At the Embassy dinner he did not sit next to me, alas! but afterward we sat on the sofa and talked of Alboni, Paris, and music.  I told him that the first time I had heard him sing was in America, when he sang with Grisi.

“So long ago?” he said.  “Why, you couldn’t have been born!”

“Oh yes,” I answered; “I was born, and old enough to appreciate your singing.  I have never forgotten it, nor your voice.  One will never hear anything like it again.  Have you quite given up singing?” I asked.

“Why, I am a grandfather!  You would not have a grandfather sing, would you?”

“I would,” I answered, “if the grandfather was Mario.”

ROME, 1881.

Dear ——­,—­The opening of the Parliament is a great occasion in Rome (where one would like to be both inside and outside at the same time).  The children’s governess had a friend who offered them seats in her window, and this is what they saw outside: 

The streets lined with soldiers from the Quirinal to the House of Parliament, the large places in the Square swept clean and sanded (an unusual sight in Rome), thousands of citizens hanging out of the windows, flags and pennants waving in the air; brilliant cavalcades followed one another, accompanied by military bands playing inspiring music, and then came the Bersagliere, in their double-quick step, sounding their bugles as they marched along, their hats cocked very much on one side, with long rooster feathers streaming out in the wind.  This is the most unique regiment (I was going to say cockiest) one can imagine.  Their uniforms are very dark green, their hats are black patent leather, and they wear black gloves and leggings.  I am told that these soldiers do not live long—­that they hardly ever reach the age of forty.  The strain on the heart, caused by their quick pace, which is something between a run and a trot, is too great, especially for the buglers, who blow their bugles while running.  At last came the splendid gala coaches of the King and the Queen, followed by many others, and then the military suite, making a splendid procession.

[Illustration:  KING VICTOR EMMANUEL From a photograph given to Madame de Hegermann-Lindencrone in 1893.]

Inside, the large building was crowded to its limit.  The state Ministers were in their seats in front, the members of Parliament behind them.  The balconies were filled with people, and every available place was occupied.  When the Queen entered the royal loge with her ladies and chamberlains, there was a great deal of clapping of hands, which is the way an Italian shows his enthusiasm and loyalty.  Every one arose and remained standing while the Queen came forward to the front of her loge, bowed and smiled, and bowed and bowed again until the clapping ceased; then she took her seat, and every one sat down.