Italian Letters of a Diplomat's Wife: January-May, 1880; February-April, 1904. Mary King Waddington
dressed in white, with a group of men standing around her chair—many more men than women, and never more than twenty or thirty people. I suppose it was the type of the old French literary salon where people went to talk. I naturally listened in those days, not being sufficiently up in all the political and literary questions, and not pinning my faith absolutely on the "Revue des Deux Mondes." Mrs. Bruce, too, was often at Madame Mohl's.
We stopped in a few minutes at the Trinità de' Monti, where there was a service of some kind going on. The nuns were singing a low, monotonous chant behind their grating; the church was quite dark, lights only on the altar, a few women kneeling and absorbed, and a few irreverent forestieri looking about and talking in whispers. We came down the Spanish Steps, which were quite deserted at that hour—models, beggars, flâneurs, all resting from their labours.
I was glad to rest a little before dinner, and only dressed afterward, as I couldn't well go down to the public dining-room in a low red satin dress and diamonds. We went rather early—ten o'clock—to Palazzo Altemps, but found many people already there. The apartment looked very pretty, quantities of flowers and plants wherever they could be put. Gert looked very well in yellow satin, and Eugene is always at his best in his own house—very courteous and receiving people as if it were a pleasure to him (which I think it is). We found quantities of old friends—Pallavicinis, Teanos, Lovatellis, Calabrinis, Bandini, Pagets, Mrs. Bruce, Hooker, Grants, etc., and quantities of people we didn't know, and whose acquaintance we made of course—Mesdames Minghetti, Cairoli, Despretis, and almost the whole of the Corps Diplomatique.
W. enjoyed it very much, did his manners very well, and never looked stiff or bored. I was delighted to see the familiar faces once more. I almost felt as if we had never been away. Madame de Noailles was astounded at the number of people I knew—I think she hadn't realized how long I had lived in Rome as a girl. She had heard W. say it was his first visit to Rome, and thought I, too, was here for the first time, and she was naturally surprised to hear me talking to Calabrini about the hunts, cotillons, his coach, and tempi passati generally.
I have accepted so many invitations that I never can remember them, but the ladies promised to send a card. Aunt Mary Gracie was rather put out with me because I wore no necklace (which couldn't be said of the Roman ladies, who all wore splendid jewels), but I told her it was the last chic in Paris to wear your necklace on your bodice, not on your neck.
We stayed on after all the beau monde had gone with Aunt Mary, Hooker, a Russian friend of Schuyler's, and Count Palfy, had a nice little supper, champagne and sandwiches, and talked over the party, saying of course (as they say we Kings always do) how pleasant our party was. W. was much interested in the various talks he had. He found Minghetti charming—so intelligent and well up in everything. Cairoli, too, he had been anxious to see; also Visconti Venosta. He was naturally (like all the men) charmed with Madame Minghetti. She must have been beautiful, and has an extraordinary charm of manner. The Cairolis are a very big couple. He is tall and broad, fine eyes—she, too, on a large scale, but handsome. Of course there were many inquiries from all the old friends for la maman and the family generally. Mrs. Bruce says she never drives in the Doria-Pamphili without thinking of you driving about in your plain black dress and bonnet, with two or three daughters (not quite so plainly dressed) in the carriage, and all always talking and laughing, and enjoying life together. I told her about Florence, where the King of Italy always bowed to you in the Cascine, evidently taking you for the superior of some religious order (he must have thought the novices were lively), and the children in the street used to run up to you and kiss your hand. "He was quite right, to bow to you," she said, "my grand old Republican."
Yesterday we went again to the Vatican. W. is quite happy, I thought I should never get him away. It is most amusing to walk about old Rome with him, for suddenly over a gateway or at the bottom of an ordinary little court he discovers an inscription or a slab, or an old stone which he knows all about, and we stop. He reads, and recognises, and translates to me, and is wildly interested. It is all so good for him, and puts politics and little annoyances out of his head. It is quite new for me to see Rome from a classical point de vue, but I suppose one enjoys things differently as one grows older. I certainly enjoyed the mad gallops over the Campagna in the old days; do you remember Mrs. S. who was so severe with us—first because we were Americans (she was English) and then because we knew everybody and enjoyed ourselves?—"when she was young people came to Rome to educate themselves and enjoy the pictures, museums, historical associations, etc. Now one saw nothing but American girls racing over the Campagna with a troop of Roman princes at their heels." Poor dear, she really thought it was a calamity not to be born under the British flag. I suppose that makes the great strength of the English, their absolute conviction that England is the only country in the world.
They are funny, though—I was discussing something one day with Lady S., and we didn't quite agree; upon which she remarked she supposed I couldn't understand her ideas—she came from a big country where one took broad views of things. I said I thought I did too, but perhaps it is a matter of appreciation—I think, though, I have got geography on my side.
After breakfast we drove about paying visits. We found Princess Teano (who has asked us to dine on Wednesday) and she showed us her boys—the eldest one a beauty. She looked very handsome with her pure Madonna face. She told us her beau-père (the blind Duke of Sermoneta) had been so pleased to meet W. in Florence. They had a long talk somewhere, and W. was so amused with the Duke's politics and liberalism—all so easy-going, half chaffing, but very decided too, no sounding phrases nor profession de foi; simply accepting (what he couldn't really like very much) the inevitable, de bonne grâce; and seizing and ridiculing all the weak points.
In France they are frightfully logical, must always argue and discuss everything—I think they are born debaters.
We left cards on various people, Princess Bandini, Cenci, Countess Lovatelli, and then went for a little turn out of the San Lorenzo gate, but not far, as we wanted to go to Princess Pallavicini, who received that afternoon. W. was much struck with the apartment—so many rooms, all very high ceilings, that we passed through before getting to the boudoir where the Princess was sitting. It all looked so natural, I remembered the hangings—bright flowers on a light satin ground—as soon as I got into the room, and some of the pictures. She was very cordial and friendly, told W. how long she had known me, and recalled some of our rides at Frascati with her and Del Monte. She asked us to come on Friday evenings, she was always at home. No one else was there but a Princesse de Thurn and Taxis (née Hohenlohe) who was introduced to us, and the talk was pleasant enough. She was quite interested in our two audiences—Pope and Quirinal—but we told her we had heard nothing from either court yet. W. walked home, and I went on to Gert as it was her reception day. She gave me a cup of tea, and I found various friends there, including Father Smith who was quite pleased to see me again. He doesn't look any older, and is apparently quite as energetic as ever. He told me he had enjoyed his talk with W. very much, and they had made a rendezvous for two days—the Catacombs and San Clemente. He remarked casually that W. wasn't at all what he expected to find him; not at all his idea of a "French Republican." I wonder what sort of trade-mark he expected to see? If he had pictured W. as a slight, nervous, black-eyed, voluble Frenchman, he must naturally have been surprised.
We have heard people discussing us sometimes in English as we pass down the long dining-room to our table—"There goes Waddington, the late French Premier." "Never—that man is an Englishman." "I have seen pictures of Waddington—he doesn't look at all like that, etc." The head waiter always points us out as distinguished strangers.
I found quantities of cards when I came home—one from Lily San Vito with a nice little message of welcome. (We crossed her in the Corso the other day and she looked lovely.) Also Valerys, Middletons, Pantaleones, etc. After I had gone to my room to dress W. had a visit from Desprez, the French Ambassador to the Vatican. He has just arrived, his wife not yet come, and he feels a little strange in this very divided society. We are going to meet him at dinner at the Portuguese Embassy. He told W. there would be several Cardinals at the dinner—a regular black assemblage. It will be a funny experience for W.
I will finish this long letter to-night. We have just come in from the Teano dinner, which was pleasant. Teano looked