happens in the towns of provincial Italy, where even marchionesses and duchesses habitually do their light washing at home, and convert the window-sills of their mansions into drying-grounds. Mr. Etzensberger, however, politely but firmly set his face against the practice; and he was also obliged to tell the manager that he could not tolerate the proceedings of the company in ordering their dinners from a neighbouring and cheap trattoria, or cook-shop, instead of partaking of the principal meal of the day at the table d'hôte.

The English guests from the Hôtel Victoria filled two rows of the stalls at the Fenice on the night when the theatre was reopened. I cannot recall the name of the opera performed, because it was interrupted at least twenty times by the audience shouting for the "Marcia Reale" to be played, or for "Garibaldi's Hymn" to be sung; and when the over-fatigued artists could no longer sing, the pit and gallery howled the hymns themselves. Then they called for "vivas" for the Rè Galantuomo; then there was a shout of "Re Eletto in Campidoglio!" meaning that they wanted to see their elected King installed as Sovereign of United Italy at the Capitol of Rome. "Vivas" for Amadeo, Duke of Aosta; "vivas" for the Italian Army and Navy, then resounded from the auditorium; one waggish occupant of the pit crying, "By all means bring the cavalry to Venice;" while another facetious. gentleman in the gallery, pointing to the red and silver shield of the House of Savoy, which cognizance was displayed in the centre of the arch of the proscenium,

called out, "Sale e tabacchi," in allusion to the Royal escutcheon placed over the doors of all Italian shopkeepers who are licensed to deal in the Government monopolies of salt and tobacco. But the most frequent, the noisiest, and the most enthusiastic "ricas" of the evening were those thundered for "La Perla di Savoia." The "Pearl of Savoy" was and is the good and beautiful Margherita, Queen of Italy.

The King made his entry into Venice on the 7th of November, accompanied by a brilliant staff, and escorted by his own special body-guard in cuirasses, plumed helmets, and jack-boots; but who had prudently not brought their horses with them. His Majesty entered one of the State barges, which for weeks previously the municipality of Venice had been decorating for the use of their Sovereign and his court. When the King stepped into his barge at the railway terminus, a great roar went up from the multitude. "At last," quietly observed Dr. Filippi to me, "the Venetians are satisfied ; they have got their King in a gondola." As for the people in the gondolas and open boats, it is no exaggeration to say that, without much difficulty and at twenty different points, you might have crossed the Grand Canal on foot-so prodigious and so closely wedged together were the "embarcations." But the

Prefect of Venice with a boat full of Guardie Civili preceded the Royal flotilla; and with inimitable dexterity the gondoliers managed to make a lane or water-way for the King to pass, the boats closing up behind him. immediately afterwards.

There was a levée en masse of the old Venetian nobility, many of whom were not in gondolas, but in large barchi, or barges, the hulls of which were gilt down to the water-line, canopied with crimson and blue and cloth of gold and silver; while there were faisceaux of flags at stem and stern, and the rowers were clad in rich Venetian costume. I. only wonder that when the King landed at the Piazzetta the people did not catch his Majesty up in their arms and carry him away bodily into the Cathedral of St. Mark. "I have not been to mass," said a Venetian to me, "for twenty years; but I have been to St. Mark's this morning, and I mean to go there every day for a fortnight. You see the King is in our midst." I hope that the gentleman's devotional feelings did not wholly die away at the expiration of fourteen days.

Then there was a rush to the Royal Palace, the façade of which fronts the Basilica, and of course the Rè Eletto" had to show himself at one of the windows, to be acclaimed over and over again with volleys of cheers. At night St. Mark's Place was illuminated "architectonically"-i.e., the lines horizontal, vertical, and semicircular of all the columns and cornices and arcades of the Piazza were traced in threads of fire; as was also done with the lines of the Byzantine façade of the Cathedral, the fairy-like little Loggetta, and the two great columns on the Piazzetta ; the Campanile became a tower of fire; and the horses of St. Mark were outlined with gas-jets.

133

CHAPTER XLII.

ROME AND NAPLES.

Perugia-Rome in 1866 and in 1894-Papal Warriors-The Colosseum-Cardinals in State-The Holy Father on the Pincian Hill-Papal Money— Guido's Beatrice Cenci: A Whim-Pompeii-From Naples to Marseilles.

ERE Royalty took its departure, my wife and I, following instructions from headquarters in Fleet Street, bade farewell-but not, as we hoped, a lasting one-to Venice and went south. Our destination was Rome, where we were to remain until the following January. By this time the winter had begun; and in Venice, although the day of the Royal entry had been a fine and sunny one, the weather was disagreeably raw and occasionally foggy. It grew worse by the time we got to Bologna; and we arrived at Perugia in a snowstorm. I had never been in that artistic city before; I did not know there was a clean hotel there; and we passed the night at the post-house, one of the dirtiest Italian inns I have ever met with. The house was mustily ancient, and in a photograph would have been handsome. Our bedroom was immense, with a curiously-timbered roof, an antique carved wainscot, and walls hung with possibly mediæval, but unmistakably ragged and rotting, tapestry. The landlord and landlady were politeness itself; and a chambermaid, who, to all appearance, had not been washed from the time of Perugino, hastened to

kindle a wood fire on a huge open hearth. The fumes of the faggots nearly choked us, to begin with; but when the perils of impending suffocation passed away, we were able to enjoy a capital supper of fish, flesh, and fowl, washed down by some of the rarest old wines I have ever tasted. Whether it was Chianti or Montefiascone, I am not aware, but it was undoubtedly a vintage of true "Est., Est., Est." character.

There was a gap in the railway to Rome, owing to the snow; and we had to leave Perugia in a lumbering old berline de voyage, painfully dragged by two wretched nags, which reminded me of the steeds harnessed to the calessino of my colleague in Garibaldi's campaign in the Tyrol. We found, however, the railway available again at a station called Saint Something or Another, and about six in the evening arrived at the railway terminus at Rome. The station was a deplorable one-small, inconvenient, foul, and to all appearance, structurally tumbling to pieces. In the dirty Custom House the dirtier Papal doganieri gave us an infinity of trouble: tossing about our belongings with their unwashed hands, and delving to the very bottom of our trunks in quest of any books which we might have brought with us; but I had been forewarned of the tricks and manners of these gentry, and had brought no literature whatever with me. Had I had any accessible, the Custom House officers might, perhaps, have impounded my "Murray's Handbook,' and assuredly they would have seized any English Bible or Testament in a passenger's luggage.