We are as busy as bees. The trousseau is being made by the nuns in the Trinita de Monti convent. The Queen sent Nina a beautiful point-lace fan with mother-of-pearl sticks. The Queen of Denmark sent her a bracelet with diamonds and pearls. Count Raben's family and all the colleagues have given her beautiful presents.

_April 10th._

It is all over--Nina is married and gone.

Day before yesterday was a day of emotions. In the morning we went at ten o'clock to the Campidoglio, where the magistrate's offices are and where the _sindaco_ (the Marquis Guiccioli, a great friend of Nina's) performed the civil marriage. He particularly wished to do this _en personne_ as a special favor. He made a charming and affectionate speech and gave the pen we signed the contract with to Nina. Then we drove home, changed our dresses, and were ready at two o'clock for the real marriage at the church.

The church was filled to the last pew. When Nina came in on Johan's arm there was a murmur of admiration. She looked exquisitely in her bridal gown, and as she turned round before descending the altar steps and threw back her veil she was a vision of beauty, and I am sure she will be a "joy for ever." All Rome came to the reception at our house.

While at Sorrento we went one afternoon to take tea with the Marion Crawfords. They have a charming villa on the rocks. They seemed very glad to see us, and showed us all over the villa and their pretty garden. "My den," as Mr. Crawford called his sunny and comfortable library quite worthy of the lion he is. They are a very handsome couple. She is as sympathetic as he is, and they both talk in the most entertaining and lively manner. We had a delightful afternoon.

I was asked to sing at a charity concert to be given in the magnificent _Salle de Gardes_ in the Barberini Palace. The concert was arranged by all the most fashionable ladies in Rome, who with the ladies of the court were _dames patronesses_.

I accepted, as the Queen expressed the wish that I should. She even selected the songs she thought best for the occasion, and was present with all the court, which, of course, gave great _eclat_ to the concert.

Every place was taken, and, enormous as was the _salle_, it was crammed to its limit, people standing up by hundreds. Sarah Bernhardt, being in Rome, promised to lend her aid; she recited a monologue in her soft, melodious voice, but so low that it could hardly have been heard farther than the first few rows of seats.

I sang the "Rossignol" and Liszt's "_Que disaient ils?_" to Sgambati's accompaniment. Madame Helbig played the accompaniment of the "Capriciosa" of Blumenthal, the one that has all those wonderful cadenzas which run rampant through the different keys. Madame Helbig is a marvelous musician. I must tell you what she did. When I was soaring all alone up in the clouds without any earthly help in that long cadenza, she foresaw that I was not coming down on the right note and changed the key from four sharps to four flats without any one noticing it, thereby saving me from dire disaster.

Any musician can change from sharps to flats, but she was reading this very difficult accompaniment almost at first sight and before a large audience. I think that it was a tremendous _tour de force_.

AALHOLM, _August, 1886_.

My dear Aunt,--Did you receive the newspaper cuttings I sent you describing the home-coming of Frederick and Nina? Did they not read like fairy tales?

Aalholm Castle is situated on the sea. It is one of the most historic places in the country, and seems to have been bandied back and forth to pay the different kings' debts.

Christopher II. was imprisoned here (the prisons still exist), and two more moldy and unpleasant places to be shut up in cannot well be imagined. The guards used to walk up and down in front of the aperture through which food was pa.s.sed to the unfortunate and damp monarch.

Later Aalholm came into Count Raben's family (in the eighteenth century). There are, of course, all sorts of legends and ghostly stories which, as in all ancient castles, are, with the family specter, absolutely necessary. Women in gauzy drapery have been seen roaming about in dark corridors, horses have been heard rattling their chains in the courtyard. Mirrors also do something, but I forget what.

However, no phantoms, I believe, have been noticed during this generation; probably the building which is going on now has discouraged them on their prowling tours and routed them from their lairs. I have watched with interest for the last three weeks the workmen who are making a hole in the ma.s.sive walls in a room next to mine. The walls are about ten feet thick and are made of great boulders, the s.p.a.ce between being filled with mortar which time has made as hard as iron.

Every king or owner of Aalholm since the time it has stood on its legs seems to have had different ideas about windows. One sees on its tired old exterior traces of every kind and every period. Some round, some a mere slit in the wall, some with arches all helter-skelter, without any regard to symmetry or style.

Each owner made his window, and each successor bricked it up and put his window in its place. The building is very long, with two towers. It looks at a distance like a huge dachshund with head and tail sticking up. There is a chapel in one wing, which no one ever enters, and there is a theater in another wing, where in old times there were given plays.

The park is beautiful beyond words. You come across some old graves of vikings, of which nothing is left save the stones they used for the making of them. The treasures that they contained have long since been removed by a wise government in order to fill the national museums.

Many gold and silver coins have been picked up _in the grounds_, and are turned to use by making tankards and bowls, and very pretty and interesting they are. On the walls of the large hall there are inscriptions which were made in the sixteenth century to commemorate the visits of different monarchs. King Frederick II., 1585, must have had many friends with him. Like our modern guest-book, each guest left his name and motto, which was painted on the walls, with his motto and his particular sign, such as a mug or a rake (I hope these did not refer to his personal attributes). One that King Frederick wrote seems to me to be very pathetic, and makes one think that his friends must have been ultra-treacherous and false. It reads: "_Mein hilf in Gott.

Wildbracht allein ist treu_." ("G.o.d is my help. Wildbracht [the name of his dog] alone is faithful.") Don't you think that has a sad note in it?

[Ill.u.s.tration: AALHOLM. BUILT IN 1100 In 1585 some changes were made and from time to time windows have been cut through the walls.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: INSCRIPTIONS IN ONE OF THE ROOMS AT AALHOLM, BEARING THE DATE 1585 Those at the top are: Left: "My hope is in G.o.d. Wildtbragt [his dog]

alone is faithful.--Frederick II., King of Denmark and Norway." Right: "G.o.d forgets not His own.--Soffia, Queen of Denmark." Those below were made by members of the court, who attached their individual marks instead of signatures.]

MILAN, HOTEL MILAN, _October 17, 1886_.

Dear Aunt M----,--Just think what luck I have had. They say that everything comes to those who wait, and what I have waited for has come at last. I have seen and made the acquaintance of Verdi, the famous. He always stops at this hotel, because he is a friend of the proprietor's, Mr. Spatz, who, knowing my desire to meet Verdi, said that he would arrange an interview. This he kindly did. Verdi received me in his _salon_. He looks just like his photographs--very interesting face with burning eyes. His welcome was just warm enough not to be cold. The conversation opened, of course, on music. I said that I admired his music more than that of any other composer in the world. This was stretching a point, but it brought a pale smile to his verdigris countenance (this is unworthy of the worst punster). I told him that I often had the honor of singing with the Queen, and that we sang many duets from his operas. He did not seem to be much impressed by this miracle and received it with amiable indifference.

I longed to hear him talk, but with the exception of a few "_veramentes_" and "_grazies_" he remained pa.s.sive and silent. By way of saying something he asked me if I had heard Tamagno in "Oth.e.l.lo."

"Yes," I said. "I cannot think of anything more splendid. I never heard anything to equal him, and Monsieur Maurel is equally fine, is he not?"

"His singing is well enough," answered Verdi, "but his accent is deplorable."

After this the conversation languished, and I feared it would die for want of fuel. I felt that I had been spinning my web in vain--that I might catch some other fly, but not Verdi, when suddenly he said:

"You tell me that you sing often with the Queen. Which duets of mine do you sing?" he asked with seeming interest.

I named several.

"What voice has the Queen? Soprano or contralto?"

"The Queen's voice is mezzo-soprano," I answered.

"And yours?" he asked.

"Mine is about the same, equally mezzo-soprano."

This seemed to amuse him.

"Do you think the Queen would like to have me write something [quite jocosely] equally mezzo-soprano?"

"I am sure that the Queen," I answered, gushingly, "would be overjoyed."

"_Bene_," said the great _maestro_ with a smile. "Then I win."

"How enchanting!" I cried, crimson with enthusiasm. "But may I beg one thing?"

"Beg! _Je vous en prie_."

"_Fa dieze_ [F sharp] is a weak point in both our voices."

"_Bene_," he said, waving his hand toward his piano. "I will write a duet for you, and only put one G minor in it."

"G minor!" I exclaimed. "Why, that is--"

He interrupted, "Have you ever noticed that G minor is much easier to sing than P sharp?"

He did not wait for my a.s.surance that I did not notice any difference, but said, suddenly, "When do you go to Monza?"

"We are waiting to hear. Perhaps to-morrow."

"Ah," he said, thoughtfully, as if turning over in his mind whether or not he could have the duet ready.