Part 25 (1/2)
”What must I do?” I asked.
”Stop at the first station; and this evening, by the Edinburgh train, you can return to London.”
”Are there no other trains before this one, that I may return to London during the day to dine?”
”No.”
”Many thanks!”
I got down at the first station, paid the difference in my ticket, and, in the very worst of humours, took a turn in the little village or hamlet,--I did not even care to ask its name. I had some wretched food, and everything seemed to me bad and ugly.
Yes, yes; a little of the language of the country is even more necessary than bread or than money, for the English--and I think they are right--speak no other language than their own. But they go so far as to pretend, when they come amongst us, that we should speak English like them; and here they are in the wrong.
When I got home to the hotel in the evening, Avvocato Fornetti and Caraffa, my friends and companions at the hotel, came to me smiling, and said, ”Have you amused yourself?”
[Sidenote: PICCOLOMINI AND RISTORI.]
I said, ”Yes;” I did not tell them what had happened, for they were the kind of men who would have ridiculed me for a long time.
Beyond these few little mishaps, my time pa.s.sed most pleasantly in London. My fellow-citizen Marietta Piccolomini was singing at the Queen's Opera House with Giulini and Belletti. Ristori was acting at the Ateneo Italiano. There were very often concerts of music, instrumental and vocal, where Bottesini, Giovacchino Bimboni, and the violinist Favilli played. I knew De Vincenzi, who was afterwards in the Ministry; and I again met Count Piero Guicciardini, Count Arrivabene, the _maestro_ Fiori, that scatter-brain of a Fabio Uccelli; Monti, the Milanese sculptor; our Fedi; Bulletti, a carver in wood; Romoli, the painter and sculptor; and others,--in fact, a perfect colony of Italians.
Among the tragedies which Ristori acted in at that time, and which I already knew, I saw one that I liked extremely. It was the 'Camma,' by Professor Giuseppe Montanelli,--in my belief, a very fine work, and superlatively well interpreted, in its proud and pa.s.sionate character, by the first actress, Signora Ristori. I heard the Signora Piccolomini, with her usual grace and intelligence, sing in the 'Traviata' and the 'Figlia del Reggimento.' Although these entertainments, be they prose or music, were deserving of all praise, yet the price of the entrance-ticket, according to us Italians, was enormously dear, being one pound sterling, which is equal to twenty-five _lire_ and twenty _centimes_ of our money. May I be forgiven if that is little? One must also take note that at that time, A. D. 1856, everything was done in a small way,--reasonable incomes, few requirements, small expenditures, and, smallest of all, taxation. The ciphers of millions in the great book of 'Debit and Credit' had not yet been invented; the floating debt did not even exist in dreams. So that thirty _lire codine_ at that time represented nearly a hundred francs of to-day. Who is there (I mean amongst us) who would wish to spend a hundred _lire_ for a 'Traviata'?
Not I, indeed; for I remember, when I was an _abonne_ at the Cocomero (now Niccolini), to have heard Ristori for four _soldi_ a-night, and she acted equally well, without taking into account her youth and beauty, that inexorable Time will not respect, even in celebrities.
[Sidenote: PRICES AT THE OPERA.]
”Then you went to a foolish expense; and you contradict yourself without even turning your page, for you say that you would not spend the money, and at the same time you inform us that you heard Ristori act in 'Camma'!”
I answer, ”'Camma' cost me absolutely nothing, as the Signora Ristori, who is as amiable as she is eminent as an _artiste_, favoured me with an entrance-ticket;” and so I clear up the apparent contradiction that the critical reader was in such haste to bring forward. Go on, however, and look sharply through these papers, where you will find something of everything. Moreover, you will be often bored, but I hope you will never find any contradictions. I have also a very good habit--that is, of re-reading what I have written: and then, with a little art, one succeeds in putting everything nicely in its place. You understand? Then we will push on.
[Sidenote: HAMPTON COURT.]
In order not to fail a second time in my intention of seeing the royal villa of Hampton Court, I wrote that name on a card and showed it to the guard every time we stopped. I got there at last. The place all about is very pleasant, with a wide, clear horizon, for the fogs only have their home in London. The palace, as may be imagined, is large and majestic. I don't remember the style of its architecture, and don't want to refer to the easy expedient of consulting a guide-book. I promised myself that I would write my life, the thoughts that came to me one after another, without help, trusting only to memory. So I have done thus far, and intend doing so to the end. The villa, as I have said, is majestic, enclosed on all sides by gardens and orchards. The interior consists of innumerable halls richly decorated with paintings, somewhat out of repair, as they are no longer used, it would appear, as a royal residence. People crowd more particularly to the Queen's own private apartments, to see her sitting-room, and even her bedroom with its bed-furniture, and the thousand rich, pretty, and curious things with which these rooms are filled. The rest of the place, or the greater part of it, such as the gallery of pictures and cartoons, is generally deserted. Yet the English are great lovers of art; we see them with great interest frequent our galleries in Rome, Florence, Venice, and Naples. But perhaps the people brought by curiosity to Hampton Court belong to the lower cla.s.s, which has not in London the feeling for art that the people even of the lowest cla.s.s have in Italy. In a great long hall, like a gallery, I saw the eight cartoons of Raphael that were made for the arrases in the Vatican. They consist of ”St Paul preaching to the Athenians;” ”St Peter and the miracle of the fish;” ”St Peter and Ananias;” ”St Peter receiving from Christ the charge of guarding His sheep;” ”Peter and John healing the lame man at the gates of the Temple;” ”Elymas the Sorcerer punished by losing his sight;” and others that I do not remember. He who has never seen these cartoons, and the ”Ma.s.sacre of the Innocents” above mentioned, can form no idea of the strength of Raphael in that grandly fierce style initiated by Michael Angelo, who spread therein so broad a sail as to make him terrible to the beholder, and to occasion the s.h.i.+pwreck of many in a smaller craft, who perished miserably, desirous of following him on that fearful ocean.
[Sidenote: HYDE PARK.]
There are other cartoons in the same gallery by Mantegna representing the ”Triumph of Caesar.” Mantegna, as all know, as an artist is an imitator of the antique: the execution of the work which is merely the material part alone is his own, for he took the conception, character, and style, in generalities and detail, from the antique.
Besides the treasures of art contained in the London museums--and one may also call Hampton Court a museum--there are the beautiful public walks called parks. The largest, richest in avenues, fields, and lakes peopled by innumerable ducks and fish, is called Hyde Park. This is the promenade where all the fas.h.i.+onable world meet. Ladies and gentlemen on horseback dash down the interminable avenues of this park, giving loose rein to their fiery steeds. It is a fine sight to see these animals, so elegant in form, and at the same time full of fire, pawing the ground, neighing, and fretting at the bit, from their desire to be off: but still more beautiful to look at are those gentle ladies on their backs; and when they are going at full pace, bending slightly forward on their fiery steeds, their flowing skirts, in ample undulating lines, giving a slender, flexible look to their figures, you feel carried away, and as if you would like to follow them in that rapid, anxious race, where peril changes into pleasure, and where the inebriation of the senses becomes ideality. Such is the fascination youth, beauty, and strength produce on the mind and senses of all natures susceptible of feeling. It is a pungent pleasure; the soul struggles in these meshes of flowers, and their perfume inebriates and captivates it. I beg pardon of the reader, if, for an instant attracted by this race of beautiful ladies, my head galloped away with them. Another time I will hold the reins tighter; and it ought not to be difficult to stop this little horse of mine, sixty years old.
[Sidenote: DISTRIBUTION OF CRIMEAN MEDALS.]
Hyde Park, as I have said, is larger than the two others, St James's Park and Regent's Park, and is about five miles in circ.u.mference, which seems a good deal; but so it is. These country s.p.a.ces in the middle of London are, as have been justly said, the lungs of the great city. By means of these green oases, impregnated with oxygen, the air of that gigantic body of London, where millions of men swarm like ants, is constantly renovated. These parks are rich in timber, and flowers are there cultivated with every art. There are very few guards, for great respect is shown for the laws prohibiting the damaging of the plants. A curious but very just penalty is inflicted by them, and this is it: If Signor Tizio has damaged a plant, or only picked a flower, Signor Tizio, according to the gravity of the mischief he has done, is prohibited from entering those precincts for fifteen or twenty days. And this is not enough--it would be too little; his name is posted up to view at all the park entrances, specifying the damage he has done and the penalty inflicted on him, that everybody who goes there may read and laugh!
I was present in Hyde Park at the distribution of medals to the troops on their return from the Crimea. That great national _fete_ was a splendid success--the whole army in arms and full uniform, every part of it in its proper place, cavalry, artillery, marines, and infantry. At the end of a large camp a throne was erected for the Queen, her children, and her husband, Prince Albert. The Ministers, Court dignitaries, and Lords surrounded her. The ceremony was a long one. The troops had been on foot since early morning, and many were the numbers who received medals. The sun beat down with great force on our heads, for it was in the month of June. It is a fine sight to see the youth of England, tall, square-shouldered young fellows, with upright bearing and brilliant colouring; but notwithstanding all this, it would seem that for all their strength of nature they cannot endure hunger. I was present at some little occurrences that astonished me extremely: two or three of those young men fainted as if they had been delicate girls, although they had herculean chests and arms. But so it is: the Englishman, when the hour has come, requires absolutely to have his tea; if this fails, he can no longer stand on his feet.
[Sidenote: ENGLISHMEN MUST HAVE TEA.]
That this must really be the case, was demonstrated to me by the affectionate solicitude shown by their comrades and the people carefully conveying these fainting youths to the ambulances. Instead of this with us Italians, we see young men of twenty bear long marches, discomfort, and hunger with a bright face. It is the difference of nature and habits in the two nations. I do not mean, indeed, to say that we do not feel hunger--in fact, I can say for myself that I feel it most ferociously; and if this expression seems exaggerated, I will correct myself and add, brutally and insolently, and will recount a little anecdote in proof of my appet.i.te, especially after fasting. It is a trifling matter, that goes as far back as thirty years. At that time of juvenile effervescence one wishes for much and feels much, and is not very fastidious about ways and means. The fact is a curious one, and, to say the truth, would not be very pleasant for me to narrate were it not that it is peculiar, and with the touch of a brush paints to the life the character of my early youth. I had quite forgotten it, and it really would have been a mistake to do so. Those fasting English soldiers reminded me of it, and I am very glad of it.