The Princess Palavicini is one of the Queen’s ladies of honor, belongs to one of the most aristocratic families in Italy, and claims to have the most select society in Rome.  The King and the Queen had consented to grace the ball with their presence.  That the King had promised to go was a great exception, as he has never been willing to go to any function outside of the Quirinal since the much-talked-of ball at the Duke di Fiano’s.  I believe that it is only his keen sense of duty that makes him attend his own entertainments.

All the guests were assembled and awaiting the arrival of their Majesties, but they did not come.  The reason given was that the present members of the Ministry took exception to the fact that neither they nor their wives had been invited.  The Ministers sent word to the King that if their Majesties attended the ball they would give in their resignations en bloc.  The result was that the ball was a complete failure.  All the spirit had gone out of the guests, who moved about aimlessly, talking in groups, and then quietly disappeared.  The dancers of the cotillon waited for the supper, which they said was magnificent and sufficient for a hungry army.

ROME, February 1881.

Dear ——­,—­The two sons of the King of Sweden (Prince Oscar and Prince Carl) are here for a fortnight’s visit, and are seeing Rome thoroughly in the company of two chamberlains, two cicerones, and some friends.  The young princes gave a dinner at the Hotel Quirinal, to which we were invited.  They had engaged the Neapolitan singers from Naples, who sang the most delightful and lively songs.  We felt like dancing a saltarello, and perhaps might have done so if we had been in less princely presences.  The Scandinavian Club gave a feast—­the finest and greatest in the annals of the club—­in honor of the two princes, to welcome the Swedish and Norwegian Minister’s bride, and also to welcome us—­a great combination—­and to celebrate the carnival by a fancy ball.

People were begged to come in costume, which, to be amiable, every one was delighted to do.  The costumes were not original.  Roman peasants were abundant.  This costume needs only a towel folded square and put on the head, and a Roman apron, easily obtained at the Campo di Fiore for a song.  Flower-girls with hats turned up on the side and baskets of flowers were also popular.  The handsome Prince Carl, who is six feet six, needed only a helmet to personify to perfection a youthful god Mars.  Prince Oscar merely wore his naval mess-jacket.  Herr Ross (the Norwegian artist) was the head and spirit of the ball and directed everything.  He was dressed appropriately as a pierrot, with a wand in his hand, and pirouetted about to his heart’s content.

All was done on the most economical basis, as the club is entirely composed of artists, who, consequently, are poor.  The lines were drawn apparently at the food, but in skaals (toasts)—­the thing dearest the Scandinavian heart—­they were extremely liberal and reckless.  All six of us were toasted to a crisp brown, and at each separate toast we stood up and listened to the tale of our virtues.