At last, toward three o’clock, Monday, January 3d, ruins, columns, aqueducts began to appear on the dreary plain called the Roman Campagna, and we entered the station of Rome.  I saw nothing, I heard nothing.  I was utterly limp after these twenty-four hours without sleep.

We were taken to the Hotel de Londres, Piazza di Spagna, and we occupied an apartment on the ground floor, with a yellow drawing-room that was very fresh and neat, I was tired and depressed, in the condition in which I needed some one to sustain me.  And Mamma was crying.  Oh, dear!

We must set to work very, very quickly to look about us.  There is nothing I hate like changing.

New streets, strange faces, and no Mediterranean.  Only the miserable Tiber.  I am utterly wretched when I am in a new city.  I shut myself up in my room to collect my scattered wits a little.

Tuesday, January 4th, 1876.

Yesterday Mamma wrote to B——­, the brother of the empress’s physician, and to-day he came to our house.  He devotes himself to painting.  After this visit, we went out.  Oh! the ugly city, the impure air!  What a deplorable mixture of ancient magnificence and modern filth!

We went through the Corso, the Via Gregoriana, the Forum of Hadrian, the Forum of Rome, we saw the gates of Septimus Severus, and Constantine, the Via Pia, the Coliseum, but everything is still vague, I don’t recognise myself.  The drive on the Pincio is charming, the band was playing, but there were not many people when we were there.  Statues, statues everywhere.  What would Rome be without statues?  From the summit of the Pincio we looked at the dome of St. Peter and also the whole city.  I am glad to find it is not over large, it will be easier to know.

On the drive we were amused to meet the S——­’s, A——­, and P——­ of Rome.  The sun did not appear, and the weather was dull and dreary.

On arriving in Rome, I had no artistic feeling.  It is Rome that opened my mind, so I have worshipped her since.  I don’t want to visit anything before we are settled.  The evening was spent in consulting the cards and in writing letters.

This stay in Rome seems an exile and it is with unequalled joy that I think of returning to Nice.  The cards predict much good, but can the cards be believed?

Ah! if I could marry some prince!  Then I would return to Nice and make a triumphal entry.  But no, it is indicated that nothing will succeed for me; so I shall make no more plans or, if I do, it will be with the sorrowful conviction of their uselessness.  Each time I have been disappointed.

Wednesday, January 5th, 1876.

This is what I wrote to the General: 

“I am in Rome, and it is very wonderful (ah! it is very wonderful, very marvellous).  It is cold as Russia, the water freezes in the fountains, but the cold would be nothing if it was only the cold.  Since morning we have been in search of an apartment, and we have seen only one.  I did not have courage to go up when they pointed out a black, yawning hole, dirty and frightful.  I have looked in vain for a house with any resemblance to the French houses.  I find only ruins or cracked columns.  No doubt it is very beautiful, but agree with me that a good, comfortable apartment is infinitely more pleasant, though less artistic.