THE GARDENS OF ITALY. 
Caprarola, with a splendid suite, on her way to 
Bracciano, and was magnificently entertained by 
Duke Ranuccio. A feast and fireworks were given 
in her honour, she was shown all over the palace, 
and remarked of the Sala di Mappamondo that it 
deserved to be kept under a glass case, and, gazing 
from the windows of the Hall of Hercules, lost in 
wonder at the beauty of the prospect, exclaimed, 
“J dare not speak the name of Jesus, lest I should 
break the spell.” 
The Anno Santo 1700 saw the flying visit ot 
the reigning Duke, Antonio, Prince of Parma, the 
last direct descendant of the great Farnese House. 
His vassals, who scarcely knew him by sight, 
assembled to greet him, wild with delight and 
loyalty. He was moved to tears, made a touching 
speech, and went his way, to be seen no more at 
Caprarola. 
The exiled James Stuart was welcomed 
royally by Duke Francesco in 1714, and as the 
Duke took leave of “ His Majesty, the King of 
England,” he declared that the palace had acquired 
fresh lustre from his august presence. In October, 
1739, Kasimir Vasa, Prince of Poland, and the 
Elector of Saxony, paid a visit, évcognito, to Cardinal 
Acquaviva, and were shown the castle, where a 
choice assemblage of savants and Jesuits had come 
to meet them. One of the last notable guests 
was Prince Charles Edward, the Pretender, who 
was a visitor in 1740, and Sebastiani, who mentions 
his coming, was overpowered at the honour of 
being allowed to house some of the Prince’s suite. 
After 1750, for a hundred years or more, the 
place was utterly neglected. A steward was placed 
in charge, and was so little overlooked that he 
became bold enough to sell the whole of the piping 
of the fountains, 96,ooolb. of lead, besides making 
away with much of the old furniture and tapestries 
and cutting down timber. Now, the administration 
has gone to the other extreme, and the place is 
guarded as if every tourist were a conspirator in 
disguise. To avoid disappointment, it is well 
to say that no one should go without an order, 
obtainable at the Farnese palace in Rome; a 
special one is needed to see the garden, and yet 
another in order to sketch. The custode, it may 
be added, is absolutely incorruptible. : 
Among the past records of Caprarola is a 
love story, pretty and idyllic enough. In 1645 
Innocent X. had made a cardinal of Camillo, the 
son of Olimpia Pamphili. Don Camillo was then 
only twenty-three, and two years later fell deeply 
in love with Olimpia Aldobrandini, the beautiful 
young widow of Prince Borghese. He was a 
Cardinal “not in orders,’’ and therefore confessed 
to the Pope that “much as he admired the virtue 
of chastity, he felt himself unable to practise it 
without the help of a wife.” The Pope, who, 
we may presume, attached less importance to the 
virtue than to the revenues of the Cardinalate, 
was furious, and did all he could to change the 
young man’s resolution. There was a great deal 
of family consultation and interchange of corre- 
spondence, but Don Camillo got his way. He 
and Olimpia were married in February, 1647, 
and at once set off for Caprarola, where, to the 
‘“‘oreat astonishment of all Rome,’ they spent the 
whole spring and summer, which that year was 
unusually long and hot. Donna Olimpia was 
twenty-four, ‘ beautiful, ingenuous, and full of 
spirit and amiability, and, in spite of some feminine 
weaknesses, had all those gifts which can ensure 
domestic felicity.” 
It is charming to imagine the delight of 
that long summer in this enchanted garden, while 
all their artificial and mannered world marvelled 
at their taste. The memory of them has a tender 
charm of its own beside all the records of state 
visits and solemn splendour. 
“ Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping, 
Haply, of lovers, none ever may know, 
Whose eyes went seaward, a hundred sleeping 
Years ago. 
Heart handfast in heart, did they stand? ‘Look hither,’ 
Did he murmur? ‘Look out from the land to the sea, 
For the foam-flowers endure when the land-blossoms wither, 
And men that love lightly may die, but we wee 
Only, instead of the sea, there are the soft waves 
of the campagna. 
Caprarola must be grim and dreary enough 
in the winter-time, or when wind and rain storms 
sweep across the plain. It is a place for halcyon 
days and happiness. Who, nowadays, builds any- 
thing so grandiose, so useless—and so beautiful ? 
