Chapter 4 Roman Summer
Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Maryanne and Isabella tried to put on their best faces but the Grand Tour was not going as either one had hoped. Maryanne did use all of the possible opportunities for getting to know people who mattered in Rome. However, the Romans were not so keen on rubbing elbows with these exotics who had popped up in their midst. Were they adventuresses? Americans were known for being high risk takers and not always honest. So, there was a great deal of polite chatter but very little socializing. Beside, this was the hottest part of the year. June, July, and August were times when the rich fled Rome for the Alps and ancestral manses. So, the Bandfields had to make the best of the steaming city with few fellows as company.
Aunt Priscilla was an absolute Godsend. She was a lady also from the United States who made instant friends with Isabella and Maryanne Bandfield and became a “courtesy aunt” in jig time. Without her Isabella would have been tempted to do something dreadful. At last she was coming around to understanding that there was only one way out of her predicament, to become a free thinking woman and cast off this mass of constraint placed on her by a well-meaning world. This lead to fierce fights with ma-ma who was still determined that a great match could be made for Isabella, and that Isabella absolutely must keep herself beyond reproach at all times.
Aunt Priscilla knew what sorts of evil might befall a beautiful young woman like Isabella, and was a lively companion while keeping a close rein on the younger woman without being a bore or a scold. There were trips to the museums, sketching afternoons at a variety of uplifting places, and cool drinks on piazzas in restaurants.
After a fortnight or two, there were some rumbles of social curiosity among the Romans. A lady did start up a conversation with Isabella and her courtesy aunt during one of the sketching trips to the Borghese Gardens. The lady was dressed in summery white with a beautiful white bonnet and long blue sash tied round the chin. She looked as merry as a robin and complimented Isabella on her fledgling sketch of one of the statues outdoors. “Please do come and visit me. I am here in Rome only until September, when I must return to Baden Baden,” cooed the lady. Madame Gerda von Rilke was her name, and from a very fine family indeed at that famous spa. Mdme. handed the surprised Isabella her card, black engraving on a thick cream colored card which felt more like suede than paper.
“Ma-ma! Ma-ma!” called Isabella when she got back to the hotel,”We have been invited to pay a call on a Madame von Rilke! Gerda Rilke. She complimented me on my little sketch at the Borghese Gardens today!”
“Really? Now who is this Gerda von Rilke? Is she a lady? Well, it’s only a call in the afternoon. We have felt like hermits here in The Eternal City and it will do us both good to get out and resume our place in society,” declared Ma-ma Bandfield.
More care was put into dress for that afternoon of visiting than had been lavished on all the balls and entertainments combined in London. The appointed hour descended on Rome and the Bandfields ambled down the street to the appointed house. It was in a lovely part of town. Charming. They rang the bell and the door was opened by a ramrod straight servant in livery. “Whom shall I say is calling?” was the drawled question. “Miss Isabella Bandfield and her Ma-ma,” was the pert answer, “I met Madame von Rilke in the Borghese Gardens as I was sketching the other day.” “Very well,” came the reply.
Fifteen minutes later the door to the parlor burst open and Madame von Rilke exploded into the room. She was dressed in the latest fashion of black and white striped silk, trimmed in black pom-poms which shivered when she moved. Every part of her seemed to be in motion. “Oh, my dear, please excuse my tardiness. So many things to do and, oh, this must be your mother. My dear Mrs. (uh) Bandfield, I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. Please, let’s have a bit of tea,” and all three of the ladies sat and had very polite conversation for the best part of half an hour.
Madame von Rilke seemed to be fascinated with the story of where they lived, the details of their house and summer home, what Mr. Bandfield did, and asked quite a few pointed questions about Mrs. Bandfield’s dress and a few sly ones about her jewelry (as well as Isabella’s). Madame von Rilke was so very very complimentary about all things American. That was one of the main reasons why she had stopped to talk to the charming Miss. Bandfield in the first place, she could tell from her marvelous posture and vigorous attention to her sketching that this must be a lady from The New World, not a pawkish Old World type.
“Oh, there is so much we could learn from you,” blurbled Madme von Rilke,”It is us who should do a Grand Tour in the United States, not you who should come here.” Both Isabella and Maryanne were overjoyed to find a European who thought that the United States was peopled by more than just aggressive bumpkins.
“What a lovely bit of luck it was that we should meet you, Madame von Rilke,” bubbled Mrs. Bandfield,”I do hope that we can meet again and have a bit more time together before you leave for Baden Baden.”
What a pleasant surprise it was to receive an invitation written in graceful looping hand two days later. It seemed that Madame von Rilke was going to have a small dinner party at her townhouse and she hoped that the Bandfields would join her for the evening.
Giddy at this happy turn of events, Isabella and her mother busied themselves with what clothes to wear, what jewels, what hair-do, how to turn up. All questions were hidden from Aunt Priscilla who was not part of this expedition, and was secretly hurt by being cast aside so easily like a paid companion.
The appointed hour arrived, and the Bandfields piled into a carriage for the four block trip to Madame von Rilke’s house. Never had the streets of Rome seemed so welcoming, the sky was starting to be stained by twilight and there were swallows chipping and swooping about the sky. Surely this must be a sign of good things happening now in the heavens, no?
A hearty welcome from Madame, who showed off the lovely Bandfields to the other guests. There were gentlemen for all the ladies but the other ladies were a bit less posh and slightly louder than those the Bandfields were used to. The gentlemen laughed easily and were a little bit too familiar, but that was the way in Italy, people warmed up here and abandoned their stand-offish stiff manners. A count, a German industrialist, a cigar maker (!), another count, and a priest were the guests, along with their wives (except, of course, for the priest). The conversation was witty, as fast as a rainy racetrack but kindly and welcoming. Finally it was time to sit down to the table where the Bandfields picked at their food and acted as dainty as they could, which was mighty dainty indeed.
“Mrs. Bandfield, have your heard about the amazing and wonderful investment opportunity that is the tout de monde?” ventured the German industrialist peering over his rimmed glasses at Maryanne Bandfield, whilst negotiating his pomegranate sorbet.
“Oh, no I haven’t,” said Mrs. Bandfield feeling most inadequate in front of this captain of industry.
“Well, you are in luck! Yes, it is providential that you came here to Italy when you did, don’t you think?” the industrialist boomed this last declaration to the rest of the table which received it with adoration.
“Oh, Herr Klein, you have made me so much money, I don’t know what to do with it all! My husband will be livid when he finds out that I have beaten him at his own game!” fairly shouted one of the dames at table, while lifting her sauterne in a platinum trimmed glass. Loud laughter erupted and the man sitting next to her kissed her hand in a showy way. Grins which were a bit too broad and eyes which fixed too hard and eager on the Bandfields.
“My God, the man she is with is not her husband!” thought Maryanne Bandfield. Then it all plopped into place, and all the inconsistent actions and conversation began to make perfect sense. ”I honestly don’t know any of these people at this table and we may be compromised unless I do something immediately!” Staccato strobes of anger, fear, shame, and feeling “had” shot through Mrs. Bandfield. It became clear as a crystal. This Madame von Rilke was just a huckster who lured Maryanne and her daughter into this home and to this table with jackals in order to fleece her, the naïve American and her innocent daughter. Money? Pshaw, the only money which had been made was into the pockets of this nest of thieves.
Maryanne made an excuse of suddenly being struck with one of her “me-grains” and had to leave immediately for the hotel. Of course, there was fierce fussing, insistence that Madame Bandfield be lead upstairs and rest on Madame von Rilke’s very own bed and a doctor would be summoned right away to attend to the stricken guest. Mrs. Bandfield finally had to insist on leaving for the hotel and actually had to push away several hands which were plucking at her sleeves to stay. It was awful.
When the carriage arrived, there was a small pandemonium but finally the Bandfields left and were back at the hotel before they had been gone quite three hours. It was horrid.
Priscilla was secretly amused by all this. It served them right for being fair weather friends. After three days, Priscilla did cross paths with Isabella but she was referred to as Mrs. Skinner for the duration. Such a lapse of manners and gratitude would cost the Bandfields quite a bit of familiarity.
Alas, Rome was showing its dark underside to the hapless American visitors. The von Rilke “troupe” soon was found to be traveling around Europe looking for hapless victims to prey on. The concierge had confided that in Mrs. Skinner who did pass it on to Isabella.
The excitement of almost being rooked kept the pair buoyed up for the best part of four days. Then their exile settled in on them again. They were stuck, bored, and at a dead end.
Eventually there were people who did make their acquaintance. The Bandfields were ever so cautious now, but nice people did exist. They weren’t the most highly placed folk, but for afternoon strolls and showing the sights pleasant company is pleasant company despite any loftiness. Isabella was invited to a summery dance and reception, at least that was how it was explained. The core was a small contingent of young people who were quite gay and enjoying the summer. There were some Englishmen and French as well mixed in with the Italians. The parents were always in attendance but it was great fun after a long dry spell.
Everything wasn’t perfect. Isabella had a spat with one of the Italian girls over whether a lady should be allowed to choose her husband and how long it should be before they ventured into society after they were wed. But that disagreement was quickly patched up. Several of the boys were attentive at first, falling over themselves, but started hounding an English girl who turned up and joined their group. Though there were friends made in Rome, they were not fast and deep friends probably because everyone knew that the Americans would one day return home and would never be seen again.
Then Mrs. Skinner asked Isabella,” Would you like to accompany me to a talk at the Observatory here in Rome? It is going to be given by an American chap from Tennessee I think and the subject is the discovery of Neptune.” Isabella squinted her eyes. Tennessee? Well, maybe there is someone from Tennessee who wants to give a talk on the new planet. “Of course, I would love that,” said Isabella.
Isabella made sure that she was wearing her lightest dress. Though it was September, Rome was hot. The Observatory was high on a hill and the air cooled down fast as the carriage approached the top of the hill. Isabella flung the shawl she had brought over her shoulders and was quite glad that she was clever enough to know that this was a mutable part of the year in a mutable town.
The ladies tripped into the auditorium and settled into the polished wood chairs covered with dark red plush. Sure enough, the man who came out on the stage and was about to give his speech for the thousandth time was none other than Stewart Walker, straight from the Cincinnati Observatory. Isabella was overjoyed. Stewart looked even handsomer than he had when they first met.
“Neptune, the newly discovered planet and the one which astrologers declare rules over our tendency to believe in superstition and intuition,” Stewart paused as he usually did to receive the mirth that statement generally stirred up. But, this time, he stopped talking altogether as his eye rested upon Isabella Bandfield, the woman he had thought he would never again see.
When anyone was cast adrift from their moorings, their lives immediately became diminished. People in the 19th century didn’t have the freedom that we do now, the communications were slow and codes of conduct were rigid. After the debacle in London, Isabella and her mother were supposed to just fade away and never return to polite society. But, humans don’t just voluntarily wreck their lives, there is a bright spark in us all. The tinder that spark set upon in Isabella’s soul was the thought of being a “modern woman” like Mary Shelley. Once Isabella questions her place and her ability to effect her life, she is never the same. Society didn’t offer any alternative at that time, so it’s no wonder that nowadays women have become liberated as never before.
So, what will happen now? Will Stewart and Isabella finally find happiness in each others' arms, or will there be a dull end to it all and a long dismal corridor of respectability beckoning to our American beauty? Stay tuned for the next chapter of Dark Matter on Possets Perfume.