The Sunny Side of Diplomatic Life, 1875-1912 Part 22

The next evening, the 18th, the fireworks and the illumination of the Forum, the Colosseum, and the Palatino, were the entertainment after a _diner de famille_.

The Diplomatic Corps was bidden to the Villino. The place was rather too small to contain all the guests. Fortunately, it was a pleasant evening; there was a full moon which lent charm to the scene. Bengal lights, to my mind, are the cheapest form of illumination, but the fireworks--for which the Italians are so renowned--were splendid.

Rockets of all colors, bursting in mid-air and sending down showers of lighted b.a.l.l.s, were never-ending, and everything belonging to pyrotechnics was in profusion and perfection.

The _bouquet_ (which is the French for the _apotheose_) surpa.s.sed everything I had ever seen before. It lasted several minutes. When everything has burned out, only the brilliant "W" with an Imperial crown remained, and faded gradually away.

ROME, _March, 1889_.

Dear Aunt,--Rome is placarded all over with blood-curdling pictures of "the Wild West Show" and portraits of our friend Buffalo Bill. I call him "our friend," although I can't say I know him very well. We traveled in the same car with him for a whole week on our way to California ten years ago. That is not enough, is it?

I had never seen a Wild West Show and was most eager to go; besides, I wanted to see "our friend" in his professional character. We made up a large party and went there _en bande_.

The tents were put up not far from the Vatican gardens, behind Castel St. Angelo. None of us had ever been to such a performance, and we were all delighted at the marvelous feats of la.s.soing by the cowboys and the rifle-shooting of the cowgirls, who looked so pretty in their short leather skirts and leggings. One of them threw pieces of silver in the air and shot them in two with her rifle. Everything was wonderful.

Duke Sermoneta, who went with us, having read on the posters that Buffalo Bill professed to tame any wild or vicious horse, wished to test Buffalo Bill's ability, and perhaps with a little maliciousness had ordered some of the wild horses from his estate to be brought to Rome.

These untamed horses are like those that used to run in the _corsi dei Barberi_ during the carnival in Rome when Rome had carnivals. The Duke was very sure that no one could tame them, much less put a saddle on them; the audience, no doubt, thought the same. There was quite an excitement when the frightened things came rus.h.i.+ng into the arena and stood looking about them with terrified eyes. But the cowboys knew very well what to do. They quickly la.s.soed them, and somehow, before we could see the whole process, they were forced to the ground, plunging about and making desperate efforts to get up. Finally, after many attempts, a saddle was placed on them, and lo and behold! the ferocious wild horses were conquered and, as meek as Mary's little lamb, were ridden around the arena to the accompaniment of great clapping, screaming, and applause. Every one was as enthusiastic as the Duke Sermoneta over the stubborn and agile young Wild-Westers. Then Buffalo Bill's herald came forward and proposed that the Italian _campagna_ boys, who had brought the Duke's horses, should mount the American bucking horses. The Duke gave his consent readily. He was very willing that his men should show what they could do. Well, they showed what they could _not_ do; they could not keep on the horses a minute, even if they managed to get on; they turned somersaults in every direction, fell off, and rolled about on the ground. The audience roared.

Buffalo Bill appeared on a beautiful horse, holding his gray sombrero in his hand, acknowledging the applause. He looks very handsome with his long, fair hair falling on his shoulders and his Charles-the-Second fine face.

The Duke said, "How I should like to speak to that man!"

We said that we knew him and that perhaps we could get him to come to us. I wrote on my card: "It would give M. de Hegermann and myself much pleasure to speak with you. We traveled in the same train with you to California some years ago, if you remember." I sent the card by a little page who was selling popcorn. At the first opportunity Buffalo Bill came, preceded by the boy. He said he "remembered us perfectly." I introduced him to the Duke, who, after having complimented him on his "show" and laughed over the awkward attempts of _his_ boys, asked him if we might see the camp.

No gentleman from the court of Louis XV. could surpa.s.s Buffalo Bill's refined and courteous manners. He said if we would wait until the performance was over he would "show us about."

We did wait, and went all over the camp with him, and saw everything that was to be seen, and smelled the different fried things which lurked in every corner. Buffalo Bill beckoned to some of the cowboys to come forward and named them to us. I think they were delighted. They had such good, honest (and even handsome) faces. My heart warmed to them.

One said to me, "Why, you talk English as good as an American!"

"That is not wonderful," I answered; "I am an American."

"Is that so?" he asked. "Well, America's a pretty good place, ain't it?

A good sight better than over here--that is what I think," and, pointing to the Duke Sermoneta said, "Is that gent American, too?"

"No," I answered. "He is an Italian. Those were his horses you tamed this afternoon."

"Is that so? Well, I would not like to tell him that them boys of his can't ride worth a cent and the horses ain't worth their hide."

I hoped that Duke Sermoneta had not overheard this conversation.

Buffalo Bill showed us a young Indian woman who had had a baby a few days ago.

"It was baptized this morning," he added. "What do you think it was called?"

"Is it a boy or a girl?" asked the Duke, looking at the brown, wizened face of the little thing, which was swaddled in an old shawl.

"A girl," answered the young mother, in English.

"Then I suppose you called it Roma," I said.

"No," said Buffalo Bill. "It is the custom among the Indians to give to the baby the name of the first thing the mother sees after its birth."

"Then they must have named it Tent," I said.

Buffalo Bill laughed. "No, you must guess again. It was called Saint Peter's."

"Poor little girl!" said the kind-hearted Duke, and put a gold piece in the ready and delighted hand of the mother.

ROME, _1890_.

Dear ----,--Signor Sonsogni, the promoter of music and art, gave several librettos of operas to different composers in Italy, and promised a large reward to the victorious compet.i.tor.

Signor Crispi kindly offered me his _loge_, thinking that it would interest me to be present at one of the performances. There had been many of these before, but nothing remarkable had so far been produced.

We arrived in the theater while they were playing a short opera of two acts, which was unfavorably received and quickly condemned with contempt and hisses.

The judges looked bored to death and discouraged, and the audience seemed ready to growl and grumble at anything.

Mugnoni led the orchestra in his usual excitable manner. If any of the operas had been good for anything they would have shown at their best under his masterful baton.

Then came the "Cavalleria Rusticana."

Already when the overture was played the audience was enchanted, and as it progressed the enthusiasm became greater and greater, the excited audience called for the _autore_ (author).

Mascagni, urged and pushed forward from the sidewings, evidently against his will, appeared, looking very shabby in an old gray suit with trousers turned up, as if he had just come in from the street. His hair was long and unkempt, his face haggard and thin--evidently he had been starved and unwashed for weeks. This really was the case.

He bowed modestly and with a _naf_ awkwardness which was very pathetic. The Italian public, just as wild in its enthusiasm as it is merciless in its disapproval, rose as one man with a bound and cheered vociferously. But when the Intermezzo was played there was a burst of thundering applause, clapping of hands, and shouts of enthusiasm. I never heard anything like it.

Mascagni was called at least twenty times before the curtain. Any other composer would have beamed all over with joy and pride at such an ovation, but Mascagni only looked shy and bewildered. The tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked at the poor young fellow (he is only twenty years old), who probably that very morning was wondering how he could provide food for his wife and baby. Fancy what his emotions must have been to wake up so unexpectedly to glory and success!

[Ill.u.s.tration: FRANCESCO CRISPI Prime Minister of Italy. From a photograph taken in 1887.]

Mascagni, his wife, and his baby lived in a garret, and had not money enough to buy even a candle. The only instrument he had when he wrote the opera was an accordion. His little wife is nineteen, and the baby is one year old.

Italy thought it possessed another Verdi. The next day after his triumph Leghorn (his birthplace) gave him the citizens.h.i.+p of the town.

Sonsogni handed him a large sum of money (the promised prize), and Mascagni had orders to begin on another opera. Will that be as good?

One says that necessity is the mother of invention; it seems that in this case poverty was the father of "Cavalleria Rusticana."

_1890._

Dear ----,--Johan is named to Stockholm, and we must leave Rome.

Needless to say that I am broken-hearted to leave Italy and the Queen.

MILAN, _September 16_.