pressly by her devoted and admiring
Sgambati." Although the song was beautiful as a piano piece and as _he_
played it, I could not sing it. I said:

"My dear Sgambati, I can never sing 'Mio' on a si-bemol. Can I not
change it for an 'A'?"

"No!" answered Sgambati. "The-whole meaning would be lost; but you can
broaden it out and sing 'Miaa.'"

Another shining light is Tosti, who comes to us very often. He is by
far the best beloved of popular composers. He understands the voice
thoroughly and composes songs which are melodious and easy to sing.
Therefore every one sings them. He has not much of a voice, but when he
sings his compositions he makes them so charming that they sell like
wildfire. He is the most amiable of geniuses, and never refuses to sing
when he is asked.

Yesterday I sang something I had composed as a _vocalize_. He liked it
so much that he asked why I did not sing it as a song.

I said, "I cannot write either it or the accompaniment."

"That is easy enough," he replied. "I will write it for you," and
scribbled it off then and there.

He dedicated a piece to me called "Forever," which I sing on every
occasion.

I have a great friend in Madame Helbig, the wife of Herr Helbig, the
German archaeologist in Rome. She is born a Russian princess, and is
certainly one of the best amateur musicians, if not the best, I have
ever met. She is of immense proportions, being very tall and very
stout. One might easily mistake her for a priest, as she is always
dressed in a long black garment which is a sort of water-proof; and as
her hair is short and she never wears a hat, you may well imagine that
she is very well known in Rome. When she hails a cab to take her up the
very steep Caffarelli Hill, where they live, the cabbies, who are
humorists in their way, look at her, then at their poor, half-fed
horses and the weak springs of their dilapidated _bottes_ (cabs), shake
their heads, and, holding up two dirty fingers, say, "_In due volte_"
(which means "in two trips"). Mr. Ross, the Norwegian painter, whose
English is not quite up to the mark, said she was the "hell-biggest"
woman he ever saw; and when she undertook a journey to Russia, said,
"Dear me, how can she ever travel with that corpse of hers?"

ROME, HOLY WEEK, _1881_.

My dear Aunt,--The churches are open all day. St. Peter's, Laterano,
Santa Maria Maggiore each has one of the famous sopranos. The music
is--well, simply divine! I can't say more.