“ecco roma!”
the greatest delights from travel came to miss buss from the two extremes of north and south—extremes which yet touch—sweden and italy, the two most distinctively artistic lands. in the venice of the north she was at home, for she loved the people; and she was not less at home in the venice of the adriatic, where she loved the place and the associations. but the city of the seven hills was the home of her heart, and, without knowing what she was in rome, one could know only the half of her possibilities. her first visit to rome in 1875 opened a new phase of being, and gave her a way of escape from everyday worry. after this first visit, she writes—
“the worries, correspondence, and work of re-opening are immense, but i am well, and resolute!
“at bologna, there is a marble medallion of ugo bassi, put up by his fellow-citizens. i comfort myself, you see, by going back to italy.”
the visit to sweden was something less of a holiday than those to italy, because it was full of educational experience. at that date, 1871, sweden stood in advance of any european country on the introduction 322of the american system. professor siljistr?m, having been sent to america to report on education, came home, wrote his book, and, having a free hand, was able within three years to work a complete reformation. miss buss took an introduction to him from mrs. garth wilkinson, but he was unfortunately not within reach. through miss margaret howitt, who had recently spent a year with frederika bremer, she became acquainted with the baroness adlersparre, one of the chief movers in educational matters, and editress of a woman’s journal published at stockholm, a lady deeply interested in all that interested miss buss, through whom the way was opened in copenhagen for similar experiences.
miss buss intensely enjoyed her trip to sweden and denmark, and after her return gave an account of her experiences in two lectures to her girls, with clear summaries of history, and vivid descriptions of scenery, manners, and customs. the peripatetic (“goande,” or “going,”) meals amused her, and she tells how—
“there are no chairs round the dining-table, and no waiters. ladies as well as gentlemen help themselves, and the hostess has little to do.”
she also describes, in stockholm, the novel custom of sm?rg?s, i.e. “eating a series of strange dishes as a relish before the dinner began.”
“on a small table, at the side, we found smoked reindeer flesh; smoked salmon with poached eggs; fresh, raw, sliced salmon (gravlaks); hard-boiled eggs; fried sausages; a kind of anchovy; raw herrings, etc.; white and brown bread; brandy, etc. the gentlemen drank one sort of spirit out of tiny glasses. everything was tastefully arranged on a snowy cloth.”
but in this trip her chief interest was in her educational experiences—of which she took full notes—varied by pleasant social gatherings, to which she and her 323father and her uncle, dr. buss, were invited. in the only letter that can now be found relating to this tour she expresses herself very warmly—
“aug. 17, 1871.
“we have been enjoying ourselves i can tell you! one of my introductions has led to an acquaintance with a miss hierta, a h?gral borna, or nobly born lady, who is clever, handsome, rich, benevolent, and young. her father is the oldest member of what we should call the house of commons, but it is called the lower chamber. he is familiarly known as ‘lars hierta,’ the representative of the liberal party, the friend of education and of women. he is a fine old man of seventy-four, tall, handsome, and, i hear, witty in the house, and always listened to with respect. he and his daughter have been here to-night to ‘soppor,’ a word which needs no translation.
“through miss hierta i have been able to see nine of the great schools here. all i can say is that sweden sets us a noble example. education is practically compulsory, as no child can be confirmed till he can read, write, and cypher, and he cannot get employment without the certificate of confirmation. of course such compulsion would not do in our country; but still it is something to be able to boast that no child can remain ignorant of the ‘three r’s.’...
“i feel that we english, who are so much richer than these swedes, are yet in many respects far behind. here the state considers that it is a duty to provide education for all. and all this has been done, in the last few years, mainly through one man, professor siljistr?m, who was sent to america, and who, on his return, was allowed to remodel the school system (of which a full account is given).”
nor was there less attraction on miss hierta’s side. in the following year, she visited miss buss in london, and, written in 1873, i have a letter speaking of her sorrow in the illness of “our dear miss buss,” and she adds—
“i hope that she is recovered now; she is doing such a noble work, and she has such a wonderful combination of greatness of heart, of intelligence and energy, that a woman like this ought to 324live eternally even here on earth, where she is so much wanted. how i wish we had one like her here to establish a model school for young girls.”
in mary howitt’s “life” there is among her roman experiences an interesting account of a visit from “charming anna hierta, a beautiful specimen of a swedish woman.” she was one of the girls deeply influenced by frederika bremer’s “hertha,” the book that emancipated woman in sweden, and seemed to me to have in her all the splendid force of the fair, strong women of the north.
the first visit miss buss made to rome was in 1875–76, with her brother, the rev. septimus buss. here on a post-card are her first impressions—
“51, piazza de spagna roma,
“dec. 26, 1875.
“we are having a delightful time; beyond all expression enjoyable. to-morrow evening we visit mr. and mrs. howitt, and afterwards i will write to you. but we are out all day; have a late dinner, and a crowded salon afterwards, so that i can find no time for writing. we have had no rain, but the most marvellous sunsets! such as turner only painted. this lovely city realizes all my anticipations. in nothing have we been disappointed.”
and later, this letter—
“51, piazza de spagna, jan. 2, 1876.
“my dear carry,
“rome is perfectly lovely! no word can describe it, nor the thrilling emotions which it causes. think of the overpowering sensations i felt yesterday in driving along the appian way by the place where horatius murdered his sister because of her grief for her lover curiatius, and then under the magnificent arch of drusus, through several miles of tombs. we passed the church of ‘domine, quo vadis,’ the place where st. peter, whose heart failed him, and who was fleeing from rome, met the lord, and in utter surprise fell on his knees, saying, ‘domine, quo vadis’ (lord, whither goest thou)? to which the risen saviour 325answered, ‘i go to rome, to be again crucified,’ whereon st. peter, regaining his courage, retraced his steps to rome, and suffered martyrdom. we then visited some ancient columbaria, or tombs, containing ashes of the dead. then we entered a great catacomb! as i write, my whole body seems to quiver at the remembrance. we walked about three quarters of a mile through the galleries containing the burial places of many a holy martyr, especially of the early bishops of rome, most of whom gave their lives for their faith. nothing but coming here will enable a person to understand this marvellous city!
“always your loving,
“arnie.”
the year following mrs. septimus buss was her companion, and she writes to her brother—
“roma, dec. 31, 1877.
“dear old sep,
“don’t you talk about letters! we have written to you every day but one, and that represents a good deal when you remember roman habits. we are, however, always wanting news of you.
“rome is, i think, more delightful than ever. why is it? the weather is not so fine as you and i had it last year, though magnificent compared with english climate.
“we hear all sorts of things. to-day i was told that, when some cuttings for a new street near cardinal antonelli’s villa were being made, a skeleton, with a splendid crown on its head, was found.
“before 1870 there were no schools for the poor. now all italy has public schools, free, attended by many thousands of children.”
the next year she writes to her sister—
“every place i go to is full of you. you and i are so fully in sympathy in so many things—here especially—that it seemed almost as if our hearts beat in unison last year. my present party is delightful; they are pleasant, cultivated girls, and are very amiable. there has not even been a jar. but surely i am not very difficult for them to get on with?”
“not very difficult to get on with?” the answer to that question is given clearly enough in a very few 326of the reminiscences of those happy days—miss findon first—
“i went away with her several times in the holidays, and in 1878 had the great privilege of being with her in rome. mrs. bryant was also there, and our party was more than a pleasant one. every day for a month we went about with miss buss, and she seemed never tired of showing us the places she knew so well, and pouring out to us her own stores of knowledge in history and art, which made everything of double interest to us.”
then comes miss lawford—
“the time i, with some others, spent with miss buss in rome will ever remain a delightful memory. the many visits which she had paid to italy, together with her love of history, ancient and modern, enabled us to get much out of our stay there in a comparatively short time. we were in no danger of imagining we knew the city, as she constantly impressed upon us that she was merely introducing us to it! i can still hear her. ‘ecco roma!’ when we came within sight of the lights of the town on our arrival there at night.”
mrs. bailey (miss emma elford) writes at christmas, 1894—
“this time of year always carries me back to the happy month i had the privilege of spending with her in rome. how delightful it was to know her in her private life, and how she entered into all one’s little joys and sorrows. i shall never forget that delightful christmas holiday; each day now, as it passes, i almost know where we were, though it is so long ago as 1877. dear miss buss! how good she was ever to me; never forgetting me in anything that was going on.”
miss marian elford echoes the same strain—
“but to be in rome with her was the climax of all delights. she literally knew the history of every corner of it, both ancient and modern. she was a good linguist, being able to converse in italian, german, and french. not one word of ‘school’ passed between us from the time we left holborn until we were 327back in our own places, for she had the happy faculty of leaving work with all its worries behind.”
in 1880, her party included my sister and miss fawcett, who give still the same report. of a visit to ostia, on this occasion, miss buss writes fully—
“january 11, 1880.
“we had a delightful day at ostia. we went in a sort of waggonette with a cover as roof, the sides open, four horses and two men. our start was made about a quarter after eight. you know the road? through the gate of st. paolo by the great basilica, and then a turn to the right (to the left is the road to the tre fontane) took us across ‘the dumb campagna sea’ for miles. the whole distance is sixteen miles. we stopped on the way to look at the magnificent stone-pine forest at castel-fusano, a little house belonging to the chigi family. then we returned to the grand old castle of ostia, and, laying down our rugs, encamped for dinner (or lunch) on the roadside. we had cold fowl, bread, butter, cake, cheese, wine, and oranges. with our etnas, we also made some cocoa. fancy a perfectly delightful picnic on the 7th of january!
“then we walked along the street of tombs under excavated ostia. to any one who has not seen pompeii, it would give a good notion of it. some very fine statues have been dug up and put in the lateran. the excavations are going on slowly for want of money. a fine temple has been cleared, facing the chief road from this post. ostia must have been as magnificent as the via appia, in the days of st. paul. you remember that lovely bust of the young augustus which was dug up in ostia?”
an interval followed after this till, in 1885, she took her nephew frank and a college friend of his. of this visit we have a full account by miss blatherwick, which lets us into the secret of the comprehensive knowledge of rome which all recognized in miss buss—
“she had travelled all night, and arrived about 7 in the morning. i quite expected she would have had her breakfast sent up to her, and would have taken a few hours’ rest first; but no! she 328had seen rome several times before, but the two gentlemen had not; and as she could only stay three weeks, there was no time to be lost. at 9 o’clock she appeared at the breakfast-table, looking ‘as fresh as a daisy,’ and just as though she had been there a week. directly after breakfast she said to me, ‘you will join us in everything, will you not? we four will just fill a carriage.’ i assented only too gladly, and that morning began one of the happiest times i have ever had. miss buss brought with her double or treble the number of books about rome that most people would care to take with them on so long a journey, and generally she put two or three of them into the carriage, and could turn to any passage she wanted to read aloud, although her own knowledge was such that she was herself a ‘walking guide to rome.’ her days there were passed much as follows: after breakfast at 9, she went to her room for a little reading; at 10.30 we drove out to see and study something in the eternal city; then home to lunch, and, after a brief rest, went out again on the same errand. at 4.30 we assembled in her room for afternoon tea, which she and i had agreed to provide between us. we each boiled some water over our little travelling spirit-lamps; she had brought with her table-napkins and a dainty little tea-set; and then—all being prepared—we gathered round the table, and had a delightful half-hour. one day miss buss said to me, ‘madame t. (our hostess) does not at all approve of these afternoon teas; i think we had better invite her to ours to-morrow.’ this was done, and the following day miss buss remarked, ‘madame t. said she did not like afternoon teas, but i think she enjoyed hers very much yesterday.’ tea over, the gentlemen disappeared to prepare for the late dinner, and miss buss quickly changed her dress, and at 5.30 punctually she and they met in an unused back drawing-room, and took an hour’s italian conversational lesson. this daily lesson ended when the dinner-bell rang at 6.30, and afterwards we went up to the drawing-rooms, where all the visitors generally gathered together, and games at cards, chess, draughts, etc., were played. she always joined in some of them and in the conversation till 10 p.m. once or twice there was an excursion for the day into the country, and one evening we went out to view the colosseum by moonlight. and this was her holiday!
“i noticed that during this time, miss buss never once spoke of her college, the teachers, or anything connected with business, thus showing how wisely she could put care entirely aside for a time, and give herself up to relaxation.”
329miss buss always went to the pension tellenbach, which, in her time, was quite a noted centre for the english in rome, the visitors’ book at the old house in the piazza di spagna including the names of dean stanley and lady augusta, dean plumptre, mr. e. a. freeman, and, on one occasion, mr. and mrs. gladstone. madame tellenbach was a german lady whose social position and knowledge of rome gave her the power to make things very pleasant for her guests, and she was proud of the results of her skill and energy, a pride into which miss buss could enter with a real sympathy. on her death, madame tellenbach left her whole establishment to her brother-in-law, on condition that it should be still carried on, not being able to bear that the work of years should fall to pieces, and not perceiving that her bequest might be very much of a white elephant. but, though not in need of it, colonel tellenbach was not disposed to reject a valuable property, so he and his charming wife established themselves in one suite of apartments, and consoled themselves for the sufferings entailed in the management by giving soirées musicales and dansantes to their guests.
that i should go to rome with miss buss had been our dream for years, during which my home claims had never made it possible. at last, in 1889–90, my sister and i met her at the pension tellenbach, arriving there two days before her. the advent of so scholastic a party would have carried consternation into any british hotel or boarding-house. there was miss buss herself, with all her weight of honours; there was a governor of her schools and the honorary secretary of her centre for the cambridge local examination; there was the head of the cambridge training college for teachers; there were two b.a.’s, head-mistresses, and two kindergarten head-mistresses, a.c.p. (associates of 330the college of preceptors). even the girl of the party was a girton graduate. fortunately, our kind german and italian friends had not yet learnt their alphabet in this new style, and, in their happy ignorance, were conscious only of the bright wave of fun and frolic, of clever and wise talk, that filled the place with ripple and sparkle during the next three weeks. after the day’s excursions, amusing charades were acted by the english, with artistic tableaux vivants in return by the germans. the b.a.’s gave a college party in their rooms, which were en suite, and were charmingly decorated for the occasion, where games were played and nonsense talked, to the despair of colonel tellenbach and other gentlemen, who were none of them invited, not even the bishop himself, who was head of the english table. and when they had all gone, sad was the blank. my sister and i stayed on, and, very often, in the evenings, did colonel tellenbach come beside us to sigh over the loss of ces charmantes dames anglaises!
we had, of course, determined that our first sight of the colosseum should be by moonlight, so, that, on the first brilliant night when all could go, we started—fourteen ladies in a procession of five of the nice little roman victorias. none of the gentlemen were free to act as protectors, so we made up in quantity for lack of quality. it must be confessed that some of us could have entered sympathetically into the feelings of the rank-and-file of a forlorn hope. malaria and brigands seemed to us to lurk in every deep dark corner of the vast ruin, and we did not know what might be the perils of the way thither. but our leader had our confidence, and we followed, to find the streets of rome as quiet as those of an english village, and in the ruins nothing more than groups of tourists of all nations.
331still, our experience made us fully appreciate a story which was going the round at the time. a solitary englishman, wandering in the ruins, was roused to suspicion by the number of times he came across the same burly, brown-frocked, cowled monk, who finally jostled against him, turning suspicion into certainty. the englishman felt at once for his watch. it was not there! he strode after the monk, overmatching him in height if not in breadth, and, seizing him by the throat, demanded his watch. a colloquy, unintelligible on either side, ended in the monk giving up the watch; and, with a parting shake that sent him sprawling, the irate englishman stalked off to tell his wife the tale. “but your watch is on the dressing-table!” she said, in alarm. he pulled out the watch in his pocket. it was not his own. a veil falls over the scene. but the early express next morning took away two passengers who were not likely soon to re-visit the eternal city.
nothing marred our own complete enjoyment of the scene as we sat for some time in the moonlight, opposite the imperial seat, trying to bring back the past, to see the cruel roman crowd, to picture the stately vestals with their power of life and death. and most clearly of all we seemed to see the monk telemachus as he sprang into the arena, the last human sacrifice to roman lust of blood.
miss findon tells of similar experience—
“once, as we sat in the colosseum, miss buss read us byron’s lines and also dickens’ words about it. i remember the tones of her voice now as she ended:—‘god be thanked—a ruin!’ and then paused while we tried to carry our minds back to that old time when under that same blue sky, this ruin had been the scene of those terrible fights of men and beasts, and the roman ladies looked on. how different from the tender heart of her who was sitting in our midst!”
332long before the story of italian patriots was generally known, miss buss had made it her own, and she loved to tell it; as she had told us on the afternoon of christmas day that year. i find a note dated 1877, in which she mentions a talk with old pupils—
“i told them about ‘new italy,’ and read from mrs. browning, and mrs. hamilton king’s ‘disciples’ and ‘aspromonte.’ do you know mr. browning’s ‘court of the king,’ a small poem?”
in a letter to her nephew, we find her feeling on this side of italian history—
“rome, january, 1884.
“i hope you sympathize with the progress of humanity, dearest lad, and with the regeneration of a nation! my heart thrills when i think of how much men have suffered to make beautiful italy a geographical fact, instead of a mere name. only last year a young triestine, named overdank, was hanged by the austrians because he with others wanted to annex trieste to italy. many people think the whole eastern side of the adriatic ought to belong to italy. of course this was rebellion on the part of overdank. according to law, no doubt, he suffered. but the horror is that the executioners are said to have sent the bill for the cost of the execution to the heart-broken mother! she had to pay them, but has since died—happily for her.... and those are christians, and have mothers!
“italy has a grand past. may she have as grand a future! in the blood of the thousands of martyrs for the liberty and unity of their country is the hope of future generations. our country’s history seems but of yesterday, when one is in rome, surrounded by memorials of the old roman empire. have i told you of the discovery of the house of numa pompilius, just excavated in the forum, close to the arch of titus, under the old gate of the palatine? it must have been used by the pontifex maximus all through roman history to the time of augustus, who chose to live on the palatine, and fulfilled the conditions by making his house on the palatine state property. when he left the house in the forum, the vestals were placed in it, and the discoveries show that these ladies lived in almost regal splendour in this house, and their statues, broken—in some cases wilfully—and defaced, are being dug up daily. when we came, one only had been found. now there are from twelve to 333sixteen at least. on these statues is recorded the name of the vestal. on one the name is erased. did she lapse, or did she become a christian?
“in december last, a jar containing 864 anglo-saxon coins, dating from 901 to 946 a.d. (i think) was found. how did these coins come there? surely they were brought by the anglo-saxon pilgrims mentioned by bede. can you begin to understand the extraordinary fascination of such a place?...
“i am constantly in a state of thrilling emotion arising from the associations, and one thing overpowers another. one was quite speechless at the sight of the ancient inscriptions from the tombs of the early christians. it was a thrilling thing to see a man like the pope, whose office is so ancient and so sacred, even to those christians who do not agree with him.
“it was really awe-striking to stand in rooms used by augustus, by livia and by drusus; in the case of the latter the frescoes are as fresh as if done a few months since....
“i wonder if i shall ever have the delight of introducing you to the world of wonders concentrated in rome?”
my own memories of her in rome are curiously comprehensive of the whole range of interest in the eternal city: heathen, christian, medi?val, artistic, patriotic; in each and all of which she was equally at home.
on our first sunday afternoon we had gone to the palatine, first pausing to try to imagine the splendour of nero’s golden house, before we went on to stand at the bar where st. paul must have stood before the c?sar to whom he had made appeal. a portion of the marble rail stands now as it stood then, and there we tried to picture that memorable scene. miss buss described to us how the heathen court of justice had become the christian church, and so vivid was the whole impression that to this moment i can still see the graceful careless emperor, in the centre of the semicircle of fawning, sneering courtiers, all making merry at the claim to roman citizenship of this mean jew; 334with some pride too, no doubt, at the far sweep of the roman power to which her most distant subject could appeal and not in vain.
as we stood there, lost in the past, there came a sudden clash and clang of all the church bells in rome—once there had been one for each day in the year—and all the blue air was full of sound. here was the echo, still clear and strong, of the message of the despised christian, while of nero’s golden house there is not a single trace.
again, we are standing on the terrace in front of st. gregorio, and seem to watch the descending figure of the monk augustine—our saint of canterbury—as he had just received the blessing of the great gregory, and was departing on his mission to those fair-haired angles who are so like—and so unlike—the angels. then we turn into the refectory, where, day by day, the saint entertained his twelve poor pilgrims, and we hear how to his large charity was given the grace of entertaining angels not “unawares,” since, on the face of one of his guests whose special need had called out special service, the faithful servant saw a light which showed him that the master of the feast himself was there in very truth:—
“who gives himself with his alms feeds three,
himself, his hungry neighbour, and me.”
on another day we had gone to see the moses of michael angelo—earth’s most lasting symbol of the imperishable divine law—and, as we came out of the church, we paused to look at the picture made by the convent with the tall palm-tree against the frangipani tower, and heard how in time of famine the frangipani—the “bread-breakers”—earned their noble name, as true lords (hláford, or “loaf-ward”) in sharp contrast to the borgias—the spoilers of the poor—whose 335palace still stands to the right of the steps down which we passed, going through the archway, that we might look up to the balcony where the beautiful lucrezia must often have stood, to cool her throbbing brow, under the quiet stars so high above all futile ambition and fleeting passion.
and yet another well-remembered walk, from the piazza di spagna, past the studio of canova, to the via di ripetta, to look for the bust that marks the house of angelo brunetti—
“the tribune of the people, who could stay
a tumult by the lifting of his hand,
and by the lifting of his voice could bring
an array round him”—
by his mother named ciceruacchio, “fair and strong.”
“and still the name grew with him as he grew
to stature stateliest, and strongest arm,
and fairest face of all the city.”
and we talked of the great deeds of that fateful year as we followed the street which is now called by the name of him.
“who with deep eyes, silent and resolute,
rode slowly up the steep of golden sand
to san pietro in montorio.”
then, standing by the grave which tells of the gratitude of italia una, we pictured the triumphant procession up that same via garibaldi, as the ashes of the patriots who had died for italy were brought from far and wide to rest in the rome they had loved so well.
my roman journal closes with a comment on miss buss’ most able guidance, and the conclusion—
“to be with her in rome is something to be remembered. she is always an inspiration, with her splendid vitality and energy; but here, with her enthusiasm and her complete familiarity with every association, she is wonderful indeed—a living flame of fire.”
