nothing 
 but the roles of the bungling supernumerary. To 
 adopt the phrase of one of her Italian critics, she 
 was supposed to be up to nothing except to an- 
 nounce that the "carriage was served" or that 
 the "dinner was at the door." Her way into favor 
 was won laboriously. At the beginning it was 
 with difficulty that she obtained roles which gave 
 her an opportunity even to exhibit her possibili- 
 ties. And at the last it required the impetus of a 
 foreign success to carry her over the final barrier 
 of hostile criticism at home and place her firmly 
 in the position of accepted mastery of her art 
 which she has since incontestably held. While 
 the Italian public and Italian managers still hesi- 
 tated, the reports came back of how she was being 
 lionized at Vienna, of how her horses were taken 
 from her carriage at Moscow, and of how her ad- 
 mirers in other foreign cities had presented her 
 with wreaths and jewels and laudatory poems. 
 And with this climax of foolish hero-worship 
 abroad her primacy In her own country was at 
 length definitely won, and the opponents of her 
 methods crushed and discomfited. 
 
 The stage setting In the case of the particular 
 play of which I have just been speaking, and the 
 stage setting in general in Italian theatres, is apt 
 to strike the foreigner as meagre and inadequate. 
 The truth is that the management has not the 
 148 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 means to expend upon this side of the perform- 
 ance which it has in English and American thea- 
 tres. The theatre itself, owing to the waste of 
 space resulting from the box-system, will not be- 
 gin to seat as many people as our theatres seat, 
 and the prices of places are generally lower. A 
 single play cannot possibly have the run which 
 it has in our large cities because the cities them- 
 selves are smaller, and the clientage of the stridly 
 first-class drama is sooner exhausted. The conse- 
 quence is that the financial resources of a mana- 
 ger are apt to be severely taxed simply to pay 
 his company and his theatre-rent, and little or 
 nothing remains to be put into scenery or other 
 accessories. Even the inter-ad: orchestra, as I have 
 already said, is usually a missing quantity. But 
 this, in Latin theatres, one is bound to admit, is 
 of little consequence. The audience has plenty of 
 other resources for filling the tiresome waits. The 
 restaurant in the foyer is always ready to wel- 
 come any refugees from the auditorium. And for 
 those who do not care to visit the cafe, there is 
 the agreeable alternative of visiting acquaintances 
 in the boxes or in the stalls, and comparing notes 
 — with Latin volubility — on the merits and de- 
 merits of the play. 
 
 In the matter of scenic magnificence a notable 
 exception to the general rule has been recently fur- 
 nished by the production of Francesca da Rimini 
 
 149 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 at Rome during the winter of 1901-92. This 
 play was brought out at the Teatro Costanzi, 
 which is a much larger theatre than the Valle and 
 provided with a stage of the proper size for the 
 arrangement of elaborate speftacles. It is said 
 that the expense of the sumptuous mise-en-scene 
 was paid by Eleonora Duse herself, and if the 
 report is true it gives an adequate explanation of 
 the striking innovation. Her acquaintance with 
 what can be done and what is done abroad would 
 have furnished her with a precedent which few 
 Italian managers would have had and would also 
 constitute, in itself, an incentive toward produ- 
 cing something equally elaborate on the Italian 
 stage. Francesca da Rimini lived in a pidturesque 
 epoch, and the accessories of the period were care- 
 fully studied from authentic originals and repro- 
 duced with more than ordinary regard for historic 
 accuracy. The armor and the furniture and the 
 costumes made a distind; impression upon the 
 Roman public and the expenditure involved was 
 in some quarters criticised as lavish and unneces- 
 sary. For those, however, who enjoy stage pid:- 
 ures, and who like to see a picturesque past tan- 
 gibly and visibly realized before their eyes, the 
 production was a source of great artistic gratifica- 
 tion on its scenic side alone. 
 
 Eleonora Duse, as has already been said, oc- 
 cupies the same position of unique prominence 
 150 
 
Eleonora Duse as Francesca da Rimi 
 
 NI 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 in Italy which she does abroad, and her inter- 
 pretation of her recent role of Francesca, despite 
 the regrettable subordination of her own judg- 
 ment to that of the author of the play, has not 
 lessened the esteem in which she personally is 
 held there. If one looks around for other can- 
 didates for leadership among the contemporary 
 Italian players, there are few names to be cited 
 which are not wholly strange to the foreign ear, 
 and it is hardly worth while here to go through 
 the list of them. Two of them have already been 
 named, Novelli and Di Lorenzo, without prob- 
 ably awakening in the mind of the reader a single 
 association or recolledion. I prefer in what else 
 I have to say about the people of the stage to 
 abandon the adual celebrities of the footlights 
 and note down a few impressions of two aftors 
 who retired from public view some time ago but 
 whose names still remain familiar — Salvini and 
 Ristori. Their longevity furnishes a striking refu- 
 tation of the theory that the life of the stage 
 is physically depleting and exhausting. Both of 
 them have encountered all the hardships of the 
 ador's existence through a long and laborious 
 career, and yet they seem to have accumulated 
 rather than lost physical vigor as the result of it. 
 When I think of Salvini the man I see him in 
 the environment of the attractive home which he 
 made for himself at Florence a number of years 
 
 151 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 ago when he felt the need of settling himself 
 somewhere in permanency. It is situated in a 
 pleasant part of the city, out beyond the Piazza 
 deir Annunziata, where there is sufficient open 
 space to make gardens a possibility. The Salvini 
 house is of the villa, not the palazzo, type — as 
 one would exped in this semi-suburban region. 
 It is a comparatively low stru(5lure, of only two 
 stories, I believe, and th^padrone di casa occupies 
 the whole of it himself instead of subletting a 
 portion of his interior to other persons according 
 to the custom which prevails in the case of the 
 larger Italian palaces. 
 
 Through the pleasant entrance-arch one gets 
 a glimpse of a fountain and an open space be- 
 yond, and it is upon this inner area that the win- 
 dows of Salvini's personal den or study open. In 
 all the appointments of the room one sees evi- 
 dences of refined tastes, and of the ability to 
 gratify them Hberally.The book-cases are of good 
 design and are filled with neatly bound books. 
 The writing-table is an interesting example of 
 wood-carving, and the writing-tools which rest 
 upon it are seleded with reference to their beauty 
 as well as their utility. The chairs and sofas sug- 
 gest English comfort rather than Italian magnifi- 
 cence. A touch of Italianism is introduced into 
 the room, however, by the marble busts which 
 are seen at one side, and by the trophy of armor 
 152 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 which ornaments the wall-panel above the sofa. 
 Poniards, daggers, and hand-arms of a variety 
 of beautiful designs are introduced in this com- 
 position, and with their piduresque shapes and 
 damascened surfaces contribute not a little to the 
 decoration of the interior. 
 
 Salvini himself is agentleman of dignified pres- 
 ence upon whom the title of Commendatore (given 
 him by the king) rests naturally and fittingly. The 
 " commendatore " is, however, not put to the front 
 in social intercourse. There is no hauteur in his 
 manner. His bearing is dignified, but it is also 
 what the Italians call simpatico. In temperament 
 he is emphatically a gentleman in the literal sense 
 of the term. Gentleness seems the dominant note 
 in his personality. One naturally thinks of Salvini 
 as a tragedian, doing deeds of violence, it may be, 
 — showing the force and the fury of a passion- 
 ate nature. But in the study nothing of this is 
 visible. The claws, if there are any, are covered 
 with velvet. The force and the fury are all re- 
 served for the stage. 
 
 It is interesting to note at short range the per- 
 fedl command which he has of his remarkable 
 voice. Nature has given him a vocal tone of great 
 sonority and power, capable of filling the largest 
 auditorium. But at a distance of three steps in 
 the relatively narrow limits of a modern library, 
 it seemed equally well adapted to the work which 
 
 153 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 it had to perform. It was as soft and gentle as the 
 voice of a nurse at a bedside. There was a quaUty 
 of velvety richness in his deep-chested syllables. 
 They came out gently and melodiously, with cer- 
 tain intonations which were almost caressing in 
 their sympathetic shading. 
 
 I do not undertake to repeat any of the con- 
 versation in which the great man very frankly and 
 freely allows himself to engage because it relates 
 usually to himself, to his family, and to the lesser 
 incidents of his Florentine life. He remembers, 
 even after years, the shock occasioned to him by 
 the death of his oldest son, Alessandro, who had 
 taken up the profession of the stage and followed 
 it with considerable success both in Italy and in 
 America. The loss was a double grief to the fa- 
 ther because it meant the extindion not only of 
 a cherished life but also of a career which he was 
 beginning to follow with the keenest sympathy 
 and interest. In partial compensation for this loss 
 Salvini had the satisfadion of seeing other sons 
 grow up around him, children of a second mar- 
 riage, and he spoke in almost patriarchal terms 
 of his delight in his second household and in the 
 enlarged family life which they led together when 
 they could escape from Florence and get out into 
 the freedom of his estate in the country. 
 
 The surroundings in which Adelaide Ristori 
 at present lives are not less attradive than those 
 154 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 of Salvini, although of a somewhat different type. 
 Ristori married in early life the Marquis Giuliano 
 Capranica del Grillo and her principal home — 
 that is, her winter home — is in the palace of the 
 Capranicas at Rome. This palazzo is situated in 
 a part of the city which is comparatively little 
 known to the foreigner, being in one of the short 
 streets near the Valle theatre and quite away 
 from all the large thoroughfares. The building 
 may be an old one, but it bears internal evidence 
 of having been altered by some recent genera- 
 tion of its occupants. Instead of being entered 
 by an archway leading to a courtyard, the street 
 door communicates diredlly with an interior hall 
 of rather English type, bordered with carved cabi- 
 nets and pieces of sculpture; and at the end of 
 this hall there is a broad flight of interior stairs 
 rising to the principal floor. On this floor there 
 is a large drawing-room of generous Roman pro- 
 portions, with an array of comfortable modern 
 furnishings; and it is in this salon that the mar- 
 chesa receives her guests. 
 
 Seeing Adelaide Ristori walk into this room 
 gives one much the same sensation as if Sarah 
 Siddons should step down from her frame over 
 the mantel in the drawing-room at Grosvenor 
 House and stretch out her hand to salute the 
 visitor. Her voice does not dispel the illusion. 
 It is measured and dignified. After listening to 
 
 155 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 the voluble and frivolous chatter of the every- 
 day world it strikes one's ear like the utterance 
 of a superior caste, which has unfortunately be- 
 come almost extind. 
 
 Ristori's autobiography has been published 
 and is accessible both in Italian and French to 
 the reading public. It is an interesting tale, told 
 with much literary taste as well as with charm- 
 ing modesty. In referring to this printed volume, 
 she frankly confessed that the part of it which 
 had given her the most trouble in the composi- 
 tion was the part describing her relations with 
 Mile. Rachel. What passed between these two 
 divinities of the stage when the Italian adress 
 first went to Paris half a century ago is now a 
 forgotten piece of dramatic history, but in its 
 day the incident made considerable stir. Rachel 
 was reported to have been hostile to Ristori. Ac- 
 cording to the on dits which were industriously 
 circulated, she came in disguise to the theatre 
 where Ristori was playing and after listening to 
 her awhile, with growing agitation, tore up her 
 libretto and left her box saying " Cette femme me 
 fait mal — je n'en peux plus." There were other 
 stories of Rachel's refusal to be approached by 
 Ristori and of her returning to the stage while 
 the latter was still playing at Paris as if to reclaim 
 the dubious allegiance of her proper subjects and 
 crush her rival. The attitude which Ristori takes 
 156 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 in her book toward all these stories is a digni- 
 fied one. She dismisses them as being nine-tenths 
 rumor and idle gossip, and is at some pains to 
 praise Rachel's ading and give her her proper 
 place as the foremost interpreter of the French 
 classic drama. 
 
 The volume of memoirs is so brief that the 
 reader of Ristori's interesting narrative comes to 
 the end with a sense of disappointment at not 
 having more to read. She has allowed herself 
 only one hundred and forty-two pages while an- 
 other Italian ador of her own time (not Salvini) 
 has found it impossible to do justice to himself 
 in less than three volumes. We called her atten- 
 tion to the unnecessary brevity of her book and 
 were assured that it had wearied her out as it was. 
 "The task was a difficult one," she said, "and it 
 became an odious one. The incessant speaking 
 of one's self is most fatiguing. The sense of inner 
 rebellion steadily increases until it brings one to 
 a full stop. I could not have possibly written 
 more at that time. And I have never felt any 
 disposition to resume the work since." As she 
 spoke these words in her calm, dignified, and de- 
 liberate manner, we felt that we had a worthy 
 descendant of the old Romans before us. When 
 would the modern adress ever be sated with the 
 first person? Immature critics may scale all the 
 heights of undeserved flattery — may become 
 
 157 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 fairly incoherent in their ravings — and yet the 
 insatiable vanity of the dramatic egoist will still 
 crave for more. 
 
 There is one incident, among the personal suc- 
 cesses modestly recorded by Ristori in her book, 
 which has since been repeated and made familiar 
 because of its special and unusual charader. It 
 is the story of her intercession for the life of a 
 Spanish soldier at Madrid — a soldier condemned 
 to death for some petty adl of insubordination, 
 whose pardon she solicited and obtained at the 
 queen's hands. The incident occurred in the court 
 theatre, when Queen Isabella was attending the 
 play, and the petition for pardon was presented 
 by Ristori in person in the royal box. Apropos 
 of this incident she related to us another, which 
 I believe is still inedit, and of which I insert an 
 abbreviated version here. The incident occurred 
 in the capital of Chili when she was playing there, 
 perhaps a good many years ago. She achieved re- 
 markable success with this impressionable Latin 
 public. She was admired as an adlress and also as 
 a woman. In certain quarters she seems to have 
 been regarded as something more than human 
 — to have been looked upon, in short, as a sort 
 of divinity, capable of doing anything, even of 
 working miracles in case of need. 
 
 "The Chilians made the most extraordinary 
 demands upon me," she said. "One of them ap- 
 158 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 pealed to me from a prison cell. He was under 
 sentence of death and was going to be executed in 
 a few days. He wished me to obtain his pardon." 
 
 "What had he done?" 
 
 "I asked the same question. He had man- 
 aged to get a letter to me. I could not imagine 
 how he had even discovered my presence in the 
 town. In his letter he said that he was condemned 
 for a hasty ad, and that if I could obtain his par- 
 don he would prove his repentance by his fault- 
 less condu6t." 
 
 "Did you find out the nature of his offence?" 
 
 "I did. He had killed his wife. The motive 
 was jealousy." 
 
 Here was the heroine of the classic drama, 
 who had perhaps several times suffered stran- 
 gulation at the hands of an infuriated Othello, 
 brought face to face with a living tragedy. What 
 would she do? 
 
 She proceeded to satisfy our curiosity. 
 
 "I went to see him in his cell. He told me his 
 story. The man had an impetuous nature. He 
 had the hot blood of an African. When his pas- 
 sions were aroused he became like an infuriated 
 animal. He was no longer responsible for him- 
 self or conscious of what he was doing. I could 
 see this from the way in which he spoke when 
 he was telling me his story." 
 
 The parallel with Othello seemed perfect. 
 
 159 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 "I could not help pitying him," continued 
 the marchesa. "He aded under the influence of 
 sudden passion. He was thoroughly repentant. 
 No one regretted more bitterly what had oc- 
 curred than he did himself. He had a child — a 
 little girl — to whom he was devotedly attached." 
 
 "What course did you pursue?" 
 
 "I informed myself as to the proper authority 
 to appeal to," said the speaker, in her stately, 
 solemn voice. "It was the president of the coun- 
 cil. I went to him and interceded for the man's 
 life." 
 
 She gave us no details to help us pidure the 
 scene. What would she have done? Would she 
 have adopted unconsciously the attitudes and 
 the gestures of the stage? We found ourselves 
 making certain conjedures, unconsciously — in- 
 voluntarily. 
 
 She had pronounced the abrupt denouement 
 before we could finish the mental picture. 
 
 "He listened to me respedfully and said he 
 would investigate the case. I found out after- 
 ward that the sentence of death had been com- 
 muted to imprisonment for a term of years." 
 
 Certainly her intercession was efFedive and re- 
 markably so. The man with the impetuous nature 
 is probably still living to thank his deliverer, and 
 to be grateful for the inspiration which led him 
 to appeal to a woman of rare talents and high 
 1 60 
 
THE THEATRES 
 
 charader who happened to be, just at that mo- 
 ment, the most conspicuous and admired person 
 in the Chilian capital. 
 
 Ristori completed her eightieth year on the 
 29th of January, 1902, and various things oc- 
 curred at that time to show the high estimation 
 in which she is still held at Rome, and indeed 
 throughout Italy. The king called upon her and 
 offered his congratulations in person. The gov- 
 ernment ordered a commemorative gold medal to 
 be struck, bearing her portrait and an appropriate 
 inscription. Numerous theatres all over Italy ar- 
 ranged festival performances in her honor, and 
 letters and telegrams poured in upon her from 
 all sides. On the evening of the birthday a com- 
 memorative performance was given at the Teatro 
 Valle at which so much of the "Tutta Roma was 
 present as could find places and in which a num- 
 ber of dramatic artists of prominence participated. 
 TommasoSalvini rendered a dramatic scene from 
 one of Gazzoletti's plays and Ermete Novelli re- 
 cited a monologue. Ristori occupied the middle 
 box of the second tier, which had been for a long 
 time the property of the Capranica family, and it 
 was in this box, during the course of the evening, 
 that she was visited by the member of the cabinet 
 charged with the duty of presenting her the gov- 
 ernment medal, and that the presentation itself 
 took place. I should add that Salvini not only ap- 
 
 161 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 peared as an adtor, but also made a short discourse 
 in which he reviewed Ristori's career from the in- 
 teresting point of view of one who had been in 
 touch with it from the first and had — at times — 
 been a part of it. 
 
 Ristori's domestic life has been particularly- 
 happy. She has a daughter and a son and three 
 grandchildren who all live at Rome and whom 
 she constantly has about her. Her son, the 
 Marquis Giorgio Capranica del Grillo, holds an 
 important position in the official household of 
 Queen Margherita. The latter has always felt a 
 particular regard for Ristori and has allowed her 
 to approach her very closely. It is needless to 
 say that Ristori's social position at Rome is of the 
 highest. The friendship of the court would assure 
 it, if it were not already abundantly assured by 
 her independent claims upon social respe6l and 
 esteem. At her little jubilee just referred to she 
 appeared to be in remarkably good health, and 
 her friends look confidently forward to repeating 
 their congratulations on many more birthdays. 
 
 162 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 THE STUDIOS 
 
 T 
 
 "^HE attradions which Rome offers to 
 art-lovers are not all exhausted when 
 one has completed the inspediion of the 
 great galleries and the great collections in the 
 private palaces. The studios still remain to be 
 explored. And in them one has not only the 
 pleasure of finding an array of inanimate objeds 
 of more or less interest, but a further objed of 
 interest in the artist himself. The genius loci is, 
 in fad:, apt to be the great attradion of the place. 
 He is usually a man with a sympathetic person- 
 ality. He has led an interesting life. And he is 
 generally ready, through the medium of enter- 
 taining talk, to take the visitor — for a little way 
 at least — into this special and peculiar world 
 which he inhabits and give him some inkling of 
 the fascination which it possesses for those who 
 pass their lives there. 
 
 Some of the Roman studios have been occu- 
 pied by successive generations of artists and have 
 become in a certain sense historic. I remember 
 one of them in particular which had sheltered 
 several men who had played leading roles in 
 the art history of Rome during the century just 
 
 165 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 ended, and which — when I first came to know 
 it — was occupied by a veteran artist whom I will 
 call De Angelis. I am tempted to describe this 
 studio because it offered such a fine example of 
 the spacious and sumptuous work-rooms which 
 the Roman painters who have inherited the proud 
 old traditions were fond of creating for themselves. 
 It was situated in the heart of the old Bohemian 
 quarter between the Piazza di Spagna and the 
 Piazza del Popolo — a region which might well 
 be called the Latin Quarter of Rome, if all Roman 
 quarters were not Latin. In order to reach it one 
 turned aside from a narrow street into a courtyard 
 on which many studios opened, and then pro- 
 ceeded to mount to this particular apartment by 
 a flight of steps leading up from the level of the 
 court to an ivy-covered porch jutting out from 
 the wall. De Angelis once had himself photo- 
 graphed in this porch, with the ivy-embowered 
 opening serving as a frame; and it was his quaint 
 conceit to place himself so that the little lettered 
 tablet, which marked the quarters as his own, 
 came diredily beneath his face and served as a 
 label to the portrait. 
 
 Just inside of the outer door there was a short 
 passage, tapestried with sketches and studies, 
 which led to the first painting-room, reserved for 
 portrait-sitters; and through this smaller room 
 one could reach the larger studio where there 
 1 66 
 
One of the Studios 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 was plenty of elbow-room for painting big can- 
 vases, such as would be required for a mural- 
 painting or an altar-piece. De Angelis once gave 
 me a photograph of this room and I reproduce 
 it here for the sake of conveying some idea of 
 what the interior was like. At the time the photo- 
 graph was taken there was an equestrian portrait 
 of King Humbert standing on an easel at one 
 side, which represented him as just riding out 
 of the Quirinal and acknowledging the plaudits 
 of the crowd which had assembled to greet him. 
 There was also a portrait of the artist himself, in 
 a frame with an oval opening, leaning up against 
 the king's pidlure, which he had painted for the 
 colledion of portraits of artists at the Uffizi in 
 Florence and which now hangs in that gallery. 
 This colledlion, at the Uffizi, is one which the 
 tourist rarely sees, but which is well worthy of 
 inspection. It contains likenesses of all the great 
 painters, ancient and modern, and has been re- 
 cently rearranged in some rooms specially set 
 apart for it on the floor just beneath the great 
 gallery. 
 
 In the centre of the studio, suspended from the 
 lofty ceiling, was a chandelier of Venetian glass 
 in which the candles tipped out from the per- 
 pendicular with the perverseness which is char- 
 aderistic of Venetian chandeliers everywhere; 
 and on the floor, propped up against a carved 
 
 167 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 chair, was another souvenir of Venice in the form 
 of a study for the head of a Doge — a handsome 
 old man with a white beard — which De Angehs 
 had introduced in one of his historical paintings. 
 Around the room were a host of minor objedls 
 which show very dimly in the photograph, but 
 which it was a pleasure to examine in detail. 
 There were carved chests and inlaid cabinets. 
 There were examples of artistic pottery of every 
 epoch, from the ancient Etruscan to the modern 
 majolicas of Florence. And the great space of the 
 upper walls was covered with old tapestries and 
 examples of embroidery on silk and velvet which 
 were choice in texture and design, and a keen 
 source of gratification to the aesthetic sense. 
 
 I had an opportunity to become quite familiar 
 with this fine old studio because I went there 
 daily for a week or more to watch the painting 
 of a portrait which De Angelis had undertaken 
 at my request. The veteran artist was full of 
 conversation and talked while he worked — al- 
 ways ready to furnish subjedls himself or to en- 
 large delightfully and endlessly on the themes 
 which we gave him. The sittings took place in 
 the little painting-room and not in the large 
 apartment which I have just described, and this 
 smaller studio was seledled because we were still 
 in March and it was thought that the fireplace 
 might have to be utilized at times to keep the 
 i68 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 sitter comfortable. The great room had no chim- 
 ney and would indeed have been quite unwarm- 
 able. It was too large and too high to receive any 
 impression whatever from the feeble heating de- 
 vices which constitute the only resource of the 
 Romans for combating the penetrating chill of 
 their winter climate. 
 
 De Angelis had an extraordinary power of fix- 
 ing and retaining a mental image of what he had 
 once seen. He painted not only when his sitter 
 was before him but when she was absent from 
 the studio. The portrait, indeed, seemed to grow 
 more rapidly when he was alone than when he 
 had his model before him. It went forward with 
 great strides from day to day with a Jack-and- 
 the-Beanstalk growth. 
 
 I should have asked him how he did it, if the 
 question had not been infantile. As it was, I com- 
 mented on his remarkable memory. 
 
 " It is sometimes convenient," he replied. "All 
 sitters are not as patient as this one." 
 
 The sitter emerged from her silent role enough 
 to express acknowledgments. 
 
 "Kings, for example," he went on, "do not 
 make good Subjeds. We could hardly exped: it 
 of them." 
 
 We were sitting at that moment facing a por- 
 trait of Humbert which was different from the 
 one which stood on the easel in the larger room 
 
 169 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 and more striking as a likeness. It had been 
 painted by De Angelis for his own pleasure and 
 not as a definite commission — and as sometimes 
 happens in such cases it was better done than 
 perfun6tory canvases are likely to be. The gray 
 hair stood ere6l above the king's forehead. The 
 eyes blazed with the fire which has shone from 
 the eyes of no other man of our generation and 
 which made his expression absolutely unique. 
 He had the large mustache of the House of 
 Savoy, and the warm coloring which was essen- 
 tial to complete the soldierly chara6ter of the 
 physiognomy. 
 
 The painter stirred some colors together on his 
 palette and continued meditatively : " When one 
 paints a king, one may be obliged to condense a 
 good deal of seeing into a very few seconds." 
 
 "You were thinking of this portrait?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You speak as if His Majesty had been un- 
 tradable." 
 
 "He was, rather." 
 
 "Not disagreeable?" 
 
 "No, not precisely." 
 
 "Where was it painted?" 
 
 "At one of the Ministries — the Ministry of 
 Finance, I believe." 
 
 "He was doing something else at the time?" 
 
 "He was looking over tiresome papers — some 
 170 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 new statement, perhaps, of the lavish expendi- 
 tures of an extravagant parliament." 
 
 "Did he pay any attention to you?" 
 
 "When I asked him to." 
 
 "You had to appeal to him diredly?" 
 
 " I asked him to look up occasionally, but 
 that was all I got." De Angelis took his eyes off 
 from an imaginary paper, gave one flash in my 
 direction, and looked down again. 
 
 "You had to take him down stenographically, 
 so to speak?" 
 
 "Yes, you might say so." 
 
 "Was he in the habit of treating portrait- 
 painters in that way?" 
 
 ^'■Chi lo sa — who can tell? Not one in twenty 
 of his portraits was painted from personal sit- 
 tings. I appreciated it as a privilege to be able 
 to paint direftly from his face under any circum- 
 stances. He was not unkind in his manner. I had 
 painted him before when he was less pressed for 
 time and when he had given me every facility 
 which I could ask. He had conferred a decora- 
 tion upon me, not merely motu propria in the 
 official sense, but as a personal expression of his 
 favor. He always knew me whenever he saw me 
 — which is saying a good deal." 
 
 "He is said to have been marvellous for rec- 
 ognizing people." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 171 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 "You are sceptical." 
 
 " I have reason to be. I have been behind the 
 scenes." 
 
 "How behind the scenes?" 
 
 "Royalty does not always recognize with- 
 out assistance. It recognizes with the aid of a 
 prompter." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A souffleur, as they call it on the stage — 
 some one who stands conveniently near and sup- 
 plies names, and so forth, as required." 
 
 De Angelis squeezed a little more paint on to 
 his palette from one of the tubes in his paint- 
 box and then went on: "If an out-of-the-way 
 province is to be visited, the prompter is sent on 
 in advance to post himself about all the notables. 
 Then he keeps close to the king and disgorges 
 all his information, in instalments, at the proper 
 moments. The result of it is that the king calls 
 everybody by name and compliments each man 
 on the thing that he wants to be complimented 
 on. 
 
 "How convenient!" 
 
 "In the case of the opening of an art exposi- 
 tion," continued the painter, " the matter is sim- 
 pler. Any old war-horse of the chisel or palette 
 will fill the role without preparation." 
 
 " Like Monteverde," I said, naming a veteran 
 Roman sculptor. 
 172 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 "Yes, like Monteverde," acquiesced the 
 painter. 
 
 "Or De Angelis." 
 
 "Even De Angelis. Only — " and the owner 
 of the name paused a moment — "once I failed 
 to prompt quite quickly enough and nearly 
 pundlured the bubble of my reputation for do- 
 ing the role well." 
 
 "The occasion was — ?" 
 
 "A national pidure exposition held here, a 
 dozen or more years back. I was walking perhaps 
 nearest the king — there were several artists 
 in the suite — when we suddenly turned a cor- 
 ner and came upon a * new school ' canvas. It was 
 an atrocity. It crossed my mind that I ought 
 to say something, but I hesitated a moment too 
 long. Possibly I was stunned." 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 "The king saw it and blurted out some un- 
 repeatable words before there was time to put 
 him on his guard." 
 
 "Whyshould behave beenputonhis guard?" 
 
 "The young man who painted the pidlure 
 happened to be walking diredlly behind us. As a 
 matter of fad I knew he was there, but I was not 
 quick enough with the warning which I ought to 
 have given. He was a nice fellow, too — one of 
 the nicest fellows in the world and all right every 
 way if he would only leave paint alone. It was 
 
 173 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 too bad. I felt dreadfully about it, but — " 
 
 I did not urge him to finish the sentence. 
 There was an expression of malicious joy visible 
 upon his face which showed that even after the 
 lapse of a decade or more, he could still relish 
 the sweet savor of that sudden and righteous 
 chastisement. 
 
 " I noticed a portrait of the queen in the other 
 room." 
 
 "Yes," said De Angelis. "I painted Her Maj- 
 esty. But the picture in the other room is a rep- 
 lica, not the original." 
 
 "What became of the original?" 
 
 "It went to the Senate. It was hung in the 
 Palace where the Senate holds its sittings. It was 
 an official commission." 
 
 "The queen was probably a better model than 
 the king." 
 
 " She was very gracious and amiable," returned 
 the painter. "She always is." 
 
 " It is safe to say you did not go to one of the 
 Ministries to get a sitting." 
 
 " No," said De Angelis. " She did not frequent 
 the Ministries. She was mercifully spared." 
 
 "It is said that she was not averse to visiting 
 studios." 
 
 "She occasionally visited studios," observed 
 the artist, permitting himself to be led on. "She 
 came here. Her mother came also. They wrote 
 174 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 their names in my visitors' book. When a person 
 has no last name, it is less of an effort to write 
 an autograph." 
 
 He paused a moment in his work, turned in 
 his low chair, and took a large album from be- 
 neath a pile of sketch-books on a table beside 
 him. 
 
 "Here are the signatures," he said. 
 
 He had opened the volume to the place where 
 Margherita stood written in a long, much-in- 
 clined hand, across the page. The autograph was 
 of royal proportions and had taken quite a good 
 deal of ink. But it was also very feminine. It 
 was almost a girlish hand. It had been put there 
 many years ago and had photographed her tem- 
 perament of the moment in indelible lines. 
 
 The conversation came for a moment to a 
 pause, but it was speedily resumed. Other topics 
 presented themselves. The autograph album con- 
 tained many other signatures of persons of dis- 
 tinction, whom the painter had known, and each 
 one of these names furnished a theme on which 
 he was prepared to talk at some length, and al- 
 ways with interest. The sketch-books were full 
 of drawings done by his clever hand, most of 
 them portraits. The study of the human face was 
 the study which had interested him most. Por- 
 traiture had come naturally to be his specialty, 
 and although he did not refuse other commis- 
 
 1/5 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 sions when they came to him, it was his portraits 
 which did him the most credit and by which he 
 was the best known. I found an inexhaustible 
 resource for entertainment, while I was in the 
 studio, in examining these clever drawings which 
 filled his books, and in listening to his narratives 
 of the circumstances under which they had been 
 made. 
 
 The days of the sittings went rapidly by, in 
 this way, with talk which I might transfer to 
 these pages, but which would take up too much 
 room if I should yield to the temptation to do 
 so. I may as well break the long chain of it here 
 for the sake of introducing the reader to another 
 phase of artist life at Rome which is perhaps 
 more intimate than this glimpse of the inside of 
 the studio. De Angelis had another interior, quite 
 separate from the atelier, to which he also in- 
 vited us and where we felt it perhaps a greater 
 privilege to be admitted. This other interior was 
 his home — a home which he had created for 
 himself in a charming apartment in the Piazza 
 del Popolo, where the windows on one side 
 opened diredly upon the ascent to the Pincio 
 and on the other into a court which was sur- 
 rounded with arcades and embellished with a 
 fountain. The palace belonged to the Torlonias 
 although it was not occupied by them, and it 
 was built in the solid, sober, stately Roman 
 176 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 fashion which prevailed when the Piazza del 
 Popolo was created and the houses which border 
 it were erected. 
 
 On a certain day in Holy Week, just before 
 Easter, we were bidden to luncheon in this ar- 
 tistic home, and were shown, one after the other, 
 the various rooms — each differing in charadter 
 — of which it was made up. The host came for- 
 ward to receive us in the vestibule, which was 
 decorated in a style of its own with fragments of 
 sculptured marble and old terra-cottas, and we 
 were taken from there into the blue reception- 
 room where the painter's sister waited to welcome 
 the visitors after her cordial fashion. The Signo- 
 rina Virginia was a lady of a stridly Roman type, 
 gracious, accomplished, and sympathetic. We had 
 already met her at the studio, for she was an artist 
 herself and had a painting-room side by side with 
 her brother's. In the domestic interior she per- 
 haps found, however, a more appropriate setting. 
 Certainly the qualities of the woman came more 
 assertively forward and those of the artist were, 
 for the moment, pushed rather more into the 
 background. 
 
 From the reception-room we were conduced 
 into a third room which was larger and evidently 
 the principal salon of the house. The walls were 
 covered from floor to ceiling with pictures, studies, 
 and sketches, large and small. Every great painter 
 
 177 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 who had visited Rome in the last thirty years 
 seemed to have left with De Angelis some me- 
 morial of himself There were sketches by For- 
 tuny, by Alma Tadema, by Meissonier, and by 
 a score of other men of less note. 
 
 On the tables were wine-glasses from the old 
 Venetian fadorieSjwith their preposterous stems. 
 There were small bronzes with the stamp of un- 
 known antiquity upon them. And every inch of 
 space not filled with more precious objeds had 
 a photograph crowded into it. We were still ex- 
 amining these interesting objedts and listening to 
 the painter's comments and explanations when a 
 servant appeared at the door with an announce- 
 ment which compelled a temporary suspension 
 of his monologue and an adjournment to the 
 dining-room, where the luncheon stood ready to 
 be served. 
 
 The numerous courses of the menu brought 
 forward somecosmopolitan dishes and some which 
 were purely Italian and Roman, The signorina 
 was the paragon of gracious solicitude. Delicate 
 invalids who needed to be tempted and urged, 
 in order to take the nourishment which their de- 
 bilitated systems required, could not have been 
 watched over by a more tenderly anxiousguardian. 
 The atmosphere was charged with hospitality to 
 the point of saturation. It would have held no 
 more. 
 
 178 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 For the epilogue of the luncheon we were taken 
 into another room. It had the air of being the 
 master's study, and was indeed such. The coffee 
 apparatus was placed on a low table, and the ser- 
 vant was dismissed. The signorina prepared to 
 serve us herself, and we settled back into com- 
 fortable seats to watch the operation. 
 
 "No sugar," said Madame in sudden alarm, 
 catching sight of a crystalline tablet suspended 
 above what was evidently intended to be her cup. 
 
 The warning was just in time. The hostess 
 passed the unsweetened mixture to the guest 
 whose tastes she could not understand, and pro- 
 ceeded to fill the remaining cups. 
 
 Shewasseatedon alow divan which bentaround 
 the corner of the room and came out to a window. 
 Through the window there was a glimpse of a 
 balcony with some plants in pots on the parapet. 
 The sun was far enough west to throw most of 
 the foliage into shadow, but here and there a spray 
 of leaves bent out far enough to get into the bath 
 of sunshine. 
 
 De Angelis stirred what his sister had given 
 him into a consistent syrup and expressed some 
 interest in our plans for Easter. We were going 
 to St. Peter's of course. 
 
 Madame admitted the possession of a ticket to 
 the latticed box in the Choir. Would it be really 
 worth while, she queried, to make the necessary 
 
 179 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 early start and endure the long antecedent wait 
 for the sake of what might follow later? The lat- 
 ticed box had become a familiar prison during 
 the last few days. She had been there repeatedly 
 for various functions. Through its gratings one 
 looked out upon the other worshippers, she said, 
 with the sense of being a Caucasian slave in an 
 Oriental mosque. 
 
 De Angelis thought that it might be relatively 
 worth while. 
 
 He was tempted into a mood of retrospeft. 
 The modern Easter was a shrunken thing, he said, 
 so far as pageantry was concerned, compared to 
 the Easter which he had known in his youth. 
 One might go and look at it with possible inter- 
 est if one had never seen it as it used to be. The 
 new Easter compared to the old was something 
 like a humming-bird compared to a peacock. 
 
 What could Easter be, anyway, without the 
 Pope? — he went on with growing fervor. Had 
 he not seen Pio Nono standing on the balcony 
 of St. Peter's, with the jewelled triple crown upon 
 his head, lifting his hand and pronouncing his 
 benedidion? Had he not stood in that crowd 
 himself and heard those solemn words that made 
 the whole multitude kneel? And had he not had 
 a thrill, even in his own rational and not too de- 
 vout nature, in listening to them? 
 
 The signorina sighed. 
 i8o 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 "Tell us about it," said Madame. 
 
 "What are words," returned the old Roman. 
 "You should have seen it." 
 
 "It was too long ago," said the first speaker. 
 "I should have had to be carried in arms." 
 
 "It was a sight for children," said the painter. 
 "Sometimes it comes over me that way. Look- 
 ing at it cold-bloodedly, as a rational being, I — " 
 
 " Guglielmo ! " broke in the signorina, uttering 
 her brother's name in a tone of gentle admonish- 
 ment. 
 
 De Angelis smiled under the rebuke, and took 
 another sip of the nectar which the stern censor 
 had prepared for him. 
 
 "We will waive the question of age," he said 
 apologetically. "For any one, old or young, it 
 was something to see — for once, at any rate." 
 
 "What was it that impressed you the most?" 
 asked t\iQ fores tier e^ still curious. 
 
 "The spectators, I think," said De Angelis, 
 meditatively. " I mean the potentates and powers 
 who went to look on." 
 
 "What potentates? What powers?" 
 
 "We used to go to the street which leads to 
 St. Peter's on Easter morning to see them go by, 
 — cardinals, ambassadors, and princes. They went 
 in state." 
 
 "Gilt coaches?" queried the fores li ere. 
 
 "Gilded and painted like a Sevres vase," an- 
 
 i8i 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 swered the Roman. "What a sight they were!" 
 
 "What a sight!" echoed the sister. 
 
 " Where are those coaches now, Virginia? They 
 all had them — the Borghese, the Chigi, the Co- 
 lonna. They must have them now, somewhere. 
 What has become of them?" 
 
 "C/z/ lo sa — who can tell ? " answered the signo- 
 rina. 
 
 "And the human adjunds," resumed the ar- 
 tist, as the vision of the thing rose up before him 
 again — "such lackeys, such clothes ! Cocked hat 
 on the box, and gold lace enough for a major- 
 general. Also two more bewigged and bepow- 
 dered beings clinging to the straps behind." 
 
 "Sometimes three," corrected the sister. 
 
 "Sometimes three," assented the painter. 
 " They filed through the Borgo for an hour before 
 the ceremony. I have stood there and watched 
 them. I myself have stood there — and more than 
 once. The street was crowded. Lackeys ran ahead 
 to clear the way. They shouted their masters' 
 titles, like Puss in Boots before the Marquis of 
 Carabas. It was Oriental, mia cava signora. It was 
 simply Oriental." 
 
 His description of it made it seem such to us. 
 It was like a vision of the Eastern Empire. It 
 was Constantinople in the most precious moment 
 of its decadence. It was an ensemble of infinite 
 arrogance and infinite obsequiousness. It is what 
 182 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 it is hopeless to see now anywhere in this alarm- 
 ingly radical and terribly intelligent Europe. 
 
 De Angelis drained off the last saccharine drops 
 from his cup and set it down on the low table. 
 "Virginia," he said, "where are those long Egyp- 
 tians.?" 
 
 The signorina opened a drawer and produced 
 the contraband articles. At the same time it oc- 
 curred to her that one of her guests had not yet 
 seen her own particular and exclusive quarters; 
 and she led her off through a curtained doorway 
 to some invisible portion of the domain not yet 
 explored. 
 
 De Angelis took a small wax match from a box, 
 lighted it and held it out toward me. His mind 
 was still on the Church and its pageantry, as his 
 next observation indicated. 
 
 "On Thursday evening," he said, "you were 
 at St. Peter's." 
 
 "How did you know it?" I asked. 
 
 "Because tho. fores Here is unable to stay away. 
 If the papal curia should wish to destroy all the 
 foreign heretics in Rome, the explosion of a bomb 
 or two in St. Peter's on the evening of Holy 
 Thursday would do it. The only trouble about 
 it would be the difficulty of separating the sheep 
 from the goats." 
 
 Then he added, after a moment, — " But it is 
 something to see, I concede." 
 
 183 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 "The washing of the altar?" 
 
 "No, of course not. But to see the church in 
 the dark." 
 
 "It was lighted." 
 
 "In a certain sense, yes. They hang up that 
 cross of lights under the dome, and they put one 
 candle in each bay of the nave and transepts, in 
 an iron candlestick on the floor. That makes four 
 candles in the nave, one for each arch. In that 
 great cavern it is as four of these matches would 
 be in this room." 
 
 I was obliged to admit that the comparison 
 was just. 
 
 "The Church understands these matters," he 
 continued. "In St. Peter's they know how to pro- 
 duce an effed:. They have studied it for centu- 
 ries. These infinitesimal lights are the right thing. 
 I can even imagine that it might inspire a religious 
 feeling in certain persons of sensitive natures — 
 feminine, of course — this mysterious gloom and 
 the oppressive stillness." 
 
 "It was not still. The people were moving all 
 the time." 
 
 " But the point of it is," interjeded the Roman, 
 "that no one speaks, not even the priests at the 
 altar. What they do is done in pantomime. Their 
 silence is part of the effed. And the incessant 
 moving of the crowd, without speaking, is part of 
 the effedt, too. The world seems to have become 
 184 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 suddenly dumb. You hear simply the swashing of 
 feet on the marble floor, like the swash of water 
 on a beach, and the silence is more impressive than 
 if the church were closed and empty." 
 
 "There was that rattle — that watchman's 
 rattle." 
 
 "What rattle? " said De Angelis, with a blank 
 look of non-comprehension. 
 
 "The rattle that was sounded to attrad atten- 
 tion when the relics were held up. The clatter 
 was deafening." 
 
 De Angelis interrupted with a shade of warmth. 
 " It was not a watchman's rattle," he said, taking 
 the cigarette from his lips and gesticulating with 
 it between his fingers. "You may have adopted 
 the mechanism for some vulgar purpose. I do 
 not know. All I know is that this is the sacred, 
 original use. We invented it. We have always 
 had it." 
 
 I was ignorant enough to ask why they did 
 not ring a bell. 
 
 The reply came instantly. 
 
 "Because it is Holy Week. No bells are rung 
 in Holy Week. You must have observed it." 
 
 Suddenly the silence of the week flashed over 
 me, the something lacking out of the ordinary 
 sensations of Roman days, which we had been 
 vaguely conscious of, but could not have defined. 
 Not a bell had been rung since Monday. 
 
 185 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 The painter broke into my meditative silence 
 with a stream of reminiscences. He had a hun- 
 dred things to say about the old Rome and the 
 new; about the hilarious old carnival, and the 
 anemic modern thing which has succeeded it; 
 about many things which were better in the old 
 Rome and some things which are better in the 
 new; about the miry, mispaved old streets of 
 fifty years ago, where one stumbled and fell at 
 night in unbroken blackness, and about the mar- 
 vellous transformation which has been effeded 
 in the modern town by the eledric light brought 
 in from Tivoli, where the dynamos were worked 
 by the "headlong Anio" which had been wast- 
 ing its superb strength since the days of Horace. 
 
 The reminiscences continued until the " Egyp- 
 tians" had resolved themselves into ashes. 
 
 The painter was still talking when the figures 
 of the ladies reappeared on the balcony. They 
 had gone out by another window farther along 
 and had walked back toward the room where we 
 were sitting. I could see the signorina fingering 
 the leaves of the plants, lifting and turning them 
 in an intelligent way as if she understood them 
 and knew what their natures required. 
 
 Som.ething attraded her attention in the court- 
 yard and she leaned slightly over the parapet, 
 just enough to bring the top of her head into 
 the sunshine. Her companion leaned over, too. 
 i86 
 
THE STUDIOS 
 
 It was evident that they had discovered the car- 
 riage which we had ordered to come for us, wait- 
 ing below. I had noticed the noise of wheels and 
 the clatter of hoofs a few moments before, when 
 the vehicle had been driven in, but had hesitated 
 to put a period to the interesting monologue. 
 
 Evidently the moment for departure had ar- 
 rived. Up on the Pincio there was a fete prepar- 
 ing — indeed already prepared and waiting to be 
 visited, inspefted, and participated in. The sun 
 had conle out dazzlingly brilliant. It would form 
 an appropriate accessory to the music, the color, 
 the movement, the animation of the open-air 
 kermess which had been arranged to celebrate 
 the end of Lent. 
 
 The signorina with courteous reludance pro- 
 duced the light wrap of which she had relieved 
 her guest on entering, and we moved back through 
 the sequence of rooms, tapestried with their in- 
 finitude of interesting objeds, toward the outer 
 door. 
 
 "Virginia," said the painter, "if you were a 
 genuine old Roman you would be having every- 
 thing scrubbed and polished this afternoon, to 
 be in readiness for the cure and his holy water 
 this evening." 
 
 The signorina smiled. She seemed to be re- 
 signed to her state of decadence from the old 
 Roman standard. To tell the truth, the scrub- 
 
 187 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 woman would have found nothing to do. There 
 was not so much as a fleck of dust to be discov- 
 ered anywhere. The mistress of the house must 
 have pronounced some magic incantation over 
 these multitudinous objeds at which impurities 
 had vanished like evil spirits before the sign of 
 the cross. 
 
 They followed us to the head of the stairs and 
 bestowed a "Buona Pasqua" upon us as we de- 
 scended. Up at the kermess Easter was already in 
 the air. The World had abandoned its peniten- 
 tial pose and gone over to he6lic gaiety. It had 
 cast aside its sackcloth and donned its freshest 
 finery. Lent was clearly moribund, if not dead, and 
 would leave few mourners behind at its demise. 
 
 i88 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 ON looking in at the windows of the popu- 
 lar book-shops in theCorso the stranger 
 in Rome is apt to ask himself this ques- 
 tion — Is there any contemporary Italian litera- 
 ture? The. yellow-covered produdlof the French 
 presses seems to occupy the whole field and con- 
 stitute the booksellers' whole stock in trade. 
 French is everywhere — fidiion, travel, descrip- 
 tion, even history and sociology and the other 
 literary produds which the French author finds 
 it so difficult to make his own public absorb and 
 which one would least of all suppose likely to 
 tempt an Italian book-buyer. In the presence of 
 this display one would be disposed to conclude 
 that the booksellers could find nothing but for- 
 eign literature to submit to their clientage and 
 that the Italian writer had ceased to exist. 
 
 Going inside of the shop, one finds that the 
 French contingent in the dealer's array of books 
 is not quite so large or so important as the win- 
 dow display might seem to indicate. If the dealer 
 is pressed on the subjedl of Italian literature, 
 he will probably be able to astonish his foreign 
 visitor by the amount of the article which he is 
 
 191 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 able to produce. In fad, the number of contem- 
 porary Italian writers, all of whom are illustrious 
 or most illustrious according to the biographies 
 of them to be found in the handbooks of infor- 
 mation on such subjeds, is appallingly large. And 
 the sole reason why the non-Italian books are put 
 to the front in the windows and on the display 
 counters is because the exotic is favored every- 
 where. It is so even in Paris. At certain times, in 
 that busiest of all book-making marts, we seem 
 to have nothing but the non-Frenchmen thrust 
 in our faces. Ibsen and Turgenieff, and Tolstoi 
 and Sienkiewicz, and D' Annunzio and De Amicis 
 are paraded before us until we would be excusable 
 for thinking that the native author had ceased to 
 write and that his editions had become mere curi- 
 osities, left to be resurred:ed by the bibliophile. 
 I am not sure that De Amicis would not have 
 had a more comfortable existence if he had simply 
 established himself in Paris at the beginning of 
 his career and made that his literary home and 
 working-place. His literary bureau might have 
 been set up there, with its three stages of writ- 
 ing, translating, and printing all going forward 
 under his own personal supervision, and with the 
 possibility, after a certain period, of eliminating 
 the intermediate translating stage and producing 
 "copy" diredly for the French compositor. He 
 confesses that he has been made to suffer griev- 
 192 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 ously at times at the hands of the translator. 
 One of his untad:ful friends, once upon a time, 
 sent him a particularly inaccurate translation of 
 one of his books, which had just been put on 
 sale on the boulevards, with all the blunders of 
 translation carefully marked. The attention was a 
 doubtful, a very doubtful kindness. The wounded 
 author confessed, in referring to this incident, 
 that he would have much preferred to remain in 
 ignorance of the special perversions of his inten- 
 tions which his translator had inflided upon him 
 and simply know without details that he had 
 been misunderstood and mis-rendered, than to 
 have the whole terrible list of blunders unfolded 
 before him. Zola was fortunately spared all this 
 by the happy circumstance of having been estab- 
 lished in France in the person of a previous gen- 
 eration of his race before he himself was born. 
 His family was Italian — but they evidently had 
 a certain prescience. Some foreknowledge of the 
 fad that a literary celebrity was to spring from 
 their stock in a later generation must have im- 
 pelled them to emigrate to Paris and have the 
 boy born where he could write, naturally, the 
 language which is the most widely read of any 
 Latin tongue and which would enable him to 
 reach the greater part of his readers without the 
 intermedium of bungling translations. 
 
 The Italian writers, in the matter of attaining 
 
 193 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 personal celebrity among their own people, suffer 
 from the circumstance that Italy has no literary 
 capital where they can all congregate and stimu- 
 late each other by their personal rivalries and 
 animosities — or by their personal attachments 
 and mutual adoration. The Italian public is re- 
 markably ignorant as to where its authors really 
 live. Not so very long ago a well-informed Ro- 
 man told me that De Amicis lived in Genoa — 
 and as a matter of fad a certain branch of his 
 family did once live there, and to that extent 
 there was some basis for this particular Roman 
 misconception on the point. The De Amicis 
 family originated on the Riviera, and one mem- 
 ber, at least, of the family — an interesting old 
 man whose name was Marcello De Amicis and 
 who gave me some information about the history 
 of his race — lived during the latter years of his 
 life in an attradlive apartment on the upper floor 
 of a Genoese palace. The distinguished writer, 
 Edmondo, however, has passed most of his life 
 at Turin, and still lives there in an apartment 
 on the Piazza dello Statuto, a large square sur- 
 rounded with modern houses in the quarter of 
 the city which stretches out toward the western 
 suburb. 
 
 De Amicis had the good fortune to win the 
 ear of the public with his first book, and he has 
 held the attention of that fickle listener, with few 
 194 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 lapses, ever since. The Sketches of Military Life 
 which he wrote over thirty years ago were in- 
 stantly successful — and they are still read. His 
 boy's book called Cuore, which was his earliest 
 venture in the juvenile field, has recently passed 
 its two hundred and twenty-fifth Italian edition 
 and has also been much translated. De Amicis 
 keeps in the drawer of his study table at Turin 
 a little pamphlet which is made up exclusively 
 of title-pages of translations of this book, show- 
 ing the existence of versions in all the known lan- 
 guages, — and in some unknown ones, to judge 
 from the illegibility of the alphabets in which 
 they are printed. The story has had several edi- 
 tions in English and one came out as late as 1 899 
 at Chicago. The hero of the little tale is a boy 
 of chivalrous impulses and a rather high-strung 
 emotional nature, who has, one must confess, 
 very little in common with the ordinary boy of 
 Anglo-Saxon antecedents. He is an extremely 
 impressionable type of youngster who would 
 hardly be able to make his way through this 
 rather cold-blooded and unsympathetic world 
 without a considerable amount of personal dis- 
 comfort. De Amicis' model boy is, to a certain 
 extent, an image of himself As a young man he 
 was a creature of exaggerated sensibility, and as 
 a man of mature years he obviously retains this 
 peculiar nature which he was perhaps uncon- 
 
 195 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 sciously mirroring in this early story of boy-life. 
 
 The reputation which De Amicis has won for 
 himself outside of Italy does not rest so much 
 on this particular book as on his volumes of de- 
 scription, his Holland, his Spain, his Morocco, 
 and his Constantinople, which show him as a 
 traveller and an observer. These have been long 
 popular and still continue so. A few stories for 
 adults have come from his pen, but not many. 
 There is a realistic tale of the life of an Italian 
 pedagogue, called the Romance of a School- 
 master, which was published in 1 890 and has had 
 several editions in Italian, but it is not of ex- 
 ceptional merit regarded as fiftion. What really 
 renders it valuable is the perfed; literalness with 
 which the life of the Italian school-teacher, as 
 he adually exists, is put upon paper. It is a docu- 
 ment, and as such it is of consequence. Just now 
 De Amicis is writingfragments of autobiography. 
 A volume of Memoirs came out in 1900, and 
 anotherwhich he calls Recolleftions of my Child- 
 hood and School Days, in 1 901 . The last volume 
 before these was the Carrozza di tutti (The Om- 
 nibus), a book of impressions of social types pub- 
 lished in 1899, which is readable throughout, 
 though not perhaps so wholly free from dull pages 
 as some of his earlier books. 
 
 The field of novel-writing, in Italy, is fairly 
 well occupied, and upon demand the booksellers 
 196 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 on the Corso, or in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, 
 or on the Via Tornabuoni, are always ready to 
 produce something of Itahan make which is 
 fresh from the press. And yet I cannot say that 
 these books get translated to any large extent, 
 or that they absorbingly interest the foreign 
 reader. Neither do the authors themselves — all 
 of them — become as famous as they would wish, 
 or hear their names whispered after them in the 
 street, or in' the salons, with the persistence which 
 bespeaks a profitable notoriety. A full year after 
 Giovanni Verga had mounted to what might rea- 
 sonably be called the heights of celebrity, as the 
 author of the Cavalier ia Rusticana, I applied for 
 his photograph in the shop of a leading dealer 
 in Milan, and was informed by the person in 
 charge that the individual was unknown to her. 
 On my urging her, she retired into some inner 
 sandiuary of the establishment where informa- 
 tion on such recondite matters was to be had, if 
 anywhere, and on returning produced a photo- 
 graph of Do6lor Verga, a physician and medical 
 writer in whom I was wholly uninterested. Gio- 
 vanni Verga was at that time living in Milan, 
 not ten minutes' walk from the photographer 
 who declined to be aware of his existence. Since 
 then, it is due to him to say that his photograph 
 has become reasonably familiar, and that — away 
 from Milan at least — it is not difficult to obtain. 
 
 197 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 The Cavalleria Rusticana remains, perhaps, to 
 this day, the produdion by which Verga is best 
 known to us. Other stories of his have been trans- 
 lated into EngHsh, but I am not sure that they 
 have found many readers outside of the coterie 
 which specially cultivates literary exotics. /Af^/«- 
 voglia has been out in an English version for 
 some time, and probably presents its author to 
 the English reader in an aspe6l which is as attrac- 
 tive, or as little repellent, as any which could have 
 been chosen. The Malavoglia were a family of 
 Sicilians of the humbler class, who fell into hope- 
 less decadence. The story is a cumulative record 
 of their decline. It is a diminuendo, worked up 
 perhaps with some literary acuteness and subtlety 
 underneath — if we study the author's methods 
 from the point of view of conscious literary art — 
 but not with any revelation of artifice to the gen- 
 eral reader. In the end the family goes utterly to 
 wreck. It breaks up like a hulk falling into frag- 
 ments on the beach. And one ends the tale with 
 this mournful pidure of accomplished decadence 
 as its climax. 
 
 The booksellers will show the curious foreigner 
 other stories by Verga, if desired, including the 
 much larger and more complicated story called 
 Mastro-don Gesualdo; but the list of his works all 
 told is not very long. Verga seems always to have 
 aimed at quality rather than quantity. Apparently 
 198 
 
Giovanni V^erga 
 
 Author of Cavalleria Rusticana 
 
 Fro7n a photograph by Vianelli of Venice 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 he has never taken up his pen unless the mood 
 of produdion seized him irresistibly. And we 
 have, as a result, the kind of production which 
 is naturally to be looked for under such circum- 
 stances — an array of literary creations which sur- 
 prise one by the smallness of their bulk, but of 
 which every page is alive and palpitating. Serao, 
 who is perhaps equally well known outside of 
 Italy, has written much more, and is continually 
 adding fresh volumes to her list. She has a fond- 
 ness for detail, which Verga does not have. Her 
 Paese di Cuccagna^ a Neapolitan story which has 
 been translated, is an unrolling panorama of con- 
 temporary Neapolitan life, described in every 
 phase and with the greatest minuteness. Other 
 stories of hers have presented other aspects of 
 Italian life with similar profuseness of detail. Tak- 
 ing her literary creations together, they furnish a 
 comprehensive pidure of Italian life of our own 
 time which would go far toward enabling the 
 historian of the future to reconstrud: it, entire, 
 if by any accident all other documents on the 
 subjeft should perish. 
 
 Matilde Serao was born in Greece and passed 
 her childhood there. In her Italian life she has 
 been partly at Rome and partly at Naples. Her 
 husband, Eduardo Scarfoglio, is the manager of 
 a Neapolitan journal. She has herself something 
 of the temperament of a journalist. She writes 
 
 199 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 offhand, and sends her copy to the printer prafti- 
 cally in the form in which it leaves her pen, with 
 few erasures or corrections. Her stories unfold 
 themselves without much in the way of a pre- 
 conceived plan. They branch out into dispropor- 
 tionate episodes. But the style carries the reader 
 along by the very force of its spontaneous, nat- 
 ural, uncontrolled advance. Madame Serao is a 
 woman of lively sympathies. Some of her stories 
 are documents, or rather arguments, for the sup- 
 port of a cause. She is humanitarian. She aims 
 at bettering the condition of the section of the 
 Italian public which suffers — and which is pain- 
 fully numerous at Naples. Possibly some of her 
 stories and sketches are the less attractive, as 
 literature, because of this philanthropic purpose 
 which prompts the writing of them. Persons who 
 live in a boudoir feel this thrusting of the horrors 
 of poverty upon them as a disagreeable intrusion. 
 It is not what they look for in a story which is 
 taken up as a mere distraction for an idle moment. 
 More recent than the fame of either Serao or 
 Verga, is the fame of Fogazzaro, who lives and 
 writes at Vicenza,an interesting town of northern 
 Italy which the tourist rarely visits. Fogazzaro, 
 who began his literary career as a verse-writer, 
 came out some time in the nineties with a book 
 called the Little Old World, which enjoyed a 
 great vogue, and which is still going through edi- 
 
 200 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 tions. It was not his first story, but it was the first 
 to win him a place among the most-read writers 
 of the day. The booksellers put the volume in a 
 conspicuous place in their windows among their 
 most recent importations from Paris, and every 
 one was told to read it. The charm of the story 
 — for it clearly has a charm — cannot however be 
 relished by the foreigner who is not intimately 
 familiar with Italian life. We have certain stories 
 of our own which take up certain phases of local 
 life with which we are familiar, and reproduce it 
 with a truthfulness and with an abnormal acute- 
 ness of insight which render the portrayal in- 
 expressibly fascinating. But half the fascination 
 comes from the fad; that the original of the study 
 is something which we profoundly know. Fogaz- 
 zaro told astory of life in the lake region of north- 
 ern Italy, which brought into view his intimate 
 familiarity with the people of that region. The 
 story was humanly touching. And in telling it 
 he exhibited a capacity for minute and accurate 
 diagnosis of charader which was truly surprising, 
 and justly led to the recognition of his talent as 
 something highly exceptional. At the same tune, 
 be it said in terms of unqualified positiveness, 
 such a story cannot be appreciated except in the 
 most imperfed manner by the foreigner. This 
 particular drawback, which I am here alluding 
 to, places all stories of Italian life to some extent 
 
 201 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 beyond the pale of our appreciation. The ac- 
 curacy of the study — its fidehty to the original 
 — is to the Italian mind half its charm, while to 
 us this special element of value is simply non- 
 existent. 
 
 The race of poets is not yet extind: in Italy, 
 and the book-shops still display, from time to 
 time, in their windows, open pages of metrical 
 composition from the pens of writers in whom 
 the public takes an aftual and living interest. The 
 expedient of putting single poems on sale, in big 
 letters on large white pages, — perhaps only eight 
 or ten pages to the whole publication, — still ob- 
 tains in this land where poetry is native; and in 
 this way the great verse-writers get their words 
 before a large constituency while they still vibrate 
 with the feeling which prompted their creation. 
 
 Of all the poets Carducci still remains clearly 
 at the head, as he has been for many, many years. 
 Shall we not put the date at 1869, ^^^^ the pub- 
 lication of the unique poetic protest against the 
 Ecumenical Council, as the decisive beginning 
 of his national fame? Later, in 1878, he made a 
 second step, a distind; one, in advance, in his Ode 
 to the Queen. Since that time he has been, in ef- 
 fed, the Italian poet laureate — although legally 
 that office does not exist in Italy as it does in 
 England. He has no stipend. He was never for- 
 mally inscribed on any page of any official register 
 202 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 as poet to the House of Savoy, but in effedl he 
 is the laureate all the same. His adhesion to the 
 monarchy had, and has, something noble in it. 
 It is uncolored by servility or obsequiousness. 
 He retains his personal independence. He still 
 speaks with a freedom of speech which is at times 
 alarming. But his Joyalty is something profound, 
 nobly genuine, solid as a rock. 
 
 His Ode to the Queen was the outcome of 
 peculiar circumstances which he has himself nar- 
 rated in an inimitable manner. Carducci was, in 
 his youthful days of storm and stress, a repub- 
 lican — a rather ardent one. He even stood for 
 eled:ion to the Italian Chamber of Deputiesunder 
 that ruddy flag, and, more than that, was eleded. 
 But in 1 878, the very year of her accession. Queen 
 Margherita came to Bologna (where he lived) in 
 the course of a royal progress made by the new 
 sovereigns through their dominions ; and as the 
 result of that visit his political views underwent 
 a very radical change. Carducci caught a glimpse 
 of the queen on the afternoon of her arrival, as 
 she passed through the streets on her way from 
 the station to the palace where the royalties were 
 to be entertained, and the glimpse, brief as it was, 
 gave his republicanism a severe shock. Later she 
 appeared upon the balcony of the palace, in the 
 evening, robed in white and flashing with jewels, 
 while the poet stood with the multitude in the 
 
 203 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 square below ; and his republican convidlions were 
 still more seriously undermined. The next day 
 he was personally presented to the queen — who 
 already knew his work and had expressed a desire 
 to see him — and he surrendered completely and 
 unreservedly to the fascination of her mind and 
 manner. The Ode to the Queen was written 
 shortly afterward, and became immediately the 
 talk of Italy. Since that moment he has never 
 once faltered in his personal and political alle- 
 giance to the monarchy. 
 
 Carducci has written prose as well as verse, and 
 those of us who have followed his produdlion, 
 step by step, for years, and watched it through 
 all its phases, know how extraordinary is the fibre 
 of his mind. I remember a certain transatlantic 
 voyage, taken in company with four or five vol- 
 umes of Carducci, which is made unique in my 
 recolledion by that daily contadt with a great 
 mind. Carducci presents, in one person, the un- 
 usual combination of a studious and lyric tem- 
 perament. For forty years he has been professor 
 of Italian literature at Bologna, and his profes- 
 sorial life has been laborious and productive to 
 an extraordinary degree. At the same time he has 
 continually been creating verses which vibrate 
 with lyric intensity, and in which his other nature 
 — his learned nature — is only visible in the ele- 
 gance of his didion and the classic quality of his 
 204 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 metres. As a savant he has accumulated a Hbrary 
 of choice books, in the midst of which he lives 
 and which he would naturally be sorry to have 
 dispersed. Knowing his desire to keep his col- 
 ledlion together. Queen Margherita has recently 
 purchased the entire library, not with the inten- 
 tion of taking it into her own possession but with 
 the idea of saving it from being broken up. Car- 
 ducci is to have the use and possession of the 
 books as long as he lives, and after that they are 
 to be deposited in some public place, probably at 
 Bologna, where they can continue usefully acces- 
 sible, as a monument to their former possessor. 
 Some efforts have been made to translate Car- 
 ducci into English, and the versions of Mr. 
 Sewall, published in New York, did much toward 
 conveying an idea in our language of the spirit 
 and dash of the original. A few of the other con- 
 temporary poets have also been partly trans- 
 lated. Ada Negri has been intelligently inter- 
 preted in English by Adelheid von Blomberg, 
 a German writer of varied linguistic attainments 
 who is now living in Rome. D'Annunzio is, as 
 yet, better known by his novels than by his 
 poetry. He has however accomplished the won- 
 der of making the Italian public listen to a tra- 
 gedy in verse. Verse goes down with difficulty, 
 it must be conceded, everywhere. And a tragedy 
 in verse represents absolutely the most unpalat- 
 
 205 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 able form of poetry. The Francesca da Rimini, 
 however, has been heard in several of the prin- 
 cipal Italian cities, and is evidently still to be heard 
 in others, as well as abroad; and in forcing twen- 
 tieth-century audiences to accept this form of 
 literary art, which has never been strid:ly native 
 anywhere since the days of Queen Elizabeth, 
 the poet-dramatist has certainly accomplished an 
 extraordinary feat. 
 
 Among the so-called serious writers I think 
 Villari would by general consent be given the first 
 place. Villari has had a remarkably produdive 
 life. What he has done is monumental in its bulk 
 as well as in its solid and enduring quality. And 
 yet his career began with storm and stress — in 
 short under circumstances which might naturally 
 have drawn him quite away from a studious ex- 
 istence and shaped for him a life very different 
 from that which he has adlually led. As a young 
 man at Naples he was intimately associated with 
 the painter Domenico Morelli (who afterward 
 became his brother-in-law) and other youths of 
 progressive tendencies, and all of them rushed 
 together, hot-headed, toward their baptism of 
 revolution in the emeute of 1848. Morelli was 
 caught by the police and imprisoned, and Villari 
 found it prudent to leave Naples and betake 
 himself to Florence. In his Florentine asylum, 
 however, he found some leisure for productive 
 206 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 literary work, outside of his bread-winning oc- 
 cupations, and has since then moved steadily 
 toward ever greater and greater distinction. His 
 very first literary effort was a small pamphlet de- 
 voted to the praise of one of Morelli's pi6lures, 
 and from time to time, in the years which fol- 
 lowed, he put into print some of his observations 
 and refleftions in matters of art. But his really 
 important literary work has lain in another field. 
 After he had established himself at Florence, 
 Florentine history came very naturally to exer- 
 cise a potent attraction over him; and this pro- 
 found interest in a fascinating subjed: led first 
 to the production of his great work on Savona- 
 rola, and afterward to his work on Machiavelli. 
 Both of these have been printed and reprinted 
 in English, and new editions are undoubtedly 
 still to come out. Those who are competent to 
 judge assert that they utter the last word on the 
 subject, and must continue to do so until new 
 sources of original information are unearthed 
 from some as yet unknown hiding-place. 
 
 The Villari home at Florence is an interesting 
 and attractive one. The house is large and stands 
 on a broad avenue leading toward the charming 
 suburbs for which Florence is so famed. Villari's 
 treasures include not only valuable books but 
 valuable pictures, among them being a portrait 
 of himself by Morelli and other paintings from 
 
 207 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 that same master hand. Madame Villari, — Linda 
 Villari, — who presides over this home, is nearly 
 as well known to English readers as her husband. 
 She is herself English, as we all know, and writes 
 her native language naturally, as would be ex- 
 pected. Beside her own original books, she has 
 furnished most valid support to her husband in 
 putting his histories into English form ; and they 
 doubtless owe part of their success as literature, 
 with us, to this remarkably sympathetic as well 
 as intelligent translating. She has also, occasion- 
 ally, lent her talent as a translator — for it is a 
 distindl talent in itself — to other writers, and 
 notably in rendering in English the narrative of 
 the Duke of the Abruzzi's expedition to Mount 
 St. Elias, which was published in London in 
 1900. More recently Madame Villari has been 
 assisting her husband with the English version 
 of his Barbarian Invasion of Italy, a work just 
 coming out, and in which the historian has, per- 
 haps, adopted a slightly more colloquial and 
 popular style of writing than has hitherto been 
 his custom in dealing with historical subje6ls. 
 
 There is one other name which comes natu- 
 rally to the surface in this connexion, because it 
 belongs to a historical writer who, like Madame 
 Villari, is semi-Italianized. A little over ten years 
 ago — it was in 1890 to be precise — a book of 
 short biographies of Italian patriots came out, 
 208 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 which bore on the title-page the name of the 
 Countess Evelyn Martinengo Cesaresco. Those 
 who took up this volume and noted the mastery 
 of English which its author displayed, wondered 
 who this new writer was, and whether she was 
 English and, if so, how she came to have such 
 a name. The riddle has since been solved — for 
 those for whom it was a riddle. The countess was 
 born Evelyn Carrington. She was the daughter 
 of an English rural dean. And she married an 
 Italian nobleman whom political proscription had 
 happened to make familiar with England and 
 English people. The Martinengos were a great 
 family who, in the last national struggle, sided 
 with the liberal cause; and it was perhaps natural 
 enough that the Countess Evelyn should find an 
 inspiration in this circumstance and that, upon 
 becoming allied to this house of patriots, she 
 should think and talk politics, and also, finally, 
 write them. Her book of short biographies was, 
 I believe, her first literary venture in this field. 
 Led on by the fascination of the subjed, she 
 extended her research much farther and in 1894 
 brought out her book on the Liberation of Italy 
 which is a masterpiece of its kind. Any one who 
 wishes to know the history of that great struggle 
 without any conscious effort in the absorption 
 of it, should read this book. Every word in it is 
 alive. It is an extraordinary case of the entire as- 
 
 209 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 similation of a subjedt, so that in the final dash- 
 ing-off of the written page not a single trace of 
 compilation is left visible. 
 
 The Martinengo family has had several his- 
 toric houses in and near Brescia. There is one 
 in Brescia itself which has been turned into a 
 museum, and there are others at Rovato west- 
 ward and at Salo eastward which still belong to 
 the family. It is the one at Salo, on the Lago di 
 Garda, which I believe is the favorite residence of 
 the Countess Evelyn. The house stands on the 
 edge of the water and is very large and imposing. 
 It was visited by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu 
 in the course of her continental peregrinations 
 and of it she wrote a glowing description to her 
 daughter, saying that it was "the finest place she 
 had ever seen." "The kingof France has nothing 
 so fine," she wrote. "It is large enough to enter- 
 tain all his court." 
 
 It was in this stately home of the Martinengos 
 that the Liberation of Italy was finished in 1 894, 
 and since then the countess has completed there 
 a third book of Italian history, which came out in 
 1898 in the form of a short biography of Cavour 
 — a work which shows the same grasp of the sub- 
 jed: and the same vividness of statement as the 
 more comprehensive volume which preceded it. 
 Her more recent publications lie outside of the 
 historical field, but those who know the books to 
 210 
 
THE BOOK-SHOPS 
 
 which I have referred will hope that she may un- 
 dertake the presentation of some other special 
 phases of the great Italian epic of the nineteenth 
 century before she abandons the subje6t alto- 
 gether. Few persons now living have the double 
 knowledge of Italian fads and of English readers 
 which this writer possesses, and few are so per- 
 fectly qualified to perform the difficult and deli- 
 cate task of interpreting the one to the other suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 211 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 THE foreigner who has the rashness to 
 face the summer heat of Italy must, if 
 he wishes to be comfortable, abandon 
 the scorching levels and betake himself to the 
 heights. He must get away from the plains and 
 climb up where he can breathe. 
 
 He can choose either town or country. If he 
 eleds the country, there are villas everywhere, 
 lying vacant, for his occupancy. If he chooses the 
 towns, there are several breezy heights which 
 beckon to him. He may climb the acropolis of 
 Orvieto. He may go higher and farther north 
 and poise at Perugia. He may venture still farther 
 northward and halt his flight at Siena. We did 
 the last. 
 
 Wherever he goes the life will be the same. 
 In the summer one does not work, one idles. 
 The days pass with the monotony of days at 
 sea. Each one is like the one before it. And the 
 one after it will be the same. The slightest dis- 
 tradion is greedily fastened upon and economi- 
 cally made the most of. 
 
 On a certain morning, when we had been several 
 weeks on the Sienese hill-top, we watched Caterina 
 
 215 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 carry out the breakfast things with the conscious- 
 ness that when the door closed behind her we 
 should be confronted once more with the ever 
 fresh problem of what to do with the day. The 
 door closed. The problem faced us. We looked 
 at each other in silence. 
 
 Madame went to the window and looked out. 
 It was August. The towns of the plain were in 
 their summer Purgatory — Inferno, it may have 
 seemed to some of them. Rome was under the 
 blight of malaria. Florence was sweltering beside 
 a shrunken Arno. Milan was swaying in heat- 
 waves like the top of a furnace. 
 
 A voice from the window suggested that we 
 should go down to the terrace and make photo- 
 graphs. The light was precisely right. The neces- 
 sary mementos of the spot were still waiting to be 
 made. The suggestion seemed opportune. We 
 found the camera and descended. 
 
 Marco, the gardener, was the sole occupant of 
 the place. He was watering the plants in a little 
 garden of exotics which bordered the terrace on 
 the south, and his orbit could be distinctly traced 
 by the splashes of water on the pavement as he 
 went back and forth between the terra-cotta tub 
 which contained his source of supply and his 
 cherished parterres of fragile foreign plants. Be- 
 low the terrace he had another garden of sturdier 
 flowers, mostly zinnias and marigolds, to which 
 216 
 
The Terrace 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 he paid little attention, evidently regarding them 
 as hardy plebeians in the social-horticultural scale, 
 who could take care of themselves. They were 
 however a welcome element in the general effed: 
 and brightened that particular part of the fore- 
 ground with an agreeable touch of vivid color. 
 
 The terrace offered a number of subjefts for 
 the camera, but the one which, on the whole, 
 pleased us best when the prints were finally com- 
 pared was the view looking back from the gar- 
 den of exotics through the arches which sepa- 
 rated it from the paved area. Marco had left a 
 ladder leaning up against one of these arches 
 which was a slight blemish in the pidure, but it 
 furnished evidence of his industry and interest 
 in keeping his little domain in a tidy and orderly 
 condition. He had been making an effort to train 
 the vines which fell in a tangled curtain over the 
 openings and had successfully cleared them away 
 from the central arch. Through this opening one 
 got a glimpse of the arches on the farther side 
 of the terrace and caught sight in the distance 
 of a dome which placed itself with gratifying ex- 
 adtness precisely in the centre of the field of view. 
 
 The dome belonged to a church where a cer- 
 tain Don Luigi was canon — an individual to 
 whom we were introduced soon after our arrival 
 at Siena and whom we came to know very well 
 before our sojourn there was ended. The church 
 
 217 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 was called Santa Maria di Provenzano and was, 
 I believe, the only one in Siena which had a 
 chapter of canons beside the cathedral. On im- 
 portant occasions the canons of Santa Maria di 
 Provenzano were invited up to the cathedral and 
 sat in the choir in claret robes lined with pearl 
 colorwhile the function — whatever it might have 
 been — was in progress. On ordinary days they 
 went about in the ordinary black of the Latin 
 clergy, with no colored possibilities — unless it 
 happened to rain, when it was not uncanonical 
 to carry a colored umbrella. We once met the 
 whole chapter issuing from their sacristy door, 
 on one of those rare days of rain which some- 
 times occur in a Tuscan summer, carrying um- 
 brellas which were as gaudy as Marco's zinnias. 
 It was a startling spectacle to us who were un- 
 prepared for it, and our almost open-mouthed 
 wonder must have caused these matter-of-fad; 
 ecclesiastics no small amount of curiosity and 
 surprise. 
 
 Marco watched the photographing process for 
 a few moments with some interest and then, with 
 transparent intentions, proceeded to make up a 
 multicoloredbouquetof his choicest flowers which 
 was duly presented to Madame as we left his 
 domain. The flowers were bound together with 
 many revolutions of coarse, stout twine, and it 
 was naturally our first solicitude to remove this 
 218 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 murderous cord, when we had finally escaped 
 from the gardener's observation, and give the 
 strangled stems an opportunity to perform their 
 proper function in the vase of water in which 
 they were bestowed. 
 
 Caterina had taken possession of our quar- 
 ters during our absence on the terrace and had 
 busied herself in putting things to rights. She had 
 straightened the grammars and di6lionaries on 
 the table — sole indication which the room offered 
 of any serious occupation — and had pushed the 
 chairs into positions of trim propriety against the 
 walls. She had also sprinkled the floor as a slight 
 palliative to the heat. It was an ordinary floor of 
 broad brick tiles and water could not hurt it. The 
 quickness with which the drops evaporated gave 
 us an indication of the temperature. Sometimes 
 we could see them contract and disappear with 
 a visible shrinkage of the outline. On such days 
 it was well to settle down to a morning of com- 
 plete repose, even at the cost of complete bore- 
 dom, rather than take the physical consequences 
 of exercise in that sultry air. 
 
 On this particular morning the drops stayed 
 damp upon the floor longer than usual, and we 
 decided to risk the exertion of a walk to the pi- 
 azza. The preparations for the Assumption Day 
 races were in progress. They were to be cele- 
 brated in the great square in the centre of the 
 
 219 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 town, according to ancient custom, and the place 
 was being got in readiness for them. By keeping 
 close to the walls of the houses it would be pos- 
 sible to reach the spot without once stepping on 
 the sunlit pavement. And the possible distrac- 
 tion which the excursion offered was enough to 
 tempt us out. 
 
 Although our palazzo on the terrace side was 
 quite open and commanded an extensive view 
 from its windows of the country beyond the 
 city walls, it was, on the opposite side, compaftly 
 mortised into the solid masonry of the town. 
 The door upon this inner side opened diredlly 
 upon a narrow street bordered by high buildings 
 and paved from wall to wall without sidewalks. 
 And this narrow street conneded with others and 
 still others, forming a bewildering network with- 
 out system and without method. 
 
 It required some skill as a pilot to thread these 
 narrow winding ways and not get lost. Their 
 turnings and twistings were perpetual. One could 
 rarely see from one corner to the next. The ex- 
 perience of many previous rambles, however, had 
 given us a partial clew to the labyrinth. And on 
 this particular excursion we had no difficulty in 
 making the proper turns and arriving, after a 
 walk of not unnecessary length, in the great open 
 area which formed the central breathing-space of 
 the town. 
 
 220 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 The opening was surrounded with a hetero- 
 geneous company of buildings, old and new, 
 high and low, pinnacled and plain. Down in the 
 middle of the lower side was the grim old Gothic 
 master of the place, and by its side a slender 
 tower shot upward to a dizzy height. The top 
 of that tower saw everywhere and knew all the 
 secrets of the town. It pried even into our dis- 
 tant garden, and, when the moon was low behind 
 it, the ghostly shadow of it rested in a black line 
 across our flower beds and stretched out into the 
 open fields beyond. 
 
 Around the upper rim of the square, against 
 the palaces and shops, some seats were at that 
 moment going up — of the sort which mature 
 their mushroom growth on the eve of a popular 
 show. At the lower edge of them was the fiction 
 of a balustrade, contrived out of boards, canvas, 
 and paint; and between the barriers ran the 
 race-course, following the irregular outline of 
 the square. 
 
 It was a strange arena, with sharp corners and 
 sudden ups and downs. Nothing made it toler- 
 able for the use to which it was put, except its 
 generous size and its openness. Not a tree ob- 
 scured it or shadowed it. Not an obstrudtion 
 broke the surface of the pavement except the 
 small square enclosure of the Fonte Gaja which 
 rose opposite the town hall. At this moment the 
 
 221 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 space had no human population except the work- 
 men who were raising the seats. The shops were 
 closed perforce by the tiers of benches which 
 barricaded their very doors. And the usual ac- 
 tivity of buying and selling was postponed until 
 the festivity should be over. 
 
 The broad acreage of sunlit pavement did not 
 tempt us to any further explorations, and we 
 walked back to the house through the shadowy 
 depths of the prote6led streets. After our return 
 there was nothing to do but to wait for luncheon, 
 and, when luncheon was over, for the visit of 
 Don Luigi in the afternoon. Don Luigi came 
 every day, after the hour of siesta, to brush up 
 our Italian; and upon the very stroke of four 
 his hand was sure to be laid upon the lever of 
 the latch and his bowing figure to be seen in the 
 doorway. 
 
 The bow, always the same, was executed with 
 downcast eyes and a hand carried to the region 
 of the heart. No one but an Italian could bow 
 with that exquisite grace, and no one but a priest 
 could master the expression which went with it. 
 
 Don Luigi was spiritual but by no means weak. 
 His canonical duties occupied only a small por- 
 tion of his time, and his real business in life was 
 teaching Greek to dull boys in the neighboring 
 seminary. Years of persistent effort in driving a 
 repugnant language into immature brains had 
 
 222 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 given him an amount of pedagogic muscle which 
 I have never seen surpassed. The morning was 
 no strain upon him at all. He came to us in the 
 afternoon apparently fresher than when he com- 
 menced his Greek class ; and in turning to Italian 
 he had the immense advantage of passing from 
 a field where he was relatively a stranger to one 
 where he was absolutely at home. 
 
 We shall never forget those hours of linguistic 
 struggle passed in the company of this intelledual 
 athlete. His method was the interrogativemethod. 
 The pupil was made to talk, in spite of himself, 
 by persistent and pitiless questioning. Don Luigi 
 felt or feigned a profound interest in all the great 
 and small matters of our life at home. He assailed 
 us on politics, on religion, on horticulture, on 
 education, on cookery, and on ethnology. There 
 was no department of human adivity into which 
 he did not boldly and resolutely enter and drag 
 us after him. After an hour of his merciless mas- 
 sage the mental system of the patient was left in 
 a state of entire collapse, requiring an extended 
 period of complete rest for the recovery of normal 
 elasticity. 
 
 When the ordeal was over and the door had 
 closed upon the duplicate of the opening bow, 
 Caterina was usually sent for, to order a carriage. 
 There was not much to drive to; but merely to 
 settle back upon the cushions and inhale the 
 
 223 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 cool air of the later afternoon without speaking, 
 was a refreshment and a source of infinite mental 
 relief. The plan of ordering the carriage through 
 Caterina had been early adopted in part from 
 motives of convenience and in part from motives 
 of policy. We discovered that the operation se- 
 cured her a small addition to her revenues with- 
 out adding anything to our own expense, which 
 was regulated by the cab-tariff. She went to the 
 nearest stand and simply offered us to the driver 
 who would promise her the largest commission. 
 An au6lIoneering process took place in which we 
 were daily knocked down to the highest bidder. 
 The carriages themselves were so equally good 
 and so equally poor that it made little difference 
 to us what or whom she selected. And the drives 
 were simply a zigzag down from one gate and a 
 zigzag up to another; always a descent into the 
 valley which surrounded the town like a moat, 
 and a re-ascent of the incline to get back to the 
 high level of the plateau. 
 
 Sometimes, on days when the lesson hour had 
 left us a small balance of energy, we walked to the 
 fortress on the western edge of the town, or had 
 ourselves driven to the gate of the old stronghold 
 and left the carriage there, while we climbed to 
 the ramparts and enjoyed the prosped:. 
 
 The fortress was built on a promontory of the 
 plateau, and on the western side the wall dropped 
 224 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 abruptly to a great depth. At one corner a big 
 polygon of ancient masonry flung itself out 
 into space — one of the bastions which in the 
 days of the Medici had been mounted with can- 
 non but which was now planted with flowers. 
 The enclosure was a large one and a trim gravel 
 walk led around the entire circuit of the ram- 
 parts. On the western side the view was superb, 
 and some stone benches had been considerately 
 placed there by the military authorities, which 
 made it possible to sit down with some com- 
 fort and enjoy the outlook at one's leisure. 
 
 At evening the spot was even more fascinat- 
 ing than by daylight. The valley appeared to 
 sink down to a greater depth below one and the 
 sky seemed to fill the whole world. The air was 
 cool and fresh. The invisible flowers from the 
 garden on the bastion exhaled a faint evasive 
 odor. And whiffs of music were wafted out to 
 us from the band playing behind us in the Lizza. 
 
 Looking one night from our own windows, 
 over the stretch of undulating country which 
 surrounds the town on all sides, we caught sight 
 of a novel feature in the prosped. There were 
 points of light on all the summits. The more 
 distant ones were mere balls of phosphorescence. 
 The nearer ones flared and vibrated in evident 
 flame. These beacons, as we found, were the an- 
 nouncement of the Assumption, a festival which 
 
 225 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 is one of great importance everywhere in Latin 
 countries, but which in Siena is the particular 
 high feast of the year. At a certain critical mo- 
 ment, several centuries ago, when Siena and her 
 deadly rival Florence were combating in a life 
 and death struggle, the Madonnaof the Assump- 
 tion appeared in person in the clouds and spread 
 her proteftive aegis over the Sienese. Since that 
 day her festival has been venerated with an espe- 
 cial veneration and the beacon-fires which herald 
 it are kindled on all the heights of the Tuscan 
 uplands. 
 
 It is indeed too precious a festival to be al- 
 lowed to pass with only one day's celebration. 
 The festivities last over several. The races were 
 set for the afternoon of the third day and were 
 placed after sunset so that the piazza might be 
 in shadow and the air fresh and cool. Among 
 the lesser doings which preceded them the more 
 interesting was a certain function observed earlier 
 in the same day and regarded as a necessary pre- 
 lude to the race. It was not a great show in it- 
 self, but it preserved a quaint and curious practice 
 of great antiquity. 
 
 We went down to see this earlier spedlacle, 
 which took place in a small church in the poorer 
 part of the town. The church was entered from 
 the street by very low steps. It had a plain brick 
 floor inside; and was almost as bare as a stable. 
 226 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 The walls were covered with plain whitewash. 
 At the farther end was the principal altar, railed 
 off by a balustrade; and part way down the side 
 was a lesser altar, up a few steps from the floor, 
 with a coarsely painted pidlure above it. 
 
 Through the sacristy door as we entered the 
 church we could see two young men standing 
 and talking with each other. One of them was 
 a priest, with a round face and a good-natured 
 air, dressed in the usual black cassock worn by 
 the common clergy. The other was a layman — 
 very much a layman, evidently — and attired in 
 a costume which was much less reticent as to the 
 good points of his figure than the priest's cas- 
 sock. He wore doublet and hose, a complete 
 mediaeval dress from head to foot. The doublet 
 clung to his well-modelled torso. The long hose 
 showed the contour of every muscle of his shapely 
 legs. Indeed his whole figure seemed to have 
 been run into his clothes in a molten state, so 
 smooth and sleek and free from wrinkles was 
 his entire exterior. 
 
 Every now and then the youth in mediaeval 
 dress left his cassocked companion and went to 
 the street door of the church as if to reconnoitre. 
 And after the fifth or sixth of these journeys he 
 came back with information which was evidently 
 of some special moment. 
 
 The priest hastily put on a tunic of cotton lace 
 
 227 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 over his cassock and walked to the side altar. An 
 acolyte took his station beside him. There was 
 a commotion at the threshold and a bewildered 
 horse stumbled and clattered into the church. 
 He was accompanied on his entry by a company 
 of young men in mediaeval dress, who, with some 
 difficulty, persuaded him over the pavement and 
 induced him to face around at the altar. 
 
 The horse was one of the runners in the 
 prospective race. He was an undersized, wiry 
 creature of the Corsican breed, sure of foot and 
 good at turning sharp corners. The young men 
 who accompanied him were from the particular 
 contrada or ward of the city which the horse 
 represented. The jockey was somewhere among 
 them. There were also the captain of the contrada, 
 and several standard-bearers and pages. 
 
 All of the company were in doublet and hose, 
 except one, who was in metal. His armor was an 
 admirable piece of work. It was all in plates ex- 
 cept a brief space of chain-mail around the hips, 
 but it was hinged, with the most cunning fore- 
 thought, for every possible turn of a muscle, and 
 he moved in it as freely as if it had been made 
 of rubber. Not a particle of the man himself was 
 visible except his face, which showed a perspir- 
 ing surface behind the open visor. 
 
 The priest put on a stole and commenced 
 reading from a book — somewhat hastily. The 
 228 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 tenor of what he read was hidden underneath 
 the Latin words, but it was understood to be in 
 the nature of a blessing. The horse breathed 
 rapidly and fanned his ears around in search of 
 every noise. He was the only living creature pres- 
 ent who did not enjoy the proceedings. Even the 
 priest evidently took in, and relished, the comedy 
 of the situation. 
 
 The hurried Latin came to an end, and the 
 book was closed. A holy-water sprinkler was 
 taken by the chief ecclesiastic from the hands 
 of the acolyte and a shower of drops was vigor- 
 ously rained on the horse. The animal started 
 back in alarm, and the crowd behind him scat- 
 tered in some merriment. 
 
 Fortunately for the timid and nervous quad- 
 ruped this was the end of the fundion. He was 
 led back toward the door, and after a sudden and 
 decided protest at the sight of the steps, he con- 
 sented to go down them and out into the street. 
 The leather curtain dropped heavily back into 
 place behind him, and with the closing of the 
 aperture ended this unique prelude to the races. 
 
 A few hours later we waded up through ascend- 
 ing levels of humanity to a place on one of the 
 upper seats in the great piazza, opposite the 
 palace with the battlemented front and the slen- 
 der tower. The effed; of the jam of human be- 
 ings, in front of us and all around us, surveyed 
 
 229 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 from this height, was extraordinary and scarcely 
 lessened by the fad; that we had been battling 
 with the crowd for twenty minutes in the effort 
 to get there. 
 
 Men andwomen, women and men, were every- 
 where. The immense area of the pavement moved 
 incessantly with them. The race-track itself was 
 full of them. They were in all the balconies, in 
 all the windows. They covered the roofs of the 
 houses and looked out from between the battle- 
 ments. Some of the more daring spirits had even 
 climbed to the summit of the Mangia Tower and 
 stood in little openings which, from below, had 
 seemed hardly large enough for the windows of 
 a dove-cote. 
 
 At one side of the square was a great palace 
 which was occupied by the descendant of a papal 
 family. The owner of this great house had draped 
 his balcony with red and had invited a company 
 of friends to enjoy the spedacle with him from 
 this very excellent point of view. From other 
 windows and balconies colored draperies of vari- 
 ous hues were hung out, and their lighter tints did 
 much toward relieving the severity and gloomi- 
 ness of the old Gothic architedure. The balcony 
 of the town hall opposite us had its parapet en- 
 tirely concealed by crimson hangings, and upon 
 it were arrayed the higher fundionaries of the 
 town and the ladies of their families. 
 230 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 A Sienese acquaintance, Signor Peruzzi, had 
 consented to accompany us on this occasion and 
 perform the duties oi cicerone, Don Luigi was de- 
 barred by his cloth from being present. It would 
 not have been decorous for a priest of his rank 
 to sit on the open benches of the improvised 
 amphitheatre, and if he was looking on at all he 
 must have been in one of the windows where he 
 could witness the sped:acle without being seen. 
 
 The dull crash of a cannon set the air to beat- 
 ing about our ears, and while it was still echoing 
 a party of mounted carbineers rode out from the 
 courtyard of the old palace and proceeded to 
 clear the track of the multitude which had in- 
 vaded it. It took them nearly fifteen minutes to 
 make the circuit of the square and force the tur- 
 bid stream of humanity back inside the barriers. 
 There was another crash, following their com- 
 pletion of the circuit. And then, over at the right, 
 
 where an entering street made a mere cleft be- 
 es 
 
 tween the high houses, something began to move 
 and to work itself into the piazza. 
 
 Signor Peruzzi ceased to study the group of 
 people on the Marchese Chigi's balcony and 
 turned his opera-glass over to where the strange 
 confusion of moving forms and colors was be- 
 ginning to show itself. "It is the procession," 
 he said. 
 
 "What procession?" we asked. 
 
 231 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 "The one which comes before the race. The 
 forestieri usually think it is the best part of it. 
 For us it is nothing. It is an old story." 
 
 The forms and colors came more distinctly 
 into view. There was a line of trumpeters in front. 
 After them came a man on horseback with a flag 
 — the sinister black and white emblem of Siena. 
 Behind the man on horseback was a motley mass 
 of moving figures, some on foot, some on horses, 
 pressing out into the square in an ever length- 
 ening file. 
 
 "The Goose is ahead," said Peruzzi, with his 
 glass at his eyes. 
 
 We begged to be enlightened as to what the 
 goose might be, inasmuch as no such creature 
 was visible in proper zoological shape. 
 
 "The contrada of the Goose," he explained. 
 "Each contrada or ward of the city has an em- 
 blem. There is the Goose, the Dragon, the Eagle, 
 the Porcupine, the Turtle, even the Snail. There 
 are seventeen of them. They have their emblems 
 on their banners. You can see them, perhaps, if 
 you take the binocle." 
 
 He pushed the glass into my hands, and the 
 swaying vaguenesses suddenly took on definite 
 shapes. The costumes showed up in sharp-lined 
 patchworks of harlequin tints. The faces became 
 moving physiognomies of agitated humanity. 
 
 I conceded that it might be the Goose. No 
 232 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 human being but a Sienese could possibly have 
 told. The creatures were done in heraldic hiero- 
 glyphs. They were mere symbols of the beasts 
 and birds, rendered in forms which had been 
 made sacred by local tradition. 
 
 "Do all the contradas race?" 
 
 " No," said Peruzzi. " Only ten of them. There 
 would not be room for all in this narrow course. 
 But the whole seventeen march in the proces- 
 sion." 
 
 The motley crowd came finally around in front 
 of us. The costumes were of every possible hue. 
 The clash of colors was almost audible. It was the 
 savage fury of the Middle Ages, done into a battle 
 of rank greens, of raw yellows, of rabid reds. 
 
 The racing companies were in elevens. Two 
 horses went in each, one with a cavalier on his 
 back, one riderless. 
 
 "What is the led horse for?" we asked. 
 
 "It is the racer," said Peruzzi. 
 
 " But he has no saddle," we remonstrated. 
 
 "There will be no saddles," returned the 
 Sienese. 
 
 "How will thejockeysstayon at the corners?" 
 
 " That is their affair," said Peruzzi, laconically . 
 
 " But look at that turn over there. They must 
 take it at full speed. Those horses are varnished. 
 They have been groomed to the last possibility. 
 No man can possibly stay on." 
 
 233 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 "They don't, always," admitted Peruzzi. 
 "The whole ten went off, once, at that very 
 point. That's what they have the mattresses 
 there for." 
 
 The palisade which edged the course was, in 
 fa6t, hung with mattresses. We might have no- 
 ticed them. It was a merciful provision. 
 
 The procession marched slowly around the 
 arena and broke up at a gaudily decorated stand 
 which had been ereded under the grim and time- 
 stained walls of the palace directly opposite us. 
 The whole masquerade, with its flags, clambered 
 up without order or system upon the seats and 
 remained there in a solid block of flamboyant 
 color during the rest of the show. 
 
 For the moment nothing happened or gave 
 signs of happening. The oracle at our side gave 
 us to understand that in some convenient and 
 neighboring obscurity the prospedive riders were 
 changing their clothes. It was going to be a rough 
 affair. There was no need of dragging their vel- 
 vets in the dirt or of having them cut by slashes 
 of a rival's whip. 
 
 "They use their whips on each other?" we 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes. It is a part of the game. It is author- 
 ized and sanctioned by tradition, duella canaglia 
 la giu" — he pointed to the plebeian crowd which 
 filled every inch of standing room inside of the 
 234 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 arena — "are greedy for it. It is the spice of the 
 contest for them. You will notice the whips. 
 They are of rawhide with a thick butt and a 
 tapering point. The riders hold them usually 
 by the point. It gives more width to the blow." 
 
 The contestants streamed into view at last, 
 stripped of their gay plumage. They were as 
 beautiful as pheasants prepared for the spit. Over 
 in the farther corner they were marshalled broad- 
 side across the track. It was a slow process de- 
 termining their positions and getting them in 
 line. At length some one gave an invisible, in- 
 audible signal, and they were unleashed. 
 
 Almost before one could be sure that a start 
 had been made we heard the nearing thuds of 
 the hoofs, and the bony creatures, with their 
 necks craned forward, were coming toward us. 
 It was a scramble, a struggle, a confusion of mov- 
 ing limbs, human and equine — and they were 
 past. Every one rose instind:ively as they ap- 
 proached that fatal corner where the mattresses 
 were hung up. The jockeys pulled spasmodi- 
 cally, instinctively, at the reins. Shoulders went 
 back almost to the rumps. Knees came up nearly 
 to the withers. With no stirrup-purchase, could 
 they do it? 
 
 The spectators looked on wistfully, longingly, 
 hopefully. But no gratifying casualty occurred. 
 The laws of gravitation and centrifugal force 
 
 235 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 were successfully defied. The cape was weath- 
 ered. The Corsicans were plunging down the 
 slope which descended to the front of the old 
 town hall and were scrambling up the ascent on 
 the other side. In a moment more they had re- 
 gained the starting-point and had commenced 
 the second lap. 
 
 "How many rounds?" we asked, automati- 
 cally. 
 
 "Three always," said Peruzzi, with his eyes 
 glued to the contestants and not turning his 
 head as he spoke. 
 
 In that second circuit we could see things 
 more distinctly, analytically, — with a separation 
 of impressions. The riders were too far apart to 
 strike each other. Whether they did or not in 
 that first bewildering sweep, no one could pos- 
 sibly have told. The horses were getting it now. 
 They were being mercilessly scourged. Down 
 came the blows from arms raised higher than the 
 shoulders — the flailing sounding like hard sticks 
 on a barrel. The deafest could have heard it even 
 above the shouts of their neighbors on the seats 
 and the pandemonium of noises which came up 
 from the standing crowd below. 
 
 As for those frantic partisans, — the rabble 
 down by the track, — they were cheering, curs- 
 ing, blessing, anathematizing, deriding, and pray- 
 ing. Not a sound of the human throat or a fierce 
 236 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 emotion of the human soul was lacking in that 
 turbulent tumult or its prompting passions. At 
 the second doubling of the fearsome promontory 
 the bloodthirsty multitude had one consolatory 
 mouthful thrown into its maw. A single rider fell. 
 Who he was or how the accident had happened 
 no one could say. The man was gone — swallowed 
 up in the earth, it seemed. All that one could cer- 
 tainly see was that the riderless horse was dash- 
 ing down the hill alone — bewildered, terrified, 
 and a menace to the rest. 
 
 The others slashed at him with their whips 
 as they passed, and finally drove him out of the 
 course. We watched breathlessly for fresh inci- 
 dents and catastrophes in the final round. But 
 none came. The flailing continued, but it was 
 futile. The leader was far ahead. The vidory of 
 the Goose was certain — had indeed been evident 
 from the ending of the second sweep. Its sup- 
 porters were already struggling across the oval 
 toward the finish corner, ploughing a way roughly 
 through the jam, to share in their champion's 
 triumph. 
 
 The panting vidor came rushing in far in ad- 
 vance of the rest. It was useless for the others 
 to try to finish. The multitude, no longer re- 
 pressible, surged into the course. Viftory de- 
 termined the color of all wavering partisans. 
 Every one seemed to belong to the contrada of 
 
 237 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 the Goose. An immense bird, which had been 
 kept somewhere out of sight until that moment, 
 was produced, was held shoulder-high, was al- 
 lowed to croak its hoarse note of triumph and 
 to flap its huge gray wings in token of the vic- 
 tory. Over in the corner we could dimly see that 
 the rider was being carried off on the shoulders 
 of his adorers — those who were fortunate enough 
 to be able to get near him. 
 
 The crowd scattered rapidly at the conclusion 
 of the race and in a quarter of an hour the piazza 
 was almost as vacant as it had been at midday. 
 The component elements of the great throng 
 had gone away to sit down to delayed dinners 
 or suppers and to discuss the vicissitudes of the 
 contest which had just ended. What contrada will 
 win is a subjed: of much speculation in advance 
 and perhaps of some wagering of values, though 
 not to a very pernicious extent. The problem of 
 probabilities is complicated by the fad that none 
 of the contradas knows precisely, until the day 
 of the race, what horse is going to run for it. A 
 number of horses are brought out to participate 
 in the contest, and, after the best ten have been 
 seleded, each ward is assigned a champion by 
 lot. Superstition has something to do with the 
 local conjedures as to the probable winner. The 
 contrada in which the house of St. Catherine is 
 situated, and which has the Goose as its emblem, 
 238 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 is supposed to be specially favored. Doubtless 
 the outcome of the race just described was at- 
 tributed to the intercession of that powerful saint. 
 
 A week after the contest in the piazza we 
 were walking with Don Luigi, through the nar- 
 row streets of the town, taking an open-air les- 
 son, when we came quite unexped;edly upon the 
 epilogue of the race. More stridly speaking, it 
 was the epilogue of the epilogue, for the lights 
 were out, the theatre deserted, and nothing left 
 to show what had been happening except the 
 wreckage and remnants of this convivial after- 
 piece. 
 
 Tables had been set in the open street of the 
 winning contrada and a banquet of protraded 
 courses had been served. The health of the man 
 and the animal who had collaborated in the vic- 
 tory had been drunk, perhaps too deeply. The 
 orgy had continued until daylight. What we saw 
 of it when we came to inspect the scene of the 
 revelry was merely the battered scenery of the 
 littered stage. Dejeded and limp decorations still 
 hung from some of the houses. And above our 
 heads there was a tangle of wires from which red 
 and green lamps had been suspended when the 
 wassail was at its height. 
 
 With the Assumption festivities finally over, 
 we were thrown back upon other resources for 
 our amusement. I will not detail them here. They 
 
 239 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 consisted in the deliberate inspedion of the sights 
 of the town and excursions into the environs. 
 Out of this material we found languid occupa- 
 tion — sufficient for one's summer energies — for 
 many weeks. The Heights claimed us until the 
 approach of autumn, save for an occasional de- 
 scent to lower levels when we felt the need of 
 decided change and the stimulus of contadl with 
 things wholly new. When the torrid season had 
 finally given place to the distindl and unmis- 
 takable chill which visits this land of sunshine 
 with the shortening days, we abandoned our quiet 
 palazzo and our tranquil terrace, and went back 
 to the more stirring existence of the larger towns. 
 
 240 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
CHAPTER X 
 BY THE SEA 
 
 ON a certain day, while Siena still con- 
 tinued to be our nominal abiding-place, 
 we left its breezy heights and descended 
 to the seashore. 
 
 Our journey took us over the very route which 
 a drop of water would have taken descending 
 from Siena to the sea. Almost in sight of our ter- 
 race we touched the Elsa, the little stream which 
 trickles through the valley below the town. And 
 beside its stony bed we travelled for an hour or 
 more until we reached the Arno and came out 
 into the broad levels of its fertile plains. 
 
 Pisa brought us to a reludant halt, for we were 
 impatient to be at our goal beyond. Under the 
 great shed of the station we paused rebelliously 
 and were glad to be out again in the open coun- 
 try on the farther side. The last stage of the jour- 
 ney took us across the desolate Maremma, its 
 unpopulated spaces beautiful in their wildness. 
 Cattle were visible here and there, but never in 
 herds. Solitude seemed to be in the spirit of the 
 place. Even the stone-pines rose alone — one 
 here, one there — as if they shunned companion- 
 ship and coveted isolation. 
 
 243 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 The station at Leghorn brought us again in 
 touch with hurrying life and modern common- 
 placeness. The porters contended for one's lug- 
 gage. The hotel agents swooped down upon their 
 prey. The drive from the station to the shore in 
 the torrid, plush-upholstered van in which they 
 enclosed us seemed interminable. It led all the 
 way through narrow streets bordered by endless 
 rows of yellow houses climbing six and seven 
 stories skyward. There was not a break in their 
 serried ranks, until we finally came out on the 
 broad boulevard by the sea, and were drawn up 
 at the doorway of our place of entertainment. 
 
 Inside of the spacious caravansary we found a 
 different climate. The crossing of the threshold 
 plunged us into a cooling bath. Somewhere a 
 breeze had been found which did not exist out- 
 side and had been made to circulate through the 
 lofty halls and corridors. The room to which the 
 civil servant showed us was a compound of cool 
 suggestions. Its floor was of stone mosaic. Its 
 bedsteads were of iron. Its chairs were of unup- 
 holstered wood. Its draperies were of the filmiest 
 kind. 
 
 At our arrival the population of the place was 
 quite invisible. It was in siesta. The sensitive, 
 high-bred Italians who composed the exclusive 
 clientage of the resort were in their rooms, sleep- 
 ing or doing nothing, while the sun held sway 
 244 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
 outside. For us such total and complete inaction 
 was impossible. Madame descended to the read- 
 ing-room and scanned the venerable periodicals. 
 Her companion ventured boldly into the open 
 and took a survey of the torrid world outside. 
 
 A garden fronted the hotel and stretched its 
 shrubbery down to the marine promenade. Be- 
 yond that level roadway a parapet, low and broad, 
 defined the edge of terra firma and limited the 
 aggressions of the sea. The Mediterranean, which 
 washed the base of the parapet, flashed under 
 the midday sun in a thousand facets of dazzling 
 light. Out on the rocks some boys were bath- 
 ing. Their brown skins were tanned to the color 
 of old bronze. They might have been bronzes 
 themselves if the exuberance of Latin life had 
 not kept them in incessant motion. Once they 
 climbed up out of the sparkling flood and posed 
 in polished petrifications for a whole minute on 
 the scorching rocks. Then they slid down again 
 like seals into the shimmering bath. 
 
 Farther along the shore, but still near the 
 hotel, a pier ran out into the water, bordered by 
 bathing-places for the politer and maturer world. 
 These bathing-places were redlangles of canvas 
 covered with canvas overhead, and thus protected 
 both from the sun and from the observation of 
 the passers on the promenade. The spaces were 
 small and inconvenient. Swimming would have 
 
 245 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 been impossible inside of them of course. They 
 were mere open-air bath-tubs without the bother 
 of pipes and plumbing. For certain persons this 
 timid expedient was the proper thing. And for 
 those who required more water, there was always 
 the whole sea outside with not a barrier this side 
 of Corsica. 
 
 Later in the day, when the sun had become 
 less fierce, we pressed into our service one of the 
 small fiacres which stood in front of the hotel and 
 took a drive southward toward the distant prom- 
 ontory of Antignano, which projects with a certain 
 mild audacity into the sea. The Leghornese coast 
 performs no surprising scenic feats. It holds it- 
 self in a gentle reserve, not absolutely refusing a 
 few concessions to the appetite for rocks and head- 
 lands, but satisfying the public demand without 
 freaks or antics. 
 
 We bowled past a thin line of stunted trees, 
 with tops of filmy green, dimly suggesting aspara- 
 gus in the form unknown to denizens of towns. 
 The genus seems peculiar to Leghorn, and ap- 
 pears to have been brought to the spot from an 
 unknown shore by some boulevard builder bent 
 upon novelty. After a sweep or two of the road- 
 way a gate rose before us, flanked with the little 
 custom-houses where the city's revenues were 
 colleded. And beyond there was something like 
 open country with yellow and pink and violet 
 246 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
 villas showing fragments of their fronts through 
 high gates and tropical vegetation. 
 
 We continued along the boulevard to the little 
 suburb of Ardenza, where a summer colony set- 
 tled itself many years ago. An old semicircular 
 building, made up of different dwellings with a 
 casino in the middle, was still standing there, sym- 
 metrical and stately in its design. Down by the 
 water was a pier with bathing-places like those at 
 Leghorn, and back of the casino there were more 
 villas. Our driver emphasized the importance of 
 the spot as a residence of celebrities. The Grand 
 Duke used to come there from Florence when 
 there was a Grand Duke. Donna Francesca Gari- 
 baldi had a house somewhere in the neighborhood 
 — the widow of the red-shirted hero, his relid as 
 the old-fashioned tombstones would say. After- 
 ward in one of the squares in the town we saw 
 Donna Francesca descend from a cab and buy a 
 newspaper at a kiosque — an angular, thin, wiry 
 person, moving with eleftrical jerks and suggest- 
 ing a nature overcharged with nervous force. The 
 relidl was not the wife of the hero's youth. His 
 love-match had been earlier, and the heroine of 
 it had died before him. 
 
 Out beyond Ardenza, at the very point of the 
 promontory, we found the hamlet of Antignano, 
 caught there like driftwood on a projedting rock. 
 A very humble folk loitered in the streets of the 
 
 247 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 little village, most of whom had never seen any 
 greater place in the world than Leghorn. Mas- 
 cagni is said to have been born there. One of the 
 plain, homely faces of the young men might well 
 enough have been his, at that moment, if a dis- 
 cerning patron had not found out his talent when 
 he was still a boy and sent him off to Milan to 
 develop it. 
 
 The drive back to the hotel brought us into con- 
 tad: with a breeze which had been unsuspedled as 
 we went southward. The sun was setting placidly 
 without clouds. We watched from our windows, 
 after we had regained our rooms, its final plunge 
 into the sea — a perfe6t disk shrinking by sudden 
 subtractions as it settled out of sight. 
 
 In the evening there was a ball, which gave us 
 an opportunity to see one of the charaderistic 
 phases of the social life of the place. Leghorn 
 was supposed to be a resort of considerable im- 
 portance, to judge from the daily reports of the 
 doings of its summer colony which appeared in 
 the Roman papers. This particular festivity had 
 been heralded for several days in advance. It per- 
 haps showed the high-water mark of gaiety reach- 
 able at this particular concentration of fashion. 
 The participants were almost exclusively Italians. 
 Other nationalities were represented only by ones 
 and twos. 
 
 Part of the ball took possession of the casino 
 248 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
 on the pier and part established itself in the hotel. 
 The pier had a restaurant, as well as a ball-room, 
 where ices and iced beverages were dispensed and 
 consumed in considerable quantities, measured 
 by Italian standards. On the unenclosed area of 
 the pier there were lounging-chairs in abundance 
 and the non-dancers took possession of them and 
 enjoyed them. Were they not more to be envied 
 than the perspiring waltzers who circled over the 
 parquet inside? 
 
 Out over the water the view was fascinatingly, 
 mysteriously non-existent. The night had shut it 
 out. Of all that sparkling iridescence of noonday, 
 nothing remained visible except a wriggling line 
 of light, here and there, traced on the inky surface 
 of the water by the distant gas-jets on the piers. 
 One gazed out into the soft void with a sense of 
 infinite openness and space but saw and heard 
 nothing except these quivering refledions and the 
 lapping of the water at one's feet. 
 
 Over at the hotel the omnipresent officer and 
 the ubiquitous signorina were describing more 
 circles in the spacious salons — which were as com- 
 fortable as the combination of Italy and August 
 would permit. The civilian seemed then, and 
 seems always, to be at a decided disadvantage in 
 this military land, unless he has a title to com- 
 pensate for the absence of a uniform. The officer 
 carries everything before him. He is an orna- 
 
 249 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 mental objed as well as a useful one. And his en- 
 forced costume mercifully saves him from those 
 solecisms of dress toward which the unguided so 
 fatally gravitate. He does not combine russet 
 shoes with black evening clothes, or glove him- 
 self in white kid when his trousers are in checks, 
 or commit any other of those sins against the uni- 
 ties of which the civilian is so frequently guilty. 
 The merit which both the civilian and the offi- 
 cer have alike is the merit of being good-look- 
 ing. Natural seledion has done its work in Italy 
 — certainly in the upper classes. The fittest in 
 personal appearance has survived, and the others 
 have been all but effaced and exterminated. 
 
 The talking side of the ball — for in Italy the 
 talkers often outnumber the dancers — was a dis- 
 tindlly successful feature of it. The dowagers never 
 lacked for company. The fringe of people around 
 the rooms was by no means the usual array of 
 bored on-lookers found in that place in other 
 countries. Indeed the charms of conversation 
 threatened at times to put an end to the legiti- 
 mate occupation of the evening altogether. None 
 of the dancers danced to the end of the measure. 
 After a turn or two around the room they usu- 
 ally brought the exercise to a close and drifted 
 back to the fauteuils and the sofas where mere 
 talk could be attended to more effedually. Such 
 vivacity and persistency and continuity of con- 
 250 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
 versatlon is to be found among no other people. 
 Even the French do not outdo it. If one is so 
 impertinent as to listen to these dialogues, it 
 sometimes develops that the talkers have noth- 
 ing to say. But out of this absence of material 
 they efFe6t wonders. The valueless substance is 
 beaten out like fine gold and is made to cover 
 an incredible amount of space with an appear- 
 ance of sparkle and brilliancy. 
 
 The ball came to an end at last, some time 
 well after midnight — we did not know precisely 
 when. And the next day the newspapers said 
 much of it. The costumes and the jewels were 
 described. The names and the titles of the par- 
 ticipants were given at length. We were made to 
 understand that the occasion had been one which 
 even for this popular Latin resort was an unusual 
 success. And we accepted it definitely, as a type 
 of the seaside soiree dansante in its best estate. 
 
 Several days followed at the shore which were 
 diversified with drives and walks and explora- 
 tions of the town and its vicinity. When the 
 place had become exhausted, we abandoned it 
 and moved backward one stage, along our line 
 of approach, to Pisa, where a halt was made and 
 where we found sights to be seen outside of the 
 narrow round known to the tourist. There was 
 a Certosa five miles away almost as fine as the 
 great one at Pavia. And there were other places 
 
 251 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 to be explored which possessed for us the fasci- 
 nation of belonging to the absolutely unknown. 
 
 I add an epilogue to this chapter for the sake 
 of speaking of one of these unseen Pisan sights, 
 which we investigated upon this particular visit. 
 The sight was the royal estate of San Rossore, 
 situated upon the outskirts of the town and easily 
 reachable by a short drive. A permit was necessary 
 to admit one to the place, but it was furnished at 
 the Prefecture on application. The tickets desig- 
 nated it as Gli stabilimenti della regia razza in 
 S. Rossore J and this being interpreted meant that 
 the domain was a stock-farm, used for the breed- 
 ing of horses for the royal stables. 
 
 The excursion consumed perhaps two hours. 
 There was a mile or two of level country road 
 before one reached the entrance of the estate and 
 after that several miles of park-driving over well- 
 kept avenues, with plenty of greensward and 
 magnificent trees, before the round had been ac- 
 complished. 
 
 The place was planned like the French royal 
 demesnes. Its long avenues suggested the broad 
 drives which cut through the forest of Fontaine- 
 bleau, or, still more, those which intersed: the 
 woodlands at Compiegne. There would be a road- 
 way of reasonable width in the middle, then a 
 wide belt of turf on each side; and on the outer 
 edge of the turf a hedge of great trees. 
 252 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
 One rarely sees such fine trees in Italy. They 
 had large, bushy, solid masses of foliage, and rose 
 to a commanding height. In this land where wood 
 is scarce, and where the clearing of the soil is 
 made necessary by the minute economy of the 
 farming operations, only a prince could afford to 
 let such masses of timber stand in idleness, con- 
 verting the precious nutriment of the soil into 
 something merely beautiful to look at. 
 
 There were occasional open spaces with stables 
 standing in the midst of them, and plenty of the 
 regia ?-azza — the royal breed — visible in the 
 paddocks around them. The horses were in a 
 raw and green state, and showed little of their 
 real value. Much handling by the trainers and 
 much grooming also would be necessary before 
 they would look like the fine beasts which draw 
 the red-wheeled carriages at Rome. But the essen- 
 tial material was there and only needed polishing 
 to put it into perfe6l shape. 
 
 At the end of the route we came upon a small 
 chalet, a modest thing resemblinga hunting-lodge, 
 which royalty had used as a sleeping-place in its oc- 
 casional sojourns on the estate. And beyond this 
 lodge there was a low mound, covered with grass 
 and fringed with trees, which closed the prosped: 
 in that direction. Impelled by a certain vague curi- 
 osity, we left the carriage and climbed to the sum- 
 mit of this mound without the slightest prepara- 
 
 253 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 tion for the prosped; which awaited us on the far- 
 ther side. It was the sea. We were in the very 
 presence of it. The beach spread out its zone of 
 yellow at our feet, and beyond it was the wide blue 
 of the Mediterranean going off to the horizon. 
 
 In leaving the town we had taken with us no 
 particular sense of diredion, but had imagined 
 that we were driving inland. The sudden dis- 
 covery gave us a sense of being suddenly wheeled 
 around — of having the earth pivot beneath one. 
 The shock of orientation was something from 
 which it required a minute or two to recover. 
 
 The king who came here might have valued 
 the retreat for the very reason of its proximity 
 to the beach. He could have bathed here unob- 
 served, a privilege which royalty rarely enjoys. 
 The estate extended for miles on either side. 
 Not a soul could enter the domain, without the 
 consent of its owner, or come anywhere near 
 this proteded spot. 
 
 In returning to the world from this cut-off 
 fragment of it, we came upon a curious sight. 
 At a certain point while we were still on the 
 royal estate, a train of camels passed us. 
 
 The vision of these strange beasts gave us 
 another moment of bewildered geography, as 
 they first came into sight some distance ahead. 
 Were we in our senses — or was this some miragre 
 of the desert.? 
 254 
 
BY THE SEA 
 
 We were in our senses. It was no mirage. 
 The awkward, sprawling creatures were coming 
 steadily and surely toward us, with that peculiar 
 ducking motion which is theirs and theirs alone. 
 
 The little Pisan cabman, who was conducting 
 our vehicle, turned out from the road at the 
 proper moment and took his station beside it. 
 Then he turned around to devour our surprise. 
 
 "What are these creatures, Nicolo?" we asked, 
 still doubting our senses. "Are they — can they 
 be—" 
 
 "They are camels, signori," returned the 
 brown-faced Tuscan, with a gleam of satisfac- 
 tion at our proper wonderment. "It is a strange 
 beast. They grow in the East. They are not na- 
 tives here." 
 
 The strange beasts came nearer. They seemed 
 to be carrying burdens. Boxes were hung on 
 either side of their humps like the packs of a 
 mule. 
 
 "What are they carrying, Nicolo?" 
 
 "It is earth, signori. These beasts are used 
 here for mending the roads. They carry the 
 burdens for the workmen. They are useful here 
 on the estate, but they never leave it." 
 
 "Why do they never leave it?" 
 
 "They have tender feet, signori. They wear 
 no irons. On the pavements they would suffer. 
 In their own home where they come from there 
 
 255 
 
THE LAND OF THE LATINS 
 
 is nothing but sand. Here on these soft roads 
 and on the turf they are useful. But they never 
 leave the estate." 
 
 "Who ever thought of bringing them here?" 
 
 "It was the Medici, signori. These camels 
 were given to them by the Turk." He brought 
 his explanation to an end, but the next moment 
 was seized with a sudden misgiving, "Not these 
 very camels, signori. Oh, no ! These beasts would 
 not have lived as long as that. It was the fathers 
 and the mothers of them. It was some time ago." 
 
 We looked respe6lfully at these descendants 
 of an ancient race. Our own pedigree was recent 
 and contemptible in comparison. The procession 
 passed us in dignified silence. Their advance was 
 as rhythmic and as regular as the swaying of 
 pendulums. 
 
 Nicolo turned back into the avenue and his 
 white horse trotted merrily toward the gate. There 
 were no more incidents. At the Pisan station our 
 highland train was waiting; and in an hour or 
 two more we were back upon our Tuscan height. 
 
 THE END 
 
HISTORY OF 
 MODERN ITALIAN ART 
 
 BY ASHTON ROLLINS WILLARD 
 
 With Frontispiece in Photogravure and 
 Thirty-nine Plates in Half-tone 
 
 Second Edition. With a Supplement to the Text 
 ( 11^ pages) and Additional Illustrations. In %vo, 
 pp. xvi + -]ii,. Cloth, Gilt Top. Price, I5.00. 
 
 THIS book completes the record of Italian 
 Art, bridging over the gap between the his- 
 toric period, so called, and the present time. It is 
 particularly full on the subje6t of contemporary 
 artists. Through his personal acquaintance with 
 leading Italian painters and sculptors and with 
 Italian authorities on modern art, the author has 
 been able to give his work accuracy and com- 
 pleteness. The illustrations include reprodu6tions 
 of the best work of the leading artists. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I. SCULPTURE. Chapter I. — The Revival 
 of the Classic Style by Canova and his Contemporaries. 
 Chapter II. — Lorenzo Bartolini, the Leader of the Re- 
 aftion against Classicism. Chapter III. — The Transition 
 from Classicism to Naturalism. Chapter IV. — The De- 
 velopment of Naturalism in the Work of Vincenzo Vela. 
 Chapter V. — Recent Sculptors of Southern Italy. Chap- 
 ter VI. — Recent Sculptors of Central Italy. Chapter VII, 
 — Recent Sculptors of Northern Italy. 
 
MODERN ITALIAN ART 
 
 CONTENTS CONTINUED 
 
 PART II. PAINTING. Chapter VIII. — Vincenzo 
 Camuccini, the Leading Painter of the Classic Movement. 
 Chapter IX. — Other Classic Painters. Chapter X. — Pre- 
 Raphaelitism and Romanticism. Chapter XI. — Other 
 Phases of the Reaftion against Classicism. Chapter XII. — 
 The Leaders of the Modern Neapolitan School. Chapter 
 XIII. — Recent Painters of Southern Italy. Chapter XIV. 
 — Recent Painters of Central Italy. Chapter XV. — Recent 
 Painters of Northern Italy. 
 
 PART III. ARCHITECTURE. Chapter XVL— Ar- 
 
 chitefts of the Classic Movement, and their Contempora- 
 ries and Successors. Chapter XVII. — Recent Architefts. 
 
 SUPPLEMENT — INDEX. 
 
 NOTICES 
 
 "The volume entire is a monument of intelligent indus- 
 try and comprehensive research much to be valued." — 
 Times, New York. 
 
 "He has the field praftically to himself and it will hardly 
 pay another to glean where he has reaped." — The Critic, 
 New York. 
 
 "Altogether, the volume is one of remarkable interest." — 
 The T?-af!script, Boston. 
 
 "As a reference book for the general reader the volume can- 
 not fail of permanent value."— Z//^r<'/ry World, Boston. 
 
 "One feels that it says the last as well as the first word on 
 the subjeft." — Mail and Express, New York. 
 
 "Mr, Willard has admirably presented the art-history of 
 modern Italy." — Press, Philadelphia. 
 
 "The book is from beginning to end graphic and interest- 
 
MODERN ITALIAN ART 
 
 ing. Its artistic discussions are critical and penetrating." — 
 
 'New England Magazine. 
 
 "The amount of work that the book represents is tremen- 
 dous." — The Courant, Hartford. 
 
 "Contains far more information about the Italian artists of 
 this century than any other that exists in English." — T/:e 
 
 Times, London, 
 
 "A work which one reads with pleasure and with profit." 
 
 — Rit'ista d' Italia, Rome. 
 
 "The author fills up, for the first time and in an admirable 
 manner, a serious gap in our art-history." — Illustrazione, 
 Milan. 
 
 "An honest and original work, the result of first-hand re- 
 search." — Magazine of Art, London. 
 
 "A history which, if it contains here and there a hasty 
 judgment, strikes us as, on the whole, spirited, accurate, 
 and just." — Literature, London. 
 
 "Deals with each branch of art in an informatory and ex- 
 haustive spirit." — The Studio, London. 
 
 "Mr. Willard's book on modern Italian art is a grand book 
 and delights me. If I were a reviewer it would receive un- 
 hesitating and warm acknowledgment of its value, for I 
 like it through and through, and, moreover, think the sub- 
 ject one of very great interest and importance." — Sir Wyke 
 Bay lis 5, Pres. of tie Royal Society of British Artists. 
 
 "Your book is the first one which has been dedicated in 
 a foreign language to contemporary Italian art, and it is not 
 only important for its comprehensiveness, but is also ren- 
 dered remarkable by the manner in which the subjeft is 
 developed. I congratulate you particularly upon its con- 
 
MODERN ITALIAN ART 
 
 struftion, that is to say, the arrangement and distribution 
 of the matter ; what one calls the architefture of a book, 
 something which is very difficult and at the same time of 
 the very greatest importance." — Giulio Carotti, Secretary of 
 the Royal Academy, Milan. 
 
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