Glimpses of Italian court life; happy days in Italia adorata

Front matter

THIS COPY OF "GLIMPSES OF ITALIAN COURT

LIFE" IS ONE OF AN EDITION OF ONE

HUNDRED, PRINTED ON VAN

Preface

Italia Adorata. These two words seem to me to best express the universal sentiments of all the English-speaking people, and indeed of all the races of the civilized world, toward the country to which we all turn with a common love and admiration, — for its natural beauties given of God, for its great and historic past, for its present and heroic re-birth into the world of great nations, — and last, but not least, for the charm and rare intelligence of the Italian people.

Personally I owe to my Italian friends, for whom I have a real affection, an expression of deep appreciation for their many and oft-repeated kindnesses to me whenever I have been in Italy, or wherever I have met them elsewhere in the world. " The heart is good," as our red Indians say, and the heart of an Italian friend is very good always, I have found.

In Italy many poets of many countries have found

PREFACE

a special inspiration, and the painter learns often for the first time the full meaning of color when he goes to Italy to study, not only nature, but the great Italian masters of the past.

I have chosen to edit the letters written from Italy to my mother, father, and an intimate friend, because I felt that my readers would receive a clearer picture of my experiences from letters written directly from the country.

I have dwelt for the most part on Rome, where I have spent so many happy days.

The city is becoming one of the halting places in the march of the world. Travellers from the West bound for the Orient rarely pass Italy by, and generally run up to Rome for a few weeks. In a similar way travellers from the Orient, going westward, feel as if they had reached a sort of home when they arrive in dear Italy. Gradually through the many foreign marriages of the great Italian nobles with women of rank and position in Spain, England, France and America, society in Rome has come to be very cosmopolitan, and one meets people of culture and distinction from all over the world in the salons of the Roman matrons, than whom no more delightful hostesses can be found anywhere.

It has also been my pleasure to investigate the [vi]

PREFACE

conditions of the Italians who have come to my country, and I have written two letters on the subject of our Italian immigration, which I have studied with much interest. The results of my investigations have taught me to appreciate the worth of the Italians who are fast making part of our country a picco/a Italia, as they themselves like to say.

Here then, I offer to Her Most Gracious Majesty, Queen Elena of Italy, some of my experiences gathered in that dear country which, in common with all the world, I love so well; trusting that in my impressions of Italian life, which I have tried to picture, something may be found to interest and please Her Majesty, as well as my friends and readers everywhere.

[vii]

Introduction

I venture to add a few lines of introduction, as it seems to me there exists among a certain class of people, particularly in America, a misapprehension as to the value and meaning of titles.

True it is, that in a democratic country like our own, there is little place for the consideration of this subject; but democratic as we Americans are theoretically, practically it is well known that we all respect a foreign title without any definitely expressed reason to ourselves. In point of fact, there are as many class distinctions in America as in any foreign country, and we, unconsciously perhaps, put as high a value on family name, birth and breeding as do the noble families of the old world.

Had George Washington been made an emperor, the signers of the Declaration of Independence might have been dukes or princes; but our forefathers began with other names : hero, patriot, statesman, are the titles of the New World, for we are a New World [ix]

INTRODUCTION

and a young country. Our traditions are what our great-grandfathers have made them, and we each are as proud of our own heroes of the American Revolution, who fought and died that the heritage of this dear land might be ours, as the foreign nobleman is proud of his ancestors who gave their lives in the service of their country.

The worship and love of ancestors have ever been a marked characteristic of great people the world over. The Lares and Penates were ever the favored eods of the Greeks and Romans, and the adoration

o

of their forefathers is the first duty of the Japanese and Chinese. After all, we Puritans from England and Scotland are not far behind in the love and affection that we bear our progenitors, who have given us the greatest heritage of all, integrity, intelligence and intense love of country. Certain it is that their courage and high purpose laid the foundations of our own great country. Though superficially we may be considered a nation of merchants, at bottom we are really idealists, and the deep-seated love of our ideals will always save us from becoming altogether materialistic. The keynote of our country at the present day is, very properly, devotion to education which may teach these ideals to all who come to us.

In the olden times the strongest man ruled; he

INTRODUCTION

built himself a fortress, and the weaker people in the vicinity paid tribute in the produce of their farms.

In return, he gave them his protection in times of war, though they were forced to help him fight his battles. He was a duke, a prince, what you will, because he was strong:.

Later, the gallant soldiers of the European kingdoms received grants of land and a title from their sovereigns for service rendered to their king and country on the field of battle, as in the case of John Churchill, made Duke of Marlborough after the battle of Blenheim.

Happily in our times wars are growing less frequent; therefore titles are now generally conferred upon those who have achieved especial distinction in the world of art, music, literature and science ; so while I am not in any way a title- worshipper, I believe fully in the power of heredity, and I maintain that titles have a definite significance.

Though everyone that bears a title may not be distinguished personally, he undoubtedly belongs to a family whose members have achieved distinction, and is therefore entitled to consideration.

We can harbly claim in America that all the descendants of our heroes, patriots and statesmen are

INTRODUCTION

distinguished individually, but we never hear the names of any of our great men without a feeling of respect not only for the progenitors of those names but for those who bear them at the present time.

Contents

LETTER PAGE

I ARRIVAL IN ITALY-NAPLES

II TRIP TO SAN MARTINO -NAPLES

II Trip To San Martino

Naples, Italy, December 27, 1904 My dear Mother :

THIS morning we took one of the funny little cabs, victorias on stilts, I call them, and started for San Martino. We did not ask the driver how much he would take us for, but we told him we intended to go in his carriage and would pay him so much. It is hopeless, if you do not know Italian, but perfectly simple to manage these people if you can scold them properly in their own tongue. I found out from our landlord about what I should pay, and then I managed for myself, to the disgust of the magnificent gold-laced porter at the door.

Our little horse was dressed out this fine morning in his best harness, which was literally covered with brass nails, while on the saddle a silver model of himself was madly prancing. The driver demurred at my terms, as I expected he would, so I smilingly [14]

added another lira to the bargain, thus making the price exactly what I had originally intended to pay, and giving him the satisfaction of feeling that he had not been altogether worsted by the hard-hearted foreign lady. As we galloped through the pretty, tropical Viale Nazionale, with its palms and palmettoes, ragged little urchins ran out holding up their fore-fingers and looking eagerly at us. At first I could not imagine what they wanted, but when one little fellow on the chance of being understood by the foreigners, called out " Un soldo, nn soldo," I understood that the one finger was their language for one penny. Foolishly we threw them some coins, but we were soon sorry, for presently we were followed by a dozen or more screaming boys, the beggars joined, and we had to tell the cocchiere (the coachman) to whip up and get away as fast as he could with his little steed.

The horses about here are very small, yet wonderfully strong; and as for the wee donkeys, the loads that they draw and the noise that they make, seem to be in an inverse ratio to their size. On the road this morning, we passed some extraordinary looking carts. The saddles of the harnesses of these dray horses were decorated with brass nails, brass flags, and small brass ornaments in the most picturesque, useless way.

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The poor animals look quite worn out, carrying their big loads and all that finery into the bargain. However, to look at, they are most effective, and in this glorious country, the picturesque is as important to the natives, by very force of environment, as the air they breathe.

I bought this morning some delightful little watercolors of Ischia and Capri. Everybody at home will say they are exaggerated in color; in point of fact, they are really not bright enough. I have heard that Queen Margherita has said, that Naples is such a gorgeous festival of colors, and one's enjoyment of it so keen, that it is very tiring to stay here very long at any one time.

When we at last reached the beautiful belvedere of the convent of San Martino, all Naples lay stretched before us. Vesuvius in the distance directly opposite, and the wonderful harbor to the right. Our Italian guide asked us to put both hands to our ears, and look down into the city, and as we did so, we heard the most astonishing noise. It was as if hundreds of thousands of voices were all mingled into one great rumbling roar. Naples certainly lives up to its reputation of being the noisiest city in the world.

We thought it was quite warm on our drive up, [16]

the sunshine was so lovely, in spite of the light fall of snow, but, once inside the convent, we shivered and shook and drew our furs closely about us, so I am afraid we did not altogether do justice to the many interesting things in the place. We did see the State coach, however, which was used by Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi, when they entered the City of Naples in i860. We took time to enjoy Stanzioni's "Descent from the Cross," the "Nativity" by Guido Reni, who died before the picture was finished, and on the altar of the sacristy we admired the eucharist cup with the wonderful ruby. Fancy the old monks living there, year in and year out, never speaking except on Sunday mornings ! However, it certainly must have been an ideal place for meditation, for the cloister and garden are lovely, aside from the magnificent view.

As we were driving down, we passed a little restaurant where F. B. told me he met last year a young Italian boy from Boston. He was eating his lunch when this young man spoke to him, offering his services as a guide to Camaldoli. F. B. thought it would be rather nice to go, and they started off across country through the vineyards. Women are not allowed to go at all. The Camaldolensian Order was founded in 1585 by Prince Colonna, and suppressed by the Italian Government in 1863. It has now passed into private hands, but is still inhabited by ten monks. Each monk lives in a little house by himself, the houses all being in a row. One of the monks took F. B. about, showed him everything, how they live, how they keep their gardens, and then took him to the most desirable point to enjoy the view. F. B. says the view is really better than the one from San Martino, which we have just seen, though it seems to me hardly possible.

As we drove down into Naples again, we were much amused at the washing which was hung up on poles fastened in the sidewalk. The Neapolitans actually live in the street, and even the meals are prepared by itinerant cooks on the sidewalk, before any house to which they happen to be called.

Before going home I stopped at Signora Piscione's to see some of her fascinating corals. Her gold medal necklace of Sardinian coral, I am happy to say, is fast locked in my trunk. She seemed delighted to see me again, and told me about her handsome son, who has a fine tenor voice. I picked up some pretty necklaces for presents, and one especially for you, of white coral with pink dots. She says it is rather "mongrel coral," but I think it is quite effective for a change. You hear people say, "coral is [18]

coral," but that, of course, shows how little they really know about it ; in point of fact, there is as much difference between fine and poor coral as there is between a pure and an off-colored diamond. The beads of pure Sardinian coral, when free from all sea marks, are like pink pearls, very rare and very expensive. The divers have to go down to great depths in the water to get the branches of this color, and a large perfect bead can be cut only from a large branch. The Signora was very kind, and obligingly pulled several strings of beads to pieces, in order that I might have just the right sizes together; and she was also very fair in her prices, as these people are, if you take them in the right way.

All along this Via Calabritto the shops are simply enchanting. In one of the largest of them, there is a whole room devoted to coral, another to tortoise shell, and another to lava taken from Vesuvius at different times, and made into bracelets and all sorts of trinkets. Signor Melillo always has a wonderful collection in his shop also. Especially attractive are the little jettature made from different shades of coral.

The Neapolitans are very superstitious, and almost all of them wear one of these little charms, because they believe them to be an offset to the jettatura [19]

or " evil eye " that they talk about. This evening at the opera, a very richly dressed lady was pointed out to us in one of the boxes. As she came in and took her seat, I noticed that all the men touched their charm — or jettatura — or, failing this, they formed their left hand into a pair of horns, by stretching out the first and little fingers and holding together their second and third fingers tightly in the palm of the hand with the thumb. Of course, they did not allow this lady to see what they were doing, but any close observer could remark that almost every one went through the motion. I asked an Italian friend about it, and she said, "Oh yes, she has the evil eye, and brings ill luck everywhere." Poor lady! She was most attractive to look at, and probably is quite ignorant of her supposed ill fortune. Some of the little charms are made to represent the hand folded in the way described. These Neapolitan merchants are most artistic, and have copied and reproduced successfully many of the necklaces found in Pompeii, now in the museum of Naples. The museum claims us tomorrow, and that reminds me, I am sending home a lovely bronze, a replica of the beautiful black bronze Mercury, found at Herculaneum. It is the most perfect thing [20]

in art, I believe. Charles Sumner left his replica, you know, to dear Mrs. Howe.

We enjoyed the opera at the San Carlo this evening immensely ; they gave "La Boheme," and the soprano role was sung delightfully by Signora Stehle. The name seems to be German, but they say she is an Italian; anyhow, she sang the music very smoothly and with much purer tone than one usually hears. Signor Mugnone led the orchestra magnificently. Unlike many of the modern conductors, he was most considerate of the singers, and made the orchestra keep down where it belonged, and serve as a delightful accompaniment to the voices, though he in no way neglected to bring out the beauties of the score. Puccini's music is so lovely, but I like " La Boheme" much better than "La Tosca"; it has more melody and is less after Wagner. Most of the composers who try to write "after Wagner" are a long way after him.

To a foreigner's eye the house to-night presented a most unusual appearance. The boxes, of course, were filled with finely dressed people, though many of the women wore hats and high-necked gowns. The first ten rows of the orchestra were filled with luxuriously upholstered armchairs, and the people who had these seats were more or less elaborately gowned.

But the rest of the floor was filled with benches without backs, and crowded to the last gasping limit with eager, tired, music-loving Neapolitans. Several women sitting just below us had brought their babies, and the poor little things had their supper from their mothers' breasts amid the din of the orchestral overture. No wonder they grow up to be musicians!

Once when one of the singers missed a line, I noticed one of these women give the words of it to her neighbor with a laugh at the confusion of the artist on the stage, as much as to say, "I know the words and music as well as she does." You see, the Italians do not expect an operatic impresario to change his performance constantly. In the smaller towns the people save up money for a year, engage an opera troupe to come, arrange to give the same opera every night for a month, and then every mother's son of them attends each performance. As you may imagine, at the end of the month any one in the audience can act as prompter. In the large places, like Naples, there is more variety, but the people learn the music they like very quickly, and it is not safe for an artist to make any serious mistake. Hisses will shame him off the stage if he makes a bad blunder, and jeers follow if there is a second offense.

We have decided to take a little run over our favorite stamping-grounds of Capri and Sorrento, coming back by way of Amalfi, Cava and Paestum, where I want to see the temples I have missed each trip before.

We miss our Japanese friends this time in Naples. We had such a good time with them two years ago. But I must not write more to-night, it is so fearfully late. Good night.

Ill

To T. C. B.

BEAUTIFUL CAPRI

Capri, Italy, December 28, 1904

My dear Papa:

HERE we are once more in this fascinating spot, and have just had a merry greeting from our friends the donkey girls. How I wish I could bottle up some of this glorious morning air in beautiful Capri, and send it to you.

Most people who come to Capri see just enough to know that they ought to see more, when they run away to catch the steamer for Sorrento ; but I have been to Capri so many times that the pretty girls along its shores greet me as an old friend, and each time I revisit the island, I stay a little longer than the time before, so perhaps if I come often enough, I shall end by living here altogether.

This is precisely what happened to the Emperor

Tiberius (A. D. 27), who, after giving up the reins

of government to Sejanus, retired to Capri, where

he erected twelve villas in honor of the twelve gods.

One of our favorite excursions when here, is to the largest of these, the Villa Jovis, which is still a picturesque ruin on the topmost point of one part of the island.

Tiberius found the climate so tranquil and beautiful, and the island so inaccessible, that he spent the rest of his days and died here A. D. 37. The climate is just the same to-day, mild, balmy and refreshing.

In 1803, you remember, during the Napoleonic wars, the island was captured by the English under Sir Sydney Smith, and converted into a miniature Gibraltar ; but to make the exception prove the rule, the French later beat the English in a naval battle here, when Lamarque recaptured the island.

Capri, called in olden times Caprea, was first known about under Augustus, who showed a great partiality for it, exchanging the island of Ischia for it with the Republic of Naples. He established baths and aqueducts here, and built fine palaces, but they have been destroyed or fallen into decay.

I remember, I was told when being rowed to the Blue Grotto, that the boat was passing over the famous baths built by Tiberius on the island and swallowed up by the sea many years ago. At the same time some stories of the emperor's frightful cruelty were repeated, but I am sure you would n't want to hear them. Fancy his hurling his slaves from the topmost rock down, down into the water below!

Naturally, the first visit to Capri makes the deepest impression on the mind, for everything is so novel and so very lovely that one feels as in a fairy heaven. When I first came, our little steamer, I remember, dropped anchor a short distance from the island to allow us to see the famous Blue Grotto. I was much excited, but not nearly as much so as the boatmen and boys, who pulled their boats to and fro in a most distracted fashion by the side of the steamer, all yelling frantically to one another, and no one paying the least attention to the others. By some miracle, it seemed to me, the officer of the steamer marshalled one boat after another to the ship's side, and I suddenly found myself opposite a handsome old peasant, with red cheeks, white hair, and eyes and cap that rivaled the blue of the water over which his boat was jumping.

Of a sudden, we were told to lower our heads, and then ordered to lie down in the boat. This was not exactly an agreeable process, but the captain of a ship is master of his own boat the world over, and though this was only a rowboat of fairly good size, we felt the authority of the old man of the blue eyes, and obeyed. A lunge, a hard pull at the oars, a [26]

fearful bounce, and we were told to sit up and look about us. It was as if some fairy had said, "Presto, change," and we had been translated to another world.

Everything was, oh! so blue, and — yes — it was silver, the walls of the fairy water-cave were apparently silver-plated, and the water bluer than any blue I had ever dreamed of, so that when a small boy came suddenly swimming up to the side of our boat, apparently encased in silver, I was quite convinced that I did believe in fairies after all, and that this was really fairyland. Just at this moment the boy thrust his hand out of the water for a soldo ( penny), and it was just like any other boy's hand — the charm was broken — greed for gold had spoiled the silver magic. The light effects on the water are so elusive at first, that it is a pity you cannot be hurried out of the grotto as quickly as you are hurried in, for then you would always believe you had been in an enchanted land. I recall with less enthusiasm that we were rather wet when we regained the steamer, but wiser and merrier, although somewhat dirtier for the excursion.

I have usually landed at the Grande Marina (big harbor), but this morning the sea was so rough that we were obliged to go around the island to the Piccola Marina (little harbor). I was delighted,

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because we were thus able to get a splendid view of the famous cathedral rocks that stand out in such bold relief from one end of the island.

I assure you, I 've become quite an adept at jumping in and out of small boats between waves. The girls and boys had watched the steamer's course, and rushed across the island leading their patient donkeys, while the men with the tiny horses and carriages were equally expeditious, so when we landed they were all waiting as usual, laughing and talking. They rushed up to me calling, " Ben venuto, Signorina ( welcome to Capri ), prendete Melba, gooda donk, Signorina, prendete Miral Dewey gooda donk." I explained to the older girls that I was married, so now I was a Signora, and pointing to F. B., who was hastening to secure his donkey, I said, " There is my husband." " Felici auguri, Signora (best wishes, Signora)," and the girls all looked F. B. over very sharply to see if they approved of this man I had ventured to marry in that far-off land, where their fathers so often go to get "bigga mon." I mounted one of the gaily caparisoned little donkeys, — my patriotism leading me to choose "Admiral Dewey," — and no sooner was I in the saddle than the owner began beating the poor beast in a ruthless way, thinking, I suppose, that the Signora must go very quickly. I rebelled, insisted that I should dismount if she did not stop, and when the girl found that I was quite as contented to go slowly, and that she was saved the trouble of yelling and beating, she seemed much surprised and pleased. In due time, my dear little "Admiral Dewey" brought me to this nice hotel where we have just had luncheon. The host pressed his fine white Capri wine upon us, for the island abounds in vineyards, and the Capri wines are considered among the best of the white wines of Italy.

Do you remember, dear, the time you and I were here and saw the belle of Capri, Bella Caruli? How she came to our table, her arms loaded with pretty corals, and we felt she should have been called "Corali"? We heard the song that was written about her to-day on the boat, and it seemed so nice to hear the pretty strains of Bella Caruli to the accompaniment of guitars and mandolins once more. How surprised we were to see the pretty girl herself! I still have the little coral horseshoe pin she gave me as a rivederla (good-bye). " Buona fortuna, Signorina," she said, as she handed it out to me, and was gone. Bella Caruli, how often I have wondered what has ever become of you! I asked to-day, but could not get much definite infor- [29]

s mation. One girl said she had married and died, and her husband had gone to America. Who knows ? These peasants do not tell a foreign Signora all their secrets.

This town of Capri has the narrowest streets I have ever seen, the brightest sunshine and the oddest houses. It always seems like a children's toy village, put down anywhere, all " topsy-turvy."

There are several good hotels here now, and when you consider that though there are only six thousand inhabitants on the island, thirty thousand foreigners visit it each year, it is not surprising.

The island yields fruit, oil, and plenty of red and white wines, and the innumerable visitors each year help to make Capri a most cheerful and prosperous place.

Our landlord tells me that a great many of the men of Southern Italy emigrate to South America, where some two million Italians have settled, but the men of Capri, who generally leave their women at home, almost invariably return to their beautiful native land.

This afternoon we gave ourselves the rare treat of

a drive to Anacapri, which is, as you know, the

village just above Capri on this rocky island. The

V

ROAD FROM CAPRI TO ANACAPRI

From a water-co/or by Bonetti drive is one of the grandest you can imagine. I am always grateful for the excellent road which is of recent construction, for formerly the traveler was asked to mount seven hundred steps, which used to form the chief approach to the higher parts of the island. My poor pen is useless when it tries to describe the beauty of the views which fairly enchanted us this afternoon. The road, broad, finely built, with ample walls at the side near the sea, winds back and forth, steadily mounting upwards for several miles; as one looks ahead, it seems now and then to disappear round a sharp curve. Apparently the carriage and its occupants must soon come to a stand-still or be hurled into the sea, but at each of these abrupt turns we had most lovely views of Nisida, the wonderful bay of Naples, Ischia and the other islands, and Vesuvius always smoking in the distance. Oh! It is glorious and no mistake! We went on, up and up, higher and higher, till we reached the little town of Anacapri.