Chapter XIV: First Impressions of Rome

After spending a fortnight at Genoa, they proceeded along the beautiful Riviera, by Spezia, to Florence and Rome, without meeting anywhere with the names of Sir Alfred and his party, although little Hetty looked with great curiosity in all the strangers’ books as they went along.

To some kind of invalids the first appearance of Rome is extremely depressing; and Mr. Chandos was one of them. The riches and poverty are so extreme, the division between luxurious splendour and squalid dirt is so narrow, the wild gaiety of one set contrasts so vividly with the extreme devotion of another, the extreme of ignorance and the extreme of learning--all these opposites are more clearly marked in Rome than in any other place I ever was in, and consequently the effect on the nerves is anything but harmonious. And in illness we long above all things for harmony. Strong contrasts clash on one’s nerves; we feel more inclined to be miserable from being unable to enter into and join any of the extreme parties: the gravity of the learned antiquaries, who pursue their researches with such astonishing zeal among the _débris_ of ancient buildings, or the frivolity of would-be sight-seers, who “do” Rome fundamentally all the morning, and enter into every kind of dissipation all the evening.

There is less repose, less real enjoyment to be seen on people’s faces in Rome than anywhere, except, perhaps, Paris. At that time Padre Ventura was the great preacher, and one of the things “to be done” was to go and hear the man who was said to have made so many converts.

Most people seem to be seized with some extreme mania when they come to Rome. Those who scarcely thought of looking at a picture before, or who know not a Cuyp from a Titian, begin to hold their hands up on the wrong side of their eyes (to shade the light where it does not come), and talk artistically about the merits of different masters. Young ladies who never mounted a horse before, are suddenly seized with the mania of making up riding-parties all over the Campagna. Towards Easter, people who never cared before to go into a Catholic church must needs “do” the whole round of the services, morning, noon, and night, of all the churches in Rome, standing for hours outside the door of the Sistine Chapel, in order to get a place as soon as it is opened.

The Chandoses found that Lord and Lady Spendfast and Lady Selina Bugginfield were at Rome, and in the same hotel, but it did not seem that Sir Alfred was with them. Mr. Chandos was too ill to enter into society, and as Norah did not evince any wish to do so, Mrs. Chandos seemed very glad to remain at home in the evenings; so they did not leave any of the letters of introduction which the Duchess of Dromoland had induced them to take. However, as soon as Lady Spendfast learnt they were in the hotel, she asked to be allowed to make them a visit, and seemed much pleased to meet Norah again. But she did not look happy, although she professed to enjoy Rome and all its doings extremely. She expressed the greatest horror and dismay when she heard that the Chandoses did not intend to enter into the delightful society of Rome, adding--

“It is the most intellectual in the world, too; it would exactly suit Miss Chandos. It would be quite a sin to shut her up; besides, I know the Duchess of Dromoland gave you introductions to houses that we would all give our eyes to enter. I know Lady Selina Bugginfield is quite in despair because she cannot get into the D---- set. But don’t say I told you so,” she added, with a frightened look. “Now there’s to be a ball at the D---- Palace next Monday,” she continued, “the best and most exclusive of all: and the Princess D---- is a great friend of the Duchess of Dromoland, so you are sure to be asked there. It will be the best ball in the Winter, and Norah and you, too,” she added, as she looked admiringly in Mrs. Chandos’s pretty face, “would make quite a sensation there, if you would only go.”

In vain they both protested that they did not wish it. Lady Spendfast still more energetically said,

“Mrs. Chandos, I wonder how you can give up the world in this kind of way; why, I do believe you have never taken up the position Mr. Chandos’s wife ought to have done since you married; and with your beauty and his old family connections, you might have become quite a lady of fashion.”

“Oh! I really----”

“Stop, I will have my say,” interrupted the resolute little lady. “Now, let me ask what was the use of throwing away all your great riches on a poor man, even though he has a good claim to an old peerage, if you did not mean to make use of his position. Why, you might as well have married some handsome young cousin of your own--a rich tinker or button-maker.”

“Oh, really--pray don’t!” said Mrs. Chandos, who began to be quite nervous at Lady Spendfast’s tirade, although it afterwards struck her that there was a good deal of truth in it; and she added, after a pause,

“You know Mr. Chandos has been dangerously ill, and we came abroad only to ensure his convalesence in a warmer climate?”

“Very true; but he would probably have gone to bed before you and your daughter go out, and----”

“But I really do not wish it,” said Norah, who was much annoyed at Lady Spendfast’s total want of tact, although she knew it proceeded from stupidity, and that she was by no means an ill-natured person; on the contrary, she was always willing to do a good-natured act, if it did not give her much trouble, or involve any personal sacrifice.

“Well, of course you must both do as you like, but I suppose you will like to do what everyone must do in Rome--the Vatican by torchlight. We are going in a party there to-morrow night, and I hope you will join it; and, by-the-by, what a pity you were not here last week--you would have met an old friend;” and as she looked full in Norah’s face, added, “Perhaps you might have prevented his strange disappearance. There, I think you know whom I mean,” she said, after a due inspection of Norah’s face; “and had you heard that he disappeared most mysteriously all of a sudden? No! you have heard nothing. Well, we all went a party to Tivoli and to the villa; and Sir Alfred, as usual, wanted to make a sketch from some distant point of view. So he started off with his sketch-book out towards the Abruzzi, and never came back. We waited and searched and called, and no Sir Alfred was to be found, and we thought he must have returned to Rome by another route, but he never arrived, and nobody has ever heard of him since.”

“How very extraordinary!” said Mrs. Chandos; “and did he leave no direction?”

“Nothing; he had no servant, but his things are all safe in the room he had, and we are expecting to hear every day--that is, if he is not murdered by the banditti----”

“Have the police been informed?” inquired Mrs. Chandos.

“Everything has been done by the Consul and Mr. Jones, but no traces of him can be discovered. They fancy he may be making a walking tour among the mountains; and I hope that is the case, for he was very unhappy and dissatisfied with his life. I hope he has not put an end to himself--that is what I dread most.”

“No, no, I am only in fun,” she added, as she hastily rose, and walked towards the window, for she was really sorry to see the effect her thoughtless words had on Norah. “Pray forgive me, dear Norah, you know I was always very silly, and sure to say the wrong thing. You told me so yourself one day at Brightsfield.”

“Yes, I did,” said Norah; “but there is really nothing to forgive now, and we will ask papa about your kind proposal to see the Vatican by torchlight. Perhaps, if the hour will not be late, he may like to venture there himself, for he told us the statues by torchlight are so wonderfully beautiful.”

“That’s right; and I’ll say good-bye, and will look in to-morrow morning and hear your decision about the torchlight.” And, as she shook hands with Mrs. Chandos, she said, “I hope you will think better about your most valuable letters of introduction.”