Roman Gaieties

( Originally Published 1921 )

ROME'S gay carnival season was at its height and we had not been there many days when old friends Of my parents and aunt found us out. Soon our evenings were filled with charming parties.

I made friends with some young people, among whom were nearly all those gilded youths whom I had seen dining at the Grand Hotel in December, and of whom Doc-tor Nevin had told me. Lunches, dinners, soirées, and balls followed each other. We were even asked to a small afternoon reception and tea by the Queen-Mother, a beautiful, graceful woman with delightful manners, who already knew my aunt and my parents. We also went to a court ball, which was well done in every way and very pleasant, though not possessing the quaint historic and picturesque qualities of the Hapsburg court functions. In general one gathered that Roman society was new and cosmopolitan, having nothing much in common with its ancient background's rare beauty. Americans, English, and Russians camped out in magnificent palaces and gave rich fêtes in them, but they did not fit into their surroundings. Even at court, the halls were comparatively modern, and the mixed crowds lacked something of Vienna's old-time dignity. Yet the King and Queen were popular and very agreeable. People wore fine clothes and jewels, and to us the good music and floor appealed strongly.

It seemed complicated to keep track of the families who belonged to the White, or royal, party, and those who had remained faithful to the Black traditions' of the Vatican, though I noticed feeling still ran high, and of the older generations, members of the two groups scarcely ever met or mixed.

The most interesting experience we had was to assist at a high mass celebrated in gala robes by the Pope in person. Léo XIII was then very old, and had not for some time appeared at any function, but we were given tickets for a mass in the Sistine Chapel, and accepted. I was anxious to see the church in all its splendor, and to hear thé famous choir. Besides, it was rumored that if he was well enough His Holiness was to appear, though no one counted on this. In black, with lace mantillas on our heads according to etiquette, we went early. On the threshold of the papal palace I was seized by the feeling of a fairy-tale being acted for my benefit. The staircase, always magnificent, was lined with Swiss guardsmen dressed in costumes designed by Michael Angelo. On the streets one would have taken them for crazy masqueraders, but on this background, for which it was designed, the dress of the Renaissance was quite appropriate in its gorgeousness. The chamberlains and gentlemen in waiting, the monsignori in purple, and the cardinals in crimson, the priests and officers of the papal household in their uniforms, were all so much necessary color against the finely proportioned gray stone walls. In the chapel the light was dim and beautiful, and the frescoes rich and dignified. We took our places, and after a short wait the rumor circulated and was soon confirmed that His Holiness would himself celebrate mass.

Soon after this we heard a distant chanting, which announced the coming of the procession. Prelates of rank, brains, and distinction made up the larger part of it. Chief among them the thin, sharp features and the keen, shining eyes of Monsignor Merry del Val stood out, dark and powerful. Great things were predicted of the young Spaniard, and I was interested to see how he had developed. I had known him in Vienna, where as a young student preparing to take orders he came sometimes to visit his father, then Spanish Ambassador to the Hapsburg court. Now his father was transferred to the Vatican, and many were the tales circulating of the Pope's reliance on this son.

As the chanting and music reached their zenith, came the Pope, surrounded by his intimate court. Seated on a throne, which I am sure he owed to Michael Angelo's genius or to Cellini's, His Holiness was borne high above the congregation's heads, and about him were carried various emblems and banners. Six or eight huge fans of splendid white ostrich plumes were also held on each side of his throne, waving gently and catching the light of hundreds of tapers. The shrivelled figure and face of His Holiness, moving along high up in the uncertain light, looked pure almost to transparency. High-bred, intellectual, worn with fasting and with age, the face was one of great nobility in repose. He turned slowly from side to side to bless the crowd of his children, who looked toward him with reverence. All in white, he caught the light and seemed surrounded by a halo.

Both then and afterward, as he drew himself to his full height at some point in the service, hand and arm raised in benediction, one was struck with the sublimity of his ethereal presence. It was the very spirit of religion come to life, and not for long, for the old man looked very frail. I believe this was his last public appearance. It was a very grand one, for the music and surroundings, as well as that picked crowd of devotees, seemed all worthy of the central figure. Somehow I felt the Church of Rome, in this Pope's person, gained in spiritual beauty what it had lost in luxury and power since earlier days.

Doctor Nevin had been as good as his word, and had arranged a fine mount for me to wander over the Campagna in his pleasant company. He was as perfect a guide as elsewhere my father had been, and he knew his subject and loved it so well, that I was never weary of his talk of the ruins we saw, or the villages and villas we visited. Often we went together in the delightful tête-à-tête of old and sympathetic comradeship, and though we were many years apart in age, we grew to be warm friends. Sometimes my cousins came on these excursions, and little by little various others were asked to join our party, till it grew into a large one, keen for the pleasures Nevin arranged so well.

There were three or four young men among the diplomats I had met who were especially polite about accompanying us on these picnics, and who, besides, felt it their duty to invent other sightseeing expeditions in and about the city, visiting with us palaces or museums. One of these, a Russian, was only temporarily attached to his embassy, to ease somewhat a tedious stay he was obliged to make in Rome, because of his bad health. A soldier by profession, also a sportsman who made his ' mark among the élite of the Italians, both at riding and in handling the ribbons over a smart team of four horses, Prince Michael Cantacuzène was in the south recuperating from a horse-show accident. He had little if any duty on the embassy staff, and seemed glad—in spite of his reputation of hating society-to run about with us, whether to balls or in more sporty occupations.

My uncle grew better and we were soon to push on to Cannes, where with early spring the doctors said he would find the change of climate and the sea air beneficial. Somehow our departure was rather saddening. We had all enjoyed the season of gaiety, and felt we were leaving pleasant friends who would be missed. At the last our rooms were continuously crowded with people and I had no quiet talk with any one individual.

I discovered a variety of rumors had floated round us, and that I was supposed to have refused every man in our sympathetic little circle, from old Doctor Nevin down. It seemed just as well to be leaving while this glory lasted. Several of our group spoke of coming to join us in Cannes for a vacation, and each one was to write me more of his plans. They all kept their kindly promise as to this, giving me the opportunity of straightening things out so there might be no misunderstandings. All save one did this, for I had not been on the Riviera a week when, on walking into the hall of our hotel with an armful of bundles and an open box of candy, I found Cantacuzène seated in a deep chair reading. He dropped his book and came toward me. I had only just had a letter from him saying he was leaving Rome, going direct to Paris, having given up his proposed stop on the Riviera, and his sudden apparition surprised me so much that my. arms fell and the sweets and bundles scattered over the floor. When my aunt and cousins joined us Cantacuzène was still gathering up the horrid things. The family were all very glad to see him, for he was an agreeable fellow. He explained with energy that he had been on the verge of starting for Paris when a telegram from the Grand Duke Kyril had brought him to Cannes for a few days' visit, and that he was spending the evening with this old comrade. We were also dining out, so we all parted, making an engagement for the next day some time.

At dinner I chanced to sit next to the grand duke himself, and by way of conversation I said to him how nice it was that he had brought Cantacuzène to the Riviera.

"I did not," said Kyril. "I was glad to see him when he appeared in my rooms this evening, but it filled me with amazement. All winter he has stuck in Rome—I don't know why—and now, when I gave him up, he came. I had to turn him out, since I was already en-gaged for to-night, but to-morrow I will know why he has suddenly elected to arrive. He seems unusually capricious ! "

It was evident Kyril's story and Cantacuzène's had not been compared before the telling, and that some mystery surrounded the latter's actions. I was given further food for thought when a day or two later an old college friend of my cousin announced to me that I would be making a great mistake to tie up to any foreigner, no matter how nice he was. "Grants belong in America, and I want to argue the point seriously with you."

As he spoke he looked across the table to where the Russian sat, making himself agreeable to Princess Clementine of Belgium. She was a delightful person with whom we had made friends, and whom I had visited at San Rafael. Mr. G— scowled and I laughed.

"I assure you that no foreigner wants me. You see all the girls who marry English, French, and Italians have fortunes. I'm too poor to be in danger. Besides, I don't think I should care for foreign life save as an incident such as this trip has been. Don't let my peril weigh on you now, therefore, and if it will allay your anxiety for the future, I can safely promise you to keep myself free for any American who may appeal to me in time."

"I suppose I must be content with this solemn promise," said Mr. G—, and we passed on to other subjects.

Whether it was the fine weather and the beauty of Cannes, or the powers of eloquence which he displayed and his disregard for the European necessity of a dower, within two days from that of the luncheon I found my-self, in spite of my intentions, engaged to Prince Cantacuzène. Ours was a somewhat complicated position, for we were far away from both our immediate families, and for many days we kept the telegraph-wires hot. Finally we had official consent from all our parents, and were able, with my aunt's help, to make some plans. April was still to be spent in the south on my uncle's account, then we were to go to Paris, our party augmented by my fiancé. There the official announcement would be made, and I was to order my trousseau. On the 1st of June we were to sail for the United States, while Cantacuzène returned to his country, to take up regimental service during the summer manoeuvres. He was to join us in the autumn again for the wedding. We had known each other but two or three weeks before becoming en-gaged, and had been a month together since then. Now the summer was to mean a long separation, and we were to see one another only shortly before our marriage day.

I was called a gambler by some of my friends at this time, but though generally a slow, careful person, on this occasion I was not at all hesitating or agitated over what seemed a risky business, perhaps, to others.

I knew nothing of Russia—even its geography and history were hazy in my mind—nothing of the society or family in which I was to take a place. Such Russians as I had met I liked, and I had found their point of view' similar to my own. My fiancé knew beforehand I was quite poor, yet he had not hesitated over this fact. He was a liberal-minded, hard-working individual, and seemed popular and well liked. His name carried me back to those Vienna friends, of whom I had been fond. Without any doubts on the score of what my future background would be, I had accepted his proposal to go and live with him in his far-away home. It sounded attractive.

That summer in America was spent visiting various members of my own family in my mother's company, and then with her I went to Newport to await my fiancé's arrival. I seemed to have a series of new and strange impressions of my home and its inhabitants. People's amazing capacity to absorb queer stories about totally unimportant details dazed me, as well as the manner in which this taste was catered to. All my family was entirely satisfied with my marrying some one I liked and felt to be attractive; yet the papers came out with lurid accounts of my Grandmother Grant's despair over the match, giving dramatic tales of interviews with her and with me. My trousseau, which had remained in Paris till I could pick it up in the autumn on the way to our new home, was said by the papers to be lost, then to have arrived; gowns which did not exist were minutely described, especially one with "real gold coins sewed all over it," and one covered with "real fish-scales" ! These were as completely non-existent as were the fairy palaces and various extraordinary family traditions with which Cantacuzène. was supposedly endowing me. The long descriptions of family jewels were equally foolish. Such jewels, gowns, and background as there really were, were neither spoken of nor photographed at all.

Another quite amusing phase was that of the anonymous letters I received, full of violent praise or blame, sometimes calling me names for abandoning my country, disgracing my Americanism and my family by marrying a title, or else showing deep sympathy toward me for all I must go through in darkest Russia, living under a European ruler, giving myself and my fortune to an ad-venturer who sought nothing but the latter—as if I had any money ! One of my correspondents even went so far as to offer to marry me himself if I would break off with this foreigner !

The summer passed, as Newport summers do, though I went to no balls and naturally saw less of my men friends than in other years. My chief occupation was the writing of many notes necessary to thank people who sent me wedding-gifts. The latter came in by every mail, and the express companies were working overtime. Some of the things were lovely, and a special room in my aunt's house was given over to them, that they might remain spread out to be admired, examined, and packed at leisure.

The first days of September brought my fiancé, and after that a round of dinners began, given in our honor by kind friends. Our time was much of it spent in the open air, riding, driving, or yachting. A few last details were discussed and settled connected with the wedding ceremonies. There were to be two of these—the. Russian Orthodox, and one in the tiny Episcopal chapel at Newport.

The Russian ceremony was to be performed first, and (by special dispensation) at home, the priests coming from New York and bringing all the necessary paraphernalia with them. It was a most beautiful service. The icons and the tapers, the incense and the chanting made a charming effect in the quiet room. No one was invited save our ushers and our family party, with Bishop Potter and Doctor Nevin, who had come all the way from Rome for the occasion.

It was the first Russian church service at which I had ever assisted, and though I was one of the chief actors in the scene and necessarily anxious not to do anything wrong through inattention, I managed to enjoy the pageantry, and I found in it an admirable dignity of ancient traditions, beautiful and rare with us.

The chanted music, without any instrumental accompaniment, was especially admirable and the kindly face of the old priest inspired respect ; his deep intoning was rich with harmony and I loved it, though I had no notion of the words he used, which were in Slavonic. He and the bridegroom engineered us all through our parts, and every one present was greatly delighted to have witnessed the service.

At the American chapel, also, the wedding was a very pretty one; as simply carried out as possible, according to our wish, for both Cantacuzène and I disliked extremely the idea of exaggeration or show. There were a few autumn flowers and leaves on the pews and a screen of feathery green about the altar. Bishop Potter, my parents' old friend, and Doctor Nevin, who had seen the birth and growth of our romance, divided the service between them. My cousins and uncles and a few of my best men friends were ushers.

My gown was the simplest possible. The veil of tulle had no flower or jewel to attach it to my hair. The one note of magnificence in the whole proceedings was my husband's uniform. He wore his regimental white cloth with red-and-silver trimmings, high black boots, and golden metal helmet, with the imperial eagle of Russia on its top in silver, which caught the light and added its glistening note. Every one was very much excited about the groom's fine clothes, and his thoroughbred type, face, figure, and manner came in for favorable comment from all who met him for the first time that day.

The little chapel was filled with friends from the vicinity of Newport, and others who were interested enough to come from Washington, Chicago, New York, and else-where. No one came to see a show. They knew there would be none. Some army officers, comrades of my father, were in full-dress uniform out of compliment to my husband, who was an army man. I was given away by my handsome cadet brother in his West Point uniform.

My father having been sent out to the Philippines in the early spring, I had not found him when I returned from abroad, and he had written us he expected to come back before our wedding. As the summer passed his work in Luzon and Samoa had become more arduous, and constant trouble with native chiefs made him feel that his duty was to stay there, not asking for the leave he had meant to take. Consequently he wrote and wired he did not want the marriage to be deferred, but wished us to ask the President, if under these circumstances the latter would not give my brother permission to leave West Point and to replace him for the occasion. Mr. McKinley kindly granted this request.

During the week of my wedding my father was in four battles, but from the firing-line out in the wilds a runner carried back a telegram and sent it from headquarters, so it was put into my hands as we returned from church, and my father's message of love, blessings, and congratulations was the first to reach me.

A most amusing incident occurred as we left the chapel. Nearly all of Newport's village people had assembled in the street about the brougham which was waiting for us, and Cantacuzène, with me on his arm, was greatly and audibly approved, when we appeared at the church door. Feeling we were rather conspicuous, and disliking that above everything else, he hurried a little and we climbed into our coupé. When the door closed and while the footman was going round to his place on the box the crowd's curiosity got the better of their discretion and they pressed against the little carriage, looking in at the windows. In an instant my husband was dragging down the shades, indignant at this invasion of privacy, but the good-natured, interested crowd put their own construction on Cantacuzéne's actions, and a voice shouted: "Sure, he's kissing the bride; three cheers for the prince." Up went the curtains again, but this did not spoil the pleasure of the multitude, convinced of its own divining powers, and we finally got under way, a hearty ovation ringing in our ears. I do not think the American public ever gave a foreign bridegroom such a warm reception.

Afterward, at the house, where my aunt had a delightful breakfast prepared for the wedding-party, the same informality reigned and every one seemed to have a lovely time. There was no crowding—in salons, on bal-conies, and lawns were scattered cosey parties, family, and friends comfortably seated gossiping, when they had eaten luncheon under a great marquee tent. The weather was warm and soft, and every one congratulated me on the pleasant omen and on my luck that the equinoctial storms had held off so late, for it was September 25.

There were a great many interesting people at the wed-ding who had gathered for love of my parents and interest in their child, but I have little memory of any individual faces. My grandfather had come from Chicago with his four sons, and he was, at eighty, still well and strong, though cataracts were developing on both his eyes and he used a cane to prevent false steps. He and my Grandmother Grant found each other in the company, and taking each other's arms they were wandering about talking, in the gayest spirits. They travelled back in their memory twenty-five years to the time of my parents' wedding, and all the company enjoyed their pleasures and their reminiscences. We had some anxiety for their safety, for grandmama, too, was grown old and very heavy, and her eyesight was extremely bad. Our fears were misplaced, however, and they survived the heavy lunch and other pleasures of the day, and were photographed with our wedding-party, standing together.

We left Newport that afternoon, on a yacht loaned us by Mr. Walters, the kindest of friends, and we sailed the next morning for France. A few days in Paris to gather up our various trousseau trunks, and then we took the north express bound for Russia.