December, 1883.

We returned to Rome a week ago.  It was said that their Majesties had expressed the desire that as many diplomats as possible should be present when the Crown Prince of Germany came for his visit to the Quirinal.

During the stay of the Crown-Prince Frederic the crowds waited patiently outside the Quirinal, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.  He is very popular, and whenever he shows himself he is cheered to outrance.  Sometimes he came out on the balcony, and once he took the Prince of Naples up in his strong arms and cried “Evviva l’Italia” The people clapped their hands till they were worn out.

There were fireworks from the Castel St. Angelo in his honor which were wonderfully fine.

To reach the balconies reserved for the Corps Diplomatique we were obliged to leave our carriages in a little side-street and go through a long carpeted passage, the walls of which were hung with fine old tapestries taken from the Quirinal in order to hide the unsightly objects concealed behind them.  The balconies were erected on the outside of the dilapidated houses which overlook the Tiber and facing the Castel St. Angelo.  How they ever managed to make this passage is a mystery!  In the daytime one could not see the possibility of cutting through the labyrinth of these forlorn tumble-down houses.  We sat trembling for fear that the shaky planks would suddenly give way and plunge us into the whirling Tiber under our feet.  The fireworks were the most gorgeous display of pyrotechnics I ever saw.  And the bouquet as the finale was a magnificent tornado of fire which left a huge “F” blazing, which lighted up the December night.  We were thankful when we reached home alive.

The next and last evening of the festivities was a gala opera, where there was a great deal of clapping and enthusiasm which accompanied a rather poor performance of “Aida.”  They said that Verdi was in the audience, but he did not appear, nor was there any demonstration made for him.

ROME, January, 1884.

My dear ——­,—­There are a few changes in the Embassies.  Sir Saville Lumley has succeeded Sir August Paget at the English Embassy.  Sir Saville’s own paintings now cover Lady Paget’s chocolate cherubs—­only those above the door and their bulrushes are left to tell the tale.  Monsieur Decrais, the new French Ambassador and his wife, who replace the De Noailles in the Farnese Palace, are already established.  The iciness of Siberia continues to pervade the palace in spite of all efforts to warm those vast salons, enormous in their proportions—­I do not know how many metres they are to the ceiling.  The Carracci gallery separates the bedrooms from the salons.  Madame Decrais says that they are obliged to dress like Eskimos when they cross it, as they do twenty times a day.

How the Roman climate must have changed since the time when the Romans went about in togas and sandals and lay on slabs of marble after their bath!